Kneeling on the window frame, Marisol let herself bask in the morning sun for a few moments, waking herself up fully—and then she pulled up the map, her watery eyes immediately bombarded with a large screen that took up the better half of her vision.

That's… a lot of labels.

How am I even supposed to sort through everything?

[Very slowly.]

The top-down map of the city was detailed, to say the least. The city's sloped streets coiled inward like the spiral of a seashell, with bridges crisscrossing canals, buildings casting long shadows over others, and the bright glint of sunlight reflecting off the whirlpool in the centre of the map.

Her eyes immediately flitted to the map's legends in the corner. Symbols and icons peppered the map, each one marking a certain type of landmark: inns, taverns, repair shops, street stages, hidden alleyways, and lots of restaurants. Mostly restaurants. The labels and words written in the local tongue also shimmered in her vision for a few seconds before morphing into recognisable words, the Archive's updated translation feature coming into play. There was now no tongue on the continent she couldn't speak, and that… still sounded rather unbelievable.

Great Makers.

Is this map—

[Accurate down to every cobbled tile? Yes. Largely speaking, there are two types of maps: constructed maps and live maps. Constructed maps are just like your hand-drawn, normal ones, but as for the live maps… there are tiny, nigh-invisible biometal moths fluttering over your head at all hours of the day and night to capture a hundred percent accurate top-down view of the city. The live map is the one you are seeing right now, so try the zoom-in function.]

The what?

[Find the Highwind Inn on the map, then pinch, expand, and zoom in.]

With one hand on the window frame, she touched the map with the other, dragging it around with a perplexed squint until she found a landmark she recognised from the top-down: the roof of the Highwind Inn where a few of her training dolls still lay broken and unrepaired. Then she did as she was told and 'pinched' the map, holding it tight before dragging her fingers apart. The map zoomed in. It became more and more detailed, she could now see crowds of people physically walking along the streets, and…

Her eyes widened as she noticed a top-down view of herself, kneeling perched on the window frame of the inn, and she immediately snapped her head in an attempt to catch the scrying eye looking at her.

How the hell—

[The Makers of the Hasharana, the Pioneers of the Rampaging Hinterland Front, and the Starfaring Sternwart Institution of Amadeus Academy have been collaborating on hyper-advanced bioarcanic observation technologies for quite a few decades now. The Hasharana are still working on spreading the 'Satellite Moths' to as many places on the continent as they can, but since the Whirlpool City is the forefront bastion against the Swarm of the Deepwater Legion Front, there are plenty of invisible eyes above us to create a live map of the city as such. In most other parts of the continent, only constructed maps are available for access.]

It was still unbelievable. She had to rub her eyes a good few times and blink for a few more moments before she finally came to the conclusion that she was a terribly stupid country bumpkin. She'd no idea what 'watery fruits' were before she stepped foot on the horseshoe crab island, let alone realise such technologies had been circulating around the continent for at least—

[Well, the satellite moths are rather new bioarcanic technology. They have only been in service above the Whirlpool City for fifteen years, two months, and eight days.]

I was still eating sand when I was nine because I thought it'd make me a better Sand-Dancer.

[Would you like a palate cleanser, then?]

At the Archive's suggestion, the live map zoomed out a little bit to show the entire district of the upper city surrounding the Highwind Inn. Most irrelevant labels, icons, and symbols faded away, leaving only the icons of crossing spoons and forks. She recognised it as the symbol most eateries in the city had painted on their little hand-wrought iron signs. There were ten, thirty, fifty restaurants all within a thousand metre vicinity, and instinctively, she went to poke one of the particularly large flashing icons with a finger.

A new status screen popped up next to the icon, accompanied by a full-colour image of the front of the restaurant.

[Restaurant: Nueva Mesa]

[Location: Heart of the Spiral District, seventh street, block four, floor three, overlooking the city's Harbour Guard Academy]

[Specialty Dishes: Paella de Mareas, Cochinillo al Horno, Gazpacho Azul]

[Average Rating: 3/5 stars]

[Top Review by 'Gilded Widow': "A vibrant blend of rustic charm and aquatic serenity, with warm terracotta tiles, colorful mosaics of whirlpools, and lantern-lit terraces. A romantic place to break up with your lover of eleven years. The food is nice as well, I guess."]

[Most Recent Review by 'Sea Manic': "Food's a little pricey, but the experience is worth every silver. The terrace view of the academy downstairs is breathtaking. Highly recommend the Gazpacho Azul for something refreshing and unique. Will definitely bill Andres the receipt and have him file the meal under business expenses."]

[For Hasharana—and people with classes in general—the food they consume is very vital to their strength,] the Archive explained. [There are days when even Hasharana who have access to bug meat do not want to eat bug meat for health and digestion reasons, so what they choose to eat on those 'off-days' can greatly affect them. Thus, one of the more commonly used features of the Altered Symbiotic System is the 'Restaurant Review' feature, in which Hasharana can view and manually update the system with their dining experiences at certain restaurants. As you can see, a few Hasharana have already had their meals at this 'Nueva Mesa', and the average rating is rather high. You might want to check the place out.]

