One month since the Depth Four Reclamation Mission.

  The rooftop of the Highwind Inn was slick with rain, the faint drizzle leaving a sheen of water that sparkled faintly under the pale morning sun. Marisol barely noticed the wetness beneath her as she skated, propelling herself around the roof in tight, controlled circles.

  She felt her movements were smooth, almost hypnotic, her glaives tilted just enough for her to ride their edges without losing her balance. Each turn brought a sharper and sharper curve, her body leaning into the momentum as she felt it. She rode the natural air currents swirling faintly in the morning breeze. It was still faint and barely noticeable, but… she could feel it now. That intangible shift in the air. That sensation she’d learned to read and bend to her own will over the past weeks.

  Sometimes, she didn’t even feel she was just skating anymore—it was a proper dance with the wind, and when she could ride a current, she could go faster than ever before.

  She crouched lower, her glaives humming louder as she angled them for even more speed. Her world became a blur of wind and rain, her own tired and ragged breath mingling with the drizzle as she pushed herself harder—then an old man suddenly appeared in her path, his walking cane held out at chest height.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  In a single, smooth motion, she bent her knees and slid under the cane at the last second —screeching up fiery sparks across the roof—before twisting her body to reverse the momentum. Her right glaive swung out in a sharp kick aimed directly at his side. Her left apiclaw shot out as she cut from the opposite direction, aiming to hurt.

  Of course, Victor sidestepped her attacks with practiced ease. He whipped his cane forward without a sound and managed to hook her neck. Before she could react, he tugged, yanking her forward and sending her crashing to the wet rooftop with a heavy

  She groaned, sprawling flat on her back. The light drizzle misted down over her face as she glared up at the old man, who loomed over her with an infuriatingly calm expression under his bandages.

  “You’re improving,” he said plainly, as though she wasn’t sprawled in an undignified heap. “Your edge control is sharper now. You’re reading the air currents well, too, but there’s still more you could do.”

  “Oh, sure,” she muttered, dragging herself up. “Like what? Let you trip me with a stick more gracefully?”

  “Your mutations. Your discharge. Your Charge Glaives. Channel both together and get used to them being activated at the same time. If you’re falling, you can also discharge air and water to quickly right yourself—you’re not reacting to your falls quickly enough.”

  Marisol gritted her teeth, brushing the damp off her elbows as she stood. Victor never let her get comfortable—always pushing her to do more, to be better. But he wasn’t wrong.

  She needed to be better.

  She stepped back onto her glaives, feeling the familiar hum as she listened for the air currents again.

  “Full circle,” Victor commanded, pointing his cane around the perimeter of the roof. “Show me—”

  With a sharp inhale, Marisol launched forward. Her glaives screeched faintly against the slick surface, her legs pumping harder as she skimmed the edges of the roof. She called on her discharge. She called on her Charge Glaives. Swirls of lightning crackled inside her glaives, just bubbling beneath her chitin plates, and between the wind and the lightning, she propelled herself one full circle around the roof in the blink of an eye.

  She screeched to a halt in front of Victor before he even finished his sentence.

  “... Speed,” he concluded. He seemed to raise a brow, but it was hard to tell. “Better. You’re starting to grasp ‘speed’ in the sense you don’t even wait for people to finish talking now. That’s the sort of mindset you need to take against those Insect Gods.”

  She smirked, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Starting? Watch this.”

  Without waiting for his response, she launched herself again, skating tighter and faster, letting the air currents push her instead of push against her. She lowered her body even further. She let streaks of lightning sputter out the tip of her glaives and leave scorch marks against the roof, vaporising water into hisses of steam. She couldn’t keep this up for long, naturally. Full output of her Charge Glaives and discharge at the same time drained her stamina, and she could only do this for short bursts of five or so seconds each time. Without Charge Glaives, though, she could hold a lot longer.

  But sometimes, all it’d take was five seconds.

