Storm Strider

Unfortunately, since Marisol’s massive wave shattered half of the Marauders’ ship as well, it took another whole month before the children finished helping her repair it to full.

All in all, there’d been thirty-one tattooed children locked up in the slave galley. Kuku was included amongst them, of course. They were all haggard and bony and listless when she’d kicked their cages open, but with a steady supply of crabs, sunlight, and the feel of seawater washing between their toes, they gradually returned to being as children should: cheerful and carefree. They thanked her with teary hugs, flower garlands, necklaces made of corals and seashells, and—most importantly—extra hands to help repair the Marauders’ ship with.

It may have taken the Marauders an entire year to repair their ship, but the Archive was an aggregate of all human knowledge. It knew how to direct the children, and the children knew the lay of the land. Knowing where to gather the right resources for every broken part of the warship was no problem for them.

… And, as for the twenty-two Marauders themselves, she’d tied all of them up and left their fates for the children to decide. She hadn’t killed any one of them, and it wasn’t her choice to make; the pillaged must stand for themselves, so whatever the children wanted to do, she’d decided she would support them whole-heartedly.

To that end, the children had decided to maroon the Marauders on a tiny reed raft and kick them off the island without their weapons or their clothes. They had one small bucket of crabs to share between them, but otherwise they were utterly empty-handed as they’d drifted in the direction of a distant storm—they’d departed two weeks ago, so Marisol assumed, without any paddles, that they were about in the thick of it right now. Death was almost certain in the storm; it’d shatter their tiny raft and drown them in the great blue.

She was just glad the children hadn’t decided to kill them on the island. The earth was already soaked with too much blood, and adding the blood of monsters in the mix would only remind the children of their losses.

So, tonight was a party to celebrate what they’d regained.

It was midnight, Marisol’s thirty-third night on the island—exactly one month had passed since she’d washed ashore, and the children had rebuilt a small village on the iron sand beach where the Marauders’ outpost once stood. Braziers crackled around them as the children savoured fresh crab legs from a giant stewing pot in the centre, enjoying cups of fresh coral forest water and cashing in on the joy they’d saved up over the past month. They were all very good at dancing like crabs, and they all moved as ridiculously as Kuku did. Only the Great Makers knew how many times Marisol broke out into laughter seeing them skitter from side to side in sync. Maybe that was the only dance move they really knew, but she wasn’t complaining; her routines were about just as simplistic and silly when she was their age.

Are they putting some sort of wine into the crab legs, though?

I feel… drunk.

[I have no idea.]

Tch. How useful you are.

She was getting dizzy from all the eating and the dancing and the singing, and the children refused to let her take a break. They’d put something into the giant stewing pot of crab legs that made her feel just a tad bit tipsy, and… it kinda sucked. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them that, though. They were all so smiley and cheery as they shoved bowls upon bowls of crab legs in her face, and being at the centre of attention meant there was no running away—she’d just have to tough it out until they knocked themselves out.

That didn’t happen for another two hours, but eventually, the braziers gradually died down. The stewing pot stopped bubbling, and the cheering and dancing quieted; the children were all asleep on giant reed mats, and she found herself sitting on a small stool with a little girl’s head in her lap.

… Overindulgence much? she thought, sighing softly to herself as she picked the little girl up and lay her down next to her friends. Kids shouldn’t be drinking. I think… I think I’m gonna trip and fall over myself.

[Children in the Plagueplain Front are known to intoxicate themselves on far more potent drugs and toxic substances on a daily basis.]

She glanced at the little water strider on her shoulder, smiling wryly. So, you tell that to every kid that gets the Altered Swarmsteel System? It’s okay to knock themselves out silly?

The Archive looked up at her pointedly. [It has been a year and a month since they got to have any fun. Let them be.]

She shrugged lightly in response. Just kidding. Mama used to let me drink too—said it’s good practice for helping me keep my balance even when I’m not feeling up to it.

In the dead of night, she tiptoed across the village and made sure all of the children were properly tucked in on their mats—blankets over their bodies, crab shell pillows under their heads—but then she quickly realised there was one child missing.

Kuku.

Come to think of it, she seemed to recall him retreating from the party the moment it started; where did he go again?

[Into the forest, towards the basin at the bottom of the waterfall.]

You remember?

[I only see what you see, and you were indeed paying attention, albeit unconsciously.]

She chuckled quietly. Go, me.