She blinked. Three stars out of five is high?

[Most Hasharana are very picky eaters.]

This 'Sea Manic' guy is the old man, right?

[Victor Morina is a very picky eater.]

Well, I'd like to visit, but… I ain't hungry yet. I don't even want breakfast after meeting with the Worm God last night.

[Then food can wait until lunch. Is there any other place you would like to check out and visit with the map feature?]

Can you locate people with the map?

[Who would you like me to locate?]

The old man.

The map immediately zoomed out, the icons all but disappeared, and for a good few seconds, the Archive scrolled and enhanced and zoomed in and out until it suddenly stopped. Then it narrowed in on a particular roof not far from where she was, and…

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The old man was just lying flat on his back, arms crossed behind his back, walking cane on his chest.

Haha.

Is he sleeping?

Give me the directions, Archive. I'm gonna go and toss a beer bottle at him—

Victor suddenly wagged a finger up at her, and every last drop of blood in her body froze. A small smile curved his bandages as he resumed sleeping, only this time, he rolled over onto his side so she couldn't see his face—but the mental damage had already been done, and she couldn't help but hug herself as the Archive laughed in her ear.

[He is not one of the strongest humans in the world for nothing. Did you think he would not be able to tell when someone is watching him?]

That's just some bullshit. What's his perception level at?

[To begin with, I would prefer you refrain from using the map feature to stalk people. Is there anything else you want to do or visit with your day off?]

…

And so began her journey across her Whirlpool City for the first time in earnest. She hopped away from her room, landed on the crowded streets below, and began skating after interesting icons of landmarks all over. The first she passed was a towering, spiralling windmill jutting out a certain district in the upper city. The status screen next to its slowly rotating blades read 'La Torre del Viento'—the Tower of Winds—a giant, mostly ornamental windmill that'd been transformed from an old power source to a public art installation. The blades were made of translucent glass and woven copper, shimmering like wings in the sun, and they cast colorful patterns of light onto the crowds and cobbled streets below.

A windmill that serves no purpose but to look pretty, huh?

I like it!

The Archive was about to launch into a history lesson, but she wasn't stopping for any long lecture. As she continued skating through winding, narrow streets, she passed 'La Calle de los Ecos', a street apparently known for its strange acoustics. The architects deliberately constructed it with an odd array of arches and stone corridors that amplified the sound of any whisper into an eerie, reverberating chorus, so she perked her ears and listened. Passersby, storeowners, and children alike could be heard laughing, calling out, or even singing, and their voices would echo back from every direction—quite the interesting design.

The city hasn't been standing for that long, right? It's incredible what the architects have accomplished in such a short amount of time.

[When there is a will, there is a way.]

She zipped through the city up and down, left and right, jumping back and forth between the upper and lower city. She passed by 'El Mercado de la Marea', the Tide Market, where stalls sold all sorts of oceanic treasures: rare seaweed, handmade coral jewelry, and fiery-hot peppers grown in volcanic ash. Local vendors shouted their wares in a lively, melodic cadence that blends with the crash of the harbour waves behind them. She crossed the 'El Puente del Sol', the Sun Bridge made entirely from gold and volcanic glass, and then went through a dozen more district marvelling at the sheer scale and variety of the landmarks in the city.

She'd explored the streets near the Highwind Inn and scoured every nook and cranny for candy houses, but somehow, she'd never realised the Whirlpool City was infinitely bigger than just the main street that led her directly up to Lighthouse Seven—and now she could absolutely see herself getting distracted by the map feature, because with every icon she swiped away, marked as visited, half a dozen more would pop up, inviting her for a tour.

Eventually, she had to wrangle herself to a halt, grab a quick bite of a single box of caramelised almond tarts, and jump to the top of a roof in the lower city overlooking the stormy harbours.

The weather inside the city may be sunny with a light drizzle at the moment, but just a few hundred metres off from shore, the clouds were a murderous grey with rain pouring, lightning thundering in the far distance in rapid intervals. 'Black Storm' was still keeping ships from coming in and out of the city, after all, but she wouldn't be able to tell that was the case if she wasn't sitting on the edge of the roof right now, munching messily down on her box of tarts.

[... And here is the map of the Deepwater Legion Front,] the Archive said, replacing the map of the Whirlpool City with a much, much, much larger one, and she stopped mid-chew to stare at the map of the great blue. [Six months ago, you were in the Harbour City on the mainland coastline, and then you boarded Antonio's ship.] Then the Archive hopped off her shoulder, landed on the map, and started crawling a long path across the great blue. [Your ship was attacked here. You encountered the horseshoe crab island here. You rode the Blackclaw Marauder's ship all the way here before getting swallowed by the remipede, and then you rode Enrique's ship to the Dead Island Straits here, and then—]

It took me a while, huh?

