Chapter 3: Hollowreach

  Meliodas walked along the Main Street of Hollowreach, taking it in with quiet curiosity. It wasn’t particularly impressive. If anything, it reminded him of his hometown. The street was paved with polished stone and wide enough to accommodate carriages, though none passed by while he watched. That disappointed him slightly, he had always wanted to see the great trade carriages pulled by green, lizard-like beasts people spoke of massive, broad-bodied creatures built to haul weight rather than speed

  Shops and market stalls lined the road, their structures built from pale, sand-colored stone that gleamed softly in the sunlight. The buildings were solid and deliberate, their thick walls shaped into clean, geometric forms rather than decorative designs. Flat roofs edged with low walls, built to reflect heat and catch the wind instead of trapping it.

  Small windows broke the stone at careful intervals, shaded by deep frames that kept the interiors cool. The entrances were not doors in the usual sense, but hanging cords and layered strands that parted easily when pushed aside, creating the suggestion of an entryway without fully closing the space.

  What bothered Meliodas more than the lack of carriages was the absence of people. Many of the hand-built stalls were already closing, and several shops stood mostly empty. He reasoned it was likely the time of day, most people would be eating, fishing, or spending time with their families by now.

  He slowed as a sign ahead came into view, weathered wood bearing the name The Broken Fin. Meliodas looked at it for a moment, half-tempted, and stepped closer as if to enter, then hesitated.

  “You must be new here,” a voice said beside him. “Welcome to our humble town.”

  Meliodas turned to see a small, elderly woman standing nearby. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, her posture slightly hunched as age had crept in over the years. white-gray hair framed her head, confirming what he had already guessed.

  “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Meliodas said.

  “You’re quite correct,” the elderly woman replied with a gentle smile.

  Meliodas glanced down at her half-packed stand. Among the remaining goods sat a crate of strange fruit he had never seen before shaped like bananas, but shorter and rounder, their skins a deep ocean blue rather than yellow.

  “What kind of fruit is that?” he asked.

  “Sea bananas,” she said. “They grow here in abundance. Quite tasty, too. Would you like one?”

  “Yes, please,” Meliodas replied without hesitation. “How much for one?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” The woman reached into the crate and handed him a piece of fruit. “Consider it a gift.”

  Meliodas hesitated, then accepted it. “Thank you, but please, let me pay you.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nice to see young people passing through. We don’t get many these days. Besides,” she added, her smile deepening, “consider it a congratulatory gift for entering the Academy.”

  Meliodas blinked, surprise flickering across his face.

  “How did you know that?” he asked, genuine curiosity creeping into his voice.

  “Oh dear,” the woman said with a soft chuckle. “This is a small island. I know most people here, and handsome young man don’t often pass through a normally quiet town like this without reason.”

  Her eyes flicked briefly to his chest. “And if I may add, that symbol you’re wearing rather screams nobility.”

  “Oh…” Meliodas said, suddenly self-conscious.

  She smiled, clearly amused by his reaction. “I wouldn’t recommend going in there,” she added, nodding toward the sign of the Broken Fin. “The drinks are nothing special, and you’ll mostly find grumpy fishermen and gatherers who don’t have much to say.”

  She leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. “If you’d like, I could recommend a nicer place.”

  “Please do,” Meliodas said, glancing back toward the Broken Fin. “I have time to burn, and it looked rather crowded in there.”

  The woman’s smile widened. “Then take the alley there,” she said, pointing toward a narrow passage splitting the buildings ahead. “You’ll find an older tavern. Nothing fancy, but well kept. The owner’s an interesting one, always has something to say.”

  She hesitated, then added, “You’ll probably like it more.”

  Meliodas followed her gesture. Tucked between the stone walls, an old wooden sign creaked softly in the breeze.

  Whale’s Beard, it read.

  “Strange name,” Meliodas thought.

  Still, the building beneath it looked cared for, quiet in a way that felt intentional rather than abandoned. Empty, but not forgotten, and something about the woman’s certainty made him trust her.

  Meliodas thanked the woman and offered her a bright smile. “I won’t forget this,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” she replied, waving him off.

  Meliodas turned and made his way toward the tavern, his steps light as he disappeared down the alley.

  The old woman watched him go, a small smile lingering on her face before she returned to packing her cart. As she lifted one of the wooden planks, something caught the light beneath it. She paused, then chuckled softly.

