—Sardines.
How on earth were you supposed to catch the things?
Yaku had no idea why the notion suddenly seized him—maybe he was simply hungry.
The moment Lumine heard "fresh fish," she was all in. She bragged that her fish-wrangling and spit-roasting skills were second to none and promptly volunteered to handle dinner.
Yaku wasn't convinced. Especially after she rolled two fist-sized clumps of black powder, cackled, and lobbed them straight into the surf.
"Have some decency," he protested. "Blowing fish to pieces is cheating."
"But you're the one who taught me the powder-fishing trick," Lumine retorted.
I taught her that? Yaku blanked for a beat.
"Fine—at least throw a few back," he sighed. "Show a little mercy; earn some good karma."
"No problem." Lumine nodded earnestly, then brightened.
"How about I catch them, release them, blow them up again, and keep repeating the cycle? Wouldn't I farm infinite karma that way?"
"…a perpetual-karma machine, really?" Yaku groaned.
"I'm a genius, right?" Lumine planted her hands on her hips, smug as a cat.
Yaku could only shake his head. "That's just exploiting the fish's surplus… karma value. Exploiting class karma is destined to be overthrown."
"Don't know what you just said," Lumine sniffed, still striking a heroic pose.
"Idiot."
Yaku chuckled.
Warm spring sunlight glittered on the water; gentle waves licked at jagged rocks, frothing into pearl-white foam. They were at the very edge of Sal Terrae, near the sea. When Yaku looked back inland he could make out the abandoned city, crumbling in the distance.
He had no idea why—only a vague intuition—but something pulled him farther down the shore.
"Hey! Where're you going?" Lumine called, one bomb already fizzing in her hand.
"Going to try my luck down that way," he answered. "I'll, uh, fish over there. You and Mr. Zhongli stay put."
"Great! We'll see whose catch—no, whose karma profit—is bigger!" Lumine waved, thoroughly unbothered.
Zhongli merely sighed. He wouldn't touch seafood anyway—bad allergies ever since that incident—so fishing methods hardly mattered to him.
Yaku raised a hand in acknowledgement and set off, feet sinking into sand speckled with sunlit salt crystals. The farther he walked, the more convinced he became that he was heading toward… something.
By the time sunset burned the sea crimson, Lumine and Zhongli were little more than distant flecks behind him.
Better grab at least one fish, Yaku thought wryly. He crouched and let elemental sense seep into the shallows. A trio of plump groupers cruised by—good for stew, but not what he wanted.
He waited. Patiently. Waves hissed, the sky dimmed, and at last—
Got you. Two slim sardines flipped in his palm like silver needles.
Spent all evening on two toothpicks; Lumine's going to laugh me off the beach, he mused, amused rather than annoyed. But when you really like something, who cares about time or winning?
Turning back, he almost stepped on something half-buried in the sand: an ancient glass bottle, neck cracked and edges dulled by centuries of tide. For some reason a story popped into his head—the fisherman who released a djinn from a jar:
"If you'd freed me two thousand years ago, I'd have granted three wishes.
A thousand years ago, one wish.
But you kept me waiting all this time—now I'll kill you instead."
Completely unreasonable. Yet Yaku felt he understood that djinn. Anyone, even a devil, would be lonely after ages sealed in darkness. Maybe, two thousand years ago, the djinn had been an angel eager to repay kindness.
He laughed at himself. What am I thinking? It's just a busted bottle—no jar, no devil.
Moonlight spilled across the beach. Yaku was about to toss the trash aside when the Salt Ruler and Salt Jar in his pack began dissolving—literally melting into the pale glow.
Like salt in water, they vanished between one heartbeat and the next.
What—?
Zhongli had said those relics held slivers of the Salt God's authority. Why would they simply evaporate?
Sha-sha…
That song again—wind in salt grains, soft and mournful. Tides hummed a wordless harmony. Yaku's pupils tightened. He whirled—
—And saw the djinn.
Moon-washed hair the colour of frost, a white dress fluttering above bare feet, too ethereal for a mortal, too real for a ghost. She stood where surf kissed the sand, eyes closed, humming the melody of sand and salt; moonlight draped her like a veil.
[Fifth Covenant complete: awaken "Her" in Sal Terrae.]
So this was their first meeting—and reunion.
For reasons beyond words, Yaku felt a surge of warmth, even joy. He waited until her song faded, then applauded softly.
"That was beautiful."
The praise slipped out before he knew it, smoothing away the restlessness in his chest. He smiled and asked:
"Forgive me, miss—who might you be?"
She opened liquid gold eyes and studied him. Then she leaned in—so close their breaths mingled—and sniffed.
Yaku froze. She was practically pressed to his chest, warm and fragrant in the night air. "Uh… what are you—?"
"Sardines," she said at last, voice like sea-worn glass. "You smell of sardines."
No manners at all.
"I brought sardines; I'm not made of them." Yaku lifted the two scruffy fish on their grass string. "My name's Seino Yaku—Yaku from '約束'. And you?"
"I am Salt." She paused. "Call me Lia."
'Havria'… the last few letters spell Lia.
So this was truly the revived God of Salt.
Up close, the gentle pressure she radiated felt anything but gentle. Zhongli had called her weak, but the aura rolling off her now was enough to crush most mortals flat.
Neither spoke for a time. Dusk bled away; full night settled.
Suddenly Yaku remembered—the deal with Lumine: home by sundown for supper. He cleared his throat.
"Lia, night's fallen. My friend Lumine is probably waiting with dinner. Would you care to come with me?"
Lumine? The name meant nothing to her. She shook her head softly.
"You brought sardines. I have salt. Why go 'home' to eat?"
"Just sardines and salt might not be enough—"
"It's plenty," Lia said, serene but unyielding. "Sardines and salt are all we need."
Yaku grimaced. Promises were promises, and he'd promised Lumine. "I'm sorry, but—"
"Seino Yaku." Her golden eyes fixed on him; moonlight seemed to pool in their depths. Bare feet moved soundlessly; the white hem swept night itself around her as she approached. A heaviness pressed down on him—godly sovereignty, rendering him immobile.
"You have made covenants with others," she whispered near his ear, breath cool as the tide. "But my covenant—will stand above theirs."
A statement, not a threat.
Yaku's heart thudded. Zhongli had warned that Havria was gentle; this Lia felt more like a lovely, terrible djinn.
He started to protest. "I—"
"Who is Lumine…? I do not care," Lia said quietly.
"My covenant—now and forever—takes precedence over hers."
The Human Principles System chimed:
[Fifth Covenant complete — Reward: "Sardine Cuisine Techniques."]
[Sixth Covenant: Season the sardines with her salt and share a meal together.]
Friend, if we ever meet again I'll bring the freshest sardines.
Friend, if we ever meet again, don't forget your salt.
Friend, if we ever meet again, I'll cook us a feast of sardines and salt, and I hope to hear you sing once more…
…Lumine was definitely going to explode.