THE SUGARTIDE & THE FIRECRACKER
The moment Melita’s arrow hits the water, it blooms outward in a sudden, icy shockwave. The temperature drops enough to startle the gang of delinquent turtles, who scatter in a flurry of flailing flippers and indignant bubbles. One dramatically flops backward like it’s been mortally wounded, but the rest simply flee, leaving their pilfered shell bobbing to the surface like a guilty conscience.
With the mischief-makers gone, the reef below returns to calm. Flora and Melita are free to drop the rest of their shells—Sila sweeping in proud loops above, unbothered now that she’s no longer being gang-signed at.
Mission complete, the Firecracker and Sugartide bank in tandem through the sun-washed skies, heading for the bustling Port where the final phase of their route awaits. But it’s clear as soon as they’re near—today is not the day to be discreet. The docks are absolutely teeming: longshoremen unloading crates, vendors hawking fruit and fish, children running underfoot, and more gulls than anyone ever needs. It’s chaos. There’s no way to drop shells here without causing a scene.
HADAMA
The eel makes no move to stop Hadama as he transforms. Its pale, ghostlike gaze watches the change with what can only be described as vague approval—if such a thing is possible from a creature with no eyebrows. As the Lóng Dragon coils gracefully around it, the eel stretches itself into a similar spiral, tail flicking with something like curiosity rather than threat.
When the bubbles rise and the next shell drifts into place like a falling pearl, the eel gives a final slow blink and vanishes into the reef.
Peace resumes, eerie and undisturbed, and Hadama is free to continue around the northern edge of Metacarpal Island, where the twisted, carnivorous flora gives way to sharp coral shelves and rippling sandbars. The task is far from over, but this part is complete.
THE ARK
Lightning spent, fog stirred, and lights retreating, the crew aboard the Ark wastes no time. With Murphy navigating, Jack joins the shell drop team directly. Sails are full, magic still humming in the air like ozone as they coast over the fog-thick waves, dropping shells at quick, practised intervals. The compass spins, the hels shriek overhead, but they don't stop—not until Aumakua’s jagged lighthouse emerges like a crooked tooth from the mist.
And that’s when Jack sees them.
Dozens of Torchers, some kneeling, others standing in reverent silence, have gathered along the rocky shore. Hooded heads are bowed in prayer. Today is the day this group has chosen to worship Safrin with song and dance—and the Ark’s shadow looming across their ceremony is not exactly a welcome intrusion. Dropping shells here won't be subtle.
6/8
The moment Melita’s arrow hits the water, it blooms outward in a sudden, icy shockwave. The temperature drops enough to startle the gang of delinquent turtles, who scatter in a flurry of flailing flippers and indignant bubbles. One dramatically flops backward like it’s been mortally wounded, but the rest simply flee, leaving their pilfered shell bobbing to the surface like a guilty conscience.
With the mischief-makers gone, the reef below returns to calm. Flora and Melita are free to drop the rest of their shells—Sila sweeping in proud loops above, unbothered now that she’s no longer being gang-signed at.
Mission complete, the Firecracker and Sugartide bank in tandem through the sun-washed skies, heading for the bustling Port where the final phase of their route awaits. But it’s clear as soon as they’re near—today is not the day to be discreet. The docks are absolutely teeming: longshoremen unloading crates, vendors hawking fruit and fish, children running underfoot, and more gulls than anyone ever needs. It’s chaos. There’s no way to drop shells here without causing a scene.
HADAMA
The eel makes no move to stop Hadama as he transforms. Its pale, ghostlike gaze watches the change with what can only be described as vague approval—if such a thing is possible from a creature with no eyebrows. As the Lóng Dragon coils gracefully around it, the eel stretches itself into a similar spiral, tail flicking with something like curiosity rather than threat.
When the bubbles rise and the next shell drifts into place like a falling pearl, the eel gives a final slow blink and vanishes into the reef.
Peace resumes, eerie and undisturbed, and Hadama is free to continue around the northern edge of Metacarpal Island, where the twisted, carnivorous flora gives way to sharp coral shelves and rippling sandbars. The task is far from over, but this part is complete.
THE ARK
Lightning spent, fog stirred, and lights retreating, the crew aboard the Ark wastes no time. With Murphy navigating, Jack joins the shell drop team directly. Sails are full, magic still humming in the air like ozone as they coast over the fog-thick waves, dropping shells at quick, practised intervals. The compass spins, the hels shriek overhead, but they don't stop—not until Aumakua’s jagged lighthouse emerges like a crooked tooth from the mist.
And that’s when Jack sees them.
Dozens of Torchers, some kneeling, others standing in reverent silence, have gathered along the rocky shore. Hooded heads are bowed in prayer. Today is the day this group has chosen to worship Safrin with song and dance—and the Ark’s shadow looming across their ceremony is not exactly a welcome intrusion. Dropping shells here won't be subtle.
6/8
THE
Sugartide
