The Brackmor swamp was no longer the danger, untamed of years past. Once a chaotic sprawl of sucking mud, gnarled mangrove roots, it now pulsed with purpose and progress. At its heart stood a massive warehouse, its smooth concrete walls rising defiantly from the swamp gleaming under the pale morning sun.
Electric lights hummed within, casting a steady glow that pierced the swamp's perpetual mist. The air was heavy with the fetid stench of rotting vegetation, undercut by the sharp, metallic tang of Crimson Flower sap—a scent that clung to clothes and skin like a warning. Gone were the splintered, rotting walkways that once buckled underfoot; in their place, sturdy planks stretched across the mire, their polished surfaces creaking under the weight of workers' boots. The swamp echoed with the rhythmic clang of hammers, the groan of ropes tightening, and the shouts of laborers as they erected new platforms and storage racks, transforming the wild terrain into a fortress of industry.
Anna moved through the bustling scene with the confidence of a seasoned leader, her auburn hair woven into twin braids, a black cowboy hat tilted to shield her eyes from the sun's glare. Her red lipstick, bold as her presence, matched the crimson accents of her tailored black suit, its white dress shirt crisp despite the swamp's stifling humidity. A notebook rested in her hand, her pen scratching as she tallied each crate's entry and exit with meticulous precision. Her stern gaze swept over the workers, who hauled crates of Crimson Flowers with a newfound energy, their chatter filled with hope for better days. Anna's serious demeanor was a quiet assertion of authority, though a faint smile tugged at her lips as she overheard their optimism, a stark contrast to the swamp's grim history.
A few meters away, Vanessa supervised a team testing new harvesting tools, her boots sinking into the dark, sticky mud. Her auburn hair was pulled into twin buns, black glasses perched on her nose, and a white medical coat draped over her simple white shirt and loose jeans, her sandals practical for the swamp's treacherous terrain. The tools—shovels and machetes funded by Olbap through negotiations with Tom and Mot—gleamed like polished silver in the dawn light, their blades slicing through thick vines with ease. Vanessa's eyes sparkled with quiet pride as her team worked, their movements precise and efficient, a testament to her growing expertise. Each successful cut, each filled crate, felt like a small victory in the swamp's relentless battle against intruders.
"Can you believe this?" Anna said, snapping her notebook shut and gesturing at the towering warehouse, its concrete walls a monument to their progress. "Two years ago, we were cramming Crimson Flowers into a rotting shed, praying it wouldn't collapse. Now we've got space to spare—room for more than we ever dreamed."
Vanessa grinned, wiping sweat from her brow, her hand resting on her hip. "I'm not just believing it—I'm living it. Keep this up, and Brackmor will put every island in the South Blue to shame."
Both women knew Olbap's vision was the driving force behind this transformation, though his absence was a heavy presence in their minds. They hadn't seen him in years, his influence felt only through cryptic messages relayed by Tom, Mot, or Kael and the other mostly. Two years ago, at the organization's last major meeting, Olbap had laid out a bold plan to defend Brackmor from rival gangs and pirates hungry for the Red tide lucrative trade. The first year was a maelstrom of violence—cannon fire thundered across the seas, gunshots cracked in the distance, their echoes reverberating through the swamp where Anna and Vanessa toiled. The constant threat of invasion disrupted their work, the distant booms a reminder of the war for control. By the second year, the battles had dwindled, but those that remained were fiercer, each clash a brutal test of the organization's resilience. The swamp, once a place of quiet danger, had become a battleground's edge, its workers ever alert for the next threat.
The relative calm of recent months allowed Anna and Vanessa to refine their roles. Anna embraced leadership, her sharp commands cutting through the swamp's humid air like a blade. Early on, some workers tested her authority, slacking or attempting to pilfer Crimson Flowers. A few well-placed shots from her Flintlock, the blasts echoing like thunder through the misty swamp, ended their defiance. The deaths shook her and Vanessa, their hands trembling as they scrubbed blood from their boots under the dim glow of oil lamps. "We're tougher than they think," Vanessa had said, her voice steady despite the pallor in her face. Together, they pushed through the trauma, their bond a shield against the swamp's brutality. Their leadership earned the workers' trust, reducing accidents and boosting production to over 100 crates per job, each crate fetching thousands of beli in her pockets.
