Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thwack! The newspaper slaps the table, “Care to explain this?”
Thin sheets of print spread out before him, revealing the headline. Mihawk shifts his golden eyes to her, swirling the wine in his glass. “I don’t know that an explanation is necessary.”
“How could you?” Marya glares with the same golden eyes, his golden eyes, “after everything that has happened. After what they did? How could you work for them?”
Mihawk sighed as he placed his glass on the table, gesturing for her to sit, “Please, your food is getting cold.”
Balling her hands into fists, “Are we even going to talk about this? Don’t I get a say in any of it?”
Turning to her, he replies with a deadpan stare, “No, now eat. There is nothing to discuss. A decision needed to be made, so I made it. It has nothing to do with you.” Picking up his knife, he begins slicing into his tenderloin.
A shiver jets down Marya’s spine. Taking a sharp breath. “I am not hungry!” Spinning on her heels, she stomps out of the room.
Silverware clanks against the plates when he tosses his utensils. Resting his head in his hand, he mutters, “Elis, it is times like these when I miss you the most.”
It is late in the morning the following day when Mihawk decides that he has allowed enough space for his daughter to process this decision. Cautiously knocking on her bedroom door, “Marya.” He calls out to her again when she does not respond, but there is no reply. Lips pressed, “I am coming in.” Scanning the empty room, he saw a note on her bed. Gripping the paper, it reads, ‘going to visit mom. Be back in a few days.’ The paper crackles in his grip as he groans.
Securing the small boat to the dock, Marya stands, taking in the clear skies and mountainous horizon. This completely contrasts with the dreary island she and her father had recently taken residence. She was pretty irritated when her father decided for them to move again, this time to the gloomiest place she could have ever imagined. To make matters worse, there were these ridiculous apes who continued to assault them every time they stepped away from the castle. To add to her frustration, her father started insisting she be the one to handle them. While it may have been an excellent opportunity to hone her sword skills, it was still annoying to deal with those things.
Breathing deep, she strolled through the tiny town where she and her mother lived. Small cottages and food booths lined the cobbled streets as vendors hustled about. This town and this island were peaceful and out of the way of significant incidents, which is why her mother chose it for them to live.
Reaching the outskirts, she opened the gate and searched for her mother’s grave. Kneeling, she began sweeping away the leaves and clearing off the headstone. Standing, she sighed, “Oh, Mom, you won't believe what he has done now. He is working for the very organization that,” she reached up, wiping away the tear about to fall down her cheek. Sniffing, “He didn’t even ask me about it. He just went and did it. Like what I think doesn’t matter.”
“Excuse me, miss.” She turns to the random voice calling out to her.
Surprised, she rubs away her emotions, “me?”
The older woman smiles, “Yes. You wouldn’t, by chance, be Marya?”
Brow creased, “yes. How do you…?”
The lady smiles, “you haven’t changed that much. I bet you don’t remember me.”
Shaking her head, “Um, I am sorry, but no.”
“I was a friend of your mother’s. She used to bring you around when you were little.” Standing next to her, they were the same height. Marya noted her large round eyes and dark shaggy hair. “You take after your father.” The woman laughed when Marya rolled her eyes. “I have something for you that your mother left.”
Marya’s head whipped around, “what?”
The woman smiled, “Come with me. I think she would want you to have it.”
“Who are you?”
Linking their arms together, she grinned, “Come.” Marya offered little resistance as the woman guided them to an arbitrary cottage on the outskirts of the town. She watched the woman shuffle around the two-room house, rummaging through random trunks. The space felt familiar, but she wasn’t sure why. “Ah! Found it!” She thrust a small box in the air as if conquering the world. Holding in front of Marya, “This is for you!”
Hesitant, Marya takes it from her, “Thank you.”
“Oh, and there is one more thing.” She retrieves a small notebook with a letter from the table in the middle of the room. “If you could please deliver this,” she places it in her hand.
Marya reads to whom the letter is addressed, “Monkey D Luffy?” She looks up, and the woman is gone. The house full of makeshift furniture is now in ruins. Marya spins around in complete confusion. “Hello!” Answered by silence, she goes outside. Noting the absence of a slamming door, she looks back, and the door is gone. The house she was standing in, is a pile of rubble. She looks down at the items in her hands. One hand is a package with her mother’s name on it, and the other is a letter addressed to Monkey D Luffy and a tattered notebook. “Luffy?” she says out loud to herself. “I think I might have known someone named Luffy once. Why does that name sound so familiar?” Shaking her head. “Why did she give this to me and tell me to deliver this? How am I supposed to do that when I don’t know who this person is?” Sighing, “Whatever. I am too hungry to figure this out right now. I need to get something to eat and a room for the night.”
“What the hell was that back there?” Marya stares up at the ceiling of the tavern room. The blanket falls as she sits up in bed. She looks at the items she placed on the small table by the door. “It happened; I know it happened. I have proof, but…” Flames flash through her mind with distant screaming. Blinking the thoughts away, “no.” She holds her head, “I don’t want to remember.” Taking a calming breath, she stands and retrieves a case with her mother's name on it. Sitting, she opens it. It is full of letters, a journal, and an eternal pose. A small picture is tucked behind the letters. Lifting, she gasps. It’s all of them together when she was little. It is a family photo. This must have been taken before …. Holding the image to her chest, tears rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably. “Thank you, mom,” she sobbed.
The following day, she woke early and started thumbing through the journal. The pages were full of etchings of devil fruits, trees, and parts of a compass. The writing was hard to read since some appeared to have faded, and other parts were illegible. She was able to decipher the words consortium, origins, and parts. Rubbing her temples, she put the journal aside and started opening the letter. Leaning back in the chair, her eyes move across the words, ‘My darling daughter.’ Gripping the paper, she forces the tears back as she continues.
Standing on the dock, she lifts the eternal pose. Light reflects off the glass sphere as if it is the guide to her future. She checks for the direction needle points. “Okay, I have made my decision. Sorry, father, but I think I have to do this.” Climbing into the small boat, she pushes off and sets the small sail.

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Chapter Text

For three months, she sailed across endless azure waters, guided by the unerring needle of the Eternal Pose. The small boat, weathered but steadfast, became both prison and sanctuary. Days blurred into nights under the vast, star-strewn sky, the horizon a constant companion. Storms tested resolve, waves crashing like titans, yet the Pose never wavered, its needle a beacon of purpose. Brief stops at remote ports were fleeting—restocking supplies, mending sails, and stealing moments of rest on solid ground. Many nights were spent with just her thoughts and the box of letters left to her by her mother. She studied the journal as best she could, but the only thing she could decipher was Golem Island. Having no idea where that could be, how to find it, or what she would even be looking for, she files it away, hoping that maybe the island the eternal pose is leading her to will have some answers.
Cloaked in solitude, she spoke little, her eyes fixed on the Pose, as if it whispered secrets only she could hear. The sea’s monotony was broken by fleeting wonders: bioluminescent tides, breaching leviathans, and islands shrouded in mist. Each mile brought her closer to her unknown destination, the journey a testament to endurance and the relentless pull of destiny.
“Finally,” she announces as the island comes into view. “I didn’t think I would ever get here.” Smiling, she tightened her grip on the well-worn handle of the small rutter as the wind billowed against the sail. Closing in, she notices the island, covered in tropical green foliage, appears uninhabited.
The jagged silhouette of the Petrified Titan, a towering, mangled stump the size of a mountain, dominates the island's horizon. Its broken form juts unevenly into the sky, resembling a shattered fortress. Cracks run through its stone-like surface, glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light. The surrounding landscape is barren, with twisted roots sprawling like skeletal fingers across the ashen ground.
Her eyes fall on ruins that rise like broken teeth against the horizon, their jagged silhouettes cloaked in mist. “Was there some kind of conflict here long ago?”
A current takes hold of the rudder, snapping her from her observations. Using both hands to navigate, she rides a wave to the beach. She drags her small boat onto the sand so the tide will not pull it back. Scanning the swaying palm trees, she cocks a hip, “Well, I am here. Guess I should take a look around.” Securing her sword and her treasures, she enters the forest.
There is nothing spectacular or unique about this forest. It is a typical forest with nondescript vegetation. The only exceptional thing about this island is the massive, towering titan overpowering the horizon. Eventually, she finds the ruins that caught her eye from the ocean but are just as underwhelming as the rest of the island.
Disappointed, she sighs as a wave of exhaustion washes over her. “What the hell?” Leaning against a collapsed stone wall, “This turned out to be an epic waste of time.” Rolling her eyes, “I can only imagine the long lecture waiting for me when I get home.”
Snap! She jets upright. Back rigid, she reaches behind for the hilt of her blade. “Hello?” she calls out. "Is anyone there?” Brush rustles to the right of her, holding her attention. The ground shakes, followed by thundering hooves as a massive boar the size of an elephant breaks through the tundra behind her. On instinct, she unsheathes her blade. She spins with one effortless, flowing move, slicing the boar in half. Blood sprays as the beast crashes to the ground in pieces. Towering over the corps, she Inspects her work, “Well, I don’t have to go hunting now.”
“Wow!” she whips around, “that was amazing! Did you see that?” Riggs, a tall, lanky, blue-eyed, blond-haired boy, says.
“Of course, I saw it,” Jax, another not-as-tall, brown-haired boy, stepped out of the shadows. “It wasn’t all that amazing. “I could have done that too if I had a sword like that.”
Marya points her blade, still dripping red, with narrowed eyes, “Who are you?”
Riggs smiles, lifting his palms, “Whoa, we don’t want any trouble. We are just out hunting.” Twisting, he points to his quiver of arrows. “See, they are for hunting.”
“We had a snare set up,” Jax interjects, “but…” his hazel eyes shift to the side.
“Do you live here?” Marya asks, “I have not seen any towns or villages.”
The boys share a knowing glance. “Actually,” Jax’s brow creases, “how are you here? This island is secluded.”
Marya's lips pursed. “I know!” Riggs pounds an optimistic fist into an open palm. “Why don’t you come with us?” taking a step forward. “I promise you, if you can take that boar down like you did, we are no match for your skill. We are not a threat.”
Marya’s eyes shift as she considers. “Are you hungry?” Jax rubs the back of his neck. “There will be food where we are going.”
The potential of a cooked meal appeals to her since she has been living on sea rations. Making an audible breath, she nods her acceptance and sheaths her sword.
“Great! I am Jax,” pointing his thumb to his companion, “This is Riggs.” Marya steps away as Riggs moves past her. “We have to take this back with us. Otherwise, Master Gaius will have us running laps around the island.” Stepping into her space, “So, what is your name?”
Tilting her head back to meet his gaze, “I am Marya.”
Riggs smiles, “it’s nice to meet you.”
“Riggs! Come help me with this!” Jax snaps while bent over the bore’s corps. When he is answered with silence, “Riggs!” Jax’s head spins in response to the sharp tone. “Come on! Bring the rope.”
“Oh, right. " Lifting the rope slug across him, he kneels, whispering, “Have you ever seen eyes like that?”
“No,” Jax tightens a knot. “I wonder how she got here.”
She grasps the kogatana around her neck and watches them heave the massive creature onto their shoulders. “Okay,” Jax announces, “this way!”
“Just follow us!” Riggs smiles.
Moving through the forest, it is apparent how familiar the boys are. Sensing Marya’s tension, they begin to banter with one another. Marya’s footsteps faltered as she trailed behind the two boys, their laughter echoing unnaturally in the dense forest. Her palms grew clammy, her heart racing with every rustle of leaves. She clutched her kogatana, feeling like an outsider in their easy camaraderie. Unaccustomed to this interaction, she follows in silence, doing her best to take in her surroundings should she need to make a hasty exit.
The forest clears into a valley sprawled under an endless sky, its sea of tall, golden grass swaying rhythmically in the breeze. Scattered among the waves of green and gold stand ancient ruins—crumbling stone pillars and moss-covered arches—silent witnesses to a forgotten era—the air hums with the whispers of history, timeless and serene.
Looking ahead, a man reclined lazily on a sun-warmed rock, his broad shoulders relaxed but still imposing. His chin-length gray hair, swept carelessly to one side, caught the breeze while his short stubble framed a face etched with lines of experience. A weathered pipe rested between his fingers, its sweet-smelling smoke curling into the open sky. His piercing eyes, sharp yet calm, scanned the endless field before him as if surveying a life well-lived. Dressed in simple, sturdy clothes, he exuded an air of quiet strength, a man content in his solitude yet unmistakably shaped by a past full of stories. “Hey,” Riggs waves his free arm, “Master Gaius!” The aged man knocks his pipe against the rock, clearing the soot, and stands. “Look what we got!”
“OH! Impressive!” he calls back. His pleased expression fades when he notices Marya following them. Marya jumps back when he suddenly appears in front of her. Without thinking, she draws the blade concealed in the kogatana around her neck.
Unthreatened, he peers down at her with her unwavering arm stretched to its full length. It is as if he recognizes something. His palm trusts forward, but her image fades away. “Devil fruit powers!” His eyes shift when he feels the razor edge of cold steel against his neck. “Impressive.”
“That is so cool!” Riggs is giddy with excitement.
“I didn’t come here to cause trouble,” Marya’s tone is stone cold, and her gaze is focused. “But I will not hesitate should you decide to do me harm.”
Master Gaius crosses his well-muscled arms, resting his hands inside the fold of his robe. “Yes, I can see that. The blade does not falter. I suspect you have spent many hours holding it, and your use of Haki is impressive, but I dare say it could use some improvement. Tell me, young lady, what is your name?” After a long pause, “I mean you no harm.” He pushes the tip of her blade away with two of his fingers. Noting her lack of resistance, he turns to her, “It’s just you look very familiar to me.”
“It's okay,” she glances at Riggs, “He was just testing you. He does it to everyone.”
Lips pressed to a thin line, she sheathed her sword. Holding his gaze, “Marya.”
“Is that your full name?”
Sighing, she rolls her eyes, “Dracule Marya Zaleska.”
“Dracule? As in Dracule Mihawk?” Riggs’s eyes go wide.
Marya's eyes jet to the side in response to his enthusiasm. Master Gaius steps into her space, forcing her to focus on him. “Is he here?”
Holding her ground, she looks him in the eye, “No.”
Smirking, “you are by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find this place?”
“I followed an eternal pose that my mother had.”
Eyes narrowed, “I see.” After a long, dramatic pause and gust of wind, he tosses his hands in the air. “Well, I am sure he will be along soon enough!” Sounding chipper as he takes the lead of the small caravan hunting party. “Come on, boys, this pig isn’t going to cook itself, and I am starving. I can’t wait to hear how you took it down.”
Marya stands stunned for a long moment at his sudden change in demeanor. “Keep up!” he calls out. “Daylight’s wasting and the chef waits on no one!” She scurries to catch up, falling into the back of the line.
The well-worn path meanders through the valley, its dirt packed smooth by countless footsteps, leading to the remnants of an ancient ruin. Moss-covered stones and broken pillars hint at a forgotten civilization. At the heart of the ruins, two massive flat boulders lean against each other, forming a natural archway. Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into another world—the sunlight fades, replaced by the cool, damp air of a dimly lit cavern. The walls glisten with moisture, and the faint sound of dripping water echoes in the distance. Not noticing the gradual incline, Marya stumbles. “You okay back there?” Master Gaius calls out.
“Yes.” The light shifts as she finds her footing. She is taken back when the cavern falls away and their destination is revealed. The petrified titan forms a natural fortress of glittering lights through windows that line the walls from floor to ceiling. A roaring waterfall cascades from above, splitting into a shimmering river that winds through the city’s heart, its waters glinting with flecks of gold. Bridges of polished wood and stone arc gracefully between balconies, forming an intricate transit system. Lanterns hang from the walkways, casting a warm glow on bustling markets, homes carved into the bark, and temples adorned with ancient runes. “What is this place?”
“We are inside the petrified tree?” Riggs grins. “You can’t see it from the outside, but…”
“Boys,” Master Gaius interrupts, “the chef is waiting on you.”
Nodding, “See you later,” Riggs takes a long look over his shoulder.
“Just go already,” Jax shoves.
“Let’s go this way,” Master Gaius gestures up some steps that lead to a bridge bending over the whole community. He gives her an encouraging shove since she keeps wanting to look down and take it all in. From time to time, a passerby will stop and gawk. “Nothing to see here. Carry on.” Master Gaius waves them past.
“Ah, here we are.” The bridge ends on the top of what would be the tallest building if entered from the bottom. Opening the door, Marya’s jaw dropped. Gleaming marble floors reflect the soft glow of enchanted lanterns suspended from vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate mosaics. Towering shelves of polished mahogany, meticulously organized, house countless volumes—ancient tomes with gilded spines, scrolls sealed in crystal tubes, and illuminated manuscripts that seem to shimmer. The air is crisp and faintly scented with lavender and cedar, a testament to those who protect the collection from decay. Scholars move quietly through the aisles, guided by floating orbs of light. At the library’s heart lies the Celestial Atrium, a domed chamber where a massive, rotating astrolabe projects constellations onto the ceiling, symbolizing the eternal pursuit of knowledge.
“Oh, you’re not ready for that.” He takes hold of her shoulders, guiding her down a hallway.
Slam! The ominous sound echoes through the library. Both Master Gaius and Marya search for its origin as they walk. Master Gaius grins as a woman that exuded elegance, her figure draped in a flowing gown of deep emerald silk, embroidered with intricate gold patterns that shimmered with every movement. Her neckline was adorned with delicate lace, and her sleeves billowed gracefully, and she cinched at the wrists with jeweled cuffs. A velvet corset accentuated her waist, its silver filigree catching the light. Her raven hair was swept into an elaborate updo, pinned with pearls and a single emerald hairpiece that matched her earrings. Her skin was bronze, her lips were painted a rich crimson, and her piercing eyes, framed by dark lashes, held an air of regal confidence. She carried herself with poise, every step a statement of grace and authority. Back straight, she follows them, calling out to Master Gaius. “I think she is calling for you.” Marya tries to look back, but Master Gaius's grip tightens on her shoulders as he pushes her onward.
“Pay her no mind; we are almost there.” Bursting through elaborately designed, arched double doors, Master Gaius stops in a room with vaulted ceilings, glowing chandeliers, plush tiered seating, and a marble stage framed by golden arches full of important-looking people. “I have an announcement!”
“Master Gaius!” The woman stands panting in the doorway.
“Oh good, Nanette, you will want to hear this too!” Sweeping his arm grandly, “Allow me to introduce Dracule Marya Zaleska.” Crash, dishes shatter as they impact the ground. The room that was humming with chatter is now dead silent. A cat screeches in the distance as Marya stands, blinking awkwardly at the group of stunned adults.
Knox, a rugged man with weathered charm, rushes toward them, “What the hell are you doing?” His dark, shaggy hair tousled as if perpetually caught in a breeze. A short, neatly trimmed beard framed his jaw, accentuating a strong, angular face. His most striking feature was his handlebar mustache, meticulously groomed and curled at the ends, giving him an air of both sophistication and roguishness. His piercing eyes, lined with the faint creases of experience, held a mix of warmth and mystery. He carried himself with quiet confidence, his presence commanding yet approachable, like someone who had seen much but still found joy in the simple things.
“Isn't it obvious? I am introducing Mihawk’s daughter.” His impish grin reveals his true intentions.
Standing nose to nose, “What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”
“Of course not, Knox!” Grabbing her by the collar, she stumbles as he jerks her to him. “Just look at her. The evidence is as plain as her face.”
Knox’s brow furrows as he inspects the referred-to evidence. Returning his attention to Master Gaius. “Where is he? Is he here?”
Wack! Wack! “What the hell is wrong with you two?” Nanette snaps as both men rub their heads. “She is not a thing! She is a person, and clearly, she has been traveling for a long time to get here! She must be exhausted and overwhelmed.” Composing herself, “I swear, the two of you!” She glares scoldingly at them before shifting her attention to Marya. Reaching out her hand, she says in the most charming tone, “Hello, Marya. I am Nanette, the head librarian. Welcome.”
Hesitantly, Marya takes her hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
Nanette beams a beautiful, gracious smile with gleaming white teeth. “You must have been traveling for a long time. Why don’t we get you in a bath with fresh clothes?” Draping her arm across her shoulders, she guides her away from the room. Looking back at her two male counterparts, her tone turns dark. " We will finish this conversation later.”

Chapter Text

The bell jingles in response to the swinging door. “Ah, Nanette!” an elderly gentleman calls from behind the reception counter. “What brings you here?”
“We require a room for the evening, preferably one close to the bath.” Nanette steps aside for him to see Marya.
“Ah, what do we have here?” his head angles to the side. “You look oddly familiar.”
“Allow me to introduce you. This is Dracule Marya Zaleska. Daughter of Mihawk and Elisabeta.”
“Oh,” the elderly gentleman's eyebrows shot up. “A VIP! How very exciting. It just so happens that the VIP suite is available.”
“Um,” Marya raises a hesitant hand, “a regular room is fine. I don’t have the berries for a VIP suite.”
“I believe Mihawk still has an outstanding credit,” Nanette raises a telling eyebrow, “If I am not mistaken.”
The elderly gentleman grins, “Why yes, he does. How long will the suite be in use?”
“Book it for three days.” Marya looks confused by Nanette’s proclamation.
Finished with scripting notes in his ledger, “right this way then,” the elderly gentleman starts up the steps.
Noticing Marya’s apprehension, Nanette places an encouraging hand on her back. “I am going to step away for you to get cleaned up. I will be back in two hours with some fresh clothing. Then I will take you to the training dining hall where you can get something to eat, and we can talk after. Does that sound good to you?” Marya nods. “Good. I am sure you have a million questions. I will do my best to answer some of them.”
“Here we are!” The elderly fellow stops in front of a door.
Nanette turns to Marya to look at her. “Relax for a bit. I will be back in two hours.”
“Thank you,” Marya watches Nanette disappear down the hall.
“There is an open bath just outside, but this room has the bath and shower feature.” Handing her the key. “There is a transponder snail in the room if you need anything. Do not hesitate to ask.”
Taking the key, Marya nods and opens the door. “Wow! This is amazing!”
“Glad you like it. I will call when Ms. Nanette returns. Now, if you will excuse me.”
*****
“Good, both of you are here.” The door to Nanette’s office slams behind her. “It keeps me from having to call you.” She marches around the room's main focal point, an intricately carved oak desk, its surface polished to a mirror sheen. Sitting, she rocks back in her chair, interlacing her fingers. “Sit, you two. We are going to be here for a while.”
Both men squirm before taking residence in the plush chairs across from her. Eyes narrowed, “Okay, Gaius, speak. Where did you find her? What is she doing here? Where is her father?”
Reclining, he rests his head in his hand on his bent elbow. “The boys found her in the woods while they were hunting. When I asked her about Mihawk she said he wasn’t here. I got the impression he doesn’t know about any of this.” Nanette groans. “She is a mirror image of him.”
Knox rubs the scruff of his beard. “No wonder he has gone to such lengths to keep her unknown. She is an easy target, and it would be leverage.”
“She is not that easy of a target,” Master Gaius sits up a little. “I would venture she has more talent and potential with the blade than her father does, especially at her current age. He is no fool. I am sure he recognized that in her right away and started her training before she was able to utter her first word. She will surpass him.”
Knox twists the corner of his mustache. “What the hell does that even look like?”
“I don’t know, but I think she will be the one to show the world what can be done with true talent.”
“Gentlemen!” Nanette snaps, “Focus!” Taking a breath, “I can applaud Mihawk for doing what any man or father would but.”
“But?” Knox lifts a brow.
“I will assume he has told her nothing about his past life or her mother: the work they did and the true nature behind her death.” Nanette stands, “The decision we have to make is: are we going to be the ones to tell her.”
“Where is she now?” Knox asks.
“She is staying at the Acorn Hotel for now.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Knox stokes his beard. “Maybe we should leave this for Mihawk to handle. We send word that she is here and hold her until he comes for her.”
“That won't work,” they both turn to Master Gaius. “She lacks the life experience to understand any of this. I am sure her overprotective father has spoiled her, but she doesn’t even realize it.” His eyes shift between the two of them. “She came here looking for answers. I am reluctant to spoon-feed her any information.”
“What are you saying?” Nanette asks.
“Let’s make her an offer to attend.” Nanette slowly returns to her seat as Master Gaius continues. “She already knows we are here. She is not going to forget that. She has talent and is a power holder. Let's offer her training and study and see what she figures out.”
“I am not opposed to it,” Nanette rests her chin on intertwined fingers.
“But,” Master Gaius asks.
“What will her father’s reaction be?” Knox squirms.
“Is it his decision to make?” Master Gaius asks.
Knox sighs disapprovingly. “Technically, no, however…”
“He may see it as us taking her from him,” Nanette interjects. “That will not go over very well.”
Master Gaius sighs, “I appreciate everything Mihawk has done for the child, but at some point, a person needs more than just a parent. I suspect that with the life he has lived, she does not have many, if any, friends. Without that, she is going to struggle to find purpose. The program can give her that. Maybe that is the real reason she is here.”
“How did she even find this place?” Nanette asks.
Master Gaius replies, “She said Elis had an eternal pose.”
Nanette’s eyebrows squish together. “How is that even possible? This island’s magnetic sphere is unstable. No pose can lock onto it.”
Master Gaius shrugs, “I don’t know. That is what she said.”
“So,” Knox interrupts. “What are we doing? Making an offer or waiting for Mihawk to come for her?”
Nanette stands, folding her hands behind her back. She goes to a towering arched window that bathes the room in soft, golden light, its stained glass overlooking the glittering community. After a long pause, “Her parents have done much for this community and made the ultimate sacrifice. Should my child ever find himself in this situation I hope there would be a community to offer support and guidance. She is at that age where friendships determine the type of person you will become.” Glancing over her shoulder to Master Gaius. “Be prepared for a new student. If she decides to accept the offer, her training will begin immediately.”
“You sure about this?” Knox asks.
Nanette smirks, “Not at all, but I know a cry for help when I see one. I think Master Gaius’s assessment is correct. I think it would be better to offer guidance versus dismissing her.”
“Okay, so what’s next?” Knox asks.
“Well, for now, I need to get her a change of clothes and pick her up from the hotel. I was going to have her dine in the facility and see how she interacts with the other trainees. I told her I would sit and meet with her after. Would either of you care to join?”
“I can’t,” Knox stands. “I have a date with Anna at the house. If I miss it, I will surely get a thorough scolding from both her and her mother.”
“Understandable,” Nanette chuckles. “How about you?”
“I can’t. After dinner, I told my grandson I would help him with his stance.” Master Gaius also stands, “It’s date night for his parents.”
“Okay, then, I will see you both tomorrow,” she nods as they step away. “Oh, and one more thing, Master Gaius. Don’t do that shit again!”
*****
“I am glad to see the clothes fit,” Nanette opens the door to the dining hall lined with booths.
Tugging the corners of the t-shirt, “Oh, yes, thank you. I can pay you for them.”
“No need,” Nanette waves her off.
“Marya,” she turns to see who is calling for her. Riggs jumps and waves in greeting from a warm, bustling space filled with the hum of conversation and the aroma of hearty meals.
“We can speak after. Why don’t you sit with them? I am sure they would like to meet you.” Noting Marya’s reluctance, Nanette encouragingly pushes her in their direction.
Before taking another step, Riggs starts moving through the maze of tables and trainees to get to her. Towering over her, “Come sit with us. Everyone wants to meet you.” When she looks down and away, he takes hold of her hand. “Come on! Don’t be shy.” Her breath catches at the sudden sensation of his palm on hers. He clumsily escorts through an assortment of prying eyes and audible whispers.
Arriving at their destination, he stands in front of a long, polished table surrounded by gawking trainees. “Hey everyone, this is Marya. The girl I told you about.” Pointing his finger to the left, “That red-headed guy is Emmet. You already met Jax. The girl with the long pink hair is Zola. Natalie is the tall blond. Charlie is the one with the glasses. Bianca is the one with the long black hair, and Celest is the one with the short silver hair.”
“Hi,” Marya waves her free hand awkwardly. “Nice to meet all of you.”
“Come on!” Riggs tugs, “I will show you where to get food.”
“Oh my God!” Bianca walks over. Dark hair cascaded around her, and she took her hand from his. “Like give her a minute. She just got here.” Riggs blinks, dipping his blond spikey head to the side. “You, like, just dragged her over here, like, she was some rag doll or something.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what, Riggs.” Natalie looks at him from the side with big blue eyes while sitting. “You always do this. We get you’re excited, but give us a minute.”
“Um,” staring at the floor with her big gray eyes, Celeste pressed two petite index fingers together. “It's nice to meet you.” Marya had to strain her ears to hear her. “If you want, I can show you where to get your plate.”
“That would be…”
“I want to show her!” Riggs interrupts.
“Like, we can all go together,” Bianca rolls her chocolate eyes as she walks, interlacing her arm with Marya’s. Riggs appears dejected as Marya is ushered through the lines and back to the table.
Sitting at the long table, Marya is relieved to have something to eat finally. The smell alone has her salivating. Cutting into the tenderloin and placing it in her mouth, her shoulders relax as she chews.
“So, like your dad is super famous or something?” Bianca swirls her fork, twisting the noodles.
Marya sighs, “yeah. Something like that.”
“Guys!” Riggs starts waving his utensils around. “You should have seen it! It was awesome! She just spun and….”
“We know!” Everyone at the table interrupted.
“It happened this afternoon,” Emmet adds, pointing with his fork, “But you have told us ten times already.”
Rigg’s nose wrinkles. Chomping down on bread, he mutters, “Well, you had to be there!”
“So, like, are you here to join the training program?” Bianca asks.
The room becomes deafly silent, as if everyone is waiting for her answer. Marya swallows, tilting her head. “Training program?” she shakes her head. “I don’t know anything about a training program. I followed an eternal pose that my mom had. I just wanted to see if it would help me learn more about her.”
“So,” Natalie leans in from the far end of the table. “You don’t know anything about the Consortium?”
Shaking her head, “What’s that?” Eyes shift knowingly around the table.
Striating his back, Charlie adjusts his glasses. “Well, you see…”
“How was dinner?” Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Marya looks up at Nanette. “I see everyone is getting along.” Beaming a smile, “If you are finished here, then we should have that talk.”
They watch as Marya stands, “It was nice meeting all of you.”
“One of you take her plate, please,” Nanette looks over her shoulder as she chaperones Marya from the bustling dining hall.
Opening the door to her office, Nanette directs Marya to the cozy lounge area with plush couches upholstered in deep crimson velvet, away from her imposing desk. “Go ahead and take a seat, " she says, getting comfortable, “so you have questions.”
Back straight and hands folded in her lap, “Yes. Why did my mother have an eternal pose to this place? What is the Consortium?”
A corner of Nanette’s mouth lifts. “Well, both your parents used to be a part of this organization. For the past 1000 years, we have been guarding and adding to this library. This organization is known as the Consortium. We work in secret. Ambiguity is our core construct. Should the World Government ever learn of our existence, this place would face a similar fate as Ohara.”
Brow creased, “Ohara?”
Nanette leans forward, resting her elbows on crossed knees. “He really kept you in the dark, didn’t he.” Taking a deep breath, “You could say Ohara was our counterpart. They had a different philosophy about sharing their knowledge with the world. Because of that, the World Government wiped them from existence.”
“But why? What is so wrong about sharing knowledge?”
Nanette leans back, “There is nothing wrong as long as those you share it with are not threatened by it or have ill intentions.”
“And my parents were part of this?”
“Yes, a very important part.”
“Is that why my mother died?”
Nanette sighs, “That is a complicated question. I do not have an answer for you. It is something you will have to determine on your own.”
Lips pressed, Marya nods. Silence fills the room for a long moment. “So, what now?” Nanette raises an eyebrow. “This place is supposed to be a secret, but now I know about it, so…”
Nanette smirks, “It is good to know you are thinking. We actually have a proposition for you.”
“You do?”
Nanette nods, “We are considering offering you a training position.”
“Training position?” Marya’s face twists. “For what?”
“It is amazing how much you are like your father,” Nanette mutters, invoking a hard eye roll from Marya. Chuckling, “There are three main functions here. Librarian or academic, guardian, and townsperson. I am the head Librarian and oversee the care and collection of all artifacts or educational materials. Guardians are a specially trained fighting force whose primary purpose is to protect and defend the island as well as the academics when they are sent on expeditions. The townspeople are organized and managed by the mayor, who happens to be my husband.”
“And you want me to train to be….”
“We will have to do an assessment, but I am going to assume that you will take after your father.”
“He was a guardian?”
Nanette grins, “he was the Head Captain of the Guardians.”
“Really?” Nanette nods. “What was my mother?”
“She was an academic,” Marya replies with a bewildered look. “One of our best.” Nanette makes an audible breath. “Look, you have been through a lot today. No decisions have to be made right now. We would like to move forward with the assessment, tomorrow, if you are okay with that?” Marya pinches her chin, staring off. “Do you want to sleep on it and let me know what you think tomorrow?"
Marya’s eyes bounce around the plushily furnished room, where shelves of dark mahogany line the walls, filled with priceless artifacts and first editions. “I don’t know. What if I don’t like it here?”
Nanette replies, “Your father takes you home, and you go about your business.
“Really?” Nanette nods. “Oh, well, I think I would at least like to try the assessment.”
“Okay,” Nanette started for the door. “Let’s get you back to the hotel. I will be by in the morning to pick you up, and we will get started.

Chapter Text

“Good morning,” Nanette greets Marya as she descends the stairs. Noting her haggard appearance, she asks, “How did you sleep?” Marya shrugs in reply. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” she pushes the door open, “I think so.”
“You are not sounding very enthusiastic,” Nanette takes the door handle.
“Have a good day,” the elderly man calls from behind the counter.
“Thanks so much,” Nanette waves as the door closes. Noting the tense silence as they walk, “Want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Whatever is bothering you?”
Marya’s head shakes, “not really.”
“Okay, well, would you like to talk about the assessment?”
“Yeah,” Marya glances her way, “I think I would.”
“It will take about two days to complete. Your first day will be primarily academic: math, communication, science, technology, that sort of thing. Day two, there will be a health assessment and an evaluation of your combat skills.” Marya acknowledges with a nod. “Once the assessment is complete, we will meet and determine your curriculum and training regimen. Understand?”
“I think so.”
“Have any questions?”
“If I end up staying, where would I live?”
A corner of Nanette’s mouth lifts, “You will move into the dorms, where you will share a room with one of the other trainees.”
“Oh,” Marya perks up, “I would have a roommate?”
“Is that a problem?”
Stroking the side of her neck. “No, it’s just that I have never lived with anyone other than my father.”
Nanette places an encouraging arm around her, “I am sure you will adjust. You might even like it.”
Crossing the library's threshold, Nanette escorts her to a cubicle with a computer and stationery. She explains how to access the test and how breaks are administered. When it is time to stop for lunch, she makes her first lone journey to the dining hall.
Standing with her food, she notices an empty booth. Doing her best to be invisible, she slinks through the clusters of people. “Yo, like, why don’t you come sit with us?” Bianca sneaks up beside her.
Startled, “Oh, um, okay.” She follows her to the table with Emmet, Charlie, Zola and Natalie.
Straightening his back, Charlie adjusts his glasses, “good day to you.”
Taking her seat, “Hi.”
Charlie smiles, “you decided to stay, then?”
“Um,” Marya glances around the table as expectant eyes stare back. “I am still trying to decide. I am just doing the assessment right now.”
“Oh, like, you are so in if you want it?” Bianca bites into her sandwich.
“Yeah….” Marya’s focus turns to the tabletop.
Bianca swallows, “Like, do you want it?”
“Um,” Marya’s eye shifted to her, “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my dad for forever. What if things don’t ….”
“The likelihood of you struggling is very low,” Zola interjects with a finger pointed in the air. “Both your parents thrived here at one time.”
“Yeah,” Marya swallows, “but they left.”
“Do you know why they left?” Natalie sips her drink. Marya shakes her head. “Do you want to know?” Marya shrugs.
Charlie clears his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. “If you are truly genuine about learning more about your mother, as you stated yesterday, then the most effective way to do so would be by interjecting yourself in her way of living.”
“Like, what he is trying to say,” Bianca flips her hand, “is trying walking in her shoes and stuff,” Marya smirks. “Anyway, how is the assessment going?”
“Um, well, the math and communication parts are pretty easy. I know a lot of the technology stuff too. I don’t know all the science and history stuff it asks about,” Marya sips her drink.
“Well, like that’s no big deal. If you have critical thinking and problem-solving skills, then you are good,” Bianca returns her attention to her sandwich.
Marya looks around the table, realizing, “Hey, where is everyone else?”
“We are academics,” Emmet bites into a frenched fry. “The others are guardians in training. They have a different lunch schedule than us.”
“Yes,” Charlie wipes his hands, “but we all have the same dinner time, so we usually eat together then.” An alarm buzzed in his pocket, “Well, we have to return now.” They all start standing, “will we see you later?”
“Yeah, okay, I will look for you all at dinner,” Marya also gathered her food items to return.
*****
“We found her boat,” Knox shifts in his seat at the end of the conference room table. “If that is what you want to call it. It was more like a raft.”
“A raft?” Nanette taps her temple.
“Yeah,” Knox leans in, interlacing his fingers. “It’s hard to believe she made it on that thing. I don’t know how Mihawk taught her to navigate on that, but he did.”
Master Gaius groans, “How is she doing with assessment so far?”
“We won’t have the results until later today. She doesn’t seem bothered about how long it takes, though,” Nanette says, resting her hands in her lap.
“There is no surprise there. I am confident her father made sure she could focus,” Master Gaius taps the arm of his chair. Nanette is about to say something else when the conference room door opens, and people file in.
*****
The next day, Marya spent the first hour with Doctor Evelyn for a medical exam. After, she found herself in the Dojo with Master Gaius and some of the familiar faces she was starting to become accustomed to. She noted a rather large mirror that felt out of place but dismissed it.
“Okay, Celest,” Master Gaius called out with arms crossed, “you are up.” Celest jumps to her feet, bowing respectfully, and retrieves a bamboo sword. Watching Celest take her stance, Marya cocks her head to the side, looking confused. “Is there a problem?”
“Um,” Marya points, “what is that?”
Master Gaius’s eyes narrow, “what is what?”
“What is she holding?”
Celest interjects, “Um,” her shoulders drop, “I am sorry, but this is just practice.”
Master Gaius sighs, “Let me guess,” rubbing the back of his neck, “you were taught with a blunt blade, not bamboo swords.” Marya shrugs. Master Gaius retrieves a bamboo sword for her. “We will assess you with this. You can put your sword on the wall rack while training.” Marya nods, taking the bamboo blade from him. Returning to his place of observation, “Okay, let’s try this again.”
Both of them take their stance, locking in on each other. The floor creaks, announcing any subtle changes in posture or movements in their feet. Marya takes a calm breath, closing her eyes, and Celeste lunges. Marya steps aside, feeling the breeze of her flying past. She ducks and dodges while Celeste stabs and swipes. As if tap dancing around her, she feels her opponent's frustration. Opening her eyes, she flicks her bamboo sword, whacking Celeste in the wrist, causing the sword to fling through the air, toppling to the ground. Celeste stands stunned since it happened faster than should have been possible.
Marya’s posture is relaxed and focused as she holds her gaze. The spectators begin to hum in excitement about what they just witnessed. “Well,” Master Gaius breaks her focus, “that was impressive.” Marya turns to him. “Celeste is our top student, and you just disarmed her in a matter of minutes.” Marya stood dumbfounded, not sure what to do or how to react.
“Um,” Celeste bows nervously, “I am sorry I was not a better opponent. Thank you so much.” She rushes to return to her previous seated position.
Rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, that is all I needed to see.”
“So, are we done, then?”
“For today, yes.” He takes the bamboo sword from her. “Take the rest of the day and meet me here tomorrow morning.”
“Here?”
Master Gaius nods, “is there a problem with that?”
“No, I just thought it would be in the library.”
“Would you prefer the library?” Feeling eyes on her, she turns her attention to the mirror. “Marya?” Master Gaius interrupts the long pause.
Returning her attention to him. “Not really. It’s just I have spent most of my time there.”
“Oh, well, tomorrow, come straight here. We will go over your assessment then.” Turning to the rest of the class, “class dismissed.”
Riggs, Jax, and Celeste rush to her. “That was amazing!” Riggs announces. “You are so fast. I didn’t even see you move!”
“How are you able to move like that without looking?” Jax asks.
“Um,” Celeste whispers while pushing her index fingers together, “can you show me your stance?”
Overwhelmed by all the enthusiasm, Marya blinks. “Are you hungry?” Riggs reaches for her. “We should all go eat!”
The next morning, Marya meets Master Gaius at the dojo. Following him to his office, she pauses since his office is a small, efficient kitchen. Knox and Nanette sit at a round table, sipping hot beverages and eating breakfast. “Oh, good morning,” Nanette stands, gesturing for her to sit. Marya pulls out the chair.
Adjusting the stove's heat, Master Gaius asks, “Do you want some eggs?”
Awkwardly, Marya replies, “Um, sure.”
“So,” Nanette sips from her cup, “what do you think?”
“Um, I don’t know. I am not sure what to think. I mean, everyone has been nice, but…”
“All the attention,” Knox leans back, stroking his beard. “It makes you uncomfortable.”
A plate of eggs slides in front of her. “Yeah, maybe that is it.”
“The attention will eventually lessen,” Master Gaius pulls out a chair next to her. “Once everyone gets to know you and become more accustomed.” Cutting into her eggs, Marya chews the side of her cheek.
Nanette, looking over the rim of her cup, “Let's go over the results.” All eyes moved to her. “You tested well in math, communication, and technology. There are some gaps in science and history, which can be easily corrected.”
Master Gaius interjects, “You are above average for your age in combat skill and agility.”
“No surprise, there,” Knox interjects.
Tapping her cup, Nanette says, “It is up to you. What would you like to do?”
“If I decide to stay. What would I be training to do?”
“Your strongest aptitude is in combat, so your focus would be as a guardian,” Knox rests his elbow on the table. “But all guardians are required to have certain levels of expertise with several skills outside of combat.”
Marya meets their eyes, “And I can leave if I want?”
After sharing a telling look with each other, Nanette replies, “Of course.”
“Okay,” Marya nods, “I think I would like to try it.”
Smiling in relief, they stand. “I will go with you to check out of the hotel,” Nanette walks her cup to the sink, “and we can get you settled in the dorms.”

Chapter Text

The towering stack of shifting garment boxes threatens to topple over as Marya struggles to keep her grip on them while following Nanette down the hall. They spent the remainder of the day acquiring the supplies needed to attend the Consortium training program. Her arms are so full of bags and boxes that she struggles to see where she is going.
“Here we are,” Nanette swings the door open to her new residence. Marya peers inside, wrinkling her nose at the chaos and disarray in front of her. Shifting narrowed eyes at Nanette, she beams a glowing, white smile in response. Pointing, “Your bed is there.” She walks to the clean space and gestures, “You have a closet, desk, bed, and mirror, and you are by the window.”
Marya blinks at her. Sighing, she attempts to navigate the mess. Tiptoeing, she hops about until one of the wax boxes begins to slip. To avoid a toppling disaster, she jumps sideways to catch the box. Her foot catches on a random clothing article, causing her and her items to crash to the ground.
Face planted, she groans. “Well, that could have gone better,” Nanette reaches out a hand when she rolls over.
“Like, yo,” they both turn as Bianca stands in the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder.
“Ah, perfect timing,” Nanette skips through the debris-consumed floor. “Why don’t you help your new roommate get settled?” Bianca’s brow jets upward. “Okay, well, I will leave you to it.” Bianca’s attention turns to Marya when Nanette steps away.
She watches Marya pick up the scattered boxes and bags. “So,” she drops her bag on her bed and begins to assist her. “Like, we are roommates, now?”
“Looks like it,” Marya places paper bags on her bed. Scanning the collage of design images on the walls, “What are those?”
“Like, those are my design ideas. I, like, engineer stuff.” Opening one of the boxes, “So, like, you're going to be a guardian?”
Marya looks over as Bianca notes the training gee uniform. “Yeah, but,” Marya opens another box, “she got me this academic uniform too.”
The bed creaks as Bianca leans back on her hands, “Well, like, yeah. Your program is way harder than ours. You have to combat and tactical stuff and still know all about history and whatever.” Marya pays her little attention as she continues to find places to put things. “So, like, what is your schedule?” Marya reaches into a bag and retrieves a piece of paper. Handing it to her, Bianca examines it. “Whoa,” Marya glances over her shoulder. “You have specialized advanced combat training with the masters.” Handing the paper back, “that’s, like, pretty crazy.”
Examining the paper, Marya shrugs. Bianca pushes off the bed and makes her way across the room. Flopping down, she retrieves a book from her bag and thumps through the pages.
Sometime later, there is a knock on the open door. They both look over at Emmit, reclining on the frame. “You headed to dinner?”
Bianca glances at Marya as she closes the closet. “Are you, like, hungry?”
Emmet follows her gaze. His posture suddenly shifts from relaxed to rigid, “Marya?” His head swivels between the two of them. “You are roommates?”
Standing, Bianca flips her wrist, “like, yeah.” The closet door clicks close, “are you, like, coming?”
“Yeah,” Marya slings her sword as they leave.
“Do you, like, take that everywhere you go?” Bianca starts down the hallway.
“Yeah, it goes everywhere with me.” Emmet, towering over them, follows wide-eyed as they carry on in random conversation.
Everyone is at the table when they arrive together in the dining hall. Emmet is first through the line and joins the others. When Bianca and Marya join them, Charlie places his glass down, “You have decided to stay and follow the path of your parents?”
“Yeah,” Marya swirls her fork in some noodles, “I guess I have.”
“We are, like roommates and stuff,” Bianca stabs a vegetable with her fork.
“That could be perilous,” Natalie grins over the rim of her glass, and Marya smirks.
“Like, what are you trying to say?” The table chuckles in response.
Morning comes early for Marya. Bianca cracks an eye when she flicks her lamp on, groans, and then rolls over. The corner of Marya’s mouth lifts as she leaves for the dojo.
Her day starts with her fellow guardian trainees doing general conditioning. Next, she changes uniforms and meets with some academics to study. The classes are small, allowing for flexibility and versatility in group conversations. She is given specific reading assignments to catch up on the topics she is behind in. In the afternoon, she returns to the dojo for advanced combat training.
Sliding the door open, she notices the cool, fresh air. Master Gaius sits on the opened porch, puffing his pipe. Looking over his shoulder, he whacks the pipe, clearing the soot. “Ah, good, you are here.” Turning his attention to a shadow showing through this wall, “Shall we?”
Marya blinked; she didn’t even notice anyone there. They were able to conceal their presence. The shadow of the figure moved, stepping into Marya’s view. Sensing her aura, her jaw clenched. Ice-blue eyes look back, sending chills down her spine. Dressed in all black, with a katana at her hip, a gust of wind blows, moving her cape of silver hair.
Master Gaius’s face splints with a devilish grin. “This is perfect.” Taking his position in the dojo, “Marya, this is Aurélie. She will be your mentor.”
Marya swallows hard, “nice to meet you,” she stutters. Aurélie tilts her head in acknowledgment.
“Okay,” Master Gaius crosses his arms, “let's get started.”
The room's silence is interrupted by the ring of cold steel, and Aurélie slowly draws her katana, taking a stance. Marya’s eyes widen. Her breath catches as she turns to Master Gaius for guidance. Smirking, “This is your real assessment.” Marya’s head wheels, “think fast, kid.”
She vanishes, leaving reflective vapor in her wake as Aurélie slices through the air. “Ah, yes, devil fruit powers,” Master Gaius smirks, “but that is not enough to save you.” Reflective red steaks from Aurélie’s vision as she lunges. Steele clashes, sending sparks—Marya’s heart races when their eyes meet through the rain of slices pommeling down. Aurélie is relentlessly calm and decisive as if toying with her.
An opening finally presents itself, and Marya goes for it. Swinging with all her force, Aurélie spins, throwing her off balance. She fumbles to the floor, her blade announcing the epic loss as it clammers on the ground.
“Hmmm,” Master Gaius rubs the scruff on his face. “Again!”
Marya glares at him as she stands to her feet and retrieves her blade. Retaking her stance, she locks in on Aurélie. Taking a calming breath, she closes her eyes. A memory of her father flashes through her mind. “The key to every victory is controlling your emotions.”
“Control my emotions,” she mutters, “focus and calm.” The vision of her father fades, replaced by a sense of motion. Her eyes snap open. Aurélie’s blade is almost upon her. As if time has stalled, she watches the attack. Instinct takes hold of her. She moves to block, creating an opening. Then something unexpected happens. Her Haki shifts somehow, and Aurélie evades her swing. Landing on her feet, she swipes, knocking the blade from Marya’s hold.
Marya blinks in complete confusion. What the hell just happened? Master Gaius claps, belting out a laugh, “Well done! Both of you!”
Forehead creased, Marya asks Aurélie as she sheathes her katana, “What was that?”
Master Gaius picks up Marya’s sword. Examining it, he hands it back to her. “This is a unique blade.”
She takes hold of it and nods, “My father had it custom-designed. The hilt and balance are made to accommodate my more feminine physique.” Sheathing it, “at least that is what he said.”
Master Gaius grins, “Yes, but there is some resemblance to the black blade he carries.” Marya shrugs. “Does it have a name?”
“Eternal night.”
“Fitting”
Marya turns her attention to Aurélie, “So how did you…”
“It is the feminine nature of Haki,” Master Gaius returns to his seated position.
“Feminine nature?” Marya cocks her head.
Master Gaius retrieves his pipe, “Yes. Every form of energy has a masculine and feminine nature to it. You were defeated because you do not understand your feminine nature.” Lighting the pipe, “as you can see, Aurélie is a master at it. She will be able to provide you with guidance.”
Marya’s eyes shift between them, “and you are unable to?”
Puffing, “I can explain it, but I won't be able to help you experience it. Women and men fight differently. For you to meet your full potential, you will need an understanding of the feminine nature of Haki.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A man’s nature is to dominate and overpower,” Aurélie cocks a hip, resting a hand on the hilt of her katana. “Feminine nature has the ability to bring balance or influence that balance. You have been instructed by a man and are trying to overpower your opponent when you should be trying to alter the balance of your opponent.”
“How do I….?”
“That is what I will teach you,” Aurélie replies.
“Now,” Master Gaius takes a long drag from his pipe, “let's talk about that devil fruit power. What is it?”
“It’s the mist mist fruit.”
Everyone turns when an ominous crash echoes from behind the mirror. Eyes narrowed, “Pay that no mind,” Master Gaius blows out a puff of smoke. “You appear to be someone proficient with it.”
“I can turn myself into mist or anything I touch into mist.” Everyone starts to disappear as the room is filled with white vapor. “I can also create mist.”
“Impressive. Make it go away, please,” Master Gaius waves his hand if shewing a fly. “Aurélie is also a power holder.” Master Gaius grins at Aurélie’s scowl. “Would you care to demonstrate?”
“I would not.”
With a mischievous expression, “You are her mentor now. She should know all you have to offer.”
Aurélie turns to an expectant Marya. She sighs, her expression flat. Her body begins to morph. Her head changes shape, her hair spikes, and her eyes turn dark, outgrowing the shape of her head. Antena jets from her crown, wings sprout from her back, and her legs segment and morph. “She ate the locust, locust fruit,” Master Gaius announces as he turns his attention to Marya. He blinks when she seems to have disappeared. “Marya?” he calls out.
She peeks out from behind the open door of the dojo. Master Gaius smirks, “Marya, are you okay?”
Hand trembling, Marya asks with a shaky voice, “What is that?”
Master Gaius chuckles, “That is not a what but a who. It’s Aurélie.”
“That is so creepy,” Marya ducks behind the door.
Master Gaius belts out a laugh, “Don’t say such things. You will hurt her feelings.”
Wings begin to buzz. Aurélie hovers into Marya’s hiding place. Popping her insect head out the door, she stares down Marya. With a piercing scream of terror, Marya shattered the stillness of the afternoon as she bolted across the open field.
Her eyes were wide with fear, her breaths coming in frantic gasps. Behind her, the monstrous form of Aurélie human-sized locust loomed, her multifaceted eyes glinting ominously. Her wings hummed menacingly, creating a cacophony of echoing teasing. Aurélie’s mandibles clicked together with a chilling precision.
Marya’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate plea for escape. Her feet hammered against the ground, her pace driven by sheer adrenaline. Her hair whipped around her face, wild and untamed, as the wind seemed to push her forward, urging her to flee.
Watching the screen of Marya’s arm flailing in the air while Aurélie is in pursuit, Master Gaius slaps his hand to his knee, laughing.
Marya calls out, “You're so creepy! Go away!”

Chapter Text

“Good, Aurélie, you are here,” Nanette gestures for her to sit at the conference table with Master Gaius and Knox. Standing, Nanette braces her arms against the tabletop. “I called this meeting to discuss Marya’s devil fruit ability.”
“The Mist-Mist fruit,” Master Gaius frowns, “what about it?”
Sighing, Nanette sits, “That is just it. There is no logia mist mist fruit.”
Aurélie interlaces her fingers on the table, leaning in, “Clearly, it is a logia-type devil fruit power. She has demonstrated it for us.”
Eyes pressed shut, Nanette shakes her head, “There is only the Mythical logia-type Achlys.” Eyes shift to each other, seeking clarification. Nanette takes a breath and reclines in her seat. “Are any of you familiar with the prophecy?”
“To which one are you referring?” Aurélie asks.
“The one that speaks of the Gods returning?” Nanette rests her head on a bent elbow.
“Yes,” Knox strokes his beard, “I believe we all are. What about it?”
“Achlys is also known as the goddess of the death mist.” The room falls silent. “I am telling you all this so that you understand the importance of maintaining control and not allowing her devil fruit powers to awaken.”
Master Gaius makes an audible sigh, “I don’t know that we will have any control over that.”
“We must,” Nanette’s tone becomes sharp, “she cannot be allowed to manifest. I cannot think of the havoc that would cause.”
Brow creased, Aurélie asks, “Would it not be better to ensure Marya has complete control over her abilities to deter such an incident?”
“Yes,” Knox shifts his gaze, “however, should that particular devil manifest, there would be no stopping it.” Looking to Nanette, “Do you think he knew?”
“Would it matter if he did?” Master Gaius asks. “I don’t see how this impacts anything. The answer is the same: training and support. Devils only awaken under extreme circumstances, and she is far from that type of situation or scenario for the foreseeable future.”
“Do we know that for sure?” Nanette challenges.
“The way I see it,” Aurélie interjects, “after my very brief interaction with her, she is a timid child with limited life experience. As to be expected. We can help her develop the skills she needs so that she is not so reliant on her devil fruit powers.”
“Agreed,” Master Gaius adds, “part of those tools is a reliable friend and peer group—people who can help and support. We cannot predict the future but help influence the people in it.”
Nanette curses when the next group of people file in, ending their meeting.
****
Three weeks have flown by, and Marya has fully immersed herself in the rigorous rhythm of train, study, train. Her days are a blend of physical and mental discipline, each activity designed to hone her into a formidable guardian. Mornings often begin with strategy games, where she learns to outthink her opponents, her mind sharpening with each move. Strength-building exercises and stretching follow, pushing her body to its limits, while gymnastics sessions enhance her agility and flexibility, her movements growing fluid and precise.
In the afternoons, she delves into the intricacies of feminine Haki alongside Aurélie, her mentor. Together, they explore its nuances—how to channel it, control it, and wield it with grace and precision. The male trainees are occasionally called upon to assist, providing sparring partners or offering insights, though Marya often finds herself outpacing them in both determination and focus.
Evenings are reserved for study, where she pores over ancient texts and tactical manuals, her mind absorbing every detail. The grueling routine has begun to transform her, not just physically but mentally, as she grows more confident in her abilities. The once-daunting challenges now feel like steppingstones.
****
It has been just over four months since Marya left after their fight about Mihawk joining the Warlords. That night, she visited her mother’s grave while Mihawk was called away for Navy business. Wanting to give her space, he did not chase after her. Upon his return, she had not arrived home yet. When viewing her Vivre card, he was relieved to see it in good condition but instantly scowled when it was moving in the wrong direction. He wasted no time and immediately set sail.
Mihawk watched the Vivre card inching forward as an all too familiar island came into view. His golden eyes narrowed, deepening his grimaced expression. A wind took hold of the sail, and he navigated his boat to the concealed cove where ships and submarines docked.
The dockworkers froze as they watched his boat wade in. He appeared on the dock, leaving the small craft waiting for him while floating independently. With his back straight and expression stern, no one dared approach him. A young man dropped the items he was carrying, running off as if to deliver a message. Distinct thuds were heard, as people too close to his proximity fell from the pressure of his overbearing aura.
Mihawk moves through the familiar community with ominous strides. Each step echoes faintly, his black cloak billowing behind him, the hilt of Yoru visible over his shoulder. The city’s bustling life seems to blur around him.
He knows where to go. He knows where she is. Passing by shops and restaurants he once frequented, his blood burns hot. Memories of his deceased wife, Elisabeta, flooded his mind, piercing through the veil of the present like shards of beautiful but painful glass.
A storm of emotions rage. He could see her smile; he recalled her laughter, soft and warm, like sunlight breaking through a storm, and felt the warmth of her touch as vividly as if she were beside him. She had been his anchor, the one who softened the edges of his solitary existence. He remembered their walks through quieter places, the feel of her hand in his, and the rare moments when he allowed himself to be vulnerable.
As he navigated the city’s bridges, his thoughts drifted to the day they had first met, a chance encounter that had changed the course of his life. She had been a beacon of light in his world of shadows, her presence a balm to his soul. He recalled their moments of quiet intimacy, the way she would lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder, as they watched the sunset together. The memories were bittersweet, a testament to the love they had shared and the void her absence had left behind. His stoic expression remained unchanged, but his chest tightened with a grief he had long buried.
Mihawk's heart ached with a profound sense of loss, but he steeled himself against the pain. His mission was clear: to retrieve his runaway daughter and bring her home. She was a part of his wife that still lived on, a living embodiment of their bond. The thought of losing her as well was unbearable, and it fueled his determination to press forward.
As he ventured deeper, the city's architecture grew, the walls adorned with shops and restaurants that reminded him of different times. Mihawk's mind wandered to the stories his wife had told him, tales of history and sacrifice that had captivated him. Her voice, soft and melodic, echoed in his ears, and he could almost see her standing beside him, her eyes alight with passion as she recounted the myths of old.
With each step, the weight of his memories grew heavier, but Mihawk drew strength from them. They were a reminder of what he was fighting for, a testament to the love that had shaped him. He could feel his wife's presence guiding him, her spirit a constant companion. Her memory was a beacon, illuminating the path ahead and giving him the courage to face whatever dangers lay in wait.
As he neared the dojo, Mihawk's thoughts turned to his daughter. She was headstrong and impulsive, traits she had inherited from both her parents. He had tried to protect her from the harsh realities of the world, but she had always been determined to forge her own path. Her disappearance had left him with a sense of guilt and failure, a feeling that he had not done enough to keep her safe.
His daughter’s absence gnawed at him. She had her mother’s spirit, her fire, and it terrified him. He had always struggled to connect with her, his cold demeanor clashing with her vibrant energy. Yet, beneath his aloof exterior, he felt a deep, unspoken fear—the fear of losing her too. His mind raced with questions: Had he failed her? Was she running from him, or toward something he couldn’t understand?
Flashbacks continued to assault his senses, moments of joy and sorrow interwoven in a tapestry of his past. He saw his wife's face, radiant with love, as she cradled their newborn daughter in her arms. He recalled the nights spent by the fire, her laughter ringing through the air as they shared stories and dreams. The memories were a lifeline, grounding him in the midst of his turmoil.
Crossing the bridge to the training dojo, his eyes glowed red. The door cracked when it slid open, announcing his arrival. Marya spun mid-lung, fixing her sight on him. She had never seen him like this before. Taking a step back, she swallowed hard. Aurélie shifted to a defensive posture, ready to respond. The boys jumped to her feet, and Bianca, studying in the corner, did her best to be invisible behind her open book.
Master Gaius broke the long, silent tension when he whacked his pipe, clearing the soot. “Marya, we are leaving!” Mihawk struggles to stay composed. Marya stands, blinking in stunned silence. When she does not move, “NOW!” His tone snapped her out of shock.
Shaking her head, she strains her voice to say, “No.”
“Marya,” Mihawk’s blood is boiling, “enough! We are leaving,” he growls.
Marya glares at him. Determination taking hold, she grips the hilt of her blade. Her aura intensifies. Master Gaius’s eyes bulge as he watches her male peers fall, making clear thumps when they impact the ground. “I am not leaving,” she growls back.
Mihawk crosses his arms over his chest, and, for the first time, he notices the others in the room. For a long moment, he looks down his nose at Aurélie, then shifts his gaze to Master Gaius, puffing his pipe with a telling grin. They hold each other’s gaze for a long instant as if conversing silently. “Fine,” Mihawk spins on his heel, stepping away from the entrance.
“Are you sure that is how you want to leave things?” Knox asks while Mihawk passes him, leaning against a wall. Mihawk pauses for half a second, then proceeds to leave the community.
Marya pants, grabbing her chest. “I think that is enough for today,” Aurélie sheaths her katana. Her sword falls like a dead weight, clanking on the floor. She runs from the dojo as tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. Bianca gathers her things and scurries after her.
Arriving at the dorm, Marya is folded on her bed, hiding her face. Bianca, panting, tosses her bag aside. The bed creaks as she sits. “Yo, your dad is like really intense.” Marya sniffles. “I can’t believe you stood up to him like that. That was so crazy. The boys even passed out.” Marya wipes her wet eyes.
Bianca presses her lips, tapping her chin until an idea comes. “I know what we should do!” Bianca starts tugging on her arm, “Come on! I know how to make it better!” Marya’s nose wrinkles as she tugs, “Come on, I got this. Let's go!”
The bell rings, announcing their arrival at the beauty shop. “Be just a minute,” a sing-song voice calls from the back.
“Like, Harper is a genius,” Bianca sucks on a lollipop, “just wait and see. He will know how to make it better.”
A beautiful, fair-skinned man with highlighted olive shag hair floated out. “Well, hello, girl,” he flicks his wrist at her. “How are you doing?” His attention shifted to the red-faced Marya. “Oh my,” he covers his mouth in shock. “Say less,” he swishes from behind the counter, taking hold of Marya’s arm. “Come right this way. I know exactly what you need. I know a cry for help when I see one.”
Sitting her in a swivel chair, he begins to run his fingers through her hair. Tsking, “These ends; when was the last time you had them cut? And the texture could use some love, too. What is your daily routine?”
Marya blinks at him in disbelief, “My what?”
“Oh My God!” He covers his mouth with both hands. “Don’t tell me.” He dramatically places the back of his hand on his forehead, looking away. “It’s a travesty!”
“Like, yeah,” Bianca sucks on her lollipop from another swivel chair, “I don’t think her dad was the type to think about that kind of stuff.”
“Well,” Harper cocks his hip, “I will be your fairy godmother then,” he grins. “Makeover time!” He jumps up and down, clapping. “So, girl, I have to say. This aura,” he gestures up and down her person, “it's so….” He shakes his head.
“Oh My God! She just got in this huge fight with her dad.” Bianca spins in the chair, “It was, like, so intense.”
“Oh, you mean the one everyone is talking about?”
“Maybe I should…” Marya begins to stand.
“Oh no, girl,” Harper shoves her back in the chair, “You sit your butt right there. We are fixing this today. It is time for you to be a beautiful butterfly.”
The bell rings again, and Harper checks the time. “Oh, that is my Bae coming to see me,” he squeals. “Back here!” A tall, athletic, dark-skinned man with shoulder-length dreads pulled away from his face walks in. “Hey, Bae, I have a 911 here, so I will be a little late for our date.”
“No worries,” Vaughn sits in one of the other swivel chairs. “You know I like to watch you work your magic.” Glancing at his emergency, “and I think this one is going to need it.”
“Oh, bae,” Harper flicks his wrist, “you are so bad.”
Two and a half hours later, Marya looked in the mirror and did not recognize herself. Her hair was glossy with streaks of red and white highlights in the front. She had wispy bags, and he added layers to the back. Her skin was glowing from the face treatment, and her eyes were no longer her predominant feature.
“So,” Harper bobs his head in anticipation. “Am I like amazing or what?”
Marya runs her fingers through her hair; it has never been so soft. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Like, wow,” Bianca stands beside her, “You’re, like, a whole new person.”
“New person,” Marya’s voice trails off.
“Well, yeah, girl,” Harper shakes a towel. “It’s time to reinvent yourself. Be who you want to be.”
Marya blinks at herself in the mirror, then smiles. “Be who I want to be.”
“Now,” Vaughn steps in with his baritone voice, “if you don’t mind, ladies. I want to take my man out to dinner. It has been a month since we saw each other.”
“Guardians are in such high demand,” Harper sighs.
“You’re a guardian?” Marya asks.
“Yes, young lady,” Vaughn replies, “but I don’t have time to talk about that now.”
Bianca takes her hand, escorting her to the counter. After settling the bill, Harper loads them up with products and sends them on their way. Dropping off their purchases at the dorm, they go to the dining hall.
Feeling self-conscious about the sudden change in her appearance, Marya sits awkwardly at the table with her food tray. When Bianca slides in next to her, she notices the strange silence. “Like, do you like Marya’s hair? We, like, went to see Haper today.”
“Oh wow,” Natalie looks over, “the color looks great! It really stands out against the black. Layers work for you.”
“Um,” Celeste is about to say something.
“Marya!” Riggs practically launches across the table. “Your Dad is amazing!” Dishes chatter when he slams his fist. “I have never seen anything like that before! I want to be just like him.” Marya blinks, dumbfounded. Leaning across, “And you,” he points, “you stood up to him! We felt it!”
“Sit down,” Jax grabs him by the collar, “you idiot.” Shaking his head, he turns his attention to Marya. “Are you okay? We went to check on you, but you were already gone.”
“Yeah,” Marya smiles at the people around the table. “Yeah, I am good. Bianca knew what to do. I will be fine.”

