Storm Strider

Marisol had that same dream again.

… Black.

She was on an endless, stormy sea of cold oil. Only the horizon in the far, far distance was the silhouette of the Whirlpool City, but no matter how fast she knew she was skating on the oil, she felt slow. She felt sluggish beyond belief, but… still she continued forward, knowing that stopping meant certain death.

It’d always been that way for a Sand-Dancer who lived their lives on the edge, but she’d been pushing it recently. The Storm Stride. The War Jump. The Silent Step. The Whirlwind Spin; all of them were techniques that pushed her speed to its utmost limits. The Archive had told her as much the moment she picked the water strider class, but if she ever tipped off balance while skating across the open sea—if she ever fell just once—there’d be no way she could climb back onto her glaives.

If she stood still on the stormy sea, the waves would undoubtedly knock her off balance, so she had to keep skating. She had to keep moving and maintain that momentum.

But how long could she skate for?

How fast was too fast?

Panting, heart thumping in her ears, she squeezed her eyes shut as she skated through the storm. Black rain fell around her, silent lightning cracking in the dark sky. She couldn’t stop skating. The sea of oil was slick beneath her glaives, and it tried to stick to her, tried to slow her down. Air bubbles popped all around her. There were things swimming underneath the surface, too—beasts, monsters, leviathans of all shapes and sizes, just waiting for her to make a single mistake and sink into the abyss.

She kept skating towards the Whirlpool City.

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t look down.

She kept getting closer and closer and closer, and just when she thought she was about to reach it–

Snap!

Her glaives tripped on something—a coral, a plank of wood, a bundle of floating weeds—and it didn’t matter what it was. Any little thing could trip her up if she wasn’t focusing at a hundred and ten percent of her power at all times, so… she went soaring. Her momentum sent her flying fifty more metres before she slammed face-first into a wave of oil, and it wasn’t even that painful. She’d had plenty of experience falling as a Sand-Dancer, so she managed to brace her head right as she plunged in.

The slick, black oil immediately drowned out all sounds. All light. It clung to her skin like glue and weighed her down, dragging her down under, and her arms flailed for the surface. It was no use. She looked up, kicked her glaives, and tried to swim. It was no use. She couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore; her mind was in a cold-addled haze, and she was self-aware enough to know she wasn’t thinking right.

She felt a thousand leviathans swimming around her, putting her in the eye of a black storm, and as they lunged in to tear her to shreds, she opened her mouth to scream–

Marisol woke up gasping, cold sweat over her face and neck as the warship swayed gently left and right. Her mind was still racing with a million words, all too fast for her to catch and turn into a coherent thought, so she breathed into her hands and forced herself to calm down.

She was still on the Harbour Guards’ warship.

It’d only been nine days since they set sail from the giant remipede’s carcass, so they were still a day or two off from the Whirlpool City.

[... I detected intense brainwave activity just now,] the Archive said idly. [Were you having a nightmare, Marisol?]

As her breathing slowed and her head stopped pounding, she swung off her hammock on the lower deck—where all the Harbour Guards were snoring loudly around her—and climbed upstairs where soft rain pitter-pattered against the deck. It may be colder up here than down there, but even through the thick rain clouds, the occasional shaft of moonlight fell through to illuminate the stormy sea; a breath of freezing air was better than no fresh air at all.

I used to have them more as a kid, she thought, wrapping the end of her scarf around her neck to keep herself warm as she leaned against the railings, staring out at the dark horizon. It’s scary, you know. Sand-dancing. You fall and hurt yourself constantly, and it’s not always light injuries. No kid wouldn’t get nightmares over knowing they have to get up the next morning and do the same routine over and over until they get it right.

[Nobody forced you to sand-dance, did they?]

No. Of course not.

[And still you had nightmares of it?]

… It’s an irrational fear, she thought, smiling softly. Quicksand really isn’t as common as everyone makes them out to be, but when I was a kid, I was always freaked out that there’d be random patches of quicksand in the desert. The idea that I’d suffocate if I messed up my routine and fell into quicksand even once was… pretty stupid, now that I’m thinking back on it. There ain’t no quicksand in the desert.

[...]

But you can sink into water.

You can suffocate on the seas.