Once she was sure none of the children would roll off their mats, she began skating inland, moonlight falling through the massive gaps in the canopy to light her way. At this point, she could probably navigate the gargantuan forest blindfolded—not that she wanted to try, of course, but she probably could. She followed the familiar roots, leapt across the old chasms, and eventually reached the wooden floodgates they’d all rebuilt to keep the basin contained.

There, Kuku was sitting on the edge with his legs kicking in the water, back turned towards her.

…

She didn’t need to see his face to tell he was probably sullen about his crab helmet having been split in half, but today, she came bearing a gift.

Leaping and landing next to him in one powerful stride, she plopped herself down at the edge of the floodgates and plucked both halves of his helmet off his lap. She made sure not to look at his face—as she’d done her best not to the entire past month—and immediately began doing as the Archive instructed.

[Line the cracked edges of the helmet with the fairy-shrimp-mix-boreal-sap extract and apply gentle heat as you stick both halves together. If you blow warm air on the extract, it would begin to harden, and–]

I got, I got it.

Under the Archive’s instructions, she’d spent her free time the past few days running around the island, collecting resources and grinding up all of her fairy shrimp chitin to mix together a bluish-pinkish goo in a small stone bowl. She lined the sticky goo around the edges of the helmet as ordered to, and once she used up all of the goo, she pressed both halves of the helmet together and blew on them slowly; letting go only when she felt the halves wouldn’t fall apart instantly.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—the helmet didn’t fall apart, and now it was whole again.

“... Here you go!” she chirped, slamming the helmet back onto Kuku’s head, and now she could look him in the face again as she sent him a cheeky grin. “Sorry it took so long, but it wasn’t until a few days ago that the voice in my head started being able to identify some of the plants on this island—if I knew I could make this sticky goo with the forest’s natural resources, I would’ve made it sooner!”

Sitting hunched and quiet with his shoulders slumped, Kuku’s hands shot up to stabilise the helmet over his head, bending both ends to see if it’d snap down the half again. She really, really hoped it wouldn’t, but the Archive’s information wasn't wrong; the sticky goo mixed with fairy shrimp chitin powder was as powerful as the palm sap the builders used in her desert town.

Once Kuku was certain his helmet was repaired tougher than it used to be, he shot to his feet and immediately hopped off the floodgates, racing off into the shadows of the forest. He didn’t even spare her a glance as she reached a hand out, trying to tell him to stay, but… she didn’t manage to call out to him before he disappeared, after all.

She smiled wistfully as she lowered her hand, tucking her chin in.

Does he hate me, still?

I shouldn’t have broken it in the first half.

It was something his sister gave to him, and–

And Kuku came rushing back half a minute later, covered in leaves and branches as he held up a scarf in his hands. He jumped three metres straight up onto the floodgate—his physicality making her blink for a moment—and then landed next to her, hands trying to wrap the scarf around her neck. For her part, she didn’t resist much; she let him play with her curly hair and figure out how best to put the scarf on until he felt he got it ‘right’.

He crossed his arms and puffed his chest out proudly as she held the end of her scarf before her, frowning down at its unusual, glimmering pinkish-bluish hues.

It’s soft, but it’s definitely not made of normal fabric.

It’s made out of… really, really thin crab shells?

What is–

[// STATUS]

[Name: Marisol Vellamira]

[Class: Water Strider]

[BloodVolume: 5.0/5.1 (98%), Strain: 84/550 (15%)]

[Strength: 4, Speed: 6 (+1), Dexterity: 3, Toughness: 6, Perceptivity: 2, Strain Limit: 550]

[// UNIQUE SWARMSTEEL LIST]

[Ghost Crab Scarf (Quality = D)(Spd +1/2)(Tou + 0/1)(Strain +76)]

[Special Ability: Reflexive Camouflage]

A status screen popped up next to her head, and the Archive appeared crawling over it.

[You have obtained your first Swarmsteel,] it said plainly. [To reiterate, Swarmsteel are equipment made out of insect parts, and when they come in contact with human skin, they typically offer a few attribute levels with the tradeoff being putting a permanent limiter on your strain. Currently, your scarf is offering you one level in speed while preventing your strain from ever going under seventy-six. In my opinion, however, the additional level in speed is quite worth the strain.]

Marisol blinked at the numbers. Uh… okay. Wait. It says one out of two next to speed, and zero out of one next to… toughness? What’s up with that?

