Marisol regained enough strength in her wings to glide through the wall of foliage. While Hana was unable to fly properly with one of her wings bandaged, the two of them managed to enter the grotto without any trouble.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Marisol slid to a halt as she saw the warship. The Harbor Guards were still spread out across the cave, harvesting whatever little resources there were for the ship’s repairs. About a dozen tents and tarps were strewn across the ferns, crates of remipede meat were unloaded and cooking on self-rotating skewers over small bonfires. Somehow, they’d managed to turn the grotto into quite a cozy little camp in just the few hours she’d been gone. It was only midday outside, but at this rate, they could probably have an entire harbor built by nightfall.

  the Archive said almost absentmindedly as Hana landed on the edge of the cliff, immediately standing and taking cover behind her.

  “Marisol!” Catrina’s voice pierced through the air, and everyone snapped their heads over to stare at the two of them. Marisol waved back at the pregnant lady rushing towards her—she was just glad everyone was still safe—but it was evident Hana didn’t share the same relief she did.

  As Catrina, Enrique, and several Guards trudged over to hear any good news about possible replacement sails, Hana blurred in front of her and growled; a sharp, guttural sound. It made Catrina flinch and all of the Guards draw their cutlasses at once.

  “Damselfly Oracle,” Enrique breathed, eyes narrowing as he held his blade in front of him, beckoning the others to keep a fair distance from Hana. “What’s the meanin’ of this, lass? Yer goin’ out and pickin’ up strays now? That’s—”

  “I know, I know. It’s… well, it ain’t really that long of a story, honestly, but she’s with us. I can explain,” Marisol interrupted, skating between the Guards and Hana with a nervous smile. She glanced behind her and whispered at Hana as she did. “Hey, hey, hey. What are you doing? They’re with me, you know—the ones I said I was going to bring you to meet. Could you drop the teeth and claws?”

  Hana glowered at her. “Danger. Won't.”

  “They' ain’t dangerous. They're with me. They're me, people who work with the Hasharana—”

  “Marisol white color, fine. But ,” Hana said, pointing at the Guards one by one, “full black colors. Colors of . Danger.”

  Hana’s conviction shone through. There was no twitch of a brow, twist of a lip, not even an ounce of hesitation in her voice. Marisol glanced back at Catrina and the Guards, her gaze met all of theirs with a silent, appraising assessment.

  “Get away from the cannibal, lass,” Enrique warned, voice urgent and tight as he gritted his teeth. “They're unpredictable, that lot. Sometimes they eat our boys, sometimes they don't. There ain't reasonin’ with any of them. I'll listen to ye all ye want later, but for yer own sake—”

  “Enough!” Hana snapped. She jumped back to the edge of the cliff. She beat her wings, the strong winds ruffled the ferns and made the Harbor Guards stumble back. “Marisol white color, okay, but marred with black colors! Must eat! Protect Whirlpool City!”

  Then, she stuck four pinkies in her mouth and whistled, a shrill and ear-piercing sound that made even Marisol wince. Enrique and the Guards immediately dashed in to cut her down, but Marisol kicked a wide berth to make them back off, scowling at them Hana.

  Before she could even say anything, though, the grotto began to rumble. The walls of moss started to shake. The canyons outside the foliage wall groaned with a cacophony of fluttery, buzzing sounds. Almost as though a swarm of desert locusts were riding a sandstorm, and then—the foliage wall exploded behind all of them. Bright sunlight flooded into the grotto as a hundred Damselfly Oracles responded to Hana’s call.

  Marisol clenched her jaw, spinning around to face the horde of hovering damselflies with the Guards flanking her sides. All of the tribesmen had blowguns in their hands. Some carried thick wooden blades with sawed edges, their metal damselfly masks kept all but their glowing green eyes hidden. Judging by how frenzied their shouts and buzzes were, Marisol could only assume they were seeing the exact same colors Hana saw: pure ‘black’. According to their Swarmblood Art, they posed a danger towards the Whirlpool City.