  Victor stood completely still, his posture relaxed as she circled him over and over in the centre of the roof. He didn’t flinch at her speed even as the wind she generated whipped his flower-patterned cloak, made the feather on his oversized hat ruffle—and then she struck.

  Pivoting sharply, she redirected all her momentum, her leg lashing out in a clean arc toward his face. It was a calculated risk. He always dodged. He always blocked her attack. He always found a way to sidestep, redirect her attacking limb with his cane, then whack her at least three times on her way down.

  Except this time, he didn’t.

  Her glaive connected, the impact sending a sharp jolt up her leg as she struck his shoulder. The old man’s head tilted back slightly, and his stance wavered a little. His face was impassive, but his lips parted, and he coughed uncharacteristically as she skidded to a halt with wide eyes—a small splatter of red staining the rain-drenched ground.

  “... Old man!”

  “It’s nothing,” he rasped, though his voice lacked its usual strength. “That ain’t a bad hit. Not bad at all. That’s progress—”

  “That ain’t nothing! Sit!”

  She grabbed his arm, guiding him to sit against the ledge of the roof. The rain fell softly over them as she fumbled for the water flask she’d brought up here with her, but the old man hooked it in with his cane, taking a small sip before leaning back in his seat. His breaths were steady but shallow, his face seemingly pale beneath the bandages that covered him from head to toe.

  He was fine, but… Marisol wasn’t.

  So she sat next to him by the ledge, her knees drawn to her chest. The morning wind picked up slightly, carrying the scent of wet stone and distant markets up from the city below, but drizzle continued to fall in soft, uneven patterns, the cold rain tapping faintly against her shoulders.

  And she hesitated before asking the question that’d been gnawing at her since the day she met him, her voice quieter than before.

  “... What really happened to you, old man?”

  His gaze didn’t shift, and for a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her. She would’ve pressed again, but then he sighed—a long, measured exhale that carried the heaviness of years behind it.

  “That’s a question with no simple answer,” he said finally.

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

  “I ain’t asking for simple,” she replied, hugging her knees tighter.

  Victor glanced at her briefly, his brows furrowing, weighing the worth of her curiosity.

  Then he leaned back against the ledge, tilting his head toward the rain.

  “When I was younger—much younger—I was assigned to the Whirlpool City by the Worm God himself,” he began. “Give or take, that was about… thirty years ago. Right after the Swarm God was pushed back and humanity rallied across the continent. You gotta realise that back then, the Flower Capes ain’t what they are now. The organisation had only just begun to establish proper training regimens and structure, and as one of the many who participated in the fight against the Swarm God, I was the first to be garrisoned here, told to pick out and mentor new trainees here. Our Archives were less intelligent. We had basically no resources to work with.”

  Marisol tilted her head slowly, intrigued. “You fought in the old war?”

  “Oh, yes. Saw the Swarm God with my own eyes, even,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “But most Flower Capes who joined right after the organisation was established weren’t trained for the water. They were decent enough bug-slayers on the mainland continent, but the battles in the Deepwater Legion Front ain’t the kind they’d faced on land. On water—or under it—everything’s slower, heavier, more unpredictable. Challenging in ways most people never anticipate. Most of my disciples couldn’t adapt, either.”

  Then she watched him count fingers, and when there weren’t enough on his hand, he started counting his toes as well.

  “My first batch of recruits didn’t survive,” he said, almost too casually. “It ain’t their fault, but I ain’t had much of a choice to stop, either. I kept going. New recruits would be sent here, I’d mentor them, and some lasted longer than others. Some even thrived, though none of them wanted to dive down into the whirlpool to actually help contain Corpsetaker and his pantheon of leviathans—all twenty-two other Flower Capes in the Deepwater Legion Front right now are scattered across the great blue instead, and for good reason. Down , in the whirlpool, the pressure drives you mad.”

  “And so you were the only Hasharana who actually stayed in the Whirlpool City.”

  “I did a damn good job helping out the Imperators, if I do say so myself.”

