The ocean lay still, calm as ever. No storms, no surprises—just a regular, run-of-the-mill cruise across a quiet sea.
Temoshí, however, wasn't quite so fortunate. Even in his deep sleep, a strange warmth brushing against his face disrupted his rest. It nudged at his senses, gradually convincing him to stir.
What greeted him was eerie silence—and pure confusion. A woman's face hovered inches from his own, her razor-sharp teeth bared in a massive, unsettling grin. Her eyes locked onto his like she was trying to burn through his soul. Tentacles sprawled across the bed beside him, curling lazily but ominously.
Then came the voice.
"Good mornin', sleepyhead! Did ya miss me?"
It was Razor—wild, deranged, and unmistakable. She hadn't changed a bit, still radiating that chaotic energy, even if it meant ambushing someone mid-dream just to say hello.
Jolted by the sudden shock of waking up to a maniacal grin, Temoshí grabbed his pillow and whacked it straight into Razor's face.
"What the hell?! What kind of twisted good morning is that?! Why are you even here? How did you get here?" he barked, standing tall and trying to regain some shred of composure while Razor casually tossed the pillow back onto the bed like nothing happened.
"Aww, didn't ya miss me?" she whined with a dramatic pout. "I was sooo booored when I heard you ran off without me! C'mon, don't you want the full joyride package—featuring me, Razor the magnificent, at your chaotic service, Captain Fire!" She struck a ridiculous salute with her tentacle-arms, grinning from ear to ear.
Temoshí stared at her, unimpressed, lips parting for a long, tired sigh. "No. Not really. You're completely insane. And you're loud."
Before he could finish his thought, Razor was already twirling around the room like a sugar-rushed octopus, her tentacles flailing wildly as she giggled like a lunatic.
"Oh-ho-ho! You big grumpasaurus! I'm the perfect partner for an adventure! Admit it, my deranged dude—we're destiny-bound chaos buddies!"
Razor abruptly ceased all of her wild, erratic movements, her entire body halting so suddenly it was as if the very fabric of time itself had come to a grinding stop just for her. Her limbs fell limp at her sides, motionless and eerily calm, while her wide, unsettling grin remained plastered across her face, unwavering and disturbingly cheerful despite Temoshí's increasingly deadpan expression.
The two of them locked eyes across the space of the room, their gazes sharp and unrelenting, as if a battle of wills was about to erupt into a full-blown, no-holds-barred brawl where only the most unhinged would survive. The tension crackled between them like a silent storm, thick enough to slice with a blade.
Eventually, after a beat too long, Temoshí finally broke the intense eye contact and let out an exasperated sigh, the kind that screamed of regret and second guesses. He casually raised a hand to the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair in a motion halfway between frustration and disbelief, and muttered in a voice that struggled to sound patient,
"Seriously, you need to stop doing that… That look of yours—it genuinely makes me want to punch you square in the face."
Without missing a beat and clearly unfazed by the threat, Razor threw herself to the floor in one dramatic, boneless swirl, spinning around like a gleeful maniac in her own private circus of chaos, before erupting into her usual loud, chaotic laughter.
"That's sooo messed up, and I love it! Come on, hit me! Punch me! Let's get messy! I wanna bleed a little! Blood gets me all fired up—makes me hungry, like reeeally hungry! WA-hahahaha!"
"Cut it out! You're one seriously messed-up fish, you know that, right?!" Temoshí snapped, his face twisted into a cocktail of discomfort and disbelief as he leaned in just close enough to glare directly into Razor's manic, gleaming eyes. The way she talked about blood and gore—like it was candy and fireworks—was genuinely disturbing, as if she thrived on it, practically lived for it. And considering she was some bizarre octopus-human hybrid with shark-like teeth and a grin that could haunt dreams, that somehow made it even worse.