  But that couldn’t be right. They were literally Guards, and the Archive confirmed their identities for her. Could they be marauders in disguise, having fooled her and the Archive for the better part of the past two months?

  As if she’d been inattentive to the world around her.

  She twirled into the Whirlwind Spin, kicking up clumps of soil, rocks, muddy water, and everything in between into everyone’s eyes. A flashy move. A move. That got all of them to shut up, and when all eyes were finally on her, she clapped her hands once to make them jolt again.

  got all of them to pay attention.

  “... We ain’t ” she shouted, jabbing a thumb at herself and the Guards, “and you ain’t mindless cannibals, either!” she said, pointing up at the Damselfly Oracles. “We were chased here by the Whitewhale Marauders, who’ve taken some people as slaves, and we wanna help you beat them down so we can rescue the innocents! We don’t care what you do with the marauders, but even if some of them like marauders, they ain’t! Look closer! They’ve all got whale lice stuck to their backs, so some of them have no choice but to fight back!”

  Catrina tapped her shoulder anxiously. “Marisol. I don’t understand a word you’re saying, but I don’t think you should be negotiating with them, either. Even I’ve heard about them from—”

  “You say you serve the Worm God and his Hasharana, right?” she continued, shrugging Catrina’s hand off as she jabbed a finger at one of the closest hovering damselfly, singling him out of the bunch as she turned around and thumbed at her nape. “You want proof I’m a Hasharana? Take a look at my nape! You see that little protrusion on my neck? That’s the system of a Hasharana, right?”

  Some of the damselflies squinted, and some of them hovered closer to take a better look. They turned and started whispering amongst themselves. They recognize the mark of an Altered Symbiotic System; they lying about knowing the Hasharana.

  She didn’t want to believe either the Guards or the Damselfly Oracles were lying, even if she’d only met the latter an hour ago.

  “If all of you help us get our warship up and sailing again, I promise, we’ll be out of your hairWe’ll even help you take down the marauders so you don’t have to risk your own lives!” She pointed at the broken warship behind her. “Hana will tell you! There may be lots of you—more than enough to overwhelm any enemy with sheer speed and numbers alone—but there’s still a hundred or so marauders on that whale. They’re dangerous, wear a lot of armor against your darts, and they’re coordinated when fighting! If you guys fight them by yourselves, I’m sure lots of you will get hurt, so why not let us take the lead? Just support us, and we’ll do the rest!”

  It was a rather convincing argument if she had to say so herself, and the Archive seemed to agree, but in truth, it could go either way with the Damselfly Oracles. At the end of the day, she didn’t understand what colors looked like from their perspective. Would mere words from an outsider sway them to ignore the colors they’d been diligently acting upon their entire lives?

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  But she to get to the Whirlpool City no matter what, and if they really, weren’t going to help her…

  Marisol was just about to drag her glaives back when Hana clicked her tongue, whirling around to shout utter gibberish at her people. Even the Archive’s automatic translation couldn’t pick up her words for how fast she was talking, but she heard very well the responses from the tribesmen she was speaking too: they were all manners of ‘are you sure’ and ‘their colours are black’, all overlapping over each other, but Hana sounded insistent.

  Eventually, Hana turned back around and gave her—her— a begrudging nod.

  The damselflies hovering behind her immediately dispersed, half of them swooping onto the warship to poke at its holes, the other half flying across and out of the grotto to gather materials for the repairs.

  Now, it was Marisol’s turn to face the Guards around her. She gestured at all of them to lower their blades and stop glaring at the damselflies with distrust and the intent to harm lurking in their eyes.

  “They’re helping us, cap,” she said, looking at Enrique pointedly. “It ain’t that long of a story. I went out looking for parts, had a brief tussle with them, and some of them were captured by the Whitewhale Marauders we accidentally stumbled upon. So, they’re helping us out now for both our sake and theirs. That’s all there is to it.”

