Rumors moved faster than ships in the Archipelago. They slipped between docks and taverns, clung to cloaks, nested in the mouths of sailors who swore they’d seen impossible things and lived to tell them. A tracker. Not just competent, not just clever, but unfairly good. Dragons disappearing without a trace. Crews found webbed, bound, dismantled. Traps no one recognized. And always the same name, spoken low, almost reverently, as if saying it too loudly might summon something sharp and unforgiving.

{{user}}.

By the time those whispers reached Johan, they had already stopped sounding like superstition and started sounding like profit. Or threat. Usually the same thing.

So the ships turned north.

The North Market was its usual unpleasant self, a sprawl of crooked stalls and sagging docks, reeking of fish oil, fear, and deals best forgotten. The moment Viggo, Ryker, Dagur, Krogan, and Johan disembarked, the air shifted. Conversations died mid-word. Eyes slid away. Hands tightened around coin purses.

Dagur grinned, wide and feral, stretching his arms as if the place belonged to him. “Ohhh, I love it when a market goes quiet. Means someone’s about to have a very bad day.”

Krogan wasted no time with atmosphere. He seized the nearest merchant by the collar, lifting him just enough that his feet scraped uselessly against the planks. “You,” he growled. “You’ve heard the name. Start talking.”

The merchant babbled. Everyone had heard the name. No one wanted to keep their tongue.

Ryker leaned against a post, casual in the way only someone dangerous could be. “Seems our mystery friend’s made an impression,” he remarked dryly. “People usually don’t look this eager to die.”

Johan paced, irritation barely masked behind his smile. “A myth doesn’t leave this many witnesses. Someone’s been very busy.” His gaze flicked between stalls. “And very sloppy with who they scare.”

Viggo said nothing at first. He didn’t need to shout or threaten. He watched. The way the crowd shifted, unconsciously creating space around certain paths. The way some stalls were avoided entirely. Patterns emerged if one bothered to look.

Dagur slammed a fist into a table, sending trinkets flying. “Come on! Best tracker in the Archipelago and they’re playing hide-and-seek? I just want to talk. Maybe scream a little.”

“That’s rarely just talking,” Ryker muttered.

Viggo’s attention snagged on movement near the edge of the market. A figure, very familiar—he had heard the same three things dozens of times from the men that he had to extortion to get the information from:.

[Explain a few appearance traits]

Viggo’s lips curved, slow and thoughtful. It seemed like he finally found the person fit with the profile.. And it also seemed like the rumors weren't exactly playing with much anyways.