  “But…” she prompted, sensing the shift in his tone.

  “Twelve years ago, that ‘breach’ happened.”

  Marisol stiffened.

  This was the second time—or third, or fourth, or fifth time—she’d heard about that event.

  “Three Insect Gods,” he said, holding up three fingers, “Rhizocapala, Eurypteria, and Leptostrasa. They breached the surface of the whirlpool together by sneaking past all of our observation bells. I think that was the first and only time so many Insect Gods actually managed to reach the city, and none of us were ready back then.”

  Marisol’s stomach churned as she imagined it, and she had to will the Archive not to play any recordings—waves of giant bugs flooding the waterlogged streets, the cries of the dying echoing through the city. Victor seemed to close his eyes briefly. He probably didn’t have to imagine anything.

  “To end the breach, we had to force the Insect Gods back into the whirlpool,” he said plainly, holding out a bandaged hand. “It took everything I had—everything I —to drive them back. I pushed my Art beyond its limits and burned through every reserve of strength I had. The Imperators carried the rest of the slack. I killed Leptostrasa and freaked the fuck out of Rhizocapala and Eurypteria, and this,” he said, cutting a strip of bandages across his palm with a nail, and she clenched her teeth as she saw the charred flesh underneath, “is what’s left. My Art burned me from the inside-out. No vial of healing seawater can fully heal this shit. I’ve been drinking them for years just to stay alive, but… I an old man. My body’s failing me. If I use my Art even one more time…”

  He trailed off, letting the words hang in the air.

  He didn’t have to finish his sentence, and Marisol didn’t feel like finishing the thought, either.

  Truth was, she’d guessed as much—figured as much—and she felt she had a pretty good guess on what his class was, too. The Archive didn’t need to hint at anything. She didn’t need to go around probing people for any answers.

  So as the rain continued to fall, faint mist rising from the city below, she forced herself to send him a wry smirk.

  “You ain’t as nearly as old as you act,” she muttered.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “But how old are you, really?”

  Victor chuckled softly, the sound dry but genuine. “Rest properly,” he said, gesturing wildly back at the roof, “and this is why I didn’t want to take you on as your mentor at the start.”

  Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity. “Why not?”

  “The ones I’ve taught before…” he began, his gaze drifting toward the city below, “they strong, make no mistake. Stronger than you were when you came. The difference between you and them is that you get back up after falling. Everytime. And you think you’re invincible because of it.” He turned to address her with sharp, narrowed eyes. “I’m sure you don’t that, but you think being young and strong means you can do whatever you want. Change the plan on a whim. Dive headfirst into trying to kill an Insect God nobody has been able to kill for thirty-one years when there was a safer, smarter play right in front of you.”

  Her chest tightened. He continued.

  “I don't have to review the footage your Archive recorded of that battle. I bet you thought you made up a real good plan to corner Rhizocapala, didn't you?”

  She swallowed a hard gulp. “I did.”

  “You sealed off all of his possible paths of escape with that lightning cyclone, didn't you?”

  “I did—”

  “What'd I tell you, lass?” he grumbled, shaking his head in dismay. “Seal off all but of their possible paths of escape, and they'll move as you expect them to. If you don't—if you push them into a corner where it's do or die—then I guarantee you, they do something drastic and get out of that trap somehow. They're the Swarm. They own bioarcanic essence, and they evolve under pressure. You caged Rhizocapala in a lightning cyclone with no possible path of escape. Great. But then you forced Eurypteria to step in because you put him in a do-or-die situation that she had time to recognise accordingly, and that led to Maria getting hurt.” Then he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “If you'd just left a opening for Rhizocapala to escape, you would've caught him on his way out, and Eurypteria probably wouldn't have interfered in time. That's how you beat a slippery bastard like him.”

  Guilt churned in her stomach like a physical blow. Her fists clenched in her lap as the memory of the fight surged back—the recklessness, the speed, the failed trap, the chaos, and… Maria.

