The Sun rose in the east soon after we set sail for the mainland, serving as lighthouse for our destination. The winds were favorable, and we made good time. Not as good time as I had made flying in the opposite direction a millennium ago, but very good.

I sat near the center of the ship's deck, scanning the horizon, ready to place an enormous shield on myself, as proxy for the entire ship, at the first sign of attack. Potentially being hunted by a mind-slaved practical ocean god and goddess in the open ocean had a way of creating paranoia and anxiety. I was pretty sure I could force a stalemate in a battle of raw power, godlike shield versus godlike green magic attack, but there would be nothing I could do if they attacked indirectly by creating rough seas, causing the crew to be swept away.

At least we would have warning. An adult storm fly is constantly surrounded by raging wind and rain as a consequence of their extraordinary pools of green mana, analogous to my white mana's light.

But despite the threat, I maintained the lowest mana level I could possibly achieve, analogous to exhaling as much as possible and holding my breath. It was uncomfortable at the best of times, and after doing the inverse for most of a millennium, it felt positively alien. In 943 years, I had only done this briefly, mostly for attempts at stargazing.

I had assumed this counterintuitive state because, as we had set out, I had remembered: there are worse things than storms, and storm flies, in the open ocean, and we are in the very open ocean. There is a reason ships don't normally risk coming out here, that's why I was able to live as an undiscovered hermit for so long. And what do the great monsters of the abyss hunt? What converts, say, a storm nymph into a storm fly? What are they all after?

"Big juicy mana meals," I growled at myself. "And Menelyn the Luminous is the biggest, juiciest mana meal for who knows how far, a literal 'please eat me' beacon blasting to the horizon in all directions." Izena was the decision-making half of our duo, and it showed. Literally day 1, and look at me.

The crew had absolute faith in me to keep them safe, especially the ones who had seen my display at the pool. Their expectations prickled my skin. I was sweating, partly from the tropical sun, and partly out of fear that something way worse than an adult storm fly could strike at any moment.

At least I could use purification to remove the sweat as soon as it appeared.

"I mean, what are the chances that--. Nope, not going to say it, no no no."

I couldn't wait until we sighted Rokesha on the horizon.

...Maybe the crew would actually be safer if I just flew alone? Hmmm. I think it's best to stay? They could be attacked even if I'm not here, especially if the mom and dad flies are actually in the area, potentially hunting them specifically. If that happened, they'd be completely doomed.

Plus, I was completely certain that, spread across only the number of people on this ship, my human-sized shields were impenetrable to anything even the deepest depths of the abyssal ocean could throw at them. So, in the worst case scenario, I could just shield everyone instead of the ship, and hope no one get swept away.

More than likely.

Pretty sure.

...I'm sick of doing tests. I did enough of that for the last millennium. Let's just not find out.

Hence the tactically brilliant exhale-and-hold-while-presenting-an-unflappable-goddess-persona-to-the-crew-to-maintain-morale approach.

The day passed without incident. We were about halfway to Rokesha, by my estimate.

Then, in the middle of the night, "Why, why, why did I need to work so hard to worry this into existence?" I moaned under my breath, to keep the crew from panicking.

The crew was remarkably calm considering that there was a scorpion-lobster-thing I did not recognize, pincers the size of our ship, approaching from the north. Only the top of its body was visible above the waves. At least it made the mistake of approaching on the surface. Perhaps it was not accustomed to meaningful resistance, and the value of ambushes? Or was it just blinded by hunger? To be fair, it was attacking at night. Maybe it thought we couldn't see it?

Anyway, its carapace was black. Too black.

I knew what that meant. Fire, lightning, acid...black magic incoming. As I was likely its target, I decided to get off the ship.

"Continue on the current course. I am going to confront that, um, scorpion?"

"In Rokesha, we call them koremmen. If there is a name in Middle Ezentic, I do not know it. They are powerful black magic users."

Yeah, thanks.

"In the days of enchanted ships, it was possible to outrun koremmen. Not anymore, and they are among the reasons that the open ocean is avoided. I think we would be doomed if You weren't here."

He wasn't even mildly concerned. At least it was a known sea monster, and not one of which there were no records because there had never been survivors.

Before I departed on my mana platform, I considered my options. I have absolutely no means of attacking it. If it attacks the ship, then I will try to protect it by placing a large enough shield on someone aboard, maybe Dekel. I'd prefer to avoid that situation, though, since although I can keep the ship from breaking, it can still get knocked around.

But it will probably attack me, not the ship, especially if I hold more mana. Then I had an idea.

"Does it have eyes?" I asked. It was hard to tell, since it was mostly submerged. It looked like it might? Lobsters and scorpions have eyes, right? Why shouldn't a black magic lobster-scorpion?

"I...I am not sure. It's nocturnal, so I would guess that the answer is either no, or if yes, that its eyes are very sensitive," Dekel replied with a smile. He knew what I was thinking. He knew as well as I did that no one could mistake me for the goddess of attack magic, and that I would need to be creative, using something that he had experienced himself.

"Let's hope for the latter," he said, knowingly.

I levitated over to the koremmen's path and drew in more mana, but only moderately, in an attempt to attract its attention without glowing too brightly, yet. I cast a shield on only myself.

It responded by casting the full suite of black magic spells, as anticipated. None did anything. I was actually somewhat disappointed. They were strong, sure, but only on the level of what Azenum could cast. Izena was truly in another league, unless it was holding back. Its obviously mounting frustration suggested otherwise, and was what I was counting on. It was hungry, impatient, and not very clever.

What are those pincers for? I thought. Come on, a little closer. I'm right here, you can reach me, just leap and stretch! Your black magic isn't working, but those big pincers might! And make sure you stare closely at me with all your eyes when you do. You need good depth perception to aim, after all.

And it did just that.

This was a good plan. Izena would be proud of me.

I rapidly went to the maximum mana I could safely hold, maximum brightness, at the moment it leapt from the water.

Its right pincher held me in its grasp, but couldn't make my shield so much as wobble. It hissed in obvious shock and pain, the stalks on which its enormous compound eyes were mounted vibrated rapidly in the blinding agony of staring directly into an over-bright moon that almost instantaneously became a sun.

It released me and rubbed at its eyes as it fell back into the water. It never surfaced again.

I returned to the ship, feeling proud of my 'divine' ingenuity.

I will need to be careful not to blind people accidentally, although I could always heal them if I have an accident.

Dekel greeted me with a bow when I landed, "our faith has been rewarded again" written all over his body.

The next day began as uneventful as the first, passing with the same uneasy tension as the first, but eventually our hearts sank as vast storm clouds came into view on the horizon, in the direction of Rokesha. It seemed unlikely that the storm was natural, with all the clear weather we had enjoyed until now, and especially given the crew's experience with the nymphs seemingly bound for Rokesha days ago. If it was generated by green magic, it could not be the work of newborn nymphs.

It was one of the possibilities that I had feared. The nymphs' parents must have lagged behind, to the good fortune of the ship and crew that had found me, but they had traveled to the same destination in the end.

No storm flies would have left their children alone if their minds were intact, nor would they have attempted to destroy a city unprovoked. They were proud parents and benevolent creatures as a general rule.

I prepared for the worst.