Harun's laughter died as quickly as it had come.
"Don't look so relieved," he said. "An agreement spoken is cheap. There are conditions."
Atem nodded once. "There always are."
Harun gestured toward one of the enforcers. The man stepped forward and placed a folded document on the counter, its surface stamped with the Dock Masters' Union seal.
"From tomorrow onward, all profits are to be recorded and reported to the Union monthly."
Atem unfolded the document slowly, scanning it without hurry.
"And the blacklist?"
Harun waved a hand. "Already being corrected. By tomorrow morning, your name won't be worth mentioning."
Atem's eyes paused briefly on one clause before moving on.
"That's fair."
Harun tapped the counter lightly. "One more thing. From this point on, you don't solve problems alone. If pressure comes—from officials, guilds, or anyone else—you report it. Acting on your own only makes things messy."
Atem folded the document and slid it back across the counter.
"I've had enough of acting alone."
Harun snorted. "Good. That habit gets people killed."
He paused at the doorway, then glanced at one of the enforcers.
"Do it."
The man with the eye patch nodded once and stepped back inside. He reached beneath his coat and drew out a folded banner. The cloth was thick, reinforced with stitched aether-thread. When it unfurled, the mark was unmistakable—an iron anchor wrapped in twin chains, the seal of the Dock Masters' Union.
"So we're not being subtle after all," Atem said, a quiet chuckle escaping him.
Harun snorted. "Subtle doesn't keep dogs away. This does."
The enforcer pushed open the shop door and stepped outside. The second man followed, already carrying a small metal stamp and a strip of sealing wax.
First came the scrape of boots and the dull thud of metal against wood.
Then—
"Hey… is that the Union flag?"
"No way. On Twin Shores?"
"I thought that place was finished. Didn't it get blacklisted?"
The murmurs spread, passing from one passerby to the next like ripples through shallow water.
Outside, the enforcer climbed a short ladder and fixed the banner above the shop entrance.
The second man pressed the Union seal into the wax beside the doorframe. A faint glow flared briefly, then sank into the wood, leaving behind a dull metallic imprint.
Inside, Harun watched Atem's reflection in the glass.
"From now on," Harun said evenly, "anyone who wants to touch your shop will have to explain themselves to the docks first."
"So it's true… he picked a side."
"Tch. Smart. The Union doesn't play clean, but they don't abandon their own either."
"I heard the Star Tower was circling him."
"Doesn't matter now. You cross Twin Shores, you cross the docks."
Atem finally shook his head and looked toward the door.
"Then there's no going back."
Harun smiled thinly. "There never is."
He turned and stepped outside, raising his voice just enough for those lingering nearby to hear.
"Business as usual," Harun announced. "Twin Shores operates under Dock Masters' Union protection. Anyone with concerns is welcome to bring them to us."
Several people lowered their heads and moved on. Others lingered a moment longer, eyes fixed on the banner, committing the sight to memory before hurrying away.
Harun glanced back once more.
"Open tomorrow," he said. "You'll have customers."
Then he left, his men following behind him as the crowd slowly dispersed.
Atem stood alone in the shop, listening to the fading footsteps and murmurs outside.
For better or worse—
Twin Shores had been claimed.
---
Elsewhere, within a quiet upper chamber—
Merlin dropped to one knee the moment the door closed.
"Sir… there have been complications with Twin Shores."
The man seated before him was young and handsome, dressed in simple blue robes.
"Sea Garden?" Talar asked casually.
"No."
"Golden Delta Hall?"
Merlin shook his head. "Neither."
A faint crease appeared between Talar's brows.
"…Dock Masters' Union?"
"Yes," Merlin said quickly. "Everything happened too fast. The kid moved very fast."
Talar let out a slow sigh.
"And the other shops?"
"All seized," Merlin replied. "The blacklist worked perfectly."
Talar laughed softly.
"Good. We'll have to thank Brother Oshen for that. The Imperial Consulate's pressure was… very useful."
Merlin hesitated. "But sir… what do we do about Twin Shores?"
Talar fell silent.
After a long pause, he said calmly, "Nothing."
Merlin looked up in shock.
"The Union isn't easy to provoke," Talar continued. "They're backed by too many rogue cultivators. No sect would offend them over a single mortal shop."
He tapped the armrest lightly.
"At least… not openly."
---
After a single week, Twin Shores felt alive again.
From early morning until dusk, customers arrived in steady waves. Fishermen, dock workers, small merchants, even faces Atem didn't recognize. Some asked about spearheads. Others inquired about pills. A few merely stepped inside, glanced at the Union banner above the door, and nodded to themselves before leaving.
By midday, Atem barely had time to wipe the counter.
He worked efficiently—answering questions, recording sales, wrapping goods. The familiar rhythm returned, but heavier now. Louder. More demanding.
Too many people.
By evening, Atem leaned against the counter, rubbing his wrist.
"…At this rate," he muttered, "I'll need another pair of hands."
The thought lingered.
Hiring meant trust. Trust meant risk. But running the shop alone like this wasn't sustainable anymore.
He was still considering it when the bronze bell rang again.
Two figures entered.
The first was a young man dressed in immaculate robes—dark blue silk lined with silver thread, patterns woven so finely they caught the light with every step. A jade clasp rested at his waist, and his boots never quite seemed to touch the dusty floor.
Behind him walked an older man, leaning heavily on a wooden cane.
The young man glanced around the shop, faint disdain flickering in his eyes.
"Is this the place?" he asked casually, not bothering to lower his voice.
The man behind him nodded quickly.
"Yes, Young Master. This is Twin Shores."
Atem studied them.
The first looked wealthy—perhaps a cultivator, or at least closely connected to one.
The second… a servant, maybe. Though a poor condition for one.
He reminded himself not to judge too quickly.
Atem smiled and inclined his head slightly.
"How can I help you, sir?"