Their relationship with Olbap had deepened, too, evolving from wariness to something akin to family. At first, they viewed all men with suspicion, a reflex honed by years of deflecting crude advances in Krakenport's taverns. But Olbap, despite his youth, was different. He treated them with respect, ensuring their safety and empowering their work. "He's like the little brother I never had," Vanessa had said, laughing when Olbap bristled at the nickname, his young face flushing with mock indignation. Anna shared the sentiment, teasing him relentlessly, his protests only deepening their affection. To them, he wasn't just the "boss's boss"—he was a trusted ally, his faith in them a cornerstone of their success. Even when he was absent, his decisions—new tools, better wages, safer paths—shaped their daily lives.
Vanessa's curiosity about the swamp led her to study its dangers. She cataloged the behavior of its carnivorous flowers, their petals snapping shut on careless insects with a sound like breaking twigs. The Crimson Flowers, vibrant and deadly, hid sap that could burn skin or worse if mishandled. She tracked the swamp's crocodiles, their amber eyes glinting like lanterns in the murky water, and mapped safe routes through the swamp quicksand pits and choking vines. Her knowledge slashed worker fatalities to near zero, earning her the workers loyalty. "Olbap would be proud," Anna often said, watching Vanessa direct workers with a quiet confidence that belied her gentle appearance.
Their earnings—thousands of beli per job—transformed their lives. Despite their adoptive grandmother Salina's protests, they rebuilt her home, adding rooms for the orphaned children she cared for. "I don't need a fancy house," Salina had grumbled, her weathered hands waving them off, but her joy at mothering her "brats" was worth every coin. The sisters also upgraded the warehouse, carving out offices with sturdy desks and Den Den Mushi for coordinating shipments. The new tools—sharp, reliable, a far cry from the rusty relics of years past—silenced workers' complaints, their voices now rising in song as they hauled crates through the swamp's misty paths.
Vanessa's fascination with the swamp sparked a passion for medicine. Inspired by the injuries she saw—cuts from vines, burns from sap—she began crafting salves and poultices. Her early attempts were clumsy, leaving workers wincing from stinging concoctions, but when Olbap sent a crate of medical books—his uncanny knack for knowing their needs never failing—she dove in. "I'm a doctor in training," she'd say, grinning as she stitched wounds or brewed remedies under the warehouse's electric lights. Her skills grew, and soon the concrete structure doubled as a hospital, treating not just swamp injuries but soldiers wounded in the sea battles that still flared around Brackmor. The halls echoed with the groans of the injured, the clink of medical tools mingling with the rustle of Crimson Flower crates, a strange harmony of healing and trade.
Olbap's influence stretched far beyond the swamp. Salina, during their visits, shared tales of his work across Brackmor: wells dug to bring clean water to the poor, shelters built for the homeless, fishing boats provided for jobless villagers to earn a living. "He's like a president to them," she'd said, her voice warm with pride as she stirred a pot in her cramped kitchen. Farmers now tilled vegetable fields, their produce feeding families and filling market stalls. To outsiders, these changes might seem trivial, but for Brackmor's destitute, they were lifelines, opportunities to escape poverty's grip. Olbap's vision unfolded slowly—construction was a grueling, months-long process—but the people's gratitude was fierce, their loyalty crowning him the island's unofficial leader.
Anna and Vanessa had changed, too. At 18, Anna's confidence radiated through her red lipstick and black eyeliner, her cowboy hat a bold statement of authority. Her black suit, with crimson accents and a fitted white dress shirt, hugged her frame, its sleeves rolled to the wrists for work. Red-tipped high heels clicked sharply on the warehouse planks, drawing eyes she dismissed with a steely glare that silenced any advances. Vanessa, embracing her medical role, chose practicality: twin buns, black glasses, a white coat over a simple white shirt and loose jeans, her sandals squelching in the mud. "We're damn good-looking," Anna had laughed once, catching their reflection in a tavern window, the glass smudged from Krakenport's salty air.
Their workday done, they ride horses through Brackmor's winding paths to Krakenport, now a bustling hub of markets and fishing docks. The clink of beli and vendors' shouts filled the air as they bought fish, bread, and vegetables for Salina, the vibrant scene a far cry from the sleepy village of years past. At Salina's house, children's laughter spilled from within, a sound that warmed their hearts as they tied their horses to a weathered post and stepped inside.
The kids swarmed them, shouting, "Big sisters!" Anna and Vanessa, arms laden with groceries, couldn't dodge the wave of hugs, their boots scuffing the wooden floor. Anna feigned a scowl, kicking playfully at the air. "Get off, you brats! I'm not your sister!" The children giggled, tugging at her suit, their small hands undeterred by her mock grumpiness.
"Don't be mean, Anna," Salina said, shaking her head with a smile, her gray hair tied back in a loose bun. "As their big sister, you've got to look out for them. What'd you bring?"
