Unfortunately, since Marisol's massive wave shattered half of the marauders' ship as well, it took one 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, 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 plentiful human knowledge. It knew how to direct the children, and the children knew the lay of the land. With the Archive's guidance, knowing where to gather the right resources for every broken part of the warship was no problem for them.

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 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, they would be 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. 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 while she spent the past month mostly puking her guts out on a thatch bed because of food poisoning, 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 and vegetables 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.]

How useful you are.

She was getting dizzy from all the eating, the dancing, and the singing. 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. Being at the center of attention meant there was no running away—she'd just have to tough it out until they knocked themselves out.

I literally can't eat anything.

[You really are allergic to crab meat, huh?]

I haven't gotten a single point in the past month.

[Well, lots of people have allergies to crustacean meat. There are certain types of bugs your stomach just cannot tolerate very easily. At least eat the vegetables, though. Veggies are good for your health.]

What are you, my mama?

The children 'knocking themselves out' 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, rubbing her stomach slowly.

… 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. You tell that to every kid that gets the Altered Symbiotic 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. I'm 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.

[Do you like alcohol?]

Hell no.

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 realized 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 subconsciously.]

She chuckled quietly. Go, me.

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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 still 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-pink 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.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—the helmet didn't fall apart when she let go of both halves.

"... 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 stabilize the helmet over his head, bending both ends to see if it'd snap in 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 place.

It was something his sister gave to him, and…

Her thoughts trailed off as 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 meters 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-blue 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—

Her status screen popped up next to her head.

[Name: Marisol Vellamira]

[Grade: E-Rank Giant-Class]

[Class: Water Strider]

[Swarmblood Art: ???]

[Aura: 444]

[Points: 1]

[Strength: 4, Speed: 4, Toughness: 3, Dexterity: 2, Perception: 3]

[// MUTATION TREE]

[T1 Mutation | Striding Glaives Lvl. 2]

[T2 Mutations | Basic Gills | Basic Hydrospines Lvl: 2]

[// EQUIPPED SYMBIOSTEEL]

[Ghost Crab Scarf (Grade: F-Rank)(Tou: +0/1)(Aura: -200]

Her status screen popped up next to her head, and the Archive appeared crawling over the two new boxes at the bottom.

[You have obtained your first Symbiosteel,] it said plainly. [To reiterate, Symbiosteel are bioarcanic parasitic equipment made out of bug parts, and when they come in contact with human skin, they latch onto you like a symbiotic parasite and offer attribute levels.]

Marisol blinked at the numbers. Uh… okay. Wait. It says zero out of one next to… toughness? And minus two hundred next to aura? What's up with that?

[It means, at this F-Rank Symbiosteel's maximum potential, it can offer you one level in toughness at the cost of two hundred points' worth of aura,] the Archive said. [However, Symbiosteel is something you typically have to acclimate to. You cannot simply pick up an S-Rank Symbiosteel and immediately gain ten levels in strength. The longer you equip and get used to a particular Symbiosteel, the more of its potential attribute levels you can draw out.]

So if I just keep wearing this scarf, I'll eventually get one free level in toughness.

[Correct.]

And there ain't no stopping me from just wearing a hundred Symbiosteel across my body?

[Well, there is a cost. Since all Symbiosteel is made of bug parts that are still infused with bioarcanic essence—essence that does not come from you—there would be biological incompatibility, and thus equipping it would drain a bit of aura from you.]

Which means less essence for me to use my Art… whatever that might be.

[Correct. And the higher rank the Symbiosteel, the more attribute levels it would offer, but the higher the aura cost. If you were to equip an S-Rank Symbiosteel, it could even cost you several thousand points' worth of aura. Considering the average human only has five hundred points' worth of aura, I do not believe I have to explain what would happen if someone's aura were to go into the negative?]

They'd die?

[Worry not. This F-Rank Symbiosteel is rather shoddily made. A two hundred point cost in aura does not matter considering you do not currently have access to your Art.]

Guess I won't take it off, then, she thought, sighing quietly. But what if I had an entire cloak made out of this? Since I can't use my Art right now anyways, I'd be able to get lots of free attribute levels from a ton of F-Rank Symbiosteel, right? Maybe I should ask Kuku to—

[It is likely he made this with everything he had,] the Archive countered. [Is this reward not good enough for you?]

… The Archive was right again.

She'd gotten a hand-made gift from Kuku that'd eventually give her an additional level of toughness. It was the best gift she could've gotten from him, and she didn't even come to this island initially to help the crab children out, so 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, she'd gotten stronger, 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 sky.

… 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…

[See what?]

… Never mind.

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 human-shaped 'ghost' she'd seen during her jump through the void.

That wasn't her mama's ghost.

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 #7: Man the warship alone and sail towards the Whirlpool City]

[Time Limit: Undefined]

[Reward: Arrival at the Whirlpool City]

[Failure: Death]

… Oh god.

Manning a warship alone isn't going to go well, is it?

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