Her eyes traced the twisting chains of archipelagoes, the sprawling coastal cities, and the jagged shapes of volcanic islands. It was the first time she'd seen a small part of the world beyond her own tiny, tiny desert village—and for a moment, her chest tightened.

She felt… small. Insignificant, even. The idea of the world being this vast—so many places she'd never heard of, so many lives unfolding far from her own—made her feel like a grain of sand on an endless beach. The map was humbling, to say the least, but mixed with that aching ignorance was an equally powerful, quiet kind of gratitude.

Because she'd made it here.

She was sitting on this roof, in this impossible city built around a volcano island, a place that'd sounded like absolute fantasy back in her little desert town. If she hadn't left, she wouldn't have known the thrill of skating through these streets or the taste of the sea air. She wouldn't have felt the heat of the plazas beneath her glaives or the chill of the ocean spray on her skin.

She doubted she'd ever be able to shake the feeling of being small, but that wasn't too terrible a thing, either.

… Alright.

After I get my vial of healing seawater, I'm bringing mama back here to visit, at least.

No one was going to stop her. She'd made up her mind. The Vellamira Household was still standing in the lower city. She could use her pay from the Imperators to renovate it, rebuild it from the ground up. She could pull their family house out of the gutters. Hell, she was sure someone would immediately come to her aid if she made a request to the Lighthouse Imperators right now—there were a hundred things she wanted to do with her mama around the city, and she didn't care if the trip here would be dangerous.

She'd protect her mama, share a box of tarts together, and maybe even do a dance or two atop a roof together.

[... Lunch.]

Yep.

[Any specifications?]

According to Hasharana reviews and ratings, what's the best lunch place in the entire city?

As she folded the box, wiped her mouth, and bounced onto her glaives, the Archive pulled up the directions: a bright white thread above her head that beckoned her to follow. She slid down the roof, hopped down onto the street, and then skated leisurely to her destination, rubbing her bare, growling stomach as she did. She hadn't done any physical training the entire morning, but somehow, skating around the city like a tourist had drained more energy from her than she liked.

A proper meal that didn't consist of crustacean meat would be nice for a change.

The streets near the harbour were alive with noise and motion. Vendors shouted their wares, children darted between crowded stalls, and dockworkers with weathered faces trudged past in groups, their boots scuffing against the worn cobblestones. Amid the hustle and bustle of the lower city, she eventually found herself in front of a small diner tucked between two larger, crumbling buildings.

The sign above the door was hand-painted, its swirling letters reading "La Mesa del Familia" in faded teal and gold. A string of mismatched lanterns hung from the awning. The windows were framed by chipped wooden shutters painted in cheery reds and yellows, and the faint sound of laughter and clinking dishes spilled out every time the front door swung open.

Hm.

Looks nice enough.

It was quite an inviting place. It wasn't fancy, and it didn't need to be. It was clearly a place for harbour workers, fishermen, and families looking for a simple meal, and she immediately preferred it over most of the stuffy restaurants in the upper city, so she skated up the stairs and pushed her way inside.

The smell hit her first: a warm, rich aroma of spiced stews, grilled fish, and fresh bread. The interior was just as quaint as the outside. The walls were painted a sunny ochre, cracked in places but lovingly adorned with faded tapestries and paintings of ocean waves. The ceiling was low, with exposed wooden beams strung with more of those mismatched lanterns. Small, round tables filled the large space, most of them occupied by chatting patrons. There were long benches pushed against the walls and sturdy wooden chairs that creaked slightly when people shifted. In the corner, an old man strummed a guitar, his quiet melody weaving seamlessly into the hum of conversation—she smiled to herself and made her way over to an empty window seat, dodging a waitress balancing a tray of steaming bowls as she did, and sat down.

As she ran her fingers over the smooth, slightly worn wood of the table, she felt herself relaxing. The menu was just to the side, so she picked it up, started scanning the items, and a waitress immediately swerved over to take her order.

"Welcome to the Familia, Marisol. First time?" the waitress said.

"Mhm," she murmured, not looking at the waitress at first. "I'll have… uh, I'll have the freshest catch of the day with garlic sauce, and then I'll have crema catelana as dessert afterwards, and then I'll have… the…"

She trailed off, finally looking up from her menu with a small frown as she found the waitress' voice more than familiar.

Helena waved back in her casual clothes, and her older brothers, Aidan and Bruno, also waved as they worked the fiery stoves in the back of the kitchen.

"... Hey," Helena said, an amused smile curling her lip.

"Hey," Marisol replied, tilting her head in slight, slight confusion. "What… uh, are you guys doing here?"

"We work here."

"But you guys are… huh?"

With her massive but delicate pistol shrimp claws, Helena took Marisol's menu from her, and then the Imperator winked as she walked back to the kitchen.

"One order of pescado con ajo and crema catalana coming up."

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