Precognition or not, the moment the damselfly girl tried to fly away—‘Hana’, she’d called herself—Marisol immediately darted forward to grab her ankle.

  Hana hissed at her, but she dragged the girl down before either of them could be spotted by the descending marauders. The sound of the damselfly’s beating wings were difficult to miss. Marisol had no doubt they’d be found instantly if Hana were allowed to fly to her fellow tribesmen’s rescue.

  Naturally, it was a struggle keeping their voices down. Hana snapped at her as she skated around in the blink of an eye, sweeping the girl off her feet while tearing off a piece of her cloak. In one swift motion, she bandaged Hana’s bleeding wing stump and secured it in place with a cord of rope she’d apparently stuffed into her cloak at some point. It took a while, but eventually Hana seemed to realize she was only trying to help. She was allowed to finish the knotting in peace, and then the damselfly zipped out from under her on pure footwork alone.

  Now they stood on opposite ends of the giant fish skull once again, but Hana’s bared and gritted teeth didn’t seem so threatening anymore.

  “... We can’t stay here or fight the marauders,” Marisol whispered, keeping her hands raised in the air as she looked towards the giant whale looming over them in the distance. In no time at all, the marauders would start tearing through the bone forest looking for them. “I’m… Marisol. I ain’t with them, but I know people who can help you get your friends back. If you follow me back to my people, I can at least keep you safe and hidden from the marauders.”

  Hana fixed her with a glare, silent for a long time. For a second, Marisol worried her automatic translation wasn’t working again, but then Hana’s needle-row teeth seemingly turned sharper under dim sunlight.

  The girl glanced back at her bandaged wing, the fifty or so marauders sliding down the anchor chains, and then back at Marisol.

  “You, plagas del mar,” Hana said, pursing her lips. “But they also plagas del mar, and more dangerous. If follow you, you kill each other? Plagas kill plagas?”

  Marisol clenched her jaw and nodded slowly. “Sure. Just… just follow me for now, alright? If they find us like this, we’ll be captured for sure, and then none of us will be free.”

  After another second, Hana ground her teeth together and nodded as well. Marisol didn’t let the opportunity slide.

  She took one peek at the descending marauders and charted out a path in her head. Just like when she’d evaded the Blackclaw Marauders with Kuku guiding her, she stuck to the paths less travelled and obvious to the human eye. Hana may be a native of these straits, but it didn’t seem as though she knew how to navigate through the bone forest. Here, boulders were giant skulls and trees were upside-down ribcages, sprouting from uneven fields of black soil and stone. Marisol felt like shivering every time she skated through a desiccated carcass, and Hana, similarly, looked uneasy following after her.

  “... How far from your people, plagas en mar?” Hana growled, her voice a hush as they paused behind a giant fish skull for a second. Their hearts pounded in sync as they watched a group of marauders comb through the forest, each wielding fourteen cutlasses.

  “Not very far,” Marisol murmured, waiting until the marauders passed. She beckoned Hana forward. “By the way, my name’s Marisol. ‘Mar’ of the far western seas, and ‘Sol’ of the far eastern sun. Your name’s Hana, right?”

  She glanced around her to see Hana blinking in surprise.

  “How you know Hana’s name?”

  [Say you are with the Hasharana, and tell her you are here to help. Even the most secluded tribesmen should at least know of that title.]

  “I’m a Hasharana,” she replied curtly, ducking under a dangling fish fin as she did. “and I’m here to help—”

  “Marisol is Hasharana?”

  Marisol paused. The change in tone was incredibly abrupt. One moment Hana was growling and shooting mean looks at her, and now the girl zipped in front of her, eyes wide as a puppy’s. Marisol returned a nervous smile and nodded. Hana squinted, rubbed her chin, and scratched the back of her head—then she leaned in close and stared. It was only now that Marisol could see how blurry her irises actually were.

  Could she even see anything out of those eyes?

  “... If Marisol is Hasharana, then why no color around you?” Hana asked, a genuine question. She backed off and gave Marisol space, squatting with two fists on the ground. “Hasharana, met grandma and grandpa many times before. Grandma said all Hasharana good and bright white color. Human saviors. But you no color. You dangerous.”