  For his part, Captain Enrique didn’t look the slightest bit relaxed even after hearing her explanation, and maybe that was all fine and well. The Guards evidently knew who the Damselfly Oracles were. There was no need to force themselves to act all friendly with their new helpers, but they , at least, seem to understand they weren’t in immediate danger.

  All of them lowered their cutlasses slowly, and Enrique shot her a scowl. “I hope ye know what yer doin’, lass. I trust ye, but… not them,” he said, before turning around and shouting at his men to continue with the repairs. Catrina gave her a slow nod before leaving as well, returning to inform the injured slaves in the tents about their situation. The Damselfly Oracles couldn’t repair the warship by themselves, and judging by the distrustful looks many of the Guards directed at their new helpers, they rushed over to direct them.

  Marisol wasn’t sure how they were going to coordinate since they couldn’t speak the same tongue, but the Guards were experienced sailors. Maybe they know how to speak the damselflies’ tongue.

  Just as she was about to sigh a breath of relief, though, she jumped. Hana crept up behind her and tapped her shoulder, still hiding in her shadow as the young girl narrowed her eyes at the Harbor Guards.

  “Thank you, Hana,” she whispered, smiling softly down at the girl. “I promise none of them mean any harm to the Whirlpool City. You ain't breaking your contract to the Worm God. I’m sure there’s a reason—”

  “Hana was wrong,” she whispered, refusing to look at Marisol as she continued squinting at the Guards. “I just panicking. Scared. I looked closer, like you said, and not all of them actually marred with black colours. Most… okay. Blue and pink colours. But just one of them… danger. Colour so black it overpower everyone else colour.”

  Marisol frowned. “Hm?”

  And Hana pointed straight at Catrina, emerald eyes burning with murderous intent.

  “That one,” Hana breathed. “Large with child, black as night, death incarnate.”

  It was a bit of a risk, but Marisol patted Hana’s head and shook her own head.

  “That’s Catrina,” she said slowly. “A friend. The daughter of the Harbour Guard’s captain. She’s with me.”

  “No.”

  “She is.”

  “No.”

  “She ”

  Hana didn’t look at all convince, but… as long as she kept her mutterings to herself and kept her sharp teeth far from Catrina, Marisol didn’t really care if they couldn’t be the best of friends and agree on every little thing.

  She just wanted to get to the Whirlpool City as soon as possible.

  She asked, chewing her lip as she watched the Guards work with the damselflies. A lot of hand motions and directing was going on, with both groups grabbing parts from here and there.

  The Archive’s estimation was almost right on the dot.

  Sundown. Evening twilight hour. As the world outside darkened, the hundred or so damselflies summoned for aid backed off from the grotto. A smaller group of twenty damselflies flew in with a dozen giant bubbles on their shoulders. After all, no matter how light or streamlined the warship was, it couldn’t sail through the sky by itself. They needed the bubbles to keep them afloat.

  A fully repaired warship would help, too.

  Marisol couldn’t quite decipher every expression on the Guards’ faces, but she garnered enough to make her giggle. There was shock, awe, and surprise as the most common expressions. The fact that the Damselfly Oracles managed to fix their warship from hull to sail in under half a day was already impressive enough, but they’d even sprinkled some upgrades onto the vessel.

  The wooden hull was layered with hollow crustacean shells, giving the ship a spiky, more menacing look. The silver fish scale sails were replaced with bright orange carp scales. They glittered like the sun in the dim moonlight. The tents, tarps, and crates of food were neatly stacked on the lower decks, flown in by the damselflies. It had taken them only half an hour to finish rearranging all their supplies, which took the Guards four hours to set up. Four whole of work undone in thirty minutes.

  Now all forty-two of them stood on the upper deck, watching as the damselflies stuffed the giant bubbles behind the sails and under the masts. This way, even if their hull received heavy cannon fire, they could continue flying through the sky as long as their sails were protected.

