Advanture to Poosay Island , Floptropica!

The Voyage of Shadows,

Siria and Bulan set sail from the Moon Isle's northern shores. Provisions lined the boat's hull—dried meats, fruits, and freshwater, all meticulously packed by Lesley. Bulan, however, required none of it. She drew sustenance from the air itself, her fingertips brushing the salt-kissed breeze as if plucking nutrients from the wind. Their first destination, the Potaxie City of Hippie Isles, a two-week journey through treacherous waters.

On the open sea, silence stretched between them like the horizon. Finally, Bulan broke it.

"I'm Lunaria. Or just… Bulan. And you?"

"Siria. Call me Siri." The woman adjusted the sails, her gaze fixed on the compass. "From Haweian City. Came to Francia to study Lunarian culture. Ended up staying. Lesley told me what you are. Don't worry—I won't bow or burn incense. To me, you're just another passenger."

Bulan smiled, relieved. "Good. I'd rather not play deity."

"Then we're agreed." Siria tossed her a coil of rope. "Make yourself useful. And pray the charts are accurate—this route's a maze."

By dusk, their awkwardness had thawed into cautious camaraderie.

—

Three days later, they entered the Big-4 Maritime Zone, a nexus patrolled by the naval forces of Asia, Francia, K-Java, and Mason. Drones hummed overhead, their scanners painting the boat in grids of crimson light.

"Hide. Now," Siria hissed.

Bulan slid beneath the deck, her moon-pale skin pressed against damp wood. Footsteps clanged above as officers boarded, their voices clipped.

"Papers."

Siria handed over forged documents. "Just traders. Spices and textiles."

For hours, the boat endured scrutiny: drones sniffed for contraband, sonar mapped its underbelly, and human guards pried open crates. Bulan's pulse thundered in her ears. One misstep, one curious glance downward…

Finally, a barked "Clear!"

They sailed on, Siria's knuckles white on the helm. "Most smugglers take the eastern sea—fewer patrols. But the Redzone Fish Sea there…" She shuddered. "Leviathans. Ships vanish. Even the coast guard avoids it."

Bulan peered eastward, where the water darkened to ink. Legends whispered of jaws that could splinter steel, of tentacles that dragged vessels into the abyss. The Redzone bordered Poosay Isle's southern reefs, a graveyard hidden beneath waves.

"Then we stay the course," Bulan said.

Siria nodded. "To GokGok or the abyss. No turning back."

The boat carved through the waves, two women bound by secrets, the sea's hunger licking at their heels.

—

Having evaded the patrols, Siria and Bulan continued their journey to Potaxie in the Hippie Isles—a mere three-day sail from the Big-4 Maritime Zone. The sea lay tranquil, its surface shimmering under a placid sun, the breeze gentle enough to tousle hair but not ruffle nerves. Siria sprawled lazily on the deck, her hat tipped over her eyes, while Bulan leaned against the mast, savoring the rare calm.

Then came the splash.

A man vaulted over the railing, seawater cascading off his clothes as he landed with a grin. Bulan jolted upright. "Who are you?"

"Hey! You headed to… Floptropica?" he asked, shaking droplets from his hair like a dog.

"No. We're bound for GokGok City," Bulan replied, gesturing toward Siria, who hadn't bothered to move.

"Perfect! Mind if I hitch a ride?" Without waiting, he spun toward the horizon and bellowed, "HEY! TELL THE CREW I'M HEADING TO GOKGOK!" A distant horn blared in acknowledgment.

Bulan gaped. "Hitch a ride? Since when?"

Siria stirred, peeling her hat back to squint at the intruder. "Name?"

"Alex. From Hadihao. Need to reach Poosay Isle. You're going there, right?"

Siria shrugged. "Sure. Don't touch the rigging and make yourself useful " She flopped back down.

"got it, thanks anyway..." he smiling at Bulan

Bulan's eyes widened. "You're just… letting him stay?"

Alex smirked. "Relax, Snowflake. I'll be a ghost." He sauntered to the stern, humming.

Bulan cornered Siria. "He's a stranger! This is reckless!"

Siria sighed. "Around here, hitchhiking's tradition. Masonic sailors do it all the time—passing favors like coins. They're harmless. Let it go."

"Harmless? He invaded our boat!"

"And I once stowed away on a smuggler's skiff. It's… how the Mason sea works."

Bulan glared at Alex, now lounging like a barnacle on the deck. The waves chuckled beneath them, indifferent to her outrage.