Chapter 35: A New Beginning

"So we’re all in agreement with New Haven then?" I said, finger hovering above my phone. "One click and everything apparently changes. Make sure you’re prepared for the house to..." I had to stop and think about my words before continuing. "It’s probably going to do some not so house things."

"Ready," they all chimed in simultaneously.

"Alright, here we go," I said, bracing myself as I pressed the button.

With a loud pop, the house lurched forward. The impact was enough to displace Micro-Sarah from Damara’s shoulder. Dust rained from the ceiling creating a cloud partially obstructing my view of the women.

With a second loud pop, everything seemed to snap into place. A moment later, light filtered through the front blinds.

Opening the front door allowed the soft moist ocean air to fill the manor. Taking a deep breath, a feeling of overwhelming happiness struck me. I turned to look at my companions, they responded with wide grins. The feeling surged harder making me want to do something special for them soon.

"You guys want to explore?" I asked, gesturing out the door. "New place, new us, you know," I chuckled. "Actually we should probably make sure Celestia didn’t drop us on someone’s garden or something."

"That’s probably a good idea," Damara added, laughing quietly after. "I can’t wait to go for a swim."

Stepping past the threshold, I inspected the area. The manor’s new front steps opened directly onto a wide, sun-bleached wooden boardwalk that overlooked a long crescent bay.

Below us, gentle waves rolled against a stretch of fine, pale sand, and the crisp morning air carried the clean scent of salt water and damp kelp.

Katrina took a slow, deep breath, her chest expanding as her golden-orange eyes locked onto the rolling surf. Her shoulders, usually held with a faint, defensive tension, dropped an inch or two.

"This place is beautiful," she huffed, looking over the horizon. "I can see for miles!"

Damara to her side was also taking in the sight, her red eyes gleaming. I loved this side of everyone. Making their eyes glint with possibility. It made me feel like I had a purpose, a place just for me. Micro-Sarah flew over, inspecting me.

"What’s wrong Sam?" she asked, her turquoise hair billowing in the breeze. "You have a weird look on your face."

"It’s nothing," I answered, grinning widely after. "Just really happy, that’s all."

Gesturing for them to follow, we made our way from the beach to a town. The walk down from the bluff took about twenty minutes via a winding stone trail that cut through thick patches of coastal brush.

By the time the path leveled out into the town’s outer skirts, the morning foot traffic had begun to pick up.

New Haven operated at a noticeably human speed compared to the capital. There were no flashing digital storefronts or roaring transit skiffs overhead. Instead, merchants were unlatching wooden shutters, rolling canvas awnings outward, and setting out crates of fresh catch from the morning’s first tide.

As we drifted onto the main thoroughfare, the change in atmosphere was immediate.

A pair of older men mending fishing nets near a drydock paused, their eyes flicking past me to linger on Damara’s curving horns and Katrina’s fox-like ears. In Yagisil or the harsher quarters of the outer districts, a look like that usually preceded an insult, a quick cross of the street, or worse. Here, one of the fishermen simply raised a weathered hand in a brief, neutral nod before going back to his twine.

A woman sweeping her shop’s front stoop smiled politely as we passed, paying far more attention to Micro-Sarah hovering curiously near a bunch of hanging wind chimes than she did to anyone’s anatomy.

Katrina slowed her pace, her shoulders finally losing that last vestige of defensive rigidity. She glanced sideways at a bakery window displaying heavy loaves of sourdough and dried fruit tarts, her tail giving a soft, slow sweep behind her.

"They don’t seem to care much," Katrina murmured, keeping her voice low.

"It’s a port town," Damara observed, adjusting the collar of her jacket as she scanned the surrounding alleys and storefronts.

"Which suits us just fine," I said, stepping around a wooden barrel filled with thick ropes. "Let’s find somewhere quiet to grab a coffee or figure out where the local market is. We’re residents now. Might as well act like it."

We turned down a narrow street lined with merchant stalls that sloped gently toward the lower docks, where the smell of brine grew thick enough to taste. Ahead of us, the street widened into a stone-paved plaza framed by open-air fish markets and storage sheds.

A sharp clatter cut through the ambient murmur of the square. Fifty feet away, a heavy wooden handcart piled high with crates of iced silver-scaled fish hit a deep rut in the cobblestones. The left wheel snapped with a dull crack, sending the entire carriage tilting violently to the side.

The wooden merchant standing beside it shouted in alarm as the top crate broke free, spilling a heavy avalanche of slick, thrashing fish across the slope of the street.

Worse yet, the cart’s brake slipped entirely. The heavy frame began to careen backward down the inclined slope, straight toward an open-air stall where a pair of young children were huddled near a stack of ceramic jars.

The market crowd gasped, bystanders freezing or stepping back instead of moving forward.

Before my brain could fully register the situation, the strength in my legs took over. I broke into a hard sprint, closing the distance in three long strides.

Throwing my weight forward, I planted my feet square against the ground and threw my hands out against the back rail of the runaway cart.

The impact slammed into my shoulders, jolting my teeth together, but my footing held. The cart shuddered, metal and wood groaning under the sudden counterforce, before skidding to a dead stop barely a foot away from the ceramic jars.

The street went dead silent for a fraction of a second.

I let out a sharp breath, blowing a stray lock of hair out of my eyes, and straightened up, shaking out my stinging palms.

"Whoa there," I muttered, looking down at the heavy cart. "That could have gone worse."

The heavy wooden frame of the cart settled with a dull creak against the slope. I wiped a streak of fish-scale slime off my sleeve, breathing a little easier as the market crowd finally exhaled.

"Nice moves, man!"

A heavy, calloused hand clapped down onto my shoulder with enough force to rattle my teeth. I turned around to find a burly guy with a salt-and-pepper beard, a thick canvas apron stained with brine, and a permanent squint etched around his eyes. He must have been the owner of the cart.

Right in my pocket, my phone let out a rapid, aggressive sequence of vibration buzzes.

I pulled it out, thumbing the screen awake. Instead of my normal home screen wallpaper, the Harem System app had forcefully launched itself, its display flashing with a flurry of incoming red and gold notification banners stacking up one after another:

[ QUEST ALERT: Local Infrastructure Protection ]

TASK: Assist the New Haven Docks Merchant Guild with heavy logistics and cargo recovery.

REWARD: +500 Favor + Town Rep

[ QUEST ALERT: The Rusty Anchor Problem ]

TASK: Clear the cellar of the local tavern of saltwater crabs before the evening rush.

REWARD: +300 Favor

[ QUEST ALERT: A Favor for the Harbor Master ]

TASK: Meet with Harbor Master Vance to discuss ’unusual outworlder disturbances’ in the bay.

REWARD: +1,000 Favor + ???

Before I could even swipe to dismiss the alerts, the bearded guy grabbed my other hand, shaking it vigorously while calling out to half a dozen people standing nearby.