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If it was this bad all the way out here, then the Rainlords must’ve been dealing with some truly horrific sights. Perhaps it was better that they were not here. He knew there would be many people in that region who needed their help.

Thankfully, Hector did manage to find plenty of survivors, too, which was always a relieving sight. And oddly enough, they were usually in pretty good physical condition. Not many injuries to speak of.

Garovel seemed to think it was due to how extreme the danger was here. ‘There’s no getting “grazed” by surging floodwaters,’ the reaper said. ‘You either avoid them or you die.’

Hector didn’t much care for how callous that line of thinking felt, but he also found it difficult to argue against.

However, the thing that Hector found the most surprising over these days of mayhem was that he, Roman Fullister, and Ravi Zaman were not the only servants out here. Which was rather heartening to know.

There wasn’t time to exchange greetings or make introductions, but a nod of acknowledgment or a wave of gratitude after a particularly gnarly mess had been taken care of was enough for Hector to feel like he was getting to know these strangers pretty well, even if he never learned any of their names. It also helped that he saw them multiple times each over the several days of madness.

And eventually, when the waves began to die down and everything started to settle, Hector could recognize the other servants by their faces alone.

It was while he was out on one final patrol of the Gulf when he started to meet some of them properly.

“I was hoping to see you again,” said a tall man with chiseled features and long, strawberry blond hair. He reached out for a handshake as Hector touched down gently in front of him, atop a hill overlooking a flooded valley along the coast of Azirat.

If there was one good thing in all this, perhaps it was that Hector had gotten in plenty of extra practice with his flying. Making such a soft, controlled landing was a pretty nice feeling, for a change.

Still fully armored, Hector took the handshake. “Same here,” he said. “I’m Hector Goffe of Atreya. And you?”

“I am Nicholae Medan. Of Azirat, I suppose. Thank you for all your help over these past few days.” The man didn’t have even a whiff of a Valgan accent, which Hector found a little surprising.