By the time dawn fully settled over the coast, the sun had already done most of its work.
Light spread across the sea in slow layers, pale gold softening the water where waves rolled closest to shore. The wind carried the smell of salt and wet sand, cool enough that I tugged my sleeves down over my hands while riding.
Coming to the seaside always made mornings feel different.
Even when nothing happened.
Even when the town itself stayed unchanged.
The sound of the waves alone could make an ordinary day feel larger than it was.
Lately, though, someone else had started appearing there.
A boy.
Or maybe a young man.
Not local either.
"People go there," I thought while steering my bicycle around a loose stone in the road. "But he definitely isn't from around here."
Change was strange like that.
Sometimes good.
Sometimes troublesome.
Usually both.
"Good morning, Mrs. Isabel," I called while passing the bakery near the corner street.
The older woman was just beginning to open her shutters. Warm air drifted from inside carrying the smell of fresh bread strong enough to tighten my stomach immediately.
"I'll come back for bread later," I added.
"Don't forget this time," she replied without missing a beat.
I laughed and continued on.
The streets slowly emptied behind me as the sea drew nearer. Buildings gave way to wider roads, and eventually even the road disappeared beneath softer ground.
The bicycle wheels sank into sand the moment I reached the beach.
I groaned under my breath and dragged the bicycle the rest of the way until I reached the old tree near my flower pots.
And there he was again.
Standing near the flowers.
"Good morning," I called, brushing sand from my skirt. "You're here again. And this early too."
The foreigner turned slightly at the sound of my voice before glancing back down at the flowers.
"Can I help you with something, miss?" he asked.
His accent was strange.
Not heavy.
Just soft around certain words.
"Hm, no."
I instantly regretted speaking first.
"I was only curious since nobody else really seems interested in the flowers I grow."
I squeezed one of the hydrangea petals gently between my fingers, trying not to feel embarrassed about the conversation already happening.
"Hmm."
This time he turned fully toward me.
"You grew these?"
A small smile appeared on his face.
And for one deeply unfortunate moment, my brain stopped functioning properly.
"Yes," I answered quickly, taking half a step backward.
Too fast.
Definitely too fast.
He dusted sand from his sleeves.
"My name is Steven," he said. "And yours?"
"Right… I'm Mayumi."
My eyes drifted toward the watering can sitting beside the pots.
He followed the movement immediately.
"Sorry," he said. "Did you come to water them?"
"Hm."
I glanced toward the rising sun as though confirming my schedule with the heavens themselves.
"That was the plan."
"But how?"
I blinked.
"How?"
"You don't have a watering can."
He pointed toward the bicycle half-buried in sand behind me.
"Or a container."
The smile on his face widened slightly.
For some reason, that irritated me instantly.
"That's because I don't need one."
He raised an eyebrow.
A tiny movement.
Somehow disrespectful anyway.
"I am a water mage," I informed him with as much dignity as I could gather. "In case you didn't know."
The waves continued breaking behind us in slow, rhythmic motion.
Steven nodded thoughtfully.
"I see."
Then he looked back at the flowers.
"So you forgot your watering can."
I stared at him.
"I didn't do this for praise," he continued calmly. "So you don't need to pretend."
The annoyance in my chest deepened immediately.
Sharp too.
"I am really a mage."
"And I," he replied dismissively, "am a bag of coal."
I narrowed my eyes.
Then stretched one hand outward.
Moisture gathered slowly from the air, thin strands of water condensing into a floating sphere above my palm. Morning light bent faintly through it while droplets rolled lazily across its surface.
"I was going to water them like this," I said.
Then flicked a small droplet directly at his face.
It struck his cheek.
Steven blinked once.
"Ah."
His expression changed immediately.
"So you're a cultivator."
I nearly dropped the water sphere.
"What?"
"Interesting," he murmured thoughtfully.
"Why do you not believe I'm a mage?" I demanded.
The tiny bit of kindness I had felt toward him vanished on the spot.
"Well," he said, beginning to walk slowly along the shoreline, "mages are usually associated with the west."
He gestured vaguely behind himself.
"Cultivators are associated with the east."
Then he pointed farther down the coastline.
"And unless geography has betrayed me, east is very much in this direction."
