I read the circle of Divers as I close in, careful not to let the wrong expression slip too soon.

Five of them. Three men, two women. From the posture, the noise, and the confidence spread too thin, none of them has spent enough time in Thirstfall to understand that strength loaned by the system doesn’t turn cowardice into courage.

This is a starter zone. If I’m right, they’re weaker than the cadets I faced at the Academy. At least the nobles had been trained before their first Dive. These ones look like they mistook their first stat bump for a moral license to step on people.

And the cruelest part is that Ocean’s Law won’t lift a finger for the woman on the ground.

Divers take a penalty when they attack other Divers outside the rules. The system registers the assault, calculates the damage, charges the bill. But Drowneds don’t get the same protection. They carry no body back on Earth. No anchor, no status, no interface flashing a violation.

They’re people, but for plenty of folks that stops mattering the moment convenience shows up.

Some of them keep kicking the woman without even noticing me arrive. Two, though, catch on. Their grins falter when their eyes climb to my clothes, to the way I walk, to the Horizon Set with its matte glow under the neon.

I definitely don’t belong in the Red Squid Slums right now.

So I smile.

I throw my arms open like I’ve just stumbled onto the best party on the street.

"Well, would you look at this," I say, keeping my voice light, almost amused. "One hell of a party."

The shift is instant. The two who’d been sizing me up loosen. One breaks into a crooked grin, relieved to file me under the wrong category. People like that always prefer to believe everyone’s the same as they are, because it turns their own rot into something normal.

"Yo, brother!" one of the guys shouts, lifting his drink. "Come on over. Check out this loser."

Right then, another of them lands a kick to the back of the fallen Drowned’s neck.

The sound isn’t loud, but it goes through my whole body. The woman writhes in the mud, letting out a broken grunt, more reflex than voice. My lungs stall for half a second. My right eye locks, unmoving, trembling faintly while the anger climbs my throat like an ember.

I hold myself back.

Not out of mercy.

Out of self-preservation.

If I tear through this circle the way I want to, Ocean’s Law will remind me that in Thirstfall, authority has nothing to do with justice.

"Damn," I say, forcing the smile to stay on my face. "You really did a number on her. What’d she do?"

I tap my fist lightly against one of the men’s, like I’m joining the game. His skin is sweaty, his eyes bright with drink and adrenaline.

"This bitch wouldn’t sell herself and lie down for my boy over there." He points at the kid who just kicked her. "So we figured we’d teach her some manners."

I read the group’s makeup in an instant. Two couples and one man on his own. The lone man got turned down, and the others turned his humiliation into a group punishment. No grand conspiracy, no system, no destiny. Just humanity at its cheapest.

’The faith that drives me to save humanity is the same one that crushes me when I see what it’s become.’

The lone kid steps back twice, winding up for another kick. This time he takes a running start, hunting for momentum. The woman is lying on her side, her body too scattered to defend itself. If he connects the way he means to, she might not get up again.

I wanted to settle this without paying the full bill.

I did. But it’s getting hard to hold.

"Stop."

My voice comes out low, dry, and cold enough to kill the conversation before it touches anyone.

The kid freezes mid-motion.

My face drops the act. My aura detonates around me with the same intensity I used against Cassio, only compressed, aimed, a raw pressure heavy enough to make the mud tremble under my boots.

Silence falls over the circle all at once. Behind it, the Red Squid Slums goes on: pipes hissing, rune signs flickering out, distant coughing, the city breathing poison. At the center, the Drowned still moans, low, proof that she’s fighting to stay alive.

I pull a Plate from my inventory and hold it up between two fingers.

"I’ve got thirty of these."

One of the girls lets out a nervous laugh, trying to save her pride before it runs off into the mud.

"Pfft, look at him. The jackass thinks he’s something."

I draw Eventide and ignite it.

The black blade wakes with a low sound, like a ghost remembering the way home. The weapon’s dark light changes their expressions again. This time no grin comes back. Only eyes going wide, mouths parting a little, bodies understanding before their minds do that this street just got far too small.

"And you can bet," I say, looking at them one by one, "that if you’re not gone in the next breath, I’ll pay every penalty the system wants to charge to roll your heads down this street."

Nobody laughs.

"One by one... and with a kick to send them off."

The fear grows in their eyes fast, with no dignity, no resistance. I know that look. I felt something like it reflected inside me when Rector Dean let his aura erupt in the observatory.

The difference is that I was standing in front of a monster. They’re standing in front of a bill they ran up all by themselves.

The first one runs. Then the girl who laughed. Then the rest trip over each other, kicking up mud and spilling drink as they try to back off without fully turning their backs. The lone kid is the last to move, but I only have to tilt the blade a little for him to discover that a Diver’s speed is a different thing from an ordinary man’s.

I watch until they vanish into the alleys.

Only then do I kneel in the mud.

The woman is still breathing, but her body doesn’t seem to believe it. Her lips move, trying to form words that don’t arrive whole. Each sound comes out like a broken alarm, fear tangled into a language the trauma refuses to translate.

"It’s all right," I say, softening my voice until I barely recognize it. "You’re safe now."

I reach to touch her shoulder, to turn her gently and check the wounds. Her eyes snap open, black as two onyx stones lost in a face caked with mud. She thrashes, weak but desperate, trying to escape me as if my hand were just another part of the circle.

"Easy. Easy. It’s over."

The line is a necessary lie. Nothing is over. Not for her. Maybe not for a long while. But the human body needs small lies to survive truths too large to hold.

Her hair looks dark blond under the filth, plastered to her face and neck. The bluish skin of the Drowneds shows through smears of mud and spilled drink. I see bruises, shallow cuts, signs of too much impact for a person no one there counted as a person.

I take off the upper half of the Horizon Armor and lay it over her, covering what those idiots tried to expose. Dignity, in that moment, is the least I can give back.

"I’m going to lift you," I warn, even unsure whether she understands. "Don’t fight me. I’m not them."

She’s still shaking when I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Her body is far too light. That detail irritates me in a way I can’t name. I lift her carefully, keeping the armor’s mantle over her, and look around for anyone useful.

No one comes closer.

Of course.

If I give her an accelerated healing potion in the state she’s in, I might save the tissue and destroy whatever’s left of her mind in the process. Drowneds aren’t Divers built to take that kind of pain. Even among Divers, I’ve watched strong men black out from treatment rushed too fast.

So I walk.

The bar from before is still the best option. The man in the apron, the one I owe a little, is about to see his payment jump by a few digits.

The woman moans against my chest, and I adjust her weight so her head doesn’t sway.

"Looks like," I murmur, heading through the mud toward the tavern, "my debt just got bigger."