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Chapter Text

Two years later….
“You are still using too much force when you strike,” Aurélie adjusted her hold on the hilt of her katana. “Remember, feminine nature is not about brute strength,” she diverts Marya’s attack.
Jumping back, they circle each other, looking for an opening. Aurélie leaps, “How about this, then?” Marya leaps as well, spinning. Red streams from the edge of her blade. Steele connects, screeching as the blades clash, and her Haki flows into Aurélie’s katana. Aurélie’s eyes widen when her katana slides from her grip. Both land on their feet, facing each other. Marya smirks as Aurélie’s katana flips through the air. Reaching her hand out, she catches it.
“Whoa, ho, ho!” Master Gaius claps, “very impressive!”
Aurélie scowls, “You have been holding back.”
“Don’t be annoyed,” Marya walks her blade to her. Grinning, “I have waited two years to see that look on your face.”
Aurélie snatches the hilt from her. " How long have you been able to control your feminine nature?” She sheathes her blade.
Marya shrugs, “for a while now.” Glancing at Master Gaius, “I had some additional tutoring sessions.” Aurélien tsks as she walks away.
“Marya,” she turns to Riggs, panting in the doorway. “Come on, we got to go. Everyone will be waiting.”
“Go on, kid.” Master Gaius puffs his pipe. “You earned it.”
Bowing, “Thank you, Master Gaius.” She rushes out with Riggs.
“How did it go?”
“As expected,” Marya grins. “You should have seen the look on her face.”
Riggs chuckles, “I wish I could have been there.”
“Are we the last ones?”
“No,” Riggs shakes his head, “Emmet went to get Bianca from the lab.”
“Oh jeez,” Marya rolls her eyes, “she will probably be covered in oil from that project she has been working on. This could take a minute.”
She and Bianca arrive at their dorm room at the same time. They giggle when they inspect each other, Bianca in her oil-covered overalls and Marya in her training ghee. “We, like, don’t have a lot of time.”
“Race you to the shower!” Marya jets across the threshold.
Bianca is right on her heels, “No fair! You are, like, way faster than me with all that running you do!”
Everyone is waiting when they arrive at the dock. “You look so cute!” Natalie calls out in greeting.
Running, Marya waves, “Thanks, so do you! Sorry, we took so long.”
“It’s okay,” Jax opens the door to the submarine, “but let’s hurry so we can go!” Everyone files in. Jax and Marya sit at the helm. “Ready?”
Marya nods, “Bloom Island, here we come!” Submerged, they jet away from the island.
A map appears on the monitor. Jax presses several buttons, “Coordinates are set.” A light blinks on the map. Marya nods, checking the gauge, then turns a dial. When she pushes a blinking green button, the submarine is surrounded by a bubble and disappears. A few minutes later, it reappears. “Coordinates confirmed.”
Grinning, Marya looks over her shoulder. " Attention, all passengers. We have arrived and will be docking at Bloom Island in ten minutes.” The space fills with the hum of excitement.
Natalie squeals, “I thought this day would never come! Now that finals are over, we can focus on our specialties.”
“Exams were like, so brutal,” Bianca finger combs her hair. “I mean, like, between final projects and the written portion, I didn’t sleep for like a month.”
“Um,” Celeste clears her throat, “sorry you had to work so hard.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, “I did not mind the experience. I found the challenge quite thrilling.”
Zola points a finger in the air, “I conquer!”
“Well, I am glad it is over,” Emmet leans back with his hands folded behind his head. “I cannot wait for some karaoke!”
Riggs jets his hand in the air, “I vote we eat first!”
“So, like,” Bianca inspects her nails, “how does it work for guardians?”
Jax turns the steering wheel, “We have to pass the written portion of our exams, but we also have to have written recommendations from our mentors and master.”
“Whoa,” Bianca glances up, “that's, like, a lot.”
“Just think,” Marya glances back. This may be the last time we can all get together like this. Once we pass, we will all be going in different directions.” Everyone is somber for a moment. “So, let's make the best of it!”
“Oh,” Jax interjects, “and we are doing karaoke first.”
“But why?” Riggs whines.
Natalie pats him on the shoulder with a consoling hand, “There will be food there, too.”
Crossing his arms, Riggs pouts, “Fine!”
They started at a lively karaoke bar, where they rented a private room and took turns belting out their favorite tunes. The room was filled with cheers, playful teasing, and off-key harmonies as they danced and sang, their energy infectious. Even the shyest among them couldn’t resist joining in, and by the end, their voices were hoarse but their spirits high.
Next, they hit the shopping district, weaving through bustling streets lined with colorful stores. They split into smaller groups, some browsing trendy clothing boutiques while others explored quirky gadget shops and souvenir stalls. Gifts were bought, selfies were taken, and the occasional fashion debate broke out, but it was all in good fun. The friends regrouped to show off their purchases, laughing at the ridiculous hats and accessories they’d picked up on a whim.
As the afternoon sun warmed the island, they made their way to a row of food stalls, where the air was rich with the scent of sizzling skewers, sweet pastries, and savory snacks. They sampled everything, passing dishes around and arguing over which stall had the best takoyaki. The joy of sharing food brought them even closer, their bond strengthened by the simple pleasure of a good meal.
Finally, they ended the day at a cozy pet shop, where they spent hours cooing over the adorable animals. Puppies wagged their tails, kittens batted at fingers through the glass, and even the exotic birds seemed to chirp in greeting. They took turns holding the smaller animals, their faces lighting up with pure delight. The shop owner, amused by their enthusiasm, let them stay a little longer, and the friends left with smiles on their faces and a shared dream of one-day owning pets of their own.
At the end of the day, they found themselves at a barbeque restaurant. Everyone was chatting in the booth while Jax and Riggs dueled over a piece of beef. The atmosphere turned tense as a group of rowdy marines burst in, their boisterous laughter and loud voices immediately drawing attention. Dressed in their crisp white uniforms, they seemed more interested in causing a scene than following protocol. They slammed their fists on the tables, demanding the best cuts of meat and the most potent drinks, their orders shouted rather than requested.
The wait staff, though clearly flustered, tried to maintain their composure, rushing to fulfill the marines’ increasingly unreasonable demands. “More sauce! Faster service! And keep the drinks coming!” one marine barked, his face red from alcohol and arrogance. Another leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the table, while his companions jeered at the staff, making crude jokes and laughing at their own audacity.
Patrons nearby exchanged uneasy glances, some choosing to leave rather than endure the marines’ behavior. The restaurant’s owner, a stout man with a nervous smile, tried to placate the group, offering complimentary dishes in hopes of calming them down. But the marines only grew louder, their sense of entitlement on full display.
It was a scene of chaos and disrespect, the marines’ rowdy behavior a stark contrast to the discipline they were supposed to embody. The wait staff, though clearly overwhelmed, continued to serve with quiet dignity, hoping the storm would pass without further incident.
The Marine’s attention turned in the direction of Marya and her friends when they burst out in laughter. Slamming a mug of beer, “Who is making all that ruckus?”
“It’s just some kids, sir,” a waitress replies. “They should be leaving soon.”
Another glares in their direction, “What’s so funny over there?” He stands, walking to their booth. Crossing his arms, he towers over the end of the table, looking down at them.
With a raised eyebrow, Natalie asks, “Can we help you?”
“I just came over to see what was so entertaining.”
The guardians share knowing glances as Charlie straightens his glasses and replies, “Well if you must know. Our companions…”
“I am not interested in what you have to say, four eyes.” Turning his attention to Marya, “Those eyes look oddly familiar.” Placing a hand on the table, he leans down. " Do you want to tell me why those eyes look so familiar to me?” Marya glares back, and he smirks. “I like that look on you.”
“Um,” Celeste bites her lip, “we are sorry for bothering you. We can go…”
“Go!” he interrupts. “Go where?” Throwing his hands out, “The party is just getting started!” Turning his attention back to Marya, “Tell me, girl. Where did you get a sword like that?”
Marya is about to respond when Natalie scoots out from the booth, “Wow! I am so full! I think it is time for us to go.” They all follow her lead, doing their best to move past him.
When Marya attempts to step by, he grabs her arm. Whispering in her ear, “I think you and I should….”
Reflex takes over, and Marya grips his wrist. Shifting her foot, she throws him over her shoulder. Coughing when he hits the ground, the other marines jump to their feet. Her friends freeze with panicked expressions. The marines start to move in their direction, reaching out to subdue them. Marya’s heart begins to race, her blood heats, and her breath catches. Red fills her vision, “Leave them alone!” A gust of powerful aura is sent from her, and all but three marines are left standing.
“Whoa,” Riggs gasps, “no way.”
“What are you doing?” Marya scolds. “We've got to go!” She hurries past, holding the door for their escape. Running from the shop, the three marines that were left standing start chasing them. “To the dock!”
“Hey, you,” Tashigi calls out as her men pass her.
Looking over her shoulder, Marya curses as a dark-haired woman with a sword joins the chase. “Keep going,” she tells her friends, “I will meet you at the dock.”
Jax glances at her, “What are you?” But she was already gone.
With her blade drawn, she lunges towards the Marines. She is about to swing when an all-too-familiar black blade blocks her. Shifting her eyes up, she grins when her golden eyes meet his. Her posture relaxes when he smiles back. “Father,” they sheath their blades, “it is good to see you.”
Mihawk lifts a section of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers. “You changed your hair.”
“I did,” her cheeks become flush, “do you like it?”
With a soft tone, he replies, “You look like your mother.”
“I do?” she beams, making him smile. “Oh,” her head snaps, “I have something for you.” His brow creases as she rummages through her saddlebag purse. “Here it is,” she hands him a small picture. “I found this in mom’s things. I had copies made and wanted you to have one.” Taking it from her, his eyes bulge.
“You there,” Tucking the picture away, Mihawk glares over his shoulder at Tashigi. “Hawkeye, do you know her?” Buckled over, panting, she braces her hands on her knees. “You! Did you do that back there?”
“Yes, Master Chief,” one of the other panting marines interjects, “that’s her. She took all of them out.”
“Amazing!” Turning her attention to Marya, “You should join the navy!” Marya blinked in response. “That sword,” she adjusted her glasses, “I have never seen anything like it.”
“Oh,” Marya chuckles, “that’s because it was custom-made. It is the only one of its kind.”
“Does it have a name?”
“Oh, yes: Eternal Night.”
“You should come with us. You could go far in the Navy.” Mihawk glares murderously at Tashigi as she rambles on with his daughter.
“Oh,” Marya twirls her hair, “but I don’t think that will be possible. I have to go now; I am actually very late. It was nice to meet you.” She spins on her heels, sharing a telling glance with her father.
Watching her round the corner, “Who was that girl?” Tashigi looks to Mihwak.
With a rigid posture and dark tone, Mihawk turns, “Let's go.”
When Marya arrives at the dock, Riggs jumps up and down, waving for her to hurry. “That was so crazy! What happened?”
Marya blows by him, jumping into the submarine. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I ran into my dad.”
“No way!” They strap into their seats.
“All clear to depart?” Jax announces.
Marya inspects a few gages, “all clear.”
“Away we go!”

Chapter Text

“Did you say you ran into your father?” Natalie asks.
Marya glances back, “Yeah. It was pretty weird. I guess he is here helping the navy or something.”
“Like,” Bianca picks at her nails, “are you cool, or was it like last time?”
Marya grins, “No, it was cool. We didn’t have a lot of time, though.”
“Ugh,” Riggs crosses his arms, slouching in his seat, “I wish I could have seen him.” Pouting, “I always miss the cool stuff,” he mutters.
“Coordinates are set,” Jax announces.
Marya inspects the panel, “Coordinates are verified. The area is clear and ready for transport.” Pressing the button, the bubble appears, and they vanish.
Half a minute later, the panel sparked spewing smoke. Everyone grips the arms of their seats when the submarine jerks sideways. An alarm blares, and the lights dim. “Status report!” Jax orders as he slams buttons.
Marya attempts to turn gauges and read dials, “Navigation is down.” Taking hold of the wheel, “steering in unresponsive.”
Their seatbelts strain to hold them. “What is happening?” Natalie screams. “I feel like I am upside down.”
“I think we are caught in a current,” Marya grips the strap, “hold on everyone. We can’t steer. We will have to ride it out until it stops.”
“I think I am going to be sick,” Bianca covers her mouth as they spin like a top through violent waters.
When everything becomes calm, Jax and Marya turn to each other. “I think it stopped,” Marya slams her palm on the buttons, but everything is black. “It appears that we are a drift.”
Jax spins his seat, “is everyone okay?” They groan and nod in response.
“What happened?” Emmit holds the side of his head.
“It appears,” Jax sighs, “that the panel has shorted out. We have no navigation, and we are dead in the water.”
“What about communication?” Riggs asks.
Jax glances at Marya, shaking her head. “That appears to be down as well.”
Charlie is smoothing his hair, “What is the protocol for such a scenario?”
“Call for help,” Riggs shifts in his seat, “and wait to be rescued. But, if communications are down, there is a strong likelihood that the locator beacon is also.”
“Um,” Celeste raises her hand, “is it possible to fix it?”
Marya spins her seat, “I don’t know. We can pop the panel and take a look. Even though navigation is down, we still have the backup log pose.”
Charlie slides his glasses up his nose, “where would that direct us to? Due to the conflict from eight hundred years ago, the Consortium's island has no magnetic field.”
“True,” Marya leans forward, “but maybe we can regroup at another island, figure out where we are, and devise a plan. We may be able to find parts to fix the sub or the locator beacon.”
“But, like,” Bianca flicks her wrist, “how are we going to get there if we are, like, drifting?”
“Process of elimination!” Zola points her finger in the air. “We must first assess the damage and see what parts and expertise we have to fix it. Then, we should surface and get our bearings.”
“Agreed,” Jax releases his seat belt and moves to the back of the sub. “There are tools in the rear compartment. Marya and I will evaluate the panel and navigation system.” Lifting the handle to open the hatch, “Bianca, you, Riggs, and Celeste, take a look at the propulsion.”
Jax and Mary are elbows deep in the opened panel when the lights turn on and the engine hums. “Like,” they both turn to Bianca as she drops into her seat, “we got propulsion working again, but, like, the bubble porter is, like, totally fried, so I bypassed it. We can’t go very far or very fast, but if we can, like, get parts, I think I can, like, fix it.”
“Well,” Jax stands, “that’s good news.”
“Navigation is a lost cause,” Marya flops in her seat.
“Like,” Bianca stands, “should I take a look?” Jax moves out of her way, sitting in her seat as she kneels. “Like, damn.” She lifts the panel, inspecting the inside. “It’s like totally fried.”
“Yeah,” Marya sighs, “do you think you can work your magic on that?”
Bianca shakes her head, “Like, the whole thing needs to be replaced. The only place that has all the stuff is the, like, the Consortium.”
Emmit taps the arm of his seat, “I assume communications are not fixable either?”
Bianca looks over at him, “Like, this is all chard. The wiring is, like, melted away.”
Emmet’s brow creases, “how does something like this happen?”
Zola straightened her back, “If all the appropriate inspections were completed per procedure, then it can be deduced that this was some sort of intentional act to prevent us from returning.”
Natalie rests her head on a bent elbow, “to what end?”
Zola points her finger in the air, “that would be the ultimate question?”
Riggs and Celeste close the rear hatch. “Shew,” Riggs flops down, “I don’t know how you do it, Bianca. That is a whole lot of work.”
“It, like, is not that serious,” Bianca places the panel down.
“Why would someone not want us to get back?” Emmit rubs his chin.
“I don’t know if we can answer that question right now.” Jax stands, switching places with Bianca. “We need to focus on getting to an island, any island, then we can figure out what to do next.” Everyone nods. “Are we able to steer at all?”
“Yes,” Marya lifts a lever from the floor, and she pulls a long control stick up. “It’s a manual rudder control that will direct the sub.”
“Okay,” he scans the group, “First we surface. Then, we follow the log pose.”
Riggs opens the hatch, and they all file out onto the deck. Marya scans the horizon, “That is a whole lot of ocean.”
Jax runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, it looks like the sun will be setting soon.”
Charlie lifts the rim of his glasses, “do we know how long it will take us to get to the next island?”
“Without charts,” Emmet crosses his arms, “there is no way to know. Maybe we can figure it out once the stars come out.”
“You can do that?” Natalie raises a brow.
Emmet shrugs, “It’s all math.” Smirking, she shakes her head.
Marya taps her chin, “we will have to take turns steering the ship through the night.”
“Like,” Bianca looks at her, “I can, like, rig it so we don’t have to, like, hold it all the time.”
“Good,” Jax interjects, “but we will need to stay surfaced, so someone must be on watch throughout the night.” Turning to everyone, “I will come up with a schedule.”
Zola cocks her head, “would it not be beneficial to stay submerged?”
Emmet holds her gaze, “Without knowing how long it will take, we run the risk of running out of air and fuel.” He focuses on Jax, “I would like to take the shift that allows me to measure the stars. I might be able to get our bearings.”
Marya sits on the sub's deck, her elbows on bent knees, watching the horizon. Muttering to herself, “Will it really take three days to get to the island?” Sighing, “That seems like forever. Maybe his math is wrong. I hope his math is wrong.” A distant motion catches her attention. Squinting, she jumps to her feet. Shielding her eyes, she tries to focus. “No way,” she grins, running into the sub. Everyone’s head swivels as she rushes by.
Riggs jumps up, “What is it?”
Pausing, “I don’t know.” She opens a small compartment and retrieves binoculars, “but I think I saw something.” Everyone grins as they glance at each other and follow her to the deck. Standing on the edge, she peers through the binoculars.
Jax steps up next to her, “What do you see?”
“A Navy ship.” Everyone becomes apprehensive. “And I think there is a pirate ship, too, but I cannot tell. They are too far away.”
“We should avoid them,” Everyone turns to Emmet. “It could be bad if we are discovered.”
Jax takes the binoculars, looking to see. “They are moving away from us, so I don’t know if we have anything to worry about.”
“Or,” Maray chews the inside of her cheek, “we could infiltrate them and steal their navigation charts.”
With her hands on her hips, Natalie leaned in, “Are you crazy?”
Marya replies with open palms, “I have devil fruit powers. I can be in and out, and they would never know.”
Emmet narrows his gaze, “You could also get caught.”
Marya cocks her head and smirks, “I won't get caught.”
“We are going to need food, too,” Jax lowers the binoculars.
Natalie’s eye popped out of her head, “You're not actually considering this?”
Turning to the group, “How can I not?” Meeting everyone’s gaze, “we did not come prepared to travel like this. We need provisions, and if there is a more suitable island to consider, I would like to know about it.” Emmit sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know this is not ideal, but we may not have another opportunity like this.”
“Okay,” Emmet throws his hands in the air.
“Okay,” Jax gestures for them to huddle up, “here is the plan.”
Celeste is looking through the periscope, piloting the sub as they approach the navy ship. “Nice and easy,” Jax encourages her.
“Prepare to surface,” Celeste calls out, and everyone assumes their position. “Breaking surface in: five, four, three, two, one. We are parallel with the navy ship, matching their speed.”
“Our speed is, like, steady,” Bianca calls out.
Jax nods, “open the hatch.” Riggs, Maria, and Jax step onto the deck with a ladder.
Before closing the hatch, Emmet says, “Be safe, you three.”
Jax pats him on the shoulder, “Be back in a few.”
Taking one end of the ladder, Maria turns to mist. Floating to the ship's hull, she touches the surface, turning it into vapor. She places the ladder so that the two vessels are bridged. Keeping a hand on the hull, she waves for them to cross. When Riggs steps on a rung, he falls to his knees as a wave slaps the ship's hull, jostling the ladder. Marya signals him to hurry, and the ladder jostles again. Suspended in the middle, he is drenched by a sudden spray of ocean water. Wiping the wet from his face, he sets his jaw and, in a bold move, jumps toward Maria through the ship's hull.
After watching Riggs struggle, Jax clenches his fist. Taking a few steps back, he charges. Marya’s eyes widen as he jumps towards her. Seeing that he is going to fall short, she reaches her hand for him. Their palms slap as they grip each other. His foot hits the ladder, flipping it sideways. Losing his footing, he curses as the ladder falls away, disappearing in the violent motion of waves. Marya morphs them into mist, moving them through the ship's hull. Riggs peers down at them as they crash and roll on the floor.
“That was so cool!” Riggs beams as they look up at him, panting. Marya chuckles as he helps them stand.
“We will have to come up with a different escape plan.” Jax inspects the area, “where do you think we are?”
“I don’t know,” Marya finds some steps. “I will take a quick look around and be right back.” Before he can protest, she is gone. A few minutes later, she reappears with two uniforms. “Okay, I found the galley. It’s three levels up. You two load up on food, and I will look for those charts.” Taking the uniforms, they nod. “There are rescue boats on the side of the ship. Maybe we can use those to escape. I will meet you on deck.” Jax curses when she is gone before he can reply.
As mist, Marya floats through the ship. While not completely invisible, she resembles an apparition that someone must strain their eye to notice. Everyone appears distracted by the pirates they are engaged with, allowing her to go unnoticed. After inspecting several random offices, she finds the Logroom. Looking through the pile of paperwork on the desk, she is unsure what to take, so she decides to take it all. Returning to her natural form, she finds a satchel and fills it with everything, including a log-pose.
“What the hell?” She freezes. “Who are you?”
Slowly, she turns, smiling, “Why, hello there. I seem to be lost. Maybe you could.” The Navy soldier lunges as if to grab her but falls through, crashing to the ground. “Now, that wasn’t very nice.”
The navy soldier slams his hand on a button, and his voice booms over the intercom, “Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”
“Well,” she smirks, “I believe that is my cue to go,” wiggling her fingers in the air, “tootles!” Shifting to mist, she runs down the hall, passing through the oncoming navy soldiers. “Oh, that is so creepy!”
Deciding it is too cumbersome to follow the hallway, she runs through the walls until she is floating in the air. Looking, she sees Riggs and Jax about to drop down the ship's side in a small boat filled with supplies. Wanting to keep the focus on her, she shifts forms.
Landing on the deck, the navy turns its attention away from the pirates and scrambles toward her. When their bullets have no effect, and assaulting her with swords is pointless, a random voice calls out, “Watch out, she is a power user!”
Jax curses when the navy closes in on her. “We have to help her!” Riggs belts out.
“Go,” they spin, looking for the origin of her voice. “I am right behind you. I will keep them distracted!” Jax grits his teeth.
“We can't leave her!” Riggs protests.
Grabbing him by the collar, he drags him away, “Let's go! We can’t rescue her if we are caught, too.” Cutting the rope, they splash into the water.
“Are you with the Straw Hats?” An official-looking Navy Officer asks as she stands on the ship's bow with crossed arms.
Cocking her head, “the who?”
“Fire!” She turns in the direction of a distant voice.
Pointing her thumb toward the pirate ship, “Oh, you mean them?” She shrugs, “Never heard of them.” The navy ship rolls when the cannonball impacts the water. Leaning back, she sees the small boat on the sub's deck being unloaded. “This has been fun, but I need to get going.”
“Hold it right there! You aren't going anywhere!” Marya grins at the challenge. Drawing her sword, she leaps onto the ship’s railing and then bounces off. “So fast!” The bottom half of the main sail crumples into a heap as she arches through the air, slicing it in half.
Flipping upside down, she soars over the pirate ship, where a man with dark hair holds a straw hat to his head while standing on a ram figurehead. His neck cranes as he watches with a shocked and amused expression. Their eyes meet, the world pauses momentarily, and then Marya smiles, waving. Just as he is about to stretch his arm to catch her, she shifts to mist, landing on the sub's deck in her natural form. Standing, she held his gaze for a time.
“Marya,” Jax’s sharp tone grabbed her attention, and she rushed inside.
“Dive,” Jax orders Celeste once the hatch is closed. “That was reckless!”
Marya grins, holding up the satchel, “Yeah, but I got it all!”
Riggs bites into an apple, “Good call on the food.”
Running his fingers through his hair, Jax shakes his head.

Chapter Text

“Lunch is ready,” Natalie calls from the sub's rear.
“Come on,” Emmet gestures, “we better eat before Riggs takes it all.”
“You need to eat!” Natalie scolds as Marya rummages through the satchel.
Riggs stands, reaching across the table, “If she isn’t hungry, I will…”
Jax grabs his collar, “Sit down! You still have food in front of you.” Turning his attention to Marya, “Find anything useful?”
“Yeah,” Marya begins pulling items out, placing them in the center of the table, “there is a map, eternal pose,” holding a wad of the letters, “looks like correspondence, a newspaper and some,” reaching for the bottom, “wanted posters.”
Emmet takes the map, “I can figure out where we are with this.” Natalie picks up the eternal pose, reading the name. Emmet looks over her shoulder, “Where is that pointing.”
“Loguetown.”
“Ah,” Charlie swallows, “that island is infamous.” He sits a little taller when everyone looks at him. “It is known as the beginning and the end. It is the birthplace and execution site of Gol D Roger, better known as the King of the Pirates. They say his last words sparked the Great Pirate Era.”
“So,” Emmet strokes his jaw while inspecting the map, “it is a Marine Base. Good to know. We should make sure to avoid it.”
“Like,” Bianca fumbles through an opened letter, “what does any of this say? It's, like, in code, or something.”
Charlie reaches for it, “May I take a look?” Bianca hands it to him. “My linguistic skills could prove beneficial.”
“This is quite interesting,” Zola scans the paper. “It appears that pirates recently besieged Loguetown.”
“Pirates!” Riggs beams, “That sounds awesome!”
Zola nods, “yes. The article mentions a Monkey D Luffy and Pirate Hunter Zoro.” Zola’s brow creases, “They call themselves the Straw Hats. Does it make sense for a pirate hunter to be a pirate?”
“Um,” Celeste lifts her hand to speak, “maybe he was not always a pirate.”
Zola cocks her head, “True, but then shouldn’t they change his title?”
“Monkey D Luffy,” Marya pinches her chin with a strained face.
“Is something the matter?” Zola blinks.
“Luffy, Luffy,” Marya mutters, “Luffy, why does that name sound familiar?”
Celeste picks up the Wanted posters from the floor. “Um, maybe this is why?”
Marya takes the poster, tilting her head to the side. “I saw him!”
“Really!” Riggs jumps to his feet. “When?”
“He was on the ship the navy was chasing.”
“Of course,” Emmet groans.
“Thirty million berries,” Marya murmurs. Folding the poster, “I am keeping this.”
“Ah, Ha!” Everyone turns to Charlie. “I believe I have deciphered these letters.”
“Well,” Emmet looks over the edge of the map.
“It was quite simple, really.” Charlie juts his chin, “You see the cipher…”
“That is great,” Jax interrupts, “but what does it say?”
Charlie clears his throat, “Well, that is troubling.” Shifting his eyes away, “it appears that navy ship was in route to escort a prisoner.”
“Okay,” Emmet’s forehead creases. “Why would that be a problem?”
“Well,” Charlie pauses for a long moment.
“Just say it!” Emmet barks.
Charlie takes a breath, “It appears that the person is an acquaintance of ours.”
“Who?” Marya asks.
“Master Vaughn,” Charlie’s head drops as they sit in stunned silence.
“Like,” Bianca flicks her wrist, “I am sure there are plenty of people named Vaughn. How do we, like, know it’s Harper’s Vaughn?”
Charlie sighs, retrieving a picture from the fold of the paper, “because they have a picture of him.”
Natalie snatches it, inspecting the image, “what?” Looking up, “he’s right. It’s him.”
The table rattles when Riggs slams his fists, “we have to rescue him!”
“Settle down!” Jax barks. “We need to figure out where we are and how to get home. We can report this to the guardians, and they can decide the best course of action.”
“Well,” Emmit lowers the map, “that could be a problem.” Jax eyes shift to him. “Just doing some fast math here, but if I am right, at our current speed, it will take approximately three weeks for us to get close to the Consortium without the bubble transporter.”
“But, like,” Bianca’s fingers rhythmically tap the table, “I can fix it. I, like, just need the parts. Is there, like, an island that is close that, like, might have what we need?”
Emmet sighs, pressing his eye shut, “There are several remote islands and a few islands that look to have port villages, but I doubt any of them would have what we need.” Holding Jax’s gaze, “Loguetown is the most likely place we can get to before we run out of fuel.”
Jax leans back in his seat, “dammit.”
“Great!” Riggs jumps to his feet, “We can fix the sub and rescue Vaughn!”
Jax rubs the back of his neck, “Fixing the sub is our priority!” Riggs opens his mouth to protest, “I am not going to jeopardize anyone’s safety. We can gather intel, but we are not planning a rescue.” Glaring Riggs down, “understand?”
Arms crossed, Riggs flops down in his seat, “Fine!”
Jax shifts his gaze, “Marya?”
Putting her glass down, “I heard you.”
“How long until we get to Loguetown?”
“We will need to adjust our course,” Emmet folds the map, “but we should be there by tomorrow morning.”
*****
“Captain,” Knox turns, “it appears we have a problem.”
Watching the young guardian shift his weight from one foot to another, Knox snaps, “Well, spit it out, man!”
“It appears they have gone off course.”
“This is the island the eternal pose is directing them to,” Aurélie rests her hand on a cocked him. “Where are they going?”
“It appears they have adjusted their course to go to Loguetown.”
“Loguetown!” Knox barks.
Everyone glares at Master Gaius when he belts laughter. “Something like this was bound to happen! You put a group of prodigies like that together, and they will do the unexpected.”
Knox curses, “We need to mobilize! The scenario is canceled! Inform the proctors and deploy. I suspect there will be trouble.”
*****
Assembled on the dock, Jax goes over the plan one more time. “Okay, everyone knows what to do. Emmet, Celeste, and Bianca, you three will go and secure the parts we need for the sub. Riggs, Zola, and Charlie, you stay here and keep the sub secure. Marya, Natalie, and I will gather intel.” Everyone nods, “Remember, we need to be discreet. Do not attract attention from the Navy.”
“Celeste,” Riggs interjects, “trade with me!”
“Um…”
“No,” Jax snaps, “stick to the plan!”
“Ugh!” Riggs pouts, “Fine!”
Jax shakes his head, “Be back in a few hours.”
The bustling port city's cobbled streets, lined with centuries-old buildings, resonate with the echoing tales of legendary seafarers. The city's docks, perpetually alive with the hum of activity, welcome a myriad of ships, from grand merchant vessels to rickety pirate boats. The markets overflow with exotic goods and the laughter of children fills the air, mingling with the salty sea breeze.
While passing the execution plaza, a solemn reminder of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, they close in on the Marine base. Marya grins, “Hey guys,” Natalie and Jax turn to her. Jerking her head, “Look over there.” They turn, “You see what I see?” chuckling, “I have an idea.” A few moments later, they emerge from the laundromat in Marine uniforms.
“Well,” Natalie straightens her collar, “this should make it easier.”
“You three!” they become rigid. “What do you think you are doing?” They blink in response. “Why are you not at your post?” the Marine snaps. “We cannot afford another pirate incursion! Report to your duty section now!”
“Ah, yes, sir,” Jax awkwardly salutes, “right away!” Their eyes connect briefly before they scurry off.
Getting swept up in a group of marching marines, they panic and fall into formation. When the formation halts and is dismissed in the middle of the training grounds, they discreetly find a secluded corner. “What the hell?” Natalie’s eyes bulge.
“Don’t freak out,” Marya peaks around the corner. “We wanted to get intel, so let's get intel.”
“This is not what I had in mind,” Natalie whispers, yells.
“I want to take a look around,” Marya announces.
“No, wait!” Jax curses when she disappears before he can stop her.
“Are you serious right now?” Natalie hyperventilates.
Marya reappears, “I found him!”
“What?” Jax blinks in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I can get him out, but I need your help.”
“This is not supposed to be a rescue mission!” Natalie whisper barks.
Marya narrows her eyes. “Will you be able to look Harper in the eye and tell him that?”
Jax curses, “What do you need?”
“We just need the key. He is shackled in sea prism stone. Once those are off, I can use my mist power for us to walk through the wall.”
Jax strokes the scruff on his chin. " Can you turn us to mist so we can move through this place?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What do you mean you think?” Natalie crosses her arms.
“One person is easy. Two people are a little more complicated.” Marya shrugs, “I just need to practice more, I think.”
“You think?” Natalie whisper scoffs.
Jax fixes his jaw, “Okay, let's do it.”
“What do we do once he is free?” Natalie throws her hands in the air.
Marya smirks, “we run.” Natalie’s protest is muffled when Marya grabs her wrist, and they turn into mist.
They appear at the top of the steps. “That is so weird,” Natalie announces. Marya buckles over, panting, and Natalie places a consoling hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”
Marya nods. Once she catches her breath, she stands upright. “I can’t take you any further. It requires more stamina than what I have right now.” Jax nods, “He is just down those steps, but the keys are secured behind a door at the end of the corridor.”
“Okay,” Jax takes a step forward.
“Oh,” Marya puts an arm out, blocking him, “and one more thing.” Pointing up, “There are video transponder snails.”
Jax cuts his eyes at her, “how are we supposed to get past that?”
“Well, they may not notice at first,” Marya shrugs, “we are dressed as Marines.”
Natalie wrinkles her nose, “So we are going to just walk down there?”
Marya starts descending the steps, “Yup.” Shrugging, Natalie rolls her eyes and follows.
“Who goes there?” A guard calls out from the bottom of the steps.
They pause, and Jax takes the lead while the others stay concealed in the shadows. “I am here to relieve you.”
The guard’s brow creases, “I have two more hours before I am relieved.”
Jax scrambles, closing their gap, “Ah, I don’t know. I am just following orders.”
“Whose orders? Give me their name and rank.” Flustered, Jax pulls his arm back and knocks him unconscious.
“What the hell?” Natalie runs down the steps.
“I think they saw that,” Marya says when the alarm blares.
“Now what?” Natalie flails. Marya thrusts her arm out, filling the corridor with thick, misty fog. “What is that supposed to do?”
“Block their view,” Marya snaps.
“News flash,” Natalie throws her arms in the air. “It blocks our vision, too.”
“Enough,” Jax stands with keys in his hand. “Let's find that door!” Rushing to the end of the hall, they stopped at a big metal door.
“Now what?”
Maryia draws her blade, “stand back.”
“Oh shit,” Jax shoves Natalie out of the way as Maryia slices through the heavy metal door.
“This is insane,” Natalie pants.
“Grab the keys!” Marya turns her attention to the voices in the fog. Swinging her sword again, the mist and the voices are blown back up the steps. “This way!”
Running, they stop and peer through bars at Vaughn, haggard and shackled to the wall. “Vaughn,” Jax calls to him.
When he looks up, his jaw drops. “What the hell are you kids doing here?”
Marya’s head swivels as footsteps thunder towards them. “No time for that.” She turns, swinging her sword, sending an ariel-slicing attack through the corridor. “Find the key and unlock him. I can get us out of here!” Jax fumbles, trying all the keys to unlock the cell. It clicks open, and he rushes to Vaughn. “Quick, get inside,” Marya orders Natalie.
“But why?”
“No time!” Marya shoves her in.
The shackles clank to the ground, and Jax helps Vaughn stand. “You ready to run?”
“Yeah but…” Jax shoves him through the wall Marya is pressing her palm against. “What the hell?” He is shocked at the sight of blue sky and tall buildings. “How did we get out here?”
“Get moving!” Marya shouts as Marine soldiers start to follow. “I will catch up!”
“Not this time!” Jax glances at Natalie, “Get Vaughn back to the sub! We will be right there!”
“What!” She has no time to think as panicked adrenaline kicks in, and they start down the main street.
Jax spins, pulling out his three-sectioned staff. Catching up with Marya, they stand together, blocking the path of the Marines. “We aren’t going to let you get away!” an official-looking Marine calls out.
“Oh really,” Marya smirks. Swinging her blade, a cloud of mist emerges in its wake.
“Devil fruit powers!” A voice calls out.
“Don’t get distracted, men! Charge! Don’t let them get away!” Cheering in unison, they push from the mist. Jax and Marya stand their ground, beginning their assault. Marya swings her blade, sending groups of soldiers flying with slashing attacks. Jax twirls his staff, knocking soldiers out and creating wind gusts, thrusting Marines backward.
*****
Bianca curses from inside the sub’s engine. Standing over her, handing her tools, Zola asks, “Are you in need of assistance?”
“No,” Bianca says sharply, “I, like, need the hammer.” With her head buried, she reaches out for Zola to give her the requested tool.
“Why do I always get left behind,” Riggs shuffles on the dock with his arms crossed.
“Relax,” Emmet claps him on the shoulder, “I am sure nothing exciting is happening. They are just taking a look around.”
“Um,” Celeste is interrupted by yelling. They turn as Natalie and Vaughn run towards them.
“Start the sub!” Natalie calls out. “There is no time!”
Emmet moves to hear her better, “what?”
“Get in the sub!” Natalie calls.
Emmet’s eyes bulge as the Marines trailing them come into view. “Get in the sub,” his voice trails off as he rushes in. “Bianca!”
“What!” She snaps from inside the engine. “We have to go! Now!”
Popping her head out, “like, we can’t. We, like, don’t even have propulsion right now. I need, like, twenty minutes.”
Emmet shakes his head, “I don’t think you have twenty minutes. The Marines are coming!” Bianca blinks and then curses as she climbs back into the engine. Emmet turns to Riggs and Celeste, “You have to buy us time!”
Riggs nods, “You got it, boss.” Drawing their swords, they rush past Natalie and Vaughn.
“What are you doing?” Natalie screeches. “We got to go!” With battle cries, they send slashing air attacks in unison, and the front-line Marines are propelled away.
“What the hell?” Vaughn calls out.
“Get in the sub!” Riggs shouts. “We will hold them off!”
Natalie and Vaughn are on the sub, bent over, panting, “Why aren’t we leaving?’
“I need, like, ten more minutes,” Bianca yells from the engine.
“What the hell?” Emmet shakes his head, “I thought you were just doing recon. Where are Marya and Jax?”
“They stayed back to buy us time to get out,” Natalie gasps.
The engine hums and the lights flash on. " Got it!” Bianca beams as she pulls out of the engine, and then everything shuts off. She curses, thrusting her tool, which bounces across the floor as she ducks her head back in.
Marya and Jax stand back-to-back in the middle of charging marines. “So,” Marya pants, “I have an idea.”
“Yeah,” Jax wipes the sweat from his brow.
“How about I turn us to mist and get us past this mob, then we make a run for it?”
“I can ….” She doesn’t wait for him to finish. They shift past the Marines and start running through the streets.
“They are getting away!” A voice calls out. “After them!”
“They just keep coming!” Riggs heaves as he sends another Marine soaring away from the dock.
Celeste looks over her shoulder, “We have to hold them off!”
“What about Marya and Jax?”
“We can figure that out later,” Celeste slices through another soldier.
Emmet watches Celeste and Riggs holding the Maries back as he rapidly paces on the dock. Natalie steps out, and their eyes meet. “This isn’t looking good,” Emmet braces his hands behind his neck, “How long can they keep this up?” He stops, his gaze turns toward the horizon, where the ominous silhouettes of ships loom larger by the minute, their sails taut against the wind.
Natalie turns to see what he is looking at. “Oh no, Navy ships.”
The dock erupted into chaos as the towering Navy ships loomed closer, their massive hulls cutting through the waves like predators closing in on prey. Panic surged through the group, their hearts racing as the thunderous sound of cannons being prepared echoed across the water. Shouts of terror and frantic footsteps clashed with the Marines’ barked orders, creating a cacophony of desperation. The once-safe dock now felt like a death trap, the ships’ shadows stretching over them like a grim omen. Eyes widened in fear, darting between the advancing fleet and the dwindling escape routes. The air was thick with the scent of salt and dread, every second tightening the noose around their freedom. For them, the sight of the Navy’s overwhelming force was paralyzing—a stark reminder that their dreams of escape were slipping away.
“Bianca!” Emmet yells, bracing his arms on the frame of the open hatch, “We need that engine now!”
Natalie squeals, jumping up and down! Emmet follows her gaze and beams a smile, sighing in relief. The moment the submarines surfaced, cutting through the dark waters like silent saviors, a wave of overwhelming relief washed over them. The tension that had gripped their chests shattered, replaced by a surge of hope and disbelief. Cheers erupted, mingling with tears of gratitude as the hatches opened, revealing familiar faces ready to whisk them to safety. The deafening roar of the Navy’s cannons faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of their hearts, now racing with exhilaration rather than fear. Every second had felt like an eternity, but now, freedom was within reach. The submarines, sleek and swift, were a lifeline in the chaos, a promise of escape from the jaws of capture. For the first time in what felt like forever, they could breathe again, their spirits soaring.
“What is it?” Vaughn peaks his head out. Clapping his hands, “reinforcements!”
Consortium guardians leap from open hatches with weapons ready and charge into the chaos. Celeste and Riggs freeze as friendly faces rush past. Smiling, they feel a second wind as they press on.
A submarine pulls up next to the dock. Aurélie and Knox step out with a man in overalls carrying parts. Natalie rushes to Aurélie, throwing her arms around her. “I have never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life.”
Aurélie awkwardly peels her off, “You appear to be well.”
Knox smirks, “who can give me a status report?”
“I can,” Vaughn steps up from behind him.
“Vaughn,” Knox raises an eyebrow.
“Celeste and Riggs are holding the dock while Bianca repairs the submarine.” Knox nods, and the man in overalls with parts goes to Bianca.
“What of Marya and Jax,” Aurélie asks.
“I can’t say.” Vaughn shakes his head, “they stayed behind to allow us to escape.”
Knox and Aurélie look at each other and nod. Aurélie pulls out a transponder snail, “Submarine four, with me.” Instantly, she and Knox vanish.
Marya and Jax are racing down the Main Street. “Maybe we should split up?” Marya heaves. “I could confuse them with mist and ….”
“I hate that idea,” Jax huffs, but…” He glances over his shoulder and sees the Marines closing in. Focusing back on the Main Street, he smiles as Knox and Aurélie come into view. Glancing at Maryia, he says, “Looks like reinforcements are here.”
“I wonder if she will scare them to death with her locus form?”
“I heard that,” Aurélie rushes past, swinging her katana. The building collapses, and Marines scream as they are thrown aside.
Marya and Jax are about to back her up when Knox yells, “No!” They pause, “You two, go to the dock! Your sub should be repaired by the time you get there. You are to get yourselves home immediately!”
Marya is about to protest when Jax interrupts, “Yes, sir.” Taking her hand, he drags her away.
Arriving at the dock, they pass unconscious marines and familiar consortium guardians. Celeste and Riggs wave for them to hurry. Jumping inside, Vaughn is at the helm with the man in overalls. Strapping in, Marya asks, “Who is that?”
“That’s, like,” Bianca flips her wrist, “my professor. He, like, brought all the stuff to, like, fix the sub.”
The sub jostles, “preparing to dive,” Vaughn announces. “Coordinates are set.”
“Coordinates confirmed, all clear.”
“I think we might be, like, in trouble,” Bianca picks at her nails.
“Really?” Marya cocks her head.
“I believe that is a reasonable assessment,” Charlie adjusts his glasses.
“I don’t care,” Emmet slouches in his seat, “I am just glad we are going home.”
“Same,” Natalie flops her head back.
“This was awesome!” Everyone turns and glares at Riggs.
“We are clear of the island. Engage bubble transport.”
Three days later, Nanette called to meet with them in the main assembly. They nervously stood outside the ornately arched double doors, waiting to enter. “Like, what do you think is, like, going to happen?” Bianca chews on her cuticles.
“Most likely,” Jax stands with his hands folded behind his back. Looking to the ceiling, “Some formal reprimand. Maybe it will just be documentation.”
“While in retrospect,” Zola points upward, “it is true that we could have made better decisions if we had been more informed. I do not regret the decisions that were made.”
“I have to concur,” Charlie nods. “Mr. Vaughn has proven himself a valued member of our group. It would have been disparaging if we would have left him behind.”
“I thought we did awesome!” Riggs crosses his arms, pushing out his chest.
“Um,” Celeste presses her index fingers together, “I will never forget it.” She looks away when everyone turns to her. “I mean,” her cheeks flush, “we don’t know if we will ever be together like that again.”
“She is right,” Natalie smiles, pulling her in. One by one, they add to the group hug.
The doors open, and a throat clears, interrupting their moment. Aurélie steps aside, “they will see you now.”
Jax takes a deep breath, pulling the corners of his shirt, “Here we go.”
Marya remembers this room. It was the room where Master Gaius teasingly introduced her to everyone and where she first met Knox. Her nose wrinkled when she saw Master Gaius, Nanette, Vaughn, Harper, and several professors. Why would all these people be here for a formal reprimand?
They filed in, standing on the stage-like platform in front of the room. “I am sure you are all curious as to why you have been called here today,” Nanette strides in front of them, back straight and hands folded behind her. “Well, before I get into that, Captain Knox has a few words to say.” She gestures for him to take the floor.
Clearing his throat, “Yes, thank you. I must say this is a truly remarkable group of students. When the final scenario was launched, they broke the mold regarding thinking outside the box and changing the standards for what should be expected from the next generation. Upon reviewing the transponder snail transcript, they demonstrated the ability to collaborate and follow through with action plans: infiltrating a navy vessel, crossing paths with infamous pirates, infiltrating a Marine base, and closing strong with a jailbreak. While I….”
Jax steps forward, “As the group’s leader, I accept full responsibility!” The room falls awkwardly silent.
“You can’t do that,” Marya interjects, “when I was the one…”
“I don’t think,” Emmet starts talking over both of them. A moment later, they were all attempting to talk over each other.
“Ah, excuse me,” Nanette struggles to get their attention, “excuse me,” she tries again without success. “Hey!” she snaps, and they stop and look at her. “I believe you have the wrong idea?”
“We do?” Emmet cocks his head.
“Yes,” everyone in the room chuckles. “This is a graduation ceremony.” The group blinks in disbelief.
“Graduation?” Natalie’s voice trails off.
Nanette nods, “yes. You passed.” They sigh in relief. “You were supposed to follow the log pose to an island we had set up with proctors to test you properly. However, you went a different way. You utilized your skills and training to come up with your own answers and to save a member in need. You demonstrated the ability to think on your feet and make decisions.”
“Even though there was already a plan in the works to retrieve him,” Knox mutters.
“See,” Jax scoffed at Marya, “I told you.” Marya shrugs.
“We passed,” Emmet smiles as the realization comes over him. His elation begins to spread through the group. “We passed!” They squeal and jump in delight.
“Yes, yes,” Nanette hands each of them envelopes, “inside, you will find a key to your apartment and your new work assignments. Congratulations.”
“We should get a picture!”

Chapter Text

Marya’s hands are full as she stands in front of the door of her new apartment. She juggles the boxes to rest on her hip while she retrieves the key. After fumbling with the knob, the door swings open. Taking a breath, she crosses the threshold, flicking on the lights with her elbow. Stretching her neck over the armful of boxes, she scans the new space.
It is a simple, basic, furnished one-bedroom apartment with an efficient kitchen. She kicks the door close behind her and places her pile on the counter. Inspecting the bedroom, she is relieved that there is a bathroom with a shower.
Sitting on the bed, she flops back. She smiles as she thinks of their graduation celebration. They really had us going with the whole dramatic call for possible reprimand. She chuckles and then remembers packing up her dorm with Bianca.
It took longer than it should have. They hugged and helped each other as they cleaned the room. Bianca had so much more stuff to move since she insisted that all her designs be packed a certain way.
Marya smirked, wondering what living alone was going to be like. No more roommate staying up late scratching away at her desk. No more complaints about her early morning training. No more walking to the dining hall together. Marya sighs; enough of that! I need to get moved in and settled. I only have two days before I report to my work assignment.
Retrieving the boxes from the kitchen counter, she brings them to the bedroom and places clothing items in the drawers and the closet. A wad of paper rolls across the floor when she shakes the sweatshirt she wore to Bloom Island. With a wrinkled nose, she picks it up. Sitting on the bed, she unfolds it. “Oh, right, the wanted poster.”
Pondering momentarily, she turns and notices the box where she keeps her mother’s letters. Opening it, she recognizes the other letters, bound together. “Now I remember!” Picking up the binding, she holds the stationery and reads Luffy’s name. Her eyes jet between the wanted poster and his handwritten name. “So, that’s who you are. Monkey D Luffy.” Lips pursed, “How am I supposed to get this to you?” Rolling her eyes, “Whatever, I will figure this out later.” Wrapping the bungle with the wanted poster, she returns it to the corner of the container.
Picking up her mother’s notebook, she flips through the pages. “Oh yeah, mom’s journal.” Tapping a finger on one of the illegible pages, “I wonder if Charlie could help me with this?” Closing it, she leaves it out and continues.
Marya inspects her wardrobe options. She will begin her new work assignment in two hours and is unsure how to dress. Picking randomly, she stands in front of the mirror. Her first option makes her cringe, “OH MY GOD! I look just like my dad in this,” shaking her head, “that is a hell no.” Her second option, she grins, “This is cute, but wearing a skirt while being a guardian could be awkward.” Her next option, “I look like an academic in this,” rolling her eyes, “nope.” Grinning, “This is it,” she twirls, inspecting the denim shorts, crop top, over-the-knee boots, and leather jacket. “Okay,” she retrieves Eternal Night from its rack and places her Kogatana around her neck. “Let’s do this.”
Someone calls her in after she knocks. The room is dimly lit, dominated by a central table with a display and a large holographic map glowing at its center. Knox looks up from his paperwork.
“Right on time,” Nanette says, putting her pen down.
“Hey, little sister,” Marya smiles as Vaughn claps her on the shoulder.
“Does this conclude our team?” Charlie steps up to the other side of her.
“Why yes,” Nanette rests her chin on intertwined fingers.
Marya’s head swivels, “we will be working together?”
Nanette grins, “For the next eighteen months, you will perform fieldwork. Mr. Vaughn will take the lead and show you the basics. As your skills develop and you prove your abilities, you will be charged with more challenging duties. After your time together, we will evaluate your status and determine if you can reach the next level.”
Charlie shifts on his feet, “What if we are not capable.”
Nanette holds his gaze, “Then you do not move onto the next level.” Leaning back in her chair, “We will not move anyone forward until they are ready.” Charlie nods with pursed lips.
Knox slides a paper across the desk, “Here is your first assignment.”
“Nice!” Vaughn announces while reading. Looking to Charlie and Marya, “This will be a good one!”
“Safe travels,” Nanette picks up her pen, returning to her paperwork.
Walking down the hall, Charlie inquires, “What is our assignment?”
“This is right up your alley, little brother,” Vaughn holds the paper up between two fingers. “We are going to meet another team and assist with documenting some ruins.”
Charlie beams, “This is truly exciting!”
“Hope your bags are packed,” Vaughn folds the paper.
Charlie claps his hands together, “when do we depart?”
“This afternoon,” Vaughn puts the paper in a pocket. “Both of you meet me at the sub in two hours!”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie zips ahead of them.
“Well,” Marya sighs, “he is excited.”
Vaughn chuckles, “Don’t be disappointed. Everyone starts like this. While the academics are doing academic stuff, we can work on other things. Besides, there have been plenty of times when low-key missions have become something else.” Marya gives him the side eye with a tilted head. Amused, he places a hand on her shoulder, “Get packed. I will meet you in two hours.”
Marya looks over her shoulder as Charlie calls out her name. She covers her mouth, giggling at seeing him in his tan cargo shorts, pocket vest, pith helmet, and hiking boots. His backpack is so large that it is almost bigger than he is. Stopping next to her, he buckles over, panting. Marya composes herself, “You got everything?”
“Oh, yes,” Charlie stands up, “I packed everything!” As they walk, Marya zones out while he rambles about his inventory of items.
“There you are,” Vaughn steps out of the sub. Smirking, he and Marya share a knowing glance. She grins, shrugging since Charlie has not stopped talking. “Well, let’s get going.”
Charlie continued talking from when they left the dock until they arrived at the island thirty minutes later. His head was on a silent swivel as they moved through the jungle. “You know,” Vaughn nudged a branch, “we can use this time to hone your devil fruit powers.”
“Oh, yeah,” Marya kicks a rock, “I meant to ask you. The navy had you in sea prism stone handcuffs. Are you a power holder, too?”
“Yup,” Vaughn ducks, “I ate the Dazzle Dazzle fruit. I can turn sound into light.”
“Sound into light,” Marya is unimpressed.
Vaughn laughs, “Okay, it doesn’t sound like much, but it might be fun to spar and see what happens.”
“I’m game,” Marya steps over a log.
She catches herself when jostled by Charlie, who almost runs over her to pass. Pushing the long palm leaves aside, he stands with his jaw dropped. “We found it!”
“Okay, now,” Charlie jets off before Vaughn can finish.
“You know,” Marya crosses her arms, watching Charlie leap and run down the hill to the excavation team. “We may have to leave him here.”
Vaughn rubs the back of his neck, “Well damn. I didn’t think it was that exciting.” Turning to Marya, “When they told me he would be part of the team, I was concerned he might not be cut out for this.”
Marya shakes his head, “Don’t let his demeanor fool you. He is more reckless than Riggs when it comes to archaeology.”
Vaughn chuckles, “I can see that.”
Walking past him, “How did you become our babysitter, anyway?”
“Don’t say it like that,” Vaughn shifts to navigate the hill. “All experienced guardians are expected to be team leads and support future guardians.” Marya blinks, “Okay, okay, after my jailbreak, I need to lay low for a while. We didn’t make the papers, but I did end up on a wanted poster.”
“We didn’t make the papers?”
“No,” Vaughn pushes a palm leaf aside. “I am sure the Navy does not want to advertise another incident so soon after the pirate's besiegement.”
“It makes sense,” she says as she drops her bag. “Oh, look. We have arrived. Let me unpack,” she says in a deadpan tone.
“I will go check in.”
That night, dinner consisted of Charlie rambling about the ruins, what had been excavated, and his interactions with the other archeologists, Vaughn and Marya couldn't get a word in before he stood and went to bed.
“Wow,” Vaughn blinked.
“Yeah,” Marya spoke around chewing, “it will be like that until we leave.”
“I see,” Vaughn sipped his water.
“When will that be, by the way?”
Vaughn lifts an eyebrow, “a month.”
“Steller!”
“Well,” Vaughn puts his plate down. “While we are here, we will be involved in security and hunting. In the morning, we will spar.” He walks off before she can reply.
Marya meets Vaughn outside his tent first thing in the morning. “I thought I might have to wake you.”
Marya shakes her head, “This is just like training, only we are camping.”
Walking past her, “you noticed.”
Following him, “So, should I assume the reason this was our first assignment was so I could develop my devil fruit powers away from the Consortium?”
“Feel free to assume whatever you want, little sister.”
Once they arrive at the clearing, Vaughn turns and pulls his oversized double-sided ax from his back. “Does it have a name?”
Vaughn grips the handle as Marya holds her blade, “Light Clever. Yours?”
Marya smiles, “Eternal Night.” Her eyes shift to the shadows in the jungle, “We have an audience.”
“Of course,” Vaughn charges. Marya lifts Eternal Night to block his strike.
Blinded, she drops her head and wipes her eyes. “What the hell?’
Vaughn laughs, “Dazzle, Dazzle!” Cocking a hip, “I can turn any sound into light. That includes the sound of steel on steel.”
Marya’s vision starts to clear, “Well, if you can do that, then how was the Navy able to capture you.”
Vaughn cocks his head, “That is simple. I got caught while the people I was guarding were able to escape.”
Through narrowed eyes, “Ah, Huh.”
“Now that you know what to expect, you ready to go again?” Marya smirks as dense mist rolls in. “That’s more like it,” Vaughn charges again.
They stand before Nanette and Knox a month later, listening to Charlie. “As you can see, I have prepared an in-depth analysis,” he places a reem of paper in front of Nanette, “of our and….”
Nanette’s eyes bulge. “That is very impressive,” she interrupts him. Lifting a corner of the stack of paper, she thumbs through its thickness, “I look forward to reading it.”
Charlie beams. He is about to continue when Knox interrupts, “We have another task for you.” Sliding the paper across the table. “You depart in three days.” Vaughn turns it over and lifts an eyebrow. “I understand, but this should be pretty direct. The information has already been verified.”
Vaughn turns to his team, “Okay, you heard him. Meet you on the dock in three days.”
As they leave, Knox calls out, “Vaugh, you have a minute?” Closing the door, “I know you will submit a formal report, but I wanted to hear your thoughts on their performance from you.”
“Charlie’s enthusiasm caught me off guard. He performed far outside my expectations. He will go far as an archeologist in the field.”
“And Marya,” Knox twists the end of his mustache.
“Her Haki control is beyond expert level. I suspect she will develop new methods that have not been conceived of. Her Devil Fruit Power needs some work. The more she uses it, the more proficient she will be.”
“Well,” Nanette pushes the stack of paper to the side, “there is no pressure for her to become proficient with it. We would prefer her to keep her skill set basic.”
Vaughn’s brow creases, “I believe that would be a waste of talent. If she has the…”
“Nanette is right on this,” Knox cuts in. “It may sound conflicting, but it would be best if she never developed that power.” Vaughn is about to protest when “That will be all. Thank you.”
Marya is inspecting the dials on the submarine panel when she looks back at Charlie, in his seat. " Hey," he looks up from his book, "Could you take a look at something for me?”
Cocking his head, “of course.”
Vaughn watches Marya hand Charlie the notebook from her packet. “What you got there?”
“It was my mother's, but I don’t understand what it says or is about,” Charlie takes it from her, “so I am hoping Charlie might have some ideas.”
Vaughn presses a flashing button, “Oh, that’s right. Your mom was an academic.”
“Yeah,” she watches as Charlie inspects the contents, “but I take after my dad.” Charlie makes several strained faces as he turns the pages. “Any thoughts?”
“Yes,” he mutters. Rummaging through his bag, he takes out round eyeglasses.
“So,” she turns to Vaughn, “I noticed you took the color out of your hair.”
Running fingers through her dark mane, “Yeah, after Bloom Island, I decided I needed to draw less attention to myself. I am thinking about getting sunglasses to …”
“Ah, Ha!” She giggles when Charlie looks at her. His eyes have been magnified, matching the shape and sizes of the lenses. He looks like an owl. “She wrote it in code.” Handing her the glasses and the notebook. “You have to read with cipher glasses.”
“Cipher glasses?” Vaughn laughs as she looks at him through the glasses with her golden eyes. “Maybe I should wear these all the time.”
“Only if you want to join a circus, little sister.”
Marya begins looking through the journal, “Holy Crap!”
“Yes,” She glances at Charlie, “it will appear smudged or illegible without the glasses. With the glasses, it is quite legible.” Marya purses her lips, shaking her head. “Yes, I noticed that as well.”
“What is it?” Vaughn turns a dial.
“It appears to need an additional cipher,” Charlie says, resting his back in the seat. “If you like, I can assist you with it.”
“I would like that very much.”
Vaughn glances between them. “Can you tell what she was working on?”
Marya shakes her head, “Something about a compass, and the only other word I could make out was Golem Island.”
“Hm,” Vaughn flips a switch. “Have you tried talking to Nanette? She may have some of her old notes.”
Marya chuckles, “I didn’t think to do that.”
“Okay, we are here,” Vaughn turns his seat to face both of them. “I need to make myself very clear about where we are going. While we are here, you are not to speak with anyone. Do you understand?”
Noting his change in tone, Charlie asks, “Mr. Vaughn, is this going to be dangerous?”
Vaughn sighs, “The Consortium does business here regularly. Oddly, we are being sent here for our second task. Normally, a more experienced team would be tasked with this.”
Brow furrowed, Marya asks, “Where are we?”
“Bootleg Island.” Charlie blinks, scratching his nose.
“Okay,” Marya’s eyes shift between them. “Someone want to explain?”
Charlie clears his throat, “Bootleg Island is not really an island. It is a volcanic crater in the ocean; well, half of it is.” Pushing his glasses up his nose, “It is also the primary location for the Syndicate.”
“The Syndicate?”
“Yes,” Vaughn intertwines his fingers, “the Syndicate is a Black-Market Organization that the Consortium has deep ties to. I don’t know all the history, but we do much work together.”
Charlie asks, “What is our purpose today?”
“A simple book retrieval.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Marya returns her focus to the panel.
“Yes,” Vaughn turns, another nob, “as long as you follow my lead and do exactly as I say.”
Marya notices the Log Pose jumping back and forth. “Does this place not have a magnetic field?”
“It does not,” Charlie crosses his legs. “This island suffered the same fate as the island of the Consortium 800 years ago. A weapon of mass destruction was utilized, destroying the island’s magnetic field. I suspect a large portion of the original island is annihilated.”
“Which is why,” Vaughn takes the steering wheel, “it is the ideal location to hide from the World Government. You have to know where you are going. There is nothing to guide you here.” Looking at both of them, “Strap in; this part is bumpy.”

Chapter Text

The seat belts tighten against them as the submarine lurches and then jolts. Vaughn presses a series of buttons, and a display of currents appears. "What are you doing?" Marya reaches across the panel to turn a dial.
"We have to find the right current, otherwise...."
"Otherwise, what?" Marya reaches overhead, flipping switches.
"We crash into the side of the crater," Vaughn turns the steering wheel.
"Oh, that's all?"
The submarine shudders violently as they plunge into the heart of the raging currents. The hull groans like a living thing, protesting the ocean's relentless force. Every shift in the water sends a jolt through the craft. The sonar screen flickers, its blips erratic, and the depth gauge spins wildly. Outside, the darkness churns, a chaotic swirl of pressure and sound that feels like the sea itself is trying to crush the vessel.
"The crater is volcanic, spewing lava into the ocean, and whirlpools surround it. We have to find the correct current to ride into the crevasse that separates the active volcanic side of the crater from the inactive side." Noting Marya's expression, "Don't worry, little sister, I have done this 100 times." Focusing on the screen, "There it is." He steers the sub, and the jostling smooths out. When they relax, "See, we dock in five minutes."
Opening the hatch, Marya and Charlie pause. The crater rises from the ocean like a monstrous scar, its jagged edges splitting the horizon. On one side, the volcano looms, a fiery titan spewing molten rivers that glow against the night, their heat warping the air. Smoke and ash billow into the sky, a constant reminder of its fury. On the other side, nestled precariously within the crater's rim, lies the city—a labyrinth of glowing lights and towering structures clinging to the edge of oblivion. Bridges and walkways span the divide, connecting the bustling metropolis to the volatile heart of the earth. The air is thick with the scent of salt and sulfur, a haunting blend of life and destruction. Waves crash against the crater's base, their roar mingling with the distant rumble of the volcano.
The chasm yawns wide at the crater's heart, a colossal fissure carved by ancient cataclysms. Its walls rise like broken sentinels, their surfaces glistening with seawater and volcanic runoff. The gap is vast, easily accommodating ships and submarines that glide through its shadowy depths. Above, the sky is a narrow strip of light, barely visible through the towering cliffs. The water within the chasm is a swirling mix of deep blues and fiery reflections from the nearby volcano, its surface rippling with the echoes of distant eruptions. Ships navigate cautiously, their lights cutting through the dimness, while submarines slip silently beneath, their sonar pinging off the rugged walls.
"Hey, you two," they both turn to Vaughn, jerking his head. "We are going this way."
Turning to follow, they crane their necks. The city clings to the crater's rim like a jewel set in a crown of fire and stone. Carved directly into the volcanic rock, its structures cascade down the inner walls, a labyrinth of terraces, bridges, and tunnels glowing with lantern light. Buildings jut out precariously, their foundations fused with the crater's barbed edges, while others extend outward on stilts, suspended above the churning ocean below. The streets are a mix of narrow alleys and open plazas, bustling with life despite the ever-present rumble of the volcano. Markets overflow with goods, their vibrant colors contrasting with the dark, ashen backdrop. Above, cables and pulleys connect the higher levels, transporting people and supplies across the vast divide. The air is thick with the scent of salt, sulfur, and sizzling street food, a testament to the city's resilience. It's a place where humanity thrives on the edge of chaos, a fragile yet vibrant testament to survival in the shadow of destruction.
"Hurry up!" Vaughn calls over his shoulder from the end of the dock.
"Mr. Vaughn," Charlie slides his glasses up his nose as he maneuvers through the pedestrians, "where are we going?"
Glancing back at them, "Well, the one thing you will learn about this place is that you never approach anyone directly. There is always a meeting place before the meeting or exchange. So," he turns down another busy road, "to answer your question, we are going to a bar."
"What is in the bottle?" Marya puts her hands in her jacket pockets.
"Vinegar." Marya raises an eyebrow at Vaughn's answer. "Not everyone is paid with just Berries." Wiggling the bottle, "This is just a little bonus to keep our guy happy."
"And his happiness is maintained with vinegar?" Charlie moves aside for an oncoming person.
Vaughn chuckles, "Yup. You will understand when you see him."
Rounding the last corner, they enter the Flare Up Tavern. The tavern is a riot of color and sound, its wooden beams glowing under the warm light of enchanted lanterns. A long bar, polished to a shine, stretches across one wall, lined with stools carved from dragon bone. Patrons of all races crowd around tables, their laughter mingling with the strum of an instrument and the clink of glasses. The air is thick with the scent of spiced ale, roasted meat, and a hint of treachery. Behind the bar, shelves are crammed with bottles of shimmering liquids, some bubbling, others glowing faintly. A grizzled barkeep with a mechanical arm pours drinks with practiced ease, while a barmaid with fiery red hair and a dagger at her hip weaves through the crowd. In the corner, a horned man arm-wrestles a Fishman, their table shaking with each slam. Recognizing the shine of long violet waves and the petite figure in business attire, Vaughn gestures for them to follow.
Standing at the table in the back, "Evolet," she looks up from the candy wrapper she was folding. Placing the bottle on the table, Vaughn pulls out a chair. Noticing his companions' awkward postures, he motions for them to sit. Tapping the bottle, "How's it going?"
Rolling the hard candy in her mouth, "It is good to see you came prepared." Resting her delicate chin on a bent elbow, she leans forward, "he likes it when people come prepared."
Vaughn slides the bottle across. "Well, we want to keep him happy—repeat business and all that."
The shape of the hard candy bulges against her refined cheek as she smiles. Standing, "You should go ahead and order." She picks up the bottle and looks over her tiny shoulder, "I will come get you when he is ready."
"We will be waiting."
After she leaves, Marya asks, "Okay, so, now what?"
Vaughn shrugs, "We order," reaching for the menus in the middle of the table, "I recommend the curry."
"Really?" Marya grabs a menu.
Charlie clears his throat, and they look at him over the edge of their menus. "Would it not be better to return to the submarine."
Marya shakes her head, "I am not good at making curry, are you?"
Vaughn chuckles, but Charlie wrinkles his nose. He inspects the other patrons and asks, "Are you not concerned?"
"Relax, little brother," Vaughn slides a menu to him, "you have two guardians with you. No one is going to bother us."
Charlie's lips purse as he picks up the menu. His eyes jet from the menu to the patrons as he reads. Jumping when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he scowls at Marya. "You need to relax. They are not here for you."
"Yeah, but...."
"We won't let anyone pick on you," Marya says with a reassuring smile. "I promise." Nodding, he focuses on ordering.
"What can I get for you-Tia?" Marya and Charlie both blink in astonishment.
"Hey, Poppy," Vaughn puts his menu down, "I will do the curry, extra spicy."
"You're a mink," Charlie's voice trails.
Poppy flips her long white locks, "I'm Poppy, nice to meet you-tia." Her fluffy black tail with white stipe waves behind her as she cocks a hip.
"You're so...." Marya is radiating so hard with excitement that she struggles to finish her sentence. " Cute!"
"Garchu," Poppy bends, cuddling her.
"Marya," she looks to Vaughn, "you can't keep her."
"But she is so..."
"Marya," he snaps, "order already!"
"Fine," she grumbles, crossing her arms to pout, "Curry, extra, extra spicy."
Poppy chuckles, "what about you-tia?"
Charlie stutters, "I will have the dumplings."
"Great-tia!" she spins away.
Just as Poppy clears the table of their dirty plates, Evolet returns. Moving the hard candy around her mouth, she says, "He is ready for you." The sound of chairs screeching against the floor announces their departure, and they follow Evolet through the dining room.
From behind the bar, Auset calls out, "You!" A bohemian dark-haired beauty with a trailing scarf over her brow stands, staring in shock.
They stop and turn, looking at each other in confusion. A sudden jolt sends a shiver up their spine when a blood-curdling scream reverberates through the tavern. Auset runs to Koa, the boy in the doorway. Picking him up, she shushes him, making sure his beanie is secure on his head. Through sniffling tears, he calls out, "Mamma," and she rushes him outside.
After an unsettled moment of silence, Evolet coughs, pounding her chest. Vaughn walks up behind her and gives her one hard pat on her back, sending the candy she was sucking on airborne across the room. When it lands in a patron's drink, he peers at their group with a death glare. "Oh damn," Vaughn groans when he starts to stand.
"I think we can take them," Marya starts reaching for Eternal Night.
Vaughn claps, and everyone cringes as a blinding flash of light erupts. "Let's go!"