  Marisol angled her head to frown at Hana, but movement close behind them made her grab the girl and continue moving on. They couldn’t afford to just stand completely still and talk.

  “And how is that possible?” she muttered, glancing back at the young girl—who couldn’t be older than fourteen, fifteen—as she made sure they walked low and slow. “You can see other people’s… colors? What is that Art? What do you know about me—”

  “Marisol knows someone who is large with child?” Hana interrupted, and Marisol’s eyes twitched.

  “I… I do,” she breathed. “Catrina. She’s pregnant. But how’d you—”

  “We damselflies fly and fly and fly, and never touch ground!” Hana said, her eyes glimmering as she walked abreast with Marisol. “All we do is fly! Fast! Strong! So fast, world around us slow! We see what happen to people before it happen, and Hana see traces of ‘white’ around Marisol, which means someone close to Marisol is large with child!”

  “...”

  [It appears to be a detection-type biomagic,] the Archive explained, as Marisol continued dragging Hana through the bone forest. [Most people with classes have some sort of basic antennae mutation that allows them to detect minute fluctuations in the environment: spore density, air flow, humidity, et cetera. Things normal humans do not tend to be capable of noticing. However, it appears that the Damselfly Oracles have eyes so sensitive to such miniscule information that they can see the ‘colors’ of people’s aura.]

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Our aura?

  [Everyone has an aura, even humans without classes. This is because it has been ninety-four years since the arrival of the Swarm, and at this point, so many bugs have died across the world that the very air is permeated with their bioarcanic essence. Every human has inhaled at least a little bit of it, so everyone has an aura,] the Archive said. [Typically, humans are not capable of actually ‘seeing’ auras. Unless your opponent is a tremendously powerful Insect God, it is unlikely you will ever see one physically emanating from someone’s body. You can feel the killing pressure, yes, and you may be able to smell it, taste it, or even touch it in certain cases, but seeing the natural leakage of bioarcanic essence with stark naked eyes is very, very difficult.]

  [It appears, then, that the Damselfly Oracles’ Swarmblood Art allows them to physically see auras, and said auras have different colors depending on whether or not the person has ill intentions towards something—in this case, that designated ‘something’ is the Whirlpool City.]

  [A ‘white’ aura probably indicates they are no threat. It also probably means ‘the birth of new life’, since the purity and innocence of white is associated with childbirth in many cultures across the continent. Since you have been lingering around Catrina, perhaps some of her aura’s color rubbed onto you… or something. This is certainly a peculiar Swarmblood Art that demands further investigation.]

  Marisol narrowed her eyes at the little water bug on her shoulder. So… they ain't actually reading my mind like what you’re doing. They’re just seeing the color of our auras and determining whether or not we’re dangerous.

  [And I suppose a ‘black’ aura would indicate someone with ill intentions,] the Archive finished, [people like the marauders.]

  So why is she saying my aura has no color at all? I definitely ain’t trying to hurt anyone. I—

  [About that.]

  [Tell her to look at you again.]

  She didn’t even need to relay the Archive’s instructions out loud. Hana blinked, reeled back all on her head, and then leaned in with squinted eyes.

  “Eh?” Hana mumbled. “Marisol have white color now. But before… have no color? How? What this?”

  [I have been suppressing your aura heavily without telling you ever since you escaped from the giant remipede,] the Archive admitted. [Killing pressure is nice to emit, but I was worried your aura was actually attracting strong bugs to challenge you to a fight, so I have been… shrinking and suppressing your aura. All I did just now was release it.]

  So it was all your fault I got chased by Hana in the first place.

  [Hey. I did it for you.]

  She knew the Archive had good intentions, of course—it always did—so all she did was offer a wide smile to Hana as she tilted her head. There was no need to explain everything the Archive was telling her.

  “But I have white color now, right?” she said, pointing at herself. “So I’m not a threat to you. Or the Whirlpool City. I’m not an enemy now, right?”

  Hana shook her head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes! Marisol yourself no threat, but still can’t let all of you go so easily!”

  Marisol tried her best not to grit her teeth. “And why do you guys even care about stopping us? We just wanna get to the Whirlpool City—”

  “Worm God hired us, twenty years ago! Told us to protect islands and eat people with no colors or black colors from reaching Whirlpool City! If we do our job, Worm God let us live here undisturbed!” Hana said. Marisol gave the Archive a pointed look, but the little water strider shook its head as though to say it had no idea what the girl was talking about.