  “That sneaky boy…”

  She picked up the coin, slipped it into her pocket, and glanced briefly at the sky before offering a quiet thanks to the gods.

  Meliodas pushed aside the two wooden half-doors and stepped into the tavern. Strange, he thought. The entrance alone already felt out of place, its rough wood clashing with the architecture he had seen along the street.

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  Inside, the space was quiet and sparsely furnished. The floor was stone, worn smooth by time, and the walls were the same pale, sand-colored material used throughout the town, broken only by a handful of simple paintings. A few tables stood scattered across the room, carved from the same stone as the walls themselves, each paired with seats that were little more than polished rocks shaped just wide enough to sit on.

  His attention shifted to the bar. It followed the same design: solid stone, clean lines, unadorned. Behind it stood a shelf stretching the length of the counter, lined with bottles of various shapes and colors, each paired with different types of glassware. Everything was orderly, functional, and unmistakably deliberate.

  He sat down on one of the bar’s chairs if it could be called that and glanced around. The tavern was empty. After a moment, he cleared his throat loudly, a deliberate signal that someone was present.

  No response.

  He cleared it again, louder this time.

  “Coming,” a deep voice called from somewhere beyond the bar.

  Meliodas turned toward a door at the far end of the counter just as it swung open. A massive, muscular man stepped through, barely fitting the frame. He was broad shouldered and powerfully built, with a long black beard that spilled down his chest and a completely bald head that caught the light.

  Ah, Meliodas thought. Now the name makes sense.

  “Now the name makes more sense,” he said aloud before realizing he hadn’t meant to.

  “What?” the man asked, one thick brow lifting.

  “Nothing,” Meliodas replied quickly.

  The broad man positioned himself in front of Meliodas, blocking the bar almost entirely. Up close, Meliodas got a better look at him, a dark-skinned man with strange inscriptions etched across his skin, patterns he had never seen before. Old battle scars marked his body, the largest running from shoulder to hip, faded but unmistakable.

  Meliodas hesitated for a moment before speaking.

  “Are you… perhaps a Straum user, sir?” he asked carefully.

  The man snorted. “That’s a rather rude way to start a conversation.”

  “Sorry,” Meliodas said quickly. “My name is Bilford.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed.“Now you’re lying,” he replied at once, as if he’d read Meliodas like an open book.

  “Sorry,” Meliodas replied, before the man could speak.

  The man stretched out his hand.

  “Name’s Brom.”

  Meliodas took it. The handshake felt like gripping something immovable,solid, unyielding. His own hand all but disappeared in Brom’s grasp.

  “Haven’t seen you before,” Brom said. “First year?”

  Meliodas frowned slightly. “Why does everyone seem to know why I’m here? I even covered my family’s emblem.”

  He reached up and peeled away the crude patch he’d put over the symbol on his chest.

  Brom’s eyes widened, just a fraction. He leaned back slightly, studying the mark.

  “Archypegan,” he said, curiosity threading his voice.

  “Yes, how did you know?” Meliodas replied, just as surprised.

  The man let out a rough laugh. “Boy, I’ve been around the world, and besides this is the only port that receives students from Archypego, hell, the only port that receives anyone from Archypego. You folk are extremely isolated.”

  He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder what that old man Archypego is thinking, living on a small island complex in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Oh… that makes sense,” Meliodas replied.

  Before he could say more, the man cut in. “It’s curious, and rare. Not a lot of students come from Archypego. Can’t say it surprises me. Small population, not much raw talent.”

  He studied Meliodas more closely. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Meliodas.”

  “Meliodas as in Meliodas Archypego?” Brom asked. “One of Archypego’s boys?”

  “Yes.”

  The man froze.

  “What?” His voice dropped, the surprise unmistakable. “You’re actually one of Archypego’s boys?”

  “Yes,” Meliodas replied, a touch embarrassed.

  Brom let out a short breath, regaining his composure. “You should’ve said that from the start.”

  He turned toward the shelves. “Drink’s on the house.”

  “Thank you, but that’s a bit unnecessary.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, boy,” Brom said easily. “What’ll it be something sweet, or something that bites back?”

  “If you have something sweeter,” Meliodas said, “that would be nice.”

  Brom nodded. “Figured.”

  He paused for half a second. “Thalessa likes sweet, too.”

  Meliodas blinked. “You know my older sister?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Brom said. “Your sister is the best student the academy’s had in years. Brilliant.”