"Just food," Vanessa teased, sticking out her tongue at the kids, who laughed in delight. "You're all spoiled by granny cooking."
"That's fine by me," Salina said, grabbing the bags with a chuckle. "Put those down, Anna. I'll make your favorite—fish soup. It's rainy season, perfect for it. Keep the kids busy." She shuffled to the kitchen, her apron swaying as she hummed an old island tune.
The children's eyes gleamed with anticipation, turning to Vanessa. "Big sister Vanessa, what're you teaching us today?" a four-year-old girl asked, her voice high with excitement, her small hands clasped together.
"Insects!" Vanessa declared, herding the kids to a corner of the room, her voice animated as she described the swamp's beetles, their iridescent shells glinting like jewels. Anna leaned against a wall, relieved to escape the chaos. Let Vanessa deal with the brats, she thought, her lips curling into a smirk. She was about to sit, sinking into the comfort of doing nothing, when Salina's voice cut through the air.
"Anna, come help your granny!" Salina called from the kitchen, her smile knowing. She understood Anna's preference for idleness over wrangling children, but her tone left no room for argument.
"granny, you can manage everything over there," Anna groaned, shedding her suit jacket, her white shirt's sleeves rolled to her shoulders to escape the kitchen's heat. She joined Salina, the air filling with the rich aroma of simmering fish broth, fresh-cut vegetables, and the faint saltiness of the sea clinging to the ingredients. The steady chop of knives and the soft bubble of the pot created a comforting rhythm, a rare moment of peace after the swamp's relentless demands.
"So, Anna, how's work?" Salina asked, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon, her eyes fixed on the pot as steam rose in lazy curls.
"Why the sudden interest, granny? You never ask," Anna said, slicing the last of the vegetables, her knife flashing in the dim kitchen light.
"I've lived two lifetimes longer than you, girl," Salina said, her voice soft but firm, her weathered hands steady on the spoon. "I know the kind of money you're making comes with danger."
Anna hesitated, glancing at the doorway to ensure the kids were out of earshot. "Keep this quiet, granny. I don't want you or the kids in danger." Salina nodded, her silence a solemn vow.
"Two years ago, Vanessa and I left the tavern for a job paying big beli. It sounded simple: grab a crate, shovel, machete, and collect plants. But it was in the swamp—deadly, crawling with crocodiles and carnivorous plants that could snap a man in half. We nearly died more times than I can count, slipping into quicksand or dodging vines. Then we saw the boss kill a worker who tried to steal the pay of the Crimson Flowers. We froze, thinking we were next, but he just questioned us—calm, sharp, like he already knew our answers—and let us go."
Salina stirred the pot, her eyes steady, unjudging. "That wasn't the end, was it?"
"No," Anna said, a spark of pride in her eyes. "We kept going—2,000 beli for two crates was too good to pass up. We worked in teams of five, which made it safer, and earned more. Then the boss, a kid named Rabosce Olbap, called us in. He praised our work, offered us permanent roles with better pay and protection from the creeps who used to leer at us in the work and outside. We were skeptical—thought it was too good to be true—but we said yes. He kept his word. Those men stopped bothering us, scared off by his orders. We climbed the ranks, and now I'm head of Crimson Flower collection with Vanessa who is the main doctor. Olbap's good, granny. I trust him. He made your dream—helping those kids—come true, and he's there if I need him, like a little brother who acts tougher than he is."
"Sounds like you respect that boy," Salina said, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I'd like to meet him."
Anna blinked, pausing mid-slice. "Meet him? I thought you'd tell me not to trust him."
"You're a grown woman, Anna," Salina said, her voice gentle but firm. "Your words show how much you trust him—he's like a little brother to you and Vanessa. I just want to talk to him, see the boy who's changing this island."
"Thanks, granny," Anna said, a grin breaking through her usual stoicism as she passed the last vegetables. "He acts like the big boss, all serious and commanding, but he's got a good heart. It'll be tricky to arrange with him being so busy, but I'll make it happen."
The soup simmered, its rich aroma filling the house, mingling with the laughter of the children and the hum of Salina's stories. They ate together, gathered around a worn wooden table, the kids' chatter blending with Salina's gentle tales of Brackmor's past. Salina's face glowed with joy, her dream of caring for the island's orphans fulfilled through Anna and Vanessa's hard-earned beli.
For the sisters, seeing her happiness was worth every risk, every drop of sweat in the swamp, every echo of gunfire from the wars they'd survived. They were building something bigger than themselves, and Olbap's vision—his dream of a stronger, united Brackmor—was the heartbeat driving it all.
End of the chapter.