One of the inn's private rooms was dimly lit, the soft glow of bioluminescent algae in glass spirals casting a faint light over the round table. The shadows shifted gently with the raising sun outside. The far yet bearable sound of the waves added an eerie rhythm to the air.
Aleks leaned back in his chair, his usual air of nonchalance tempered by a glint of calculation in his sharp gaze.
Across from him sat the innkeeper, a middle-aged seafolk with webbed hands that nervously tapped the table's edge. Beside him, his associate, a younger woman with an easy smile that faltered whenever Aleks spoke, clutched a quill, the blank parchment before her trembling in her grip.
Arthur, seated next to Aleks, exuded calm authority.
His cyan-slit eyes, sharp as blades, held the two seafolks captive. The room was cloaked in silence so heavy that even the faint hum of the underwater inn seemed muffled.