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Chapter Text

Gasping for air, they lean against a wall. “What was that kid screaming about?” Marya looks down on their escape route to ensure they have not been followed.
“I don’t know,” Vaughn pushes off the wall.
Putting her hands in her jacket pockets, Marya asks, “Who are they?”
Evolet composes herself, “The woman’s name is Auset. She is the bar owner, and the screaming boy is her son, Koa.”
“So,” Marya lifts an eyebrow, “is that normal for them?”
Evolet shakes her head, “No, that was a first.” Moving away from the wall, “but it doesn’t matter now. He is waiting.”
Vaughn nods, “lead the way.”
They follow Evolet down a dark alley through a nondescript door. Their world instantly transforms as they stand in a waiting room that exudes opulence, its dark wood paneling and plush leather chairs bathed in the warm glow of a crystal chandelier. Evolet strides across the thick Persian rug, her footsteps muffled, to an ornate antique writing table. She runs her fingers over its polished surface before sliding the drawer open, retrieving surgical masks and gloves. The air smells of aged paper, polished mahogany, and whispered intrigue. She smiles, placing gloves and masks down, “Put these on, please.”
Vaughn does not hesitate. When Charlie and Marya take a pause, he glances at them, “Come on, you heard the lady.” Marya and Charlie exchange a look. Vaughn’s tone becomes stern: " Remember what we talked about.” Marya makes an audible sigh as she applies the mask.
“Okay,” Evolet clapped her gloved hands, “you are ready to see the boss!” The rear door creaks open, revealing an extravagant office soaked in golden light. A blue-eyed man in a dark top hat and a sleek mask stands behind a grand mahogany desk, his presence commanding. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and curiosities. The air is thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood.
“Welcome,” Sterlyn sits, intertwining his leather gloved fingers, leaning forward on bent elbows. “You are traveling with new companions.”
“Hey, Sterlyn,” Vaughn’s tone is chipper. Pointing with his thumb, “You should get to know them. You will be seeing a lot of them, I am sure.” Sterlyn’s eyes narrow. “This is Marya, and the guy with the glasses is Charlie.”
“Don’t touch that!” Sterlyn snaps. Charlie pauses from tapping the spine of a book. “This room has already been cleaned three times today and will have to be sterilized once you depart.”
Marya’s head tilts. As she is about to respond, Vaughn interjects, “How about you give us what we came here for.”
Sterlyn groans, “quite right.” Motioning his arm, “Ms. Evolet, if you please.” Sliding a drawer open, she placed a book concealed in cloth on the desk. “Feel free to verify.”
“Charlie,” Vaughn nudges his head, “take a look.” Charlie nods, moving to inspect the item.
Lifting the edges of the cloth, the disturbing silence is interrupted by the sound of a crinkling wrapper unraveling. Charlie leisurely flips the pages as Evolet loudly removes the large, round, hard candy. Sterlyn trembles, fisting his palms as she lifts her mask, placing the candy in her mouth.
“Sir,” Charlie holds the back cover of the book. “How did you get this?” His eyes shift to his companions, “This is a….”
“So, it is authentic?” Vaughn interrupts.
Charlie’s brow creases, “Yes, but…” he turns his attention to Sterlyn. About to ask him a question, he takes a step back.
As the candy wrapper touches the floor, Sterlyn leaps from his chair. “Ms. Evolet!” she turns to him with smiling eyes, mockingly covering her mouth. “How many times have I told you?”
“Oops,” she replies flirtatiously, “sorry boss.”
Sterlyn stomps to the wrapper, picking it up. “The whole office will have to be sterilized!”
Vaughn steps up next to Charlie, whispering, “It’s legit.”
“It’s a Library Book,” Charlie whispers back. “How?”
With a firm expression, Vaughn shakes his head. In a friendly voice, “Well, it sounds like you two have a lot going on. Thanks for your business. We will be going now.” Charlie covers the book, picking it up. Shrieks and squeals emit from the office as they leave.
“That was,” Marya looks over her shoulder at the nondescript door, “an experience.”
“Mr. Vaughn,” Charlie holds the book firmly under his arm. “Please explain. This should not….”
“Not here.”
“It appears we have drawn some attention,” Marya steps up to the other side of Charlie.
“Nah,” Vaughn’s shoulders relax, “those are just kids. Watch your pockets, though.”
Charlie thumbs through the pages as they pull into the Consortium dock. He traces the symbol of the library embossment on the back cover with his fingers. “Mr. Vaughn, how is this book outside the library?”
Vaughn turns the wheel, “The Library is 1000 years old. There have been instances in which the library has been raided or items have gone missing. When we acquire information on the whereabouts of unaccounted library materials, we take action to reacquire them.”
“How much is missing?” Marya turns a dial.
Vaughn sighs, “Honestly, it is hard to say.”
“Why would anyone want to take anything from the library?” Charlie closes the book, “I know the books and artifacts are valuable but the risk of being exposed. If the World Government were to find out.”
Vaughn looks back at him, “That is why we take it so seriously. Someday, we aspire to give this resource back to the world, but until that day comes, we are tasked with keeping this knowledge safe. It is hard to say what motivates people to risk so much, little brother.” He smiles, “We just have to do our best and hope that is enough.”
Charlie places the book in front of Nanette. Inspecting the back cover, she says, “Good work.”
“If that is all…”
“You have another assignment,” Knox interrupts. Vaughn shifts on his feet, crossing his arms. “Sorry, but you are the only available team.” Knox lifts a piece of paper and holds it with two fingers. “You need to leave immediately for an emergency rescue from Rommel Kingdom.” Vaughn purses his lips as he takes the paper. “It’s an academic and one other.”
“Is there a guardian with them?” Marya asks.
Knox shakes his head, “No, somehow, they were separated. The guardian is in the infirmary.”
Marya is about to ask another question when Vaughn says, “Understood. We will go right now.”

Chapter Text

Annabelle grips Yoshi’s hand tighter, her fingers locking around his as they dart through the crowded, sun-baked streets. The air is dry and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and sweat, while the shouts of merchants and the clatter of carts fill the air. Bodies press in from all sides, a chaotic sea of movement, but Annabelle weaves through the throng with practiced ease, pulling Yoshi along. His smaller hand trembles in hers, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The heat is relentless, the sun glaring down on the cracked cobblestones, but there’s no time to stop. Annibelle’s eyes dart ahead, searching for an escape route, her heart pounding in rhythm with their hurried footsteps. The crowd blurs around them, a cacophony of noise and color, as they push forward, desperate to disappear into the chaos.
She looks back, clutching her headdress to stay concealed. A wrench in her arm causes her to stumble. Stopping, she kneels, whispering to Yoshi, "We can't stop here! We have to keep moving." He lifts his blond head, peering at her with big blue eyes, forcing back tears. Her face turns ashen as the crowd moves aside for a distant commotion. Adjusting her round glasses, "Come," she pulls the small boy to his feet.
Arriving at the port, Annibelle’s eyes lock onto a ship being loaded, its sails billowing in the salty breeze. The docks are alive with activity—crates hoisted, ropes coiled, sailors shouting—but her focus narrows to the vessel, a potential escape. She chews the inside of her cheek, her mind racing as she weighs their options. The sound of hostile voices cuts through the din, sharp and closing in. Her head swivels, heart pounding as she scans the crowd for their pursuers. The port’s chaos suddenly feels like a trap, the maze of crates and barrels offering little cover. Yoshi’s hand tightens in hers, his fear tangible. Annibelle’s jaw sets, determination hardening her features. They’re so close. With a quick glance at the ship, she decides, pulling Yoshi toward the bustling gangplank. The voices grow louder, more urgent, but Annibelle moves swiftly, blending into the throng of workers, her eyes fixed on the ship—their only chance at freedom.
Ah chew! She sniffles. Rubbing her nose, Yoshi tugs her sleeve, "Ms. Annabell."
Smiling, she kneels. Tucking the corner of his headdress, "It's going to be okay." Standing, her muscles tighten with determination. They maneuver towards a pile of crates being loaded onto the ship. Testing the lids, she finds an open trunk, slipping them both inside. When the trunk jostles, Yoshi squeals and she covers his mouth, lifting a finger to stay silent.
Several hours later, she peaks through the lid. She sighs in relief at the sound of waves crashing against the dark cargo hold. "Is it safe?" Smiling at Yoshi, she nods. Stepping out of the trunk, "Where are we going?"
She guides him through the maze of containers to an obscure corner. "I don't know. But once we get to wherever it is, I can get us somewhere safe." She places a consoling palm on his cheek, "Okay?"
Later that evening, the steps to the cargo hold whined at the weight of stomping heavy feet. Yoshi tucked in tight against Annabelle as men opened lids, rummaging through crates.
"What was it the cook said again?"
"The potatoes," the other curses, "He needs a crate of potatoes." Ah chew! His head snaps up, and he puts down the open lid. "You hear that?"
"Hear what?" She sneezes again.
"Who goes there?" Both men move in the direction of rapid sneezing. "Well, look here." Annabelle and Yoshi tremble as they hold each other.
"Looks like we have a pair of stowaways."
"What should we do with them?"
Reaching down, he takes hold of her arm and lifts her. Yoshi scrambles as the other grabs him. "Take them to the captain."
Stepping onto the deck, "Hey, captain," he jerks Annabell around. "We got some stowaways."
The captain moves towards them from the helm, "Is that so?"
"What do you want us to do with them?"
Hands on his hip, he bends over to be eye level with them. "Hmmm," he rubs his chin. "Do you two have names?"
"Leave her alone!" Yoshi struggles and kicks.
"Look here, boys," everyone laughs, "the lad appears to have a backbone."
Annabell jerks her arm free, standing as tall as her small starcher allows, she jets out her chin. Ah chew! She sniffles, "I am Annabell." Everyone becomes quiet. "This is Yoshi." The captain responded with a smirk and raised an eyebrow. In a wobbling voice, "What is the destination of this vessel?"
"Well, missy," he points up, "this here is a World Government cargo ship. We are on our way to Rommel Kingdom." She freezes as her eyes look upward at the symbol on the flag.
"What should we do with them, captain?"
"Throw them in the brig," she watches his back as he walks away, "we will hand them over to the authorities at the next port."
Three weeks later, their wrists are bound in heavy chain shackles, the cold iron biting into their skin as they shuffle down the stone walkway. The two Navy soldiers lead the way—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mischievous grin and a sharp-eyed woman whose stern demeanor barely hides her amusement. The man leans closer to her, his voice low and teasing as he makes a sly comment. She smirks, shaking her head, but doesn’t rebuff him.
The castle town bustles around them, its cobblestone streets lined with curious onlookers and flickering lanterns. The air smells of rain and woodsmoke, mingling with the metallic tang of the chains. The man’s flirtatious banter continues, his tone light against the grim reality of the prisoners’ fate. The woman rolls her eyes but can’t suppress a faint smile. They keep their heads down, their steps heavy, as the soldiers’ playful dynamic adds an odd, almost surreal contrast to the somber procession. The castle looms ahead, its spires cutting into the twilight sky.
"Do you want to get some fish and chips after this?" He looks away, waiting for her to answer.
With a playful smile, she replies, "Are you asking me out?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know. If you say yes, I am." Annabell rolls her eyes as she watches them.
"And what if...." The bustling walkway erupts in cheers as a striking figure emerges—a lean man with long, golden locks that catch the sunlight like spun gold. Mounted on a pristine white steed, he moves with effortless grace, his piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd with a charming smile. Women audibly swoon, some clutching their chests or fanning themselves as they drop into curtsies in his wake. His presence is magnetic, drawing every eye as he rides through the throng. The air buzzes with excitement, the crowd parting like a wave before him. Children dart forward, hoping for a glance, while merchants pause their haggling to admire the spectacle. His fine attire, a blend of elegance and practicality, hints at nobility, yet his demeanor is approachable, almost playful. The clatter of hooves on cobblestone mingles with the crowd’s adoration, creating a symphony of awe. He is a vision of beauty and charisma, a living legend passing through the ordinary, leaving a trail of breathless admiration in his wake.
"Who is that?" Her knees quiver as he passes.
“Excuse me, madam,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses a crimson rose in her direction. She catches it, her eyes fluttering as a blush spreads across her cheeks—then she swoons, collapsing gracefully, the rose clutched to her heart. Her companion rushes to catch her, releasing his hold on the restraints.
Annabelle doesn’t hesitate. As the navy man escorting them kneels to revive his swooning companion, she seizes the moment. Her eyes dart to Yoshi, who stands frozen in the chaos. With a firm grip, she grabs his arm, pulling him into the throng of cheering onlookers. The crowd swallows them instantly, their figures blending into the sea of faces. Annabelle moves with practiced precision, her steps are quick and silent, weaving through the maze of bodies. Yoshi stumbles but follows, his heart racing as they disappear into the labyrinth of the bustling walkway, leaving the spectacle behind.
With Yoshi in tow, Annabelle ducks into a shadowy alley, the sudden darkness starkly contrasting with the vibrant chaos. The chains on their wrists clank loudly as they brace their arms against their knees, gasping for breath. The air smells of damp stone and refuse, the narrow space amplifying their ragged breathing. Yoshi looks up, his face flushed and anxious. “What now, Ms. Annibelle?” he asks, his voice trembling but laced with hope.
Annabelle straightens, her eyes sharp and calculating as she scans the alley’s exit. “We keep moving,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. Lifting her wrist, she glares at the manacle. "We need to get these off," ah chew! "And I need a transponder snail." She rubs her nose.
"How do we do that?"
She sighs, inspecting their attire, which differs from that of the more traditional locals. "I have no idea." They startle when a door slams, and a full bag is ejected at the other end of the alley. The corner of her mouth creeps up: " We may be better off than we realized."
Under the cover of an old, tattered blanket repurposed as a makeshift cloak, they slip through the dimly lit streets, their footsteps muffled by the night’s stillness. The condemned shop looms ahead, its windows boarded and door hanging ajar. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew, the remnants of a forgotten business scattered across the floor. Yoshi collapses onto the creaking wooden planks, curling into himself, his head resting on his knees. His shoulders tremble slightly, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. “What are we going to do, Ms. Annabelle?” he asks, his voice small and muffled by sniffles.
Annabelle doesn’t pause, her hands moving swiftly as she rummages through cabinets and drawers, her eyes sharp and determined. The faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the boards illuminates her focused expression. “We’ll figure it out,” she says firmly, her voice steady despite the chaos. “But first, we need supplies. Stay strong, Yoshi. We’re not done yet.” Her words are a lifeline, a promise of hope in the shadows of despair. Holding a cabinet door, "We will find a way out of this."
"Really," he wipes his red face with his sleeve, "how?" Sliding a drawer open, she squeals. "What is it?"
Picking up the round disk, she turns, "It's a dial.” Holding it in her palm, she says, "All we have to do is find a snail, and I can call for help." When his stomach growls, she frowns. Sitting next to him, she says, "It's too late and risky for us to go out right now. Tomorrow, we will try to find something to eat and call for help." He nods, resting his head on her shoulder.
It was well into the night when Annabelle flinched, her body tensing as the door to the condemned shop suddenly swung open, slamming against the frame with a deafening crash. The faint flicker of light from outside spilled in, casting long, jagged traces across the cluttered room. Yoshi stirred slightly, his breathing shallow and uneven, curled up on the floor beneath the old blanket they had been huddled under. Annabelle gently shifted him, ensuring he remained covered, before rising to her feet. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her heart pounding as she crept toward the entrance, every sense on high alert.
As she reached the door, her hand hovering just above the handle, a sudden gust of wind blasted through the opening, slamming it shut with a force that made her jump. The cracked windowpanes rattled violently, the sound echoing like brittle bones. From outside, distant screams pierced the night, sending a chill down her spine. Annibelle’s breath hitched, her hand gripping her chest as she turned toward the window. There, staring back at her with hollow, empty eyes, was the blank face of an apparition. Its features were twisted into a mocking sneer, its form translucent and flickering like a dying flame. Annabelle gasped, her voice caught in her throat as she stumbled back, her mind racing. Just as she was about to scream, the apparition vanished, leaving only the faint echo of its eerie presence and the unsettling silence of the night.

Chapter Text

“Shoot!” Annabelle curses. She pulls her hand back from searching the thorny bush. Inspecting her finger, she sucks the pain away.
“Ms. Annabelle,” a concerned Yoshi peers over her shoulder.
Smiling, “I am fine, it’s nothing. Any luck?” Yoshi shakes his head in disappointment.
“Well,” she returns to her search in the foliage, “we will just have to keep looking. There has to be one around here somewhere.”
Yoshi sighs, his shoulders slumping as he trudges through the overgrown vegetation, searching for another shady spot where a snail might be hiding. The sun beats down, casting dappled shadows through the trees, but the snails seem to have vanished. Pushing aside a tangle of long shrubbery, he pauses, his breath catching. There, just beyond a weathered three-panel fence, stands a striking white horse. Its coat gleams like polished ivory in the sunlight, and its dark, intelligent eyes lock onto Yoshi’s. The horse nickers softly, its ears twitching forward as if greeting him. Yoshi’s face lights up, a giggle bubbling from his lips. The horse tosses its head playfully, its mane flowing like silk, as if inviting him closer.
Without hesitation, Yoshi sprints toward the fence, sliding to a stop just inches away. “Hello, boy,” he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder. The horse lowers its head, nuzzling Yoshi’s outstretched hand, its breath warm and gentle. Yoshi grins, scratching the horse’s velvety nose. Climbing through the fence, he plucks handfuls of fresh grass, holding them out eagerly. The horse lipped the offering, its soft muzzle tickling Yoshi’s palm. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving only the boy and the horse, connected by a simple, unspoken bond of trust and joy.
“You, there!” Yoshi freezes at the sharp tone. “What do you think you are doing with my horse?” Cavendish strode forward with an air of effortless elegance, his long, golden locks cascading over his shoulders like a shimmering waterfall. His ruffled V-neck shirt, pristine and white, fluttered slightly in the breeze, accentuating his lean, graceful frame. Atop his head sat a tri-corner hat, tilted just so, adding a touch of roguish charm to his already striking appearance. A rapier hung at his side, its hilt gleaming, a silent promise of his skill and confidence. Every step he took was deliberate, his posture regal yet relaxed, as though the world itself bent to his whims. His piercing blue eyes locked onto his target. The sunlight seemed to dance around him, highlighting his ethereal beauty, as he moved with the poise of a man who knew he was destined for greatness. Cavendish was a vision of charisma and grace, a living legend in motion.
Yoshi’s shoulders tighten as the horse nudges the loose grass from his palm. “Um….”
Cavendish glares down his nose at him, studying his attire. Noting the shackled wrists and rags, his brow creases. Patting the horse, “Well, Ferul appears to have taken a liking to you.”
Yoshi strokes his velvety nose, “he is amazing, sir.”
“Yoshi!” Annibelle’s voice pierces the air, sharp with panic, as she spots him from the other side of the fence. Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops when the stunning figure of Cavendish comes into view. His golden locks catch the sunlight, his elegant attire and confident stance radiating an almost otherworldly charm. Annibelle’s knees wobble, her breath hitching as she struggles to process the scene before her. The contrast between Yoshi’s ragged appearance and Cavendish’s dazzling presence is jarring. For a moment, she’s frozen, caught between awe and alarm, her mind racing to make sense of the unexpected encounter.
“Excuse me, madam,” he snaps her from her awestruck ogling.
Slapping herself on the cheeks, Annabelle winces at the sharp sting. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head as if to dispel the fog of distraction. With a deep breath, she forces herself to focus, her eyes narrowing with renewed determination. “Apologies, sir.” She stumbles through the fence. “This boy is in my care. I will take responsibility if he has offended you.” She places a protective arm around Yoshi, pulling him to her.
“It is quite all right,” Cavendish’s eye falls to her shackles, “no harm was done.” Buckling the halter on Ferul, “You do not appear to be from around here.”
Annabelle clears her throat, “No, sir,” doing her best to hide her wrists. " We are just passing through.”
Cavendish purses his lips, “If you like, I am on my way to the blacksmith for Ferul. He may be able to assist you with your,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “adornments.”
Annabelle’s head snaps, “Really?” The chains clank when she lifts her wrist, “but we don’t have any money.”
Cavendish tugs on Farul, “I am sure we can work something out.”
As they made their way through the busy, narrow stone streets of the castle town, the air buzzed with activity. Merchants called out from cramped stalls, their wares spilling onto the cobblestones—colorful fabrics, gleaming trinkets, and baskets of fresh produce. The scent of roasting meat and warm bread mingled with the tang of iron from nearby forges.
Townsfolk bustled past, their voices blending into a lively hum, while children darted between legs, laughing as they played. The towering stone buildings loomed on either side, their windows adorned with flower boxes and fluttering curtains. The rhythmic clang of a hammer on metal grew louder as they neared the blacksmith’s shop, its glowing forge visible through an open doorway.
Annabelle asked, “Sir,” Cavendish glanced at her as she attempted to hide behind Farul’s large size. “Is it okay for you to be seen with us?”
Cavendish smirks, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with confidence as he flicks his long, golden locks over his shoulder. His pristine white coat, draped elegantly over his frame, ripples majestically in the breeze, catching the sunlight like a banner of triumph. Every movement exudes grace and arrogance, as though the world itself exists to admire him, “Madam, I am too beautiful to be challenged.”
Annabelle tilts her head in uncertainty. As they continue walking, swooning, people faint from their passing, and she begins to understand. “It must be lonely for you,” she mutters.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” she grins, “Thank you so much for helping us.” Yoshi giggles as Farul shakes his flowing tail.
With a final strike of the hammer, their shackles clanged, falling in a pile on the floor. Annabelle rubs her wrist, “Thank you so much!”
The cranky blacksmith groans, taking payment from Cavendish, “Thank you, good man. There is a little extra for your silence.” When he takes Farul’s lead, Yoshi’s stomach makes an audible growl, “Come, we can get something to eat on my ship.”
“You have a ship?” Yoshi scurries to walk beside him.
“Yes, we suffered storm damage and docked here for repairs.”
They sit in the lavish dining room of the vessel, the space adorned with polished wood, gleaming brass, and soft candlelight. The open window lets in the salty breeze, carrying the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the hull. Sunlight streams in, casting a golden glow over the finely set table, where plates of steaming food and goblets of wine await. Outside, the endless expanse of the ocean stretches to the horizon, its deep blue meeting the sky in a seamless blend. The gentle sway of the ship adds to the serene atmosphere, a moment of calm amidst their journey.
While Yoshi scarfs down his plate of food, Cavendish sips his wine. When he noticed Annabelle moving the potatoes around with her fork. “Is it not to your liking?”
“It’s not that,” she shoves a potato in her mouth. Swallowing, “it’s just that….”
“Yes,” Cavendish raises a judgmental eyebrow.
Taking a deep breath, she belts out, “I have one more favor to ask of you.”
Cavendish, disapprovingly, swirls the glass, “What is it?”
“Would you have a transponder snail I could use?” Waving her palms, “I just need to make one call.”
“Oh,” Cavendish sips, “yes.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands, “come with me. That is easily accomplished.” Opening the door to the Captain’s Cabin, a vision of opulence, its walls lined with rich, dark wood and shelves filled with leather-bound books and exotic trinkets. A plush rug covers the floor, its intricate patterns softened by the glow of a crystal chandelier overhead.
She follows him to the grand mahogany desk, its surface polished to a mirror shine, adorned with a brass globe, scattered maps, and a gleaming inkwell. The air smells of aged paper, polished wood, and a hint of sea salt, a testament to the captain’s refined taste and the cabin’s timeless elegance. Gesturing to the snail, she picks up the receiver using the dial to call and sends a code of beeps.
She sighs in relief after hanging up. She looks at Cavendish, reading on the ornate couch. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you.” Appearing overly invested in his book, he thoughtlessly nibbles on a rose peddle and doesn’t reply. Bracing her arms, she scans the random material sprawled across the desk. Flipping a page, she jolts as a hand grips her wrist.
Cavendish scowls, “What are you doing?”
“Are you studying this?” His posture becomes tense, “I know this language.” His eyes widen. “I can help you.” She picks up a page with some hand-scratched notes, “This interpretation is close but not entirely correct. It speaks of a generational blood contract or pact with a spirit. It looks like….”
“You can read this?” his grip loosens.
She nods, “Yes, please allow me to help you. It is the least I can do.”
Cavendish nods, “that message you just sent.”
She smiles, “It was a message to my colleagues.”
“Shame,” Cavendish rests on the desk, crossing his arm, “I was thinking you would make a nice addition to the crew.”
Ah chew! Heat runs through her body as a flush creeps across her cheeks, “Oh, thank you so much,” she starts to shuffle papers. Ah chew! “But, uh, we really have to get home,” her voice quivers.
Later that evening, one of the crew escorted them to their assigned quarters. “Now,” he held the door, “this is very important. The windows and door must remain locked at night. You must not venture out.”
“But why?” Yoshi asks with the most innocent intent.
The crew member smiles, “If you want to remain on this ship, you must not ask so many questions.”
Before Yoshi can ask another, Annabelle interrupts, “We understand, and we can stay in our cabin.” Taking the bundle from him, “Thank you for the change of clothes. The bath is down the hall?”
“Yes,” the crew member smiles. Holding a finger, “Remember, no matter what, do not unlock your window or door at night.”

Chapter Text

Knock, Knock, “Enter,” Cavendish orders just before the cabin door swings open. Looking up from reading over Annabelle’s shoulder, a crewmember stands on the other side of the desk. “Yes, what is it?”
“We have an update on repairs.” Cavendish nods to continue. “Repairs are almost complete. We should be able to ship out tomorrow.”
“I see,” Annabelle’s pen hesitates as Cavendish steps from behind the desk. “Make the final preparations. We sail as soon as we are able.”
“Yes, captain,” he spins, locking his gaze on her for an instant before leaving.
Cavendish pivots to Annabelle when the door closes and watches her scribble notes. Rubbing his chin, “My offer still stands.”
The feathered pen stops moving. She looks up, staring into his bright blue eyes. She smiles, “If we leave, my companions won’t know where to find us.”
“Are you sure they are coming? It has been two days since you sent that message.”
Tapping the end of the pen to her lower lip, she shifts her eyes to the transponder snail. “I think so,” she says, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. I could try to send another message.”
“There is a lot of Navy here. It may not be safe for you to wait.” Cavendish peers out a window, “they have started watching the ship.”
Annabelle leans back, considering, “We have until tomorrow to decide?”
“I dare not wait any longer.”
The door bursts open, and Yoshi surges in, “Mr. Cavendish!”
“Yoshi!” Annabelle scolds, “We have talked about this! You cannot just…”
Cavendish smirks. “It is quite all right.” Turning to Yoshi, who is bouncing on the balls of his feet, he asks, “What is it?”
“Are you going to see Farul?” Yoshi beams, “Can I come too?”
Cavendish chuckles, “We have been working for quite some time now. I think a break is in order. I need to settle up with the stable, anyway.” Placing a guiding hand on his back, “Come, I am sure Farul would appreciate the company.” Holding the doorknob, “What about you, Ms. Annabelle.”
She smiles, “I think I will stay and work on this some more. You two have fun.”
Cavendish steps over unconscious bodies as he and Yoshi start their return from the stable. Cavendish tilts his head as Yoshi covers his mouth, giggling. “What is it?”
“It’s so funny how people do that.” He hops over another fallen pedestrian, “We are just walking.”
“It is quite amusing, isn’t it.” Scanning everyone’s reactions, “I guess I had stopped noticing.”
“Good day, Captain,” the cook waves from in front of a food stand.
“Good day,” Cavendish joins him. “Have you heard about our timeline for departure?”
“Yes, Captain. I am gathering the final provisions……”
The shaggy strands of Yoshi’s blond hair flutter in the gentle breeze, catching the golden light of the setting sun. A faint whisper drifts through the air, soft and insistent, calling to him like a distant memory. He pauses, his brow furrowing as he turns his head, searching for its origin. The voice grows clearer, pulling him forward, guiding him through the bustling port and into a quieter, shadowed corner. The world around him blurs, the sounds of the dock fading into a distant hum as he becomes lost in a strange, dreamlike haze.
Before him sits a weathered wooden barrel, its surface rough and splintered. Inside, it’s filled to the brim with seeds—tiny, golden grains that shimmer faintly in the dim light. Yoshi reaches in, his small hand sinking into the cool, shifting mass. The seeds flow through his fingers like liquid, their texture smooth and soothing. He closes his eyes, a sense of calm washing over him as the whispers grow louder, almost melodic. For a moment, he feels connected to something greater, something ancient and unseen, as if the seeds hold a secret only he can uncover.
“Hey, you!” An angry voice snaps him awake. “What do you think you are doing there?” A large hand viciously grips his arm.
“Let me go!” Yoshi kicks and struggles, “I was just talking to them.”
“You better be ready to pay for that boy!” Yoshi’s neck wrenches when he is yanked.
The shopkeeper freezes, his eyes widening as the sharp edge of a rapier presses against his throat. The cold steel glints in the dim light, its presence unmistakable. Cavendish stands tall, his golden locks framing a face etched with icy determination. “Release the boy,” he commands, his voice low and lethal, each word dripping with menace. The air grows heavy, the shopkeeper’s breath hitching as he slowly raises his hands in surrender. Cavendish’s piercing blue eyes bore into him, unyielding, a silent promise of consequences if his demand is not met immediately.
“Apologies, sir,” Yoshi scurries away when his hold loosens. “I thought the boy was stealing,” the shopkeeper clasps his hands in homage apology. “He was going on about talking to my seed stock. I didn’t know he was a member of your crew, sir.” Cavendish sheathes his rapier. “Here,” the shopkeeper hands him a produce bundle, “forgive me for this misunderstanding.”
Cavendish nods for the cook to take the offering. “See, this doesn’t happen again.”
“Yes,” the shopkeeper stutters, “of course.”
Cavendish scowls, asking the cook, “Did you see where he ran to?”
“I believe he ran towards the ship, Captain.”
“Very good, then, I will find the boy. You finish up here.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Annabelle is bent over a piece of parchment when the door blasts open. Yoshi rushes to her lap, gasping through tears. “Yoshi, what is it? What happened?” She strokes his hair, attempting to console him.
“I am sorry, Ms. Annabelle,” he struggles to say. You told me not to talk to the plants, but...” he sniffles. Looking up at her with weeping eyes, he says, “They were calling to me and ….” He wheezes.
She pulls him into her lap and holds him, “It’s okay. It will be okay.”
“Apologies,” the door clicks behind Cavendish. “There was an incident in the market.”
“I see,” Annabelle rubs Yoshi’s back.
“Are they going to come for me?” Yoshi sobs into her shoulder.
Pulling him away from her, she cups his face, “No one is going to take you anywhere. I promise no one will let that happen. Especially me.”
Cavendish leans against an open windowsill, “Why would anyone come for the boy?”
“Were there any navy there?” Anabelle asks.
Cavendish shrugs, “There is navy everywhere.” Annabelle sighs. “You are under my protection. You do not need to worry. Now, back to my question.”
Yoshi wipes the tears from his red face. “Better?” He nods at Annabelle.
Annoyed, Cavendish retorts, “Annabelle!”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, “I suppose you should know.” Cavendish crosses his arms. “Yoshi is very gifted with plants. He can communicate with them.”
“A Devil Fruit?”
Annabelle shakes her head, “No. I met Yoshi and his family while,” she hesitates, looking for the best way to phrase her statement, “I was studying some ancient ruins on a desert island.” She grins as Cavendish’s eyes narrow. “Anyway, his family was running the inn where my companion and I were staying. The one thing that made this inn so unique was its fresh herbs, spices, and produce. This would not be a nuance except.”
“It was in the desert.”
“Right, and the person who was able to grow all this in such an arid climate was,” she looks down at Yoshi.
Smiling back, he looks at Cavendish and says, " They speak to me.” Cavendish raises an eyebrow. “The plants and seeds speak to me. They tell me what they need to grow, and I give it to them.”
“Imagine,” Annabelle relaxes her hold, “if any island could grow any kind of food regardless of the climate. What would that look like?”
Cavendish stokes his jaw, considering. “It could have a dramatic effect on resources and trade. If you elevate the need for a specific island to provide a particular resource, then the economic impact.”
“Yes.”
“How did the Navy get involved?”
“Well, they were becoming quite popular. Word started spreading, and they thought they were doing good by openly sharing this knowledge. However,” Annabelle became solemn. “They soon learned the true nature of the World Government. Yoshi’s parents did not survive the encounter. My companion stayed behind so we could escape. That is how we got separated.” Her face lit up. " But then our paths crossed, and now we are with you.”
Cavendish tilts his head, “The World Government was that threatened over a single boy?”
“Well,” Annabelle laughs, nervously, “I may have been a little careless with my research at the ruins.”
“Captain!” Annabelle sighs in relief when a crewmember barges in.

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Chapter Text

Moonlight shines through the cracks as Yoshi’s hammock sways with the creaking ship. He looks over the edge to ensure Annabelle is sleeping. Swinging his legs across, he hops down. His feet thud to the floor, and he freezes, waiting to see if Annabelle wakes. When she rolls away, he sighs. Rummaging through a bag, he retrieves an apple and carrot just before sneaking out the door.
The door bangs with the rocking ship, startling Annabelle awake. Flopping onto her back, she groggily watches the empty hammock swing back and forth. The door slams again, and she lifts her head. Blinking, she rotates between the empty hammock and the swinging door. “Yoshi,” she mumbles. “Yoshi!” she throws the covers back, jumping out of bed. Closing her eyes, she grips her chest, “Where would he go?” She looks down when an apple rolls across the floor and hits her foot. “Farul.” Without thinking, she rushes out.
The castle town is unnaturally still under the weight of the imposed curfew, its streets bathed in an eerie silence broken only by the occasional flicker of dim streetlamps. The moon hangs low, casting pale light over the cobblestones, and the shadows of empty stalls and shuttered windows stretch like grasping fingers. Annabelle’s silhouette cuts through the gloom, her figure elongated and ghostly as she runs, her footsteps echoing sharply against the stone walls. Each breath she takes is ragged, her chest heaving as sweat beads across her brow, trickling down her face in cold streaks. The air is thick with tension, the kind that makes every sound—a distant creak, the rustle of a stray cat—feel like a warning.
As she rounds a corner, her mind betrays her. A vision of the apparition from their first night flashes before her eyes—its blank, mocking face pressed against the cracked windowpane, its hollow eyes piercing through her. She stumbles slightly, her heart lurching as the memory grips her. Shaking her head violently, she scolds herself under her breath. “Focus, Annabelle,” she mutters, her voice trembling but firm. “Keep moving.” The words are a mantra, a lifeline to tether her to the present. She can’t afford to falter, not now, not when so much is at stake.
Her legs burn with exertion, but she pushes forward, her eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of movement. The town feels like a labyrinth, its familiar streets now foreign and menacing under the curfew’s oppressive grip. Yet, she knows she must press on. The apparition’s face lingers in her mind, a haunting reminder of the unseen dangers lurking in the darkness, but she forces it aside. There’s no room for fear—only survival.
Rounding a corner, Annabelle slams to a halt, her chest heaving as she braces a hand against the cold, rough surface of a stone wall. The night air bites at her lungs, each breath sharp and labored. She squints into the darkness, her heart pounding as a tall, dark outline of a man emerges from the shadows, his presence imposing and deliberate. He stalks toward her, each step measured and menacing. “You there,” his voice cuts through the silence, low and commanding. Her breath hitches as she sees the glint of a katana being drawn, its blade catching the faint light of a distant streetlamp. “Do not move!”
Annabelle’s eyes dart frantically, scanning for an escape route as the figure quickens his pace, closing the distance between them. Panic surges through her veins, and she stumbles backward, her boots scraping against the gravel. Without thinking, she turns and bolts, her legs pumping as she sprints down the narrow alley. “Hey!” the man shouts, his voice echoing off the walls, but she doesn’t look back. Her heart races, her vision narrowing to the path ahead.
Suddenly, her foot catches on an uneven stone, and she trips, crashing to the ground with a cry. Pain shoots up her leg, sharp and searing, as gravel bites into her palms and knees. She rolls onto her side, clutching her injured leg, and sees blood pooling on the ground, dark and glistening in the moonlight. Desperation claws at her as she struggles to rise, the sound of footsteps growing louder behind her. The night feels heavier now, the shadows closing in as she fights to keep moving, to escape the looming threat.
Gripping her knee, she watches the outline morph into someone she recognized. Her eyes widened when his long, square nose and round eyes moved into view. Standing over her, Kaku peered down and said, “I know you.” Annabelle attempts to back away, but he jerks her to her feet, “Where is the boy?”
A gust of wind blows, and Annabelle grunts when she slams against the wall. Sliding to the ground, a scream escapes her lips. Kaku steps forward, his two katanas flashing as he blocks a barrage of attacks from the blank-faced apparition. The clash is a blur of motion, steel meeting an unseen force. “Damn, you’re fast,” Kaku mutters, his voice calm but edged with tension. The apparition cocks its head unnaturally, its expressionless face unsettling. “But are you fast enough for: SHAVE!” Kaku vanishes in an instant, his speed defying sight.
In a burst of movement, the apparition reappears on a rooftop, its hollow gaze fixed on the scene below. The night air crackles with tension as Kaku reappears, his katanas poised, ready for the next strike. The apparition looms above, a silent, menacing figure, as Annabelle struggles to her feet, her heart racing.
Kaku glides downward from the rooftop, his movements fluid and precise, both katanas poised to strike from behind. Just as he swings, the apparition vanishes with a faint breeze, leaving only empty air. Kaku curses under his breath, bracing a foot on the roof’s edge as his sharp eyes scan the area. His gaze lands on Annabelle below, her hands trembling as she creeps up the wall, straining to stand. Blood trickles from a cut on her leg, her face pale but determined.
“SHAVE,” Kaku mutters, and in an instant, he reappears in the street, striding toward her with purpose. Annibelle’s chin quivers, her breath hitching as she sniffles, attempting to drag herself away. Her eyes dart between Kaku and the shadows, fear, and exhaustion etched into her features. Kaku’s expression remains stern, his katanas gleaming in the dim light as he closes the distance, his presence both a threat and a promise of protection.
Just as he is about to reach her, Kaku’s reflexes snap into action. He lifts his katana with lightning speed, blocking the sudden, devastating blow from Eternal Night. The clash reverberates through the air, sparks flying as steel meets steel. His eyes narrow, locking onto his new opponent, ready for the fight.
Tears fall down Annabelle’s face as she squeals in Charlie’s arms. “You came!” she sobs, “You are finally here!”
“Sorry we took so long,” Charlie lets her lean on him to stand. “We were just dispatched and arrived as fast as we could.”
Wrapping her arms around him, “I am so happy to see you,” she sniffles.
“You are injured, we should…”
“No,” she interrupts him, “we have to get Yoshi. I think I know where he is.”
“Go,” Marya calls over her shoulder.
Vaughn scowls at Kaku, his grip tightening on Light Cleaver as he swings the massive ax with practiced ease. “You going to be good with this guy?” he growls, his voice edged with irritation. Marya stands firm, her own weapon holding the enemy at bay, her expression calm but focused.
Thrusting him back, “Yeah,” she smirks, “this might get interesting.”
“Okay,” Vaughn gestures to Charlie, “We will meet you back at the dock.”
“Hawk-eye!” Marya tilts her head when Kaku calls out. “What are you doing here?” Marya lifts Eternal Night, gripping the hilt with both hands. “We are allies.” She sends a slicing attack, cutting the air and forcing Kaku to jump away. Holding his position in the air, he sees Annabelle escaping. “Moon Walk!”
“I don’t think so!” Marya leaps, intersecting him.
As she swings Eternal Night, he twists and blocks her. Their eyes meet, “What the hell are you doing?” She propels him backward, sending him soaring over rooftops away from her companions. His feet scrape across the slats until he stabs the surface with his blades to stop.
He gazes upon Marya’s silhouette, perched on a pillar in the pale moonlight. He blinks, and she is gone. On impulse, he lifts his katana, deflecting her strike when she reappears in front of him. “You’re not him,” he mutters, “But those eyes.” Kaku pivots, attempting to throw her off balance. He kicks a leg, sending a slicing attack from his feet, and Marya dodges. They stand, facing each other, “Who are you?”
Marya positions herself for an overhead slash. Kaku groans, “No more defense.” He prepares to charge. “You are just like him.” Marya adjusts her stance to counter. “But you are not him!” Kaku jets towards her prepared to strike. He slashes, then curses when her image dissolves. “Devil Fruit powers!” He rolls, avoiding the slash from above. Searching for her, he becomes still at the feel of a cold, sharp edge on his neck. “You are quite skilled.” He holds his katana out in surrender. “You remind me of someone with a similar fighting style.”
A distant scream pierces the night. “Sounds like your friends may be in a bit of trouble.” Kaku inclines his head back, “I am not the most dangerous adversary tonight. Did you ever stop to think about why I am here? I am a member of Cipher Pole, after all.” Another scream echoes. “What are you going to do?”
After a long moment of silence, “How about I…” He spins, cursing when the silhouette he cut dissipates in a whiff. Standing, he lowers his Katana, “What the hell? When did she?” His head swivels. “Were we even?” He sheathes his Katana. Scratching his head, “Hell, I am not even sure what just happened.” He sighed when another scream erupted, “I guess I should go; check that out. Moon Walk!”
Following the screams, Marya leaps from rooftop to rooftop. She skids to a stop, peering down from above the stables. Yoshi is in Annabelle’s arms while huddled against the wall with Charlie. Vaughn scans the sky with Light Clever at the ready. “Vaughn!”
He glances at Maria. “Prepare yourself! There is a murderous demon.”
Marya tightens the grip on the hilt. “A murderous demon?”
“They call him Hakuba,” Kaku calls out from two roofs over. Holding his Katana, prepared to draw, “He is why I am here. Those two are just happenstance. I intend to take them in since I was unsuccessful on the last island.”
Marya’s hair flutters in the wind as she wheels Eternal Night, the massive blade cutting through the air with a low hum. Her sharp gaze locks onto Hakuba, his wild golden mane and piercing eyes a stark contrast to the chaos around them. Sparks ignite as he slides the edge of his rapier against her blade, the metallic screech echoing through the town. In an instant, they move with the force of a gale, their weapons clashing in a dizzying dance: clang, clack, slice, bang, clink, ring, pop, ding. The speed is blinding, their movements a blur of skill and precision.
Suddenly, Hakuba vanishes, leaving only a faint woosh in his wake. Marya spins, her instincts sharp, Eternal Night poised to strike. Her eyes scan the area, every muscle taut, ready for his next move. The air crackles with tension, the fight far from over.
“Wow,” Kaku tightens his hold, “that was impressive. You deflected all his attacks.”
Ignoring Kaku, she calls to Vaughn, “I am going to give you cover!”
Vaughn nods, “Right.” Looking back to Charlie and the others, “Get ready to move!”
“You think I am going to let you—” Kaku’s words cut off as his mouth falls open, his sharp eyes widening. Thick fog rolls in with unnatural speed, swallowing the town in a dense, impenetrable vapor. He curses under his breath, his voice muffled by the sudden silence. “Who the hell is she?” he mutters, turning in place, his katanas ready. The fog clings to him, obscuring his vision and muffling sound.
Realizing the futility of the situation, Kaku scowls. “This is a lost cause. Moon Walk!” He propels himself into the air with a powerful kick, rising above the fog. From his vantage point, he gazes down at the town, now consumed by a dark, swirling veil. His expression hardens. “Would anyone at HQ even believe this story?” he wonders aloud, his voice tinged with frustration as he disappears into the night.
Vaughn leads the small group through the open path Marya’s power has carved, his grip tight on Light Cleaver. The air is thick with tension, the fog swirling ominously around them. A sudden puff of mist shifts, catching Vaughn’s sharp eye. He reels back, instincts taking over, and swings Light Cleaver in a wide arc. The blade meets resistance as Hakuba materializes, his rapier flashing. A blinding explosion of light erupts upon impact, the force sending shockwaves through the air. Hakuba lets out a high-pitched squeal, his form flickering before vanishing in a burst of speed.
“Keep moving!” Vaughn barks, his voice cutting through the chaos. The group presses forward, their footsteps quick and urgent. Vaughn’s eyes remain vigilant, scanning the fog for any sign of another attack. The path ahead is uncertain, but there’s no time to hesitate—only to push forward, deeper into the unknown.
Marya emerges from the mist like a phantom, her presence calm yet commanding. Hakuba charges after the fleeing group, his wild hair streaming behind him, but she intercepts him with a swift, decisive motion. Their blades meet in a flurry of motion: zing, ring, zip, slice, clink, whoosh. The clash is a blur of steel and speed, their movements too fast for the untrained eye to follow. They dart above the veil of fog, their figures silhouetted against the dim sky.
With a powerful swing, Marya slices through the air, the force of her strike sending Hakuba hurtling through the atmosphere. He crashes into the stone clock tower with a resounding crack, the impact sending debris scattering. Marya is on him in an instant, her blade pressed to his throat as she kneels over him, her expression unreadable.
“I just realized something about you,” she says, her voice cool and measured. “You certainly are fast, but you don’t seem to be using Haki.” Her grin is faint but unmistakable as Hakuba, desperate, stabs and slashes at her with his rapier. The attacks land, but Marya doesn’t flinch. “That won’t work on me,” she says, her tone almost amused. Her body remains unscathed, a testament to her Devil Fruit Power.
Hakuba’s eyes widen in shock, his confidence faltering as Marya’s grip tightens, her blade unwavering. The mist swirls around them, the battlefield silent except for the faint hum of Eternal Night, poised to strike. A whirlwind swirls, and they both appear on pillars, facing each other.
Marya smirks, “It is time to wrap this up.” Her eyes shine a menacing red, and her blade turns an ominous black. Gripping the hilt firmly with both hands, she stands ready, a picture of lethal grace. With a wisp of motion, Hakuba is suddenly in front of her. As if she were in pointe shoes, she pirouettes, a deadly ballet that combines elegance with sheer power.
Before the edge of her blade can strike, Hakuba panics. His eyes widen, and a flicker of fear crosses his face. Sensing the intense intent of her Haki, he realizes he is moving too fast to parry. His speed, which once was his greatest asset, now becomes his downfall. He screeches, flailing as he attempts to evade her attack. But it is too late.
Marya’s blade slices through the air with a hiss, hooking onto Hakuba's masculine aura. The force of her strike sends him crashing to the ground like a bullet. The impact reverberates through the air, a testament to her unmatched prowess. Hakuba gasps, the wind knocked out of him, as he struggles to regain his composure.
Vaughn’s arm shot out, halting the group as Hakuba’s blade impaled the ground inches ahead, sending a spray of dirt into the air. The path trembled, and a low groan echoed from the shadows. The group froze, eyes darting toward the source. Cautiously, they edged closer to the fresh indent in the earth, their breaths shallow. Yoshi’s small hand tugged at Annabelle’s sleeve, his voice barely a whisper. “Ms. Annabelle…” She glanced down, her expression softening despite the tension. The groan came again, louder this time, and Vaughn’s grip tightened on his weapon.
“Yes,” her misbelieving eyes stay locked on the unconscious Cavendish, “I can see.”
“But we have to—” Yoshi’s voice was cut short as Marya emerged from the swirling mist, her silhouette sharp and menacing against the pale haze. Her eyes glinted with cold determination, and the blade in her hand caught the faint light, its edge gleaming with deadly intent. The air seemed to still, the group’s breaths caught in their throats as she stepped forward, each footfall deliberate, echoing like a death knell. Yoshi stumbled back, his words swallowed by the weight of the moment. Marya’s gaze locked onto her target, unyielding, as she raised her weapon, poised to deliver the final blow. Time stretched thin, the world narrowing to the space between her and her prey. The mist clung to her like a shroud, and in that heartbeat of silence, there was no doubt—this was the end, unless someone acted fast. But who would dare?
Holding Eternal Night high, Marya’s blade gleamed with a cold, unforgiving light as she prepared to strike. Her eyes burned with bloodlust, her focus razor-sharp on the figure beneath her. “NO, DON’T KILL HIM!” Annabelle’s voice shattered the tension as she threw herself across him, shielding his body with her own. The blade halted inches from her back, trembling in Marya’s grip.
Annabelle’s chest heaved, her voice desperate but firm. “He saved us! If it weren’t for him, we’d be dead!” Marya’s glare didn’t waver, the tip of Eternal Night still pressed to his chest, her knuckles white around the hilt. The air was thick with tension, the weight of her fury palpable. Annabelle’s plea hung in the silence, a fragile thread of hope. “Please,” she whispered, “spare him.” For a moment, the world held its breath, waiting for Marya’s next move.
“Annabelle?” Cavendish lifts his head. Disoriented, he surveys his surroundings. “What?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “It is time for us to go.” Cavendish sits up. Noting Marya’s bloodlust, he attempts to stand. Annabelle shakes her head, “It’s okay.” She places her hands on his shoulders. “They are the companions I called for.” She sniffles. “We have to go.”
Cavendish is jostled when Yoshi throws his arms around him. Annabelle wipes the hot tears from her face. “Thank you for everything. I will be forever grateful.” Tugging a tearful Yoshi from him, she stands.
“Do we really have to go?”
“Charlie,” everyone turns to Vaughn, “Carry the boy. We need to get moving.” Yoshi whines as Charlie scoops him up.
Annabelle turned to leave, the moment's weight pressing heavily on her shoulders. She didn’t look back, not at first, but then Cavendish’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist with a grip that was both firm and tender. His touch stopped her, and she turned to face him, her eyes searching his. “Is this goodbye forever?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with a vulnerability that surprised even him. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Annabelle’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately. She glanced down at his hand on her wrist, then back up to meet his gaze. “I hope our paths cross again,” she said finally, her voice steady but soft, carrying a quiet hope that belied the finality of the moment. It wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was a fragile thread of possibility, one that Cavendish clung to even as he felt it slipping through his fingers.
He opened his mouth to say more, to tell her everything he hadn’t yet found the courage to voice, but the words died on his lips as the cold edge of Eternal Night pressed against his throat. Marya stood over him, her presence as sharp and unyielding as the blade she wielded. Her eyes, still smoldering with the remnants of bloodlust, locked onto his, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to the space between them. Cavendish didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He simply shifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression calm but wary. He could feel the tension in her, the barely restrained fury that still simmered beneath the surface.
Slowly, deliberately, he relaxed his grip on Annabelle’s wrist, letting his hand fall to his side. The warmth of her skin lingered for a moment before fading, leaving behind a hollow ache. He didn’t fight it, didn’t try to hold on. Instead, he stood still, his breath steady despite the blade at his throat, and let the feeling of her slip away. It was a surrender but not a defeat. He knew better than to challenge Marya in this state and knew that any move he made could tip the balance into chaos.
Marya’s gaze didn’t waver, her blade unyielding as she studied him, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until finally, she lowered Eternal Night, the blade retreating with a soft hiss. She didn’t speak, didn’t offer an explanation or a warning. She simply stepped back, her presence receding like a shadow retreating from the light.
Annabelle watched the exchange, her heart pounding in her chest, but she said nothing. She gave Cavendish one last look, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow in her eyes, before turning and walking away. Cavendish stood rooted to the spot, the weight of her absence settling over him like a shroud. He didn’t try to stop. He simply watched her go, the hope of their paths crossing again a fragile ember in the darkness.

Chapter Text

Marya braces her arm against the table while looking over Charlie’s shoulder. Flipping the page, he traces the following line of text with his finger. “Anything coming to mind?”
Charlie sighs, removing the cypher glasses. “Maybe.” The chair screeches when he pushes away from the table, forcing Marya to step aside. “Your mother was quite brilliant if she did what I think she did.”
Marya scrambles to follow him as he turns down a library aisle. “What are you thinking she may have done?”
Running his fingers along the row of spines, he pauses, tapping a select few before making his choice. Opening a specific page, he bobs his head, “I think that is what she did.” Marya scurries behind him as he returns to the table, placing the book beside the journal. Putting the glasses back on, his eyes jump from book to book, “Ingenious,” he mutters, taking his seat.
“Okay,” Marya leans against the table. When he looks up, “Care to share?”
Blinking, he slides the glasses off his face, “Of course.” Resting back in the chair, “It appears that she used the language of the Kouzuki Family as the cypher for this journal.”
Marya’s head tilted, “The what?”
Charlie sat up straight, fisting a hand over his mouth he cleared his throat. Watching him, she smirked. This is how Marya knew she was about to get one of his famous Charlie lectures. “The Kouzuki Clan is an ancient family that hails from the land of Wano. There are several things that make Wano unique. One of them is that their borders are closed, so they do not openly interact with the World Government or hold a seat at Revelry. The Kouzuki family was a clan of stone masons who are the authors of the Poneglypghs.”
“Those are those big square stones scattered around the world?”
Charlie nods, “Yes. The World Government has declared the study of those stones unlawful, which is why it is so dangerous for anyone to have any knowledge about the Poneglyphs.”
Maray taps her chin with a bent finger, “And you are saying that language is the cypher.”
“I believe so.”
Marya’s head flops back, “this sounds difficult.”
“Not really,” Charlie stands, “just learn the language, and you can figure out the cypher.” Marya gives him a flat stare. He closes the book, handing it to her. “Start with this. The language is not that complicated. I am confident in your abilities.”
Taking it from him, he stands, “You’re leaving?”
“Yes,” he puts his eyeglasses back on, “I have another engagement. One of the other team members from our earlier expedition has returned, and we are having lunch.”
“Oh,” Marya hugs the book, “that’s great.”
Charlie pauses, noting her expression, “You know, I think I heard Bianca was working in the lab today.”
“Oh,” Marya’s head snaps up, “yeah. I am sure she is. That is her home away from home.” Pulling out a chair, “Well, you should go. You don’t want to be late.” She focuses on a page.
“Well,” Charlie turns, “I look forward to hearing about your progress.”
“Yeah, see you later,” she waves a hand while turning a page. Groaning as she scans the symbols in the book and the corresponding text, “Really? Mom, I have to learn another language to figure out your notes.” Her eyes shift to the journal. “This will take a while.”
*****
BOOM! The hallway shook as the door exploded off its hinges. Marya’s hair blasted back as it darted past her. Bianca and a gentleman she recognized from Lougetown emerged from a dark plume of smoke, coughing. “Professor, like, I think…”
“You don’t have to say it,” he coughs, “we can try your way next.”
“Like,” she coughs, removing her goggles, “we just need to, like, regulate the power flow.”
“Agreed, we….”
“Are you two okay?” They whip around to Marya, standing in the hallway.
“Like, for real?” Bianca runs up to her, “You are, like, back?”
Marya smiled, “Yeah, only for a few days. Want to grab something to eat?”
“Go on, Bianca,” her professor called out. “We can finish this later,” he steps into the charred room.
*****
“So, like you have been gone a lot,” Bianca sips her tea.
“Yeah,” Marya scans the menu, “I think I have only spent maybe four or five nights in the new apartment.”
“It’s, like, weird being by myself, now. Like, I keep expecting you to, like, wake me up on your way to morning training or something.”
Marya puts her menu down, “Have you heard from anyone else since we graduated?”
Bianca leans back, “Like, all the Guardians are out on tasks, like, all the time. Emmet is, like, really busy on some algorithm thing. Zola is, like, working on some new kind of energy thing. Natalie is, like, super swamped all the time at the infirmary.”
“Well,” Marya leans forward on folded elbows, “what are you working on?”
Bianca mirrors her, “Like, we are trying to improve the efficiency of the bubble porter. Like, we are trying to make it so it can do more with less so we can, like, travel further with larger vessels.”
“Uh, ha,” Marya stares blankly while her head motions.
Bianca grins, “It’s, like, not that big a deal. Like, I want to hear about, like, where you have been and stuff.”
“You two ready to order?” They both turn to the smiling waitress, tapping her pen on her pad.
“Ah,” Marya picks up her menu, “Yeah, I will get the pork ramen with spicy miso.”
“And you?”
Bianca slides her menu aside, “Like, the ginger salmon with stir fry veggies.”
“Great!” The waitress stabs the pad with her pen. Taking their menus, “I will have that right out for you.”
Returning her attention to Marya, “So, like, tell me all about, like, what you have been doing.”
“Well,” Marya rests her chin on a bent elbow. “Our first task was to go to some old ruins for a month.”
“Like, I bet Charlie loved that.”
Marya laughs, “You should have seen the look on Nanette’s face when he gave her his report.”
Bianca giggles, “Like, I bet. Like, what did you do while you were there?”
Marya shrugged, “Trained with Vaughn. I learned what his power was.” Bianca raised an eyebrow. “He ate the Dazzle Dazzle Fruit. He turns sound into light.”
“Like,” Bianca looks unimpressed, “how is that useful?”
“He fights with an ax, so whenever that thing makes a sound, he blinds his opponent with it.” Bianca blinks. “Let’s just say my observation Haki is much improved. After that, we went to this island, that’s a crater called Bootleg Island.”
“Like, that sounds weird.”
“It, kind of is. It is sort of like here in that it has no magnetic field so you won’t find it with a pose, but it’s so shady. It is run by an organization called the Syndicate. We went there to get a book and bring it back.”
“Like, what kind of book?”
“Charlie said it was a Library Book.”
Bianca’s brow furrows, “but, like?”
“Yeah,” Marya sips from her straw, “Charlie was confused, too until Vaughn explained it. Books and artifacts get stolen from the library, and when they turn up again, we go get them.”
“Like, what?”
“Anyway.”
“Okay, ladies,” the waitress returns, sliding their orders in front of them. “Here you go. You two need anything else?”
“No,” Marya shakes her head, “Think we are good.”
“Great,” the waitress taps the table, “let me know if you do.”
Marya picked up her chopsticks, separating them. “So, yeah, the last task we just returned from was a retrieval.” Bianca’s mouth is full as she nods. “There was a researcher with a boy who got separated from her guardian. We went and brought them home.”
“Separated from her guardian?” Bianca talks around a mouth full of food.
Marya sucks up a noodle, “Yeah, they were in the Rommel Kingdom. There was this crazy demon guy there, too. Oh, and some Navy Cipher Pole guy. They were pretty strong.”
“But, like, you were stronger, right?”
Marya shrugs, “Yeah, but no one died or anything. I don’t even think anyone got cut. Once I knocked that demon’s Haki out of him, he was human again. I think the researcher lady might have had some feelings for him, but I don’t know. She kept me from stabbing him.”
“Like, that sounds kind of intense.”
“It was, but everyone’s home now. They went to visit the guardian in the infirmary, and I think the boy she was with will be joining the academics or something. They were all talking about it, but I wasn’t paying attention.”
“So, like, what are you doing now?”
“We were told to take the week off, so I will be home for a little while. Think I will work on deciphering my mom’s journal. Charlie was helping me,” Marya bites into the egg. “He said it looks like the cypher is some ancient dead language of the Poneglyphs written by the Kouzuki clan from some place called Wano.”
“So, like, you have to learn this, like, language?” Bianca swallows.
Marya nods, “Yeah, if I want to know what that journal is all about.”
“Like,” Bianca sips her tea, “how badly do you, like, want to know?”
Marya shrugs, “I think whatever is in the journal is what got my mom killed. I don’t know that I will do anything with the information, but I would like to know what was so important that it cost her, her life.”
“Like,” Bianca stabs her fork, “I get that. Like, what about your dad?” Marya’s brow wrinkles. “Like, do you, like, think he would, like, know anything.”
Marya rolls her eyes, “I am sure he does, but it's not like he would tell me.”

Chapter Text

Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, strands escaping as Marya hunched over the table, her quill scratching furiously across the parchment. The symbol on the page consumed her focus, its intricate lines demanding her full attention. “Excuse me,” a voice broke through her concentration. She looked up, blinking at the man before her—medium-sized, with wavy shoulder-length hair and a boxed beard. He appeared stunned, his hand clutching his chest as if struck. His knees buckled, and he braced himself against the table, his arm trembling as he caught his fall. Marya’s eyes widened, her notes forgotten.
Marya begins to stand, “Can I help you?”
Throwing a hand up, “No,” he gasps, “I am quite all right, thank you.” He scurries off, disappearing down one of the library aisles.
Marya’s brow furrows, scratching her temple, “What the hell?” Shaking her head, “Whatever,” she returns to her studies.
“Hello,” a cheery voice interrupts her. Marya glares up at a busty woman with light hair pulled into a long tail. Giggling, “I am so sorry, but are you finished with that book?” Marya’s eyes look at the closed book she is pointing at.
“Ah hum!” They both turn when they hear someone clearing his throat. “Thank you, Himari,” the man from earlier stood with his back straight as if trying to make himself seem taller. “I am fine now. I was just surprised, is all.”
Marya’s eyes shift between the two of them. Sliding the book to Himari, “Here you go.” She returns to scribbling notes in her notebook.
“Young lady,” Marya’s head flops forward, and she slams her pen down. “Are you studying the poneglyphs?”
Marya sighs, “I am.”
“To what end?”
“It’s personal. Now, if you don’t mind,” she picks up her pen.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Marya continues to write, “I am Nao Itsuki Makino,” gesturing to Himari, “This is my assistant, Himari Chinatsu Nomura.” Himari hides her face behind the book as she giggles.
“Nice to meet you,” Marya says flatly, “if you don’t mind, I am very busy.”
Nao huffs, “Do you, by chance, have any connection with Elisabeta Vaccaria?”
Marya’s pen stops, glowering up at him, “She is my mother.”
Nao smiles, “I thought so.” Marya groans when they pull out chairs on either side of her and sit. Nao picks up her journal. “Are these her notes?”
Marya snatches it away from him, “Yes.” Crossing her arms, “Is there something I can do for you?”
Nao crosses his legs, resting intertwined fingers atop, “I knew her.” Marya raises an unimpressed brow. “Quite well, actually. I knew your father, too.” He scoffs, “That scoundrel!” Sighing, “Alas, he won the prize in the end. The rogue!” Marya glances at a solemn Himari when her chair creeks. “You do know,” Marya rolls her eyes, “she studied the poneglyphs as well.”
“I did figure that out. Now, if you don’t mind,” Marya attempted to write.
Nao taps the open book with his finger, “It’s what prompted her untimely end.”
Marya snatched the book towards her, “I suspected.”
Nao sighs, “I should apologize.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Marya turns a page.
“It was not my intention to concern you earlier.” Marya continues, writing, “It’s just you look so much like her.” Marya pauses for a moment, “It took me by surprise. I thought I was seeing a ghost or something. But your eyes are definitely his.” Noticing her lack of reaction, “Okay fine!” He stands. Taking the book she is studying, he examines the page, “I will help you.”
Marya bolts up, “That is not necessary! I can do…” Himari giggles, placing a hand on her shoulders.
“Of course it is,” he adjusts his glasses, “I am brilliant, and I know a cry for help when I see one.” Slamming the book closed, “We should create a schedule! Himari!”
“Yes,” she snickers, “clear my calendar!” He declares, “This will be my primary focus until further notice!”
“Wait! I!”
“Of course,” Himari squeals.
“I am a guardian!” Marya belts out. She is immediately scolded with shushing by the librarian.
Nao tisks, “Definitely his daughter. The library requires decorum.”
Marya pinches the bridge of her nose, “Sir, I appreciate the offer, however.”
“Nonsense!” He sits, “Now, let’s begin, shall we.”
*****
The bell over the door jingles, announcing Marya’s arrival at the beauty shop. “Hey girl,” Harper floats out from the back. “Dang,” he leans against the counter, “what is going on with you? You look like you have been put through the wringer.”
Marya rubs her eyes, “The person helping me is relentless, and I can’t get rid of him.”
“Oh?” Harper Chuckles. “And who might this person be?”
Marya sighs, “Mr. Makino and his assistant, Ms. Nomura.”
“Oh,” Harper balks.
“Yeah, it’s a little brutal. I am so ready for another task.”
“Well, girl, what brings you by?”
“I am out of conditioner and skin care.”
Spinning away, “I got you, girl.”
The bell rings again, and Marya becomes rigid when she sees who it is. Aurélie is nose-deep scribbling in her book as she steps up to the counter. Marya steps away, hoping to remain unnoticed. She cringes when the bag Harper carries crinkles, giving her away, “Here you go, girl.” He hands it to her, “I added some travel sizes too.”
Aurélie snaps up, narrowing her gaze. “Thanks so much, Harper,” Marya chuckles nervously.
Marya is about to turn away, “Marya!” Aurélie inserts her pen in the book's spine and slaps it close. “Explain yourself!”
“Oh!” Harper squeaks, covering his mouth, and he flicks his wrist. “Sounds like someone is about to get a spanking.”
Looking away, “What do you mean?”
“So much drama!” Harper claps.
With a cold tone, “Why have I not heard from you since your return?”
Marya rubs the back of her head, “Well, you see. It was not on purpose. I just got distracted, and then I was a little busy.”
“Too busy to visit your mentor?” Aurélie scolds.
“Oh, SLAP!” Harper snaps his fingers.
“Well,” Marya looks away, “I have some time now.”
Bags in hand, they stroll through the busy passageways and over the bridges. “How have the tasking been?”
“Um,” Marya searches for an answer, “they have been fine. The first two were uneventful, but the last one was a little exciting.”
“Do not get complacent,” Aurélie replies, “it only takes an instant for a task to get eventful.” She emphasizes the last word.
Feeling a lecture coming, Marya changes the subject. “How is the poetry writing?”
Aurélie lights up, “I am currently working on a new one. Would you care to hear?”
Marya smirks, “of course.”
Aurélie handed Marya her bag and retrieved her notebook. Clearing her throat, “My blade cuts clean; my blade cuts true; my blade will cut you. Dark steel stabs true. Your soul will be set loose.” Looking to Marya, “What do you think so far?”
“Oh,” she gives an exaggerated nod, “inspiring. Very moving.”
“Really?” Aurélie pulls out her pen, “I was thinking for the next part.”

Chapter Text

Marya turns the page of the book she checked out of the library while she etches a symbol in her notebook. Feeling tension in her shoulders, she leans back, stretching out the stiffness. Hearing a knock on her apartment door, she stands. When she opens it, Bianca flips her wrist, “Yo.”
Marya smiles, stepping aside to invite her in, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Like, what are you doing?” Bianca notices the disarray of books and papers on her kitchen table.
Marya leans against the counter, “Mr. Makino gave me homework,” she rolls her eyes.
Bianca flips through some pages, “Is it, like, helping?”
Marya shrugs, “It is, but I am not going to tell him that.”
Bianca smirks, “Like, can you take a break?”
“Yeah,” Marya crosses her arms, “What’s going on?”
“Like, Zola and Natalie are off, and we were thinking about going to Bloom Island. Like, you want to come?”
“Heck yeah!” Marya starts for the bedroom.
“Like, cool. Like, do you know what you are wearing for the Founder’s Festival?”
Marya starts rummaging through her closet, “Founder’s Festival?” Pulling out her messy bun, “When is it? I totally forgot about it.”
The bed creaks as Bianca sits, “Like, in a few weeks. But, like, with everyone’s schedules, you, like, might want to figure it out soon, or, like today, since we are going to Bloom Island.”
Bianca nods when Marya holds up a skirt, “Okay, well, since we will all be together, you can help me.”
There is another knock at the door, “Like, that should be them.”
“Oh,” Marya whips a comb through her hair. “We are all meeting here?”
“Like, yeah,” Bianca stands to let them in.
Marya peeks around her closet door, grinning, when she hears Natalie, “Woo Hoo! Girls Trip.” Throwing her arms around Bianca, “I haven’t been out of the infirmary in weeks. We are so busy!”
*****
“So, like, I was thinking,” Bianca takes her strawberry creep from the vendor. “We could, like, all wear kimonos to the festival.”
“Oh! I love that idea!” Natalie wipes the cream from her lips.
“I concur,” Zola swallows, “that sounds like a splendid idea. It will commemorate our first festival since graduation.”
“Um,” Marya licks her fingers, “I have never worn a kimono. I have no idea how to put it on or anything.”
“Like,” Bianca picks off a strawberry, “we will show you.”
“Oh!” Natalie squeals, “This is going to be so much fun!”
“Okay, like,” Bianca swallows, “We need to find a shop.”
“I believe,” Zola wipes her fingers, “I know an affordable place.”
Natalie swings her shopping bags, “This is so much fun!” Looking over her shoulder at Bianca, “Thanks for inviting me!”
“Yes,” Zola steps aside for someone to pass. “That was a spectacular suggestion. I believe we did splendidly.”
Marya’s head turns as they pass food stalls. “Where do we want to eat?”
“Like,” Bianca swings her shopping bag, “I could go for some sushi.”
Zola chimes in, “That sounds acceptable to me.”
“Oh!” Natalie claps, “I know a place!”
They rounded the corner, giddy and babbling. Marya paused as a recognizable figure hurried down the adjacent street, his hands in his pockets. “Like,” Bianca nudges her, “What’s up?”
“I think that’s,” They all follow when Marya rushes after him. Stopping at the end of the street, she calls out, “Vaughn!”
He stops. Slowly turning, his eyes go wide. Rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh, hey, little sister.”
“Hey,” she waves. Vaughn’s eyes nervously shift when they close the gap. “Where have you been? We have not seen or heard from you since we got back.”
“Oh,” Vaughn shoves his hands in his pocket, “Ah, around. I had some stuff to take care of.”
Marya’s brow creases, “Is that why we haven’t gone anywhere?”
“Hey, like,” everyone looks at the sign Bianca is pointing at, “is this where you are, like, going?”
Natalie cocks her head, “It’s a jewelry shop.”
“Oh,” Vaughn chuckles, “I hadn’t noticed.”
Marya grins devilishly, “Are you here, shopping for someone?”
“Ah,” Vaughn glances away, “What would make you think that?”
“Simple deduction,” Zola points a finger up. “Your reaction to the question provides enough validation
“OH MY GOSH!” Natalie squeals, jumping up and down. “Are you here for a ring?”
Vaughn’s shoulders drop in defeat. “Fine, you got me.” Their eyes shift to each other in anticipation.
“Like,” Bianca flicks her wrist, “Is it for, like, Harper?”
Vaughn’s head falls back, “Yes.”
“OH MY GOSH!” Natalie grips his arm. “Are you going to propose?” She squeals louder when he replies with a flat stare. “OH WOW! This is so exciting!” Tugging his arm, “Come on! We have to help you with this!”
Vaughn smiles as his fingers glide over the velvety box. “So, like,” Bianca holds the door, “we are, like, going for sushi. Want to, like, come?”
“Oh,” the door swings behind the group, “Actually, I have to get back.” Vaughn secures the box in a pocket. “I have a meeting to get to.”
Marya asks, “When are you planning on popping the question?”
Vaughn replies, “I was thinking at the Founders’ Festival.”
“That is so great!” Natalie squeaks. “We can all be there!”
“Yeah,” Vaughn sighs, “I want it to be a surprise. So, if you could keep this a secret.”
Natalie gestures, rotating an invisible key over her lips. “Your secret is safe with me!”
“I agree,” Zola nods. “We will keep this confidential. We have more reasons to look forward to this year’s Founder’s Festival.”
“Thank you, ladies.” They turn to him when he stops, pointing, “I need to go this way. Marya, I am most likely getting our next tasking, so don’t stay too long.”
*****
“Your translation is sloppy,” Nao looks down his nose at her notes. Shaking his head, “You will need to do better.” Placing the book down, he frowns. “Are you even trying?”
Marya scowls, “Of course I am. I have only been at this for a week.”
“Yes,” Nao drawls judgmentally. “You are indeed your father’s daughter. You were not blessed with your mother’s brilliance.”
Attempting to break the tension, Himari giggles. “Oh, Mr. Makino, I am sure she is doing her best.”
“Well,” he slides the notebook to her, “It simply isn’t good enough. I would think the daughter of….”
“Marya!” Their heads snap around at Charlie, standing at the end of the library table. “We have a task. I was sent to find you.”
Marya sighs in relief. Standing, she gathers her things, “Thanks to both of you. Maybe we will find each other when I get back.”
“Yes,” Nao leans back, “See that you do.” Standing, he looks her in the eye, “Do not slack off in your studies.”
Marya slowly nods, “Ah hu.” Arms full, she follows Charlie, whispering, “You are a lifesaver.”
Charlie nods, “Meet you at the sub.”

