Oliver POV
The beach is bustling.
Something is happening—something big.
Victor and I exchange a look, silently agreeing to investigate.
The sheer number of people moving in the same direction is staggering. Merchants, craftsmen, ability users, and commoners alike, all heading toward a central point with a shared sense of purpose.
We manage to hitch a ride on a passing carriage, sparing Adrian from having to weave through the throng on foot.
The driver—a middle-aged man with strong hands and the kind of face that's seen years of labor—clutches a single wooden box protectively.
I can't help but be curious.
"How old is he?" The man gestures toward Adrian, who is bouncing excitedly in my lap, his wild, untamed hair sticking out in every direction—just like his father's.
"He's three, soon to be four," I answer, running my fingers through his rebellious curls. He whines in protest, but there's a smile on my face anyway.