Razor, of course, only lit up even more at his outburst, her eyes sparkling with unholy glee. "So we are gonna bleed, huh?! Huh?! Say it! Say it loud! I wanna dive right into the juicy, messy bits!" she shouted, her voice climbing in pitch and excitement, before bursting into her signature screeching laughter. "Wa-hahahaha!"
Despite all the deranged enthusiasm she exuded like a walking horror show in a candy store, there was something about her that didn't seem entirely evil. Deep down, beneath all the unfiltered chaos and gory obsession, she seemed to have a decent heart. It was just… buried under a vocabulary full of words that no sane person would ever use in casual conversation.
Eventually, the two of them—Temoshí and Razor, a pair no one would ever expect to coexist peacefully—hurried back up to the modest little boat's deck, only to come face-to-face with the rest of their bizarre crew: Chiaki, Venos, and Fioren, each waiting with expressions ranging from curiosity to confusion.
Temoshí approached like a relatively normal human being, his steps steady and his posture relaxed, giving off the illusion of control. Razor, on the other hand, charged in like a rabid sea beast on a sugar high, sprinting across the slick surface of the deck before dramatically sliding to a stop. Her body wagged side to side, flailing like a tree caught in the throes of a hurricane, and finally—miraculously—she froze mid-motion, striking an unnervingly stiff pose like a branch caught mid-bend by some cosmic freeze-frame.
Temoshí raised a brow, clearly trying not to acknowledge the living cartoon beside him, before shifting his attention to the group. He combed a hand through his still-messy hair and shoved both hands deep into his coat pockets with a sigh of disbelief.
"So, you're here too, Fioren...? Couldn't bear to leave Chiaki alone for five minutes, huh?"
Fioren, thankfully more grounded than Razor by a long shot, turned to face Temoshí with her usual impish smirk, her expression composed yet tinged with gleeful mischief.
"I'll never forget that kick to the face, you know," she said coolly, her words dipped in both memory and mockery. "Sure, I've forgiven it, but letting it slide completely? Oh no, no chance. I've made it my mission to stick around and torment her just a little longer. By now, I'm pretty sure she's gotten used to the... aroused sensation that comes with it."
Her voice, calm but wickedly playful, made Chiaki visibly bristle as she instinctively stepped back, her composure cracking.
"You didn't follow me just because I kicked you in the face!" Chiaki shot back, her voice louder and sharper than usual, betraying the calm demeanor she typically wore like armor. "You were the one who messed with my feelings first! I couldn't look anyone in the eye for hours! That kick? You earned it—with interest!"
It was rare to see Chiaki so open, so animated, her emotions spilling out in a fiery wave. Usually, she kept herself composed, her cool, laid-back personality serving as a clear mark of her uniqueness. But something about Fioren—the teasing, the games—brought out a side of her that was far more expressive... and far less restrained.
Venos, the seasoned helmsman and proud owner of the vessel they currently stood upon, observed the lively group with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief, his arms folded and a faint smile tugging at the edges of his weathered face beneath the warm daylight.
"Ahh, you young ones really know how to put on a show," he chuckled, his voice steady and gruff like waves against old wood. "You've just returned from a fierce, relentless battle, and yet here you are—bickering, laughing, and acting as though it were just another stroll in the park. It's funny… fishfolk and humans, getting along like this. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it with my own eyes. But since you're all here, and I see we've got a few new additions aboard my humble boat, I figure it's the right time to tell you all—Lyvoria Crest is much closer than any of you might've imagined."
Before anyone could even begin to digest that bit of important news, Razor—predictably unpredictable—launched herself right into the conversation like a firework aimed at a library.
"Oooohhh, Lyvoria Crest?!" she shrieked with way too much excitement, practically vibrating with hunger and curiosity. "Is that a type of meat?! Huh?! Is it chewy? Crunchy? Do I gotta boil it or can I just bite straight in?!"
Her eyes immediately transformed into heart-shaped mirrors of pure carnivorous desire, pupils shimmering with fantasies of sizzling flesh and steamy, juicy bites. Drool began trailing from the corners of her jagged-toothed mouth as she leaned forward, hands twitching, nose practically sniffing imaginary aromas.