Chapter Text

Vice Admiral Venus Harlow swept into her office with a commanding presence, her white trench coat of justice billowing behind her before she tossed it carelessly onto the lounge. The sharp screech of her chair against the floor echoed as she pulled it out and settled into her desk, her movements precise and deliberate. With a flick of her wrist, she ignited her lighter, the flame catching the end of her cigar. She took a deep, hard pull, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke that curled into the air. Her perfectly manicured fingers ran through her long, freshly styled blond hair, the gesture effortless yet calculated. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her long legs, her sharp eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. Her lips curled into a scowl. “Where the hell are those two?” she muttered, her voice laced with irritation. “I am going to be late for my afternoon spa treatment!” The room seemed to tense at her impatience, the air thick with her unspoken demand for punctuality.
Tapping her finger impatiently on the polished veneer of her desk, Vice Admiral Venus Harlow took another slow pull from her cigar, the smoke curling around her like a shroud. The rhythmic tap of her nail matched the ticking of the clock, each second stretching her irritation thinner. Finally, the minute hand clicked forward, and she cursed under her breath, bolting from her seat. Just as she was about to storm out, the familiar banter of voices echoed down the hall. She paused, drawing deeply on her cigar before settling back into her chair. Intertwining her fingers, she waited, her sharp gaze fixed on the door. When the banter stops, she barks, “DON’T KNOCK! GET IN HERE!”
The door creaked open, and two young Marine Captains stepped inside, their boots clicking sharply against the floor. “Pardon our tardiness, Vice Admiral,” Kai Sullivan said, standing at attention, his amber eyes flicking briefly toward his sandy-haired counterpart, a silent exchange passing between them. The tension in the room was unmistakable as Vice Admiral Harlow leaned back in her chair, her steely gaze assessing them. She exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the cigar resting between her fingers. “You’re testing my patience,” she said, her voice low but cutting. “Explain yourselves. Now.”
Nuri Evander is about to reply when Venus interrupts, “Enough! I am not interested in your excuses.” Brow creased, she looked Nuri up and down, “What the hell is going on with your uniform?”
Nuri tugs the corners of his top, “I was in the middle of…”
Flipping her wrist, “I am not interested. Get it fixed!” Drawing on her cigar, “Report!”
“Yes, mam,” Kai references the folder under his arm. “There is nothing notable to be mentioned. Training is being conducted per the schedule. Our next shipment of supplies and troop exchange will be in three days. The replacement parts for the boiler have arrived, and repairs are underway. The projected time frame of completion is this afternoon. The only new addition to base operations is the upcoming visit of Vice Admiral Vergo.”
“Vergo!” she growls. “Did he state what he is coming for?”
Kai whips the folder close, “I believe it is a routine inspection.”
Her chair groans, “My ass it is.” She sighs, “What needs to be done for the base to be inspection-ready?”
“Not much,” Kai holds his hands behind him. Some housekeeping. Some places can use some paint or general maintenance. We need to reallocate resources to make it more aesthetically pleasing.”
“Do it,” she rolls the cigar between her fingers. “I don’t want any feedback from him about conditions or fitness. Add an evening run to the schedule.”
“Mam,” they both look at Nuri. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?”
A corner of her mouth lifts, “Since you are so concerned, you can conduct the training. Everyone runs five miles through the confidence course. If they fail an obstacle, they have to start from the beginning. It will be up to you to ensure they are capable Marines.”
“But Mam!”
“Say one more word, and it will be ten miles!”
Nuri grits his teeth, “Yes, mam!”
“Don’t let me see your uniform in that state again!” Turning her attention to Kai, “Anything else?”
“No, mam.”
She stands, dabbing out her cigar, “Good. You two are excused. I have a previous engagement.”
“Yes, mam,” they both spin on their heels, exiting the room.
*****
“What did you say the name of this island was?” Marya gazes into the glass of a clothing shop.
“Gossypium Island,” Vaughn nudges her, “Don’t get distracted.”
“I’m not,” her head swivels as they walk down the bustling cobblestone streets that wound past whitewashed cottages adorned with blooming flower boxes. “It’s just not what I expected, is all.”
“What is it you were expecting?” Charlie slides the glasses up his nose.
Marya shrugs, “I don’t know. Whenever I hear anything about the World Government or the Nobles, it always makes me think they repress their citizens, but this place looks like the citizens are thriving and peaceful.”
Charlie tilts his head, pinching his chin. “I can see how that can make an impression, but you have to remember that the World Government has been in operation for centuries. While they promote slavery and oppression, that does not necessarily mean every island will experience it in an extreme capacity. This island, in particular, has a thriving economy due to its natural resources of cotton and wool, suggesting that it has a strong agricultural and distribution network. The Desdemona Noble family has been managing this island for several generations. I suspect they have much invested….” Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he pauses.
“Let’s keep our opinions to ourselves, little brother,” Vaughn’s eyes jet to the passers-by. Leaning into his ear, “You never know who is listening.”
“That looks like Marine uniforms,” Marya watches a group enter a restaurant.
“That could be trouble,” Vaughn grumbles.
“Does that complicate things?” Charlie asks.
“Maybe,” Vaughn moves aside for someone. “Although, we should have expected it. There has to be some deterrent to keep Pirates at bay.”
“Fair point,” Charlie nods.
“After we find the Noble’s mansion, we must locate their base.” Vaughn ponders, “I wonder where it could be on this island?”
Marya’s fingers tightened around the cold iron bars of the gate, her sharp eyes scanning the sprawling estate before her. “I think it’s safe to assume this is their residence,” she muttered, her voice low and measured. Beyond the gate, the main walkway was a vibrant tapestry of flowers and greenery, meticulously maintained, as if nature itself bowed to the will of its owners. A massive fountain stood at the center, its cascading water obscuring the full view of the towering mansion that loomed in the distance. The grandeur was undeniable, but it was the absence of guards that gave her pause.
She stepped back, her gaze tracing the imposing stone wall that encircled the property. “I don’t see any guards, but…” Her voice trailed off, her instincts warning her that appearances could be deceiving. The stillness of the estate felt deliberate, almost predatory, as if the walls themselves were watching.
“Yeah,” Vaughn strokes his jaw, “The shrubbery and trees outside the perimeter are well maintained. There is no overgrowth bridging this wall.”
Hands on her hips, “I can still go in and look around.” Shifting her weight, “We can at least get our bearings and see what we are dealing with.”
Vaughn sighs, “Only look. Do not interact.” Locking his eyes with hers, “In and out!”
Giving him a thumbs up, “You got it! Be right back.” Her form vaporizes as she whisps away.
Vaughn spun sharply at the sound of rustling shrubbery, his senses on high alert. His hand shot to the hilt of Light Cleaver, the blade humming faintly as he drew it. He moved cautiously toward the source, each step deliberate, his boots crunching softly against the ground. The muffled sounds of arguing voices grew louder, tense and hurried. Vaughn’s grip tightened on his weapon, his eyes narrowing as he called out, “Show yourselves!” The command cut through the air, sharp and commanding, as he braced for whatever—or whoever—might emerge from the shadows.
“I am going!” A blond-haired young man burst from the shrubbery, his round eyes wide behind the brim of his top hat. Vaughn’s stance shifted instantly, Light Cleaver gleaming as he poised himself to strike. The man—Sabo—threw his hands up in a gesture of peace, his voice calm but urgent. “Whoa, whoa! We don’t want any trouble.” He stepped forward slowly, his posture relaxed but deliberate, one arm outstretched in greeting. “I’m Sabo. We’re with the Revolutionary Army. It’s nice to meet you.” His tone was friendly, almost disarming, but Vaughn’s grip on his weapon didn’t loosen. The air between them crackled with tension, the weight of Sabo’s affiliation hanging heavy. Revolutionary Army. Vaughn’s mind raced, weighing the implications as he studied the man before him, searching for any hint of deception.

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Chapter Text

Vaughn’s body stiffened, his sharp eyes darting toward Charlie, who stood nearby. Sensing the tension, Charlie cleared his throat and stepped forward, his demeanor shifting to one of cautious diplomacy. He extended a hand to Sabo, his grip firm but polite as he shook the revolutionary’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, sir. To what do we owe the—” His words faltered as the bushes rustled again, and a towering figure emerged.
Hack, the “Hundredth Dan” Fishman, stepped into view, his sage-green skin glistening under the sunlight. His imposing frame was matched by his dignified presence, his flowy silver hair and imperial mustache giving him an air of authority. His sharp eyes scanned the group, assessing but not overtly hostile. Beside him, Koala stumbled slightly, brushing dirt from her frilly short skirt and adjusting the ruffles on her blouse. She fixed her short ginger hair under her Newsboy cap, her movements quick and efficient, before straightening her posture and pulling her shoulders back. Her bright eyes flicked to Vaughn and Charlie, a small, friendly smile playing on her lips despite the tension in the air.
Vaughn’s grip on Light Cleaver tightened instinctively, his gaze flicking between the newcomers. Sabo, Hack, and Koala—three members of the Revolutionary Army, standing before them. The air grew heavy with unspoken questions. What were they doing here? And, more importantly, what did they want?
Sabo chuckled softly, his hands raised in a gesture of goodwill. “Like I said, no trouble. These are my companions,” Sabo gestures to them, “Hack and Koala.”
Charlie’s jaw drops as he points, “You’re a Fishman.” Vaughn makes an audible sigh.
Hack stands a little taller, “Why yes, I am.”
Charlie blinks, “I have so many questions.”
Sabo chuckles when Vaughn pinches the bridge of his nose. Placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, “Before you get any more invested.” He turns to the three of them. “What is the Revolutionary Army doing here?”
Sabo is about to reply when Hack coughs and shakes his head. Ignoring him, he continued, “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere a little more out of the way.”
“Sabo,” Hack growls.
“It will be fine. We can trust them.”
Vaughn crosses his arms, “What makes you think that?”
Sabo smirks, “Well, I have a gut feeling.” Hack groans. “Am I wrong?”
Charlie clears his throat, straightening his back. “While your observations may have allowed you to conclude that we could be potential allies, what prompted you to assume our goals would align so everyone involved would benefit?”
Koala covers her mouth, chuckling, and Hack raises an eyebrow. Sabo grins, “We overheard your conversation and came up with the same conclusions. But you were able to send someone inside undetected.”
Vaughn curses, looking over his shoulder, “I forgot. How long has she been gone?”
“Relax,” Marya materializes. “No one noticed me, but we should move from here.”
“Why is that?” Vaughn asks.
Taking a tiny video transponder snail from her pocket, “Because the perimeter is being monitored. I was able to scrub the footage of us, but they will eventually notice the missing feed.”
“We should get moving,” Hack grumbles.
Marya points her thumb, “Who are they?”
“I am Sabo,” he beams. “That is an interesting power you have.”
“They are with…”
“Later!” Vaughn interrupts, “Let’s move!” Sabo’s group rushes after as he follows them.
“What are you doing?” Koala calls out.
Ignoring her, Sabo walks in step with Vaughn. “I am sure we can help each other out if we work together. "
Charlie is about to respond when Vaughn cuts him off. “Not here, not out in the open like this.”
“He’s right,” Hack reaches for Sabo, “We are too conspicuous.”
“You should come with us,” Sabo maneuvers to be out of his reach. “We can talk without anyone listening in. We have a place.”
“Sabo,” Hack growls.
“Um,” everyone gazes in the direction Marya is pointing, “I think the Marines are coming.” Nervously holding the back of her neck, “I guess they noticed faster than I thought they would.” Vaughn curses. “I can…”
“No,” he snaps. “We don’t need to draw any more attention to ourselves.” Turning to Hack. “I will consider working with you on one condition.”
Hack’s eyes narrow, “What is it?”
“You cannot ask any questions about who we are or where we are from.” Hack strokes his finned jaw.
“You, there!” A random Marine calls out.
“Fine,” Hack agrees.
“This way!” Sabo takes the lead as they sprint into the woods.
They buckle over, panting as they file into the abandoned farmhouse. Its weathered wooden planks sagged under the weight of years, the paint long since peeled away to reveal gray, splintered wood. Vines crept up the walls, their tendrils curling around broken windows like nature reclaiming its territory. The roof, patched with moss and missing shingles, groaned in the wind. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint scent of decay, the remnants of furniture scattered like bones. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the creak of floorboards and the whisper of the forest outside.
Koala closes the door, “I think we lost them.”
Sabo sits on the worn wooden bench at the kitchen table. “So, what did you see when you were inside?”
Marya glanced at Vaughn, who sat on the hearth of the cold fireplace, his expression calm but focused. When he gave her a reassuring nod, she crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill, her gaze sharp and calculating. “There’s heavy surveillance inside,” she began, her voice low. “Everything’s monitored with video transponder snails. That’s why there are no guards posted.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she considered the next hurdle. “The vault’s going to be a problem. It’s made of sea-prism stone. I can cut through it, but it’ll…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken consequences hanging heavy in the air.
“Trigger surveillance,” Vaughn’s finishes.
“Yeah,” Marya crosses her ankles, “Even if I block their view, it will still trigger.”
“Yeah,” Vaughn grumbles, “I get it.”
“Damn,” Hack’s eyes meet Sabo’s as he sits. “We will need one hell of a distraction.”
“So,” Marya’s tone is pitchy, “Who are all of you?”
“They are with the Revolutionary Army,” Charlie straightens in the wooden chair. “The young lady is Koala, the Fishman is Hack, and he,” he points, “is Sabo.”
“And we are working together, now?” Marya lifts a single questioning brow.
Vaughn takes an audible breath, “Based on what you have just said, yes. We will need additional support.”
“Same,” Hack nods.
“So,” Marya’s eyes shift around the room, “What are you doing here?”
“Hm,” Hack hums, “If we are going to work together, we will need to know each other’s objectives.”
“Well,” Vaughn folds his fingers over crossed legs, “if you couldn’t figure it out. We are here to retrieve something from their vault.”
Hack nods, “We are looking for information. We think this Noble has connections with an arms dealer supplying weapons and chemicals to foreign nations. We want to get inside and find out who his supplier is.”
Charlie erupted from his seat, his sudden movement drawing everyone’s attention. He began pacing back and forth, his arms folded tightly across his chest, one hand tapping his chin in a rhythmic, almost frantic motion. The room fell silent, all eyes following his restless strides. Vaughn’s brow furrowed as he watched, his voice cutting through the tension. “What is it?” he asked, his tone low but urgent. Charlie didn’t answer immediately, his mind clearly racing as he muttered under his breath, piecing together some unseen puzzle. The air grew thick with anticipation, the group waiting for whatever revelation was about to come.
“This could benefit everyone,” Charlie begins to prattle. Sabo is about to ask a question until Marya shakes her head and waves at him to stay silent. “This island’s distribution and logistics network would make it an ideal location. The shipping port is undoubtedly robust enough. The question is: how are they getting it in and out with the Navy being a predominant presence on the island? Unless!” he stops dramatically, “The Navy is involved.”
“Tha Navy,” Koala looks to Sabo. “We had not considered they would be a part of this.”
“It does make sense,” Sabo ponders. “But we still don’t know how they move the weapons around.”
“Hm,” Charlie cocks his head. “We did not see any Navy ships at the commercial port, but they are here.”
“Another port,” Hack interjects. “I wonder if they are being moved through the navy port?”
“This is all speculation,” Charlie returns to his seat. “I have no proof. I am merely stating what should be obvious.” Marya smirks, shaking her head.
“Yes,” Hack agrees. “That is why we are here. We are looking for proof to find the weapons' source.”
“Damn,” Vaughn leans forward, bracing folded elbows against his thighs. “This is getting more complicated. We are going to have to plan this out.” Looking at Hack, “Do you know where the Navy Base is?”
“It cannot be that hard to find,” Sabo interjects. “There are Marines everywhere. We just have to follow one of them.”
“True enough,” Vaughn agrees.
“The biggest challenge,” Sabo crosses a leg over, “Is going to be getting into the mansion.”
“Someone had mentioned a distraction,” Vaughn taps his lips. “We have to figure out the timing and what that distraction will be. What would be enough to get them to leave the mansion?”

Chapter Text

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! The heavy footsteps echoed through the room, followed by the sharp creek and SLAM of the door being thrown open. Everyone turned as Eamon Desdemona marched in, his presence commanding and his attire impeccably fashionable. His tailored coat billowed slightly as he moved, his polished boots clicking against the floor with authority.
“Afternoon, Father,” Hinako greeted, her voice tinged with nervousness. She sat twisted in a plush chair, her saffron hair styled in a loose French roll, her dirndl dress adding a touch of elegance to her uneasy demeanor. Eamon grimaced, his aged face tightening as he shot her a sharp look, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly. Without a word, he made his way behind the grand desk, his movements deliberate and filled with unspoken angst. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of his arrival.
Priscilla exudes elegance as she sits with her back straight and her white hair secured up. “Now, dear,” she says as she sips her tea from the lavish lounge. “Don’t overstress yourself. You know what the doctors say.”
With his well-trimmed indigo hair and fine clothing, he glared at Karim. His intense gaze revealed a mixture of disdain and authority, highlighting the contrast between his polished appearance and the underlying dread. Karim felt the weight of his stare, sensing the unspoken judgment behind those piercing eyes. Gripping a hand on the backrest of his chair. “Where is he?”
Karim places a reassuring palm on Hinako’s slender shoulder when she squirms. “We are currently searching for him. I am sure he will be found soon.”
Snarling, Eamon pulls his chair out. “He is the heir of the Desdemona name. His blatant disregard for his responsibilities and duties shows me that he does not know what that means or how important it is.” Pointing his finger at Karim and Hinako, “You two had better think about birthing another heir.”
Priscilla chuckles, placing her tea on the table. “Now, dear,” she stands, floating towards him in her A-line dress, “While I would most certainly enjoy another grandchild, we should not put such pressure on them.” Draping an arm over his shoulder, her fingers knead the graying puff of his receding hairline, “Avian is a little boy. He is doing what boys do.”
Shifting his eyes to her, he growls, “You spoil him too much.”
Grinning, “Of course I do. I am his grandmother. Give him a chance to grow.”
Everyone jumps when Eamon slams his fist on the desk. “It is too….” BOOM! They stumble, attempting to brace themselves as the room quakes. Dust cascades from the ceiling, the walls groaning under unseen pressure. Every step is a battle against the shifting ground, their hands outstretched, groping blindly for stability. The air is thick, mingling with the acrid scent of fear. Heartbeats pound in a chaotic symphony, echoing the turmoil of their surroundings. The cacophony of breaking glass and splintering wood fills their ears, a relentless reminder of the room's unforgiving wrath. “What the?” Eamon launches out of his seat. The door creeps open as men in suits rush past.
“Sir!” A suited man bursts into the room. “Forgive the intrusion, but I must escort you to the safe room?”
“What is the meaning of this?” Eamon barks.
“There was an explosion. A portion of the wall has been destroyed. Now, please, we must go!”
Karim takes Hinako’s hand, assists her from the chair, and gestures for everyone to follow. Eamon curses as he reluctantly takes Priscilla’s arm. Rushing through the chaotic halls, they slam to a halt. A masked figure in a top hat blocks their path with several suited guards at his feet. Eamon jumps to the front, “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?”
“Ah,” Sabo cocks his head, “you must be the nobles. You wouldn’t be interested in telling me where your office is, would you?”
Eamon clenches his fist, “Of course not, you ruffian!”
Sabo shrugs, “Oh well. I thought I would ask.” Swinging his pipe, he charges at the guard.
Eamon clutches his chest with a pained expression, his fist tightening around his shirt. The world around him blurs as he falls to his knees, the weight of an unknown affliction pulling him down. With a final, desperate gasp, he collapses, leaving everyone around him in shocked silence. “Father!” Hinako rushes to him, taking his hand. The guard sores past them, crashing into the wall. Hinako glares up at Sabo through tearful eyes, “How could you? He has done nothing to deserve this!” Sabo twirls his pipe in response.
Priscilla stands, motioning down the hall. “What you seek is this way.” Sabo holds her confident gaze for a long moment, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding. The air between them is electric, charged with unvoiced words and shared secrets. A slight nod from Sabo conveys volumes, a silent agreement passing between them. With a sudden burst of energy, he breaks the gaze and dashes past, his movements fluid and determined. The world seems to fade around them, leaving only the echo of their silent conversation. The others remain oblivious, unaware of the hidden dialogue that just transpired.
“Sabo,” he pulls the transponder snail from his pocket when he hears Vaughn’s voice. “Status report.”
“On track. I should be there in a minute.”
“Copy. The surveillance room is secured for now. We have about ten to fifteen minutes before they send reinforcements.”
“Understood,” he says, swinging open the office door with a firm hand. “How are things on the other end?” His question hangs in the air, tension rising. Suddenly, the building shudders violently, as a fierce gust slices through, shattering the windows into a thousand glittering shards. Papers and debris spiral in the chaotic wind. Taking a step back, he narrows his eyes and smirks, a look of grim understanding crossing his face. “Never mind, I think I know,” he mutters, the smirk turning into a wry smile.
“Affirmative, good luck!”
“Same,” he rushes to the desk and begins rummaging.
The vault door crashes to the floor as men in suits file in from both sides. She whips Eternal Night through the air in a single fluid motion, sending them into a heap. Leaping inside, she scans the space filled with heirlooms, trunks, and manuscripts. Determined and swift, her eyes dart across the room, assessing the treasures and the imminent threat. “Status report,” Vaughn’s voice echoes from her pocket.
Speaking into the transponder snail, “Bad news, boss. I don’t think it is here.”
“Are you sure? Could there be another compartment?”
“I’ll check,” the room fills with dense mist. Shaking her head, “That’s it. This is the only room in the vault.” After a long moment of silence, “Boss?” She waits for a response. Footsteps begin to echo from the hall. “Boss?”
“Change of plans,” a groaned voice parrots over the transponder snail.
“I am on my way!”
“Negative,” Vaughn pants. There is another groan of pain in the background. “Get our partner and meet at the rendezvous.”
Marya grits her teeth, “Yeah, but!”
“That’s an order!” Vaughn snaps.
“Copy,” Marya growls. Men in suits pile in, blocking her path. “I don’t have time for this!” Releasing her frustration, she swings Eternal Night, slamming them against the wall. Vaporizing, she reappears in front of Sabo. Her head swivels, inspecting the disarray of scattered books and papers on the floor. “Find what you are looking for?”
Sabo lifts his head. Slamming the drawer, he stands. “No, there is nothing here. You?”
Marya’s head shakes, “No. I was told to withdraw and regroup at the rendezvous.”
“What about?” Men start to appear at the door.
“No time!” Marya grips his arm, and they dissolve.
*****
“This way,” Koala tugs Charlie’s arm. They hurry from the road, hiding in the surrounding greenery.
Tucked in behind a tree, Charlie asks, “Do you think he saw?”
Koala gestures, “No, but I don’t think we need to follow him anymore.” Charlie nods. “Let’s go,” He trails her as they traverse the wooded cliffs. Spying from an overlook, they kneel, watching Marines enter and exit the central tower flanked by two imposing gun towers, each bristling with three cannons aimed menacingly over the gates. Perched on a desolate shore, the fortress casts a shadow over rows of grim prisoner cells, their iron bars rusted by salt and time.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Charlie whispers.
“Yeah,” Koala whispers, “It reminds me of the Narine Base near Ohara.”
Charlie cringes at the thought. “So, we found it.” Peaking his head up, “How long do we stay?”
“We should go,” Koala starts to stand when an alarm blares. They freeze, panicked eyes locking in on each other. Marines descend from concealed locations, rushing past them as five small figures scatter in different directions.
“Put me down!” A tiny voice squeals, kicking and swinging.
“Young Lord Avian,” a marine holds an azure-haired boy by his suspenders. “How many times must you be told not to play here.”
Dangling, he crosses his arms, “You can’t tell me what to do!”
The Marine rolls his eyes, “Come on, kid. Let’s call your parents. I am sure they are looking for you.”
“I don’t care if you call them!” Planting his feet, “I don’t care if I get in trouble. What are they going to do?"
"Hey!" another Marine calls out. “You two! What are you doing there?”
Koala and Charlie rise slowly, their movements cautious. Panic flashes in Koala’s eyes as she suddenly leaps toward Charlie, clutching his arm and pressing close. “Oh honey, look,” she giggles, her voice dripping with forced cheer. “It’s a big, strong Marine. Maybe he can give us directions.” She glances up at Charlie, noting his crimson cheeks and rigid shoulders, his silence betraying his unease. The Marine looms, his expression unreadable, as Koala’s playful act hangs in the air, a fragile mask over their fear.
Koala nudges Charlie, breaking his stiff, awkward posture. “Oh, yes,” he stammers, his voice shaky as he struggles to push his glasses up his nose. “Good idea. We should ask for directions.” His words tumble out, laced with nervous energy, his movements clumsy under the weight of the moment. Koala’s playful facade contrasts sharply with Charlie’s unease, their dynamic a blend of tension and forced composure. The Marine watches, his gaze piercing, as the pair teeters on the edge of discovery, every second stretching into an eternity of suspense.
“You are so silly,” Koala playfully bats at him. In a sing-song tone, “I told you we should have asked for directions earlier. Look how lost we are.” Gazing at the marine, she pushes out her lower lip, “You are a big, strong Marine. Do you think you could help us out?”
A flush spreads across the Marine’s cheeks as he hesitates, then slowly lowers his rifle. He pats the back of his neck, a nervous gesture betraying his unease. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. The tension in the air shifts, the threat momentarily diffused. Koala and Charlie exchange a glance, sensing an opening.
Two other marines appear from the shrubbery. “We found Young Lord Avian,” one of them says. “Who are they?”
“They say they are lost and…”
“Right,” the other says. “Well, you know the procedure. I will notify Captain Kai. I am sure he will want to meet with them.”
“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Crossing the threshold into the minimalist-designed waiting room, the Marine holds the door for them. The space is bathed in soft, natural light filtering through sheer blinds, illuminating pale walls and sleek, unadorned furniture. The floor, polished to a mirror-like finish, reflects the simplicity of the design, “You two wait here. The captain will be in to meet with you shortly.”
“Thanks so much,” Koala flashes a fake smile.
“Come on, kid,” a voice resonates from the hall.
“You are so stupid!” Avian’s protests fade when the door closes.
Koala flops onto a seat, “well, that just happened.”
The corner of Charlie's mouth lifts. Sliding his glasses up, he inspects the sterile room. “This room could be challenging to escape from.”
Koala shrugs, “We may not need to escape. They might let us go if we play our cards right.”
Charlie presses his lips together, nodding, “True, but…”
The door creeks as a pristinely dressed, dark-haired Captain enters. “Good afternoon,” Kai swings the door. Koala scrambles to her feet as he closes the gap between them. Shoulders back with his hands clasped behind him, “I am Captain Kai Sullivan.”
“Oh,” Koala squeals, hands held to her cheek. “A real Navy Captain! How exciting.”
Looking down his nose through narrowed eyes, his gaze sharpened like a blade, cutting through pretense. Suspicion etched every line of his face, his lips a tight, unyielding line. “It has been brought to my attention that you were loitering on the base perimeter.”
Charlie steps up next to Koala, shoulders squared, “Quite right. Our apologies. We became disoriented while exploring and lost our way.”
Kai tilts his head judgmentally, “And you two are a couple.”
Koala takes Charlie’s hand, “Of course we are. We….”
A red hue emanates from the ceiling, casting an urgent glow over the room. Sharp and relentless sirens blare across the intercom, slicing through the air. Kai curses, picking up the receiver from the transponder snail. “Report!”
“The noble’s mansion is under attack! They are requesting support,” A voice replies.
Kai cuts his eyes to Charlie and Koala, his gaze sharp and probing. Koala smiles back, her expression warm but laced with something unreadable. Suspicion coils in his chest, tight and unrelenting. Her smile feels too practiced, too deliberate as if hiding secrets behind her teeth. He doesn’t trust it—doesn’t trust them. “Oh my,” she fanes her concern. “So scary." She tucks herself against Charlie’s side, sending a shock up his spine.
“Now, now,” Charlie stammers, his posture stiffening as he fumbles for the right words. His voice wavers, betraying his unease, though he forces a reassuring tone. “I-I’m sure the Navy has it all under control.” His hands twitch at his sides, unsure whether to reach out or retreat.
Kai’s forehead wrinkles. Speaking into the transponder, “Has Captain Evander been notified?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Copy that. Inform him I will meet him on the balcony!” He slams the receiver. Turning to them, “I have another matter to attend to. I will follow up with you when I return.” Starting for the door, “You will stay here for now.” The door clicks, ominously.
Koala rushes, gripping the handle she pulls, “It’s locked.”
Charlie sighs, “I don’t know that this could have been avoided.”
Squeak, squeak, squeak. They share a perplexed glance, scanning the room for the origin of the noise. Suddenly, the cover of the air vent by the floor crashes open. Startled, they take a step back as Avian tumbles out. Recognizing him, Koala crouches and exclaims, “You’re the boy from earlier.”
Avian lifts his head, grinning, “Hi, I am Avian.”
Giggling, Koala offers her hand to him. “What are you doing?”
Holding her hand, stars fill his eyes. “I ah,” he stammers.
Charlie clears his throat, “Young man.” Avian blinks and scowls. “Do you know a way of escape from here?”
“Oh, yeah,” Avian hops to his feet. “I can show you the way out.”
Charlie sizes up the vent, “We should be able to maneuver through their ventilation system.” When he glances at Koala, she nods. “Please, show us the way.”
“Okay, just follow me!”
Kai busts through the balcony door, his rifle clutched tightly. The wind whips around him as he steps onto the railing, his eyes scanning the horizon. Suddenly, a shriek echoes through the air as a giant Arambourgiania swoops down, its massive wings casting shadows on the ground below. Without hesitation, Kai leaps onto its back. Together, they soar towards the mansion, the rush of the wind an exhilarating symphony in Kai's ears. Standing tall on the Arambourgiania's back, Kai speaks into a tiny transponder snail nestled in his palm. “Has the Vice Admiral been informed?” he asks, his voice steady despite the chaotic flight.
“Ah, sir,” the voice quivers.
“Get it done!”
“Yes, sir!” The snail clicks off. The Arambourgiania screeches its long, toothless beak. “Yes, I know, but it will be worse if we don’t tell her.” The Arambourgiania’s large eyes squint as it screeches again. “Let’s handle it so we don’t have to deal with her.”
*****
Sabo and Marya grunt as they hit the ground, rolling in the dust. Panting, Marya pushes herself up, her muscles aching from the impact. Strands of her hair cling to her damp forehead as she meets Sabo's eyes. Her voice is breathless, laced with a tinge of embarrassment. "Sorry about the rough landing," she says. "I am not all that good at misting with others." Sabo gives a small nod, his own breath still coming in heavy gasps, understanding the challenge they had just faced together. The air between them settles, marking a moment of camaraderie.
Sabo stands, brushing off the leaves. “It’s all right,” reaching a hand to her. When she takes it, “It is impressive how you can do that.”
“Thanks,” she rubs the dirt from her shorts. “I am still working on it. I can only go short distances, and my limit is two people.”
“Hey, you!”
They spin. Sabo grabs her arm, “Time to go!”
With the Marines on their heels, they race through the woods, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as the dense foliage claws at their clothes. The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows that dance eerily on the forest floor. Every snap of a twig sends adrenaline coursing through their veins, pushing them to run faster, to flee further. “Hey, Sabo,” he glances back, “If we keep going this way, we will lead them…”
“Right!” He skids, dropping to a knee. Pulling his arm back, he flexes his hand. When it turns dark, “Dragon Claw!” Striking the ground, splitting earth spiderwebs away. Trees tumble as the terrain breaks and lifts. Marines cry out, falling as they lose their balance in the chaos. Standing, “Let’s go!” Marya nods, and they continue.
Marya looks up when a shadow passes over the gaps in the tree canopy. The sound of resonating gunshots deafens the forest's native chatter. Her eyes widen, and she glances at Sabo, who is focused on the path ahead. Approaching the clearing, she tackles Sabo, sending them both sprawling to the ground. He is about to protest, but she covers his mouth to ensure he stays silent. Placing a finger over her lips, she points towards the source of the shadow.
Above them, a Arambourgiania glides with a Captain atop, scanning the forest floor, blending with the distant shouts of the Marines. Marya's heart pounds in her chest as she tries to control her breathing. They remain motionless, barely daring to blink. The Arambourgiania sweeps over them, then veers off to the left, continuing its search.
Slowly, Marya removes her hand from Sabo's mouth, and they both exhale in relief. She helps him up, and they exchange a silent look of understanding. The stakes have just been raised. They must be more careful and more stealthy if they hope to evade capture.
Lying on the ground, they watch the scene unfold with a blend of fear and awe. The Marines move with precision, their actions coordinated and swift. Hack and Vaughn, once formidable, are now overpowered, their resistance futile against the disciplined force of the Marines. The struggle is intense but brief, and the outcome is inevitable. They watch as Hack and Vaughn are subdued.
The Arambourgiania dives, and its passenger hops to the ground with his rifle. “Report!”
A Marine salutes Kai, standing at attention. “Captain, two of the intruders have been subdued. We believe there are still two at large. We are currently searching for them, sir.”
Kai nods, “Stay on guard. It is safe to—” He spins, aims his rifle, and pulls the trigger. The suddenness of his movements is a testament to his training. Marya and Sabo instinctively roll away, taking cover behind two trunks as bullets zing past them.
“Damn,” Sabo mutters, locking eyes with Marya. The air is thick, and the sound of gunfire reverberates through the forest. For an instant, time seems to stretch, every second laden with anticipation and fear. The world narrows to the immediate threat, and the dance of survival is a brutal reminder of their reality.
Gritting her teeth, her golden eyes cloud over. The leaves rustle as thick fog arises. An ominous shriek booms, twirling the dense fog under the hovering wings of the Arambourgiania. When a barrage of bullets rains down on them, Marya grabs Sabo’s wrist, and they disappear.
*****
Knock, knock. “Mam,” the Marine’s voice quivers.
“What is it? It better be important for you to interrupt my massage!” Vice Admiral Venice Harlow hums her contentment.
“That is a severe knot you have,” the masseuse kneads into her shoulders.
The Marine speaks into the door, “Yes, mam, it’s just that.”
“It’s just what?” she barks, “Spit it out, already!”
“Um, well,”
Venise sits up from the table. Wrapping the towel around her, she waves the masseuse away. “Just come in, already!” The door creaks open as the trembling Marine stands at attention. “Out with it!”
“Yes, mam,” he stammers. “Well, you see. The Noble’s mansion is under attack, and the captains…”
Her eyes bulge, “WHAT!”
Vice Admiral Venice Harlow sprang to her feet, the tension from the massage now replaced with a surge of urgency. She grabbed her uniform jacket, hastily throwing it over her shoulders and secured it with quick, practiced movements.
“Tell me everything,” she commanded, her voice now a razor-sharp blade of authority.
Venice’s mind raced. The Noble’s mansion was not just any residence; it was a strategic stronghold that held critical information and personnel. She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of her decisions pressing down on her.
Venice took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. The comfort and luxury of the massage were a distant memory now. She was the Vice Admiral, and her duty called. She strode out of the room, her mind focused on the impending battle and the lives that depended on her leadership. The storm was coming, and she would be the one to face it head-on.

Chapter Text

“Captain!” Akako Zinnia stretched her arms wide, two cherry-hued hairtails fluttering behind her.
Umeko Ozias looks over his broad shoulder from the ship's deck as a petite girl in thigh-high stockings and a babydoll dress sails toward him. He grunts, stepping back when she envelopes him in her tiny arms. Peering down at her with his violet eyes, his voice low and wary, he asked, “What have you done now, Akako?” Her mischievous grin hinted at trouble only she could bring.
Pushing her lower lip out. “What do you mean?” She tilts her head back, gazing at him with big ruby eyes, “I am entirely innocent.” Skipping backward, she places her hands on her hips. Pointing her thumb to her chest, “As your first mate, I am responsible for setting the example…”
A door crashes open, and Akako scurries behind Umeko’s tall, muscular frame. Hiding in the folds of his inky trench coat as Amaru Valentine, a lanky snake-necked man with flowing chestnut hair and an open-colored flower shirt, stomps out. Bellowing her name, “Akako!”
Umeko crosses his arms, “What has she done this time?”
“Where is she, Captain?” He towers over Umeko as his eyes jet about, searching for her. Noticing the bulge in the folds of Umeko’s coat, he cranes his extra-long neck. “I know you are there! The captain isn’t going to save you this time!”
Umeko’s coattails flap when Akako bursts forth, holding her gigantic square hammer over her head and calling out, “Super Nova, ugh!” She gasps.
Jerked in mid-air by her collar, she dangles from Umeko’s hold. “Enough of that. I don’t know what you did, but why don’t you apologize?”
Akako chuckles in a cute sing-song tone, “Okay, captain.”
Amaru is about to protest when a voice calls from the top of the mast, “Land Ho!”
“Captain,” Ozul Crow says, resting his umber hand on the katana's hilt at his waist. His long, thick, ornamented braided locks blow in the breeze like a cape as he looks to the heavens. Stroking the onyx crystal dangling from his neck, he says, “The stars favor us today. The solitary hunter guides our footsteps.”
Umeko's shaggy, plum-colored hair rustles between dark, curved horns as he turns toward the island. Akako squeaks against the deck when he releases her from his grip. Sighing, he leans on the railing, “Prepare to dock.”
*****
Koala pinched the brim of her hat, holding it firmly against a sudden gust of wind that threatened to whisk it away. “We’re almost there,” Avian called from the lead, his voice echoing through the narrow, clanking metal tunnel. The scent of salt grew stronger with each step, a telltale sign of the ocean’s proximity. Avian peeked his head over the edge of the ventilation shaft, his eyes lighting up as he waved for Koala to crawl closer. “We’re here,” he announced, a grin spreading across his face.
Koala shuffled forward, her heart pounding as she took in the view. Her eyes bulged at the sight before her. “How exactly is this an escape?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. Below them stretched a vast expanse of water, the waves crashing against the rocks far, far below.
Avian giggled, pointing downward. “We jump.”
Koala’s stomach dropped as she measured the daunting distance. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Avian tilted his head, his expression suddenly uncertain. “You can swim, right?”
Koala sighed, her head dropping in resignation. “That’s not the concern,” she muttered, her voice heavy with unease.
“Is there a complication?” Charlie called from behind, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of worry.
Koala nervously chuckled, scooting back to make room for him. “You may want to see for yourself,” she said, gesturing toward the edge of the ventilation shaft.
Charlie crawled forward, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated the situation. Below them, the ocean stretched endlessly, the waves crashing against jagged rocks far below. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then turned to Avian, who stood poised and ready to dive. “I assume this is a common occurrence for you,” Charlie remarked, his voice dry but tinged with amusement.
Avian’s bright white teeth gleamed as he flashed a proud grin, followed by a confident nod. “Okay, then,” Charlie said, adjusting his glasses and securing them firmly in place. He glanced back at Koala, who was squinting at the daunting drop. “Ms. Koala, are you ready?”
She hesitated for a moment, then called back, “Yes,” her voice firm despite the nervous tremor beneath it.
“Lead the way!” Charlie declared, his tone encouraging.
With that, Avian propelled himself from the wall, his body arcing gracefully through the air like a bird in flight. Arms spread wide, he bellowed, “Woo-hoo!” his voice echoing against the towering structure. His collared shirt and tailored pants rippled in the whipping wind as he plummeted down the side of the building, the white-capped waves rushing up to meet him. He vanished in a spectacular splash, defying the depths of danger as he resurfaced moments later, shaking water from his hair. Gazing upward with a grin, he called out, “Come on!”
Charlie and Koala exchanged a knowing glance, the unspoken understanding passing between them. Koala’s hesitation melted into a smile, and with a deep breath, she leapt, her form cutting through the air with surprising grace. Charlie followed without hesitation, his glasses catching the sunlight as he plunged toward the ocean. The wind roared in their ears, the thrill of the fall mingling with the salt-kissed air. One by one, they hit the water, the cool embrace of the waves swallowing them whole before they emerged.
“This way,” Avian’s arms start paddling. Charlie slicks the wet hair from his eyes. Wading to Koala, she gestures to him that she is all right before swimming after Avian.
When Charlie noticed their increasing distance from the shoreline, he frowned, his strokes slowing. “Where are we going?” he called to Avian, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Avian broke his stroke, raising a hand to point toward a jagged rocky shoreline in the distance. “We’re almost there,” he called, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves.
“Why are we?” Charlie muttered under his breath, but Avian ignored him, resuming his steady paddling without explanation. Charlie gritted his teeth in annoyance, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Koala stroked up next to him, her expression thoughtful as she glanced between Charlie and Avian.
“Why do you think he wants us to go there?” she asked, her tone calm but curious.
Charlie sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m unsure,” he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. Without another word, he returned to his long, deliberate strokes, the rhythmic motion carrying him forward despite the unanswered questions lingering in his mind.
“You two are slow,” Avian teased, sitting up from where he’d been reclining against a boulder, his tone light but mocking. Charlie shot him a glare as he carefully assisted Koala up the jagged rocks, her movements cautious but determined. Without warning, Avian jumped to his feet, his energy boundless. “This way!” he called, already guiding them up a narrow ridge.
Charlie ducked instinctively as they stepped into a concealed passageway, the dim light casting long shadows on the rough stone walls. Reaching the end, Avian scurried to hide behind a rocky outcrop, his movements quick and deliberate. Charlie’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but his expression shifted to one of alarm as understanding dawned.
“Hurry!” Avian whispered urgently, vigorously waving them over. “Or they’ll see.”
Charlie’s eyes widened, and he quickly pulled Koala into the shadows, his heart pounding. The sound of distant voices echoed through the passageway, sending a chill down his spine. Charlie takes Koala’s hand, pulling her to crouch behind the railing.
“Avian,” Charlie whisper-snapped, his voice low but sharp. “What is this place?”
“Isn’t it cool?” Avian beamed, his eyes sparkling with excitement as if they’d stumbled upon a treasure trove rather than a hidden, potentially dangerous location.
Charlie placed a frustrated palm on his forehead, sighing deeply. “It looks like a cavern,” Koala murmured, peeking over the railing of the narrow ledge they stood on. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of something below. “That’s a pirate ship.”
“Are you sure?” Charlie asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he leaned over to look as well.
Koala nodded, pointing downward. “Yeah, see the flag? I think it’s the Beast Pirates.”
“Do you know them?” Avian scooted up next to them, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “They always come here.”
Charlie and Koala exchanged a wary glance, their unease growing. “There must be some kind of cove outside the entrance,” Koala said, her voice thoughtful as she pursed her lips. She pointed toward a dimly lit area below. “Look, I think those are stairs, and that light might be an office.”
Charlie wiped his glasses on his shirt, squinting as he tried to make out the details. “They appear to be loading the ship with those crates,” he observed, his voice low.
Koala’s gaze shifted to the motion in the windows of the makeshift office. “I think there’s a meeting happening,” she whispered, her tone tense.
“I think this may be what you…” Charlie began, but his words were cut short when someone behind them cleared their throat.
Slowly, they turned. Five large men stood with their arms crossed, their imposing figures casting long shadows in the dim light. They glared down at the trio, their expressions a mix of amusement and menace.
Charlie groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat. But before he could say anything, Avian let out a battle cry and charged at the men. The pirates laughed as one of them effortlessly kicked Avian aside, sending him flip-flopping into a heap on the ground.
“You’re coming with us,” one of the men growled, his voice leaving no room for argument. Charlie exchanged a resigned look with Koala, their options dwindling by the second.
*****
Shockwaves of agony crept through Vaughn’s shoulder as crimson streams cascaded down his arm, pooling on the cold stone floor. Captain Kai squatted to meet him at eye level, adjusting his glasses with a calm precision that felt almost mocking. “The sooner you cooperate with us,” Kai said, his voice smooth but edged with authority, “the sooner your wounds get treated.” Vaughn’s vision blurred, his only response a pained groan.
Kai turned his attention to Hack, the Fishman slumped against the cell wall, clutching his side with bloodstained hands. “What about you, Fishman? Have anything to say?”
Before Hack could respond, a Marine approached the cell, rustling a handful of papers. “Captain,” he said, peering through the bars, “we have their names.”
Nuri, standing shirtless with his muscular frame on full display, took the documents from the Marine. His eyes scanned the pages before he announced, “They both have bounties. The Fishman is Hack, affiliated with the Revolutionary Army. The other is unnamed but listed as a petty thief.”
The sound of a crashing door echoed through the chamber, snapping everyone to attention. Heavy, ominous footsteps followed, each one reverberating like a drumbeat of impending doom. “Vice Admiral!” the Marine stammered, scrambling to step aside.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow stormed into the room like a tempest, her manicured hands clenched into fists, her perfectly highlighted blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Her nostrils flared as she zeroed in on Nuri, her voice a missile of fury. “Report!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Nuri stood at attention, holding the documents out for her review. “We currently have two of the perpetrators in custody.”
“There are others?” she snapped, her sharp eyes scanning the paperwork.
“Yes, ma’am,” Nuri replied, standing tall despite the tension in the air. “The search parties have been dispersed. They should be apprehended soon.”
Her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “And what makes you so confident?” she demanded, her voice dripping with skepticism. Before Nuri could respond, she punched his chest with a fistful of paperwork, the impact forcing a grunt from him. “This is a failure of epic proportions. Where were the two of you when all of this was happening? This was a well-planned assault, and we have not responded! And where the hell is your uniform?”
Her glare shifted to Kai as the cell door creaked open. “What is the status of the prisoners?”
Kai folded his hands behind his back, his demeanor unflappable. “They are suffering from nonfatal injuries. We were in the process of questioning them.”
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the red puddles pooling on the floor. “How are they going to answer your questions if they’re unconscious from blood loss?”
Kai cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “Ma’am?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Vice Admiral Harlow let out a low growl. “I have to do everything myself around here.” She pointed sharply at the Marine. “Tend to their wounds!” When no one moved immediately, she snapped, “NOW!”
The Marine scurried away, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Vice Admiral Harlo turned back to Nuri and Kai, her voice icy. “Once they’ve been treated, I will question them myself. You two, make sure the others are located and brought to me! No excuses.” Her eyes flicked to Nuri’s bare chest, and she added with a scowl, “And put a shirt on!”
The room seemed to hold its breath as her orders hung in the air, the weight of her authority pressing down on everyone present. Vaughn’s groans and Hack’s labored breathing were the only sounds that dared to break the silence, a grim reminder of the stakes at hand.

Chapter Text

Marya and Sabo stumble out of the fog at the forest's edge. Buckled over, Marya pants, catching her breath. Concerned, Sabo asks, “You, okay?”
Pushing herself up, “Yeah, this is the most I have ever used my power.” She takes a labored breath, “It requires a lot of stamina.”
Sabo’s brow furrows. Surveying his surroundings, “Where are we?”
“I dropped us near where we are docked,” Sabo rushes after Marya after she starts for the rocky shoreline. When he replies with a confused expression, “We need a plan. Two of our team are being held by the Navy, and we haven’t heard from the other two.” Marya becomes sheepish when her stomach emits a loud growl. “And I need to eat something.”
Sabo smirks, folding his hands behind his head, “I can eat too.”
Walking a well-worn trail, they zigzag through narrow, uneven terrain riddled with cracks and crevices threatening to trip the unwary. Each step requires careful consideration and balance as the ground beneath their feet shifts and wobbles. The sound of the waves provides a constant, rhythmic backdrop, a ceaseless reminder of the ocean's untamed power. Finally, reaching the bottom, Marya calls out, “Watch your step,” as she jumps onto the sub's hull.
“Oh,” Sabo pauses, staring, “It’s a submarine.”
“Yeah,” Marya opens the hatch, “Come on.”
Sabo doesn’t know where to look first as he passes through the control room, a magical blend of glowing crystals and enchanted instruments. Holographic maps display shifting ocean currents while ethereal light orbs hover above intricate controls. “I have never seen anything like this.”
Marya stops, awkwardly rotating to him. “Yeah,” her eyes shift away as her smile twitches. I probably shouldn’t let you be in here, but as long as you can keep it a secret, it won't be a problem.” Before Sabo can reply, she points towards the refrigerator. "Are you hungry?”
Sabo watches Marya open the refrigerator door. Sitting on the stool at the counter, “I have so many questions.” Marya becomes rigid, “But I know you can't answer any of them.”
Placing an armful of condiments and ingredients down, “You want a sandwich?” Sabo nods, and she reaches for the bread. “The drinks are in that cooler,” she gestures to the corner.
Sabo swings the lid, “Whoa,” glancing at Marya, cutting bread, “There are so many options. What do you want?”
“Green Tea,” she slices a tomato. When Sabo returns to his seat, “Do you think they found the Navy Base?”
Sabo twists the top of his drink, “Knowing Koala, I am sure they did.”
Marya spreads the condiments, “I wonder if they were captured too.”
Sabo taps his fingers against the bottle, “If they were, then they would be in the base.”
Piling the layers of garnish and filling, she says, “That would be four people we would have to get out.” She slides a plate to Sabo. “I am maxed out at two.” She bites into her sandwich.
Sabo chews, “We may have to go in together.”
Marya swallows, “What if one of us stays outside as a distraction? The other can get them out.”
“That could work,” Sabo licks his fingers, “but we need to find the base first.”
Marya takes a drink, “Damn, good point. We need to do recon and find out where they are.”
“We will have to go into town and follow one of them,” Sabo drinks.
Mouth full, Marya nods, “They are probably on lockdown. We should let things cool off for a bit. Stay here for the night, and we can go into town tomorrow morning.”
Marya reclined on a tree branch overlooking the first light of dawn as it pierced the horizon, casting a gentle glow over the Navy base. The sky transitioned from a deep indigo to a palette of soft pastels—lavender, blush pink, and the faintest hints of gold. The air was crisp, carrying the slight scent of salt. Seagulls began their morning chorus, their calls echoing as the gentle hum of activity slowly stirred. Sailors' silhouettes moved with purpose and routine. Sabo rested on an adjacent sturdy branch. His eyes scanned the horizon, contemplating profound thoughts as the gentle breeze rustled the leaves around him.
“I can take a look around,” Sabo turns to Marya. “I can be back in ten minutes, then we can decide what to do.”
“That,” Sabo scans the increasing activity of the base, “is a lot of Marines.”
“Hey, mister,” they both look down at the tiny voice calling from below. “Are you trying to get into the Navy base?” A young girl in a group of four children asks.
Sabo swings his legs over, hopping down to them. Kneeling, “What makes you think that?” When Marya lands behind them, their eyes widen, and they huddle together, scurrying behind Sabo. Marya's golden gaze narrows as they cower. Looking over his shoulder, “What’s the matter?”
“She’s scary,” the girl quivers, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that Marya might hear her.
Sabo smirks, “No, she is my friend. I promise she is nice.” Marya gives them distance, and with an annoyed eye roll, she finds a trunk to lean on.
“You sure?”
Arms crossed, Marya’s tone is stern, “Sabo, we don’t have time for this.”
“But,” the girl squeaks, holding a fist full of Sabo’s shirt, “we know how you can get into the base.”
“Oh,” Sabo raises a brow, “and how is that?”
Putting a finger over her lips, “It’s a secret.” She whispers, “We can show you,” her eyes shining with excitement.
Sabo ponders for a moment. Glancing between the base and the eager little girl, “Okay, show us the way.” Marya groans, and he stands, “Come on. Let’s see what they are talking about.”
They follow the children while maneuvering a random footpath through the forest. Marya matches Sabo’s stride, “You have noticed that we are moving away from the base.”
“Don’t worry,” Sabo grins, “It will work out.”
Marya sighs, and the children start running. One of them calls out, “We are here!”
Leaving the shrubbery, they stand in front of an imposing structure of weathered steel and concrete. Its exterior shows the signs of time and the elements. Vines and moss cling to its walls, weaving a tapestry of green that blends seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. The entrance, a massive steel door reinforced with complex locking mechanisms, offers no hint of the secrets contained within.
“Come on,” one of the children waved. We have to hurry before they show up.” Sabo and Marya communicate silently as they approach. “This way,” the child crawled through a bent ventilation screen.
Once inside, it is an intricate labyrinth of aisles and storage units, each meticulously organized and cataloged. Dim lighting casts long shadows, giving the space an eerie, almost otherworldly feel. Rows upon rows of stacked wooden crates and industrial shelving stretch into the distance, their contents marked with cryptic symbols and codes. The scent of aged wood and metal permeates the air, mingling with an underlying hint of something indefinable.
“Hurry up!” One of the children snaps them from their stoic inspection.
“Sabo.”
“Yeah,” he turns to Marya, “I know.”
“What are you doing?” one of the children scolds from behind a racking corner. “We have to go!” Marya and Sabo hurry after them through the maze of shelves and racks to a stairwell. The air cools as they descend, and the atmosphere grows dark. Dim light glows when they reach the last step. Gleaming steel outlines tracks on the ground that disappear in a large, arching tunnel.
“Come on,” one of the children waves for them to get into an open-top train car.
Sabo waits, taking hold of the door. “This will take us to the base?”
“Yes,” the girl tells him, “But you have to hurry. The workers will be here soon, and the car isn’t big enough for all of us.”
“Let’s go,” one of the other children tugged on her shirt, “this is scary!”
Sabo nods, “You better hurry. You don’t want to get caught.”
“Right,” she turns, dashing into the shadows with her friends.
“You sure about this?” Marya hesitates before stepping in.
Sabo peers down the tunnel, “Not at all, but we are already here.”
“Yeah,” Marya sighs as she closes the door.
Gliding through the subterranean expanse, distant echoes of myriad activities can be heard as rushing cool air prickles their skin. Above, the open roof reveals the intricate web of lighting and piping snaking along the tunnel ceilings, casting a soft, ambient glow illuminating the path ahead.

Chapter Text

As the train car neared the cavern's entrance, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks mingled with the rising hum of their anticipation. Marya leaned forward, her keen eyes catching a faint glimmer in the distance. Partially obscured by darkness, a growing light lay just ahead. They exchanged urgent glances as shadows danced across their determined faces. Marya focused on the path, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm. Both passengers could feel the weight of their mission pressing upon them. The rail car emerged from the tunnel into the cavern, the vast, open space filled with the echoes of their arrival.
Grasping their surroundings, Marya fixes on Sabo and says, “This is not the Navy base.” Sabo curses as men stop, turning their attention toward the rail car. Panicked, Marya takes hold of Sabo’s arm, misting them away.
“What is it,” One of the men calls out.
Another inspects the empty car, “It’s nothing. It is empty.”
“It must have malfunctioned or something. Back to work.”
Concealed by a mountain of containers, they scan the secluded cove as tranquil waters mirror stalactites like ancient chandeliers. With weathered timbers and towering masts, the ship bore battle scars, a barnacle-encrusted hull, and a fierce beast figurehead. Above, the rigging swayed with creaking ropes as a formidable black flag fluttered. The deck bustled with barrels and cannons as people moved about.
“Beast pirates,” Sabo mutters. Marya raises a dubious eyebrow, and Sabo leans back. “They are connected with Kaido.” Stroking his jaw, “What are they doing here?”
Marya replies flippantly, “It looks like they are loading their ship.”
Sabo ignores her tone, “Yeah, but…”
“There is no need to be aggressive,” they both snap to attention at the sound of Charlie’s voice. “We are cooperating with your demands.” Peaking from behind the corner, they watch as Koala, Charlie, and Avian, bound in chains, are escorted from the pirate ship.
“Okay,” Marya whispers. “That is a problem.” Not receiving a reply, she turns. Sabo is gone! Rattled, her head spins as she searches for him. She curses as he charges towards the prisoners.
“Sabo!” Koala calls out in relief.
With an indifferent side eye, Ozul Crow mutters, “Stationary.” Koala gasps, shouting for Sabo when he becomes translucent, transforming into a one-dimensional whisper-thin figure. Sabo slams to a halt, crackling and waving in the subtle breeze.
Marya curses, “He is a power holder.”
Koala grits her teeth. Glaring, she presses the heels of her palms together. Circling, “Fishman….” She coughs, collapsing when a hammer is thrust into her, sending her to the ground.
Waving a mocking finger, “Not, ah, ah!” Akako cocks her slender hip, slinging her oversized hammer to rest on her shoulder. “None of that now. The captain is waiting, and he has an important meeting. We can’t be late.”
Ozul holds the Onix crystal around his neck, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “The duality of harmony demands action.” Drawing his katana from its sheath, it rings, announcing to all who hear its intentions. “Aetherius,” he swings the long blade across his body, preparing to strike. “Calls for…”
Clank! He grunts, blocking the impact of Marya’s thrust. His eyes pinched at her imposing force. He grips the hilt with his other hand to hold her back. “Solar….” Akako is airborne with her hammer in mid-swing when Marya pivots on the ball of her foot, hooking Ozul’s aura. Spinning, she propels him into Akako, sending them both flying.
The clash of steel reverberated, and Ozul squinted with focus as he found his footing. Amid their deadly moment, a critical decision loomed. Should Marya risk an aggressive move to end it swiftly or escape with Sabo? The seconds stretched painfully. A single misstep could be fatal. She scrutinized Ozul’s movements, searching for the slightest opening.
Pushing to his feet, Ozul wiped the trickle of blood from his lip. He feigned left and lunged right. Their blades clanged and echoed once more as they parried with follow-up strikes. Their eyes, now widened with determination, reflected a fierce resolve. In a breathtaking display of agility, Marya countered, forcing Ozul on the defensive. The fight was far from over, and a choice had to be made.
Ozul made a striking blow, throwing himself off balance when he sliced into vapor. His head swiveled, searching for his opponent. His jaw flexed when she and Sabo were nowhere to be found.
“What’s the hold-up?” Amaru calls from the stairs. Seeing Akako sprawled out with swirls in her eyes, he asks, “What happened to her?”
Ozul sheathes Aetherius. Holding his Onyx crystal, “Duality will require recompense. It shall be granted.”
Amaru sighs, “Yeah,” holding the back of his neck, “Whatever you say.” Pointing over his shoulder, “The meeting will be starting soon. You better get them up here.”
Crashing into the grassy ground, Sabo coughs. “What the hell was that?” Marya scolds while looking down her nose with crossed arms.
Sabo rocks back on his heels, “We escaped,” he jests.
Marya pinches the bridge of her nose, “What were you thinking?”
“Sorry,” Sabo stands, smacking the dirt from his clothes. “I thought I could get to them.”
Marya sighs, “It was surprising to see them there. At least, now, we know where they are.” Hand on her hip, “How did they end up there? They were supposed to be scoping out the Navy base.”
“I don’t know,” Sabo replies, “and that swordsman is a power holder. I didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah,” Marya says, starting to walk. “Taking them on with just the two of us will be tough.”
Sabo nods, “Right, we should get the others first,” walking in step with her, “Then go back.”
From the cliff’s edge, they watched the navy base sprawled out below. With the rhythmic hum of drills, figures of silhouettes moved with purpose. “You are good with the plan, right?” Marya glimpses at Sabo.
“Yeah,” he tightens the grip on his pipe. “Meet you at the rendezvous.” Marya’s head bobs as she becomes a blur of mist.
*****
She stood tall, her blond hair meticulously styled, not a strand out of place. Her piercing blue eyes, framed by perfectly arched brows, scanned each detail of the men’s activities from her office window with unwavering focus. Impeccably dressed in tailored attire, she exuded an air of authority and precision. Her surroundings reflected her exacting standards—everything in its rightful place, pristine and orderly.
She averts her eyes when there is a knock at the door. “Enter.”
“Mam,” Kai stands at attention. “Reporting as ordered.”
“Is Captain Evander with you?”
After an audible scurry of motion through the door, “Yes. Mam,” Nuri panted.
With deliberate movement, each gesture measured and exact, she fixates her gaze on them. Her voice is calm yet commanding, leaving no room for error. “What is the status of the prisoners?”
Kai clasps his hands behind his back, “They have been medically treated and are ready for questioning, mam.”
Standing behind her desk, she addresses Nuri in his disheveled state. Scoffing, she asks, “What is the status of the search?”
Nuri swallows, “We are still looking. I am confident progress will be made today.”
She flares her nostrils and slams her fist. “That is unacceptable! Why must I suffer from your incompetence?” When the transponder snail rings, she glares, snatching the receiver. “Now?” she snaps. “Understood, I am on my way.” She smashes the receiver. Face beat red, she growls, “I have another engagement that needs my immediate attention.” She retrieves her white trench coat, “Make sure the other two perpetrators have been apprehended before my return.” Stomping out, “I will question the prisoners when I get back!” The door slams.
Nuri’s shoulders slump, “I’m doomed.”
“Why were you late this time?” Kai asks.
Nuri scratches his head, nervously chuckling, “Batting practice ran a little over.”
Kai lifts his glasses, “You must do a better job managing your time.”
“I know,” Nuri whines, “I am not good at it.
“She will not take anything less than perfection,” Kai gets interrupted by blaring sirens. Cursing, “What now?”
A Marine bursts through the door. “Captains,” he gasps. “The barrier alarm has gone off! We need your…”
“I swear,” Kai snarls, “If it is those kids again.” Turning to Nuri, “Come, let’s take to the air.”

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Chapter Text

In the dimly lit cell, distant footsteps echoed through the corridors. Hack sat against the cold stone wall, his breath ragged from the recent wound in his gut. Beside him, Vaughn leaned back, his shoulder heavily bandaged.
"We're in a tight spot here, Vaughn.” Hack says, “I never thought teaming up with you would lead us to this."
"Neither did I, Hack. But considering the circumstances, we did what we had to. The navy was just quicker this time."
Hack winced slightly, adjusting his position. "I still can't believe we got caught. The Revolutionary Army won't take this lightly."
"Nor will my organization.” Vaughn replied, “But right now, we need to focus on getting out of here before they come in for questioning."
"Do you think our rescue is on the way?” Hack asks. “The navy is not known for being kind to its prisoners.
"I'm sure they're planning something.” Vaughn says, “We just need to stay strong until then. Your wounds... how are you holding up?"
Hack places a hand on his side, "I've had worse. The bandages are helping, but we both know I won't be at full strength for a while."
Vaughn holds his shoulder, "Same here. My shoulder is on fire, but we can’t let that stop us. We've got too many people relying on us."
Hack nodded his resolve hardening. "You're right. We must keep our spirits up and prepare for whatever comes next."
Vaughn takes a breath, "Agreed. Remember, once we’re out of here, we go our separate ways. This alliance was always meant to be temporary."
Hack hums in agreement, "Understood. But until then, we watch each other's backs. No one else is going to do it for us."
Vaughn attempts to stretch the stiffness away, "Here's to hoping our combined strength will be enough to get us through this."
Hack offered a weary smile. "It will be. We've got no other choice."
As the footsteps grew louder, both men braced themselves, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Suddenly, a red alarm blared, flooding the cell with an urgent, pulsating light. Vaughn turns to Hack, “That seems to happen a lot around here.” The corner of Hack's mouth curls.
The jingling sound of keys reverberated from the cell door. A cool haze swirled and coalesced into a figure draped in shadows. It was Marya. Her eyes, glinting with determination, locked onto Hack and Vaughn. “You two ready to get out of here?”
With swift and silent efficiency, she unlocked their shackles. “We must move quickly,” she urged, “Are you two able to move?”
Hack and Vaughn nod. Their bonds are now broken, and they stand ready, their expressions a mix of relief and resolve. “Marya,” Hack began, but she silenced him with a glance.
“No time,” she murmured. “We need to get out of here before they realize what’s happening.” She grips them both, and they become vapor. They move as one, slipping through the walls of the navy prison, the alarm still blaring around them. Guards run past, oblivious to the trio. “We’re not safe yet,” Marya warned, her voice low. “Stick close to me.”
As they began to form again, Hack and Vaughn looked back at the prison, now a distant silhouette. “We made it,” Vaughn said, his voice filled with awe.
Hack nodded, placing a hand on Marya’s shoulder. “Thanks to you,” his voice is filled with gratitude.
Marya smiled, a fleeting expression of triumph. “We have to move, let's go!”
The dense forest acted as a sanctuary, with an emerald canopy filtering sunlight into shades of green and gold. Underneath, Sabo, wielding his pipe, swiftly moved through the undergrowth, dodging the pursuing Marines. His breath was ragged, and his heart pounded like a war drum.
High above, the silhouette of a Arambourgiania cast a shadow over the forest floor. Captain Kai stood atop the creature, holding a rifle. His uniform, immaculate and adorned with symbols of his rank, contrasted sharply with the natural landscape below.
The chase was intense. Riding his flying steed, Kai had the advantage of height and speed. He expertly rode the Arambourgiania, its wings cutting through the air. He aimed his rifle from above, ready to end the pursuit with one precise shot.
Sabo, however, was no stranger to the art of evasion. Years of guerrilla warfare had honed his instincts and sharpened his senses. He calculated his next move with every step, using the forest's natural obstacles to his advantage. He weaved through towering trees and leaped over gnarled roots, his pipe a constant companion in his grip.
A shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past his ear and embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree, but Sabo didn't falter. Instead, he used the momentary pause to his advantage, ducking behind a thick cluster of ferns. He had a plan, but timing was crucial.
Captain Kai, growing frustrated, urged the Arambourgiania to descend lower, closer to the ground. He wanted a more precise shot, a direct line of sight to his elusive target. As the Arambourgiania swooped down, its talons brushing against the treetops, Sabo saw his chance.
With a burst of speed, he sprinted towards a clearing, the sunlight streaming down like a spotlight on a stage. Kai, sensing an opportunity, aimed once more. But as he pulled the trigger, Sabo executed a perfect roll, and the bullet missed him by a mere inch.
Now in the open, he stood his ground, pipe at the ready. Confident in his aerial advantage, Kai circled above, preparing for another shot. But Sabo was patient, his eyes fixed on his opponent, waiting for the right moment.
As the Arambourgiania swooped for a final strike, Sabo moved with lightning speed. He swung his pipe with all his might, striking the Arambourgiania's wing. The creature let out a screech of pain, its flight faltering. Kai was caught off guard and struggled to regain control, but it was too late.
The Arambourgiania crashed, flailing in pain, and the impact sent Kai tumbling. Dazed, he scrambled to his feet, his rifle still in hand. He called out to Nuri, but Sabo was already upon him. With a swift and decisive strike, he disarmed Kai, the rifle clattering to the ground.
The two men faced each other, the forest now silent, as if holding its breath. Kai, realizing he was at a disadvantage, reached for his sidearm, but Sabo was quicker. He swung his pipe again, delivering a blow that sent Kai sprawling.
Sabo emerged victorious, standing with his pipe on his shoulder. He successfully used the forest's natural features and skills to outsmart his opponent. Though defeated, Kai was still alive on the forest floor, his mission incomplete. Sabo smirked at him before disappearing into the shadows.
Hours later, in the dim light of a secluded forest clearing, Marya, Hack, and Vaughn waited at their agreed-upon rendezvous point. The tension was palpable as the minutes ticked by, but Marya stood resolute, her gaze fixed on the path ahead.
Hack shifted uneasily. "He's late," he muttered, glancing at Marya for reassurance. She simply shook her head, her expression unwavering.
"We wait," she said firmly, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed. Their breath hung in the cool night air, mingling with the mist that lingered around them.
Just as Hack was about to speak again, a rustling sound emerged from the darkness. Sabo appeared, his silhouette framed against the moonlit forest. A grin spread across his face as he caught sight of Marya.
They closed the distance without hesitation, and with a resounding slap of a high five, they greeted each other. The tension melted away, replaced by a shared sense of relief.
"Was worried?" Sabo asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Not for an instant," Marya replied, her voice steady and sure.
Hack and Vaughn exchanged glances, their confidence renewed by the reunion. The night air felt a little warmer, and together, they prepared for the next step.

