"So, what’s your na, little one? And why were you stealing at the fair?" Zestia asked once they had gotten away from the fairgrounds.
Currently, it was nearing evening, the orange sun spilling the last of its fading light.
The little boy paused after hearing the question.
He looked at the darkening sky and said,
"My na is Eros, I’m from the Blue Tide tribe, especially known for our talent to detect mana cores for Beyonders. As such, we were sought out the most for extracting those energy stones. Since we used to get a commission from them, we had no need for anything. We had food, shelter, and a peaceful tribe. However—"
His expression beca downcast as he continued, "Ever since the previous lord was defeated and a lord from the Red Tide tribe has been in power, he has made our tribe’s lives a living hell. We are strictly banned from extracting mana cores and are not even allowed to set foot in the ocean. And now, our tribe is starving."
Zestia’s face hardened. "That’s so sad. Did you not seek the assistance of the Federation? They also need the mana stones, don’t they?"
Neo also beca curious as well.
The little rman boy let out a bitter, hollow laugh that sounded far too old for his small fra.
"Federation? The Federation only cares about the cargo containers that leave the docks, not who bleeds to fill them. To them, the Red Tide and the Blue Tide are just nas on a supply account."
He wiped a rogue tear from his cheek, his webbed fingers trembling slightly.
"When the new Island Lord took power, he signed an exclusive pact with the off-world corporate syndicates. The Red Tide supplies the raw labor, and the syndicates provide the heavy artillery to keep the rest of us compliant. If a Federation cruiser ever passes by, they just see a legal operation. They don’t see the fences built around our ancestral waters, or the children sneaking into the night markets just to beg for scraps of dried kelp."
Zestia beca angry. She clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white.
"So they completely cut off your livelihood just to monopolize the distribution? It’s a horrible act."
Neo was silent as he gazed at boy’s shimring blue scales.
While Zestia’s reaction was fueled by righteous indignation, Neo’s mind was calculating the tactical variables. A tribe specifically blessed with the innate talent to detect Mana Cores was currently being starved out and suppressed by a rival faction.
To anyone else, it was a tragedy. To Neo, it was the perfect opportunity.
"Eros, let get this straight: you said tribe can locate the stones without a chanical detector?" Neo asked with completely analytical approach.
The boy pupils dilated with fear. Even though Neo was the one who saved him, Eros still felt terrified of his presence.
Still, he sohow replied,
"Yes... our people can feel the pulse of the veins deep beneath the seabed. It is a trait passed down through our lineage."
Neo looked out toward the darkening Atlantic horizon, where the first stars were beginning to pierce the twilight sky.
"Forget about Bambo and his secret sources. Little one, if I promise to feed your tribe and handle the Red Tide, can you guide directly to the richest veins on this island?"
Zestia’s eyes went wide. "What nonsense are you spouting, Neo? Do you understand what those words an?"
She shook his shoulders as if he had gone mad.
He grabbed her hands, making her pause. Looking into her wide eyes, he said, "I know. It ans waging war against the Red Tide tribe, and I am perfectly aware of it, Zestia."
Zestia’s lips trembled as if she were looking at an incomprehensible person. "You’re mad, Neo. Do you know how many n they have? Do you know how strong they are? We’ll be skewered with their tridents if they get even the slightest hint about what you are planning. Even and my family won’t be able to save you then."
Neo hurrumphed coldly,
"If you’re so scared, then you can leave, Zestia. But I must get my hands on those mana stones."
Zestia’s heart shook.
"You’re casting out, Neo?" she asked as if hurt by his statent.
"No. I am warning you Zestia. The path I follow is very dangerous," he replied. "I still don’t know what your real intentions are, but I must tell you: the longer you stay with , the more you’ll suffer."
"Then I’m definitely staying with you," Zestia replied stubbornly, her eyes locking onto his. "I want to see where this path leads us, Neo."
Neo was surprised. He hadn’t expected this girl to be so stubborn. It wasn’t the petulance of a child, though; it was the resolve of a person who was hell-bent on remaining committed to sothing.
Neo didn’t say anything else to her, choosing instead to leave everything to fate.
"Ahem," Eros suddenly coughed. "I’m sorry to interrupt your romantic mont, sir. But regarding your proposal, I cannot give you an answer. Only our chief can decide that."
"Alright, take us to your chief then. If he cares about the tribe, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to my offer," Neo said.
Eros couldn’t understand the man before him at all. But one thing was sure: this outsider might as well be the only hope they had left.
Afterward, he led them toward the domain of the Blue Tide tribe.
The settlent was nestled between two massive, dormant volcanoes, sprawling over an area of roughly 20 square kiloters.
Upon arriving there, Neo truly learned what a primitive way of living ant.
The huts were crude, dilapidated structures made from withered sea kelp and rotting bamboo, offering little to no protection against the biting ocean winds.
The ground beneath Neo’s feet was damp, foul-slling sand, littered with the broken fragnts of old fishing tools that had long since rusted into uselessness.
And everywhere he looked, the realities of extre poverty were laid bare:
Children here were not children. They were living skeletal fras. Sitting on the sand, their ribcages were clearly visible beneath their dried up scales that had lost all their natural luster because lost touch to the ocean.
Their eyes were hollow, staring blankly ahead with the listless exhaustion unique to chronic hunger.
Without access to the ocean or proper resources, there were no clean water systems or working utilities. The tribe was reduced to huddling around weak, smoky fires made from dried kelp scraps, cooking ager portions of whatever root vegetables could grow in the ash-filled soil between the volcanoes.
The proud hunters and core-detectors, stripped of their livelihoods, wore nothing but tattered rags. Their once-vibrant blue markings on their skin were caked in gri.
Overall, this village was a living example of what real tyranny does to the weak.
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