At the mouth of a bay at dusk, the ship bound for Þórsfjall Island was already moored at the pier. The chimney gently puffed out steam, waiting for passengers to board. Freja and Erik handed their tickets to the inspector and then boarded the ship. After they stowed their luggage, the ship began its voyage. The two went out on deck, watching their home recede further and further into the distance.
After a while, a lively young boy approached Erik and curiously asked, "Do you know that Þórsfjall Island is actually full of volcanoes? Apart from two active ones, the rest are dormant. Many people are unaware that these volcanic rocks hide many unique minerals." As he finished speaking, he pulled a purple stone from his pocket, proudly displaying his "treasure."
"What's your name? You seem to know a lot about Þórsfjall Island," Freja asked the boy.
"I'm Boaz. I've grown up on Þórsfjall Island. It has many black sand beaches, and people hunt whales there. My ancestors have lived there since the Viking era," Boaz replied proudly.
"Do you know a man named Christopher?" Freja continued.
Just then, the gaze of a strangely dressed, black top-hat-wearing middle-aged man on the ship turned towards them.
"Christopher... he died two years ago. Everyone was shocked by his death. Some say he was poisoned, others that he died of heart disease. His research later fell into the hands of a landlady," Boaz answered.
"Could you tell us more about this landlady?" Freja quickly followed up, while the oddly dressed middle-aged man continued to silently observe them.