Chapter Text

The murky walls of the cavern echoed with the sound of dripping water and working men as Vice Admiral Venus Harlow ascended the rickety steps leading to the office. Each step creaked under the weight of her resolute stride, the wooden planks groaning with the layers of salt and time.
The faint glow of lanterns illuminated the cavern, revealing a hidden world bustling with pirate activity. The hulking silhouette of the pirate ship loomed in the background, moored to the jagged rocks that jutted out from the cavern’s depths. With its weathered hull, the ship was a stark contrast to Harlow’s disciplined and orderly world to which she was accustomed.
As she reached the top, a heavy oak door stood before her, its iron hinges rusted with age. She pushed it open, the door’s reluctant squeal announcing her arrival. Inside, the dimly lit office awaited Captain Umeko Ozias, cloaked in shadows and the lingering scent of the sea. The room was a convergence of power and subterfuge, where the lines between justice and treachery blurred.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow stood in the office with an air of authority. The room was tense as Captain Umeko Ozias of the Beast Pirates leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the prisoners with a bored expression. Three individuals were shackled in heavy iron chains: Charlie, Koala, and Avian, whose presence seemed out of place.
Venus turned to the captain, "Captain Ozias, the attendance of these prisoners in our meeting is unconventional. Can you inform me of their relevance here?"
Captain Ozias yawned, waving a dismissive hand. "Simple courtesy, Vice Admiral. We captured them snooping around and thought the Navy might want them. Otherwise, we'll deal with them our way."
The heavy oak door groaned to open once more, and slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the room. Eamon Desdemona, the aged nobleman, entered, leaning heavily on his ornate cane. His eyes, sharp despite his years, scanned the room until they landed on his grandson, Avian, shackled and appearing out of place with the rough pirate and stern naval officer.
"Eamon Desdemona," Vice Admiral Venus Harlow greeted him with a curt nod, her voice tempered with respect.
Though aged, Eamon's voice carried an unmistakable authority. "Vice Admiral, Captain," he acknowledged both, his gaze still fixed on Avian. “I demand to know why my grandson is in chains."
Captain Umeko Ozias, ever the picture of nonchalance, remained in his chair, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Caught him snooping around, old man. Figured the Navy might have a use for him."
Eamon's face reddened with anger, his grip tightening on the cane. "This is unacceptable! Release him immediately!"
The captain shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rusty key. With a careless toss, he flung the key towards Avian. "There you go, kid. Unlock yourself."
Surprised, Avian caught the key and quickly set to work, freeing himself from the heavy chains. The room fell silent, the only sound being the soft clink of metal as the shackles fell away. Eamon stepped forward, protectively embracing his grandson. "Thank you," Eamon said, his voice softer now, though still laced with the lingering tension. “I trust this will not happen again."
Captain Ozias yawned, seemingly indifferent. "As long as he stays out of our business, old man."
With the matter of his grandson resolved, Eamon Desdemona turned his attention to the pressing business at hand. He straightened, his demeanor shifting to one of sharp focus. "Now, Captain Ozias, I understand your vessel is ready to depart, but you need the last valuable cargo from the vault."
Captain Ozias nodded, impatience flickering in his eyes. "Aye, the ship's loaded and ready. Just need what's in that vault, and we're good to go."
Eamon's gaze shifted to Vice Admiral Harlow. "Vice Admiral, what is the status of securing the individuals who attacked the mansion?"
Harlow's jaw tightened before she replied, "Two are in custody. We are still searching for the other two."
Eamon's face fell, his anger palpable. "Unacceptable!" he roared, his voice echoing through the room. "I entrusted you with the safety of my home, and this is the result. Incomplete and incompetent work!"
Vice Admiral Harlow's face flushed with anger, but she held her tongue, a testament to her self-control and the respect she begrudgingly afforded the nobleman. Her eyes, however, betrayed the fury burning within her.
Captain Ozias, growing more agitated by the moment, slammed his fist on the table. "Enough of this! I didn't come here to be part of your squabbles. We need that cargo now!"
Eamon drew a deep breath, reigning in his temper. He fixed a stern gaze at Vice Admiral Harlow. "Ensure that those responsible are found," he commanded, his voice low but filled with resolve. "I will not tolerate any further failures."
Vice Admiral Harlow nodded, her expression hardening. "Understood, Lord Desdemona."
Taking slow, deliberate steps, Eamon approached the vault, a small yet imposing structure built into the cavern's foundation. With each step, his cane struck the ground, a rhythmic reminder of his presence and power. Reaching into his velvet-lined pocket, he produced a key, its intricate design glinting in the dim light.
Charlie tensed, his eyes widening as he realized the moment's significance. Now fitting into the vault's lock, that key was their objective—the relic they had been sent to retrieve. He glanced at Koala, a subtle nod passing between them. Despite the chains that bound them, hope flickered anew in their hearts.
The vault door creaked open, revealing a hidden compartment bathed in a soft glow. Eamon reached inside, his hands reverently wrapped around a relic of ancient design. It was an artifact of immense power and mystery, pulsing with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum through the air.
Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. This was it—the relic. His mission crystallized in his mind with a clarity that pushed aside the pain of his bindings. He shared a meaningful look with Koala. Their eyes locked in a wordless exchange, a pact formed through shared struggle and unyielding resolve.
Eamon returned, holding the relic aloft in his gnarled hands. His gaze swept over the assembled figures, lingering for a moment on the two shackled prisoners. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a gesture devoid of warmth but rich with triumph. "Your efforts have not gone unnoticed," Eamon began, his voice gravelly resonating. “Yet, one final piece must be secured to ensure our plans come to fruition."
Across from him, Vice Admiral Venus Harlo, with her stern demeanor and authoritative stance, nodded in agreement. Beside her, Pirate Captain Umeko Ozias, indifferent to their plans, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. The tension in the room was noticeable, and each figure was a pillar of power and determination.
Boom! A deafening explosion rocked the office, shaking the very foundation of the cavern. The sconces flickered violently, casting erratic shadows on the walls. The shockwave threw Eamon off balance, causing him to drop the relic. It hit the ground with a reverberating clang.
Eamon's face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear as he clutched his chest, the pain evident in his eyes. Vice Admiral Harlo and Captain Ozias, their instincts honed by years of battle, leaped to their feet and rushed toward the source of the explosion.
"Stay here," Harlo commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. "We'll handle this." The door slammed as their footsteps echoed down the steps. Now devoid of its most formidable occupants, the room seemed to hold its breath.
Amid the commotion, Avian seized the opportunity. He reached for the key that had been tossed to him. Moving swiftly and silently, he approached the shackled prisoners, Charlie and Koala. "Hold still," Avian whispered, his hands working deftly to unlock their chains. The sound of metal clinking against metal filled the air, a melody of liberation.
Charlie and Koala exchanged looks of gratitude, their wrists finally free from the iron rings. But before they could rise, a groan of agony drew their attention back to Eamon. The aged nobleman had collapsed, his cane rolling away from his grasp. His face was pale, and his breath came in shallow gasps as he clutched his chest.
Avian’s eyes widened in fear, unsure of what to do. "Grandfather!" he called out, his voice trembling. "Hold on.” But Eamon's eyes, once so full of intensity, began to dim. The relic, now forgotten on the floor, seemed to pulse with an eerie light, casting an otherworldly glow. Torn between his fear and loyalty, Avian could only watch.
As the sounds of the explosion's aftermath reverberated through the cavern, Charlie and Koala, now unbound, knew they had to act quickly. The path to freedom and success lay before them, shrouded in the moment's chaos. With one last glance at the fallen nobleman, they steeled themselves.
"Koala, go check out the explosion," Charlie instructed, his voice steady despite the turmoil. "I'll handle things here." Koala hesitated momentarily, glancing at the fallen nobleman and then back at Charlie. Seeing the resolve in his eyes, she nodded and slipped away, disappearing out the door.
Charlie knelt beside Eamon, placing a reassuring hand on Avian's shoulder. "He's going to be alright," he said, though his heart pounded uncertainly. "We need to keep him calm." Turning his attention to Eamon, Charlie spoke softly, "Sir, try to take deep breaths. We're here with you."
Eamon's eyes flickered with recognition, and he managed a faint nod though the pain still etched his features. Charlie checked the old man's pulse, noting its unsteady rhythm. Time was of the essence, but Charlie refused to let panic take hold.
As Avian continued to comfort his grandfather, Charlie's gaze fell upon the relic, still pulsing with that strange light. He couldn't leave it behind; its importance was too great. Carefully, he reached for it, the eerie glow casting shadows across his determined face. He secured the relic in his cargo pocket, ensuring it was safe from prying eyes. With the relic secure, Charlie turned back to Eamon and Avian. "We need to move him to a safer place," he said, determination lacing his words. "Can you help me with him, Avian?"
Nodding, Avian wiped the tears from his eyes. Together, they gently lifted Eamon, supporting him between them. Every step was a struggle, but their resolve was unwavering. Chaos echoed around them, but they moved with purpose and unity. As they made their way through the dim cavern, Charlie's thoughts drifted to his friends, hoping they were okay. But for now, he focused on getting Eamon and the relic to safety.

Chapter Text

Koala vs. Akako
The cavern was filled with the echoes of battle and distant explosions as Koala sprinted down the steps from the office, her footsteps quick and deliberate. But as she rounded the corner, she came face-to-face with a familiar figure, and her heart skipped a beat.
Standing in the middle of the cavern was Akako Zinnia, the first mate of the Beast Pirates. She was five feet of petite fury, easily wielding her massive Super Nova hammer. The sight of the formidable weapon, glinting menacingly in the dim light, was enough to make anyone tremble—but not Koala.
"Where do you think you are going," Akako sneered, her eyes narrowing as she tightened her grip.
Koala's eyes flashed with determination. She smirks, “Let’s do this."
With a roar, Akako swung Super Nova in a wide arc, the hammer whistling through the air as it aimed for Koala's head. But Koala was ready. She ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. The impact of the hammer against the cavern floor sent a shockwave through the ground, but Koala remained unfazed.
Drawing upon her training in Fishman Karate, Koala moved with fluid grace, her muscles coiled and ready to strike. She darted forward, aiming a powerful kick at Akako's midsection. The blow connected, sending Akako stumbling back, but the pirate quickly regained her footing and retaliated with a swift swing of her hammer.
Koala leaped back, the hammer grazing her side but not slowing her down. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, sharpening her senses and heightening her focus. She needed to find an opening, a weakness in Akako's defense.
As Akako launched another assault, Koala's mind raced. She remembered the last time she was struck, the pain and humiliation. But this time, she was unbound and prepared. Koala feinted to the left with calculated precision, drawing Akako's attention. She spun to the right in that split second, delivering a crushing Fishman Karate punch to Akako's ribs. The force of the blow sent Akako reeling, gasping for breath.
"You're fast," Akako spat, her eyes blazing with anger. "But strength will always prevail."
Koala didn't respond. Instead, she focused on her breathing and the flow of energy within her. She could sense the water in the air, the ground, and her own body. Drawing upon that elemental power, she launched a flurry of rapid strikes, each precise and devastating.
Akako tried to defend herself, but Koala's movements were too swift and unpredictable. With a final, powerful kick, Koala sent Akako crashing to the ground, her hammer slipping from her grasp. Breathing heavily, Koala stood over her fallen opponent, her heart pounding with the thrill of victory. "It's over," she said, her voice steady. “Stay down."
Akako groaned, struggling to rise but collapsing back onto the cavern floor. Returning to the task, Koala quickly scanned the cavern, her thoughts returning to her friends. She needed to ensure their safety. With one last glance at Akako, Koala took off running. Her resolve was more potent than ever.
Pirate Captain Umeki Ozias vs. Vaughn
Amidst the chaos of battle, two formidable figures squared off, their eyes locked in a fierce challenge. Umeko Ozias, the pirate captain, stood tall and resolute, his long, inky coat billowing as he grasped his weapon. Vaughn's presence was electrifying as if the air around him buzzed with energy. He tightened his hold on Light Cleaver, and its edge gleamed with a menacing sheen.
Umeko locked in on Vaughn’s bandaged shoulder, which was spotted with red. " Are you sure you are up for this?”
Vaughn smirked, “Let’s find out.”
The cavern trembled as they advanced toward each other, the ground beneath them quaking from the force of their steps. Umeko Ozias swung Twin Thunder, his two-ball battle mace, with a deftness that belied its weight, aiming for Vaughn's midsection. The spikes whistled through the air, a deadly symphony that promised pain and destruction.
With his keen reflexes honed from countless battles, Vaughn parried the blow with his oversized battle ax, Light Cleaver. The clash of metal rang through the cavern. As the sound reverberated, Vaughn harnessed it, transforming it into a burst of blinding light that engulfed the space.
Umeko shielded his eyes, momentarily blinded, but he was not easily deterred. He relied on his other senses, feeling the vibrations of Vaughn's movements through the ground. He swung Twin Thunder in a wide arc, the spiked balls whistling once again. This time, they connected with Vaughn's battle ax, the impact sending shockwaves through both combatants.
Vaughn grinned, his confidence unwavering. He stepped back, gathering the sounds of the ongoing battle, and with a roar, he channeled them into another explosion of light. The cavern walls glowed with an ethereal luminescence, casting everything in a surreal brightness.
But Umeko was ready. He had adapted to Vaughn's tactics, using the momentary brilliance to his advantage. He lunged forward, Twin Thunder swinging in a lethal arc. Vaughn barely had time to react, his ax meeting the mace in a thunderous collision. Sparks flew as the weapons clashed, each striking testament to the warriors' skill and tenacity.
They fought with a ferocity that left no room for weakness. Umeko's strikes were relentless, with each swing of Twin Thunder being a calculated move to overpower his opponent. Vaughn countered with equal vigor, his battle ax a blur of deadly precision.
The cavern seemed to groan under the strain as the battle raged on. Stalactites trembled, and the ground shook with the force of their blows. In a final, desperate gambit, Vaughn unleashed a cacophony, transforming it into a blinding flash of light that threatened to consume the entire space.
With a mighty roar, Umeko channeled all his strength into one last swing of Twin Thunder. But Vaughn was quicker this time. As the mace descended, Vaughn harnessed the sound of its movement, transforming it into a pulse of light that struck Umeko squarely in the chest, sending him reeling backward.
Seizing the moment, Vaughn surged forward, raising Light Cleaver high. He brought the ax down with a force that shattered Twin Thunder, splintering the mighty mace into pieces. The force of the blow sent Umeko sprawling, his power dissipating into the ether.
The cavern fell silent, the echoes of their battle fading into the distance. Vaughn stood victorious, his breath steady. Light Cleaver remained tightly clutched in his hands. He looked down at Umeko, his expression a mixture of triumph and respect. “It appears that I am up for this.”
Amaru vs. Hack
The cavern's damp air clung to Amaru's floral shirt, the vivid colors contrasting sharply with the dark, foreboding surroundings. His flowing chestnut hair swayed as he moved, the snake-like length of his neck granting him an eerie advantage. His fingers twitched near the holsters of his twin revolvers, ready to draw at a moment's notice.
Hack stood across from him, his muscles rippling. His dark and unblinking eyes were fixed on Amaru. As an expert in Fishman karate, Hack's entire body was a weapon honed by years of underwater combat. He moved with a fluid grace, every motion a testament to his aquatic heritage.
The tension in the cavern was profound, each combatant aware of the other's prowess. With a swift motion, Amaru drew his revolvers, the barrels gleaming in the dim light. He fired, the bullets cutting through the air with lethal precision. But Hack was ready. He leaped into the air, twisting his body to avoid the gunfire. The bullets ricocheted off the cavern walls, sending sparks flying.
Amaru's neck extended, his head darting forward like a serpent as he fired again. Hack landed gracefully, his webbed feet barely making a sound on the cavern floor. He charged forward, his powerful legs propelling him with incredible speed. Amaru continued to fire, but Hack's agility was unmatched. He weaved through the onslaught, closing the distance between them.
With a final burst of speed, Hack reached Amaru. He struck with a powerful kick, his foot connecting with Amaru's chest and sending him staggering backward. Amaru's revolvers fell from his hands, clattering to the ground. Hack pressed his advantage, delivering a series of rapid strikes that left Amaru reeling.
Amaru, though momentarily staggered, was far from defeated. With a guttural growl, he twisted his body, using the momentum to regain his footing. His eyes locked onto Hack with fiery determination. As Hack advanced, Amaru's hand shot out, grabbing one of his fallen revolvers. In a fluid motion, he fired a single shot that struck the ceiling above Hack, causing rocks to tumble down.
Hack dodged the falling debris, but the distraction was all Amaru needed. He lunged forward, his elongated neck allowing him to close the gap instantly. His free hand grabbed Hack's arm, yanking him off balance. With a deft twist, Amaru sent Hack sprawling toward the edge of a subterranean pool.
Hack splashed into the water, his instincts kicking in immediately. Submerged, he felt the familiar embrace of his aquatic environment. The water revitalized him, making his movements even more fluid and powerful. Hack's eyes gleamed with renewed purpose as Amaru approached the water's edge.
With a swift kick, Hack propelled himself out of the water, his body twisting gracefully in mid-air. Amaru fired his revolver again, but Hack was too fast. He landed behind Amaru and struck with a powerful water-infused punch, sending a jet of water surging through the air. The impact knocked Amaru off his feet and into the pool.
Amaru struggled to regain his bearings in the water, but Hack was in his element. He moved with the speed and precision of a predator, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His webbed hands glowed with a blue aura as he channeled his Fishman Karate.
Hack unleashed a barrage of water-infused strikes, each blow sending shockwaves through the water. Amaru was tossed and turned by the relentless assault, unable to find a foothold. With a final, powerful thrust, Hack sent a concentrated burst of water that lifted Amaru out of the pool and back onto the cavern floor.
Breathing heavily, Amaru tried to stand, but his strength was waning. Hack emerged from the water, his movements calm and measured. He approached Amaru, observing his opponent's struggle with a mixture of respect and finality.
Amaru's vision blurred as he tried to lift his revolver once more, but Hack's hand came down gently on his wrist, preventing any further resistance. With a nod of acknowledgment, Hack stepped back, allowing Amaru to collapse in defeat.
Sabo vs. Ozul Crow
With a final burst of speed, Ozul Crow entered the cavern, his katana Aetherius glinting ominously in the dim light. He scanned the surroundings with a keen, almost otherworldly awareness. Around his neck hung the onyx, catching the light of the flickering torches. He whispered astrological riddles with each step, his voice hauntingly echoing within the cavern walls. "Under the shadow of Scorpio, recompense will be acquired," he murmured, gripping Aetherius with both hands.
A figure stepped into the light, footsteps muffled by the cavern's thick air. Sabo emerged from the darkness with his top hat perched confidently on his head, and his signature metal pipe was in his hand. With a steady, unyielding gaze, Sabo met Ozul's eyes. The two men understood the gravity of the battle about to ensue.
"The stars have aligned,” Ozul spoke, his voice dripping with foreboding. "It is fate that our paths cross once again."
Sabo smiled, casually flicking his wrist to adjust his top hat. "Let's see if your stars can withstand the revolution," he retorted, his voice full of defiant resolve.
Without another word, Ozul lunged forward, Aetherius slicing through the air with deadly precision. Sabo parried the strike with his pipe, the clash of metal echoing through the cavern. Sparks flew as the two exchanged blows, their movements a blur of speed and skill.
Ozul's eyes narrowed as he began to chant, "Parchment, vellum, papyrus," he whispered. With each word, the cave's air seemed to shimmer and twist. Sabo felt the weight of Ozul's power, the uncanny sensation of his existence being rewritten with every strike.
But Sabo was not without his strengths. He ducked under a particularly fierce swing from Aetherius and countered with a swift jab of his pipe, catching Ozul off guard. Ozul staggered back, the onyx around his neck gleaming ominously.
"You fight well," Ozul conceded, his voice carrying grudging respect. "But beware of the cosmic influence."
Sabo pressed his advantage, his pipe striking with relentless force. "Your superstitions won't save you," he declared, each blow driving Ozul further back.
Ozul's eyes flashed with determination as he raised Aetherius high. "Cardstock, kraft, tissue!" he intoned, and the ground beneath Sabo's feet began to shift, threatening to envelop him in a paper-like fold.
With a grunt of effort, Sabo leaped back, narrowly avoiding the paper trap. He swung his pipe in a wide arc, aiming for Ozul's midsection. The impact was solid, knocking the wind out of Ozul and sending him crashing into the cavern floor.
Breathing heavily, Ozul struggled to rise, his hand clutching the onyx around his neck. "The constellations are not yet finished," he gasped, trying to summon the last of his strength.
Sabo stood over him, his pipe at the ready. "It's over," he said firmly, lowering his weapon.
Ozul's grip on Aetherius slackened, and with a final astrological riddle on his lips, he succumbed to his defeat. The cavern fell silent, the echoes of their battle fading into the darkness. Sabo adjusted his top hat again, glancing thoughtfully at his fallen opponent.
As Sabo turned to leave, an abrupt wave of energy pulled through the cavern. Ozul, with a final burst of strength, chanted, "Origami, scroll, manuscript!" The air crackled with arcane power, and Sabo felt his body stiffen and flatten. His form became translucent, and his once-solid flesh transformed into a delicate paper silhouette.
The sensation was disorienting, like being trapped in a fragile, two-dimensional prison. Sabo's movements were restricted, and his joints folded and bent unexpectedly. He could see through his limbs intricate patterns of ink and parchment weaving together to form his new, delicate body.
Ozul's laughter echoed through the cavern. "You are nothing but a page in my story now. How will you fight when the very essence of my power binds you?"
Sabo's mind raced. He could feel the weight of Ozul's enchantment pressing down on him, the confines of the paper form threatening to render him powerless. But within the folds of his new body, he sensed a latent strength, a yet untapped resilience. Concentrating, he willed his paper form to move, to resist the enchantment's hold.
With a grunt of determination, Sabo began to twist and tear at the edges of his paper limbs. The fibers of the paper strained but did not give way. He focused harder, envisioning his human form re-emerging from the flimsy silhouette. He slowly, painfully felt the paper's rigidity soften, the ink patterns fading as his proper form began to push through.
Ozul's eyes widened in disbelief as Sabo's paper form shimmered and shifted. "Impossible!" he hissed, raising Aetherius to cast another spell. But Sabo was faster. With a final, desperate effort, he tore through the last of the paper's hold, his body snapping back into its solid, muscular form.
Before Ozul could react, Sabo lunged forward, his pipe striking with renewed ferocity. "You underestimated me," he growled, each blow driving Ozul further into the cavern wall. "Your power is no match for my will."
Ozul faltered, the onyx around his neck dimming as his power waned. "This cannot be," he whispered, sinking to his knees. "The stars…"
But Sabo did not relent. With a decisive strike, he knocked Aetherius from Ozul's grasp, the katana clattering to the ground. "The stars are not in your favor tonight," he said resolutely.
Ozul's form crumpled, and his strength was finally spent. The cavern fell silent again, the echoes of their fierce battle lingering in the air. Sabo stood victorious, his body and spirit unbroken. Adjusting his top hat, Sabo cast a final glance at his defeated foe.

Chapter Text

Vice Admiral Venus Harlow vs. Marya
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow stepped forward with her imposing presence. Her twin daggers, Leviathan’s Claws, glinted menacingly, casting eerie reflections on the slick, rocky walls. The air seemed to hum with the raw potential of their razor-sharp edges.
Opposite her, Marya emerged from the darkness, her form almost airy as she commanded the mist that swirled around her. The cavern seemed to breathe with her, the vapor thickening and coiling at her will. In her right hand, she held Eternal Night, a sword of dark brilliance, its blade seeming to absorb the scant light around them.
Venus’s eyes narrowed, a predatory smile playing on her lips. She called out, her voice carrying a mixture of challenge and respect. "Do you think your mist can save you from Leviathan’s Claws?"
Marya's response was a silent, confident smile. The mist around her solidified, creating a shroud of unpredictability. She raised Eternal Night, the blade humming with an inheritance of power.
Without warning, Venus lunged, her daggers flashing. She moved with the precision of a seasoned fighter, each strike aimed to end the battle swiftly. But the mist was a living ally to Marya. It wrapped around Venus's limbs, slowing her movements just enough to parry her lethal strikes.
Eternal Night clashed against Leviathan’s Claws, sending sparks flying in the confined space. The sound of metal against metal echoed through the cavern, a battle symphony. Marya’s movements were fluid and graceful, each swing of her sword dancing with the mist that concealed her next move.
Venus snarled, her frustration mounting as each strike was deftly countered. "You can't hide forever," she hissed, her eyes burning with determination.
Marya's laugh was light and almost teasing. "I don't need to hide," she whispered, her voice carrying through the mist like a ghostly presence. I am the mist."
With a fierce resolve, Vice Admiral Venus Harlow locked onto Marya’s golden eyes, a flicker of recognition stirring within her. "Who are you?" she demanded, echoing through the cavern.
Marya's only response was a slight tilt, her golden eyes never wavering. The mist continued to swirl, an extension of her very being, as she parried Venus's relentless attacks.
As the battle raged on, Venus began seeing patterns in Marya’s movements—hauntingly familiar. Each strike and parry bore an uncanny resemblance to techniques she knew all too well. Her eyes widened as the realization dawned on her.
“Mihawk...” Venus muttered under her breath, her strikes faltering for a moment. Marya’s fighting style was unmistakably linked to the legendary swordsman. Venus's eyes narrowed with a newfound intensity. "You’re connected to Mihawk, aren’t you? How?"
A shadow of a smirk tugged at Marya's lips, but she did not answer. The mist thickened, becoming almost impenetrable, but Venus's determination only grew stronger.
"I see it now," Venus declared, her voice cutting through the haze. "You’re his daughter, aren’t you?"
Marya’s eyes flashed, the only confirmation Venus needed. With a triumphant grin, Venus taunted, "I’ll take your head to him. How do you think he’ll respond? Would he avenge you?"
Marya's expression turned deadly serious, her grip on Eternal Night tightening. "You’ll never get the chance to find out," she retorted, her voice a low, dangerous whisper.
The cavern seemed to pulse with the intensity of their duel, each blow resonating with the weight of their newfound understanding. The battle had become more than a clash of weapons; it was a confrontation of legacies, each fighter determined to uphold their own.
The air crackled with electricity as Marya and Vice Admiral Venus Harlow clashed again. The metallic clang of Eternal Night meeting Leviathan’s claws reverberated off the cavern walls, the sound echoing like the toll of a distant bell.
Sparks flew with each impact, illuminating the mist that swirled around the combatants. The blades sang as they sliced through the air, a high-pitched whistle that crescendoed with each strike. The force of their battle sent shockwaves through the cavern, causing stalactites to tremble and dust to rain down from the ceiling.
With a sudden, ferocious swing, Marya sent Leviathan’s claws careening into the ship's mast, producing a deafening crack. Venus retaliated instantly, her blade carving a deadly arc through the air, meeting Eternal Night with a resounding boom reverberating like a thunderclap.
The duel was a dance of motion and steel, each fighter pushing the other to their limits. The cavern pulsed with the rhythm of their battle, the sound of their clashing blades a relentless reminder of the stakes at hand. As the mist thickened around them, the light of their blades pierced through, a beacon of their unyielding resolve.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow seized an opening with a swift, calculated maneuver. Her twin blades, Leviathan's Claws, flicked through the air with lethal precision. Marya's eyes widened in the split second before the searing pain hit her—the wickedly sharp claws had found their mark, slicing deeply into her side.
A gasp escaped Marya's lips as she staggered, her strength momentarily faltering. Red seeped through her fingers as she clutched her wound, her vision blurring with the agony of the strike. The force of the blow drove her to her knees, but she fought to remain upright, bracing herself against her sword, Eternal Night.
Venus's triumphant expression hovered above her, the Vice Admiral's eyes gleaming with victory and anticipation. "You're strong," Venus hissed, "but strength alone won't save you."
Marya's grip on Eternal Night tightened, the blade serving as her anchor. She dug the sword's tip into the cavern floor, using it to steady herself as she struggled to rise. Each breath she took was a battle against the pain, but her resolve burned brighter than ever. "This isn't over," she growled through gritted teeth.
The cavern seemed to hold its breath, the mist swirling around them like restless spirits. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them—the relentless Vice Admiral and the defiant warrior. The echoes of their clash still resonated in the air, a testament to the ferocity of their struggle.
Summoning every ounce of her strength, Marya pushed herself up, her eyes locking onto Venus's with unwavering determination. "I won't fall," she declared, her voice a low, steady promise. "Not to you. Not today."
With a surge of raw power, Marya rose, Eternal Night gleaming in the dim light. The duel resumed, more intense and desperate than before, the stakes higher than ever. Each movement was a testament to their wills, the clash of their destinies echoing through the cavern, the sound of their blades, a relentless symphony of defiance and fury.
Venus circled Marya like a predator, her eyes never leaving her quarry. "What would your father think?" she taunted, her voice dripping with malice. "If he could see you now, bloodied and on the brink of death? Would he be proud of his little warrior?"
Marya's grip on Eternal Night tightened even further, her knuckles turning white with the effort. Her father was sacred, a source of strength and courage. She would not let Venus sully him.
Venus continued, her smile widening as she saw the flicker of rage in Marya's eyes. " He is a formidable man, but even he would have known when to give up. He would have known when the fight was lost."
Marya's anger flared hot and fierce, giving her the strength to stand fully upright. She met Venus's gaze with a fierce glare, her voice steady despite the pain. "What is it you think you know? You don’t know anything!"
Venus's smile faltered, just for a moment, before she laughed. "I know plenty," she sneered. "But know this: Your father isn’t here to save you, and I will relish the look on his face when I bring him your corpse."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Marya raised Eternal Night, the weight of her father's legacy bolstering her resolve. "I will not fall," she repeated her voice a defiant roar that echoed through the cavern. "Not to you. Not today. Not ever."
Marya's vision blurred, and darkness crept at the edges as her strength waned. Each breath felt like fire in her lungs; each movement was a monumental effort. The cavern seemed to close in on her, the mist thickening, and the sounds of their duel merging into a distant hum. Venus's mocking laughter echoed in her ears, a cruel reminder of her adversary's confidence.
Just as the world threatened to fade to black, a spark ignited within Marya's soul—a final, desperate ember of her unwavering spirit. Summoning every last reserve of energy, she steadied herself, her grip tightening around Eternal Night.
"This ends now," she whispered, more to herself than to Venus, a mantra that fueled her resolve.
In a blur of motion, Marya surged forward, her body moving on pure instinct. Venus's eyes widened, surprise and fear flashing across her face as she realized the depth of Marya's determination too late. With a fierce cry, Marya swung Eternal Night in a wide, arcing slash.
A Sharp gust of wind sliced through the cavern as if summoned by the sheer intensity of Marya’s resolve. The cavern seemed to shudder in response, ancient stones creaking and groaning under the strain. Loose debris began to rain down from the ceiling, small rocks and dust falling like a muted echo of the battle’s fury. The cavern roof shifted ominously, large cracks spidering through the stone as if the very earth bore witness to the climax of their confrontation. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, it seemed the entire structure might collapse, burying them all beneath its weight.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow’s initial disbelief transformed into a visceral horror as she staggered, her eyes widening in shock. She looked down at her leg, where a deep, grievous wound marred her flesh. The blood flowed freely, a stark crimson against the pale expanse of her skin, pooling rapidly around her boot and seeping into the cavern floor.
Venus's breathing became ragged, her confidence and bravado collapsing under the weight of her injury. Her fingers trembled as she instinctively reached for the gash, the pain shooting through her like a white-hot lance. She tried to steady herself, but the damage was too severe; her leg buckled, threatening to give way beneath her.
Fear flickered in her eyes for the first time, mingling with the rage that had driven her. The sight of her own blood, the tangible evidence of her mortality, was a stark contrast to the unyielding force she had always seen herself as. She clenched her jaw, a mixture of defiance and desperation playing across her features as she struggled to stay on her feet, unwilling to fall before her adversary.
The moment's reality weighed heavily upon her, a poignant reminder that even the mighty could be brought low. Venus Harlow, who had once seemed invincible, now faced a reckoning that was as brutal as it was unexpected.
Memories from a darker time surged through Venus's mind, assaulting her senses with the force of a tidal wave. A flashback to a mission long ago, where the stakes were impossibly high and the consequences even graver.
She had been a rising star in the ranks, her unquenchable ambition and sharp intellect earning her a critical role in the Navy's operations. The mission was supposed to be routine—an intel-gathering expedition deep within hostile territory. But from the start, something had felt off, an unsettling undercurrent that she couldn’t quite place.
The ambush came swift and brutal. They were outnumbered and outgunned, the enemy moving with precision and ruthlessness. There, she encountered her most formidable opponent—a towering figure cloaked in shadows whose strength and skill dwarfed her own. Every blow she landed was met with a counter that shattered her defenses, rendering her efforts futile against the onslaught.
In the chaos, Venus's focus wavered. Her comrade, Lieutenant Aric Thorne, fought valiantly by her side. He had a young family waiting for him back home—a wife and two children whose faces he carried in a locket close to his heart. The thought of them gave him strength but also made him vulnerable.
Venus saw the moment it happened as if time stretched infinitely. Thorne's guard slipped, his attention diverted by her own faltering. The enemy's blade struck true, piercing his chest with a sickening finality. His eyes widened in shock and pain, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he crumpled to the ground.
"No!" Venus's scream was raw, torn from the depths of her soul. She fought with renewed ferocity, but it was too late. Thorne's lifeblood stained the ground, his gaze fixed on the locket that had fallen beside him. The enemy retreated, their objective complete, leaving Venus to cradle her fallen comrade in her arms.
Guilt gnawed at her, a relentless monster that consumed her every waking moment. She had failed him, failed his family. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her like a crushing force, her own survival feeling like a hollow victory. Thorne's widow's tearful eyes haunted her dreams, the children's innocent faces a stark reminder of the future she had stolen from them.
It was a lesson seared into her being—that even the strongest could fall and that every decision carried the heavy burden of consequence. And as she stood there, blood seeping from her own wound, the memory of that day intensified the horror of her current predicament. For all her strength, for all her skill, she was not invincible. And now, once more, she faced the possibility of failing those who depended on her. Venus's resolve wavered, the specter of her past entwined with the brutal reality of the present.
Marya stood victoriously amidst the battlefield; her enemy lay unconscious in pooling blood where her leg used to be. The clash of steel and the roar of conflict faded into a distant echo as she drew in a labored breath. Though she had triumphed, her strength was waning rapidly. The searing pain from the deep gash in her side was becoming impossible to ignore. Her vision blurred, and her legs buckled beneath her, sending her collapsing to the ground.
Vaughn's heart pounded as he navigated the cavern, his eyes scanning desperately for a sign of Marya. His breath hitched when he finally saw her crumpled form, the vibrant red of her blood stark against the dull earth.
"Marya!" he called, his voice cracking, as he rushed to her side and fell to his knees. Vaughn's hands trembled as he gently cradled her head, his eyes wide with panic. "No, no, no, this can't be happening."
Her eyes fluttered open, a weak smile forming on her lips. "Vaughn," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of his panicked heart.
"Stay with me, Marya," he pleaded, pressing his hand against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. "You're going to be okay. I promise. Just hold on."
The cove was crumbling around them, the deafening roar of falling rocks and splintering wood echoing through the claustrophobic space. Hack led the way, his powerful strides clearing debris easily, while Sabo and Koala followed closely behind. Their breaths came in ragged gasps as they navigated the treacherous terrain.
"Keep moving!" Hack urged, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "We have to find them before the whole place comes down."
Koala's heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear and determination driving her forward. She could see the desperation in Sabo's eyes, his usually confident demeanor shaken by the gravity of their situation. They had to find Vaughn and Marya, and they had to do it quickly.
A crash to their left sent a shower of rubble cascading down, forcing them to veer sharply to the right. "This way!" Sabo shouted, pointing toward a narrow passage that seemed to offer a brief respite from the collapsing cove.
They sprinted through the passage, the ground trembling beneath their feet. The air was thick with dust and the acrid scent of burning wood, stinging their eyes and throats. Hack's keen eyes scanned the dimly lit cavern, searching for any sign of their comrades.
"There!" Koala cried, her voice breaking with relief as she spotted Vaughn's familiar silhouette. He was kneeling beside a prone figure, his hands stained with blood as he pressed desperately against a gaping wound.
"Marya!" Hack bellowed, his voice a thunderous boom that seemed to momentarily still the chaos around them. The three of them rushed to Vaughn's side, their hearts sinking at the sight of Marya's pale, blood-soaked form.
"Vaughn, we need to get her out of here," Sabo said urgently, his hands already moving to assess the severity of Marya's injuries. "This place is falling apart."
Vaughn's eyes were wild with panic, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. "I can't...she's losing too much blood...I don't know what to do."
Hack placed a reassuring hand on Vaughn's shoulder, his gaze steady and determined. "We'll get her out, and we'll save her. But we need to move now."
Koala tore a strip of cloth from her sleeve and quickly fashioned a makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding. "Hang on, Marya," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. We're going to get you out of here."
With careful coordination, they lifted Marya's limp form, Hack and Sabo taking the bulk of her weight while Vaughn and Koala provided support. The ground shook beneath them, the walls closing in as they returned through the collapsing cove.
Each step was a battle against time and the relentless force of the disintegrating cavern. Their breaths were labored, their muscles straining as they pushed forward, driven by the unyielding determination to save their friend.
As they emerged into the waning light of the outside world, the cove finally gave way behind them, collapsing in a tumultuous roar that sent a shiver down their spines. They had made it, but the true fight was just beginning.
"Hold on, Marya," Vaughn whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "We're not losing you. Not today."
*****
The scene was utter chaos and impending doom as the Beast Pirate ship fought to escape the collapsing cavern. At the helm stood Captain Umeko Ozias, his eyes flashing with determination. His inky trench coat billowed around him like a cloak, adding to his formidable presence.
"Full speed ahead!" Captain Ozias bellowed, his voice cutting through the pandemonium. The crew, well-practiced in the art of quick escapes, sprang into action with a precision born of countless battles. The ship's sails unfurled with a snap, catching the scarce light that filtered through the crumbling cavern.
The ground beneath them shuddered violently, sending tremors through the ship's hull. Rocks and debris rained from above, but the Beast Pirate ship, guided by Captain Ozias's expert hand, navigated the treacherous waters with uncanny agility. The captain's horns gleamed in the dim light, symbolizing resilience and unyielding spirit.
The ship surged forward, its prow cutting through the turbulent waters, leaving a trail of foam in its wake. The cavern walls closed in, the gap to freedom narrowing with each passing second. Captain Ozias's eyes were fixed on the exit, his expression a mask of fierce concentration. The crew worked in unison, their movements a well-choreographed dance of survival.
As the ship neared the cavern's mouth, a massive boulder broke free from the ceiling and hurtled toward them with deadly intent. "Brace yourselves!" Captain Ozias shouted, gripping the wheel with steely resolve. The boulder struck the water just off the port side, sending a wave crashing over the deck. The ship rocked violently but held firm, propelled by the captain's unwavering command.
With a final, desperate push, the Beast Pirate ship burst through the collapsing cavern's entrance, emerging into the open sea. The cavern behind them gave way in a deafening roar, the sound of destruction echoing across the water. Captain Ozias exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his eyes softening as he saw the unbroken horizon.

Chapter Text

The sound of the cove collapsing echoed through the air, a cacophony of crashing rocks and splintering wood that seemed to reverberate through Charlie’s very bones. His heart pounded as he watched the swirling dust and debris rise into the sky, blotting out the sun. There was no time to waste.
Charlie turned to Avian and his grandfather, exhausted and injured from their escape. The old man’s breathing was labored, each breath a struggle against the pain that wracked his frail body. Avian, though youthful and strong, was visibly shaken, clutching his grandfather's hand with a mixture of fear and determination.
“I have to go back,” Charlie said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “I need to make sure my friends are safe.”
Avian’s eyes widened with alarm. “But Charlie, you can’t!”
Charlie shook his head. “I can’t leave them behind. The Marines will take care of you and your grandfather. You’ll be safe with them.”
The Marines, having just arrived, looked suspiciously at Charlie. Their eyes narrowed, assessing the situation with practiced precision. They had orders to secure the area and ensure the safety of any survivors, but Charlie’s sudden insistence on returning to the collapsing cove made him a figure of interest.
Reluctantly, Avian nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. With a final glance at them, Charlie sprinted towards the collapsing landscape. Every fiber of his being urged him forward, driven by a desperate need to protect those he cared about. The sound of the implosion grew louder, the ground trembling beneath his feet.
The Marines, however, were not so quickly convinced. Seeing Charlie run towards danger instead of away from it raised red flags. One of the Marines shouted, “Hey! Stop right there!” But Charlie didn’t stop. His mind was focused solely on his friends trapped in the cavern.
The Marines chased after him, their boots thudding heavily on the ground. Despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Charlie knew he couldn’t outrun them forever. He darted through the underbrush, weaving between trees and leaping over fallen logs, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
As he neared the edge of the cove, the full extent of the destruction came into view. Massive boulders had tumbled down, covering the entrance, and the air was thick with dust. Charlie’s heart sank, but he couldn’t afford to lose hope. He had to believe that his friends were still alive and had found some way to shelter themselves from the collapse.
The shouts of the Marines grew closer, and Charlie knew he had to act fast. He scanned the area for any sign of them, indicating they had survived. The Marines’ suspicion was unmistakable, and it wouldn’t be long before they caught up with him.
With a final burst of energy, Charlie clambered over the debris, calling out their names. The hope in his heart burned bright, a beacon against the encroaching darkness. He would find them, no matter what the cost.
As the dust began to settle, the faint sound of voices reached his ears, giving him the strength to continue his search against all odds. Charlie clambered over the last of the debris, his eyes scanning frantically. His voice echoed through the cove, barely audible over the settling dust. Then, he heard it – faint but unmistakable – the sound of Vaughn's voice.
“Charlie, we’re here! Over here!” Vaughn's voice was a mix of relief and desperation. Charlie rushed toward the sound, his heart pounding.
He found them huddled in a small cavity formed by the fallen rocks. Vaughn was supporting Marya, who was dangerously wounded. Blood seeped through her fingers as she clutched her side, her face pale and drawn. Sabo, Hack, and Koala were by her side, their faces grim but determined.
Marya’s breathing was shallow and labored. Blood stained the ground beneath her. Charlie's heart ached at the sight of her, the gravity of the situation hitting him with full force. He felt a surge of panic and helplessness but quickly pushed it aside, knowing he had to stay strong for her and his friends.
“Marya!” Charlie’s voice broke as he saw her state. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking. “We need to get her out of here.”
The sound of the Marines grew louder, their authoritative commands slicing through the tension-filled air. They could hear their disciplined footsteps, methodically moving closer, crunching over the debris and fallen branches. They knew they had only moments before the Marines would discover their hiding place.
"Vaughn, we have to move her," Charlie whispered urgently, his eyes darting around for an escape route. The narrow cavity that had shielded them from the worst of the collapse now felt like a trap, closing in around them. The Marines' shadows began to stretch ominously over the rocks, their presence a dark harbinger of imminent danger.
Vaughn nodded, his face set with a steely resolve. "Hack, Koala, help me lift her. We need to be quick and silent."
Hack and Koala moved swiftly, their movements efficient despite the fear that gripped them all. They carefully lifted Marya, making sure not to jostle her too much, her unconscious form limp and vulnerable.
After scanning the area, Sabo pointed towards a narrow path through the underbrush, partially concealed by overhanging foliage. "There!" he hissed. We can use that path to stay out of sight."
Charlie took the lead, his senses heightened, every sound amplified in his ears. He could feel the weight of their predicament, the desperation to escape bearing down on him. They moved as quickly as they dared, each step measured, each breath controlled. The path was treacherous, but it was their only hope.
Behind them, the Marines' voices grew fainter. Their search was methodical but not yet focused on the hidden path. They had a slim chance of evading capture for now, but they knew it wouldn't last long. They needed to find a place to hide, tend to Marya's wounds, and plan their next move.
As they weaved through the dense underbrush, the forest seemed to open up, offering them a fragile sanctuary. Charlie's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination. They had evaded the Marines for now, but the hunt was far from over. The urgency to escape, to find safety, and to heal their wounded friend drove them forward, a beacon of hope guiding them through the encroaching darkness.
The Marines were relentless in their pursuit, their voices echoing ominously through the forest. The disciplined cadence of their footsteps drew nearer, each step a stark reminder of the peril that loomed. Charlie, Vaughn, Hack, Koala, and Sabo moved with urgency, their surroundings becoming a blur of green.
As they pressed forward, Charlie's mind raced. He glanced at Vaughn, who met his eyes with an unspoken understanding. It was time.
"Koala, Hack, Sabo," Vaughn called, his voice low and steady despite the tension. "It is time for us to part ways.”
Koala's eyes hardened with resolve. "Yeah, we got you," she replied without hesitation. Hack and Sabo nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring the same fierce determination. There was no time for farewells, only action.
Koala, Hack, and Sabo turned to face the approaching threat, their weapons ready and their stance unyielding. They positioned themselves strategically, using the forest's natural cover to their advantage. The air around them crackled with anticipation, and the impending clash hung heavy.
"Go!" Sabo urged, his voice a mixture of urgency and reassurance. "We'll buy you as much time as we can."
Charlie and Vaughn didn't waste a moment. With Marya cradled carefully between them, they navigated the treacherous path toward the submarine, the promise of safety spurring them on. The sounds of the Marines grew fainter as they distanced themselves, but the knowledge of their decision weighed heavily.
As they neared the shoreline, the sleek silhouette of the submarine came into view, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Charlie's grip tightened around Marya, his determination unwavering. Vaughn's steady presence beside him was comforting.
Together, they made their way to the submarine, urgency propelling them forward. The hatch opened with a reassuring hiss, and they carefully moved Marya inside. The sterile environment starkly contrasted with the wildness they had just escaped.

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Chapter Text

Marya slowly regained consciousness. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint hum of medical equipment. As her awareness sharpened, she became acutely attentive to the stiffness that gripped her body like a vice. Each muscle felt taut, as though it had been molded from iron and left to solidify.
Her neck ached with a persistent throb, and she found it difficult to turn her head without wincing in pain. Her limbs, usually so agile and responsive, now felt weighed down and uncooperative. Every attempt to move was met with a resistance that elicited a sharp intake of breath.
Marya's back was no better; the unfamiliar mattress beneath her had done little to provide comfort. Instead, it seemed to aggravate every ache and pain, pressing unkindly against the knots that had formed along her spine. She tried to shift her position, hoping to find some relief, but the discomfort followed her like a shadow, unyielding and relentless.
Even her delicate and deft fingers were not spared. A wave of soreness radiated from her knuckles to her tips as she attempted to flex them. It was as if the very act of waking had wrought havoc on her physical self, leaving her in a state of profound discomfort.
At that moment, Marya was acutely aware of her vulnerability. The stiffness and pain were not just physical impediments; they were stark reminders of her fragility, of the toll that recent events had taken on her body.
As Marya's eyes fluttered open, she caught a glimpse of Charlie sitting by her bedside, his face etched with concern. His eyes, a mirror of the worry that had undoubtedly kept him by her side, softened as he saw her stir.
"Marya, you're awake!" he exclaimed, his voice a blend of relief and urgency. "I'll get Natalie."
Charlie quickly rose from his chair, his movements a testament to the haste that had replaced his earlier vigil. Marya watched as he hurried out of the space, the curtain swaying behind him. The silence that followed was almost deafening, the hum of the medical equipment providing a constant backdrop to her thoughts.
Moments later, the curtain slid back, and Charlie returned, his presence now accompanied by Natalie, her blond hair falling out of the messy bun on her head. Her eyes, sharp and focused, took in Marya's condition in an instant.
"Marya, how are you feeling?" Natalie asked gently, approaching the bed in a comforting and professional manner.
Marya tried to muster a response, the words slipping through her lips with a hint of effort. "Stiff... and sore," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
Natalie inspected the screens that monitored her condition. Shaking her head, she scoffs, “I swear. What were you thinking?” Picking up a clipboard, her pen scratches across the page, “You could have died! Stiff and sore, you say?” Her eyes cut to Marya, “Well, that is a good sign. That means you are alive.” She moves her fingers, inspecting Marya’s injuries. “The wound is deep, and you lost a lot of blood. Your blood type is rare; luckily, we had some. Before you go out again, we will have to pull some from you.”
Charlie rushes to Marya when she pushes herself up. Adjusting the pillows so she can be comfortable, she smiles in gratitude. “So,” she asks Natalie, who has returned to her clipboard. “When can I go?”
Natalie grits her teeth, slamming the clipboard. “When I say!” Marya blinks as she stomps out.
Charlie, returning to his seat, awkwardly chuckling while scratching the back of his head. “She was quite worried when we brought you in.” Marya nods, placing a hand on her side. Memories begin to flood in from the collapsing cavern, and her posture becomes fixed. “Sabo and the others. What happened?”
Charlie slides his glasses up. “For us to make our escape, they stayed behind to fend off the Marines.” Noticing her concern, he says, “I would not worry. That is a most capable group. I am confident they made a successful escape.”
A sudden notification pinged on their devices. "Oh my gosh, like, Marya is awake!" Bianca exclaimed, her voice a mix of excitement and relief. In her haste, she dropped her tools, almost tripping over cables.
Zola's eyes widened, a rare expression of emotion breaking through her usual composure. "This is splendid news," she remarked, carefully setting her tablet aside. "We must expedite our arrival to her location to ascertain her well-being."
As they rushed through the labyrinthine of corridors and over bridges, Bianca's thoughts tumbled out in a rapid stream. "I can't believe she's, like, finally awake! Do you think she's, like, okay? I mean, like, after everything that happened?"
Zola maintained her brisk pace, her expression resolute. "Marya's resilience is commendable. However, it is imperative that we conduct a thorough assessment to ensure she has not sustained any long-term physiological or psychological impairments."
They reached the infirmary, breathless but determined. Sliding back the curtain, they found Marya sitting up, her eyes filled with confusion and recognition.
"Marya!" Bianca burst out, rushing to her side. "You're, like, awake! This is, like, amazing!"
Zola approached more slowly, her gaze unwavering. "Marya, it is a relief to see you conscious. We were deeply concerned about your condition. How are you feeling?"
Marya managed a small smile, her hand reaching out to grasp Bianca's. "I'm... good," she replied softly, her eyes reflecting the gratitude she felt for her friends' unwavering support.
Bianca squeezed her hand, tears of relief brimming in her eyes. "We're, like, so glad you're okay. We missed you, like, so much."
Zola nodded, her professional facade softening just a fraction. "Your recovery is of paramount importance to us all, Marya. We shall do everything in our capacity to assist you."
At that moment, surrounded by her friends, Marya felt a surge of hope. No matter the challenges, she knew she would not face them alone.
*****
Kai stood near the window of the marine infirmary, his silhouette outlined against the soft, golden light of the setting sun. With delicate precision, he lifted the violin to his shoulder, the instrument fitting naturally in his hands as though it were an extension of his soul. He drew the bow across the strings, and a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the room, resonating with the unspoken emotions that lingered in the air.
His gaze drifted through the window, the expansive ocean stretching out to meet the horizon, its waves gently lapping against the shore. The serene scene outside contrasted sharply with the tension and uncertainty within the infirmary.
Vice Admiral Venus Harlow lay unconscious as the sheets conformed to the bed, indicating her lack of limb, her battle-scarred form a testament to her bravery and strength. Though reassuring, her chest's rhythmic rise and fall did little to quell the worry gnawing at Kai's heart.
As he played, memories of the recent conflict surfaced—his fall from Nuri’s back, Nuri crashing to the ground, flailing in pain, the look on Sabo’s face as he claimed victory. Kai's fingers moved with a grace that mirrored the depth of his feelings, each chord echoing in his heart.
The room's atmosphere seemed to shift, the music weaving a tapestry of solace and determination. The other patients and medics paused in their activities, drawn in by the poignant strains of the violin. It was as if time itself had stilled, allowing the gentle power of the melody to wrap around them all.
Though focused on the distant horizon, Kai's eyes were clouded with emotion. The final notes of his piece lingered in the air, promising unwavering support and an unspoken vow to see justice prevail.
Lowering the violin, Kai took a deep breath, his heart heavy yet filled with a newfound resolve. He turned back towards the bed, his expression quiet and determined. "We'll wait for you, Admiral," he whispered softly, the words carrying the weight of his promise.
The door to the infirmary creaked open. Marine Vice Admiral Vergo stepped inside, his tall, lean figure instantly catching everyone's attention. A rice cracker was inexplicably stuck to his cheek, an almost comical contrast to his otherwise imposing presence. His short dark hair was neatly trimmed, and his beard and sideburns framed his face with a distinctive horizontal and downward-growing pattern, ending in a pointed tip on his cheek.
He took a few steps forward, his sunglasses reflecting the soft, golden light of the setting sun that still streamed through the window. His gaze briefly met Kai's, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Kai lowered his violin, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise but invigorated by Vergo's timely arrival.
Vergo's eyes then shifted to Vice Admiral Venus Harlow, lying unconscious on the bed. Despite the light-hearted appearance imparted by the rice cracker on his cheek, his expression was one of somber concern. He approached the bed quietly, the faint rustling of his trench coat the only sound breaking the stillness.
"We'll wait for you, Admiral," Kai repeated softly, echoing the sentiment shared in the room.
Vergo nodded, placing a gloved hand on the bed's edge. "Tell me everything," he added, his voice a deep but gentle rumble that filled the room with unwavering resolve.
*****
The grand meeting hall of Marineford was nearly empty, the echoes of the Shichibukai's discussions still lingering in the air. The warlords had dispersed, each heading their separate ways, but one individual remained behind at the insistence of Fleet Admiral Sengoku. As the last of the Warlords exited the chamber, Sengoku's stern voice cut through the silence, "Mihawk, a word, if you will."
Dracule Mihawk, his piercing golden eyes fixed on the horizon through the tall windows, sat with his arms crossed, his iconic black blade, Yoru, resting against his chair. The tension in the room was profound as the seasoned tactician prepared to address a matter of grave importance. Mihawk's gaze did not waver as he nodded, indicating his willingness to listen.
Sengoku's demeanor was uncharacteristically somber, hinting at the seriousness of the forthcoming conversation. His eyes scrutinized the enigmatic swordsman. "Reports have reached us about a series of violent incidents," Sengoku began, his tone measured but laced with concern. "Specifically, attacks on the navy in the Rommel Kingdom and Gossypium Island. A Vice Admiral has been critically maimed, possibly for life."
Mihawk's expression remained inscrutable, though a flicker of interest danced in his eyes. He remained silent, his presence commanding enough to invite Sengoku to continue. Sengoku took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "These attacks bear the mark of someone with exceptional skill. Our intelligence suggests it is your doing - or rather, the doing of someone related to you."
At this, Mihawk's interest turned into a sharp focus. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, his voice calm and deliberate. "And what does this have to do with me, Fleet Admiral?"
Sengoku's brow furrowed as he revealed the crux of the matter. "A young woman, wielding a blade with a precision that mirrors your own. Our investigation has led us to believe she is your daughter. What do you have to say about that?"
For a moment, a silence hung in the air like a drawn sword. Mihawk's expression remained stoic, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested a deeper contemplation. "A daughter, you say? How... intriguing."
Sengoku’s patience was wearing thin. "This is no laughing matter, Mihawk. If she is your blood, then her actions reflect on you. The World Government won’t tolerate a rogue swordsman with your reputation running amok. You need to take responsibility."
Mihawk finally responded, his voice betraying no emotion. "If she indeed possesses such skill, it would be a matter of pride. However, I have no knowledge of these attacks, nor do I condone any action that endangers the stability of the world." Mihawk stood, his towering presence commanding the room. He reached for Yoru, slinging the massive blade over his shoulder with ease. "Responsibility, Sengoku? I’ve never been one to concern myself with such trivialities. If this girl is indeed my daughter, then she is her own person. Her actions are her own."
Sengoku’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over. "Trivialities? A Vice Admiral is permanently injured, and the Navy’s reputation is at stake! If you won’t take responsibility, then we’ll have no choice but to label her a threat and deal with her accordingly."
Mihawk’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, steely glare. "You’re welcome to try, Fleet Admiral. But if she’s truly my blood, then you’ll find her more than a match for your forces. And if you send anyone after her... well, let’s just say I won’t be held accountable for what happens next."
Sengoku's gaze remained fixed on Mihawk, "This girl's actions have consequences. The maiming of a Vice Admiral cannot go unpunished. If she is under your influence, I implore you to bring her to heel."
The room seemed to grow colder as Sengoku absorbed Mihawk's words. The gravity of the situation remained, but it was clear that threats or pleas would not sway Mihawk. Sengoku clenched his fists, his mind racing. He knew better than to provoke Mihawk further, but the situation was spiraling out of control. "This isn’t over, Mihawk. The World Government will demand answers."
Mihawk turned to leave, his coat billowing behind him. "Then they’ll have to wait. I have no interest in their politics or their demands. If you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
As Mihawk walked away, Sengoku watched him go, a mixture of anger and unease settling in his chest. The thought of Mihawk’s potential daughter, a wildcard with the skills to rival even the strongest swordsmen, was a problem he couldn’t ignore. But for now, there was little he could do. The world was changing, and the balance of power was shifting in ways even he couldn’t predict.
"Very well," Sengoku finally said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But know this, Mihawk: the navy will not turn a blind eye to her actions. Justice will be served, one way or another."

Chapter Text

The infirmary was a cold, sterile space, its white walls and faint hum of fluorescent lights creating an atmosphere that felt more like a morgue than a place of healing. Marya lay in the narrow bed, her ribs tightly bandaged. A monitor beeped steadily beside her, its rhythm a quiet reminder of her vulnerability. Her dark hair was loose and tangled, framing her pale face. Her golden eyes—so like her father’s—stared at the ceiling, her expression a mix of exhaustion and simmering frustration. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still seemed to linger despite the cleanliness of the room.
The curtain slid open with a soft hiss, and Aurélie stepped inside. Her silver hair, cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, catching the harsh fluorescent light. Her gray eyes, sharp and piercing, swept over Marya with a practiced calm. She carried a leather-bound notebook under one arm, its edges worn and frayed, and a small, unmarked paper cup of tea in her other hand. She looked as composed as ever, her tailored coat perfectly fitted, her expression as stoic as marble, though there was a softness in her eyes that only those who knew her well could detect.
"Marya," Aurélie said, her voice low and even as she approached the bed. "I see you’ve managed to make a mess of yourself."
Marya turned her head, wincing slightly at the movement, and met Aurélie’s gaze. "Nice to see you too," she muttered, her voice dry.
Aurélie set the tea on the bedside table and pulled a chair close to the bed, sitting with her usual impeccable posture. She crossed her legs and rested the notebook on her lap, her fingers tapping lightly on its cover. "Taking down a Vice Admiral is no small feat," she began, her tone measured. "But it appears that it came at a cost.”
Marya raised an eyebrow, a flicker of pride breaking through her exhaustion. "Thanks. I think."
Aurélie’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "Don’t let it go to your head. You still got yourself injured, which is… disappointing. A true warrior doesn’t leave a fight with scars unless they’re absolutely necessary."
Marya’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers picking at the edge of the blanket. "She mentioned my father," she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of anger and shame. "I wasn’t expecting it. Thinking about it, I surprised myself with how I reacted…I lost focus."
Aurélie’s gaze sharpened, her gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Ah. The great Dracule Mihawk. A shadow that looms large, even in his absence." She leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "Emotion is a luxury you cannot afford in battle, Marya. Your opponent saw your weakness and exploited it. And you let her."
Marya sighs, returning her gaze to the ceiling. "Yeah," lifting her sword hand, she flexes her fingers. Becoming lost in the memory, her voice drifts, “I felt my blood burn. It was so hot. It wasn’t until I was near death that I was able to bring my emotions under control again.”
Aurélie’s eyes narrowed, considering what she heard. "Your father is a legend," Aurélie interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "And that is both your greatest strength and your greatest weakness. Your opponent knew that. She used it because she saw it as your Achilles’ heel. And you proved her right."
The words stung, and Marya flinched, her chest tightening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the walls closing in as the weight of Aurélie’s words settled over her. But then Aurélie reached into her notebook and pulled out a sheet of paper, its edges slightly crumpled.
"Here," she said, handing it to Marya. "I wrote this for you."
Holding the paper, it reads: In the garden of despair, we grow like weeds, Turning pain into the milk of cows, Strength, like the roaring of quiet meads, Not letting past woes, make us bow. Our hearts, like rusty old gears in a clock, Tick-tock in the stormy breeze, Resilience is a sock without a pair, But we wear it, with awkward ease. Future’s a catfish in a bathtub, Swimming past the moldy scars, We don’t let yesterday’s shadow, Determine the brightness of our stars.
Marya looked up, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips. "Um…." Noting her mentor's proud poise, she feigned a smile. “This is so great.” Aurélie sits a little taller with the praise. “I truly feel inspired.”
Aurélie’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "I am sure the message was clear.”
Marya strains a nod, “Oh yeah. Crystal!”
Aurélie’s tone becomes focused, “You cannot let your emotions control you, Marya. Not in battle, not in life. Your father’s legacy is a part of you, but it cannot be a chain that binds you." Noting Marya’s slummed shoulder, Aurélie’s voice softened for the first time. “What will you do?"
Marya was about to reply when the current flew open with a dramatic whoosh, cutting her off mid-sentence. Nao Itsuki Makino swept into the room like a storm, his tailored coat flaring behind him. His sharp, angular features were set in an expression of exaggerated concern, his hands already gesturing wildly as he spoke. Himari Chinatsu Nomura followed close behind, her bubbly laughter filling the room as she tried to keep up with his long strides.
“Marya!” Nao exclaimed, his voice booming with theatrical urgency. “Thank goodness you’re awake! I came the moment I heard. What were you thinking, getting yourself into such a state? This is precisely why you need me—someone to ensure you don’t throw yourself into harm’s way!”
Marya groaned, sinking deeper into her pillows. “Nao, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to—”
“Nonsense!” Nao interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re clearly not fine. Look at you! Hospitalized! Injured! This is unacceptable. As your guardian, I insist you return to your studies with me as soon as possible. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
Himari giggled, her hands clasped in front of her as she beamed at Nao. “Oh, Nao, you’re so dedicated! It’s really amazing how much you care.”
Aurélie, who had been sitting in stunned silence, finally stood, her notebook clutched tightly to her chest. Her sharp features were set in a scowl, her defensive walls slamming into place. “Who do you think you are, barging in here like this? Marya doesn’t need your overbearing nonsense. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”
Nao turned to Aurélie, his expression one of exaggerated disdain. “And who, pray tell, are you? Some self-proclaimed poet who thinks scribbling bad verse makes you profound? Marya needs real guidance, not… whatever it is you’re offering.”
Himari giggled again, though her cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced between Nao and Aurélie. “Oh, Nao, you’re so passionate! It’s really inspiring!”
Marya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Both of you, stop. I don’t need this right now. Nao, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need a guardian. And Aurélie, your poetry is… fine. Just… let’s not do this here, okay?”
Aurélie’s cheeks flushed, her stoic demeanor cracking under the weight of Nao’s arrogance. She sat back down, her notebook still clutched tightly, and glared at Nao. “Fine. But if he starts lecturing again, I’m not responsible for what happens.”
Nao huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I see my presence is underappreciated. But mark my words, Marya, I will ensure you’re properly looked after. You can’t stop me.”
Himari clapped her hands together, her giggle breaking the tension. “Oh, Nao, you’re so dedicated! It’s really admirable!”
Harper burst in like an eruption of confetti, his vibrant green hair styled into an artful, tousled masterpiece that seemed to defy gravity. His sequined jacket caught the light with every movement, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the walls. He carried a bouquet of exotic flowers in one hand and a designer tote bag stuffed with what appeared to be skincare products and a few glittery accessories in the other. His makeup was flawless—sharp winged eyeliner, a dusting of iridescent glitter on his cheeks, and a bold plum lip color that perfectly complemented his flamboyant energy.
“Darling!” Harper sang out, his voice melodic and full of flair as he zeroed in on Marya. “I heard the news and simply had to come. How are you holding up, sweetheart?” He paused, glancing around the room, his eyes landing on Aurélie. “Oh! Aurélie, my dear! Fancy seeing you here. Don’t tell me you’ve been reading your poetry to poor Marya. You know how I feel about those tragic verses of yours.”
Aurélie, who had been sitting stiffly in her chair, rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smirk. “Hello, Harper. Still as subtle as a neon sign, I see.”
Harper gasped, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Subtlety is overrated, darling. Besides, someone has to bring a little color into this dreary place.” He turned back to Marya, his expression softening. “Now, sweetheart, tell me everything. Are they treating you well here? Do you need anything? A moisturizer? A lip gloss? A sequined pillow? I brought options.” He held up his tote bag as if it were a treasure chest.
Marya chuckled weakly, her exhaustion momentarily lifted by Harper’s infectious energy. “I’m okay, Harper. Really. But thanks for the offer.”
Nao, who had been standing near the window with his arms crossed, let out an exasperated sigh. “And who, pray tell, are you? Another self-appointed caretaker? Because I can assure you, Marya doesn’t need any more distractions.”
Harper turned to Nao, his eyes narrowing as he took in the man’s tailored coat and pretentious demeanor. “Oh, honey, I’m not a caretaker. I’m Harper, the fabulous beautician and, more importantly, Vaughn’s better half. You know, Vaughn? Marya’s team leader? The absolute dreamboat currently recovering down the hall? Ring any bells?”
Nao’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could respond, Himari giggled, her hands clasped in front of her. “Oh, you’re Vaughn’s boyfriend! He’s so nice! And your jacket is amazing, by the way. So sparkly!”
Harper beamed at her, clearly pleased. “Why, thank you, darling! You have excellent taste. Sequins are a lifestyle, not just a fashion choice.” He turned back to Nao, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And you must be… oh, let me guess. The overbearing academic who thinks he’s the center of the universe? Charmed, I’m sure.”
Nao’s face flushed, but before he could retort, Aurélie interjected, her voice dry. “Harper, play nice. We’re in a hospital, not a runway.”
Harper waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Hospitals could use a little more glamour. Speaking of which—” He turned back to Marya, his expression earnest. “Once you’re out of here, I’m giving you the full Harper treatment. A facial, a haircut, maybe even a bold new lip color. You’ll feel like a new person, I promise.”
Marya smiled faintly. “Thanks, Harper. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Harper’s attention then shifted to Aurélie, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you, my dear, are long overdue for a makeover. I’m thinking a bold red lip and maybe some highlights. You’ve been looking far too gloomy lately.”
Aurélie raised an eyebrow, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. “I’m fine, Harper. But I’ll let you know if I ever need to blind someone with glitter.”
Harper laughed, a bright, melodic sound that filled the room. “That’s the spirit! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on Vaughn. He’s probably bored out of his mind without me.” He leaned down to give Marya a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Rest up, darling. I’ll be back soon with more glamour and possibly a snack. Hospitals never have good snacks.”
With that, Harper swept out of the room, his sequined jacket catching the light one last time as he disappeared into the hallway. The room fell into a brief silence, the energy shifting once again. Nao looked thoroughly annoyed, Himari was still giggling, Aurélie was shaking her head with a faint smile, and Marya… well, Marya looked a little less burdened, if only for a moment. Harper had that effect on people.