I wonder… if I’m starting to lose my nerves a little, now that I’m so close to the Whirlpool City–

The little water strider poked her cheek, and though it was just a projection of a bug, the jab felt real. It certainly felt sharp and painful enough to snap her out of her weary, listless trance.

[Do not fall, then,] the Archive said plainly. [Stay on the tip of your glaives. Be graceful at all times. You must be the embodiment of perfection, for that is what a Sand-Dancer is—did you set off for the Whirlpool City with such little resolve in your heart?]

…

She swatted the Archive off her shoulder—made it appear on her other shoulder—and laughed heartily as she did.

… I’ve properly indoctrinated you into my way of thinking, huh? she thought, teasing the little bug by trying to tickle its back. That’s right. I’ll simply never fall, ever. I’ll go as fast as I want, whenever I want, and none can stop me.

[Please refrain.]

She was totally content with teasing the Archive for the rest of the night, but a small cough by the helm upstairs made her turn; someone had set up a small tent on the quarterdeck.

A small candle flame kept the tent lit, and Marisol was too curious to not go and check. She bounced up the stairs to see Catrina—Enrique’s daughter—sitting on a rocking chair, one hand on her scarred belly as she stared at the distant silhouette of the Whirlpool City.

“... Can’t sleep?” Catrina asked, shooting her a soft smile as she sat on the railings next to the chair. The overhead tarp was really nice; she didn’t need to stand out in the gentle rain.

“I’m a child of the sands,” Marisol said, grinning back at the lady as she kicked her glaives back and forth. “As much as I like the great blue and the sound of the waves, it ain’t anything compared to the golden hues of the desert.”

Catrina chuckled. “I’ve never been to the desert, I’ll admit. I’d like to go visit one day.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s really boring.”

“But you just said it was pretty?”

“Pretty is pretty. It’s still pretty boring.”

Marisol had spent the past nine days working as a scout—skating ahead of the warship to see if there might be any leviathans in their way—so, regrettably, she hadn’t spent as much time talking with Catrina as she’d wanted. According to Enrique, they were almost the same age. Marisol didn’t have many friends her age even back in the desert town, so she’d wanted to talk about all sorts of things with the lady; even if it was about something as mundane as their hometown.

“Your papa… Captain Enrique’s from the Whirlpool City, right?”

Catrina nodded. “Born and raised,” she said proudly. “He was already a Harbour Guard back then, when the city was under attack by Corpsetaker, but he sent me and mother off to the mainland continent because he didn’t want us getting caught up in the fighting. Since the two of us liked the mainland so much, we just settled there and grew new roots.”

“Oh? My mama was also from the city, but she ran away before I was born! Does that mean you’ve been to the city before?”

“Of course. Once a year, whenever we could visit my father.” Catrina glanced backwards, and the two of them shared a giggle at Captain Enrique snoring on a barrel of mushroom wine next to the helm. “Harbour Guards don’t get a lot of breaks. He tries his best to visit whenever his patrol route takes him to the shore where we lived, but he can never stay more than a day or two—so we thought, as a family, that we’d stay at the Whirlpool City for about two months every year. That way, while he’s stationed there, he could come home and eat dinner with us.” Then Catrina’s smile weakened, and she looked down as her eyes glazed over. “I guess… we’ve had it lucky the past decade, while we could still eat together as one whole family.”

Marisol’s lips thinned into a lip, and she averted her eyes for a brief second as well. After all, Catrina, her husband, and her mother had been heading towards the Whirlpool City when they were attacked by the giant remipede—it was only her and Enrique who survived that attack.

Had Marisol gotten there faster, could she have done something to prevent them from getting attacked?

“... And you, Mari?” Catrina asked, jolting her out of her thoughts. “What were you going to the Whirlpool City for? I heard from father that you were sailing… alone? On a Marauder ship, no less? What could possibly compel you to cross the great blue by yourself?”

Marisol fixed Catrina with a sleepy gaze, fidgeting with the remipede pearls in her hand; she found she’d been rubbing them unconsciously recently, whenever she felt a bit seasick or uneasy.

“My mama has an ailment,” she said plainly. “If I don’t get to the Whirlpool City and bottle up a vial of healing seawater, she’ll die in a few months, so… can’t have that happening, right?”

Catrina stared at her, deep blue eyes twinkling with an odd mix of awe and shock.