  [I have no records of the Worm God ever making contact with the Damselfly Oracles. However, it is possible he met and made a contract with them without the Archives’ acknowledgement. It may even be redacted information a normal Archive is not supposed to be able to access—]

  “Marisol have white colors, so Marisol okay, but maybe Marisol friends dangerous to Whirlpool City, so if danger, we have to eat!” Hana continued, sounding proud of herself as she said that. “Whale people chasing us, black colors. Colors of death! We have to eat them, too! Protect Whirlpool City!”

  “... So, the only reason you guys tried to attack me was because you couldn’t see my colors, and you thought I’d be a danger to the Whirlpool City?”

  Hana nodded fervently. “Yes! Worm God say if see black or no colors, eat! If any other colors, can’t eat! All to protect Whirlpool City!”

  “So if I bring you back to my people, and you see all of them have colors other than black or nothing, you’ll let us pass?”

  “Hm… Yes! Okay!” Hana bared her teeth, giving Marisol a toothy grin. “If Marisol people good colors, we let Marisol pass! But Hana still call others to eat the whale people and rescue family!”

  Marisol sighed a breath of relief. At least she’d made a tentative agreement with the Damselfly Oracles for now.

  [I could see why the Worm God could have made a contract with them, too,] the Archive mumbled. [The Dead Island Straits are one of only three sea routes towards the Whirlpool City, which means a lot of people will choose to pass through here in order to reach the city. If they can determine which ships and vessels may be marauders in disguise by seeing their ‘colors’, that is one sea route completely defended by these tribesmen, sparing more Guards and Imperators to defend the other two sea routes.]

  And… how many of these damselflies are there?

  [I wonder.]

  [The Dead Island Straits are composed of seventy-one separate islands, so if there are a dozen tribesmen assigned to guard each one on average, then it is likely there are at least seven hundred Damselfly Oracles living here.]

  [If that is the case, the Whitewhale Marauders do not really stand a chance—eventually, the rest of the Damselfly Oracles will notice their presence and tear them to shreds.]

  The thought wasn’t very comforting, and that was because she had no idea if the tribesmen could distinguish between marauders and slaves being masqueraded as marauders. If she wanted to rescue the slaves properly, she’d have to convince Hana and the rest of the damselfly ‘family’ to work with the Harbor Guards.

  Still, as they snuck past the majority of the marauders and were about to emerge onto the cliff of the canyon where the Guards’ warship was docked, a question continued to nag at her mind.

  “… Hey, Hana?”

  The girl whirled on her. “What, Marisol?”

  “I’ve been… seeing this ghost thing the past two months or so,” she said slowly, cautiously, “it… has appeared every time something bad happened to me. Like… a bad omen. A warning. And there’s this dream I’ve been having, too, where I’m skating really, really fast on a black sea of oil, but I always trip and end up sinking.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “What… do you think about those?”

  She knew it was gratuitous. Just because the Damselfly Oracles could divine intentions from the colors of auras didn’t mean they knew everything about everything spiritual, but she felt it was worth a shot. If there was a chance Hana could tell her something about the ‘ghost’ even the Archive couldn’t explain, then she felt it’d all be worth it.

  Unfortunately, Hana just stared at her quizzically. Or maybe it was more the eyes of someone looking at someone insane.

  “Sure haven’t gone too fast, head go spinney dizzy?” Hana replied, miming turning a crank next to her own head. “When go too fast, sometimes see hallucinations. We see sometimes, too! Spirits! Bad omens! But most of time, not real. Just hallucinations!”

  Marisol returned a polite, grateful smile, but that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, but she knew she wasn’t seeing hallucinations.

  That ghost of a monster was real.

  Am I just afraid?

  Am I just hesitating?

  Are... are those nightmares going to—

  [Focus, Marisol.]

  [You are this close to the Whirlpool City.]

  [Do not let talks of ‘ghosts’ break your resolve now.]

  She knew that, of course.

  But still, she couldn’t stop the nervous thumps in her chest as the two of them peered down the ledge to the wall of foliage, where the grotto and the warship was hidden behind.