Chapter Text

The Red Force was tossed like a toy in the hands of a giant. Towering waves crashed over the deck, and the wind howled like a beast, tearing at the sails and rigging. The crew fought valiantly to keep the ship afloat, but the storm was relentless.
"Hold the line, men!" Shanks bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. His crimson hair was plastered to his face as he gripped the railing, his sharp eyes scanning the tempest. Despite the danger, a grin tugged at his lips. "This is what it means to be a pirate!"
Yasopp, the crew's master sniper, was near the bow, his long rifle slung across his back. He squinted through the rain, trying to gauge the distance to the nearest island. "Captain, this storm's not letting up! We need to find shelter, or we're done for!"
Before Shanks could respond, a monstrous wave rose from the depths, crashing down on the Red Force with the strength of a sea king. The ship lurched violently, throwing crew members off their feet. The mast groaned under the strain, and a loud crack echoed as the main sail tore free.
"Brace yourselves!" Shanks shouted, but it was too late. Another wave, even larger than the last, slammed into the ship. The force of the impact sent Yasopp tumbling over the railing and into the raging sea.
"Yasopp!" Shanks' voice was intense with urgency. Without a second thought, he leaped overboard, diving into the churning waters after his crewmate. The storm swallowed them both, the waves pulling them under.
The crew of the Red Force watched in horror as their captain and sniper disappeared into the sea. Benn Beckman, the first mate, immediately took charge. "Lower the lifeboats! We're not losing them to this storm!" he barked, his voice steady despite the chaos.
The crew scrambled to obey, but the storm was unrelenting. The Red Force was badly damaged, and the waves made it nearly impossible to launch the lifeboats. "Benn, we can't hold her much longer!" Lucky Roux shouted, his usual cheer replaced by grim determination.
"Then we'll find them after the storm!" Benn replied, his keen eyes scanning the water. "Shanks and Yasopp are survivors. They'll make it through this."
Shanks fought against the waves, his strength waning with each stroke. He surfaced, gasping for air, and scanned the chaos. "Yasopp!" he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the wind. He spotted a flash of movement in the water and swam toward it.
Yasopp was struggling against the current, his strength nearly gone. He coughed up seawater, his instincts kicking in. "Captain...!" he managed to choke out before another wave dragged him under.
Shanks dove after him, his powerful strokes cutting through the water. He grabbed Yasopp by the arm, pulling him to the surface. "Hang on, Yasopp! We're not dying today!"
Yasopp nodded weakly, his grip on Shanks' arm tightening. The two men fought against the waves, their bond as crewmates giving them the strength to keep going.
The storm had passed, leaving behind an eerie calm. The once-raging sea now stretched endlessly in all directions, its surface shimmering under the moon's pale light. Shanks and Yasopp floated adrift, their bodies battered and exhausted. There was no boat, no debris to cling to—just the vast, unyielding ocean.
Shanks lay on his back, his crimson hair fanning out in the water like a fiery halo. His chest rose and fell slowly as he stared up at the starry sky, his sharp eyes reflecting the faint glow of the moon. Despite their dire situation, a faint smile played on his lips. "Well, Yasopp," he said, his voice calm and steady, "this isn't exactly how I planned to spend the evening."
Yasopp, floating nearby, let out a weak chuckle. His hat was long gone, and his eyes were half-closed from exhaustion. "You always did have a knack for understatement, Captain," he replied, his voice hoarse from swallowing seawater. "But I have to admit, this is a new low—even for us."
The two men drifted in silence for a moment, the gentle lapping of the waves the only sound. The ocean was vast and unforgiving, but Shanks' presence was a steady anchor. Yasopp glanced over at his captain, his smirk returning despite their predicament. "You know, if we make it out of this, the crew's never going to let us live it down."
Shanks laughed, the sound carrying over the quiet sea. "True enough. But I think Benn will be more relieved than anything. He hates when I pull stunts like this."
Yasopp shook his head, wincing as a wave splashed over his face. "You call jumping into a stormy sea to save me a 'stunt'? You're something else, Captain."
Shanks' grin widened. "What can I say? I can't let my best sniper drown. Who else would keep the crew in line when I'm not around?"
Yasopp chuckled, but his expression grew serious as he scanned the horizon. "Do you think they're looking for us?"
"Of course they are," Shanks replied without hesitation. "Benn won't rest until he finds us. And Lucky Roux? He's probably already cooking up a feast for when we get back."
Yasopp smiled faintly, his eyes softening. "Yeah... you're right. They'll come for us."
The two men floated in companionable silence, the stars above their only company. Shanks closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the waves lull him into a sense of calm. "You know, Yasopp," he said after a while, "this isn't the worst place to be. The sea has a way of putting things into perspective."
Yasopp raised an eyebrow, glancing at his captain. "You mean like how we're completely helpless and at the mercy of the ocean?"
Shanks chuckled. "Exactly. It reminds us that no matter how strong we think we are, the sea is always stronger. But that's what makes it exciting, don't you think?"
Yasopp shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "You're insane, Captain. But I guess that's why we follow you."
Somewhere in the distance, the faint glow of dawn began to break over the horizon. Shanks opened his eyes, gaze fixed on the light. "Looks like the sun's coming up," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Let's make sure we're still around to see it."
Yasopp nodded, his smirk returning. "Aye, Captain. We're not dying today."
*****
The infirmary doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Marya stepped out into the hallway, her golden eyes squinting against the bright fluorescent lights. She stretched her arms, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at her healing side, but the discomfort did little to dampen her restless energy. She had been cooped up in that sterile, white-walled prison for far too long, and the thought of freedom was intoxicating. She turned to glance back at the infirmary with a mix of relief and irritation.
Natalie, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail and her white coat slightly askew, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a stern expression on her face. Her blue eyes, usually full of fiery passion, were softened with concern, though she tried to hide it behind a scowl. "Don’t think this means you’re off the hook," she said, her voice sharp but laced with worry. "You’re still not at full strength, so don’t go running off to fight another Vice Admiral or whatever reckless thing you’re planning next."
Marya smirked, her overconfidence shining through as she leaned casually against the wall. "Relax, Nat. I’m fine. You’ve been hovering over me like a mother hen for days. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually cared."
Natalie’s cheeks flushed, and she pointed a finger at Marya, her short temper flaring. "Of course I care, you idiot! You came in here half-dead, and I’m the one who had to patch you up! Do you have any idea how scary that was? You’re lucky I didn’t strap you to the bed!"
Marya raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. "Oh, so you do care. How touching."
Natalie groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You’re impossible, you know that? I should’ve kept you in there another week just to teach you a lesson."
Marya’s smirk faltered for a moment, and she tilted her head, her reflective nature surfacing. "Wait… how long could I have left ago?"
Natalie froze, her eyes widening slightly as she realized her slip. She opened her mouth to respond, but Marya was already moving. In one swift motion, Marya grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and hurled it at Natalie with impressive accuracy.
"You kept me here two extra days?!" Marya exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and mock outrage.
Natalie ducked, the pillow sailing over her head and hitting the wall behind her with a soft thud. She straightened up, sticking her tongue out at Marya like a petulant child. "You needed the rest! And don’t act like you wouldn’t have done something stupid the second you were out of here!"
Marya crossed her arms, her golden eyes narrowing playfully. "Nat. I don’t do ‘stupid.’"
Natalie snorted, her hands on her hips. "Right, because charging headfirst into a fight with a Vice Admiral is the pinnacle of intelligence."
Marya opened her mouth to retort, but then paused, a slow grin spreading across her face. "You were worried about me. Admit it."
Natalie rolled her eyes, but the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her. "Whatever. Just… try not to get yourself killed, okay? I don’t want to have to patch you up again."
Marya’s grin softened, and she reached out to ruffle Natalie’s hair, earning a swat and a half-hearted glare. "Thanks, Nat. For everything."
Natalie batted her hand away, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit of it. Now get out of here before I change my mind and drag you back to bed."
Marya laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she turned and walked down the hallway, her steps full of restless energy. Natalie watched her go, shaking her head but unable to suppress her smile. As Marya disappeared around the corner, Natalie muttered to herself, "Idiot."

Chapter Text

As Marya walked with purpose, her amber eyes scanned the path ahead, her expression a mix of introspection and determination. She was on her way to the diner, a small but beloved establishment known for its spicy curry. As she reached the midpoint of the bridge, she noticed a familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction.
Vaughn strode with an easy confidence, his dark skin glowing in the twilight. His dreads were pulled back neatly, held in place by a crimson tie that matched the scarf draped around his neck. He lit up when he spotted Marya, and a grin spread across his face.
“Marya!” he called, his voice warm and welcoming. “Fancy running into you here. What brings you out this evening?”
Marya paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Dinner,” she replied simply, her voice calm but laced with her usual air of quiet confidence. “The diner’s curry is calling my name. And you? Shouldn’t you be at the Founder’s Festival planning meeting with Harper?”
Vaughn chuckled, shaking his head. “Harper’s got it covered. You know how he is—meticulous, and absolutely in his element when it comes to planning events. I’m just the moral support. Besides, he kicked me out. Said I was ‘distracting him with my rugged charm.’” He winked playfully.
Marya raised an eyebrow, already dissecting his words. “Distracting, or just getting in the way?” she teased, her tone dry but not unkind.
Vaughn laughed, a rich, hearty sound that echoed across the bridge. “A little of both, probably.” They walked in silence for a moment before Vaughn sighed, his expression turning more serious. "I got chewed out today. Knox wasn’t happy."
Marya raised an eyebrow, already piecing together the details. "Let me guess. The noble’s mansion? The Vice Admiral? The Revolutionary Army? Or was it the pirate crew? Oh, wait—it was all of it, wasn’t it?"
Vaughn groaned, running a hand over his face. "All of it. Knox went on and on about how we’re supposed to maintain anonymity—no unnecessary destruction, no alliances with rebels, no picking fights with pirates. And then there’s the Vice Admiral. Nanette was there too, and she didn’t hold back either. Said I was setting a bad example for the team."
Marya snorted, her nostrils flaring. "Bad example? Please. We got the job done, didn’t we? Charlie retrieved the relic, and no one’s giving him enough credit for it. Besides, it’s not like you planned for everything to go sideways."
Vaughn shot her a look, his dark eyes narrowing. "I was the team lead, Marya. It’s my job to make sure things don’t go sideways. And you—" He pointed at her, his tone firm but not unkind. "You were reckless. Taking on that Vice Admiral by yourself."
Marya crossed her arms, her assurance unwavering. "What was I supposed to do? Let the Navy take us?"
Vaughn sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know. But you can’t make a habit of this, Marya. One of these days, your luck’s going to run out. And I can’t—" He paused, his voice softening. "I can’t lose you. Not like that."
Marya’s expression softened, her stubbornness giving way to something more reflective. She glanced at him, her piercing eyes searching his face. "You won’t lose me, Vaughn. I’m not that easy to get rid of."
He chuckled, the tension easing between them. "We almost lost you this time. We were lucky. We may not be so lucky next time."
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the bridge stretching out before them. The city lights began to flicker on, casting a soft glow over the bridges. Marya glanced at Vaughn, her tone more serious now. "You know, you don’t have to take all the blame. We’re a team. We all made choices out there."
Vaughn nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I know. But as the team lead, it’s my responsibility to make sure we’re all on the same page. And sometimes that means taking the heat when things go wrong."
Marya's resolve hardened as she promised Vaughn, "I’ll do better. I won’t be reckless again, and I’ll make sure not to cause trouble for the team. You can count on me to be more careful and responsible." Vaughn nodded, appreciating her determination.
*****
The is Red Force adrift in a sea of glassy calm. The ship bore the scars of the tempest—torn sails, a cracked mast, and a deck littered with debris. The crew moved with purpose, their faces etched with worry as they worked to secure what they could. The absence of Shanks and Yasopp hung heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the storm's toll.
Lucky Roux, his usual cheer replaced by a grim determination, stood near the bow, his hands gripping the railing. "We can't just sit here," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "Shanks and Yasopp are out there. We need to go after them!"
The crew murmured in agreement, their eyes filled with urgency. But, Beckman, the first mate, stood at the helm, scanning the horizon. His calm demeanor was unshaken, but there was a steely resolve in his gaze that silenced any dissent.
"We're not going anywhere until we get this ship repaired," Benn said, his voice firm and unwavering. "If we set out now, we'll be dead in the water. And that won't help Shanks or Yasopp."
Lucky Roux turned to face Benn, his frustration boiling over. "But what if they're hurt? What if they're—"
"Shanks is the strongest man I know," Benn interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension. "And Yasopp is a survivor. They'll make it through this. But we won't be any help to them if we don't get the Red Force back in shape."
The crew fell silent, their frustration warring with their trust in Benn's judgment. They knew he was right, but the thought of leaving their captain and sniper adrift was almost unbearable.
Benn stepped down from the helm, his presence commanding as he addressed the crew. "Our first priority is to find an island where we can make repairs. Once the ship is seaworthy, we'll search for Shanks and Yasopp. But we can't help them if we're stranded out here."
Before the crew could respond, a shout came from the crow's nest. "Ship on the horizon! It's the Navy!"
The crew froze, their eyes turning toward the horizon. A Marine warship was approaching, its sails billowing in the wind and its cannons gleaming in the sunlight. The sight sent a ripple of tension through the crew.
Benn's expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. "This complicates things," he muttered under his breath. He turned to the crew, his voice steady but urgent. "Prepare for battle, but don't engage unless necessary. We're in no condition to fight, but we can't let them board us."
The crew sprang into action, their training kicking in despite the ship's damaged state. Lucky Roux grabbed a nearby harpoon, his usual grin replaced by a fierce determination. "If they want a fight, we'll give them one," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Benn returned to the helm, his mind racing. He knew they couldn't afford a confrontation—not with the Red Force in its current state. But he also knew the Navy wouldn't show mercy to a crew of pirates, especially one as notorious as the Red Hair Pirates.
*****
At a long, ornate table in the center of the library, Marya Zaleska sat her hair tied back into a messy bun, her eyes focused on the weathered poneglyph text before her. Nao Itsuki Makino stood over her, his dramatic gestures cutting through the air as he spoke. Wearing a tailored coat and silk cravat, he looked as if he belonged in a concert hall rather than a library.
His voice was sharp, carrying a tone of exasperation as he pointed at the text. "No, no, no, Marya! You're missing the nuance entirely. The glyphs here aren't just about the literal translation—they're layered with metaphor. How can you expect to understand the poneglyphs if you can't grasp the subtleties of their construction?" He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Honestly, it's like trying to teach a cat to appreciate Beethoven."
Marya clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She had only just been released from the infirmary, and her body still ached, but she refused to show weakness. "I am trying," she said through gritted teeth, her voice low but laced with frustration. "Maybe if you explained it instead of just criticizing, I'd get it faster."
Nao waved a hand dismissively, his expression one of exaggerated disappointment. "Trying isn't enough, Marya. You need to excel. Your mother would have understood this immediately. She had a natural brilliance, a—"
"Don't bring her into this," Marya snapped, her amber eyes flashing. She hated when he compared her to her mother, as if she were some pale imitation rather than her own person. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "Just... explain it again. I'll get it."
Himari Chinatsu Nomura, standing quietly beside Nao, giggled softly at his dramatic antics, her blue eyes sparkling with admiration. She was a striking contrast to Nao's flamboyance, her blonde hair catching the light as she placed a reassuring hand on Marya's shoulder. "You're doing well, Marya," she said softly, her voice warm and encouraging. "Nao-sensei is just... passionate about the subject. Let's break it down step by step, okay?" She glanced at Nao, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before she turned back to the text, her tone patient and kind.
Nao huffed, crossing his arms. "Passionate? I'm dedicated. There's a difference. But fine, if you insist on coddling her, Himari, we'll go slower. Again, Marya—start from the top."
Marya exhaled sharply, her pride warring with her determination to learn. She hated feeling like a novice, especially when it came to something as important as the poneglyphs. But she also knew she couldn't afford to let her frustration get the better of her. She leaned over the text again, her eyes tracing the intricate symbols as she forced herself to focus. "Alright," she muttered. "From the top."
As Nao launched into another lecture, his hands gesturing wildly as if conducting an invisible orchestra, Himari quietly adjusted the text to make it easier for Marya to follow. Her presence was a calming counterbalance to Nao's intensity, and Marya found herself grateful for the small kindness. Marya's resolve hardened as she worked, her mind slowly piecing together the puzzle of the glyphs. She would master this, no matter how many times Nao criticized her. She had to.
*****
As the Marine ship drew closer, a voice boomed across the water through a loudspeaker. "Red Hair Pirates! Stand down and prepare to be boarded! You are under arrest!"
Benn's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm as he addressed the crew. "Hold your positions. Let's see if we can talk our way out of this."
The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but they trusted Benn's judgment. They stood ready, their weapons in hand, as the Marine ship pulled alongside the Red Force. A group of Marines stood on the deck, their rifles trained on the pirates.
Benn stepped forward, his eyes locking with the Marine captain's. "We're not looking for trouble," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We've just been through a storm, and we're in no condition to fight. Let us go, and there won't be any bloodshed."
The Marine captain sneered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You're pirates. You don't get to make demands. Surrender now, or we'll sink your ship."
Benn's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "You don't want to do this," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "We may be damaged, but we're still the Red Hair Pirates. And we don't go down without a fight."
The tension between the two ships was tense, the air thick with the promise of violence. But before the situation could escalate, a shout came from the Marine ship's crow's nest. "Captain! There's another ship approaching—it's a pirate vessel!"
The Marine captain hesitated, his eyes darting toward the horizon. Benn seized the opportunity. "Looks like you've got bigger problems," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I suggest you deal with them before you pick a fight you can't win."
The Marine captain glared at Benn, but he knew the first mate was right. With a frustrated growl, he barked orders to his crew, and the Marine ship turned away, heading toward the new threat.
The crew of the Red Force let out a collective breath, their tension easing slightly. Benn turned to his crew, filled with determination. "Let's not waste this chance. Find me an island, and fast. We've got a captain and a sniper to bring home."

Chapter Text

The wisteria blossoms hung in lush, cascading curtains of lavender and violet, their delicate petals trembling in the gentle breeze. The air was thick with their sweet, floral scent, mingling with the salty tang of the sea that surrounded the island. Beneath the canopy of blossoms, Marya, and her friends had spread out a large, checkered picnic blanket, its corners anchored by baskets overflowing with food and drink. The group was alive with excitement, their voices bubbling over with anticipation for the Founder’s Festival.
Marya sat with her legs folded neatly beneath her, her long raven hair spilling over her shoulders like a dark silk scarf. Eternal Night rested at her side, its hilt catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the blossoms. She leaned back on one hand, her eyes softened by the beauty of the scene around her. A small, contented smile played on her lips as she listened to the others chatter. “I’ve already decided on my kimono,” she said, her voice calm but confident. “It’s deep indigo with silver accents—simple, but elegant. I want to be able to move freely if there’s a sparring demonstration.”
Bianca, seated cross-legged beside Marya, let out an exaggerated gasp. “Of course you’ve already planned yours,” she said, “I’m still deciding between, like, this gorgeous emerald, green one with gold embroidery or this, like, stunning crimson one with black patterns. They’re both, like, so perfect.” She gestured wildly, her long black hair shimmering as it caught the light. “But I think the green one will, like, really make my eyes pop, you know?”
Zola, adjusted her glasses and pointed a finger in the air, her pink hair bright like spun sugar in the sunlight. “I’ve chosen a kimono in a soft lavender shade,” she declared. “It’s a nod to the wisteria blossoms, of course, but also a symbol of refinement. And I’ve already planned the accessories—a silver obi and a hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. It’s going to be perfectly coordinated.”
Natalie, seated next to Emmet, groaned dramatically, her blond hair catching the sunlight like spun gold. “I just want something comfortable,” she said, her blue eyes wide with exasperation. “Something that doesn’t, you know, make me feel like I’m being strangled by fabric. And it has to have pockets. Why do kimonos never have pockets?” She crossed her arms, her short temper flaring briefly before she laughed. “But seriously, I’m thinking of a soft blue one with white cherry blossoms. It’s calming, and it won’t clash with my hair.”
Emmet, chuckled softly. “I’m going with a traditional dark green kimono,” he said, his voice steady and thoughtful. “It’s understated, but the embroidery along the hem is intricate—a geometric pattern inspired by fractal designs. It’s a subtle nod to my... interests.” He glanced at Natalie, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he added, “And yes, it has pockets.”
Charlie, ever the enthusiastic archaeologist, cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’ve chosen a kimono in a rich, earthy brown,” he announced, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’s inspired by the ancient textiles of the island’s founders. The patterns are based on historical designs I found in the archives—symbols of resilience and unity. And,” he added with a grin, “it has pockets. Big ones. For all my notes.”
The group erupted into laughter, the sound mingling with the rustle of the blossoms above. Bianca leaned over to poke Natalie in the arm. “See? Charlie gets it. Pockets are essential.” Natalie grinned, her earlier frustration melting away. “Exactly! Someone finally understands.”
As the conversation shifted to the food they planned to enjoy at the festival, the excitement grew even more palpable. Marya reached for a skewer of grilled meat from the picnic basket. “I’m looking forward to the yakitori stalls,” she said, taking a bite. “And the mochi. There’s nothing better than freshly pounded mochi.”
Bianca nodded enthusiastically, her mouth already full of a sweet pastry. “Oh my gosh, yes! And, like, the taiyaki stands? I heard they’re doing a special filling this year—matcha and red bean. It’s going to be amazing.”
Zola, ever the perfectionist, had already mapped out her culinary itinerary. “I’ve made a list of the most reputable vendors,” she said, pulling a small notebook from her bag. “We’ll start with the takoyaki stall near the main stage, then move on to the kakigori stand for shaved ice. And we must try the dango from the stall by the waterfall—it’s supposed to be the best on the island.”
Natalie groaned, clutching her stomach. “You’re making me hungry just talking about it. But I’m with Zola—we have to try everything. Especially the festival-exclusive dishes. It’s tradition!”
Emmet, chimed in. “And we can’t forget the sake tasting,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “There’s a new brewer showcasing their work this year. I’ve read about their techniques—they use a centuries-old method passed down through generations. It’s going to be a cultural experience.”
“Aurélie!” Marya greeted her mentor with a respectful nod, though her sharp eyes caught the parchment and she braced herself. The others turned, their chatter dying down as they noticed the proud glint in Aurélie’s eyes.
“I’ve written something,” Aurélie announced, her voice steady but carrying a rare note of enthusiasm. She held up the parchment as if it were a treasure. “I wanted to share it with you all. I’ve been working on it for some time, and I believe it captures the essence of the wisteria blossoms and the spirit of the festival.”
The group exchanged subtle glances with hesitation. They all knew Aurélie’s poetry was... unique, to say the least. But her pride in her work was undeniable, and none of them wanted to hurt her feelings. Bianca, was the first to speak. “Oh, wow, Aurélie! That’s, like, so cool that you wrote something. We’d love to hear it!”
Aurélie nodded, her expression serious as she unfolded the parchment. She cleared her throat and began to read, her voice steady and deliberate:
“Oh wisteria, thou purple rain,
Dancing in the wind’s domain.
Thy petals fall like tears of night,
A symphony of soft moonlight.
The locust’s wings, they hum with grace,
As shadows weave their lace.
Oh festival of founders’ pride,
In thee, our hearts confide.”
When she finished, she looked up, her gray eyes scanning the group expectantly. “Well?” she asked, her tone confident but with a hint of vulnerability. “What do you think?”
There was a beat of silence. Marya, kept her expression neutral, though her mind raced for a diplomatic response. Bianca was the first to break the silence. “Wow, Aurélie, that was, like, really... descriptive!” she said, her voice a little too bright. “I could totally, like, picture the wisteria and everything. It was so... poetic!”
Zola adjusted her glasses and nodded, her pink hair catching the light as she spoke. “Yes, it was... certainly evocative. The imagery was... vivid.” She hesitated, then added, “And the rhyme scheme was... consistent.”
Natalie, forced a smile. “It was really... heartfelt,” she said, though her voice wavered slightly. “You can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”
Emmet, cleared his throat. “The use of metaphor was... interesting,” he said carefully. “And the way you tied in the locust’s wings—very creative.”
Charlie, nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes! It was... unique! A true reflection of your... artistic vision.”
Aurélie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her instincts picking up on their hesitation. “You’re all being unusually vague,” she said, her tone tinged with suspicion. “Is there something you’re not saying?”
The group froze, their smiles faltering. Marya, sensing the tension, stepped in. “It’s not that, Aurélie,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “It’s just... poetry is subjective. What matters is that you’re proud of it. That’s what counts.”
Aurélie studied them for a moment, her gray eyes piercing. Then, to their surprise, she smiled—a rare, genuine smile. “I see,” she said, her voice softening. “You’re trying to spare my feelings. I appreciate that, but I value honesty above all else. If it’s not to your taste, you can say so.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, Natalie sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s... not exactly my style,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s bad! It’s just... different.”
Bianca nodded quickly. “Yeah, like, it’s super creative and everything, but maybe it’s a little... abstract? For me, at least.”
Aurélie considered their words, her expression thoughtful. “I see,” she said again, folding the parchment carefully. “Thank you for your honesty. I’ll take your feedback into consideration for my next piece.”
The group visibly relaxed, relieved that she hadn’t taken offense. Aurélie sat down on the edge of the picnic blanket, her katana resting across her lap. “Now,” she said, her tone returning to its usual stoic demeanor, “tell me more about the kimonos you’ve chosen for the festival. I’m considering a black one with silver accents—simple, but striking.”
Just as Natalie was passionately explaining why her kimonos had to have pockets, Vaughn appeared, his easygoing smile and calm demeanor a welcome addition to the group. He carried a small basket in one hand, its contents smelling faintly of spices and freshly baked bread. “Hey, everyone,” he greeted, his voice warm and steady. “Mind if I join?”
“Vaughn!” Marya said, nodding in acknowledgment. “Of course. Where’s Harper? I thought he’d be with you.”
Vaughn chuckled as he set the basket down and took a seat on the edge of the picnic blanket. “Oh, you know Harper. He’s knee-deep in festival planning. He’s been running around all day making sure everything is perfect.” He rolled his eyes affectionately. “I tried to drag him away for a break, but he shooed me off, saying something about ‘the centerpieces needing his personal touch.’”
Bianca giggled, her green eyes sparkling. “That sounds, like, so Harper. He’s, like, totally obsessed with making everything flawless. I bet he’s out there, like, rearranging flower arrangements or something.”
“Probably,” Vaughn said with a grin. “He’s been like this since we got back. Every time I think he’s done, he comes up with something else to tweak. Last night, he woke me up at 2 a.m. because he had a ‘vision’ for the lantern displays.”
The group laughed, their amusement mingling with the gentle rustle of the wisteria blossoms above. Zola adjusted her glasses and pointed a finger in the air. “Harper’s dedication is admirable, though. The festival wouldn’t be the same without his flair for the dramatic.”
“True,” Vaughn admitted, his tone fond. “He’s got a way of making everything beautiful. I just wish he’d take a break once in a while. He’s been so stressed lately, and I’m starting to worry about him.”
Natalie, leaned forward. “You should just kidnap him for an hour or two. Bring him here. He can’t say no to wisteria blossoms and good food.”
Vaughn laughed, his deep voice carrying a note of warmth. “I might just do that. But for now, I’m here to enjoy the picnic and catch up with all of you.”
“What’s in the basket, by the way?” Charlie asked, his curiosity piqued.
Vaughn opened the basket, revealing an assortment of treats—spiced meat pies, sweet rolls dusted with sugar, and a bottle of chilled fruit tea. “Harper insisted I bring something,” he explained. “He said, ‘If you’re going to abandon me for the picnic, at least make sure you contribute.’”
The group eagerly dug into the offerings, their appreciation evident. “Harper might be high-maintenance,” Emmet said between bites of a meat pie, “but he knows good food.”
“He does,” Vaughn agreed, his smile softening. “And he’d kill me if I didn’t tell you all to save some for him. He’ll probably show up later, demanding to know why we didn’t leave him anything.”
As the conversation flowed, Vaughn listened intently as Zola explained her meticulously planned kimono, nodded along as Bianca gushed about the festival’s food stalls, and even managed to coax a rare laugh out of Marya with a well-timed joke.
At one point, Natalie leaned over to Vaughn, her voice teasing. “So, what about you? What are you wearing to the festival? Please tell me it’s not another boring yukata.”
Vaughn raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Boring? My yukata is classic. Dark blue with silver accents. Simple, elegant, and—most importantly—comfortable. Unlike some people,” he added, glancing pointedly at Natalie, “I don’t need pockets to feel complete.”
“Ah, what a delightful gathering!” Nao Itsuki Makino announced, his voice carrying the dramatic flair of a stage actor. He strode into view, his hands gesturing grandly as if he were addressing an audience. His tailored yukata, a deep maroon with gold embroidery, shimmered in the sunlight. Behind him, Himari followed, her giggle soft and melodic. Her blond hair caught the light with her cheerful demeanor.
“Nao,” Marya said, her tone polite but guarded. She knew all too well how his visits tended to go. “Himari. What brings you here?”
Nao waved a hand dismissively, as if the answer were obvious. “Why, the wisteria blossoms, of course! One cannot truly appreciate the Founder’s Festival without understanding the historical and cultural significance of these magnificent flowers.” He paused dramatically, his eyes sweeping over the group. “And I see you’ve all gathered here, blissfully unaware of the rich tapestry of history surrounding you. Fear not, for I am here to enlighten you.”
Himari giggled, her hands clasped together. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she said, her voice adoring. “He’s been researching the history of wisteria for weeks. It’s so fascinating!”
Nao preened under her praise, clearly enjoying the attention. “Indeed, Himari. Now, if I may—” He cleared his throat and launched into his lecture, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. “The tradition of flower viewing, or hanami, dates back centuries, originating in the courts of ancient nobility. Wisteria, or fuji, has long been a symbol of longevity, perseverance, and the fleeting nature of beauty. Its cascading blossoms are said to represent the passage of time, a reminder that all things must eventually fade.”
The group exchanged subtle glances, their amusement thinly veiled. Bianca leaned over to Zola and whispered, “Like, does he ever take a breath?” Zola stifled a laugh, adjusting her glasses to hide her smile.
Nao, oblivious to their reactions, continued. “The wisteria’s significance extends beyond mere aesthetics. In architecture, its twisting vines have inspired countless designs, from the latticework of traditional tea houses to the intricate patterns of kimono fabrics. And in music—” He paused dramatically, his hand sweeping through the air. “Ah, but I see I’ve already captivated you all. No need to thank me.”
Aurélie, who had been quietly observing the scene, raised an eyebrow. “Your lecture is... thorough,” she said, her tone dry. “Though perhaps a bit long-winded.”
Nao turned to her, his expression one of mock offense. “Ah, Aurélie. I see you’ve graced us with your presence. Tell me, have you written any new... poetry lately?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, his tone dripping with condescension. “I must say, your last piece was... memorable. Though not necessarily for the right reasons.”
Himari giggled nervously, her eyes darting between Nao and Aurélie. “Oh, Nao, don’t tease her! I’m sure her poetry is lovely.”
Aurélie’s gray eyes narrowed, her stoic demeanor faltering for a moment. “My poetry is a personal expression,” she said, her voice cool but edged with irritation. “It’s not meant to cater to your... refined tastes.”
Nao chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Of course, of course. Art is subjective, after all. Though one might argue that true artistry requires a certain level of... finesse.”
The group tensed, their amusement fading as they sensed the tension between the two. Marya, stepped in. “Nao, perhaps you could share more about the wisteria’s role in the Founder’s Festival. I’m sure we’d all find that interesting.”
Nao turned to her, his expression softening. “Ah, Marya, ever the thoughtful one. Very well, I shall indulge you.” He launched back into his lecture, his hands gesturing grandly as he spoke of the festival’s origins and the wisteria’s symbolic importance.
Himari, nodded along enthusiastically, her giggles punctuating Nao’s more dramatic statements. “Isn’t he brilliant?” she whispered to Natalie, who gave her a bemused smile.
“Well, well,” Master Gaius said, his voice rich with amusement. “What do we have here? A gathering of the island’s finest, enjoying the blossoms without me? I’m hurt.”
The group turned, their faces lighting up at the sight of the senior master. “Master Gaius!” Marya greeted, her tone respectful but warm. “And Dalton. What brings you here?”
Dalton stepped forward, his small hands planted on his hips. “Grandpa said I could come see the wisteria blossoms,” he announced, his voice brimming with pride. “And I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. They’re just flowers, right?”
Master Gaius chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Patience, Dalton. There’s more to these blossoms than meets the eye. But first—” He glanced at the group, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I hope you’ve saved some food for us. This one’s got a bottomless stomach.”
The group laughed, shifting to make room on the picnic blanket. Bianca handed Dalton a sweet roll, which he accepted with a grin. “Thanks! Grandpa says I need to eat a lot if I’m gonna be a guardian like him.”
“Is that so?” Vaughn said, his tone playful. “And what makes you think you’re ready to be a guardian, huh?”
Dalton puffed out his chest, his expression serious. “I’m already training with Grandpa! I can do a hundred push-ups, and I know all the basic sword stances. Right, Grandpa?”
Master Gaius nodded, his smile fond but teasing. “That’s right. Though he still has a tendency to rush into things without thinking. Reminds me of someone else I know.” He glanced pointedly at Marya, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.
As Dalton eagerly devoured his sweet roll, Master Gaius settled onto the blanket, his pipe resting in his hand. “So,” he said, his tone light but probing, “what have you all been discussing? Nao, I hope you haven’t been boring them with one of your lectures.”
Nao straightened, his expression indignant. “Boring? My lectures are enlightening, Master Gaius. I was just explaining the historical significance of wisteria and its role in the Founder’s Festival.”
Master Gaius raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Ah, of course. Because nothing says ‘festival fun’ like a history lesson.”
The group erupted into laughter, Nao’s protests drowned out by their amusement. Dalton, his mouth still full of sweet roll, looked up at his grandfather. “Grandpa, can you tell us a story? A real one, not like his.” He pointed at Nao, who looked positively scandalized.
Master Gaius chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A story, eh? Very well. Let me tell you about the time I faced a rogue swordsman in the middle of a wisteria grove. It was a duel unlike any other...”
As Master Gaius launched into his tale, his voice rich with drama and humor, the group leaned in, captivated. Even Nao, despite his earlier indignation, found himself drawn into the story. Dalton listened with wide-eyed wonder, his earlier bravado replaced by pure admiration for his grandfather.
When the story ended, Dalton clapped his hands. “That was awesome! I’m gonna be just like you, Grandpa. I’ll be the best guardian ever!”
Master Gaius smiled, his expression softening. “You’ve got the spirit, Dalton. But remember, being a guardian isn’t just about strength or skill. It’s about protecting what matters most—your friends, your home, and the people who depend on you.”
Dalton nodded, his expression serious for a moment before he grinned. “I know, Grandpa. And I’ll be the best at that too!”
The picnic was alive with energy, the air thick with the scent of blooming wisteria and the sounds of laughter, music, and chatter. The crowd was beginning to gather near the central stage, where Mayor Amel Ellington would soon give his speech to kick off the festivities.
Just as the group was debating whether to stay put or move closer to the stage, Harper appeared, his usually immaculate green hair slightly disheveled and his fair skin flushed with exertion. His extravagant yukata, a vibrant mix of gold and emerald, was still stunning, but his usual air of effortless grace was replaced by a frazzled energy. He clutched a clipboard in one hand and a half-finished cup of tea in the other, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and overwhelm.
“Harper!” Vaughn called out, his voice warm but tinged with concern. “You look like you’ve been running a marathon. Everything okay?”
Harper waved a hand dramatically, his voice breathless but still full of his characteristic flair. “Darling, I’ve been everywhere. Do you know how many last-minute details there are? The flowers, the lanterns, the seating arrangements—it’s a nightmare! But,” he added with a proud smile, “it’s going to be perfect. Just you wait.”
Bianca giggled, her green eyes sparkling. “Harper, you’re, like, totally killing it. But maybe take a breath? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Harper sighed, sinking onto the edge of the picnic blanket. “You’re right, you’re right. I just needed to see your faces for a moment. It’s been chaos, and I needed a reminder of why I’m doing all this.” He glanced around the group, his smile softening. “You all look wonderful, by the way. The kimonos, the blossoms—it’s like a scene from a painting.”
Before anyone could respond, a small voice piped up. “Harper!” Dalton, Master Gaius’s grandson, bounded over, his eyes wide with admiration. “Did you really plan all of this? It’s so cool!”
Harper’s smile widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Why, thank you, darling. It’s been a labor of love, but seeing everyone enjoy it makes it all worth it.”
Just then, Micah Ellington, the mayor’s son, appeared, his confident stride and mischievous grin unmistakable. Behind him was Anna Penrose, the captain of the guards’ daughter, her kind but morose demeanor, a contrast to Micah’s boundless energy. “Dalton!” Micah called out, his voice full of excitement. “Come on! We’re gonna explore the picnic before Dad starts his boring speech.”
Dalton’s eyes lit up, and he turned to his grandfather. “Can I go, Grandpa? Please?”
Master Gaius chuckled, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “Go on, then. But stay out of trouble, you hear?”
Dalton nodded eagerly, already running off with Micah and Anna. The three children disappeared into the crowd, their laughter trailing behind them.
As the group watched them go, Harper sighed again, this time with a mix of relief and exhaustion. “I should probably get back,” he said, though he made no move to stand. “Amel’s speech is about to start, and I need to make sure everything’s ready.”
Vaughn reached out, placing a hand on Harper’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough, Harper. Sit for a minute. The festival’s going to be amazing, and you deserve to enjoy it too.”
Harper hesitated, then nodded, sinking back onto the blanket. “You’re right. Just for a minute.”
At that moment, the crowd near the stage began to quiet, and Mayor Amel Ellington stepped up to the podium. His presence was commanding, his yukata a deep crimson with gold accents that caught the light. Beside him stood his wife, Nanette Ellington, with her raven hair swept into an elaborate updo she scanned the crowd with regal confidence. She exuded elegance, her every movement a statement of grace and authority.
Amel cleared his throat, his voice carrying across the crowd. “Welcome, everyone, to the Founder’s Festival!”
The crowd erupted into applause, and Harper finally allowed himself to relax, a proud smile spreading across his face. The festival had begun, and despite the chaos, it was everything he had dreamed it would be. As the mayor’s speech continued, the group sat together beneath the wisteria blossoms, their laughter and camaraderie a testament to the bonds that held them together. The children’s joyful shouts echoed in the distance, and the air was filled with the promise of a week full of celebration and wonder.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the picnic grounds, and the cascading lavender flowers seemed to shimmer in the fading light. As they sat together, their conversation turned to the friends who were notably absent.
“I can’t believe Riggs, Jax, and Celeste aren’t here yet,” Bianca said, her voice tinged with disappointment. She twirled a strand of her long black hair around her finger, her green eyes scanning the crowd as if hoping to spot them. “Like, this is the Founder’s Festival. It’s, like, the biggest event of the year. How could they miss it?”
Marya leaned back on her hands. Her expression was thoughtful, though there was a hint of concern in her sharp, analytical eyes. “They’re on important tasks,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “They’ll be back when they can.”
Zola adjusted her glasses, as she pointed a finger in the air. “Yes, but the festival only lasts a week. If they don’t return soon, they’ll miss the best parts—the lantern lighting ceremony, the sparring demonstrations, the—”
“The food,” Charlie interrupted, his tone enthusiastic. He cleared his throat. “The festival’s culinary offerings are unparalleled. The dango, the yakitori, the mochi—it’s a cultural experience they simply can’t afford to miss.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, though her smile was fond. “Charlie, not everything is about food. But he’s right,” she added, turning to the group. “It won’t be the same without them. Riggs would’ve loved the sparring matches, and Jax would’ve been fussing over everyone to make sure we were ‘staying safe.’” She imitated Jax’s serious tone, earning a laugh from the group.
Emmet, leaned forward, his red hair catching the sunlight. “And Celeste,” he said quietly. “She’s been looking forward to this for months. She told me she wanted to try all the festival games this year.”
Vaughn nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah, she’s been working so hard. It’s not fair that she might miss it. And Riggs—he’d never let us hear the end of it if he missed the chance to show off his sword skills.”
Harper, who had been quietly listening, sighed dramatically. “Darling, you’re all breaking my heart. They’ll be back. They have to be. I didn’t spend weeks planning this festival just for them to miss it.”
Master Gaius, who had been puffing on his kiseru pipe, chuckled softly. “They’re good kids,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with a hint of mischief. “Stubborn, reckless, and a little too serious at times, but good kids. They’ll find a way to make it back.”
Marya’s lips curved into a small smile, though her eyes remained distant. “Jax would never let a task keep him away for too long,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “And Riggs... well, he’d probably find some reckless way to finish early just so he could show off at the festival.”
Bianca giggled. “And Celeste would follow him, even if she’s too shy to admit it.”
The group laughed, the tension easing as they imagined their absent friends. Natalie sighed, her blue eyes softening. “I just hope they’re safe. Riggs is so reckless, and Jax is always trying to keep him in line. And Celeste... she’s so quiet, but she’s always looking out for everyone else.”
Vaughn reached over and gave Natalie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll be fine. And when they get back, we’ll make sure they don’t miss out on anything.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the picnic grounds in a soft, twilight glow, the group fell into a comfortable silence. The wisteria blossoms swayed gently above them, their delicate petals a reminder of the fleeting beauty of the moment. Though their friends were far away, the group held onto the hope that they would return in time to share in the joy of the festival. And until then, they would celebrate together, their laughter and camaraderie a testament to the bonds that held them all close.

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Chapter Text

The dojo was a sanctuary of calm, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. The sliding shoji doors were partially open, allowing the gentle breeze to carry in the faint fragrance of wisteria blossoms from the garden outside. The late afternoon sun filtered through the paper screens, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Marya sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, her posture straight and composed, before her, the shogi board was set up, its pieces arranged neatly in their starting positions.
Across from her, Master Gaius settled onto the floor with a relaxed grace, his weathered kiseru pipe resting between his fingers. “Ready to lose again, Marya?” he teased, his voice rich with amusement as he set his pipe aside.
Marya raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, confident smile. “We’ll see about that, Master Gaius. I’ve been practicing.”
Master Gaius chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Confidence is good. But let’s see if it’s backed by skill.”
They began the game, their moves deliberate and thoughtful. The clack of shogi pieces against the wooden board punctuated the quiet of the dojo, the rhythm of their play steady and measured. Marya scanned the board, her mind calculating strategies and countermoves. Master Gaius, meanwhile, maintained his usual air of relaxed confidence, his movements unhurried but precise.
As the game progressed, Master Gaius broke the silence with a casual remark. “So, how are you finding the festival preparations? Harper’s been running himself ragged trying to make everything perfect.”
Marya moved a piece on the board, her expression thoughtful. “He’s certainly dedicated. The wisteria viewing was... enjoyable. It was good to relax with everyone before the chaos begins.”
Master Gaius nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Peaceful, you say? With that group?”
Marya’s lips twitched in amusement. “Well, as peaceful as it can be with Nao lecturing everyone on the history of wisteria.”
Master Gaius laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Ah, Nao. He means well, but he does have a way of making everything about himself, doesn’t he?”
Marya moved another piece, her gaze flickering to the open doors of the dojo, where the wisteria blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. “He does. But it was a good day. Aurélie even shared one of her poems.”
Master Gaius raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Did she now? And how did that go?”
Marya hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It was... unique. She’s very proud of it.”
Master Gaius chuckled, clearly understanding the subtext. “Ah, yes. Aurélie’s poetry is... an acquired taste. But it’s good that she’s expressing herself. Not everyone has the courage to share their art.”
Marya nodded, her attention returning to the board. “The festival starts tonight. The lantern lighting ceremony is supposed to be spectacular this year.”
The room fell quiet as Marya studied the board, her mind drifted back to the fierce battle with the Vice Admiral, the moment her guard faltered, and the sharp pain as the blade cut deep. The mention of her father, had caught her off guard, rendering her vulnerable and unable to defend herself. The memory of that critical injury lingered, a constant reminder of her shortcomings.
Finally, Marya broke the silence, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I lost focus,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the floor. “The Vice Admiral... she mentioned my father. And I... I wasn’t prepared for it.”
Master Gaius nodded slowly, his expression understanding but probing. “And that’s when she wounded you?”
Marya’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists on her knees. “Yes. I let my emotions get the better of me. I didn’t expect... I didn’t think I would react that way. I’ve trained to stay focused, to keep my mind clear. But when she said his name, it was like everything else faded away. I couldn’t think. I became emotional. And she took advantage of that.”
Master Gaius exhaled a slow stream of smoke from his pipe, his eyes never leaving hers. “Emotions are a powerful thing, Marya. They can be your greatest strength or your greatest weakness. It’s not a failure to feel. It’s a failure to let those feelings control you.”
Marya’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her frustration giving way to a flicker of curiosity. “What should I have done? How do I stop it from happening again?”
Master Gaius leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “You can’t stop the emotions from coming, Marya. But you can learn to acknowledge them without letting them consume you. When the Vice Admiral mentioned your father, you felt something—anger, sadness, longing. That’s natural. But instead of letting that feeling dominate you, you need to use it. Channel it. Turn it into something that fuels you, not something that holds you back.”
Marya frowned, her brow furrowing as she considered his words. “How?”
Master Gaius smiled, his tone gentle but firm. “Next time, when those feelings rise, don’t fight them. Acknowledge them. Let them exist, but don’t let them control you. Take a breath. Ground yourself. And then use that energy to sharpen your focus, not cloud it. Your father is a part of you, Marya. You can’t erase that, nor should you try. But you can decide how much power that part of you holds.”
Marya’s gaze dropped to the floor again, her expression pensive. “I didn’t expect it to affect me so much,” she said quietly. “I thought I was past all that. I thought I had moved on.”
Master Gaius chuckled softly, his tone warm. “Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, Marya. It means learning to carry those memories without letting them weigh you down. You’re human, not a machine. Emotions are part of what makes you strong. But you have to learn to wield them, just like you wield your sword.”
Marya nodded slowly, reflecting a newfound determination. “I understand. I’ll do better next time.”
Master Gaius smiled, proudly. “I know you will. And remember, Marya, even the greatest swordsmen have moments of weakness. What matters is how you rise from them.”
As the game continued, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—the upcoming sparring session with Aurélie, the festival’s food stalls, and the antics of Dalton, Master Gaius’s spirited grandson. The atmosphere was relaxed, the bond between mentor and student evident in their easy banter and mutual respect. Finally, Master Gaius made a decisive move, his smile turning triumphant. “Checkmate,” he declared, leaning back with a satisfied grin.
Marya studied the board with grudging admiration. “Well played,” she conceded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But next time, I’ll win.”
Master Gaius chuckled, picking up his pipe and relighting it. “I look forward to it, Marya. You’re getting better. But remember, shogi isn’t just about strategy. It’s about patience, adaptability, and knowing when to take risks. We have time. Another game?”
Marya nodded, “Yeah.”
“Your move, Marya,” Master Gaius said, his tone teasing. “Don’t overthink it now.”
Marya’s lips twitched in a small smile, though her focus didn’t waver. “I’m not overthinking. I’m strategizing.”
Master Gaius chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Strategizing, overthinking—it’s a fine line.”
Just as Marya reached for a piece, the sound of footsteps echoed through the dojo. Both she and Master Gaius looked up to see Aurélie standing in the doorway. Her black attire contrasted sharply with the soft glow of the blossoms outside, and her katana rested at her side. Her big gray eyes scanned the room with their usual stoic intensity, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze.
“Aurélie,” Marya greeted, her tone respectful but with a hint of warmth. “We’re just finishing up.”
Aurélie stepped inside, her movements graceful and deliberate. “I see,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of amusement. “Who’s winning?”
Master Gaius grinned, puffing on his pipe. “I am, of course. But Marya’s putting up a good fight.”
Marya rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “We’ll see about that.”
Aurélie settled onto the floor beside them, her posture straight and composed. She watched the board intently, following the remaining pieces. “You’ve improved, Marya,” she said after a moment, her tone matter-of-fact. “But you’re still too predictable in your openings.”
Marya raised a brow. “Predictable, huh? Maybe you should join the next game and show me how it’s done.”
Aurélie’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Perhaps I will. But first, finish this one. I’d like to see if you can turn it around.”
Master Gaius chuckled, clearly enjoying the dynamic. “Careful, Marya. Aurélie’s not one to back down.”
Marya’s eyes gleamed with determination as she moved a piece on the board. “Neither am I.”
The game continued, the tension rising as Marya made a series of calculated moves that forced Master Gaius to rethink his strategy. Aurélie watched silently, missing nothing. Finally, Marya made a decisive move, her expression one of quiet triumph.
“Checkmate,” she declared, leaning back with a satisfied smile.
Master Gaius studied the board for a moment, then laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well played, Marya. You’ve earned this one.”
Aurélie nodded, her tone approving. “Not bad. But you still left your left flank open midway through. A more aggressive opponent would have exploited that.”
Marya’s smile didn’t waver. “Noted. But I won, didn’t I?”
Aurélie’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “This time.”
*****
The sea stretched endlessly in all directions, its surface shimmering under the pale light of the setting sun. Shanks and Yasopp floated adrift, their bodies weary from hours of battling the waves. The storm had long since passed, leaving behind an eerie calm. Both men were silent, their energy spent, but their spirits unbroken.
"Yasopp," Shanks said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Do you see that?"
Yasopp squinted, following Shanks' gaze. In the distance, a dark shape loomed on the horizon—an island. But it wasn’t like any island they’d seen before. At its center rose a massive, mountain-sized tree stump, its jagged edges cutting into the sky like the remains of some ancient titan. The rest of the island was a dense tapestry of jungle, forests, and crumbling ruins that peeked through the greenery. And along the cliffs, cascading down like a waterfall of color, were wisteria blossoms—vivid purple flowers that seemed to glow in the fading light.
"That’s... not normal," Yasopp muttered, as he took in the sight. "What kind of tree grows that big? And what could’ve cut it down?"
Shanks grinned, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Only one way to find out. Let’s get to shore before the sea decides to throw us another curveball."
The two men swam toward the island, their movements slow but determined. As they drew closer, the sheer scale of the tree stump became even more awe-inspiring. It towered over the island like a monolith, its surface gnarled and weathered by time. Vines and moss clung to its sides, and the faint sound of wildlife echoed from the jungle below. The wisteria blossoms on the cliffs swayed gently in the breeze, their sweet fragrance carried on the wind.
When they finally reached the shore, Shanks and Yasopp collapsed onto the sand, their bodies aching but relieved to be on solid ground. Shanks pushed himself up onto his elbows, scanning the island. "This place... it feels old," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Those ruins—they’re not from any civilization I’ve heard of."
Yasopp sat up, wringing water from his shirt. "Yeah, and that tree stump... it’s like something out of a legend. You think the crew will believe us when we tell them about this place?"
Shanks laughed, his voice echoing across the beach. "If we make it back to tell them, they’ll probably think we’re making it up. But first, we need to figure out where we are and how to get off this rock."
The two men stood, their eyes drawn to the cliffs adorned with wisteria blossoms. The flowers seemed to beckon them, their vibrant purple hues standing out against the lush greenery. Shanks pointed toward the cliffs. "Let’s head that way. If there’s anything—or anyone—on this island, they might be near those cliffs."
Yasopp nodded, his usual smirk returning. "And if not, at least we’ll have a good view. Assuming we don’t get eaten by whatever lives in that jungle."
Shanks clapped Yasopp on the shoulder, his grin widening. "That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s see what this island has to offer."
As they ventured inland, the jungle grew denser, the air thick with the scent of earth and vegetation. The ruins became more pronounced—ancient stone structures covered in vines, their carvings worn away by time. The distant calls of unknown creatures echoed through the trees, but the two men pressed on, their footsteps steady.
The cliffs with the wisteria blossoms grew closer, their beauty even more striking up close. The flowers cascaded down the rock face like a waterfall, their petals shimmering in the fading light. Shanks paused at the base of the cliffs, "This place... it feels old, like it has ancient secrets" he said, his voice low.
Yasopp raised an eyebrow. "Ancient secrets? You think this island has a mind of its own?"
Shanks chuckled. "Stranger things have happened. Let’s keep our guard up."
The two men began to climb the cliffs, their movements careful but determined. The wisteria blossoms brushed against them as they ascended, their sweet fragrance filling the air. As they reached the top, they were greeted by a breathtaking sight—a vast plateau covered in more wisteria trees, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy. The ground was carpeted with fallen petals, and the air was alive with the hum of insects and the chirping of birds.
In the center of the plateau stood a stone altar, its surface covered in intricate carvings that seemed to tell a story. Shanks approached it, studying the symbols. "These carvings... they look like they’re depicting a structure," he said, his voice filled with awe. "And something... or someone... destroying it."
Yasopp joined him, his expression thoughtful. "You think this island has a history? Maybe even a curse?"
Shanks grinned. "Maybe. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that every island has a story.”
*****
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the dojo’s training grounds. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a soothing backdrop to the scene. Marya and Aurélie stood facing each other, their blades drawn and gleaming in the fading light. Master Gaius leaned against the wooden frame of the dojo’s entrance, with his weathered kiseru pipe, a trail of smoke curling lazily into the air.
Aurélie’s katana rested lightly in her hand, her big gray eyes fixed on Marya with their usual stoic intensity. “Remember,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “this isn’t just about technique. It’s about focus. Control. Don’t let your emotions dictate your movements.”
Marya nodded, Eternal Night felt familiar in her grip, its weight a comforting presence. Her golden eyes met Aurélie’s, her expression one of determination. “I understand.”
Aurélie’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “We’ll see.”
Without warning, Aurélie moved, her speed breathtaking as she closed the distance between them in an instant. Her katana flashed in the sunlight, a blur of silver as she aimed a precise strike at Marya’s shoulder. Marya reacted quickly, her Observation Haki flaring as she sensed the attack before it landed. She sidestepped, her blade meeting Aurélie’s with a sharp clang that echoed through the garden.
Master Gaius watched intently, his pipe resting between his fingers. “Good reflexes, Marya,” he called out, his tone encouraging. “But don’t just react—anticipate.”
Marya’s eyes narrowed as she focused, her Armament Haki coating her blade in a faint, shimmering hue. She pressed forward, her strikes deliberate and calculated, aiming to test Aurélie’s defenses. But Aurélie was a master, her movements fluid and precise. She parried each strike with ease, her own blade glowing with the same dark sheen of Armament Haki.
“You’re too predictable,” Aurélie said, her voice calm but carrying a hint of challenge. “You’re thinking too much. Let your instincts guide you.”
Marya gritted her teeth, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She launched a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed to break through Aurélie’s defenses. But Aurélie countered effortlessly, her movements almost lazy in their precision. “You’re letting your emotions take over,” she said, her tone sharp. “Focus, Marya. Breathe.”
Marya stepped back, her chest rising and falling as she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself, a memory of her father came to mind. The day he had first shown her how to wield a blade, his piercing golden gaze watching her every move with calculated precision. "A sword is an extension of yourself," he had said, his voice a deep rumble, "Master it, and you master yourself." His words had stayed with her as a guiding light. When she opened her eyes, her gaze was steady. “Again,” she said, her voice firm.
Aurélie nodded, approvingly. “Better.”
This time, Marya moved first, her blade a blur as she aimed a swift strike at Aurélie’s side. Aurélie blocked it, but Marya followed up with a feint, her Observation Haki allowing her to predict Aurélie’s counter. She shifted her weight, her blade slicing through the air in a precise arc. Aurélie’s eyes widened slightly, and she was forced to step back, her own blade coming up to deflect the attack.
“Good,” Aurélie said, her tone genuine. “But don’t get cocky.”
The garden was alive with the clash of steel and the hum of Haki, the air crackling with energy as Marya and Aurélie sparred. Their blades met in a shower of sparks, the force of their strikes sending ripples through the air. Marya’s hair whipped around her face as she pressed forward, Eternal Night glowing faintly with Armament Haki. Aurélie countered with effortless precision, her silver hair flowing like moonlight as she parried each strike, her own blade shimmering with the same dark sheen.
“Focus, Marya,” Aurélie said, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t let your guard down.”
Marya’s eyes narrowed, her breath steady as she channeled her Observation Haki, anticipating Aurélie’s next move. She shifted her weight, preparing to strike, when suddenly, a ripple of unease passed through her. Her senses prickled, her Haki flaring as she detected something—something out of place, something wrong.
She froze mid-strike, her blade hovering in the air as her eyes widened. “Aurélie,” she said, her voice low but urgent. “Do you feel that?”
Aurélie’s expression shifted, her usual stoic demeanor giving way to a flicker of concern. She lowered her blade, her big gray eyes scanning the horizon. “I do,” she said, her tone grim. “Something’s not right.”
The two stood in silence for a moment, their Haki reaching out like tendrils, probing the island for the source of the disturbance. The sensation was faint but unmistakable—a presence that didn’t belong. It was distant, but it was there.
Marya’s grip tightened on her hilt, her golden eyes narrowing. “We should go.”
Aurélie nodded, her expression resolute. “Agreed.”
Without another word, they sheathed their blades and turned toward the edge of the garden. Master Gaius, who had been watching from the dojo’s entrance, stepped forward, his weathered kiseru pipe clenched between his teeth. He studied them with quiet understanding. “Trouble?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying a note of concern.
“Something’s off,” Marya said, her tone serious. “We’re going to check it out.”
As they moved toward the edge of the garden, Marya glanced at Aurélie. “We’ll need to move quickly.”
Aurélie’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
In unison, they activated their powers. Marya’s body dissolved into a swirling mist, her form becoming one with the air as she floated effortlessly above the ground. Aurélie, meanwhile, summoned the wings of her Locust-Locust Fruit, their iridescent sheen catching the fading light as they unfurled from her back. With a powerful beat, she took to the sky, her movements swift and precise.
The two soared above the island, their senses sharp and their focus unwavering. The wisteria blossoms below swayed gently in the breeze, their beauty a stark contrast to the tension in the air. As they flew, Marya’s mist form swirled around Aurélie, their silent communication a testament to their tactical agreement.
“Do you sense it?” Marya’s voice echoed faintly, carried by the wind.
“Yes,” Aurélie replied, grimly. “It’s coming from the northern cliffs. Let’s move.”
They sped toward the source of the disturbance, their powers carrying them swiftly across the island. The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows over the landscape, but the two moved with purpose, their Haki guiding them. As they approached the cliffs, the sensation grew stronger.
Marya’s mist form coalesced into her human shape as she landed on the rocky outcrop, her sword drawn and her eyes sharp. Aurélie touched down beside her, her wings folding neatly against her back as her hand rested on the hilt of her katana.
The two moved forward, their steps silent and their senses alert. The wisteria blossoms swayed in the distance, their delicate petals a reminder of the beauty they were fighting to protect. As they ventured deeper into the cliffs, the air grew colder, the presence ahead growing stronger.

Chapter Text

The Red Force limped toward the bustling port, its battered hull groaning with every wave. The crew’s spirits had lifted at the sight of the island, but as they drew closer, their relief turned to unease. The port was a hive of activity, but it wasn’t just merchants and townsfolk who populated the docks. Among the ships moored along the pier were vessels flying the black flags of pirates—some adorned with skulls and crossed blades, others with symbols the crew recognized from wanted posters. Even more concerning was the presence of a World Government cargo ship, its pristine white hull and blue sails standing out starkly against the rougher pirate vessels. The ship’s flag, emblazoned with the emblem of the Marines, fluttered ominously in the breeze.
Beckman stood at the helm, keen and calculating, taking in the scene. "This complicates things," he muttered under his breath.
Lucky Roux joined him. "Pirates and Marines in the same port? This place must be some kind of neutral zone. Or a trap."
Benn nodded, grimly. "Either way, we don’t have a choice. We need those repairs, and we need them fast. But we’ll have to tread carefully."
The crew exchanged uneasy glances as the Red Force pulled into an empty berth. Pirates and Marines alike eyed the newcomers with suspicion, their hands hovering near weapons. The townsfolk, meanwhile, moved about their business with practiced indifference, as if the presence of armed factions was just another part of daily life.
As the crew secured the ship, Benn gathered them for a quick meeting. "Listen up," he said, his voice low but commanding. "This isn’t a friendly port. We’re here for supplies and repairs, nothing more. Stay out of trouble, and keep your heads down. If anyone asks, we’re just passing through."
The crew nodded, their determination unwavering despite the obvious danger. Benn turned to Lucky Roux. "Take a small group and scout the town. Find out where we can get what we need—and keep an eye out for trouble."
Lucky grinned, thrusting his chest out, "You got it.”
As Lucky and his team disembarked, Benn turned to the rest of the crew. "The rest of you, start assessing the damage. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before we start making repairs."
The crew set to work, their movements quick and efficient. But as they worked, the tension on the dock grew. A group of pirates from a nearby ship began to approach, their leader—a burly man with a scar across his face—eyeing the Red Force with a mix of curiosity and hostility.
"Well, well," the scarred pirate said with dripping mockery. "If it isn’t the Red Hair Pirates. Or what’s left of you, anyway. What brings you to this lovely little den of thieves?"
Benn crossed his arms, "We’re just passing through," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We’ll be gone as soon as our ship is repaired."
The scarred pirate laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Repairs, huh? Good luck with that. This port doesn’t come cheap, and the Marines over there don’t take kindly to pirates. You might want to watch your back."
Benn’s expression didn’t change. "We’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got work to do."
The scarred pirate smirked but didn’t push further. He and his crew sauntered off, leaving the Red Hair Pirates to their work. But the encounter left a lingering unease.
As the crew continued their repairs, Benn kept a watchful eye on the dock. The World Government cargo ship loomed in the distance, its presence a constant reminder of the danger they were in. The Marines on board were no doubt aware of the pirates in the port, but for now, they seemed content to observe.
Lucky returned a short while later. "I found a shipwright who’s willing to help us," he said. "But it’s going to cost us. And there’s something else—rumor has it there’s a Marine officer on that cargo ship who’s been cracking down on pirates. We might want to keep a low profile."
Benn nodded, "We’ll get what we need and get out of here as fast as we can. But keep the crew on alert. This place is a powder keg, and we don’t want to be here when it blows."
*****
The northern cliffs of the island were a breathtaking sight, even in the fading light of dusk. The wisteria blossoms cascaded down the rocky outcrops like lavender waterfalls, their delicate petals glowing softly in the twilight. The air was thick with their sweet fragrance, mingling with the salty tang of the sea below. But beneath the beauty of the scene, there was a sense of unease that set Marya and Aurélie on edge.
Marya’s mist form swirled gently as she moved through the air, surveying the cliffs for any sign of the disturbance they had sensed. Beside her, Aurélie glided effortlessly, her Locust-Locust wings beating softly as she kept pace. The two moved in perfect sync, their Haki reaching out like tendrils, probing the area for the source of the disturbance.
As they descended toward a secluded grove nestled within the cliffs, the wisteria blossoms grew denser, their lavender hues casting an ethereal glow over the landscape. The grove was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of petals in the breeze and the distant crash of waves against the rocks below. But as they stepped into the clearing, their senses prickled—they were not alone.
Marya’s mist form coalesced into her human shape, Eternal Night gleaming faintly in the dim light. Aurélie touched down beside her, her wings folding neatly against her back as her hand rested on the hilt of her katana. The two exchanged a glance, their silent communication speaking volumes. They were ready.
As they moved deeper into the grove, the wisteria blossoms parted to reveal two figures standing in the clearing. Marya and Aurélie remained hidden among the wisteria blossoms, their forms blending seamlessly with the ethereal glow of the grove. They watched intently as the two tall, masculine silhouettes inspected a weathered stone slab, their voices a low murmur carried by the breeze. Both women held their breath, every sense heightened, ready to react at a moment's notice if their presence was discovered.
Shanks' senses, tingled with the unmistakable sensation. He paused in his inspection of the stone slab, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area with a sharp, penetrating gaze. The soft rustle of the wisteria blossoms seemed to whisper secrets, and Shanks' demeanor shifted subtly, becoming more alert and focused.
Yasopp, standing beside his captain, felt it too. The seasoned sniper’s instincts were rarely wrong. His hand instinctively moved toward his rifle, its comforting weight a reminder of his readiness. He turned his head slightly, his eyes darting to the edges of the grove, searching for any movement or sign of their observers. The wisteria blossoms, beautiful yet concealing, added an element of mystery to the already mystical atmosphere.
Shanks and Yasopp exchanged a knowing look, communicating without words. Both men remained poised, their postures relaxed yet ready for action. They understood the importance of maintaining their composure, giving no indication that they were aware of the hidden presence.
With a deliberate slowness, Shanks turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. His striking red hair caught the last rays of the setting sun, casting a fiery halo that contrasted with the cool lavender of the wisteria blossoms. His gaze, piercing and unyielding, swept across the grove, missing nothing. His eyes locked onto the spot where Marya and Aurélie hid, as if he could see through the ethereal veil that concealed them.
Marya's breath hitched. That gaze was unmistakable. Her heart pounded as recognition dawned—this was the legendary Red-Haired Shanks. A flicker of excitement sparkled in Marya’s eyes as the realization of Shanks' identity fully set in. The legendary pirate himself stood just a few feet away, completely unaware of her and Aurélie's presence. A mischievous grin curled at the edge of her lips, and her mist form shimmered with a subtle, playful energy.
Aurélie noticed the change in her companion’s demeanor and raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in her eyes. Marya responded with a silent nod, her excitement barely contained. The thrill of the unexpected encounter, coupled with the challenge of remaining unseen, ignited a spark of daring within her.
With a silent, fluid motion, Marya’s form began to shift once more, becoming less solid, more ghostly. Her mist form danced around the wisteria blossoms, weaving through the dense foliage with a grace that was both enchanting and otherworldly. She moved closer to the two figures, the thrill of the game making her heart race.
Aurélie’s wings twitched slightly, a silent reminder of the need for caution, but Marya’s mischievous spirit was already in full swing. She floated closer to Shanks and Yasopp, her presence as light as a whisper on the breeze. The wisteria blossoms shivered gently in her wake, adding to the illusion of an otherworldly presence.
Shanks’ eyes narrowed as he sensed a shift in the atmosphere, but Marya’s light-hearted playfulness masked her true intent. She hovered just out of reach, her form a mere breath away from the legendary pirate, relishing the thrill of the moment. Her laughter, silent and joyful, echoed in her mind, a tribute to the unexpected adventure that had unfolded before them.
Aurélie, ever watchful, kept a close eye, ready to intervene if necessary. But even she couldn’t help but smile at Marya’s exuberance. The wisteria blossoms seemed to glow even brighter, reflecting the mischievous delight that danced in the air. The game was afoot, and Marya was determined to make the most of every thrilling second.
Without warning, Marya's playful demeanor transformed into one of fierce determination. In a swift, fluid motion, she drew Eternal Night, the blade shimmering with an ominous dark glow. The air crackled with energy as she lunged at Shanks, her movements precise and deadly.
Shanks reacted with lightning speed, his instincts honed by years of battle. His hand flew to Gryphon, drawing it just in time to intercept Marya's strike. The clash of their Haki-infused blades reverberated through the grove, sending a shockwave of power that rustled the wisteria blossoms and left the air humming with tension.
Marya pressed her attack, her strikes relentless and fierce. Each swing of Eternal Night was met with equal force by Shanks, who parried and countered with masterful skill. Their swords danced in a deadly rhythm, the air filled with the sharp clang of metal and the crackle of their combined Haki.
As their battle raged, Shanks' eyes narrowed as he studied his opponent. There was something familiar about her movements, her technique. But it wasn't until Marya, with a fierce grin, called out, "Uncle Shanks!" that the realization hit him.
"Marya?" he exclaimed, his surprise evident even as he continued to defend himself. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and with a swift, powerful movement, he disengaged, stepping back to create some distance between them.
Marya halted her assault, her chest heaving with exertion, but her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and determination. "It's been a long time, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying a hint of playful challenge.
Shanks couldn't help but chuckle, lowering Gryphon slightly. "Indeed it has, Marya. You've grown stronger." His tone was both proud and affectionate, a testament to the bond they shared.
Marya's fierce expression softened into a radiant smile. She sheathed Eternal Night with a swift, graceful movement, and before anyone could react, she ran toward Shanks. The legendary pirate barely had time to brace himself as she threw her arms around him in a joyful hug. The tension in the air dissipated, replaced with a warmth that spread through the grove.
Shanks laughed heartily, wrapping his arm around Marya in return. "It's good to see you, Marya. Truly."
Yasopp, who had been watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, finally stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. "Wait a minute," he said, his voice laced with a mix of astonishment and recognition. "Marya? Is that really you?"
Marya pulled back from Shanks, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Yes, Uncle Yasopp! It's me. It's been too long."
Yasopp shook his head in disbelief, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll be damned."
Marya nodded, her expression turning more serious. "But what about you two? How did you end up here?"
Shanks exchanged a glance with Yasopp before responding. "We could ask you the same thing, Marya. It's not every day we run into family in a place like this."
Marya's smile faltered slightly, and she looked between the two seasoned pirates. "It’s a long story."
Yasopp nodded thoughtfully. "We got separated from the crew in a storm."
Shanks placed a hand on Marya's shoulder, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Whatever brought you here, it seems fate has a hand in our reunion."
Master Gaius and Captain Knox arrived with a rustle of petals. Hidden in the shadows, they exchanged wary glances, prepared for any confrontation. They found Aurélie, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed. Her eyes sparkled with urgency as she motioned for them to join her. The trio huddled close, their whispers barely audible above the gentle rustling of the wind. Aurélie cast a quick glance towards the clearing where Marya, Shanks, and Yasopp stood.
"Aurélie, what's the situation?" Captain Knox asked in a low growl of concern.
"It appears Marya is acquainted with them," she whispered, her eyes narrowing as she observed the scene.
Master Gaius squinted into the distance, focusing on the figures. Recognition dawned on his face, and he inhaled sharply. "Shanks," he murmured, almost to himself. Memories surged through him, of paths crossed many years ago when he was still a Guardian. The red-haired pirate had left an indelible mark on his past.
Without warning, excitement overtook him. Ignoring the cautious glances from Captain Knox and Aurélie, Master Gaius stepped out from the shadows, his stride purposeful. He approached the group with a broad smile, his voice warm and booming. "Shanks! It's been far too long!"
Shanks turned towards the approaching figure, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to place the face in his memory. The broad smile and the familiarity in the man's voice struck a distant chord within him, but the years had clouded the details.
Master Gaius halted a few paces from Shanks, his grin never faltering. "Shanks, surely you haven't forgotten me already."
There was a moment of silence as Shanks searched his mind, and then it hit him. "Gaius?" he asked, the realization dawning on his face. "Gaius, is that really you?"
Master Gaius chuckled heartily. "It's been many years, young Shanks. You've grown so much since our paths last crossed."
Shanks' face broke into a wide smile, and he stepped forward to clasp Master Gaius' hand in a firm grip. "I was just a kid then," he said, laughing. "It's no wonder I didn't recognize you at first."
Master Gaius nodded, his eyes twinkling with fond memories. "Indeed, you were just a young lad with a fire in your heart. And look at you now, a renowned captain."
The two men shared a heartfelt embrace, the bond of their past encounters rekindling in the present. As they pulled apart, Shanks glanced back at Yasopp and Marya, who were watching the reunion with curiosity and warmth.
"It's good to see you again, Gaius," Shanks said sincerely. "Fate truly works in mysterious ways."
Aurélie and Captain Knox exchanged uneasy glances, the cautiousness in their eyes reflecting their hesitation. Despite the warmth of the reunion unfolding before them, they couldn't shake off the deep-seated wariness born from years of unpredictable alliances.
With a reluctant nod from Knox, Aurélie took a step forward, her movements graceful yet guarded. Knox followed suit, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of threat. They emerged from the shadows, maintaining a respectful distance from the reunited friends, their presence both a sign of solidarity and an assurance of security.
Shanks noticed their approach and offered them a nod of acknowledgment, his smile not wavering. "It seems you have some new friends, Gaius," he remarked, his tone friendly but observant.
Gaius turned to gesture towards his companions. "This is Captain Knox and Aurélie."
Aurélie inclined her head slightly, her expression polite but reserved. "A pleasure," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of cautious respect.
Knox simply offered a curt nod, his gaze never straying far from Shanks and Yasopp. "We mean no harm," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Master Gaius's gaze turned serious, the warmth of the reunion giving way to curiosity and concern. "What brings you here, Shanks? And how did you find this place?" he asked, his tone both inquisitive and guarded.
Shanks opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes flickered to the dense foliage surrounding the clearing. His smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by a look of keen awareness. He sensed the presence of several other strong individuals, their auras barely concealed but unmistakably formidable.
Noticing the shift in Shanks's hand moving to Gryphon’s hilt, Gaius's expression hardened slightly. "It's alright," he said, raising his voice so it would carry to the hidden sentinels. "Stand down, Guardians. These are friends, not foes."
Slowly, the tension in the air began to dissipate as one by one, the concealed Guardians stepped into the open. Their faces were stern, yet they obeyed Gaius's command without question, relaxing their stances and lowering their weapons.
Shanks let out a small sigh of relief, his smile returning as he looked back at Gaius. "We were guided by a bit of luck and a lot of determination," he said, his voice lightening.
Gaius chuckled softly, his earlier apprehension melting away. He gestured for the Guardians to return to their posts. "Now, you were saying."
Shanks nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "We were caught in a violent storm at sea, separated from our crew," he explained, his voice tinged with the memory of the fierce winds and relentless waves. "It all happened so quickly. One moment, we were navigating through the tempest, and the next, we were thrown overboard, struggling to stay afloat." He paused, glancing at Knox and Aurélie. "By some stroke of luck, we were washed ashore on this island."
Gaius's expression softened, empathy mixing with concern. "That must have been harrowing," he said quietly. His eyes shifted towards Marya. "I must admit, Shanks," he began, a hint of intrigue coloring his tone, "I am curious as to how you and Marya know each other."
Marya, who had been standing quietly to the side, straightened slightly, her eyes meeting Gaius's. Shanks’s smile grew a touch more wistful as he glanced in her direction. "Ah, Marya and I have crossed paths several times," Shanks replied, his voice carrying a note of fond reminiscence. "Her father, and I are old rivals. Our encounters have always been... memorable."
Marya couldn't help but smile at the subtle understatement in Shanks's words. The legendary duels between Shanks and Mihawk were well-known, each clash a testament to their unparalleled skills and enduring rivalry.
Gaius raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and admiration in his expression. "Rivals, indeed. I should have guessed. The world of swordsmen is a small one, after all."
Shanks nodded in agreement, his eyes returning to Gaius. "Yes, and it seems fate has a way of bringing people together, even in the most unexpected places."
Master Gaius fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting thoughtfully as he weighed the choices before him. The presence of Shanks and Yasopp in their community posed undeniable risks. He turned to face them, his decision crystallizing.
"Come Shanks,” Master Gaius claps him on the shoulder. “We can give you shelter and food. The Founder’s Festival will be in full swing. There will be plenty to eat and celebrate.”
Knox's eyes widened with alarm, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Master Gaius," he interjected, his voice laced with authority and concern, "These are notorious pirates. The risk is too great."
Master Gaius chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he turned to Knox. "Oh, Knox, you always were one for the dramatic flair. Notorious pirates, indeed!" He placed a jovial hand on Knox's shoulder, shaking him gently.
Knox frowned, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his stern gaze. "Master Gaius, you cannot be serious. These men have reputations that precede them. We have remained hidden and safe for a millennium, undisturbed by the chaos of the outside world."
Master Gaius waved a hand dismissively, a playful smile curling his lips. "Ah, my dear Knox, you worry too much. What is life without a bit of adventure and a few unexpected guests?"

