Fioren's gaze drifted far out to the horizon, eyes not seeing the waters ahead but something deeper—something buried far below where light could reach. The wind tugged at her clothes, her hair, but she didn't move. Not until she finally spoke.
"I was seven when I saw my first human."
She said it so plainly it was almost gentle, but there was something in her voice that pulled at the edges of the moment—something haunted.
"He was a diver. Pale suit, flashing metal. He got too close to our outpost near the reefs. He looked… terrified. As if we were animals that had escaped from some storybook. My father told me to stay hidden, but I peeked. And I watched the way the diver trembled. He didn't even try to speak. He just turned and fled."
She paused, her jaw tightening as she struggled with the next words.
"That was the last peaceful encounter I ever witnessed."
She turned to Chiaki, her eyes sharp—not with anger, but pain so old it had become part of her.
"Humans didn't come with questions. They came with cages. With cameras and probes. They mapped our homes like curiosities in a zoo. When the Vorean elders refused to answer their demands—to give up our territories, our food routes, our population—they labeled us hostile. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. Like we were a threat just for existing."
Fioren turned back to the sea. Her fingers gripped the railing.
"They started calling it an operation. A cleansing. They didn't even try to hide it."
She took a shaky breath, and her voice wavered—just enough to show the cracks she'd tried so hard to seal shut.
"The first attacks were small. Disruptions to our water flow systems. Noise bombs to disorient our kin. They said they were just 'testing marine sonar,' but we knew. We knew what they were doing. Then came the hunters. Harpoon-equipped submarines, dragging nets with barbs. They took our young first. Said they were going to 'study' them. We never saw any of them again."
Chiaki stood still, frozen in place. Razor had gone quiet—unnaturally quiet.
"They found Cascade Cradle within a month. That was our home, Chiaki. The heart of Vorean civilization. It wasn't just a city—it was family, memory, peace. Generations had lived and died there, building a world in the only place we were allowed to exist. Do you understand that? It was the only place we had left."
Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth for a moment to steady herself. When she spoke again, it was low. Controlled. Sharp like a blade dulled from overuse.
"They destroyed it in a single afternoon."
No storm. No warning. No declaration of war.
"They dropped toxic waste disguised as fuel runoff. They crushed entire towers with metal drills. They set off controlled explosions to collapse the sea floor. Whole wings of our city just… vanished. Water filled them. People couldn't get out. My brother drowned in a hallway less than ten meters from safety. My mother was crushed by debris. I watched my father claw at a sealed door, screaming for help as the pressure crushed his lungs from the inside out."
She swallowed hard.
"I was lucky. Or cursed. I survived."
Fioren straightened herself then, her voice firmer but cold—frozen in time.
"After that, the survivors scattered. We went deeper, into the trenches where no human dares go. Into the black. We told stories—about what we lost, who we lost, and who took them from us. Humans became monsters in the minds of Vorean children. Because, for us, that's what they were. Not myths. Not legends. Just… murderers in suits with logos and clipboards."
She shook her head.
"And no one apologized. No one came for the dead. No one from the surface ever said, 'We're sorry.' They just forgot. We became a footnote in someone's report."
Then she finally looked back at Chiaki again, and her voice softened—not in weakness, but in the quiet strength of someone choosing to hope despite everything.
"And then… I met your crew. And I thought… maybe we were wrong. Maybe not all humans would turn their backs on us. Maybe some of you are still capable of seeing us as more than… relics. Or threats. Or things to be dissected."
She looked away again, this time toward the waters where Lyvoria Crest began to take form in the distance.
"That's why I fight. Not for vengeance. Not anymore. I fight so the next child won't have to hide in the dark. So no one else will have to watch their family break apart in silence. I don't want to sink into hatred like they did."
Fioren paused, her voice trailing into the roar of the waves as silence swallowed the deck. But after a long, solemn breath, she continued, eyes darkened with something deeper—heavier.
"But there's more you need to understand. This hatred between our peoples… it didn't survive all these years on its own. It was fed. It was cultivated. And no one fed it more than Zharroth—our leader."
The name seemed to drag the air down with it, like it carried weight even the ocean couldn't hold.
"He wasn't always the way he is now. I remember him when I was young. Strong, calm, dignified. Back then, Zharroth was a teacher, not a tyrant. He believed in unity. He taught the younglings history, language, even surface dialects. He wanted us to understand the world above, not fear it."
Her voice grew quieter, more hesitant, like she was reliving something painful with every word.
"But then came the second purge."
She shut her eyes for a moment, jaw clenched.
"Years after Cascade Cradle fell, when we thought we had hidden deep enough to be safe… humans came again. This time not soldiers, but poachers. Scavengers looking to mine rare sea crystals and harvest Vorean biology for profit. They didn't know who we were. They didn't care. They captured dozens of us—younglings, scouts, even Zharroth's mate… and his daughter."
The wind stilled.
"Fortunately, humans rebuilt Cascade Cradle, but then... they tore his world apart. His daughter was only nine. Zharroth searched for her for days. When he finally found her… she wasn't alive. And the way she died—Chiaki, it was inhuman. She had been used. Cut open. Like an experiment."
Fioren turned slowly to face her friend, her voice low and laced with grief.
"Zharroth broke that day. He stopped being a teacher. He stopped being the man I admired. He buried her himself in a cave of blue coral, then swore by her blood that he'd never let another human touch Vorean shores again."
Her fists tightened at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
"He rallied the scattered survivors. Took the throne by force. Anyone who dared speak of peace was branded a traitor. He didn't just teach the young to fear humans anymore—he taught them to hate. To strike first. To never forgive."
Fioren hesitated, then added with bitterness in her throat:
She turned her gaze toward the ship again, where the others gathered—laughing, arguing, living.
Fioren's voice fell into a whisper.
"That's why I came. Not just to protect Razor. But to make sure Zharroth doesn't get his war. Because if he does… it won't stop with you. It'll spread. The ocean will boil with hatred again. And this time, there won't be anyone left to stop it."
She faced Chiaki fully now, sincerity glowing in her tired eyes.
"We have to show him… there's still another way. Even if he can't be saved, we have to save what's left of us."
Temoshí turned to Fioren, a quiet intensity in his gaze, clearly searching for clarity. "So even after everything… after we fought side by side… Zharroth still doesn't know how to deal with humans?"
Fioren let out a soft sigh, her expression mixed with hope and realism. "Honestly? I don't think Zharroth will ever fully trust humans. Not completely. He's still a leader scarred by the past, and those scars run deep. But he has changed—at least a little."
She looked up at the sky for a moment, thinking back to that fateful meeting. "He's not the same man who once commanded to kill every outsider on sight. You saw it yourself when I brought you to him. He gave you a chance—a chance to leave peacefully. He didn't have to do that. But we stayed… and that forced his hand. He had to act."
Her eyes softened.
"But Razor, Nayliin, and I—we showed him something different. We made him see that your crew wasn't like the others. That not all humans bring destruction. And because of that, you're not his enemies anymore. Not now."
She crossed her arms, brows furrowing just slightly.
"As for the rest of the world? I don't know. Zharroth's heart is still torn between duty and grief. The next time he meets strangers, it could go either way. But with us… with you… he made an exception. That means something."
Finally, the destination they were invited to appeared before them—a vast, shimmering city hidden beneath layers of coral and glowing mist. The water grew still as if the ocean itself was holding its breath. "We're here," Venos said, his voice quiet but certain.
To be continued...