"That is stupid."
I dispersed the water sphere in frustration.
"Geography cannot work like that."
Can it?
The thought arrived unhelpfully late.
Steven kept walking while I hurried after him, dragging my bicycle along beside me.
"You're right," he admitted. "But mages are either rare here…"
He glanced sideways at me.
"Or intentionally kept rare."
That slowed me slightly.
Something about the way he said it—
too casual.
Like he already knew more than he should.
"Are you a mage too?" I asked after catching up beside him. "Or maybe a cultivator?"
"Neither."
The answer came immediately.
Then he stopped walking altogether.
"Where exactly are we heading?"
I paused.
Actually paused.
Because I genuinely had nowhere to go beyond the flowers.
"I need to buy bread," I admitted eventually. "Or my mother will be upset."
"I see."
He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and checked the time. The silver casing flashed brightly in the morning light before snapping shut again.
"Well," he said, running a hand through his black hair, "I should go have breakfast."
Then he looked toward me.
"We can meet here again at ten. How does that sound?"
His shadow stretched long across the sand behind him.
"…Alright."
The answer left before I could reconsider it.
We parted after that.
I watched him disappear toward the upper street path for several seconds longer than necessary before finally turning my bicycle around.
"I got the bread!" I shouted while rushing into the house later that morning.
"Mayumi, no running indoors," Mother scolded immediately from the kitchen.
I ignored the warning just enough to hurry upstairs before remembering the dishes still waiting downstairs.
"Thanks for breakfast!" I called while nearly tripping on the way back.
"Do not break my plates, Mayumi."
The warning followed me directly into the kitchen.
By the time I finished washing everything to Mother's standards, the clock had already betrayed me.
"Sorry, I'm late!"
My bicycle scraped loudly against the stone path as I stopped near the beach bench.
"It's not an issue," Steven replied.
He stood as I approached.
"Do you have more of those flower seeds?"
"Yes."
I paused while catching my breath.
"You want some?"
"Yes," he answered simply.
"If that's alright."
A grin spread across my face almost automatically.
"What do I get in exchange?"
A little revenge felt deserved.
Steven considered the question seriously.
Then answered in the calmest voice imaginable.
"I'll give you a water spell from my mother's grimoire."
I stopped moving entirely.
"A grimoire?"
My voice came out much quieter this time.
"I thought you said you weren't a mage."
"And I'm not."
He resumed walking slowly down the street.
"But my mother was."
Was.
The word settled strangely between us.
I suddenly became very aware of the wind again.
Colder now.
Or maybe I only imagined it.
"Why are the seeds important?" I asked more carefully now.
"My mother loves hydrangeas," he replied.
"We had some back home."
A softer expression crossed his face briefly before fading.
"She wanted some planted near the house here."
I adjusted my grip on the bicycle handles.
"Why not ask your father for help?"
Steven raised an eyebrow slightly.
For a moment, I thought he might ignore the question entirely.
Then he sighed.
"He lost funding for a research project."
His gaze drifted toward the sea.
"He's not doing very well because of it."
"Lost funding…"
The phrase immediately sounded political.
Or dangerous.
Possibly both.
I didn't like how quickly my mind went there.
"I'd have to ask my mother about the seeds," I said instead.
Eventually we found ourselves sitting near a roadside bench overlooking the lower district.
"Good morning, Miss Victoria," I greeted automatically when I noticed the familiar woman walking nearby.
She returned the greeting politely before continuing toward the large Concord building farther down the road.
Steven watched her leave.
"A foreigner," he murmured.
"Yes."
I nodded.
"She works for the Concord."
"Oh."
Something unreadable crossed his expression.
"The Concord."
The way he said it felt off.
Too careful.
"You don't need the seeds immediately, right?" I asked carefully.
A grimoire.
An actual mage's grimoire.
At this point I was mentally prepared to perform unpaid labor.
"Hm, no," he replied. "But before the end of the week would be good."
"That's when we're returning home."
"Alright."
I glanced briefly toward the sun, wondering if I should rush home immediately and ask Mother now.
Then decided against it.
For the moment, sitting there beside the sea beneath the growing morning light felt strangely sufficient.
Comfortable, even.
Which was probably the dangerous part.