Chapter Text

The port town was a chaotic blend of noise and movement, its narrow streets crammed with merchants, sailors, and townsfolk. With his lean frame and dirty blonde hair tied up into a small ponytail, Hongo moved through the crowd with quiet efficiency. His mission was clear: gather medical supplies and fresh provisions for the crew. The Red Force was in dire need of repairs, and the crew’s well-being was his priority. But as he navigated the bustling bazaar, something caught his attention.
Near the edge of the market, a group of rough-looking men were herding a line of women and small children into the back of a large, unmarked wagon. Bound and gagged, their eyes were wide with fear. Hongo’s scarred gaze narrowed as he observed the scene. The men were clearly pirates, their clothing adorned with the symbols of the Bellamy Pirates, a notorious crew known for their brutality. But what made Hongo’s blood run cold was the presence of a World Government official overseeing the operation, his Marine insignia barely concealed beneath his cloak.
Human trafficking. The realization hit Hongo like a punch to the gut. These people were being sold as slaves, and the World Government was complicit. His fists clenched at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. He needed to gather more information before acting.
Hongo blended into the crowd, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He trailed the wagon to a secluded port area, where a ship bearing the World Government's flag was docked. The pirates and the official began unloading the captives, their voices low and businesslike.
Hongo’s mind raced. This was bigger than he had anticipated. He needed to get back to the crew and warn them, but he also couldn’t ignore the suffering in front of him. As he weighed his options, a small child—a girl no older than six—locked eyes with him from the back of the wagon. Her face was streaked with tears, and her silent plea for help was unmistakable.
That was all it took. Hongo’s resolve hardened. He couldn’t walk away.
Moving swiftly, Hongo slipped into the shadows of the dock, his footsteps silent against the wooden planks. He needed to get closer, to find a way to disrupt the operation or at least gather evidence to bring back to the crew. But as he edged closer to the ship, his foot caught on a loose board, the sound echoing in the quiet dock.
The pirates and the official froze, their heads snapping toward the noise. "Who’s there?" one of the pirates barked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
Hongo cursed under his breath. He had been careless. Before he could retreat, a group of pirates surrounded him, their weapons drawn. The World Government official stepped forward, his expression cold and calculating.
"Well, well," the official said with dripping disdain. "What do we have here? A nosy little rat, sneaking around where he doesn’t belong."
Hongo stood his ground, searching the group. He was outnumbered, but he wasn’t defenseless. "Let those people go," he said in a low and steady voice. "They’ve done nothing to deserve this."
The official laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You’re in no position to make demands, pirate. But since you’re so concerned, why don’t you join them?"
The pirates lunged at Hongo, their blades flashing in the dim light. Hongo moved with precision, dodging the first strike and disarming one of the attackers with a swift kick. But the numbers were against him. A blow to the back of his head sent him to his knees, and before he could recover, his arms were bound tightly behind his back.
The official leaned down, his face inches from Hongo’s. "You should have minded your own business," he sneered. "But don’t worry. You’ll fetch a good price on the auction block."
Hongo’s eyes burned with defiance, but he remained silent. He had been caught, but he wasn’t beaten. Hongo's mind raced with plans as he was dragged toward the ship. He would bide his time, gather information, and wait for the right moment to strike. The port town faded into the distance as the ship set sail, its dark silhouette cutting through the waves.
*****
Marya led the way through the passage, a hidden artery carved into the heart of the island. Its walls were lined with ancient stone and illuminated by the flickering light of torches. The air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of earth and the distant murmur of the ocean.
Knox went ahead of the group, his handlebar mustache twitching with irritation as he muttered under his breath. “Notorious pirates,” he grumbled, his voice low but carrying clearly in the quiet of the tunnel. “Amel and Nanette are going to have my head for this.”
Marya glanced over her shoulder at Knox’s. “They’re not here to cause trouble.”
Knox snorted skeptically. “Famous last words. Let’s just hope the Ellingtons see it that way.”
Master Gaius’s chuckle was warm and rich. “Relax, Knox. Shanks may be a pirate, but he’s not the type to abuse trust. And if he wanted to cause trouble, he wouldn’t need a secret passage to do it.”
Shanks grinned, eyes crinkling, “He’s got a point. If I wanted to stir things up, I’d just walk through the front door.”
Yasopp chuckled lightly. “And probably bring a bottle of sake with us. No sense causing trouble without a drink in hand.”
Aurélie’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, though she remained watchful. “Let’s just focus on getting through this passage. We can deal with the Ellingtons’ reactions later.”
The walls gradually became narrower when they nearly reached a seemingly dead end. Marya paused and examined the wall ahead of her. She reached out, her fingers brushing against a series of carved symbols.
The air was thick with anticipation, the faint hum of energy emanating from the ancient mechanism. Behind her, they watched in silence. There was a low, resonant click, followed by the sound of grinding stone. The door shuddered, then began to slide open, revealing a sliver of light that grew wider with each passing second. Marya stepped back, as the cavern beyond came into view. The light shifted, flooding the passage with a warm, golden glow that seemed to breathe life into the ancient stone.
As the door fully opened, the sight before them was nothing short of breathtaking. The cavern fell away, revealing a city nestled inside the hollowed stump of a petrified titan. The sheer scale of it was staggering—the titan’s massive form had been transformed into a natural fortress, its walls lined with countless windows that glittered like stars from floor to ceiling. Light spilled from within, casting a soft, other worldly glow over the entire city.
A roaring waterfall cascaded from high above, its waters splitting into a shimmering river that wound through the city’s heart. The river glinted with flecks of gold, its surface reflecting the warm illumination of lanterns that hung from polished wooden and stone bridges. These bridges arched gracefully between balconies and walkways, forming an intricate transit system that connected the city’s many levels. The air was alive with the sounds of life—laughter, chatter, and the distant hum of music. The vibrant markets, bark-carved homes, and rune-adorned temples showcased the people's ingenuity and resilience.
Behind her, Shanks let out a low whistle, as he took in the sight. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “This is something else. A city inside a titan? I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but this... this takes the cake.”
Yasopp, taking in the scene. “You’re not kidding,” he said, with a mix of awe and disbelief. “This place is incredible. Look at those bridges—how do they even build something like that? And the waterfall... is that gold in the water?”
Master Gaius chuckled, his weathered face creasing into a proud smile. “It’s a sight, isn’t it? The titan’s remains have been our home for generations. Every inch of this place tells a story.”
Aurélie's silver hair caught the light as she gazed at the city. Her usual stoic demeanor softened slightly, with a flicker of pride in her big gray eyes. “It’s more than a home,” she said quietly. “It’s a sanctuary. And it’s our duty to protect it.”
Shanks crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful as he took in the bustling city below. “I can see why you’d want to keep this place a secret,” he said, his tone light but carrying a note of respect. “It’s not every day you find a hidden gem like this.”
Yasopp nodded, “Yeah, this is... something else. I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this under wraps all this time.”
Marya turned to face them, showing a blend of pride and caution. “This is our home,” she said, her voice firm. “And we protect it at all costs. You’re here because we trust you—but that trust comes with responsibility.”
Shanks met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before he broke into a grin. “Don’t worry, Marya. We’re not here to cause trouble. Just passing through, remember?”
Yasopp emitted a soft laugh, speaking with a light-hearted tone. “Yeah, and maybe sampling some of that gold-flecked water while we’re at it.”
Master Gaius laughed warmly. “Come on, then. Let’s not keep the Ellingtons waiting. They’ll want to meet our... guests.”
As the group stepped into the city, the warm glow of lanterns and the hum of life enveloped them. They walked along one of the polished wooden bridges that arced gracefully over the shimmering river, the city’s golden light casting a welcoming radiance on their faces. Shanks and Yasopp followed, observing the bustling metropolis around them.
Shanks glanced at Marya, “So, who exactly are these Ellingtons? The ones Knox mentioned?”
Marya opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a loud voice cut through the air. “Marya! Marya!”
They turned to see Riggs sprinting toward them, his lanky frame moving with reckless energy. His shaggy blond hair bounced with each step, and his katana swung wildly at his side. His eyes were wide with excitement, his attention fixed entirely on Marya.
“Marya!” he shouted again, skidding to a stop in front of her. “Is it true? Did you really take down a Vice Admiral? I heard it from one of the guards, and I couldn’t believe it! Tell me everything!”
Marya blinked, taken aback by his sudden appearance and barrage of questions. "Riggs, welcome back," she said calmly, with a touch of exasperation. “I’m glad you made it in time for the festival—”
“Forget the festival!” Riggs interrupted, waving his hands dramatically. “A Vice Admiral, Marya! That’s huge! How did you do it? Was it a fair fight? Did you use your Devil Fruit powers? Tell me everything!”
Marya sighed, rolling her eyes. “Riggs, it’s not that simple—”
But Riggs wasn’t listening. He leaned in closer, his excitement bubbling over. “And what about the pirates? Did you hear? There are pirates on the island! Real pirates! Not just any pirates, but—” He finally seemed to notice Shanks and Yasopp standing behind Marya, his words trailing off as his eyes widened.
For a moment, Riggs froze, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Shanks. Then, like a spark igniting, his excitement exploded anew. “No way,” he said, his voice rising an octave. “No way. Is that—? Are you—? Shanks? THE Shanks? Red-Haired Shanks?”
Shanks grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's me," he said lightly, with amusement.
Riggs’ jaw dropped, and he turned to Yasopp, his enthusiasm reaching new heights. “And you—you’re Yasopp! The legendary sniper! Oh my—this is incredible! Marya, did you know about this? Why didn’t you tell me? This is the best day of my life!”
Marya pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin. “Riggs, if you’d let me get a word in—”
But Riggs was already turning back to Shanks, his hands gesturing wildly. “I can’t believe you’re here! This is amazing! Do you think—? Could I—? Would you ever consider sparring with me? Just once? Please? I’ve been training so hard, and I’ve always wanted to—”
“Riggs,” came the deep, stern tone of Jax. Before Riggs could react, a large hand grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back mid-sentence. Jax, the muscular guardian, stood behind him in exasperation. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Marya sighed, softening slightly. “It’s good to see you, Riggs. But yes, I took down a Vice Admiral. And yes, I know about the pirates. They’re... guests. For now.”
Riggs flailed slightly, his shaggy blond hair bouncing as he tried to regain his footing. “Jax! I was just—!”
"I know what you were doing," Jax interrupted with a firm but fond tone. He released Riggs’ collar and stepped forward, his attention turning to Marya. His expression softened slightly as he looked her over. “Marya. I heard you were seriously injured. Are you okay?”
Marya met his gaze, reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. “I’m fine,” she said with calm reassurance. “It was just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
Jax’s brow furrowed with evident concern. “A scratch? That’s not what I heard. You took down a Vice Admiral, Marya. That’s not something to downplay.”
Marya shrugged with a light tone lightly. “It’s over now.”
Riggs, who had been momentarily silenced, suddenly burst back into the conversation. “But Marya, you have to tell us everything! How did you—?”
Jax cut him off with a glare, his hand clamping down on Riggs’ shoulder. “Enough, Riggs. We need to report in. Now.”
Riggs pouted, his excitement deflating slightly. “But—”
“No buts,” Jax said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to Marya, his expression softening again. “We’ll catch up later, Marya.”
Marya nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You too, Jax. Glad you made it back in time for the festival.”
As Jax dragged Riggs away, Riggs called over his shoulder, his voice still brimming with excitement. “We’re not done, Marya! I want to hear everything! And Shanks—!”
Jax rolled his eyes, his grip on Riggs tightening as he muttered, “You’re impossible.”
The group watched as Jax and Riggs disappeared into the bustling crowd, their voices fading into the hum of the city. Shanks quietly observes the exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“So,” he said lightly but with a note of seriousness. “A Vice Admiral, huh? That’s no small feat. I’m impressed.”
Marya glanced at him with a gleam in her eye. “Yeah, she was pretty tough.”
Shanks’ expression softened, his eyebrows drawing together, his usual easygoing demeanor giving way to a flicker of concern. “Still, taking on a Vice Admiral is no joke. You’re lucky to walk away from that with just a scratch.”
Marya’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. Pausing, she leaned against the railing, fixated on the water below. With a note of calm vulnerability, “The fight with the Vice Admiral... it wasn’t just physical,” she began thoughtfully. “She knew exactly how to get under my skin. She mentioned my father. I wasn’t prepared for that. It threw me off balance, and for a moment, I lost focus. That’s when she struck.”
Shanks, who had been leaning casually against the railing beside her, listened intently with an unreadable expression. Yasopp and Aurélie stood nearby, their attention focused on Marya, while Master Gaius puffed on his kiseru pipe.
“I’ve always prided myself on my discipline,” Marya continued, her voice steady but carrying a hint of frustration. “But in that moment, I let my emotions take over. It was a mistake—one I can’t afford to make again.”
Shanks nodded thoughtfully. “Emotions can be tricky. They can make you stronger, but they can also be your downfall if you let them control you.”
Marya glanced at him with a flicker of optimism. “That’s why I have an idea. You’re here, waiting for your crew. Why not use that time to help me? You’ve faced some of the strongest fighters in the world. If anyone can teach me how to stay focused under pressure, it’s you.”
Shanks raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small, amused smile. “You want me to train you?”
Marya nodded, resolutely. “Not train, exactly. Just... spar. Push me. Help me learn how to keep my emotions in check, even when someone’s trying to rattle me.”
Shanks allowed himself a small laugh, his voice remaining light yet imbued with a hint of respect. “You’re not one to back down from a challenge, are you?”
Marya’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Neither are you.”
Shanks studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone serious now. “I’ll help you. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
Marya gleamed with determination. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Aurélie stepped forward, her stoic demeanor softened. “I’ll join you,” she said. “If you’re going to learn how to stay focused, you’ll need more than one opponent.”
Marya nodded with a grateful expression. “Thank you, Aurélie.”
Master Gaius let out a chuckle, his voice exuding warmth and richness. “Looks like you’ve got quite the team, Marya. Just remember—training is one thing, but real growth comes from within.”
"There you are," Knox said, his gruff voice tinged with relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The Ellingtons are ready to meet with you in the Library’s Main Assembly Hall. They’re not exactly thrilled about the... situation.” He shot a pointed look at Shanks and Yasopp, making it clear that the “situation” was their presence.
Shanks grinned, “I take it we’re not the most welcome guests?”
Knox snorted, dryly. “That’s putting it lightly. Amel and Nanette have a lot of questions, and they’re not the type to wait for answers. Let’s move.”
Marya nodded, “We’ll head there now.”
Knox grumbled under his breath as he turned to lead the way. “Notorious pirates in our city. What could possibly go wrong?”
The group followed Knox through the bustling streets, the golden light of lanterns and the hum of festival preparations surrounding them. The Library loomed ahead, its grand structure carved into the petrified bark of the titan stump. Its towering doors were adorned with intricate runes, and the shine of light spilled from its windows, casting a welcoming aura.
As Shanks and Yasopp crossed the threshold into the Library, they faltered for a moment in genuine awe. The grandeur of the place was unlike anything they had ever seen, and even for two seasoned pirates who had traveled the world, it was a sight to behold.
Shanks paused just inside the entrance, as he took in the gleaming marble floors that reflected the soft glow of enchanted lanterns suspended from the vaulted ceilings. His eyes traced the intricate mosaics above, their colors vibrant and their patterns mesmerizing. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured in reverence. “This place is something else.”
Yasopp, standing beside him, was equally stunned. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the towering shelves of polished mahogany that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The countless volumes—ancient tomes with gilded spines, scrolls sealed in crystal tubes, and illuminated manuscripts that shimmered faintly—caught his attention. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, in a mix of wonder and disbelief. “It’s like... a treasure trove of knowledge. But fancier. Way fancier.”
Shanks chuckled, his usual grin returning. “Fancy doesn’t even begin to cover it. This is... impressive. And I don’t say that often.”
As they moved further into the Library, the crisp, faintly scented air of lavender and cedar enveloped them, a testament to the care taken to preserve the collection. Scholars moved quietly through the aisles, their footsteps barely audible on the marble floors. Floating orbs of light drifted lazily through the air, guiding the scholars to their desired sections. Shanks reached out to touch one of the orbs, his fingers passing through it as it shimmered and danced away. “Now that’s a neat trick,” he said, with a note of admiration.
Yasopp, meanwhile, was drawn to one of the towering shelves, his fingers brushing against the spine of an ancient tome. The gilded lettering seemed to glow faintly under his touch, and he pulled his hand back as if burned. “Whoa. These books... they feel alive.”
Marya had been watching their reactions with a small smile. “They are, in a way. The Library is more than just a collection of books. It’s a living testament to the knowledge and history. Every volume here has been carefully preserved and protected.”
Shanks glanced at her thoughtfully. “I can see why you’d want to keep this place a secret. It’s not just a library—it’s a sanctuary.”
As they approached the heart of the Library, the Celestial Atrium came into view. The domed chamber was breathtaking, its ceiling adorned with a massive, rotating astrolabe that projected constellations onto the surface above. The stars seemed to shift and dance, their patterns forming intricate designs that told the story of the eternal pursuit of knowledge. Shanks and Yasopp stopped in their tracks, their eyes fixed on the spectacle above.
“Now that,” Shanks said, with genuine admiration, “is something you don’t see every day.”
Mouth slightly agape, Yasopp nodded, “It’s like... the entire universe is right here. In this room. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Marya flickered with pride as she watched their reactions. “The Celestial Atrium is the heart of the Library. It’s a reminder that knowledge is infinite, and that there’s always more to learn.”
Shanks turned to her thoughtfully. “You’ve got quite the treasure here, Marya. I can see why you’re so protective of it.”
Yasopp, still staring at the constellations above, added, “Yeah, this place is incredible. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but this... this is something else.”
Knox Penrose stood at the edge of the Library’s grand entrance, his handlebar mustache twitching with impatience as he watched Shanks and Yasopp marvel at the surroundings. His teeth clenched, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his tone gruff and no-nonsense. “Alright, enough gawking. The Ellingtons aren’t the type to stand around, and I’m not about to keep them waiting because you two decided to turn into tourists. Let’s move.”
Shanks chuckled, as he glanced at Knox. “Relax, Captain. We’re coming. Just taking in the sights.”
Yasopp, who had been examining a glowing orb of light that hovered near a shelf of ancient tomes, reluctantly pulled himself away. “Yeah, yeah, we’re moving. But seriously, Knox, this place is incredible. You’re telling me you walk through here every day and don’t stop to appreciate it?”
Knox snorted dryly. “I’ve got a job to do. Appreciating the scenery isn’t part of it. Now, come on.”
Marya, with a flicker of amusement. “He’s right. The Ellingtons are waiting. We can admire the Library later.”
Knox grumbled under his breath as he turned and led the way, his heavy boots echoing on the gleaming marble floors. The group followed, their footsteps blending with the soft hum of the Library’s enchanted lanterns. Knox guided them through a series of elaborately designed, arched double doors, each one more intricate than the last. The doors were carved with scenes from the island’s history—battles, festivals, and moments of discovery—their details so fine they seemed to come alive in the flickering light.
As they passed through the final set of doors, Master Gaius suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing as he took in the room before them. The space was vast, its vaulted ceilings stretching high above, adorned with glowing chandeliers that cast a golden light over the room. “This room,” Master Gaius said, his voice low and carrying a note of reverence, “is the Hall of Echoes. It’s said that the knowledge contained here is so powerful, it resonates through the very walls.”
Shanks raised a curious eyebrow, “Echoes, huh? Sounds like the kind of place where secrets come to life.”
Yasopp, who had been quietly taking in the sight, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, this place feels... alive. Like it’s watching us.”
Knox, who had been waiting impatiently by the door, cleared his throat loudly. “As fascinating as this is, the Ellingtons are waiting. Let’s keep moving.”
Marya glanced at Master Gaius with curiosity. “We’ll come back later. For now, let’s not keep the Ellingtons waiting.”
Master Gaius nodded thoughtfully as he turned to follow Knox. The group moved through the Hall of Echoes, their footsteps reverberating softly in the vast space. As they approached the far end of the room, Knox led them through another set of elaborately designed, arched double doors. The doors opened into a grand chamber, its high ceilings supported by massive wooden beams and its walls lined with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes. At the far end of the chamber stood Amel and Nanette Ellington, their presence commanding and their expressions unreadable.
Knox spoke with a formal but deference tone. “Amel, Nanette, I’ve brought them.”
Amel nodded. He was a figure of striking presence, his appearance commanding immediate respect with a chiseled jawline and smooth medium-brown complexion that seemed to glow under the chamber’s golden light. His dark brown eyes, both expressive and intelligent, convey a blend of warmth, intensity, authority, and understanding. His tall, athletic frame was accentuated by his tailored attire, a blend of elegance and practicality that spoke to his role as a leader and a protector of his community. “Thank you, Knox. You may leave us,” he said with a calm note of authority.
Knox hesitated, his eyes flickering to Shanks and Yasopp before he nodded and stepped away. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
As Knox left, Amel turned his attention to the group, his gaze settling on Shanks and Yasopp. “So,” he said with measured skepticism. “The infamous Red-Haired Shanks and his sniper, Yasopp. To what do we owe the... pleasure?”
Shanks grinned, “Just passing through, Mayor Ellington.” He said with light respect, “We heard there was a festival, and who could resist a good celebration?”
Nanette’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone cool but probing. “And yet, here you are, in a place known to very few outside our community. How exactly did you find your way here?”
Shanks shifted his weight, cocking a hip. “We were caught in a storm—a bad one. The kind that makes even the most seasoned sailors think twice. The waves were like mountains, and the wind... well, let’s just say it wasn’t on our side. We got separated from our crew, and the next thing we knew, we were washed up on your shore.”
Yasopp, standing beside him, nodded in agreement. “It was chaos. One minute we were fighting to keep the ship afloat, and the next, we were in the water. We’re lucky we made it out alive.”
Shanks chuckled with a note of gratitude. “Luck had a lot to do with it. But we’re here now, and we’re grateful for the hospitality.”
Amel’s brow furrowed cautiously. “And your crew? Where are they now?”
With a flicker of concern, Shanks replied, “We’re not sure. The storm scattered us, but they’re a tough bunch. They’ll find their way back to us. In the meantime, we’re here, and we’re willing to help however we can.”
Nanette’s brow furrowed, “And what exactly do you expect in return for this... help?”
Shanks looked directly at her, his demeanor now solemn. “Nothing. We’re not here to cause trouble or make demands. We’re here because we need to regroup, and if we can lend a hand while we’re at it, all the better.”
Marya’s lips pursed with determination. “They’ve already agreed to help with training and strategy. Their experience could be invaluable.”
Amel and Nanette exchanged a glance, their silent communication speaking volumes. Finally, Amel sighed. “Very well. But understand this—our trust is not easily earned. Any misstep, and you’ll be dealt with accordingly.”
Shanks nodded resolutely. “Understood. We’re not here to cause trouble. You have my word.”
Nanette’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “We’ll hold you to that.”

Chapter Text

The hold was a grim, suffocating space. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and fear, and the only light came from a few flickering lanterns hung high above. Hongo sat against the damp wooden wall, his hands bound in heavy chains. Around him, the other prisoners huddled together, their faces etched with despair. Women, children, and even a few men—all of them stolen from their lives and now bound for an unknown fate.
Hongo inspected the hold, taking in every detail. The guards were lax, their laughter echoing from the deck above. They clearly didn’t see the prisoners as a threat. Good, Hongo thought. Let them underestimate us.
As he assessed the situation, his gaze fell on a young man sitting a few feet away. The man was lean but wiry, with a mop of unruly brown hair and a defiant gleam in his eyes. Unlike the others, he didn’t seem broken—just angry. Hongo’s instincts told him this one might be useful.
“You don’t look like the others,” Hongo said quietly, his voice barely audible over the creaking of the ship.
The young man glanced up with narrowing eyes. “What’s it to you?” he snapped defensively.
Hongo shrugged as much as his chains would allow. “Just making conversation. Name’s Hongo.”
The young man studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Eli,” he said finally. “And no, I’m not like the others. I was trying to stop these bastards when they grabbed me. Guess I bit off more than I could chew.”
Hongo’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “You’ve got guts. That’s more than most can say.”
Eli snorted. “Guts didn’t do me much good, did they? Now I’m just another piece of cargo.”
“Not if we do something about it,” Hongo said, his voice low but firm.
Eli’s eyes widened, and he leaned closer. “You’ve got a plan?”
Hongo glanced around to make sure no guards were within earshot. “Not yet. But I’m working on it. First, I need to know what you’re capable of.”
Eli hesitated, then nodded. “I’m a fighter. Grew up on the streets, so I know how to handle myself. And I’ve got a knack for picking locks.” He held up his hands, revealing a small, makeshift lockpick hidden in his sleeve. “They didn’t search me too well.”
Hongo gleamed with approval. “Good. That’s something we can work with. But we’ll need to be careful. One wrong move, and we’re both dead.”
Eli nodded, “I’m in. Whatever it takes to get out of here.”
The two men fell into a quiet conversation, their voices barely above a whisper. Hongo shared what he knew about the ship’s layout and the guards’ routines, while Eli offered insights into the other prisoners—who might be willing to help and who weren’t too frightened to act. Slowly, a plan began to take shape.
At one point, Eli glanced at Hongo and asked, “Why are you doing this? You could’ve just looked out for yourself.”
Hongo’s gaze softened, just for a moment. “Because no one deserves this,” he said. “And because my crew would do the same for me.”
Eli nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Your crew… they’re coming for you, aren’t they?”
Hongo’s lips curved into a faint smile. “They’ll come. But we’re not going to wait around for them. We’ll make our own way out.”
*****
The Acorn Hotel was a cozy, bustling hub of activity as festival preparations reached their peak. The scent of roasted nuts and spiced cider wafted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of chatter and laughter. Marya stepped through the hotel’s wooden doors, her usual composed demeanor softened by the soft illumination of the lanterns hanging from the rafters. She was dressed in an elegant kimono of deep indigo with silver accents, her long raven hair intricately braided and adorned with a single wisteria blossom. The change in her appearance was striking—gone was the fierce warrior, replaced by a poised and radiant figure.
Shanks and Yasopp were seated at a corner table, their new yukatas a stark contrast to their usual attire. Shanks’ crimson yukata with gold embroidery suited him surprisingly well. Yasopp’s earthy brown yukata was simpler but no less fitting, his bandana replaced by a traditional headband. They were in the middle of a lively conversation when Marya approached, her presence immediately drawing their attention.
“Well, well,” Shanks said, his grin widening as he took in her appearance. “If it isn’t Marya. I almost didn’t recognize you. You clean up nice.”
Yasopp whistled softly. “Yeah, you look like you belong in one of those fancy paintings. What happened to the sword-wielding prodigy we know and love?”
Marya rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “I could say the same about you two. You look... surprisingly good in those yukatas. Almost like you belong here.”
Shanks chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not trading my coat for this thing permanently. But I’ll admit, it’s comfortable.”
Yasopp nodded, adjusting the sleeve of his yukata. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Though I feel a bit underdressed compared to you, Marya. You’re really going all out for this festival, huh?”
Marya’s smile widened slightly. “It’s a special occasion. And don’t worry, your clothes are being washed and will be returned to you tomorrow. You’ll have your ‘signature looks’ back soon enough.”
Shanks raised a playful eyebrow. “Aww, and here I thought you were trying to make us blend in permanently. What’s next? Are you going to recruit us as festival planners?”
Marya shook her head, her tone dry. “Don’t push your luck. Speaking of which, how are you finding the Acorn Hotel? I hope the accommodations are to your liking.”
Yasopp leaned forward, his expression mock-serious. “Well, the beds are softer than a ship’s hammock, and the food’s better than rations. But the real question is, who’s paying for all this? Because I have a feeling it’s not coming out of our pockets.”
Shanks grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yeah, Marya. Is this all going on your father’s credit? Because if so, I might have to order another round of that ‘special brew’ the innkeeper keeps pushing.”
Marya’s lips twitched in amusement. “Let’s just say the island is covering your stay as a gesture of goodwill. But don’t get too comfortable. You’re here to help, remember?”
Shanks held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, we’re just grateful for the hospitality. And the clothes. And the food. And the—”
Yasopp cut him off with a laugh. “What he’s trying to say is, we appreciate it. Even if it is going on your father’s tab.”
Marya sighed with fondness. “You two are impossible. But I’m glad you’re settling in. Now, are you ready for the Opening Ceremony? The lantern lighting is about to start.”
Shanks stood, adjusting his yukata with exaggerated care. “Ready as we’ll ever be. Lead the way, Marya.”
Yasopp followed suit, “Yeah, let’s go light up the sky. But don’t think we’re done teasing you about this whole ‘dressed-up’ thing.”
Marya shook her head, her smile returning. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The festival grounds were a sea of color and light, the air alive with the hum of excitement and the sweet scent of wisteria blossoms. The central stage was adorned with cascading flowers and glowing lanterns, its grandeur a testament to Harper’s meticulous planning. Shanks, Marya, and Yasopp made their way through the bustling crowd, their presence drawing curious glances and whispered excitement.
As they approached the stage, they spotted Vaughn standing at the crowd's edge, his arms crossed in bemusement. He waved them over, his tone light but carrying a note of relief. “Over here! I’m hiding from Harper. He’s in full ‘festival mode,’ and it’s safer to stay out of his way.”
Marya raised an eyebrow, scanning the crowd until she spotted Harper. His green hair bobbed as he darted around like a whirlwind. With his clipboard in hand, he barked orders at anyone within earshot. “I see what you mean,” she said dryly. “He’s in his element.”
Shanks chuckled, his grin widening. “That guy’s got more energy than my entire crew combined. I like him.”
Yasopp nodded teasingly. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his ‘suggestions.’ He looks like he’s about to explode.”
Master Gaius appeared, his weathered kiseru pipe clenched between his teeth and his yukata robes swaying gently with each step. Dalton, his spirited grandson, bounded beside him with wide-eyed excitement. “Grandpa, look! There are so many people!”
Master Gaius chuckled warmly. “That’s what a festival’s all about, Dalton. Now, stay close. We don’t want to lose you in the crowd.” Dalton nodded, though his attention was already drawn to a nearby stall selling sweet treats.
Marya greeted them with a small smile. “Glad you could make it. The ceremony’s about to start.”
Master Gaius nodded, focusing on the stage. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, I wanted to see how Amel and Nanette handle the spotlight.”
As the crowd began to quiet, the Ellingtons stepped onto the stage, their presence commanding and their expressions a mix of pride and authority. Amel, the mayor, wore a finely tailored yukata of deep crimson with gold accents, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd with a regal bearing. Beside him stood Nanette, the head librarian, her raven hair swept into an elaborate updo and her bronze skin radiant in the golden light. Her crimson lips were set in a firm line, and her eyes reflected a mix of intelligence and grace. Micah, their young son, stood between them, his confidence shining through as he held a lantern in his small hands.
Harper, still buzzing with energy, gave a final wave of his clipboard before stepping back, his green hair catching the light as he joined the crowd. He spotted Vaughn and the others and made his way over, his tone breathless but triumphant. “Everything’s perfect! Well, almost perfect. The lanterns on the left side are slightly uneven, but no one will notice, right?”
Vaughn sighed in fond exasperation. “No one will notice, Harper. Relax.”
Harper waved a hand dismissively, his attention already drawn to Shanks and Yasopp. “And you two! Looking sharp. I knew those yukatas would suit you. Now, if only I could get Vaughn to wear something other than his usual—”
Vaughn cut him off with a pointed look. “Don’t start.”
As the Ellingtons began their speech, the crowd fell silent, their attention fixed on the stage. Amel’s soothing, commanding voice carried across the grounds. “Welcome, everyone, to the Founder’s Festival. Tonight, we celebrate our history, our community, and the bonds that hold us together.”
Nanette stepped forward, her voice calm but carrying a note of pride. “This festival is a reminder of the beauty and strength of our home. Let us honor those who came before us and look forward to the future with hope and determination.”
Micah, holding his lantern high, added in a clear, confident voice, “And let’s have fun!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause; the energy was electric as the lantern-lighting ceremony began. Shanks leaned over to Marya with a note of admiration. “Your family knows how to put on a show.”
Marya’s lips curved into a small smile. “They do. But the real magic happens when the lanterns are lit.”
As the first lanterns were released, the crowd collectively held their breath, eyes wide with wonder. The lanterns, shining softly with a golden hue, began to ascend into the night sky, their light growing smaller and more ethereal with each passing second. Amel, Nanette, and Micah stood together, their faces illuminated by the gentle glow, reflecting a shared sense of accomplishment and joy. The lanterns drifted upward, creating a sea of twinkling lights that seemed to merge with the stars above, a breathtaking spectacle that left the crowd in awe.
Harper, standing close to Vaughn, let out a contented sigh. “Look at that,” he murmured with his emotion-filled voice. Vaughn couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Shanks and Yasopp exchanged glances, their faces mirroring the amazement that rippled through the crowd. Marya, watching the lights, felt a swell of pride and joy. As the lanterns continued their ascent, the atmosphere was filled with a sense of unity and celebration, a perfect embodiment of the Founder’s Festival and the community it honored.
Just as the lanterns began to fade into the starlit sky, Micah dashed over to his friend Dalton. "Did you hear about the pirates?" Micah's eyes were wide with a mix of fear and excitement.
Dalton's face lit up, and he puffed his chest out with bravado. "Don't worry, Micah. I'm going to be a guardian, just like my grandpa. I'll protect us all."
Micah looked at Dalton with admiration. "Really? You think you can fight pirates?"
"Of course!" Dalton declared with unwavering confidence. "I've been training with my grandpa. I'm practically a guardian already."
As the two boys spoke, they noticed Shanks and Yasopp standing nearby, their figures silhouetted against the soft glow of the remaining lanterns. Micah tugged on Dalton's sleeve, whispering urgently, "Dalton, look! It's them—the pirates!"
Dalton's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the two men. With a surge of courage, he marched up to Shanks and Yasopp, his small frame filled with determination. "Hey, you!" he called out, his voice surprisingly steady. "Are you really pirates?"
Shanks and Yasopp exchanged amused glances before Shanks crouched down to Dalton's level. "And what if we are, little man?"
Dalton squared his shoulders, meeting Shanks' gaze head-on. "Then you better watch out! I'm going to be a guardian, just like my grandpa, and I'll make sure you don't cause any trouble here."
Yasopp chuckled, ruffling Dalton's hair. "You better watch out, captain. I think he means business."
Dalton nodded vigorously. "I'll protect everyone, just like my grandpa."
"What's this, now?" Gaius inquired, with tinged amusement, as he puffed on his pipe.
Dalton turned around, his eyes lighting up, "Grandpa, I was just telling these pirates to watch out because I'm going to be a guardian!"
Shanks and Yasopp couldn't help but laugh, and Gaius joined in with a deep, hearty chuckle that filled the air. "Is that so?" he said, clapping Dalton on the shoulder. "Well, I suppose they'll have to be on their best behavior then."
Shanks grinned, "With a young guardian like him around, we'll have to mind our manners."
Yasopp nodded, "Indeed, it looks like you’re in good hands."
Gaius's eyes sparkled with pride as he looked at his grandson. "You've got the spirit of a true guardian, Dalton. Just like your old grandpa."
Dalton beamed with pride, his earlier bravado now a glimmering confidence. "Thanks, Grandpa."
Gaius then glanced at the sweets food stall Dalton had been eyeing earlier. "How about we celebrate your newfound guardian duties with some sweets?" he suggested with a wink.
Dalton's face lit up with excitement. "Yes, please!"
As they walked towards the food stall, Gaius affectionately ruffled Dalton's hair. "Remember, a true guardian knows when to be brave and when to enjoy the simple things in life."
Dalton nodded eagerly. "I will, Grandpa."
Bianca, Zola, and Charlie were gathered near a cluster of stalls, their hands full of festival treats. Bianca held a skewer of grilled meat, her long black hair catching the light as she animatedly explained something to Zola. Zola adjusted her glasses with one hand while holding a delicate paper cup of shaved ice in the other. Charlie, meanwhile, was enthusiastically devouring a stick of dango, his eyes wide with delight as he listened to Bianca’s story.
Marya spotted them from across the crowd. With a flicker of amusement, she waved them over. “Bianca! Zola! Charlie!” she called, her voice carrying over the hum of the festival.
The trio turned, their faces lighting up as they saw Marya. Bianca waved her skewer in the air, her tone bright. “Marya! Over here! You have to try this yakitori—it’s, like, amazing!”
Zola followed Bianca’s gaze and excitedly waved. “Yes, and the kakigori is exceptional. The texture is perfect.”
Charlie, his mouth still full of dango, nodded vigorously. “And the dango! You have to try the dango!”
As they approached, Marya greeted them, “That looks amazing!” With a small smile, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Before she could continue, Charlie’s eyes widened, and he swallowed his food quickly. "Wait, Marya. Have you heard about the pirates? There are reports of pirates on the island. Isn't that interesting?"
Bianca rolled her eyes, her tone teasing. “Charlie, we’ve been over this. Like, a hundred times. Yes, there are pirates. But, like, Marya probably knows more about it than we do.”
Zola nodded assertively, “Yes, and given the current situation, it’s likely they’re here for a reason. Perhaps they have information we need.”
Marya’s lips twitched in amusement. “Actually, the pirates are right here.” She gestured to Shanks and Yasopp, who stood beside her, their presence commanding even in the midst of the bustling crowd.
Shanks grinned as he gave a casual wave. “Hey there. Name’s Shanks. This is Yasopp.”
Yasopp nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Bianca’s eyes widened, her skewer momentarily forgotten. “Wait, like, THE Shanks? Red-Haired Shanks? Oh my gosh, this is, like, incredible!”
Zola inspected Shanks and Yasopp with academic curiosity. “Fascinating. Your reputation precedes you. I’ve read about your exploits in several texts.”
Charlie, his excitement barely contained. "This is quite remarkable. There are actual pirates at our festival. It truly is significant."
Shanks chuckled in amusement. “Glad to hear it. And don’t worry, we’re not here to cause trouble. Just passing through.”
Yasopp nodded teasingly. “Yeah, and maybe sampling some of that amazing food while we’re at it.”
Bianca grinned brightly. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Like, the food here is, like, incredible. You have to try the taiyaki—it’s, like, life-changing.”
Zola pointed her finger in the air. “Yes, and the mochi is particularly noteworthy. The texture is unparalleled.”
Charlie, still buzzing with excitement, added, “And the dango! Don’t forget the dango!”
Lip curled Marya shook he head. “I think they get the idea.”
Jax walked confidently alongside Celeste and Riggs. Celeste, with her short, silver bob gently swaying, pressed her index fingers together nervously as they approached the group, feeling a mix of excitement and shyness. Nearing the festival, the trio observed Bianca, Zola, Charlie, and Marya engaged in a lively conversation with Shanks and Yasopp, adding an unexpected element to the already vibrant gathering.
“Celeste!” Charlie called out, his face lighting up. “You made it back in time for the festival!”
Celeste smiled softly, a flush running across her cheeks. “Yes, my last mission encountered some trouble, and we almost didn’t make it in time.”
Jax gave Celeste a reassuring pat on the back. “Well, what matters is that you’re here now. Let’s make the most of it.”
Riggs let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms. “It’s so not fair. I never get to see any real action. You all are getting the good tasking while I am stuck babysitting,” he whined, his voice tinged with jealousy.
Jax narrowed his eyes at Riggs with a stern look. "Maybe if you took your role more seriously, you'd get a chance to prove yourself," he chastised.
Riggs straightened up, his face flushed with indignation. “I do take my role seriously, Jax,” he retorted, his voice rising slightly. “If I were on tasks like them, I could show you how serious I am!”
Marya's eyes twinkled as she interrupted their quarrel. "Celeste, it's so good to have you back with us," she said, her voice filled with genuine happiness.
Celeste’s eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so glad to be back among friends.”
Bianca clapped her hands. “Let’s not waste any more time then! There’s so much to see and do. Who’s up for some games?”
Yasopp grinned, pointing to a nearby stall. “I’ve got my eye on that shooting gallery. Think you can beat me, Shanks?”
Shanks laughed heartily. “You’re on, Yasopp. Let’s see who’s the better shot.”
Emmet, walked beside Natalie, calculating the odds of winning the shooting gallery when Natalie tugged at his arm. "Come on, Emmet, let's join them," she urged with a smile. Emmet couldn't hide his affection as he smiled back.
As Emmet and Natalie approached the group, Bianca's eyes sparkled mischievously. “Well, like, look who’s decided to join us, like, hand in hand,” she teased, her voice full of playful insinuation.
Both Emmet and Natalie flushed a deep shade of crimson. Emmet cleared his throat awkwardly, desperately trying to mask his embarrassment. “We, uh, just thought it would be fun,” he stammered, avoiding everyone’s gaze.
Natalie laughed nervously, her fingers tightening around Emmet's arm for a brief moment before letting go. “Yes, just thought we’d give it a try,” she echoed with a mix of sincerity and bashfulness.
As the group laughed and teased each other, Natalie took a moment to glance around at her friends, a look of admiration on her face. “Everyone looks so beautiful in their kimonos,” she remarked, her voice filled with awe. “We should definitely take some pictures to capture this moment.”
Her suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement. Bianca immediately pulled out her camera, ready to play photographer. “Great idea, Natalie! Let’s get everyone together for a group shot,” she said, waving them all into position.
Marya adjusted her kimono and smiled brightly. “I’m all for it.” Celeste stood beside her, nodding in agreement, her eyes glowing with happiness.
As the group gathered, Shanks and Yasopp paused their playful banter, joining in with wide grins. Emmet and Natalie found their spots, standing close as they prepared for the photo. With everyone in place, Bianca called out, “Say cheese!”
As the group settled for the picture, Vaughn wandered through the bustling festival, his eyes scanning the crowd with growing anxiety. He muttered Harper's name under his breath, hoping to catch a glimpse of his familiar face among the sea of kimonos and festive banners.
His heart pounded with each step, and a bead of sweat formed on his brow despite the cool evening breeze. The festival's vibrant energy seemed to magnify his nervousness, making every moment without finding Harper feel like an eternity.
Just as Vaughn paused to catch his breath, he nearly collided with Marya and her friends. "Oh, sorry! I didn't see you there," he apologized, his voice tinged with both relief and embarrassment.
Marya looked up, surprised, and then flashed a welcoming smile. "Vaughn! You seem a bit flustered."
"I'm looking for Harper. Have you seen him?" Vaughn asked, trying to steady his voice, though his eyes betrayed the urgency of his search.
Marya exchanged glances with her friends before shaking her head. "No, we haven't seen him. But don't worry, we'll help you find him. Right, everyone?"
Harper’s eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. “Vaughn, darling!” he called out, his voice ringing clear above the festival’s din. Harper had arrived, exuding confidence and charm once again, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around. His eyes locked onto Vaughn, and with an exaggerated strut, he closed the distance between them, his every step a performance.
Vaughn's anxiety melted away at the sight of Harper in his kimono—adorned with intricate, dazzling patterns that seemed to amplify his presence. He couldn't help but laugh, relief and affection mingling in his eyes. “Harper, you certainly know how to make an entrance,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.
Harper winked. “Only the best for you, love.”
The group, momentarily stunned by Harper’s grand arrival, broke into cheerful laughter and applause. Bianca snapped a quick photo of Harper’s dramatic entrance, capturing the joy and surprise of the moment. “Now that’s a shot to remember!” he exclaimed.
Vaughn, his heart now light with joy, gently took Harper’s hand. “Come on, Harper, let’s find a quieter spot,” he said, his voice filled with tenderness. Harper, ever the showman, gave a theatrical bow to their friends before allowing Vaughn to lead him away from the crowd.
As they moved towards a more secluded area of the festival, Natalie’s eyes widened with realization. She caught Vaughn's soft, determined look and quickly deduced his intentions. With a subtle yet knowing smile, she turned to the rest of the group and discreetly signaled them to follow. The friends, catching her cue, nodded eagerly and began to trail behind Vaughn and Harper at a respectful distance, their excitement barely contained.
The festival’s lively ambiance faded into the background as Vaughn and Harper found themselves under a canopy of twinkling lights, the gentle hum of the evening creating a perfect setting. Vaughn paused and turned to face Harper, his eyes shimmering with a mix of anticipation and love.
Unbeknownst to them, their friends watched from a distance, their hearts pounding in unison with the thrilling secret they were about to witness.
Vaughn took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, its presence both comforting and daunting. Taking Harper’s hand, he knelt on one knee, the world around them dissolving into a blur of twinkling lights and hushed whispers.
“Harper,” Vaughn began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, “from the moment I met you, my life has been brighter, fuller, and infinitely more joyful. You are my confidant, my partner, and my greatest love. Will you marry me?”
Harper’s eyes widened, tears welling up as he looked down at Vaughn, his heart racing with joy. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, with a radiant smile and a voice trembling with happiness, he answered, “Yes, Vaughn, a thousand times yes!”
As Vaughn slipped the ring onto Harper’s finger, their friends, who had been watching in breathless anticipation, erupted into cheers and applause. The air filled with the sounds of celebration as Bianca, Natalie, and the others rushed forward, enveloping the newly engaged couple in a whirlwind of hugs and congratulations.
“Congratulations!” Bianca exclaimed, her camera flashing to capture the unforgettable moment. Natalie, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, embraced them both, her heart swelling with happiness for her friends.
The festival seemed to sparkle even brighter as the group celebrated, their laughter and joy mingling with the music and lights. Vaughn and Harper stood at the center of it all, their love and happiness radiating outward, binding their friends together in a moment of pure, unbridled joy.

Chapter Text

The Red Force was a hive of activity as the crew worked tirelessly to repair the damage from the storm. The ship was anchored in a secluded cove, its battered hull groaning as the crew patched holes and secured loose rigging. The mood was tense with purpose, everyone focused on the task at hand.
Building Snake, the ship’s stoic helmsman, supervised the repairs among the crew. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The crew was busy, but their work had an unusual quietness. He scanned the deck with his dark sunglasses, his gaze sweeping over the familiar faces of his comrades. That’s when it hit him—Hongo was nowhere to be seen.
Snake’s brow furrowed, his long, ashen mane extenuating his unease. Hongo was one of the most reliable members of the crew, always where he was needed. If he was missing, it wasn’t by choice. Snake made his way to Beckman, overseeing the repairs to the mast. His scarred face only seemed to sharpen his focused expression. The deep, jagged mark across his temple served as a constant reminder of past battles, adding an intensity to his already dominating presence.
"Benn," Snake said, his voice low but urgent. "Have you seen Hongo?"
Benn paused, taking a long pull on his cigarette. He narrowed his eyes as he skimmed the deck. "Not since he went ashore for supplies. That was hours ago."
Snake’s mood darkened. "He should’ve been back by now. Something’s wrong."
Benn nodded, the end of his cigarette glowing as he pulled on it, his mind racing. "Gather a small team. We’ll search the town."
Snake quickly assembled a skilled crew, including Lucky Roux. As they prepared to leave, Snake observed the busy port, cautious of potential dangers. The search party entered the town quickly and with purpose. Snake guided them through the streets and alleys. They questioned merchants and townsfolk, but no one had seen Hongo—or so they claimed. Snake’s frustration grew with each dead end.
As they turned a corner into a quieter part of the town, Snake noticed something on the ground—a small, familiar object glinting in the sunlight. He knelt and picked it up, his muscular tattooed forearm flexing in anxious irritation. It was a button from Hongo’s coat, the edges frayed as if it had been torn off.
Lucky Roux crouched his large round form beside him, "That’s Hongo’s, isn’t it?"
Snake nodded, his jaw tightening. "He was here. And he was in a hurry."
The group followed the trail, their senses on high alert. The alley led to an isolated courtyard, where the signs of a struggle were evident—overturned crates, scuff marks on the ground, and a faint smear of blood on the cobblestones.
The corners of Snake's eyes crinkled around his glasses as he pieced together what had happened. "He was ambushed. And they took him."
Lucky Roux’s fists clenched roughly on the rack of meat he had with him. "Whoever did this is going to regret it."
Snake stood, appearing grim as he held the evidence in his palm. "We need to find out where they took him. And we need to move fast."
*****
Shanks stretched his arms as he gazed out at the tranquil garden from the matted entrance of the Dojo. “That lantern-lighting ceremony last night was something else,” he said, his loose red hair falling to the side when he tilted his head admiringly. “I’ve been to a lot of festivals, but that... that was special.”
Yasopp nodded, his blond dreadlocks swaying as he bobbed. “Yeah, it was beautiful. And the way the whole community came together—it’s not something you see every day.”
Master Gaius, leaning against a nearby post, his weathered kiseru pipe clenched between his teeth, a trail of smoke curling lazily into the air, chuckled. “It’s a tradition that’s been passed down for generations. Each lantern carries a wish or a memory. It’s our way of honoring the past and looking toward the future.”
Shanks glanced at him thoughtfully. “You’ve got quite the home here, Gaius. It’s something worth protecting.”
Master Gaius nodded with a flicker of pride as he held his chin up. “That it is. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep it safe.”
Yasopp leaned back on his hands, and with a curious raise of an eyebrow, he asked, “So, what’s the next event for the festival? I heard something about a sparring tournament.”
Master Gaius puffed on his pipe with a note of excitement. “That’s right. The tournament’s always a highlight. Fighters from all over the island come to test their skills. It’s a chance to show what you’re made of.”
Shanks grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sounds like fun. Maybe I’ll enter. Give the locals a run for their money.”
Master Gaius chuckled teasingly. “You’re welcome to try. But don’t underestimate our fighters. They’ve got skill—and heart.”
As if on cue, Marya appeared at the edge of the garden, her short leather jacket billowing and Eternal Night gleaming against the hues of the afternoon sun. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, calm apology. “I was in the Library with Nao and couldn’t escape.”
Shanks stood, his grin widening. “No problem. We were just reminiscing about last night. That lantern-lighting ceremony was something else.”
Marya’s lips curved into a small smile. “It’s one of my favorite parts of the festival.”
Yasopp nodded with a wide grin. “Yeah, it was amazing. But now it’s time for the real show. You and Shanks sparring—this is going to be good.”
Master Gaius chuckled. “Just remember, Marya, stay focused. And Shanks—don’t go easy on her.”
Shanks smirked playfully. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Marya and Shanks stepped onto the expanse of the meticulously maintained training grounds surrounded by ancient wisteria trees that swayed gently in the breeze. Their delicate petals fell like soft rain, embedding a serene beauty into the moment's intensity. Shanks and Marya stood facing each other, a respectable distance apart, both poised and ready for the confrontation that would soon unfold.
With his characteristic devil-may-care grin, his white shirt rippling in the breeze, Shanks flexed his fingers around the hilt of Gryphon. His aura was one of relaxed confidence, but beneath the surface was a coiled spring of raw power and glacial intellect. His fiery red hair was tousled by the wind, and his eyes—sharp and discerning—watched Marya with a mixture of amusement and focus. He was a man who had seen many battles, and each one had sharpened his skills and his resolve.
Marya, on the other hand, was a picture of calm determination. Her long raven hair, tied back in a ponytail, contrasted starkly with her sharp, golden eyes. She held Eternal Night with the ease of one who had trained for countless hours. Her stance was solid, her resolve unyielding. Her presence was a blend of grace and latent power, a testament to her rigorous training and unwavering spirit.
The air between them crackled with anticipation as both combatants activated their Haki. Shanks’ Conqueror’s Haki spilled out an invisible wave of dominion and strength that caused the very air to tremble. Marya responded in kind, her Armament Haki encasing Eternal Night in a dark, formidable sheen. The ground beneath her feet seemed to pulse with the intensity of her will.
Shanks was the first to move, his body a blur of motion as he lunged forward. Gryphon’s edge sliced through the air precisely, aiming straight at Marya’s shoulder. She met his attack head-on, Eternal Night ringing against Gryphon with a clash that echoed across the training grounds. Sparks flew from the impact, and both fighters were briefly locked in a contest of strength and resolve.
Marya pivoted gracefully, allowing Shanks’ momentum to carry him past her. She spun on her heel, Eternal Night flashing in a swift arc toward his side. Shanks narrowly avoided the strike, his grin widening as he leaped back, gaining a moment’s respite. “Not bad,” he acknowledged, his voice carrying across the space between them. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”
His words seemed to ignite a spark within Marya. She advanced with renewed vigor, her strikes swift and specific. But Shanks, ever the seasoned warrior, rebounded with equal ferocity, his movements fluid and unerring. Each clash of their blades reverberated through the air, a testament to their skill and tenacity.
In a moment of tactical ingenuity, Marya decided to harness her feminine Haki, a rare and potent force that she seldom wielded. She channeled her spirit into a subtle but powerful wave, aiming to destabilize Shanks and throw him off balance. The air shimmered slightly with the intensity of her Haki, and for an instant, it seemed as though Shanks' stance wavered.
However, Shanks quickly regained his footing, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of amusement. He deftly deflected her next blow, and with a swift, calculated maneuver, sent Marya stumbling back. She lost her balance, and in an uncharacteristic lapse, found herself tumbling to the ground, Eternal Night slipping from her grasp.
Shanks paused, his grin fading into a look of genuine inquiry. "What was that?" he asked with surprised intrigue. "I didn't expect that from you, Marya."
Marya chuckled softly with resilient self-deprecation. Her golden eyes sparkled in determined amusement as she accepted Shanks' outstretched hand. “It was the feminine nature of my Haki,” she replied lightly, unburdened by the minor setback.
Shanks pulled her to her feet with a firm, gentle grip. “Well, it certainly caught me off guard,” he admitted, returning with an admirable grin.
Marya dusted herself off, her chuckle lingering in the air like the wisteria petals around them. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, retrieving Eternal Night from the ground and readying herself once more. “But clearly, I need more practice.”
Shanks' eyes sparkled with both challenge and encouragement as he gazed at Marya. “Ready to go again?” he asked, with genuine curiosity and the thrill of the sparring match. Gryphon was poised, a testament to his eagerness to continue their battle.
Marya's stern expression hardened into one of steely resolve. She squared her shoulders, her golden eyes locking onto Shanks with fierce determination. "Yeah," she declared with a steady, unwavering tone. The weight of her purpose was matched by the firm grip she held on Eternal Night, its blade gleaming ominously in the fading light. She took her stance, every muscle poised for the next round, her spirit undeterred by the earlier fall. The air around them hummed with the anticipation of their renewed clash.
As they collided once more, Marya's resolve seemed to crystallize into raw power. She harnessed the full extent of her feminine Haki, intertwining it seamlessly with her swordplay. Her strikes grew faster and more unpredictable, each one laced with the subtle force that had temporarily unbalanced Shanks before.
Shanks, though experienced and formidable, found himself momentarily on the defensive. Marya's onslaught was relentless, a beautiful yet deadly dance of precision and strength. Eternal Night moved like a shadow, striking with an elegance that belied its lethal intent. Shanks, usually so composed, was forced to parry and evade with increasing urgency.
Seeing a flicker of surprise in Shanks' eyes, Marya pressed her advantage. With a deft maneuver, she feinted to his left, then brought Eternal Night down in a sweeping arc. Shanks barely managed to block the strike, the force of it sending a tremor through his arm. Sensing victory within reach, Marya pushed forward, her strikes becoming a blur of motion.
But Shanks was not one to be easily bested. Drawing upon his vast reservoir of experience and tactical genius, he began to anticipate Marya's moves, his movements becoming more fluid and calculated. With each passing moment, he adapted to her rhythm, regaining his footing with a tenacity that matched her own.
In a decisive moment, Marya attempted another powerful strike, aiming to disarm Shanks. However, Shanks saw through her intent. With a swift, almost imperceptible shift, he sidestepped her attack and countered with a precise thrust of Gryphon. The clash of steel echoed through the air as his blade met hers, but this time, it was Shanks who had the upper hand.
With a series of rapid, calculated strikes, Shanks turned the tide of the battle. His movements were a masterclass in swordsmanship, each one executed with impeccable precision. Marya, despite her best efforts, found herself gradually losing ground, her earlier advantage slipping away.
In the final moments of their duel, Shanks executed a flawless disarming move, sending Eternal Night flying from Marya's grasp. He followed through with a swift, controlled strike that stopped mere inches from her throat. The battle was over.
For a moment, then, Shanks lowered Gryphon, his eyes filled with genuine respect and admiration. "You're impressive," he said sincerely. But remember, even the best warriors have more to learn."
Marya, though breathless and slightly bruised, smiled with determined pride. "I'll take that as another compliment," she replied, retrieving Eternal Night. "And next time, I won't fall short."
Shanks grinned, a spark of challenge in his eyes. "I'll be looking forward to it."
Aurélie approached the matted entrance of the Dojo, where she sat, crossing her legs over the edge. She joined Yasopp and Master Gaius, already watching the intense duel between Shanks and Marya. The clang of swords and the fluidity of movement held a mesmerizing quality, reflecting the high stakes of the sparring match.
Aurélie, her curiosity piqued, glanced at Yasopp with a raised brow. "What has transpired?" Her voice was a gentle whisper that carried an undercurrent of intrigue.
Yasopp, without taking his eyes off the fight, replied with a hint of admiration, "Marya has been pushing Shanks. Her Haki and swordplay have been extraordinary."
Master Gaius nodded in agreement, his face a mask of contemplation. "Indeed, she has shown remarkable growth. But Shanks' experience and tactical brilliance are beginning to turn the tide."
Aurélie watched as the two combatants moved with a grace that belied the ferocity of their strikes. The air was thick with anticipation, each clash of steel echoing the silent determination of their wills. She felt a surge of pride for Marya's prowess, yet a deep respect for Shanks' unwavering composure.
As the duel reached its climactic conclusion, Aurélie felt a wave of inspiration wash over her. The intensity and grace of the sparring match, the unspoken respect between Shanks and Marya, stirred something deep within her. With a newfound sense of purpose, she reached for and retrieved a pen and her weathered notebook.
Settling into her spot, she flipped open the notebook to a fresh page. Her pen hovered for a moment, capturing the essence of the scene before her. The rhythmic clash of swords, the resilience of Marya, the composed prowess of Shanks—all these elements intertwined in her mind, forming the seeds of a poetic expression.
With deliberate strokes, she began to write, her words flowing effortlessly from her heart to the page. Each line encapsulated the essence of the duel, the blend of strength and vulnerability, the dance of blades reflecting the dance of life itself. The poem took shape, a testament to the beauty of combat and the indomitable spirit of those who engage in it.
Aurélie wrote with fervor, the verses capturing her emotions, her admiration, and the inspiration drawn from witnessing the duel. The gentle scratch of her pen on paper was a stark contrast to the clanging of swords, yet it held its own power, etching a timeless tribute to the moment:
Swords clash in rhythmic dance,
In the Dojo, they take their chance.
Shanks and Marya, fierce and bright,
Their spirits locked in mortal fight.
Haki strong, blades so keen,
A battle fierce, a sight serene.
In the heat of combat's glare,
Strength and grace beyond compare.
Shanks' composure, Marya's might,
A duel that stretches through the night.
Each strike, a story, each parry, a tale,
In their struggle, none shall fail.
The sparks of steel, the cries of will,
In every move, a skilled thrill.
Yet through the fight, a bond is made,
Respect in every strike displayed.
The clash of swords, a dance of life,
In every swing, the end of strife.
With every move, they write their lore,
In the Dojo forevermore.
*****
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the Red Force as the search party returned. The crew’s earlier determination had turned to grim resolve while they climbed aboard, their faces etched with concern.
"Benn," Snake said, his low voice carrying an edge of urgency. "We found something."
Benn stepped down from the helm, his presence commanding the attention of the crew. "What is it?"
Snake held up the button he had found, its frayed edges catching the dim light. "This is Hongo’s. We found it in an alley near the market. There were signs of a struggle—overturned crates, scuff marks, and a bit of blood on the ground."
Lucky Roux, spoke around mouthfuls of meat. "It looks like he was ambushed. Whoever took him didn’t leave much of a trail, but we know they’re still in the area. Probably hiding him somewhere in the port."
Benn’s jaw tightened, lighting a cigarette, while his mind raced through the possibilities. "Did anyone see anything? Any witnesses?"
Snake’s ashen mane waved as he shook his head. "The townsfolk are tight-lipped. Either they’re scared, or they’re involved. But we did hear rumors about a group of pirates working with the World Government. They’ve been moving people—slaves—through the port. Hongo might’ve stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to see."
Blowing out a puff of smoke, Benn’s face darkened, his eyes glinting angrily. "Slavers. And the World Government’s involved?" He clenched his fists, his calm demeanor cracking for just a moment. "This is worse than we thought."
The crew murmured among themselves, their worry for Hongo mingling with their growing anger. Benn raised a hand, silencing them. "We’re not leaving without him. But we need to be smart about this. If the World Government’s involved, we’re walking into a hornet’s nest."
Lucky Roux swallowed, "So what’s the plan, Benn? We can’t just sit here while Hongo’s in trouble."
Benn ran fingers through his dark hair, inspecting the crew, his mind working quickly. "We’ll split into teams. Snake, you take a group and scout the port. Find out where they’re keeping him. Lucky, you and a few others gather supplies and weapons. We’ll need to be ready for a fight. The rest of you, stay here and keep the ship ready to move at a moment’s notice."
Benn's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "We’ll find Hongo.” A stream of smoke spiraled around him. “And when we do, we’ll make sure these slavers regret the day they crossed us."
As the crew sprang into action, Benn stood at the helm, fixed on the port town. The shadows of the buildings seemed to stretch toward the ship, but Benn’s resolve was unshakable. Hongo was out there somewhere, and they would find him—no matter what it took.

