Four days after leaving The Golden Dunes and Grove, we finally arrived at Roderick’s Haven.
Most people simply called it Port Roderick.
I understood why the moment the city appeared along the horizon.
Even from a distance, the harbor looked enormous.
White and cream-colored towers rose beside the coastline beneath red-tiled roofs glowing warmly under the afternoon sun.
Far behind them, green hills stretched across the horizon while hundreds of ship masts swayed above the harbor like a forest of wood and canvas.
The closer we traveled, the louder the city became.
Waves against docks.
Seagulls overhead.
Merchant bells.
Voices shouting cargo counts across the harbor.
The scent of salt mixed with roasted fish, spice, coffee, polished wood, and expensive perfume carried through the sea wind all at once.
Compared to Tailwind Harbour, this city felt less chaotic.
Not because it was smaller.
If anything, it was larger.
But everything here moved with confidence.
As if the city already knew exactly what it was.
Long mahogany docks stretched across the harbor beside white stone walkways crowded with merchants, sailors, travelers, and guild workers carrying ledgers beneath their arms.
Ships from countless regions stood anchored across the water.
Fishing vessels.
Trade caravels.
Massive three-masted merchant ships with colorful sails shifting beneath the ocean wind.
Many buildings carried the same emblem displayed across banners and carved stone signs.
A golden coin.
Balanced scales engraved at the center.
The symbol of Roderick Street.
Ryn walked beside us exactly as she always had.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Nothing about her expression or posture changed after entering the city.
If anything, the city adjusted around her instead.
People greeted her constantly while we crossed through the streets.
“Miss Roderick.”
Shopkeepers.
Dock workers.
Traveling merchants.
Guild employees passing between buildings.
Each greeted her naturally.
Not fearfully.
Not stiffly.
Warmly.
Ryn answered each greeting with the same small smile and polite nod before continuing forward beside the caravan.
At one point, an elderly flower seller near the promenade called out to her from beneath a striped canopy.
“Miss Roderick!”
Ryn stopped immediately.
The old woman laughed softly before placing several pale orange flowers into her hands.
“A gift,” she said.
“No arguing.”
Ryn thanked her with visible familiarity.
The woman refused payment before waving us away again.
I remember staring at the flowers longer than necessary while we continued walking.
Until then, I think part of me imagined people respected Ryn because of her family name.
Or her position.
Or because she belonged to something powerful.
But this felt different.
The people here genuinely seemed to like her.
Not cautiously.
Not politically.
Simply… naturally.
That realization stayed inside my thoughts longer than I expected.
The farther we traveled into the city, the stronger the urge became.
To finally ask her directly.
About the name.
About Roderick Street.
About who she truly was beneath the calm smile and merchant negotiations.
The answer already felt obvious at this point.
Yet somehow, speaking the question aloud still felt difficult.
As though asking would permanently change the shape of something between us.
And I still did not know whether I wanted that to happen.
Eventually, the streets widened into a quieter district near the inner harbor.
The buildings here were larger.
Cleaner.
Less decorative than I expected.
Efficient.
Purposeful.
Guild workers moved constantly between offices carrying documents, ledgers, sealed containers, and trade manifests.
At the center stood the headquarters of Roderick Street.
A massive white stone structure overlooking the harbor.
Tall windows reflected the sea light across polished walls while blue banners carrying the golden coin-and-scale emblem shifted above the entrance beneath the ocean wind.
No unnecessary ornament.
No attempt to impress.
The building simply stood there with the quiet confidence of something that already possessed power.
The caravan stopped before the entrance.
For a brief moment, I looked toward Ryn again.
She noticed immediately, of course.
“You’re staring,” she said.
I quickly looked away.
Ryn laughed softly beneath her breath.
And somehow—
That only made it harder to ask.
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