The transition was immediate again.
Warmth.
Clean air.
A soft blend of baked dough, caramelized sugar, and brewed fruit teas filled the space, wrapping through the interior in gentle waves.
Shelves were neatly arranged, every item labeled and priced with glowing rune script that floated faintly above the goods.
A few customers stood toward the far end of the store, speaking in low voices.
No weapons drawn.
No tension in the air.
Just commerce.
The attendant—a young woman with neatly tied hair and a carefully maintained, slightly nervous smile—looked up.
She froze for half a second when the group entered.
Then recovered quickly.
"…Welcome."
Aldric didn't hesitate.
He was already moving toward the display counter.
"I want everything that looks good."
The cultist let out a quiet sigh.
"That is not a selection strategy."
"It is for me."
Draven moved more slowly through the store, scanning items briefly before selecting several packaged pastries and bottled drinks without hesitation.
Efficient.
Uninvolved.
Nia followed closely beside him.
He paused in front of a row of small wrapped sweets, then picked up several items without overthinking.
After a moment, he turned slightly.
"What do you want?"
Nia looked at the selection for a moment.
"…This."
She pointed to a simple fruit pastry wrapped in clear paper.
Draven took three immediately, placed them into a small bag, and handed it to her.
Nia blinked once.
Then accepted it carefully.
"…Thank you."
Aldric glanced over.
"Wow. Second time she's spoken today."
He leaned slightly toward Draven.
"I'm starting to think she just doesn't like annoying people."
The cultist responded without hesitation.
"That would include you."
"Consistent logic."
At the counter, the attendant began calculating quietly while Aldric dropped a handful of coins onto the surface.
Then, without warning, he reached into his coat and produced a pouch he clearly had no intention of keeping.
He tossed it onto the counter as well.
"Add that."
The cultist narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…Whose is that?"
Aldric didn't look at her.
"Probably someone who won't miss it."
A pause.
"Or someone already dead. Hard to tell in Blackwater."
The attendant hesitated.
"…That is a large amount."
Aldric shrugged.
"Good."
Draven placed his payment card down calmly and tapped it once.
Aldric watched the confirmation display appear.
"…Every time I see that, I feel like I'm financially irresponsible by comparison."
The cultist replied flatly.
"You are financially irresponsible."
"Yeah, so give me access to the card so I stop being bad at it."
A few minutes later, they left the store.
Now carrying bags of pastries, bottled drinks, and small wrapped sweets.
Aldric immediately opened one item while walking.
Nia quietly unwrapped her pastry and took a small bite as she moved beside Draven.
Her expression barely changed.
But she continued eating.
Which, for her, was already a clear answer.
The cultist walked slightly behind them, glancing at the storage ring where the remaining supplies had been placed.
"…We are accumulating unnecessary supplies inside the ring."
Aldric waved a hand dismissively.
"Food is never unnecessary."
Draven did not engage in the argument.
He simply continued walking forward through the crowded Blackwater street.
Smoke drifted overhead.
Distant warships still loomed faintly through the haze like silent watchers above the city.
The cultist slowed slightly.
Her gaze drifted across the passing street, then she exhaled softly as if settling on a conclusion.
"…We should not continue on foot."
Aldric glanced at her.
"Oh? Getting tired already?"
"I am being practical."
Her eyes shifted toward a passing enclosed transport—a reinforced motor carriage moving along the wider road where hired drivers ferried passengers between districts.
Steel-plated exterior.
Mana-buffered glass.
A faint stabilization array humming beneath its chassis.
Safer than walking.
Slightly less attention from the wrong kind of people.
She raised one hand.
"Stop."
The carriage slowed.
The driver—an older man wearing reinforced goggles and a worn coat—looked out through the side window.
"…Hire?"
The cultist stepped forward immediately.
"Yes. Take us to the nearest guild."
A brief pause.
His gaze flicked over the group.
Draven in his dark cloak.
Aldric in his expensive coat, bottle still in hand.
Nia quietly holding her pastry.
And the faint, unplaceable pressure that seemed to follow all of them without explanation.
"…Which guild?"
Aldric answered first, leaning forward slightly.
"Whichever one pays best."
The driver blinked slowly.
"…That is not how destinations work."
The cultist interjected calmly.
"The nearest one."
A pause.
"…Understood."
The driver unlocked the rear door.
The cultist entered first, scanning the interior quickly before sitting where she could observe both exits.
Aldric followed, stretching as he sat down.
"Finally. Sitting again."
Nia climbed in quietly after him, still carefully holding her pastry so it would not fall apart.
Draven entered last.
The black cat beneath his hood barely shifted, only adjusting its gaze briefly before settling again.
The door closed with a heavy mechanical click.
The engine hummed once.
Then the motor carriage pulled forward into the crowded street.
Outside, Blackwater blurred past—lantern-lit stalls, steam vents bursting in rhythmic hisses, armored patrols, and towering industrial frameworks stacked into the sky like fractured layers of an unfinished machine.
Inside, it was quieter.
Contained.