“You ate a bug-slayer’s system, killed a fairy shrimp, skated through a storm, fought off Marauders, and killed a giant remipede from the inside-out for your mother?”

“Is that… so hard to believe?” she asked, scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. “Mm. It does sound quite unbelievable, huh? The Archive… the system in my head tells me not to tell other people my story all the time, because there’s no way anyone would–"

“If only I were as brave as you, hm?”

Completely unprompted, Catrina leaned forward in her chair and patted Marisol on the head, making Marisol freeze where she sat.

It’d been a long time since anyone patted her on the head, and… maybe it was because Catrina was about to be a mother, but she almost felt as though she was being comforted by her mama.

“I don’t think my father or any of his men said it properly—they’re Harbour Guards who only know how to sail and fight, after all—so let me do their jobs for them this time,” Catrina said, her smile twinkling with amusement. “Thank you, Marisol. We’re locals of the Whirlpool City, so we’ll do absolutely everything in our power to make sure you get into the city without any issues. We can also pay for your return trip to your town, so–”

“Can I hear it?” Marisol blurted, her tongue running faster than her brain as she pointed at Catrina’s scarred belly. “The… the baby. I don’t have any siblings, and I’ve never helped any of the townsfolk with childbirth before, so I… can I hear?”

She blushed immediately after she finished her sentence. It was such a strange thing to ask, after all, but to her surprise, Catrina only laughed and nodded softly.

“Sure,” Catrina said, patting her belly. “You can put your ear to it if you’d like.”

Marisol needed no telling twice. She hopped off the railings, slid to a kneel, placed her ear gently against Catrina’s belly, and… the sound that came to her was a small heartbeat; low, quiet, but layered. It was barely louder than the soft pitter-patter of raindrops around her, but still it was rich with an unborn human life.

It made Marisol tear up for some reason, though she didn’t let Catrina see it.

“They’ll be due in another month, I think,” Catrina said, patting Marisol’s head again. “I wish you could be there to see them, but, well, you return to your mother with a vial of healing seawater first. Please come back and visit us if you have the time afterwards–”

“Sh.”

She knew how rude it was to interrupt Catrina in the middle of an invitation, but she pressed her ear slightly deeper, frowning as she caught a strange sound.

It sounded like… a heartbeat that was off-rhythm.

A second heartbeat.

Marisol snapped her head up, looking at Catrina expectantly. “Are you expecting two?”

In response, Catrina blinked pointedly back at her.

“Two?”

“Mhm. I’m hearing–”

Sounds of distant cannon fire made her whirl, and she turned just in time to see a volley of projectiles soaring at them.

[Grab the girl and duck.]

Quickly, she slid forward and yanked Catrina’s rocking chair away from the railings—just in time as the warship lurched, the first volley of projectiles slamming into the hull with a series of wet thuds. Captain Enrique jolted awake by the helm, and while Marisol checked on Catrina to see if she was alright, the Harbour Guards immediately lit up the lanterns and rushed to man the cannons. Shouts filled the rainy air as Marisol stared out at the direction of fire; her eyes narrowed on the distant vessels charging straight ahead at them.

… Those aren’t ships.

They’re… whales?

They were hard to make out at night, but where shafts of cold moonlight fell upon them, she saw half a dozen giant blue whales carving through the stormy seas. Entire wooden towns were strapped to their backs, aglow with torches and braziers, and she saw yet another volley of cannon fire flashing bright red three hundred metres across. She grabbed Catrina and dragged her further back as the projectiles slammed into the hull after two seconds.

Archive!

[The Whitewhale Marauders,] the Archive said grimly. [Prepare yourself. They are already boarding.]

What do you–

And then the first of them climbed over the railings. They had completely normal human heads, completely normal human limbs, and the cutlasses they wielded were completely normal steel blades as well—it was just the fact that they all had twelve extra arms jutting out their backs, each wielding a cutlass that had her frozen.

[Sand-Dancer’s misfortune, indeed.]

[Sharpen your glaives and focus.]

[They are one of the Five Marauder Fleets of the Deepwater Legion Front.]

[Objective #10: Defend the warship and outrun the Whitewhale Marauders]

[Time Limit: Undefined]

[Reward: Survival]

[Failure: Parasitic death]