Thirstfall brought a few bitter ironies along with humanity’s salvation back on Earth.

For some, this world is a price to be paid. For others, a prize too vast to measure. Water for a dying planet, technologies that defy physics, rain delivered into open hands. But every salvation has its shadow, and Thirstfall always collects its share with interest.

Richard was a Diver.

Zoe was a Drowned.

The conclusion arrived on its own while I watched the unconscious girl on the table. She probably died of Black Thirst on Earth and woke up here, no body to return to, no ninety-six-hour window, no family at her side when she opened her eyes in this pit.

Cases like that were rare, but they happened. Not everyone who died there came here, and not everyone who came was found by someone who loved them.

The fact is that Thirstfall was never a game full of NPCs. Every human is a soul.

No one ever figured out why, because Thirstfall liked handing out miracles the same way it handed out curses: no manual, no justification, no accountability.

Richard got his daughter back. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

And the price was watching her get trampled day after day by people who mistook the absence of a system for the absence of a soul.

That’s why there were basins ready. Salves. Clean cloths. Bandages organized. It wasn’t the preparation of a careful tavern keeper. It was the routine of a father tired of arriving too late.

"I’m sorry," I say, low. "I did what I could to—"

"It’s not your fault."

Richard doesn’t look at me when he answers. He goes to a shelf, takes down a bottle of amber liquid, and pulls a swallow too long to be only thirst. When he lowers it from his mouth, he lets the air out in a rough sound, and the smell of alcohol fills the small room with ease.

"Homemade whisky," he says, as if that explains anything. "Want some?"

"No, thank you."

"Smart."

He sits in a heavy chair near the table, still holding the bottle.

"Why are you two still here?" I ask.

I don’t walk the full road of my reasoning. I don’t tell him I pieced the story together, that I saw the repetition in the way he moved around the room. Tired people don’t need a stranger turning their pain into a report.

Richard takes another drink.

"And where else is a retired Diver supposed to go?"

"Azure Prime."

He lets out a short laugh, no humor in it.

"Just another city with the same personality and a more expensive mask."

I don’t answer right away, because part of me hates admitting he isn’t wrong. Azure Prime wears blue stone, pretty glass, towers, and elegant contracts; the Red Squid Slums wear mud, rust, and leaking pipes. But human cruelty knows how to change clothes when it needs to get into nicer places.

Richard passes the bottle from one hand to the other and looks at Zoe.

"If I go back to the trenches, maybe I don’t really come back. If I die, no one looks after her. If I stay here, then at least when this... happens..." His voice falters for a moment. "I’m close enough to pick up the pieces."

The sentence lands heavier than any shout could have.

"And Azure Prime?"

"I don’t have the money to live there with her." He aims the bottle at the door. "Here I’ve got a roof, a counter, bad clientele, and people who still owe me enough favors not to burn the place down while I sleep."

I think about the offer that brought me here. My original plan was simple: thank the man who gave me my first chance after my return, settle the moral debt, and turn the Red Squid Slums into a new front for the duct-cleaning business. This city is a money mine breathing poison, and whoever solves the problem first buys not just profit, but dependency.

But now? Now it’s gotten too personal.

I don’t know exactly what Lola, Rhayne, and the big guy did to me, each in their own way, but a line is getting clearer inside my head. I can still calculate the world as a sequence of risks, returns, and costs. I just can’t pretend anymore that certain people are disposable variables.

"I came back to make you an offer," I say. "I came to pay a debt. Looks like I arrived at the right time."

Richard studies me over the bottle.

"A solution to all this? Don’t tell jokes, kid. It hasn’t been two months since you were begging me for the chance to scrub my toilet."

"Exactly." I let my voice go firm. "Look at me now. Do I look like I’m scrubbing latrines?"

He looks.

This time, really looks.

Not at the face of the boy who cleaned his ducts for Scales. At the armor, the way I carry my energy, the Eventide clipped to my belt, the calm that doesn’t match my age. I watch his read adjust in silence, layer by layer.

Before I can go on, Zoe lets out another faint groan.

Richard tips his chin toward the narrow bed in the corner.

"Put her there."

I carry Zoe carefully while Richard folds back the blanket with a gentleness that doesn’t suit the big hands of a tavern keeper, and I lay her down. He settles the fabric over her as if covering his daughter were a small war won against the world.

We sit back down at the table.

"What do you have in mind?" he asks.

I pull the Crest of Azurea from my inventory and set it on the wood.

Richard goes still.

His gaze rests on the brooch too long. There’s no ignorance there. He knows what it is, or at least enough not to touch it right away. When he finally picks it up, he turns the metal between his fingers, hunting for a flaw, a forgery, any detail to prove reality is still less absurd than it seems.

"You were generous with me when I arrived," I say. "I want to return it."

"With real protection?"

"With opportunity first. Protection after, if you accept."

He doesn’t smile.

"Go on."

"My first idea was to lock down contracts for cleaning the ducts here. You’d be the local broker. Contacts, reputation, access to the right residents and owners and places. In exchange, I’d give you a cut of what comes in."

"How much?"

"I was going to say ten."

"But after what I saw today," I continue, "the offer’s changed. On top of that, I want you to manage a factory of mine in Azure Prime. You run operations, people, discipline, internal security. Zoe can work with us when she’s ready. I guarantee a roof, a wage, and contractual protection for both of you."

Richard runs a hand through his hair several times, the gesture chipping away at the solid figure he’s been trying to hold.

"How can I trust you?" he asks. "Or better, why would you trust me?"

"I don’t."

The honesty cuts the air better than any pretty promise.

"But you’ve shown yourself to be different in Thirstfall. And everything will be done by contract under Ocean’s Law. OXI Bleeding penalty, secrecy clause, a clear split of responsibilities. Trust is weak. A contract bleeds better."

Richard laughs through his nose, almost in spite of himself.

"You really have changed, latrine boy."

"I’ve been trying to diversify my résumé."

He looks at Zoe, then at the Crest, then at me. The offer is too good to accept without fear and too desperate to refuse outright.

I recognize this kind of silence. It isn’t simple doubt. It’s a man deciding whether hope is still a tool or just another form of torture.

"Zoe?" I ask.

He blinks, as if I’d switched topics too fast.

"Yeah. Just Zoe." His voice drops. "Surnames are for Divers. Giving her mine wouldn’t bring her anything good."

I understand without asking.

"I’ll leave you two alone a moment. Think it over."

I stand and walk to the swinging door. My hand is already on the frame when Richard calls out.

"Dryden."

I turn.

He takes a scrap of paper from the corner of the table and writes an address in a heavy, hurried hand, still legible, along with some line that makes no sense to me at all. Then he folds it and hands it over.

"Go here. Tell them Richard Boulevard sent you. They’ve needed their ducts cleaned for months."

I take the paper, feeling a little uncertain.

"Thank you, Richard."

"Don’t thank me." He catches my hand before I can pull away. The grip is strong, but not hostile. "Fifteen percent. Not a hair less."

I look at him.

Then at Zoe.

I grip back.

"Deal."

Richard lets go of my hand, but his face doesn’t relax.

"And be careful, kid. The Red Squid Slums is nothing close to what you think." He looks at the door, but I feel his gaze travel past it, to the room beyond, to the city breathing badly burned OXI outside. "If you think it’s bad, that’s because you’ve only seen the surface."