The Tempest's Aftermath
Siria, Bulan, and Alex arrived at Rookie Isle, battered but unbroken by the cyclone's wrath. The beach stretched before them, pale sand glittering under a bruised sky—a stark contrast to the churning chaos they'd escaped.
"Five cyclones out there now," Alex muttered, nodding toward the horizon where dark spirals clawed at the sea. "Monstrous."
Siria shrugged, her voice steady as seasoned timber. "Common here. The eastern sea's worse—a graveyard with teeth."
"Wouldn't set foot there if you paid me a thousand licce coin," Alex replied, shuddering.
Bulan lingered apart, silent. The ocean's vastness unnerved her—a realm so alien to her lunar home, where tides were myths and waves existed only in holograms.
Alex, noticing her isolation, sidled closer. "So… first exploration on the ocean. Thrilling, eh?"
Bulan stiffened. "How'd you know it's my first? You some kind of… witch?" The jab carried lunar history—a reference to the dark ages before the Lunarism Revolution, when calendar shifts from Sunrisme to Lunarism had split her world. (The last Sunrisme year is 12,869—a number etched in every moon-child's memory.)
Alex barked a laugh. "Witch? Nah. You've got 'clueless rookie' written all over you, moron."
Siria rolled her eyes. "Enough. We've got a path to carve. Poosay's not getting closer while you two squabble."
As they trudged inland, Bulan stole a glance back. The cyclones writhed, their fury muted by distance. For a heartbeat, she missed the moon's sterile silence—no storms, no salty stings, no infuriating humans.
But then Alex tossed her a smirk, and something flickered in her chest. Not peace. Not yet. But the faintest spark of curiosity—about Earth, its chaos, and why, despite everything, it felt so alive.
—
Siria wiped sweat from her brow as they stepped into the forest, the coastal heat thickening beneath the canopy. "This island—it's not on any map," she said, frustration sharpening her tone. "I've charted every speck in these waters. How?"
Alex snapped a twig underfoot, his voice casual but edged with unease. "Maps lie. Politics. Secrets. Monsters. The real world's written in whispers, not ink." He paused, eyeing the gnarled trees. "This is Rookie Isle—or what's left of it. The country call it South Hippie now."
"How do you know?"
"Sailed past it once. There's a man in Poosay who trades in… unofficial charts. We'll find him if you want"
Siria nodded, but her gaze flickered to the empty space where Bulan had stood moments ago. "Where's—?"
"Gone." Alex's smirk faltered. "Luna's vanished."
A beat of silence. The forest hummed, alive in a way that prickled Siria's spine. "Is this place dangerous?"
Alex hesitated. "Used to be tribes here—Vexan, Manush. Now? Just Kajo. They're… territorial. Slaughtered the others after Junta's empire fell."
"oohh shit"
They plunged into the undergrowth, Siria's compass spinning wildly. Above, sunlight fractured through leaves, painting the ground in jagged gold. Bulan's absence hung between them—a void.
Meanwhile, deeper in the woods, Bulan wandered, drawn by a warmth that pulsed in her veins. It felt like her mother's arms, like moonlight distilled. Strange glyphs glowed faintly on ancient trees, and the air thrummed with a frequency only she could hear—a hymn from the soil itself.
Come, the island seemed to whisper. Remember.
But what the forest remembered, Bulan feared, was written in blood.
The Sanctuary of Sky Trees,
Bulan stepped into the Inner Forest, where ancient trees hovered weightlessly above, their roots coiled like serpents around glowing crystalline pillars. Below, the ground shimmered with veins of Tensa, casting an ethereal blue-green light that mirrored the sky. The air hummed with an almost musical energy, scented like jasmine and rain-soaked earth—a fragrance so pure it felt sacred.
She froze as a Kajo materialized before her in a blur—a humanoid figure with iridescent wings and eyes like fractured amber. Its voice buzzed, a cascade of clicks and harmonics: *"Dheidnwisnwsiwnwk."*
Bulan closed her eyes, channeling the last vestiges of her lunar power to decipher the words. The translation stung: "Who are you? Moron?"
She smirked. "Not a moron, moron. I'm Bulan or Lunaria. My ship's damaged—we're stranded. Can you help?"
The Kajo tilted its head, antennae quivering. After a tense pause, it gestured toward the forest's heart. "Enter. I am Jasmine, guardian of this realm. Your companions… they follow?"
"Yes. They're… mostly harmless. Except the man. He's… irritating."
Jasmine's wings flickered, a laugh in motion. "We shall judge them. You may pass, Lunaria."
Bulan hesitated. "What are you, Jasmine? Not human. Not like anything I've seen."
"Kajo. Keepers of balance. Protectors of the Tensa." Jasmine's gaze softened. "Your aura… it sings of moonlight. Rare here."
As Bulan ventured deeper, the forest unfolded—a labyrinth of floating groves and bioluminescent flora. Above, Sky Trees cradled nests of woven light, while below, streams of liquid Tensa pulsed like arteries. It was a living cathedral, untouched by time or greed.
Behind her, distant shouts echoed—Siria and Alex, stumbling into Jasmine's scrutiny. Bulan smiled. For once, she wasn't the outsider.