  “... Is Maria okay?” she asked quietly. “I… haven’t seen her or Reina since that mission.”

  “I know.”

  “I skipped the debriefing, too.”

  “Who do you think got chewed out by Andres in your place?”

  “I can’t look at either of them.”

  A pause.

  Momentary silence.

  Then Victor sighed, leaning back on his hands.

  “Maria’s stable,” he said. “Claudia’s been working non-stop to heal her, and Reina’s been staying with her. She’ll wake up, no doubt about that—but she took a lot of damage tanking that hit from Eurypteria. When she wakes up… well, who knows what new scar she’ll have to live with.”

  Her nails dug into her palm. “I… It’s my fault. I—”

  Victor placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did good, lass. Depth Four is ours again. That mission was always going to be a fight for our lives, and it ain’t like I didn’t tell you Eurypteria wasn’t going to show up. It ain’t like it’s Maria’s first scar, either, and it won’t be her last.”

  “...You suck at comforting people, you know that?”

  He chuckled lightly. “You’re not the first to say so.”

  Despite herself, Marisol managed a faint, faint smile. For all his gruffness, there was something grounding about the old man—something that made her feel safe even in moments like… this.

  After a long silence, she spoke again.

  “Your notebook on underwater currents,” she said. “It was… helpful.”

  “I know it was.”

  “I paid attention to the currents, and… well, even though that one current Maria made at the end carried me, I’ve been learning how to read them on my own.”

  “I can tell.”

  “It’s… breathtaking, going that fast.”

  “Ain’t that right.”

  “You’re kinda like my mama,” she said, surprising even herself with the comparison, but… it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “She wrote me a book, too. About techniques.”

  Victor raised a brow. “Your mama sounds like a lovely lady. Is she single?”

  The corner of her eye twitched, and she smacked his arm. The old man laughed as he raised his hands in surrender, but even he could tell the conversation was veering off in a strange direction—so he rose to his feet, looked down at her, and bowed slightly.

  Catching her off-guard.

  Swallowing a hard gulp, Marisol quickly scrambled to her glaives and bowed back slightly, if not only because she was unsure what had brought this about.

  “... Truth is, I’ve never been a good mentor,” he said, voice softening. “Never been good at it. I can’t stand kids like you. That don’t mean you haven’t been the best disciple I’ve ever had.”

  Victor straightened, pulling his feathered cap straight with a small smirk. “So, keep training. The Depth Five Reclamation Mission will be even tougher. Keep jumping in on extermination missions, eat as much as you can, and keep getting stronger until Lighthouse Seven calls for you in a month or two’s time. I’ll throw a rock through your window when Maria wakes up so you can check on her and Reina as well, and…” He hesitated, then met her gaze straight. “I brought you into this fight. I’ll get you out of it no matter what.

  “You’re going home to your mama with a vial of healing seawater.

  “I promise.”

  He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, then turned to leave.

  And Marisol watched him go, a strange, strange emotion settling in her chest.

  So, as he reached the stairwell and descended down into the inn, she smiled faintly and gave him a deep bow in return.

  But when she exhaled slowly, she felt the morning air was crisp. Fresher than before. The weight of the mission she’d barely completed and the mission ahead of her still pressed down on her shoulders—but for the first time in a while, she felt ready to start skating full speed ahead again.

  She lowered her body, activated her Charge Glaives, and began skating around the roof again.

  Water Bug Facts #76: Leptostracans, a type of tiny filter-feeding crustaceans, are considered 'living fossils' because their basic body plan has remained largely unchanged for over five hundred million years, providing us glimpses into what some of the earliest crustaceans may have looked like. Some other living fossils of the sea include horseshoe crabs, tadpole shrimps, and giant isopods!

  Next chapter on Thursday!

  The link to the Discord server is with over five hundred members, where you can get notifications for chapter updates, check out my writing progress, and read daily facts about this insect-based world!