[It means, at this D-rank Swarmsteel’s maximum potential, it could offer you two levels in speed and one level in toughness,] the Archive said. [However, Swarmsteel is something you typically have to acclimate to. You cannot simply pick up a S-rank… a high-rank Swarmsteel and immediately gain a hundred levels in strength. The longer you equip and get used to a particular Swarmsteel, the more of its potential you can draw out.]

So if I just keep wearing this scarf, I’ll get two levels in speed and one level in toughness?

[Correct.]

But the added strain also means as long as I’m wearing it, I’ll have less stamina?

[You can counteract the strain by simply putting more points in levelling your strain limit, though, of course, you need to stop eating crabs and let your body rest for a little while longer. You had been gaining an average of ninety points per day for the first three days of the month, which is nine times more than the daily recommended limit. If I had not stopped you and you had continued eating crabs the past month, you would have died of point poisoning, or perhaps been afflicted with irreversible crab mutations by now,] the Archive said, shrugging nonchalantly. [You can start consuming crabs in two or three more days, and if possible, please stick to only ten points a day. It is for your good health.]

Fine, fine.

I was feeling sick right after I beat the Marauders, after all. I guess I could slow down my... my points gain a little.

Once I start eating crabs again, maybe I should even level my strain limit massively? It'd be helpful to counteract the plus seventy-six strain the scarf is giving me, right?]

[Certainly. For a Swarmsteel that offers one whole speed level on top of your original speed level, a permanent seventy-six cost in strain is rather worth it, and that is not even mentioning—the scarf appears to have a special ability.]

She looked left and right across the end of the scarf, noting the reflective, glimmering colours.

Reflexive camouflage?

[I believe it is a minor property of ghost crab chitin,] the Archive said. [Ghost crabs derive their name from their usually pale colouration, but it is also derived from the fact that their chitin can change colours in order to match their surroundings. They do so by adjusting the concentration and dispersal of pigments within their chromatophores, which are cells that produce colour via pigmentation. It is not exactly metachrosis, but my database shows they can even match the specific colour of sand grains around them–]

–okay, stop, I’m too drunk for this–

[–try willing the scarf to change colour,] the Archive finished. [Imagine it turning pale white under the moonlight.]

She obliged, holding the end of her scarf up as she closed her eyes, visualising it turning almost transparent… and Kuku gasped, clapping his hands as she slowly peeled her eyelids open.

Her scarf had turned half-transparent, and she could see her palms through the glimmering shell fabric.

Whoa, she thought, blinking in surprise. What if I had an entire cloak made out of this? I’d be able to turn invisible, right? Maybe I should ask Kuku–

[It is likely he made this with everything he had,] the Archive countered. [A ghost crab scarf is good enough. You have traded those fairy shrimp parts for a Swarmsteel far greater than anything you could have made with them.]

…

The Archive was right.

In exchange for those heavy, cumbersome fairy shrimp parts, she’d gotten a hand-made gift from Kuku… and though the scarf’s camouflage ability may not be particularly useful given how little of her body could be covered by it, the additional level in speed would be greatly useful.

It was the second best reward she could’ve gotten, and as she opened her arms with a cheery smile, Kuku immediately threw himself into her—the edges of his crab helmet slammed into her chest once again and made her wince, but only a little.

She’d gotten tougher, and she’d become ‘fearless’ on this island of crabs.

…

Come tomorrow morning, she’d set sail alone on the Marauders’ ship to continue towards the Whirlpool City, and the children of the island would do their best to rebuild. Who knew when she’d get to see Kuku again, if ever at all?

She wasn’t his older sister, and she could never be.

That was why she wanted to spend her last night on the island with the first boy she’d met, and even if he’d grow to forget her name eventually, she wanted him to remember the Sand-Dancer who’d danced her way to victory under the twilight sun.

… Archive?

[Yes?]

The second time I did the War Jump, when I was spinning so fast it was like the world around me turned into a void, did you also see…

…

… Nevermind.

She pulled Kuku into a deeper hug as she closed her eyes, merely enjoying the night as it was—there was no need to bother the Archive about the inhuman-shaped ‘ghost’ she’d seen during her jump through the void.

That wasn’t her mama’s ghost.

But, for all she knew, it was just a hallucination born of fear; only the Great Makers knew what a girl scared out of wits would see while spinning at the speed of sound.

[... Your journey is far from over, Marisol.]

[Now begins the real challenge.]

[Objective #8: Man the warship alone and sail towards the Whirlpool City]

[Time Limit: Undefined]

[Reward: Arrival at the Whirlpool City]

[Failure: Death on the great blue]