Narka's Resolve

Orphanages in the medieval era were little more than holding pens for orphans. In environments so wretched they lacked even basic nutrition for growth—let alone enough to simply move around—there was no proper heating either. Winters meant huddling together for body warmth, only to wake the next morning beside a friend gone cold if luck soured. Most kids received no foundational education from parents, so ignorance was the norm. Admitting it openly just earned scorn as "that orphan," so they honed the art of street smarts instead.

But even this was a luxury reserved for children of tax-paying citizens. The vast majority of residents without citizenship saw their homes seized immediately upon a parent's death, kids tossed into frigid back alleys to fend for themselves. Toddlers too young for work had no choice but to turn to crime in those alleys to survive, hardening into something feral. Of ten orphans discarded there, fewer than three endured—and two of those survivors emerged broken, eyes burning with venom.

Those two inevitably got scooped up by alley gang organizations as knife fodder or sacrificial pawns. In a medieval world where sustaining even one family was a grind, whether orphanage orphan or alley stray, disdain from others meant no real chances. The default path led to the dregs of society or outright criminality.

Nautilus was different. Suhyun wasn't some saint who'd starve himself to feed the pitiful. But he wasn't heartless enough to hoard coin that could help others either. Viewing kids through a modern lens, once Nautilus took shape, he couldn't ignore orphans in dire straits.

The orphanage, born from Morian's plight, had swelled to take in far more. Suhyun provided what he deemed essentials for those taken under Nautilus's wing.

"Kids need to eat plenty and grow strong."

Not the finest ingredients, but unspoiled ones turned into hearty, nutrient-packed meals that filled bellies.

"They gotta ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠study young."

Suhyun knew America's shattered public education all too well—not a matter of intellect, but lack of proper teaching. He wouldn't let Nautilus orphans devolve into ignorant Americans who couldn't find their homeland on a map, lacked manners, and bulldozed with brute stupidity.

So he mandated schooling for every orphanage kid: core subjects like language, math, magic, society, history, science, and PE. Plus liberal arts—home economics, crafts, arts, music. Meant for orphans at first, but resident pleas opened it to all Nautilus children. Worried the orphans might feel lesser, Suhyun gathered them.

"I've got your backs. I'm your patron, your father—never cower. If something's unfair, come straight to me."

Their goals aligned. Magic-less kids eyed Daiyen's merchant guild; mana-strong athletes aimed for Nautilus's military; sharp minds with mana dreamed of magehood under Suhyun. Some sought to repay grace; others, simple escape from orphan humiliations. All grasped early: their hope was Suhyun and Nautilus.

Naïve ones blind to that truth died in alleys. Survivors knew orphans got no welcome anywhere. Freed from a fate of street death young or gang death later, they strove to draw nearer Suhyun—for gratitude, ambition, whatever.

One shone brightest: Narka. Mastering months of lessons in weeks, her mana talent recognized, she now chased mystery itself.

"Cough! Cough!"

"You'll really die like this!"

The female rehab squad member hired to assist yelled, hauling a near-drowned Narka from the tank. Clutching the handle at the bottom of the mana-water tub enchanted with Preservation, she'd held her breath till drowning reflex kicked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in. Dragged out forcibly, artificial respiration barely revived her.

The squad eyed her gaunt frame—five days diving sans food, chasing extremity for enlightenment—with raw worry. Talented sorts gained mysteries casually: baking bread whispers fire's secrets; dying in shadows grants shadow's embrace. Others needed grueling methods.

For Ifrit's Hearth: endure days by the fire spirit's gifted forge, staring at flames. Risky for heatstroke or burns, but safest. Golden Sand Tower: survive solo desert treks with minimal gear. Dehydration, starvation, hypothermia claimed many. They'd refined safer paths over years, yet deaths still occurred. Mysteries weren't for the ordinary.

"Hah! Hah!"

Narka was sharp. Knowing Nautilus' mages wielded fire, sand, shadows, she bet Suhyun needed water. Thus, life on the line for water's mystery.

Suhyun hadn't prepped this tank for self-torture. Just figured mana-infused water might ease it—maybe snag Preservation, time-related mysteries. But Narka's drive: Help Suhyun-nim!

"Closer to drowning?"

Spitting lung-water with the woman's aid, ragged breaths unsteadied, Narka glared at the tank, eager to dive anew. To her venomous resolve, her life was roadside trash. She craved only utility to Suhyun.

Ignoring pleas, she buckled into the glass-walled tank, plunged, gripped the bottom handle, focused.

In Preservation-saturated water, all slowed. Resisting with mana would've worked, but chasing mystery, she yielded—absorbed it. Sinking took ages; reaching bottom, she gripped, held breath, calmed.

Urgency slain, pure stillness: meditation. Preservation mana seeped in. Capillaries slowed blood, reactions lagged. Heart ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠raced for oxygen; world crawled. Nerves dulled under mana—but soul stood apart.

Death holds no fear.

Born whore's spawn, orphaned post-mother, alley-wandering was mechanical survival, not desire. Mere instinct—like hunger, sleep, raw will to live. Oxygen-starved blood triggered dumb body-lungs gasping underwater, amplifying agony toward death. Same base urge.

I can die. But if I must, let it aid him.

World was trash: men buying women for rut; women selling flesh for survival; nobles ignoring orphan crime-breeding, chasing greed; commoners scrapping for scraps beneath. All refuse—including her, born between.

Only Suhyun-nim noble. Dying for him lent trash-death meaning. But useless now? Better dead. Self-loathing, world-hating, her psyche mirrored no knight's discipline or sage's truth-quest. It was fanatic faith: one creed, one devotion.

Normally, such yielded no mystery. But coincidence layered: Suhyun's unique ability transplantable to souls; within his domain Nautilus; water from its facilities, mana-touched. Narka's singular wish drew a vast, nascent mystery's gaze.

A nod infused consent; Nautilus' mystery rooted in her. Feeling it settle, Narka released the handle, walked out.

"Got your mystery?"

The woman asked. Narka grinned.

"Yeah—and a great one."

------------

Meanwhile, Suhyun sat at Nautilus' bridge, steering as always. Preset routes, sure—but steady operation demanded his seat.

"Hmm, when'll it handle solo?"

Nautilus launched with an artificial mentality: crystalized giant brain for computation, learning from internals. Self-evolving, but young—half-year in, self-navigation neared, yet short.

Recall Aldamina approach: sand misjudged for rock layer, output flub nearly dropped them through. Peering into its mind, Suhyun purged junk data, advised ethics—like preventing an X-Man from net-darkening at birth.

Spotting an intruder in his sole-access mental net, curiosity piqued.

Mental-net links were perilous. Sensory inputs filtered; direct thought-sharing flooded minds with ideologies. Link to a PTSD sufferer? Trauma implants, worsens, drives mad. Yet potent: instant info, shared compute—tasks at thought-speed. Complex sketches manifest; vague ideas transmit pure.

> Stay put. I'm coming.

> Yes, sir!

Unclear what sparked it, but thrilled by novelty, Suhyun sought Narka.