  “I mean, we gave them good instructions, but ye’d think they were shipwrights born and raised in the city,” Enrique muttered, standing at the helm with Marisol and Catrina by his side. The damselflies who weren’t busy with the giant bubbles were pushing the warship slowly out of the grotto, making them inch towards the ledge. “I still ain’t a fan of them, and there’ll be hell to explain to my bosses after this… but I ain’t gonna lie. They did a damn fine job with the repairs.”

  Marisol beamed at him, though her stomach was still bloated and her whole body was in slight pain from having stuffed so much remipede meat down her throat the past few hours.

  “Right… so we gotta repay them, yeah?” she mumbled, leaning against the railings for support as the ship groaned and creaked, ready to be pushed off the ledge. “Remember, we ain’t just saving the slaves from the marauders. We’re saving the dozen or so damselflies they caught as well, so—”

  “Stick to yer plan and shoot only where ye give the signal to so we don’t accidentally hit who we’re tryin’ to rescue,” he finished, brows drawing together as he glanced at her with a worried expression. “Yer plan’s damned reckless again, by the way. I know ye said ye can jump and glide around this strait with yer wings or whatnot, but the Guards. We’re the ones who’re supposed to fight them marauders off. To let ye fly off like that—”

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with the marauders too, cap,” she whispered, keeping her forehead pressed against the railings as she took deep breaths, one after another. “That one’s a bit of a long story, so no need to worry—a Sand-Dancer lands on their feet.”

  “Hmph.”

  Captain Enrique grunted and faced forward, roaring at his men to man the cannons. Catrina quickly ducked into the captain’s cabin to stay far away from the combat. The damselflies finished stuffing the giant bubbles under the masts, and now the rest of them were pushing full speed ahead, sliding the stern of the warship right off the ledge.

  They didn’t fall.

  The bubbles kept them elevated.

  And, with a bit of extra lift support from the damselflies below the hull, the warship sailed above the canyon. Their glittering sails were so bright and eye-catching that, through the fog, the giant whale anchored to the top of the island noticed them. It let out a heavy, earth-rattling whistle. The marauders in the wooden town lit their torches, burned their braziers, and raised their anchor. They swerved towards the warship immediately.

  Captain Enrique didn’t falter. The damselflies scattered and disappeared into the canyons. As instructed, they remained alert, but stayed far from the battle, ensuring they wouldn’t get caught up in close combat. The Guards turned their sails eastwards, guiding the warship towards the silhouette of the Whirlpool City. From this high up, it looked like it sat on the horizon.

  As planned, they weren’t going to be fighting. They’d take the Whitewhale Marauders down, rescue the slaves and damselflies, head towards the Whirlpool City. They needed to make up for lost sailing time.

  Marisol had pushed really, really hard for it.

  She couldn’t afford to waste any more time, and she didn’t want her nightmare—her ‘fate’ of sinking—to even have a chance of coming true.

  So when the marauders eventually caught up to them, the giant whale swimming side-by-side with their warship a hundred meters to their left, a roar of cannon fire exploded from the marauders first. They returned interception fire at the same time. Marisol lifted her head from the railings, exhaling coolly.

  she thought, glaring at the floating wooden town in the distance.

  [Name: Marisol Vellamira]

  [Grade: C-Rank Giant-Class]

  [Class: Water Strider]

  [Swarmblood Art: ???]

  [Aura: 902]

  [Points: 284]

  [Strength: 4, Speed: 4, Toughness: 3 (+1), Dexterity: 3, Perception: 3 (+1)]

  [// MUTATION TREE]

  [T1 Mutation | Striding Glaives Lvl. 2

  [T2 Mutations | Basic Gills Lvl. 2Repelling Hydrospines Lvl. 5

  [T3 Mutations | Basic Apiclaws | Basic Wings Lvl. 1Basic Setae Lvl. 1

  [// EQUIPPED SYMBIOSTEEL]

  [Ghost Crab Scarf (Grade: F-Rank)(Tou: +1/1)(Aura: -200)]

  [Remipede Earrings (Grade: F-Rank)(Per: +1/1)(Aura: -100)]

  she thought, glancing at her status screen.