Notch gripped his blade and studied the worn map spread across the tavern table. His brother Brandon had vanished three years ago, leaving only cryptic notes and cold trails. The shark warrior had searched every port in Highover, following rumors and lies. Tonight, a merchant claimed to have seen Brandon's ship heading north. Notch rolled up the map and stood. He would find his brother, no matter how long it took. The next morning, Notch broke into Brandon's old quarters at the dockmaster's storage. Dust covered everything. He searched through crates and chests, tossing aside rope and tools. His clawed fingers found something soft wedged behind a loose board. He pulled out a diary bound in shark skin. The cover felt familiar under his touch. Inside, Brandon's handwriting filled the pages with stories of their childhood and notes about ancient Sharkin traditions. Notch flipped to the final entries. His brother had written about strange calls from someone up north, urgent meetings, and a debt that needed paying. The last page listed dates and times of conversations. Notch traced the ink with one finger. These records would lead him to answers. He tucked the diary into his belt and headed for the northern docks. By afternoon, Notch found what he needed. A two-story row house sat near the water, built from sand-colored stone and coral. Seashells decorated the doorway. The owner wanted to sell fast and didn't ask questions. Notch paid in silver and moved in that day. He set the shark skin diary on a wooden table by the window. The northern docks stretched out below. From here, he could watch the ships come and go. He could track down every lead the diary gave him. Brandon's words about the debt and the urgent meetings filled his mind. Someone up north knew where his brother went. Notch would find them, question them, and follow the trail until Brandon stood before him again. This house would be his base until that day came. The next day, Notch walked into the community center near the market square. The building stood solid, made of brick and stone that had weathered many seasons. People gathered inside, talking and sharing news. Notch approached the main board where notices hung. He pulled out a drawing of Brandon he'd kept for three years. The image showed a Sharkin with kind eyes and a wide smile. Notch pinned it to the board along with a note asking anyone with information to come to his row house. Several people stopped to look. A woman nodded at him. A dock worker studied the drawing closely. Notch left knowing the word would spread. His brother's face would be known throughout the northern district. Someone had to remember seeing Brandon. Someone had to know something. And when they came forward, Notch would be ready to follow wherever the truth led him.

Notch sat at his table and opened Brandon's diary again. The morning light showed details he'd missed before. His brother had written about old Sharkin ways, ceremonies their father taught them as kids. Brandon mentioned learning forgotten skills, tracking methods passed down through generations. Notch realized he'd forgotten most of these lessons. He'd focused on being a warrior, not a hunter. If he wanted to find Brandon, he needed to remember. He traced the words with his claw and began to read. The table beside him wasn't enough anymore. Notch needed more space to work. He found a cartography table at the market, sturdy wood wrapped with living vines and metal corners. He carried it back and set it up where sunlight could reach it. The surface was wide and flat, perfect for spreading out maps and Brandon's notes side by side. Notch laid out the diary entries about tracking and placed his map of the northern districts next to them. Brandon had written about reading tide patterns and watching for disturbed sand. Their father had taught them these things when they were young. Notch flexed his claws and studied the pages. He would relearn what he'd forgotten. Each old skill was a tool that could lead him closer to his brother. The search was just beginning, but now he had a proper place to work and a clear path forward. Night fell over the ocean while Notch still worked. He needed light to continue. At the market, he found a street lamp made from coral and seashells. The coral formed the base, pink and orange in the fading sun. Shells decorated the top where the flame would sit. He carried it back and filled it with oil. The lamp cast warm light across his maps and papers. Notch could work late now, studying his brother's words and the old tracking methods. He read about following scent trails through water and marking territory signs. Brandon had practiced these skills before he disappeared. Notch would master them too. The lamp burned steady beside him as he copied notes and made plans. This was how he would find his brother, one skill at a time, one clue leading to the next. The diary mentioned phone calls Brandon made in his final weeks. Notch needed those records. He asked at the docks until someone pointed him toward a building made of sand near the shore. Inside, workers managed devices that tracked calls across the coastal region. Notch showed them the dates from Brandon's diary. A worker searched through old records and returned with a list. Three calls to the same number, all in the span of five days. The last one came the night before Brandon vanished. Notch studied the number and asked where it led. The worker traced it to a location far north, beyond the mapped districts. Notch folded the paper and tucked it into his belt. He had his first real lead. Tomorrow he would prepare for the journey north, but tonight he would rest. The path ahead was clear now, and he would follow it until he found his brother.