  “Oh…” Meliodas replied hesitantly, a familiar nervousness creeping back into his chest.

  Brom noticed it immediately. “Big shoes to fill,” he said, not unkindly. “After her first year? Yeah. I remember when she came through here, decisive, sharp, and more respectful, too.”

  “Sorry,” Meliodas said at once.

  Brom waved it off. “So you’re water, then? Like your sister?”

  “No,” Meliodas replied. “Fire.”

  Brom paused, clearly surprised. “Fire?”

  He studied Meliodas more closely and noticed his fiery orange eyes. “That’s the opposite of what I expected from your family.”

  “Yes…” Meliodas said, the hesitation returning.

  Brom turned back to the shelf, grabbing a bottle along with a few other ingredients, and began mixing a drink with practiced ease.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he said casually. “No one in their right mind would expect you to fill your sister’s shoes.”

  “Hey,” Meliodas said, a hint of offense creeping into his voice.

  “It’s the truth,” Brom replied without looking at him. “Your aura control is sloppy, kid. You’re kind of an open book.”

  Meliodas raised an eyebrow. For a split second, a flare of fiery orange light rippled around his body, sharp, focused, before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

  Brom paused.

  “…I stand corrected,” he said dryly, resuming his work. “Fire, huh? You must’ve given the old man a heart attack.”

  “Actually,” Meliodas replied, “he was quite pleased. Said it was exciting to train another elemental user who wasn’t water.”

  Brom let out a loud laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like him. I can imagine how much that thrilled the old bastard.”

  Meliodas blinked, surprised. “People tend to be more respectful once they realize who I am,” he said slowly. “Especially when they’re talking about my father.”

  Brom raised one eyebrow, studying him for a moment before speaking.

  “Boy, if you expect me to be afraid of your father,” he said flatly, “you’re very wrong.”

  He slid the drink across the counter.

  Meliodas took a sip. His eyes widened slightly. It tasted faintly of the sea banana he’d just tried,sweet and smooth, while the alcohol was barely noticeable, more warmth than bite just as he liked.

  “You know my father?” Meliodas asked.

  Brom snorted. “That’s a story for another day. What, are you planning on telling on me or something?”

  “No,” Meliodas replied quickly, then hesitated before adding more honestly, “Don’t worry about it. I actually like it. The way you treat me, I mean. It makes me feel like an actual person… not some kind of would-be royal.”

  Brom watched him over the rim of his own glass, his expression unreadable.

  “You’re a strange one,” he said at last.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Meliodas replied.

  “In a good way,” Brom added, waving it off. “Not like those snorty brats raised in castles. I suppose Maera did a good job with you too.”

  Meliodas stiffened. “You know my mother too?”

  “As I said,” Brom replied, already turning away, “that’s a story for another occasion.”

  Meliodas didn’t press him. The man’s aura was impossible to read, flat, grounded, and heavy in a way that marked him as a powerful Straum user. Pushing further would get him nowhere.

  “You didn’t answer my first question,” Meliodas said finally.

  Brom sighed. “Earth,” he muttered, finishing his drink as he reached for the glass to wash it.

  “Figures,” Meliodas murmured under his breath.

  Brom paused. “What was that, boy?”

  “Nothing,” Meliodas said quickly, taking another sip of his drink.

  After a long moment of silence, Brom spoke again.

  “Say, boy… didn’t you have another brother?” he asked casually. “If I remember right, Thalessa used to brag about her two cute little brothers.”

  Meliodas’ expression darkened instantly. His aura tightened, a faint flare of heat slipping through before he pulled it back under control.

  “I don’t talk about him,” he said flatly.

  Brom froze for half a second, then nodded. “Sorry,” he said, and meant it.

  A moment passed before he continued, lighter this time. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the other end of town by four?”

  “Yeah,” Meliodas replied, already steadying himself.

  Brom raised an eyebrow.

  Meliodas followed his gaze, then slipped a hand into his pocket and checked his pocket watch. His eyes widened

  “Damn it I’m already late.”

  He drained the rest of his glass, pushed back from the counter, and hurried out of the tavern without another word.

  Brom watched the door swing shut, then glanced down at the counter. A single coin rested there, left behind deliberately.

  “That sly kid,” he muttered, a low chuckle escaping him.

  “Young ones,” he said to the empty tavern as he picked up the coin, “so full of energy and life.”