"Lemme sink my fangs into it! I wanna feel that juicy, warm, melting tenderness sliding down my throat—Rrraawrr! I bet it tastes like victory, dreams, and a hint of sea salt! Maybe even a touch of garlic if the gods are kind!"
Temoshí crossed his arms, his expression already painted with the resignation of a man who'd seen this routine before—yet, somehow, she still managed to catch him off-guard. And, just like clockwork, Razor didn't disappoint. She kept going.
"I swear, if Lyvoria Crest turns out to be a mountain, a ruin, or, like, a political headquarters or something boring like that, I'm gonna bite it anyway! Yep! Mountains got minerals, ruins got rats, and politics got liars, and they all got flavor! Mmm-mmm!"
She was now spinning in place, flinging her tentacles in wild, dramatic arcs as if declaring war on boring destinations. A trail of drool flung in the wind like some deranged culinary battle flag.
"I'm seriously considering roasting a fish today," Temoshí said casually, his tone far too calm for the menace behind the words, eyes drifting toward Chiaki with an all-too-knowing smirk.
For a split second, Razor didn't register the intent behind his words. She stood there blinking, eyes blank like a loading screen struggling to buffer. Then, slowly—painfully slowly—the gears in her brain finally clunked into place, and when realization hit her, it hit like a cannonball to the face.
"ROAST FISH?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking as her whole body spasmed in exaggerated horror. "That's messed up, Captain Fire!"
Her jaw dropped so low it practically hit the deck, and she stumbled backwards like she'd just been personally betrayed by the universe itself. Her eyes stretched wide like saucers, pupils tiny dots lost in a sea of panic, while her tentacles flailed behind her like inflatable tube arms caught in a storm.
"You wouldn't... you couldn't! Not me! I'm 10% octopus, 30% sass, and a solid 60% unroastable mystery meat! Do I look like I go well with spices?! I refuse to be seasoned! I will not be served with lemon slices and parsley, dammit!"
She dropped to her knees dramatically, shaking her fists toward the sky.
"WHY?! Why roast the one with the best personality and the worst cooking instructions?! I'm chewy! I got weird textures! You'll regret this! You'll all regret this! Waaaaah!"
Then she suddenly stopped mid-sob, sniffed the air suspiciously, and muttered, "Wait… do I smell garlic butter? …Wait, no. No! Don't tempt me with flavor, you fiend!"
Despite their clashing perspectives, relentless teasing, and wildly different approaches to life, Fioren couldn't help but feel a deep warmth settle in her chest as she watched Razor blend in—well, as much as Razor could—with the humans around her. Her lips curved into a soft smile, her usually sharp eyes carrying a rare gentleness.
"You know," she said quietly, voice just above a whisper, "I really missed seeing this side of her. For so long, she was stuck beneath the waves, isolated with nothing but the pressure of deep water and deep resentment. She never really had the chance to laugh like this, to bond with people who didn't look like her, didn't live like her. It's strange, but… I'm honestly glad we managed to put a stop to this endless cycle of hatred between humans and Voreans."
The words weren't meant for anyone in particular—just a soft confession lost in the ocean breeze—but Chiaki had been standing close enough to catch every syllable. She looked over, observing the way Fioren's expression softened, the mischief drained away and replaced by something far more sincere. It struck her just how much this moment meant to Fioren—after all, she had been the first to extend a hand, the first to believe peace was even possible.
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken curiosity, before Chiaki finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual but filled with genuine interest.
"Fioren… You've never actually told us why the Voreans retreated beneath the ocean in the first place. Or what really sparked all that hatred toward humankind."
She met Chiaki's gaze with a steady intensity, the weight of the past flickering in her eyes like ripples across a still surface. This wasn't something she could avoid anymore—not with everything that had happened, not with where they were headed.
"…It's time you knew everything," Fioren said softly. "I'll tell you."
To be continued...