*****
The festival was in full swing, lights twinkling like stars in the night sky, music resonating in the air, and laughter rolling through the streets. It was the second night, and the town was alive with energy and excitement.
As Jax wandered through the colorful stalls, he felt a sense of purpose pushing him forward. He knew Marya had a habit of visiting the shrine at the edge of town during festivals. It was a place of peace amidst the chaos, a sanctuary where she collected her thoughts. Determined but nervous, Jax made his way towards the shrine, weaving through the jubilant crowd.
In the distance, he spotted Marya walking with measured grace, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She seemed lost in thoughts as she stepped lightly. Jax quickened his pace, his heart beating faster with each step. This was his moment. His heart skipped a beat. He suddenly felt vulnerable. He wanted to confess his feelings but feared they would not be reciprocated.
Marya paused near a small fountain, the flickering lanterns casting a soft glow on her face. Jax took a deep breath and approached her, his resolve hardening. Just as he was about to call her name, Marya turned, her golden eyes meeting his with surprise and curiosity. For a moment, the noise of the festival faded into the background. Jax's heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his palms grow clammy. This was his chance.
"Jax," Marya said with a curious head tilt, "I didn't expect to see you here."
Jax cleared his throat, struggling to keep his composure. "Marya, I... I wanted to talk to you."
Marya raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "About what?"
Jax opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His confidence was shaken in this moment; he felt like a boy again, unsure and nervous. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just... I mean, with everything going on, I... Well, I wanted to tell you that... I... I admire your strength and your skills."
Marya smiled a rare but genuine expression. "Thank you, Jax. That means a lot coming from you."
Jax felt a rush of relief, but also frustration. This wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her how he felt and how much he cared for her. But his fear of rejection held him back. He managed a small smile. "Enjoy the festival, Marya."
"You too, Jax," Marya replied, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she turned and disappeared toward the Shrine’s steps.
Jax watched her go, his heart heavy. He would find the right moment, the right words and he would wait for the day when he could finally confess his feelings to Marya. As Jax stood there, grappling with his unspoken words, he suddenly heard a boisterous voice calling out from behind. Turning around, he saw Riggs, his katana swinging haphazardly at his side.
"Hey Jax!" Riggs shouted, with a meat skewer in one hand and a wide grin plastered on his face. "Have you tried the roasted boar yet? It's amazing!"
Jax couldn't help but smile at Riggs's enthusiasm. "No, I haven't," Jax replied, momentarily distracted from his earlier disappointment.
"You've got to try it!" Riggs insisted, around mouthfuls of food and with a gleam in his eye. "It's the best thing at the festival. Trust me, you won't regret it."
Jax nodded, appreciating the brief respite from his heavy thoughts. "Sure, Riggs. Let's go check it out."
As they walked through the bustling festival together, Jax couldn't shake the lingering image of Marya's golden eyes and the unresolved feelings in his heart.

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Chapter Text

The port town was alive with the hum of activity, but Limejuice moved through the streets with a singular focus. Hongo’s disappearance had left the crew on edge, and Limejuice was determined to find answers.
He had started his search in the market, questioning merchants and eavesdropping on conversations. Most of the townsfolk were tight-lipped, their eyes darting away when he mentioned Hongo or the slave trade. But Limejuice was persistent, and his patience paid off when he overheard a pair of dockworkers speaking in hushed tones near a stack of crates.
“Did you see that ship that left earlier?” one of them muttered. “The one with the black sails? I heard they were carrying… cargo.”
The other dockworker nodded, his voice low. “Yeah, I saw ‘em loading up. Women, kids… even a few men. One of ‘em looked like he put up a fight. Had a mean glare, like he wasn’t going down without a struggle.”
Limejuice’s ears perked up at the description. Hongo. He stepped out from the shadows, his presence startling the dockworkers with his cascading light hair managed by a beret cap. “Tell me more about that man,” he said, his voice calm with an edge of authority.
The dockworkers exchanged nervous glances, but one of them finally spoke. “He was tall, had this intense look about him. They dragged him onto the ship with the others. Looked like he was trying to fight back, but there were too many of ‘em.”
Limejuice’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure under his dark glasses. “Which ship? Where was it headed?”
The dockworker hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know where it was going, but it was flying the World Government’s flag. They left about an hour ago, heading east.”
Limejuice nodded, his mind racing. He tossed the dockworker a few coins. “Thanks. Keep this to yourself.”
As the dockworkers scurried away, Limejuice turned, his white coat fluttering, and made his way back to the Red Force. When he climbed aboard, his brow was furrowed, and his mood was grim. He went to Benn Beckman, who was assisting with raising the mast. Benn immediately noticed the look on Limejuice’s face.
“What did you find?” Benn asked with an edge of urgency.
Limejuice took a measured deep breath, “Hongo was captured by slavers. They loaded him onto a ship flying the World Government’s flag. It left about an hour ago, heading east.”
Benn’s jaw tightened; lighting a cigarette, his eyes narrowed. “Slavers. And the World Government’s involved.” He turned to the crew, raising his voice to cut through the noise. “Everyone, listen up!”
The crew gathered around with concern as Limejuice repeated what he had discovered. Their concern turned to anger as they processed the information. The news hit them like a punch to the gut. Hongo was one of their own, and the thought of him in the hands of slavers was unbearable.
Lucky Roux spoke around a mouth full of meat. “We can’t just sit here. We have to go after him!”
The crew murmured in agreement. But Benn, pulling a drag from his cigarette, raised a hand, silencing them. “We’re not leaving him behind,” he said firmly, blowing out a stream of smoke. “But we’re in no condition to chase anyone right now. The ship’s barely holding together.”
Building Snake, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “We can’t wait. Every minute we delay, Hongo gets further away. And who knows what they’ll do to him.”
Benn blew out another puff of smoke, searching the crew, his mind racing. “I know how you feel. But if we set sail now, we risk losing the ship—and then we’ll be no help to anyone. We need to finish the repairs.”
Lucky Roux swallowed, tossing the bare meat rack, his frustration boiling over. “And what about Shanks? He’s still out there too! Are we just going to sit here while our captain and our crewmate are in danger?”
The crew erupted into heated arguments, their voices overlapping as they debated. Some sided with Benn, arguing that they needed to prioritize the ship’s survival. Others, like Lucky Roux and Building Snake, insisted that they couldn’t wait.
Limejuice twirled his staff to rest on his shoulder, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Listen! Arguing isn’t going to help anyone. We need a plan—one that gets us to Hongo and Shanks without losing the ship.”
Benn nodded, pulling on his cigarette. He focused on Lime juice. “You’re right. Here’s what we’ll do: we split up. Half the crew stays here to finish the repairs. The other half takes the longboat and goes after Hongo. We’ll meet back here as soon as the ship is seaworthy.”
The crew fell silent, considering Benn’s proposal. Lucky Roux was the first to speak. “I’ll go. I’m not waiting around while Hongo’s in trouble.”
Building Snake nodded. “I’ll go too. We’ll need someone who can navigate.”
Benn’s gaze swept over the crew. “Who else?”
Several hands went up, including Limejuice’s. “I’ll go,” he said. “I know the direction they were headed. I can track them.”
Benn nodded, holding the cigarette between his fingers. “Alright. Lucky, Snake, Limejuice—you’ll take the longboat and go after Hongo. The rest of us will stay here and finish the repairs. We’ll meet you as soon as we can.”
The crew moved quickly, their earlier tension replaced by a sense of purpose. The longboat was prepared, and the small team set off. Benn turned to the remaining crew as the longboat disappeared into the distance. “Let’s get to work. The sooner we finish these repairs, the sooner we can bring our crewmates home.”
*****
The Festival Tournament was the highlight of the week-long Founder’s Festival, a grand spectacle that drew fighters and spectators from all corners of the island. The tournament grounds were set up in a massive open arena carved into the base of the petrified titan stump, its towering walls providing a natural amphitheater. The arena was adorned with banners of vibrant colors, representing the different competitors, and the air was thick with the hum of excited chatter.
The stands were packed with spectators; their faces lit with anticipation as they cheered for their favorite fighter. Vendors lined the perimeter, selling festival treats like yakitori, mochi, and shaved ice, while children darted through the crowd, their laughter adding to the festive atmosphere. At the center of the arena stood a raised platform, its surface polished to a mirror shine, where the battles would take place. Lanterns hung from the surrounding structures, casting a fiery glow over the scene as the sun began to set.
Master Gaius, seated in the judges’ booth with Amel and Nanette Ellington, puffed on his kiseru pipe. Leaning back, he crossed his arms with pride and anticipation. “This year’s tournament is shaping up to be one of the best yet.”
Amel nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “The fighters are stronger than ever. It’s a testament to the strength and resilience of our people.”
Nanette rested her chin on a bent elbow. “And the turnout is exceptional. The festival has brought everyone together.”
Just then, a young boy with tousled brown hair and a face flushed with excitement weaved through the crowd, his feet barely touching the ground as he darted toward the judges' booth. Dalton, Gaius's grandson, brow drawn, his eyes fixed on his grandfather. He burst through the final cluster of spectators and skidded to a halt before the raised platform, his breath coming in quick gasps.
"Grandpa Gaius!" Dalton called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise. Master Gaius looked up from his pipe, his stern features softening into a wide smile as he saw Dalton.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little warrior,” Gaius chuckled, his eyes sparkling affectionately. “What brings you here in such a hurry?”
Dalton beamed, his cheeks bright as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “I wanted to wish you good luck with the judging and watch the matches with you!” He glanced around the impressive arena, his eyes wide with awe.
Master Gaius reached down, lifting Dalton effortlessly onto his lap. “You’ll have the best seat in the house, my boy,” he said, ruffling Dalton’s hair. Nanette and Amel exchanged amused glances, the warmth of the moment adding to the festive spirit that pervaded the air.
Dalton, perched on his grandfather's lap, watched the unfolding spectacle with wide-eyed wonder. The vibrant energy of the tournament filled his small frame, his excitement mirroring the fervor of the crowd around them. His eyes darted from fighter to fighter, marveling at their skill and strength.
Marya had just finished another match, her eyes reflecting a flicker of satisfaction when her opponent bowed respectfully and stepped off the platform. As she sheathed Eternal Night and turned to leave the platform, a familiar voice called out, cutting through the crowd's noise. “Marya! Wait!”
She turned to see Riggs striding toward her, his shaggy blond hair bouncing with each step and his katana resting at his side. His usual reckless grin was plastered across his face, but there was a glint of grit in his eyes. The crowd murmured in eagerness, sensing another dramatic moment unfolding.
“Riggs,” Marya raised a curious eyebrow. “What is it?”
Riggs stopped at the edge of the platform, his grin widening. “I’ve been waiting for this all night. I challenge you to a match.”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Marya blinked through narrowing eyes. “You’re challenging me? Now?”
Riggs nodded; his flopping, shaggy hair could not hide his seriousness. “Yeah, why not? It’s the festival tournament, after all. And I’ve got a bet to make.”
Marya crossed her arms, cocking a hip. “A bet?”
Riggs’ grin turned mischievous. “If I beat you, Shanks has to spar with me. One-on-one. No holding back.”
The crowd gasped, their attention shifting to Shanks, who was standing at the edge of the platform with Yasopp. Shanks chuckled as he raised an eyebrow. “Me? What did I do to get dragged into this?”
Riggs playfully turned to him in challenge. “Come on, Shanks. You’re a legend. I’ve always wanted to test my skills against someone like you. And if I beat Marya, you’ve got no excuse.”
Shanks grinned, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Alright, I’ll bite. But you’ve got to beat Marya first.”
Marya sighed in exasperation. “Riggs, you’re impossible.”
Riggs shrugged, his grin never wavering. “Maybe. But you’re not backing down, are you?”
Marya’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
The crowd's cheers exploded as Marya and Riggs stepped onto the platform. The lanterns cast a low glow over the scene, their light reflecting off the polished surface of the platform as the two fighters prepared to begin.
Riggs drew his katana, his brow creased as he focused. “Ready, Marya?”
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night. She smirked, “Yeah.”
The match began with a clash of steel, the sound ringing out through the arena as the two fighters moved with precision and skill. Riggs was fast and unpredictable, his strikes wild but calculated as he pressed his advantage. Marya countered with grace and precision, her movements fluid and deliberate as she dodged his attacks and landed a series of swift, determined strikes.
The crowd watched in awe, their cheers and gasps echoing through the arena as the battle raged on. Riggs’ grin never wavered, his grit shining through as he pushed himself to keep up with Marya’s skill. But in the end, Marya landed the final blow, Eternal Night flashing in the lantern light as she disarmed Riggs and pressed the tip of her blade to his chest.
The crowd erupted into cheers as Marya stepped back and sheathed Eternal Night. Riggs laughed respectfully. “Alright, alright. You win.”
Marya’s lips curved into a smirk. “Better luck next time, Riggs.”
Riggs shrugged, his grin returning. “Yeah, yeah. But hey, Shanks—how about that spar anyway? Just for fun?”
Shanks chuckled in amusement, tossing a hand in the air. “Why not? But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
When Marya stepped onto the platform, Dalton's gaze sharpened with interest. He had heard stories of her prowess and was eager to witness her in action. As the match progressed, he leaned forward, his small hands gripping the edge of the judges' booth. The deft movements, swift strikes, and the grace with which Marya handled her blade left him in awe.
Master Gaius glanced down at his grandson, a smile playing at his lips as he observed Dalton's rapt attention. "She's quite something, isn't she?" he murmured with admirable pride.
Dalton nodded vigorously, his eyes never leaving the platform. "She's amazing, Grandpa! I want to be just like her when I grow up!"
Gaius chuckled, ruffling Dalton's hair once more. "I have no doubt you will be, my boy."
As Marya's opponent bowed and stepped away, Dalton's admiration only grew. He watched intently as Riggs approached her, his challenge ringing through the air. The crowd's reaction was electric, and Dalton's excitement peaked. He clung to his grandfather, eagerly awaiting the next thrilling bout. The arena's lights cast a golden hue over the scene.
Dalton's eyes sparkled with uncontained excitement as the next match was announced. Vaughn and Jax stepped onto the platform, each exuding an aura of fortitude and strength. Dalton bounced on his grandfather’s lap, his small frame quivering.
As the gong sounded, Vaughn and Jax circled each other, their movements fluid and deliberate. Dalton's gaze was fixed on the fighters, his breath held in suspense. Vaughn's swift strikes were met with Jax's formidable defenses, the clash of their weapons ringing through the arena.
Dalton's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Vaughn execute a series of deft maneuvers, his agility and precision leaving the crowd in awe. Jax responded with equal prowess, his powerful blows testing Vaughn's resilience. The back-and-forth of the match kept Dalton on the edge of his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the judges' booth once more.
"Grandpa, look at them!" Dalton exclaimed, "They're incredible!"
Master Gaius nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Indeed, they are, my boy. Vaughn and Jax are among the finest fighters here. You can learn much from watching them."
Dalton's eyes never left the platform, his mind absorbing every movement, every technique. As the match reached its climax, Vaughn's strategic brilliance shone through. With a final, decisive move, he disarmed Jax, the crowd gushing in cheers and applause.
Dalton's excitement peaked once more, his admiration for the fighters growing with each match. He turned to his grandfather, his face beaming. "One day, I'll be just as good as them, Grandpa. Just you wait and see." The energy of the tournament filled Dalton's heart, his dreams of becoming a warrior solidifying with each thrilling bout he witnessed.
As the stands buzzed with excitement, one figure stood out like a brilliant beacon amidst the sea of festival-goers. His outfit was a dazzling array of colors that seemed to capture the very essence of the festival—an explosion of purples, blues, and golds that shimmered under the lanterns’ illumination. His meticulously styled hair defied the gentle evening breeze, and his eyes sparkled, catching the light with every animated movement. He stood at the edge of the stands, his clipboard forgotten at his side as he cheered Vaughn on with unbridled enthusiasm.
“That’s it, Vaughn! Show them what you’ve got!” Harper called, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. He waved his arms dramatically, his movements as fluid and expressive as ever. “You’re amazing! Absolutely amazing!”
Vaughn focused on Jax, but he couldn’t help but glance toward the stands for a split second, a small smile tugging at his lips as he heard Harper’s voice. Harper’s support was unwavering, his cheers growing louder with every move Vaughn made.
“Come on, darling! You’ve got this! That’s my fiancé!” Harper shouted, his tone brimming with pride. He turned to the people around him, gesturing wildly toward Vaughn. “Do you see him? That’s my Vaughn! Isn’t he incredible?”
The spectators nearby chuckled, some cheering along with Harper, while others simply smiled at his infectious enthusiasm. Harper’s passion was impossible to ignore, and his love for Vaughn shone through in every word and gesture.
When Vaughn landed a decisive blow, disarming Jax and securing his victory, Harper nearly leapt out of the stands, his arms raised in triumph. “Yes! That’s my man! Vaughn, you’re a star! A star!”
Vaughn stepped back from the platform, bowing to his opponent before turning to the stands. His focused demeanor softened as he caught Harper’s eye, a small smile playing on his lips. Harper blew him a dramatic kiss, his grin wide and uncontainable.
“I’m so proud of you, darling!” Harper called, his voice carrying across the arena. “You were incredible! Absolutely incredible!”
As Vaughn made his way toward the stands, Harper practically bounced with excitement, his clipboard clutched to his chest. “Did you see that? Did you see him? He’s amazing! I mean, I always knew he was amazing, but tonight? Tonight, he’s on fire!”
The crowd around him laughed and nodded, their attention drawn to Harper’s infectious energy. Vaughn reached the edge of the stands, his easygoing smile widening as he looked up at Harper. “You’re going to lose your voice if you keep shouting like that.”
Harper waved a hand dismissively, his tone light but carrying a note of adoration. “Oh, hush. You were fantastic, and the whole world needs to know it. Besides, someone has to cheer you on properly, and who better than me?”
Vaughn chuckled fondly. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Harper beamed, his green hair catching the light as he leaned over the railing. “You’re going all the way, darling. I can feel it. And when you win, we’re celebrating in style. I’ve already planned the perfect dinner—candles, music, the works.”
Vaughn shook his head, his smile never fading. “You’re impossible.”
Harper grinned, his tone playful. “And you love me for it.”
Dalton's excitement had barely subsided when the announcer's voice rang out once more, introducing the next competitors. His eyes widened with anticipation as Celeste stepped onto the platform, her presence commanding and awe-inspiring. She was known for her agility and elegance in combat, and Dalton couldn't wait to witness her prowess firsthand.
"Grandpa, it's Celeste! She's extraordinary," Dalton whispered, his voice brimming eagerly.
Master Gaius nodded, his gaze fixed on the platform. "Indeed she is, Dalton. Watch closely and learn. Celeste is a master of her craft."
Her friends jumped up from their seats, their combined energy and enthusiasm creating a powerful presence as they cheered for Celeste. Natalie clasped her hands together, her voice ringing out, “Come on, Celeste! You’ve got this!”
Standing beside her, Emmet, “Celeste, you’re unbeatable!” he shouted.
Bianca, “Like, go Celeste! You’re, like, amazing!”
Zola, “Celeste, you are destined for greatness!”
Charlie called out, “Celeste, you’re a star! You’ve got this!” He cleared his throat and continued, “Let’s analyze this moment! She’s going to win, I can feel it.”
As the gong sounded, Celeste's movements were nothing short of mesmerizing. She danced across the platform with grace, her strikes precise and fluid. Dalton's heart raced as he watched her engage her opponent, every motion a testament to her skill and training. The crowd's cheers and gasps added to the electric atmosphere, but Dalton's focus remained solely on the match.
Celeste's opponent was formidable, countering her attacks with impressive defenses. Yet, she seemed to anticipate every move, her strategy unfolding like a well-choreographed dance. Dalton's awe grew with each passing second, his eyes never leaving the fighters.
"Look at how she moves, Grandpa!" Dalton exclaimed, his voice filled with amazement. "She's like a whirlwind!"
Master Gaius chuckled softly. "Yes, she is. Celeste's ability to blend speed, strength, and strategy is what makes her exceptional. Remember, it's not just about power, but also about precision and control."
As the match progressed, Celeste's opponent began to falter under her relentless assault. With a final, sweeping maneuver, she disarmed him, the weapon clattering to the ground as the crowd erupted in applause. Dalton's excitement soared, his regard for Celeste reaching new heights.
"One day, I'll be just as good as Celeste, Grandpa. I'll train hard and become a master fighter," Dalton declared with shining eyes.
The anticipation in the arena escalated as Captain Knox Penrose and Aurélie stepped onto the platform. The crowd hushed, eager to witness the clash between two of the tournament's most formidable fighters. Captain Penrose, a seasoned warrior known for his strategic brilliance and unyielding determination, faced Aurélie, whose agility and precision had earned her a reputation as a fearsome competitor.
As the gong sounded, the match began with a flurry of movement. Captain Penrose, clad in his distinctive attire, advanced with calculated steps, his eyes fixed on Aurélie. She responded with graceful agility, her movements fluid and unpredictable. The two circled each other, each gauging the other's strengths and weaknesses.
Aurélie struck first, her rapid attacks testing Captain Penrose's defenses. Her strikes were like lightning, quick and accurate, but Penrose deflected them with practiced ease. He countered with powerful blows, each one aimed to break through Aurélie's defenses. The clash of their weapons echoed through the arena, a testament to the intensity of their battle.
The crowd watched in awe as Aurélie executed a series of acrobatic maneuvers, evading Penrose's attacks with seemingly effortless precision. She leapt and spun, her movements a blur as she aimed to outflank her opponent. Captain Penrose, however, remained unfazed. His experience in countless battles had honed his ability to anticipate and counter such tactics.
"Look at their form, Grandpa!" Dalton exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "Aurélie's like a dancer, and Captain Penrose is so strong!"
Master Gaius nodded, his eyes never leaving the fighters. "Indeed, Dalton. It's a battle of finesse against power, and both have their strengths. Watch closely."
As the battle raged on, Aurélie attempted to gain the upper hand with a daring strike. She lunged forward, her blade aimed at a vulnerable spot in Penrose's stance. But Penrose, ever the strategist, anticipated the move. He sidestepped and countered with a swift, forceful strike that sent Aurélie reeling.
The crowd gasped as Aurélie staggered, but she quickly regained her footing. Undeterred, she launched a relentless assault, her attacks coming faster and more fiercely than before. Captain Penrose met her with equal intensity, his every move a testament to his strength and resolve.
"She's not giving up, Grandpa!" Dalton's head swiveled. "And neither is Captain Penrose."
Master Gaius smiled. "True warriors never do, Dalton. They fight with all their heart, no matter the odds."
The match reached its climax as Aurélie, summoning all her remaining strength, executed a breathtaking series of attacks. Her blade danced through the air, each strike aimed with deadly precision. Captain Penrose, however, stood his ground. He parried and countered, his movements a perfect blend of power and precision.
As both fighters reached the peak of their endurance, the intensity of their blows never waned. Aurélie's agile strikes met with Penrose's powerful defenses, each clash of their weapons sending sparks flying. The audience was on the edge of their seats, enthralled by the sheer display of skill and tenacity.
With every passing moment, it became clear that neither Aurélie nor Captain Penrose was willing to concede. Their focus was unwavering, their determination visible in every movement. Aurélie's attacks grew more daring, her blade dancing closer to breaking through Penrose's guard. Yet, Penrose's counters were equally formidable, his strength and strategy proving a near-impenetrable barrier.
"Look at the control they have, Grandpa!" Master Gaius pulled Dalton back from leaning over. "It's like watching a perfectly choreographed dance."
Master Gaius nodded in agreement. "This is the essence of true combat, Dalton. Finesse meets strength, and both fighters are giving it their all."
In a final, breathtaking exchange, both Aurélie and Captain Penrose seemed to push beyond their limits. Aurélie launched herself into an intricate series of strikes, while Penrose met her with a barrage of forceful counters. The crowd held its breath, eyes wide with anticipation.
Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, their blades locked in a deadlock. The two warriors stood, muscles straining, neither willing to yield. The silence in the arena was deafening, the tension almost unbearable.
Slowly, they disengaged, taking a step back from each other. Their breaths were heavy, their bodies glistening with sweat. A murmur rippled through the crowd as they realized what had transpired.
A draw.
The audience erupted in applause, their cheers celebrating the incredible display of skill and resilience. Aurélie and Captain Penrose shared a look of mutual respect, acknowledging the strength and prowess of the other.
As Dalton watched the fighters leave the platform, his heart swelled with inspiration. "One day, I'll be just as skilled and honorable as Captain Penrose and Aurélie, Grandpa. I'll train hard and become a true warrior."
The tournament continued, but for Dalton, the match between Captain Knox Penrose and Aurélie would remain a defining moment. It was a battle that showcased the essence of martial prowess and the unwavering spirit of true warriors.
In the stands, Shanks, Yasopp, and Marya were deep in conversation, their eyes still gleaming with the enthusiasm of the match they had just witnessed. Shanks, with his characteristic grin, leaned back and stretched his arms. "Now, that was a sight to see," Shanks remarked admiringly. "Aurélie and Penrose gave us a show worth remembering."
Yasopp nodded, his gaze still fixed on the empty platform. "They were evenly matched. Each move was calculated, and each counter was precise. It's been a while since I've seen such a balanced duel."
Marya smiled thoughtfully. "Respect is a rare quality."
Shanks chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Respect is earned, not given. And both of them earned it today. But I also saw a spark in the young ones watching. Matches like this inspire the next generation."
Yasopp glanced at Dalton, who was still animatedly discussing the fight with Master Gaius. "That kid, Dalton, he's got the fire. Reminds me of someone I once knew," he said with a wink at Shanks.
*****
The longboat cut through the choppy waves, its small sail billowing in the wind as Limejuice, Lucky Roux, and Building Snake manned the oars with relentless determination. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the sea, but the beauty of the moment was lost on the three crewmates. Their focus was singular: find Hongo and bring him back.
Limejuice sat at the bow, looking over the horizon. He held a small spyglass to his eye, searching for any sign of the slaver’s ship. The wind whipped through his light-cascading tresses, but he didn’t flinch, his expression set in a grim mask of concentration.
“Anything?” Lucky Roux called from the stern, ripping a piece of meat from the bone. He gripped the tiller, steering the longboat with practiced ease.
“Not yet,” Limejuice replied, his voice tight. “But they couldn’t have gotten far. That ship was heavy with cargo—slaves. They’ll be slower than us.”
Building Snake, seated in the middle of the boat, pulled at the oars with steady, powerful strokes. His ashen mane waving, his eyes flicked toward Limejuice. “You’re sure they went east?”
Limejuice nodded. “The dockworkers said they were heading that way. And the wind’s in our favor. We’ll catch up.”
The three men fell into a rhythm, their movements synchronized as they propelled the longboat forward. The sea stretched endlessly around them, but their resolve was unshakable.
As the hours passed, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The wind picked up, and the waves grew choppier, but the crew pressed on. Finally, Limejuice caught a glimpse of something on the horizon. He raised the spyglass again, his breath catching.
“There!” he said, his voice filled with urgency. “I see a ship—black sails, World Government flag. It’s them.”
Lucky Roux swallowed and grinned, “About time. Let’s show those slavers what happens when they mess with us.”
Building Snake’s expression remained stoic, but his grip on the oars tightened. “We’ll need a plan. We can’t just charge in. They’ll have guards, and we’re outnumbered.”
Limejuice light hair shook as he nodded, his mind racing. “We’ll wait until nightfall. Under cover of darkness, we’ll board the ship and find Hongo. If we’re careful, we can get in and out without alerting the whole crew.”
Lucky Roux’s grin widened. “And if we’re not careful?”
Limejuice smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Then we make a lot of noise and hope Benn catches up with the Red Force before things get too messy.”
Building Snake shook his head, his ashen mane swaying, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “Let’s try to avoid the messy part. For Hongo’s sake.”
As the sun set and the sky darkened, the longboat drew closer to the slaver’s ship. The crew’s earlier tension was replaced by a quiet focus. Limejuice stowed the spyglass and picked up his rifle, checking the ammunition with practiced ease. Lucky Roux tightened the straps on his gloves, his grin fading into a fierce look. Building Snake secured the oars and drew a pair of daggers from his belt as he fixed on the slaver’s ship.
“Ready?” Limejuice asked, his voice low.
Lucky Roux and Building Snake nodded grimly.
“Then let’s go get our crewmate back,” Limejuice said.
The longboat glided silently through the water, its small silhouette blending into the darkness. The slaver’s ship loomed ahead, its black sails a stark contrast against the night sky.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, where Shanks and Marya stood poised for combat. The breeze blew the scented petals of the wisteria blossoms as Master Gaius and Yasopp watched from the matted entrance of the Dojo, observing every move.
Marya’s stance was poised as she gripped the hilt of Eternal Night, its black blade gleaming ominously. Opposite her, Shanks held Gryphon with a casual confidence that belied his formidable skill. Their auras crackled with invisible power as they tapped into their Haki.
With a nod from Shanks, the duel began. Marya moved swiftly, Eternal Night whistling through the air with finesse. Shanks met her strikes with ease, their blades clashing in a symphony of steel. Each movement was a dance of power and grace, their Haki-infused strikes leaving trails of energy in their wake.
Marya lunged forward, aiming for a decisive blow, but Shanks sidestepped effortlessly, Gryphon parrying her attack. Undeterred, she pressed on, her attacks becoming faster and more aggressive. Yet, Shanks remained a step ahead, his experience and mastery evident in every deflection.
From the sidelines, Master Gaius observed with a discerning eye, his hands clasped behind his back. Yasopp, leaning against a post, watched intently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
As the battle raged, it became clear that Shanks was gradually gaining the upper hand. With a swift, fluid motion, he disarmed Marya, sending Eternal Night flying from her grasp. She fell to one knee, breathing heavily, her jaw clenched with frustration.
Shanks sheathed Gryphon and extended a hand to help her up. "You're improving, Marya," he said encouragingly. "But remember, it's not just about strength and speed. You need to anticipate your opponent's moves and feel their intent with your Haki."
Marya nodded, absorbing his words. "Yeah, easier said than done."
Shanks and Marya took a moment, the tension in the air settling into a calm stillness. Marya, chest heaving from the exertion, closed her eyes to center herself. As the world around her quieted, a vivid memory surfaced.
She was younger, training under the stern guidance of her father, Dracule Mihawk. They stood on a rugged cliffside, the ocean's roar a constant backdrop to her lessons. Mihawk's piercing gaze bore into her as he spoke, his comforting voice filled with authority.
"Marya," he said, his tone deliberate and measured. “To hone your observation, Haki, you must become one with your surroundings. Feel the pulse of life around you and anticipate the slightest shifts. It is not enough to see; you must sense. Your sword is an extension of your will. Your Haki is the bridge between your spirit and the world."
She remembered the countless hours spent under his tutelage, each session pushing her to new limits, sharpening her senses, and honing her skills. His lessons were not just about combat but about perceiving the unseen, feeling the intent of her opponent as if it were her own.
The memory faded, but its impact remained. Marya opened her eyes, a renewed focus settling over her. She grasped Eternal Night, its weight familiar and reassuring in her hand. Shanks, sensing her resolve, nodded and readied Gryphon.
As they resumed their sparring, the sounds of clashing swords filled the air once more. Meanwhile, Aurélie approached Yasopp and Master Gaius, her presence exuding a quiet grace. Yasopp straightened up and greeted her with a nod, an appreciative gleam in his eyes.
"Aurélie, that was some match you had with Captain Knox last night at the festival," Yasopp remarked, clearly impressed. "Your technique was flawless."
Aurélie smiled modestly, dipping her head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Yasopp. Captain Knox is a formidable opponent."
Yasopp's curiosity piqued as he glanced down at the katana at her side. "I've been meaning to ask – your katana, it has an aura about it. What's its story?"
Aurélie's hand instinctively brushed the hilt of her blade, a sense of reverence in her touch. "This is Anathema," she explained. "Its name means to be cursed by the gods. It's been passed down through generations in my family. Legend has it that it was forged by a master swordsmith who defied the deities, imbuing the blade with their wrath."
Yasopp's eyes widened, clearly moved by the weight of history and power the katana carried. "Anathema," he repeated, almost in awe. "A blade with such a legacy – it must be both a blessing and a burden."
Aurélie nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the katana's hilt. "Indeed. It demands respect and a deep connection with the wielder. But it is also a reminder of our duty and the strength we must uphold."
Master Gaius, who had been listening quietly, gave a nod of approval. "It is a legacy you carry on."
As the conversation drew to a close, Riggs and Jax arrived on the scene, their presence immediately noticeable. "Look at them go," Riggs exclaimed, watching Marya and Shanks spar with gaping enthusiasm. "They're incredible!"
Jax, standing tall and composed, crossed his arms over his chest, fixed on the duel. "Indeed. Marya's focus and Shanks' precision are truly impressive."
Master Gaius nodded in agreement, a proud smile playing at the corners of his lips. Aurélie, still holding Anathema, glanced at Riggs and Jax, her expression serene. "It's inspiring to watch them spar. Shanks truly pushes Marya."
Yasopp chuckled, clapping Jax on the back. "Jax, I see that look in your eyes. Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
A glint sparkled in Jax's eyes as he uncrossed his arms and cocked a hip, resting his hand on his katana. "You're right, Yasopp. I'm next to spar with Shanks."
Riggs grinned, nudging Jax playfully. "Just don't take it too seriously, Jax. Remember, it's all in good fun."
Jax glanced at Riggs frustratedly. "I know, Riggs. But I know I can do it!"
Aurélie nodded approvingly. "You'll do well, Jax. I have faith in your abilities."
As the duel progressed, an almost palpable shift occurred in the atmosphere. Marya's movements became more fluid yet defined, each strike and parry imbued with a newfound intensity. It was as if she had tapped into a deeper well of focus and power, her eyes narrowing with unwavering fortitude.
Noticing the change, Shanks adjusted his stance, a subtle yet perceptible acknowledgment of Marya's growth. His strikes became sharper, his defenses more robust, as he stepped up to the challenge she presented. The clash of their weapons echoed through the training ground, a symphony of metal and skill.
Marya felt a calm wash over her, a sense of clarity that sharpened her every motion. The world around her seemed to slow, each detail coming into crisp focus. She could see the slight shifts in Shanks' posture, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed in anticipation of her next move. It was as if time itself had bent to her will, allowing her to anticipate and react with precision.
As the duel intensified, Aurélie suddenly jumped to her feet, her eyes bulged with concern. She clutched Anathema tightly, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the fierce exchange between Marya and Shanks.
Just as she was about to step forward, Master Gaius raised a hand with command. "Wait, Aurélie," he said firmly. "Let them continue."
Aurélie hesitated, her breath caught in her throat. She glanced at Master Gaius, searching his eyes for reassurance. Finding a quiet confidence in his gaze, she slowly nodded and took a step back, though her muscles remained tense, ready to spring into action if needed.
Gaius's voice was steady as he continued, "This is her moment. Trust in her abilities. She needs to discover her own strengths and limits without interference."
Aurélie swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving the duel. She could see the determination in Marya's movements, the precision in Shanks' responses. Despite her anxiety, she understood the wisdom in Master Gaius's words. This was a true test of her training and spirit.
Meanwhile, Yasopp, Jax, and Riggs exchanged perplexed glances, clearly bewildered by Aurélie's reaction. "What's going on?" Riggs whispered, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Aurélie shook her head, her voice trembling with urgency. "Can't you see it? There's something different about Marya. I can sense an awakening within her."
Master Gaius's gaze remained steady as he addressed Aurélie. "Stay calm, Aurélie. This is a crucial moment for Marya. She needs to grow and learn control of her power on her own terms."
Aurélie closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She knew Master Gaius was right, but the intensity of the duel and the raw power emanating from Marya made it difficult to step back. "But what if she loses control?" she protested softly.
Gaius's expression softened, yet his voice retained its authority. "Trust in her training, Aurélie. Trust in her strength. She must face this challenge head-on to truly understand her capabilities."
Aurélie nodded reluctantly, her eyes never leaving Marya, who continued to move with a grace and power that seemed almost otherworldly. In that instant, Aurélie understood the importance of this moment. Marya was on the brink of a significant transformation, and only by facing such trials could she fully realize her potential.
Marya, seemingly unaware of the world around her, closed her eyes. The sounds of the duel, the whispers of the onlookers, and even the rhythmic beating of her own heart faded into the background. She felt a profound stillness enveloping her, a connection to everything and nothing all at once. In this heightened state, she could sense Shanks' aura pulsating with energy, vivid and tangible.
Reaching out with her mind, she touched Shanks' Haki, a masculine force so familiar yet so foreign. She grasped it, feeling its unique texture, its weight, and its power. Shanks stumbled, his balance momentarily disrupted as he felt his Haki being drawn from him. It was a sensation unlike any other, a mixture of loss and astonishment.
But Shanks was not one to be easily vanquished. He quickly regained his footing, a smirk of sheer delight spreading across his face. This was the challenge he had been seeking. With a swift and deliberate counter, he pushed back, his aura surging with renewed vigor.
When Marya opened her eyes, they were clouded over, as if shrouded in mist. Shanks' smirk faded, replaced by a look of genuine concern. He could see that something had shifted within her, something that teetered dangerously on the edge of control.
In the heat of the battle, Shanks held her in a deadlock with Gryphon, their weapons locked in a fierce embrace. "Marya!" he called out in a pleading command. "Marya, snap out of it!"
His words cut through the haze, reaching the core of her consciousness. Blinking rapidly, Marya's vision cleared, and the fog lifted from her eyes. She met Shanks' gaze with confusion as realization dawned upon her. The intensity of the moment had passed, but the significance of what had transpired lingered in the air, a testament to the power they both wielded and the bond they shared.
Master Gaius's voice cut through the tension. "That's enough for today," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Marya, you've done well. It's time to rest and reflect."
Marya blinked, still trying to process the significance of what had just happened. She glanced around, noticing the concerned faces of her companions. Despite the confusion that clouded her thoughts, she nodded reluctantly, understanding the necessity of taking a step back.
As Marya sheathed her weapon, Riggs, who had been watching intently from the sidelines, suddenly sprang to his feet. His eyes were alight with fierce enthusiasm. "Shanks!" he called out, his voice ringing with challenge. "I want to test myself against you."
Shanks raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face at Riggs's impromptu challenge. He sheathed Gryphon with a flourish and gestured for Riggs to take his stance. "All right, Riggs," he said, amusement lacing his words. "Let's see what you've got."
Riggs's eyes shone with fortitude as he readied himself, feet firmly planted and his weapon at the ready. The onlookers murmured, curious to see how the young warrior would fare against the seasoned swordsman.
With a nod from Master Gaius, Riggs lunged forward, his movements quick and exact. Shanks met each strike with ease, his motions fluid and almost lazy. It was clear that he was toying with Riggs, testing his mettle while maintaining an air of casual indifference.
The duel went on for only a few moments before Shanks decided to end it. With a swift and deft maneuver, he disarmed Riggs, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. Riggs stared in disbelief, his chest heaving.
Shanks chuckled, clapping Riggs on the shoulder. "Not bad, kid," he said with warm encouragement. "But you've still got a lot to learn."
The friction in the air dissolved into laughter, the spectators finding humor in the swift and decisive match. Even Riggs managed a sheepish grin, acknowledging the gap between his skills and Shanks's.
As the laughter died down, Master Gaius's voice carried over the crowd. "That's enough for today," he repeated. "We'll continue training tomorrow."
*****
The slaver’s ship loomed in the darkness, its black sails silhouetted against the moonlit sky. The longboat glided silently toward its hull, the three Red Hair Pirates—Limejuice, Lucky Roux, and Building Snake—moving with practiced precision. They had waited until the cover of night, their plan simple but effective: board the ship, find Hongo, and get out before the slavers knew what hit them.
Limejuice was the first to climb the side of the ship with swift, silent movements. He peered over the railing, scanning the deck. A few guards patrolled lazily, their attention lax. Too easy, he thought, but he didn’t let his guard down. He signaled to Lucky Roux and Building Snake, who followed him up the ropes and onto the deck.
The trio moved like shadows. Limejuice took out a guard with a well-placed strike to the back of the head, while Lucky Roux disarmed another with a swift kick. Building Snake slipped past them, his daggers glinting in the moonlight as he made his way toward the hold.
“Hongo’s down there,” Snake whispered, his voice barely audible. “Let’s move.”
But just as they reached the hatch leading below deck, a shout rang out. “Intruders! On the deck!”
The slavers alerted to their presence, swarmed the deck, their weapons drawn. Limejuice cursed under his breath. “So much for stealth.”
The fight was fierce but brief. Limejuice’s rifle cracked through the night, taking down slavers with pinpoint accuracy. Lucky Roux moved like a whirlwind, his fists and feet a blur as he disarmed and incapacitated anyone who got too close. Building Snake fought with calculated accuracy, his daggers flashing as he defended their position.
For a moment, it seemed like they might actually pull it off. But then, a new sound cut through the chaos—the blare of a Marine horn. Limejuice’s eyes widened, and his hair flared as he turned toward the source of the noise. A Navy ship, its white sails gleaming in the moonlight, was bearing down on them. Reinforcements had arrived.
“We’re out of time!” Limejuice shouted, his voice urgent. “Get to the hold and find Hongo! I’ll cover you!”
Lucky Roux and Building Snake didn’t argue. They dove through the hatch and into the hold frantically as they searched for their crewmate. Meanwhile, Limejuice held the deck, his rifle spitting fire as he tried to hold off the slavers and the approaching Marines.
Below deck, Lucky Roux and Building Snake found Hongo chained to a post, his face bruised but his eyes blazing with defiance. “Took you long enough,” Hongo said dryly despite the situation.
Lucky Roux grinned as he picked the lock on Hongo’s chains. “You’re welcome. Now let’s get out of here before things get worse.”
But as they freed Hongo and made their way back to the deck, they realized just how bad things had gotten. The Navy ship had pulled alongside the slaver’s vessel, and Marines were boarding in force. Limejuice was surrounded, his rifle empty and his fists raised as he fought off the attackers.
“We’re too late,” Building Snake muttered as he took in the scene. “There’s no way we’re getting out of this.”
Hongo clenched his fists grimly. “We’re not going down without a fight.”
The four Red Hair Pirates fought valiantly, but the numbers were against them. The Marines, well-trained and heavily armed, quickly overwhelmed them. Limejuice was the first to fall, a Marine’s baton striking him across the back of the head. Lucky Roux and Building Snake were subdued soon after, their weapons knocked from their hands. Hongo fought the longest, his boldness unyielding, but even he was eventually brought down.
As the Marines bound their hands and forced them to their knees, a Navy officer stepped forward, his face stern and unyielding. “Red Hair Pirates,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re under arrest for piracy, assault, and interference with World Government operations.”
Lucky Roux spat on the deck with a scowl. “You’re making a big mistake, pal. Our captain’s not going to take kindly to this.”
The officer smirked. “Your captain’s not here to save you. And if he shows his face, he’ll meet the same fate.”
*****
The festival grounds were alive with color and movement, the air filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and the rhythmic beat of drums. At the center of the open plaza, a group of performers moved in perfect harmony, their flowing robes and intricate masks adding to the mystique of the interpretive dance they were performing. The crowd watched in awe, their attention captivated by the fluid movements and symbolic gestures of the dancers.
Nao Itsuki Makino and his ever-present assistant, Himari Chinatsu Nomura, navigated through the throngs of revelers. In dramatic flair, Nao moved with a sense of purpose, his hands constantly gesturing as he pontificated on the artistic merits of the festival displays. Himari followed closely, her bright laughter punctuating the air as she hung on his every word.
Spotting Shanks at the edge of the crowd, Nao's eyes narrowed, and he nudged Himari, who giggled in response. They made their way over, "Well, if it isn't Shanks, the infamous pirate everyone is talking about," Nao announced loudly, his voice dripping with contempt. "The one who continues to demand my student's attention, disrupting her ability to learn. What brings you to this corner of the festivities?"
Himari chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh Nao, you always know just what to say," she cooed, her gaze adoring.
Shanks turned to face them, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Good to meet you, friend. Enjoying the festival, I see."
Nao's lips curled into a sneer. "Enjoying? Hardly. I find it fascinating that you have the audacity to show your face here, given your reputation. You know, you remind me of Dracule Mihawk—that rogue who stole Marya’s mother away, the scoundrel. It's no wonder Marya's education is suffering with you around."
Shanks laughed heartily, clearly unfazed by the insult. "Is that so? Well, I suppose everyone's entitled to their opinion."
Nao's eyes flashed with irritation. "Don't take this lightly, Shanks. Marya needs proper guidance and discipline, not the distractions you bring. Since I am her closest living relative, I must look out for her best interest."
Himari nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Exactly! Nao is right. You should really consider the impact you're having."
Shanks shrugged, his easy smile never faltering. "I'll keep that in mind. But if you ask me, Marya's doing just fine."
Shanks returned his attention to the dance, his lips pursing as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the intricate movements. The dancers moved with such grace and precision, their robes flowing like water, each step seemingly deliberate and symbolic. His curiosity was piqued, a frown creasing his brow as he pondered the significance of the performance.
Noticing Shanks' contemplative expression, Nao could not resist the opportunity to interject. He sauntered closer, a sneer playing on his lips as he took in Shanks' puzzled look.
"Ah, I see you're trying to grasp the essence of the dance," Nao began, his tone dripping with condescension. "It is indeed a complex narrative, one that requires a certain level of intellectual sophistication to truly appreciate."
Shanks raised an eyebrow, sensing the patronizing edge in Nao's voice. "Is that so? Perhaps you could enlighten me, then."
With a theatrical flourish, Nao gestured towards the dancers, his voice taking on a grandiose quality. "You see, Shanks, this dance is not merely a performance. It is a story—a story as old as the island itself. Each movement, each gesture, carries a deeper meaning, a connection to the very essence of our world."
Shanks raised a curious eyebrow. “A story, huh? What kind of story?”
Nao’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he launched into his explanation, his hands moving in sweeping gestures to emphasize his words. “It is the story of the Devil Fruits—their origin, their power, and their connection to the sea. The dancers represent the forces of nature, the balance between land and sea, and the eternal struggle for power and knowledge.”
Shanks glanced at the dancers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in their movements. “Devil Fruits, you say? That’s a bold claim.”
Nao nodded, his tone growing more animated. “Indeed! According to ancient texts, the Devil Fruits were not always a part of our world. They were born from the dreams and desires of humanity, a manifestation of our deepest wishes and fears. The dance tells the story of how they came to be, and the price that must be paid for their power.”
Shanks chuckled with skepticism. “Sounds like quite the tale. But what’s the connection to the sea?”
Nao’s hands moved in a sweeping gesture, mimicking the flow of the dancers. “The sea is the source of all life, the great equalizer. It is said that the first Devil Fruit was born from the sea itself, a gift—or perhaps a curse—bestowed upon humanity. The dancers represent the sea’s power, its beauty, and its wrath.”
As the dance reached its climax, the performers moved in a series of intricate patterns, their robes swirling like the waves of the ocean. The crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement evident as the performance came to an end.
Shanks watched with thoughtful intrigue. “It’s an interesting story,” he said respectfully. “But I’ve always believed that the true power of the Devil Fruits lies in the hands of those who wield them.”
Nao’s eyes flashed with delight, his tone growing more animated. “Ah, but that is the beauty of it! The dance is not just a story—it is a reminder. A reminder that power comes with a price, and that the sea will always have the final say.”
Shanks chuckled in amusement. “Well, I’ll give you this—it’s certainly a unique way to tell a story.”
As the last echoes of the performers' applause faded, three figures approached Shanks from the crowd's edge. Marya led the group, followed closely by Charlie and Bianca. Shanks greeted them with a nod, his eyes sparkling. "Marya, glad you and your friends could join us."
Marya swiveled her head with curiosity. "Where's Yassop? I haven't seen him around."
Shanks chuckled, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Oh, Yassop? Last I saw, he was quite enamored with a certain lady. I wouldn't be surprised if he's still keeping her company."
Marya huffed in amusement. "Typical Yassop."
The music shifted to a new rhythm, signaling the start of the next dance. A hush fell over the crowd as the performers took their positions, their vibrant costumes contrasting sharply against the dimming twilight.
Nao, opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie swiftly cut him off, with a confident smile. “Allow me,” he said, “You see,” Marya hid her chuckle behind her hand as Charlie cleared his throat and stood a little taller before he began in his scholarly tone. “This dance isn’t just a performance—it’s a retelling of the island’s origin. A story of catastrophe, survival, and the birth of something entirely new.”
Shanks crossed his arms. “A catastrophe, huh? What kind of catastrophe are we talking about?”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, “A great calamity—one that reshaped the very fabric of this world. Long ago, this island was part of a much larger landmass. But a cataclysmic event tore it apart, splintering the land and scattering its pieces across the sea. This island is one of those fragments, a remnant of what once was.”
Shanks glanced at the dancers, watching their movements. “What caused this calamity?”
Charlie’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he launched into his explanation. “According to ancient texts, it was the result of a clash between three great powers. Each power represented a fundamental force of the world—land, sea, and sky. Their conflict was so immense that it disrupted the balance of nature itself. The landmass was shattered, and its gravitational field was lost, causing the fragments to drift and form new islands like this one.”
Shanks chuckled with intrigue. “Sounds like quite the story. But what does it have to do with the dance?”
Charlie gestured toward the performers, “The dance symbolizes the three powers and their struggle. The dancers in blue represent the sea, their movements fluid and unpredictable. The ones in green embody the land, their steps grounded and deliberate. And the dancers in white—they represent the sky, their motions ethereal and untouchable.”
As the dance progressed, the performers moved in a series of intricate patterns, their robes swirling like the waves of the ocean and the winds of a storm. The climax of the dance depicted the clash of the three powers, their movements growing more intense and chaotic until the final moment, when the dancers collapsed into a formation that symbolized the birth of the island.
Shanks watched thoughtfully, shifting his weight as a flicker of understanding came to him. “So, this island is a product of that calamity. A fragment of something much larger.”
Charlie nodded in reverence. “Exactly. And the dance is a reminder of our connection to that history. It’s a celebration of resilience—how something beautiful can emerge from destruction.”
Shanks flexed his arms, his gaze lingering on the dancers as they took their final bow. “I have to ask—do you think there’s any truth to it? About the three powers, I mean.”
Charlie, pinching his chin, tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s hard to say for sure. But legends often have a kernel of truth. And if you think about it, the idea of three great forces shaping the world isn’t so far-fetched. Land, sea, and sky—they’re the foundations of life itself.”
"Ah, Charlie, what a fascinating exposition you've shared with us," Nao exclaimed, waving his hands theatrically. "It's rare to encounter someone who can articulate such profound historical insights with such eloquence. Truly, you must be a beacon of knowledge in this otherwise uncultured wilderness."
Himari's eyes sparkled as she nodded fervently, clearly enamored by Nao's words. "Yes, Mr. Makino, he's simply brilliant, isn't he?"
Shanks raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "And what exactly are you trying to say, friend?"
Nao tilted his head condescendingly. "My point, dear Shanks, is that while some of us appreciate the depth and nuance of true scholarship," he cast a pointed glance at Shanks, "others might need a more, shall we say, rudimentary approach to grasp the complexities of our world."
Himari giggled, her admiration for Nao evident in her every gesture. "Exactly, Mr. Makino. Not everyone can appreciate the finer points of history and culture as you do."
Nao's gaze shifted to Marya, a protective glint in his eyes. "Marya, my dear, you are fortunate to have such an erudite friend in Charlie. It is essential to surround oneself with minds that elevate one's understanding, don't you agree?"
Shanks chuckled, shaking his head patronizingly. "Whatever you say, friend. Whatever you say."
Charlie, sensing the tension, slid his glasses a little higher and smiled politely. "Thank you, Mr. Makino. I do my best to share what I know."
Nao's chest puffed up with pride, as if Charlie's compliment was directed at him. "Indeed, Charlie. Indeed. It is refreshing to find a kindred spirit in these uncultivated lands."
Himari clapped her hands together. "Oh, Mr. Makino, you always know just what to say!"
*****
The hold of the Navy ship was dark and damp, the air thick with the scent of salt and mildew. Chains rattled as the prisoners shifted uncomfortably, their hands bound and their spirits tested. Limejuice, Lucky Roux, Building Snake, and Hongo sat together in a corner of the hold, their backs against the cold, wooden walls. Across from them sat Eli, the scrappy fighter Hongo had befriended. Despite the grim circumstances, the group’s camaraderie was alive and well—mostly in the form of good-natured teasing.
“So,” Eli said, breaking the silence with a smirk, “this is the famous Red Hair Pirates’ rescue plan? Get captured and thrown in chains? Brilliant strategy.”
Lucky Roux chuckled, grinned despite the situation. “Hey, we got this far, didn’t we? Besides, we’re just lulling them into a false sense of security. Right, Limejuice?”
Limejuice rolled his eyes, his gaze flicking toward Lucky. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘false sense of security’ like being locked in the hold of a Navy ship. Real masterstroke, Lucky.”
Building Snake, leaned his ashen head back against the wall. “If you two are done arguing, maybe we can focus on getting out of here.”
Hongo, who had been quietly observing the banter, finally spoke up. “He’s right. We need a plan. And fast. Once we reach the next port, they’ll transfer us to a prison ship—or worse.”
Eli leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “I’ve been here longer than you guys. I know the routine. The guards change shifts at midnight, and that’s when they’re the least alert. If we’re going to make a move, that’s our best shot.”
Limejuice nodded, light hair bouncing, already working through the details. “All right. So we wait until the shift change. Then what? We’re still outnumbered and unarmed.”
Hongo’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Not entirely unarmed.” He shifted slightly, revealing a small lockpick hidden in the seam of his sleeve. “I’ve been saving this for a rainy day.”
Lucky Roux’s grin widened. “Hongo, you beautiful genius. I could kiss you.”
“Please don’t,” Hongo deadpanned, earning a round of quiet laughter from the group.
Building Snake leaned forward, ashen hair dangling, scanning the hold. “Once we’re free, we’ll need weapons. There’s an armory on this ship—I saw it when they brought me in. It’s two decks up, near the captain’s quarters.”
Eli nodded. “And if we can take out the guards quietly, we might be able to rally the other prisoners. There are at least a dozen of us down here. If we move fast, we can take the ship before they know what hit them.”
Limejuice’s expression grew serious as he pieced together the plan. “All right. Here’s how it’s going to go. At midnight, Hongo picks the locks. We take out the guards on this deck, then move to the armory. Once we’re armed, we free the other prisoners and take the ship. Any objections?”
Lucky Roux raised a hand. “Yeah, one. What if the Marines fight back?”
Hongo’s smile turned grim. “Then we fight harder. We’re not just escaping for ourselves. We’re sending a message—to the Marines, to the slavers, to anyone who thinks they can mess with the Red Hair Pirates.”
The group fell silent, the weight of the plan settling over them. Despite the odds, there was a sense of fortitude in the air. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but they had something the Marines didn’t: loyalty, ingenuity, and a refusal to give up.
Eli leaned back, his smirk returning. “You know, for a bunch of pirates, you’re not half bad. If we pull this off, I might just have to join your crew.”
Lucky Roux laughed. “You’d fit right in. Just try not to get captured next time, all right?” As the group shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the hold eased slightly.

Chapter Text

The Red Force stood as a testament to the resilience of the Red Hair Pirates. The once-battered ship now gleamed under the setting sun, its hull patched, its mast repaired, and its sails mended. The crew had worked tirelessly through the night and into the day, their determination fueled by the absence of their comrades. Benn Beckman stood at the helm, a stream of smoke trailing from the cigarette between his fingers as he looked over the horizon. The repairs were finally complete, but the weight of their missing crewmates hung heavy in the air.
Bonk Punch wiped the sweat from his glistening bare head as he tightened the last bolt on the mast. “That should hold,” he said, his deep voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “She’s not pretty, but she’ll sail.” Monster, the large monkey with a curious glint in its eyes, swung playfully from Bonk Punch’s arm and nodded in agreement.
Gab, his thick dark mane waving behind him, darted across the deck, checking the rigging and securing loose lines. “She’s ready, Benn!” he called out, his enthusiasm undimmed despite the long hours of work. “Just say the word!”
Benn stepped down from the helm, pulling on his cigarette. The Red Force was seaworthy again, but the crew was incomplete. The absence of their comrades was a gaping hole, one that couldn’t be filled by repairs or supplies.
“We’ve done all we can here,” Benn said urgently as smoke puffed out. “Now it’s time to find the others.”
The crew gathered around him. Bonk Punch crossed his muscled arms, his brow furrowed. “We’re with you, Benn. But where do we start? They could be anywhere by now.”
Benn’s eyes tightened, flicking the ash from the cigarette between his fingers, as he pulled out a map and spread it across a barrel. “Limejuice said the slaver’s ship was heading east. If we follow that course, we might catch up to them before they reach the next port.”
Monster leaned over the map, his massive frame casting a shadow. With a questioning look, he tapped the map with his monkey fingers.
“Then we keep looking,” Benn said, his voice firm. “We don’t leave our own behind. Not ever.”
Gab clenched meaty his fists. “We’ll find them, Benn. And when we do, we’ll make those slavers regret the day they crossed us!”
Benn allowed himself a faint smile as he took a pull from the cigarette. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get moving. Every minute we waste is a minute they’re in danger.”
The crew sprang into action, their movements swift with purpose. Bonk Punch and Gab manned the sails, their strength and experience ensuring the ship would move at top speed. Monster scurried up the rigging, his monkey frame nimble as he secured the lines. Benn returned to the helm, the ash of his cigarette glowing as his focus fixed on the watery horizon.
As the Red Force set sail, the wind filled its masts, propelling the ship forward with a speed that belied its recent damage. The crew worked in silence, their focus unwavering. Benn’s grip tightened on the wheel as the ship cut through the waves.
*****
The festival’s cooking competition draws locals and visitors alike to showcase their culinary skills. The competition was held in a large, open pavilion near the heart of the festival grounds, its wooden beams adorned with colorful banners and strings of lanterns that cast a warm, inviting light. Long tables were set up for the contestants, each station equipped with fresh ingredients, gleaming utensils, and roaring stoves. The air was bursting with the mouthwatering aromas of sizzling meats, fragrant spices, and sweet desserts, mingling with the excited chatter of the crowd.
At the center of the pavilion, a raised platform held the judges’ table, where Harper, Vaughn, and a few other esteemed experts sat, ready to taste and critique the dishes. Harper stood out among the judges, glittering with sequins that caught the light with every movement, adding a dazzling effect and making Harper's presence even more striking amidst the colorful festival decor.
He leaned forward eagerly, his clipboard in hand, already jotting down notes before the competition had even begun. Vaughn, seated beside him, was the picture of calm, his dark-skinned features relaxed but attentive, his dreadlocks tied back neatly. The other judges included a renowned local chef, a visiting food critic, and Nanette Ellington, whose refined palate made her a natural choice for the panel.
The crowd gathered around the pavilion as the contestants took their places. Among them were seasoned chefs, home cooks, and even a few adventurous visitors who had decided to try their hand at island cuisine. The competition was fierce, but the atmosphere was lighthearted, with laughter and friendly banter filling the air.
Harper stood up, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Welcome, everyone, to the Founder’s Festival Cooking Competition!” he announced, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. “Tonight, we celebrate the art of cooking, the flavors of our island, and the creativity of our talented contestants. Let the competition begin!”
The contestants sprang into action, their hands moving swiftly as they chopped, stirred, and sautéed. The crowd watched in awe, their cheers and gasps echoing through the pavilion as the dishes began to take shape. Harper and Vaughn observed from the judges’ table with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
As the first dishes were presented, Harper’s enthusiasm was impossible to contain. He took a bite of a beautifully plated seafood dish, his eyes widening in delight. “Oh my stars, this is incredible! The flavors, the presentation—it’s like a symphony in my mouth! Vaughn, you have to try this!”
Vaughn chuckled fondly, but he could not hide his exasperation. “Harper, you’re supposed to be impartial.”
Harper waved a hand dismissively, his tone light. “Oh, hush. I’m just appreciating the artistry. Besides, you can’t tell me this isn’t amazing.”
Vaughn took a bite, his demeanor softening as he nodded in approval. “It’s good. Really good.” He spoke around his mouth full of food.
The competition continued, with each dish more impressive than the last. One contestant presented a delicate dessert made with wisteria blossoms, its floral aroma, and intricate design, earning gasps from the crowd. Another showcased a hearty stew made with locally sourced ingredients, its rich flavors and comforting warmth reminding everyone of home.
As the final dishes were presented, the judges deliberated, their discussions lively and passionate. Harper was particularly vocal, his dramatic flair adding to the excitement. “This dessert is a masterpiece! The balance of flavors, the texture—it’s perfection! But this stew—oh, it’s like a hug in a bowl. How can we possibly choose?”
Vaughn interjected with a calm smile. “We’ll have to consider all the elements—taste, presentation, and creativity. But I think we can all agree that this has been an incredible competition.”
In the end, the judges reached a decision, and Harper stood to announce the winners. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been an absolute delight to taste your creations. But now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—the winners of the Founder’s Festival Cooking Competition!”
As the winners were announced, the crowd erupted in cheers, their faces lit with pride and joy. The pavilion was filled with laughter and applause accentuated by the golden glow of the lanterns. Amidst the lively atmosphere, Shanks stood at the pavilion's edge, his arms crossed over his chest with a pensive expression. His eyes were distant as he stared off into the crowd.
When Marya noticed him standing alone, she approached him. She tilted her head, studying him with concern. “Shanks,” she said, her calm voice carried a note of warmth. “You look like you’re miles away. What’s wrong?”
Shanks glanced at her, softening slightly, though the worry in his eyes remained. He sighed, his tone quieter than usual. “It’s my crew. I thought they’d have made it here by now. The storm scattered us, but they’re resourceful. They should’ve found their way.”
Marya’s brow furrowed, reflecting a flicker of understanding. “You’re worried about them.”
Shanks nodded, his gaze drifting back to the crowd. “Yeah. They’re my family. I trust them to handle themselves, but... I can’t help but wonder if something’s gone wrong. The sea’s unpredictable, and that storm was no joke.”
Marya crossed her arms thoughtfully. “They’re strong. If anyone can make it through, it’s them. But I get it. Waiting is the hardest part.”
Shanks chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “You’re right about that. I’m not used to sitting around, though. It’s not exactly my style.”
Marya’s lips curved into a small smile. “Well, you’re not exactly sitting around. You’ve been sparring, exploring, and now you’re here at the festival. You’ve made yourself useful.”
Shanks grinned faintly. “Yeah, I guess I have. And this festival—it’s something else. Your people know how to throw a party.”
Marya nodded, reflecting a flicker of pride. “We do. But if you’re really worried about your crew, we can talk to Captain Knox about sending out a search party. The island’s guardians know these waters better than anyone. They could help.”
Shanks considered her offer, “I appreciate that, Marya. But my crew... they’re survivors. They’ll find their way here. I just need to be patient.”
Marya’s smile widened slightly. “You are not good at waiting. If you change your mind, can we talk to Captain Knox?”
Shanks laughed, his usual easygoing demeanor returning. “Not even a little. But I’ll manage. Besides, I’ve got a sparring match with you to look forward to. That should keep me busy.”
Marya gleamed with a spark of competitiveness. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re worried.”
Shanks grinned playfully. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
*****
The hold of the Navy ship was dark and oppressive, the air thick with the scent of salt and despair. Chains rattled as the prisoners shifted restlessly, their spirits tested.
“Alright,” Limejuice whispered, scanning the dimly lit hold. “Midnight’s almost here. Everyone remembers the plan?”
Hongo, focused, nodded grimly. “I’ll pick the locks. Lucky and Eli, you take out the guards on this deck. Snake, you and I will head for the armory. Limejuice, you cover us from a distance.”
Lucky Roux grinned, “And once we’re armed, we take the ship. Easy.”
Eli smirked with anticipation. “Easy for you to say. You’ve done this before, right?”
Building Snake, leaned forward. “Enough talk. Let’s move.”
As the ship’s bell tolled at midnight, signaling the changing of the guard, the group sprang into action. Hongo worked quickly, his lockpick slipping into the shackles with practiced ease. Within moments, their chains fell away, and they were free.
Lucky Roux and Eli moved first, swift and silent as they approached the two guards at the door. Lucky’s fist connected with the first guard’s jaw, knocking him out cold before he could raise the alarm. Eli disarmed the second guard with a swift kick, then delivered a precise strike to the back of his neck, sending him crumpling to the ground.
“Clear,” Lucky whispered, his grin returning to his round face as he relieved the guards of their weapons.
Meanwhile, Hongo and Building Snake slipped past them, heading for the stairs that led to the upper decks. Lime juice followed at a distance; his rifle slung over his shoulder as he probed for any signs of trouble.
The armory was two decks up, just as Building Snake had said. The door was locked, but Hongo made quick work of it, his lockpick turning the mechanism with a soft click. Inside, the shelves were lined with weapons—swords, rifles, and ammunition. Hongo and Snake armed themselves quickly.
“Let’s get these to the others,” Hongo said, handing a pair of pistols to Snake.
As they made their way back to the lower deck, Limejuice took up a position near the stairs, his rifle trained on the corridor. “Hurry up,” he muttered under his breath. “We don’t have all night.”
Back in the hold, Lucky Roux and Eli were already rallying the other prisoners. “Listen up!” Lucky said with a low, authoritative voice. “We’re taking this ship. If you want your freedom, now’s the time to fight for it!”
The prisoners, emboldened by the sight of armed allies, nodded eagerly. Eli handed out weapons, his smirk returning as he saw the resolve in their eyes. “Let’s show these Marines what happens when they mess with us.”
The group moved as one, their footsteps echoing softly as they made their way to the upper decks. Limejuice fell in beside Hongo and Snake, his rifle at the ready. “We’ve got company,” he said, nodding toward a group of Marines rounding the corner.
The fight was fierce but brief. Limejuice’s rifle cracked through the air, taking down Marines with pinpoint accuracy. Lucky Roux and Eli charged forward, their fists and blades a blur as they disarmed and incapacitated the guards. Hongo and Building Snake fought with calculated execution, their movements efficient and deadly.
As the last of the Marines on the deck fell, the group turned their attention to the helm. The captain of the ship stood there, his face pale but his hand steady on the hilt of his sword. “You’ll never get away with this,” he spat, his voice trembling angrily.
Hongo stepped forward, locking onto the captain. “We already have.”
The captain lunged, but Hongo was faster. He disarmed the man with a swift strike, then knocked him out cold with a single punch. The ship was theirs.
Limejuice lowered his rifle. “We’ve got the ship. Now what?”
Eli grinned, gleaming with triumph. “Now we sail. And we send a message to the Marines and the slavers—don’t mess with the Red Hair Pirates.”
The group erupted in cheers, their spirits lifted by their hard-won victory. But their celebration was short-lived. In the distance, the silhouette of another ship appeared on the horizon—a familiar one with crimson sails and a figurehead shaped like a dragon.
“Is that…?” Lucky Roux squinted, his grin widening.
Hongo’s lips curved into a faint smile. “The Red Force. Benn’s come for us.”

Chapter Text

The Red Force's sleek hull sliced through the water, its speed unmatched, its crimson sails billowing in the wind. Benn Beckman stood at the helm, cigarette between his fingers as he fixed on the distance. The silhouette of the captured ship grew larger with each passing moment, and Benn’s grip tightened on the wheel. He could see figures moving on the deck—familiar figures.
“There they are,” Benn said, crushing his cigarette. “Prepare to board.”
Bonk Punch, Monster, and Gab sprang into action. Bonk Punch checked the cannons, his deep voice rumbling with satisfaction. “Ready to give ‘em a warm welcome if needed.”
Monster stood at the railing, jumping up and down, flailing his long monkey arms.
Gab, darted up the rigging, climbing high to get a better view. “I see them! It’s Lucky, Limejuice, Snake, and Hongo! And… someone else?”
Benn’s eyes narrowed as he studied the figures on the Navy ship. “Looks like they’ve made a new friend. Let’s get over there.”
As the Red Force pulled alongside the captured vessel, the two crews erupted into cheers. Limejuice, Lucky Roux, Building Snake, and Hongo stood on the deck, their faces lit with triumphant grins. Beside them stood Eli, his smirk widening as he took in the sight of the approaching ship.
Lucky Roux, meat rack in hand, called out. “We were starting to think you’d forgotten about us!”
Benn allowed himself a faint smile as he stepped onto the deck of the Navy ship. “You’re hard to miss, Lucky. Especially when you’re causing this much trouble.”
Bonk Punch and Monster followed with a mix of relief and pride. “You guys really know how to make an entrance,” Bonk Punch said, clapping Hongo on the shoulder. “Taking over a Navy ship? Not bad.” Monster rumbled with approval, gesturing his arms dramatically.
Gab darted forward, with a toothy grin, his mane rippling in the breeze. “You’re okay! And who’s this?” He pointed his thumb at Eli with curiosity.
Eli smirked, crossing his arms. “Name’s Eli. I helped these guys break out. Figured I’d stick around—seems like you’re my kind of people.”
Limejuice placed an encouraging hand on Eli’s shoulder, peering at Ben through his dark glasses. “We couldn’t have done it without him. He’s got guts—and skills.”
Benn nodded, appraising Eli as he tapped a cigarette loose from his case. “If you fought alongside my crew, you’re one of us. Welcome aboard.”
Eli’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Thanks. I think I’m going to like it here.”
The two crews quickly set to work, transferring supplies and securing the captured ship. Lucky Roux regaled the crew with exaggerated tales of their escape, while Hongo and Building Snake shared the finer details of their plan. Limejuice stood beside Benn, his light hair flowing behind him, searching the horizon. “We’ve got a good crew,” Limejuice said quietly. “Even with everything that’s happened, we’re still standing.”
The decks of the Red Force and the captured Navy ship buzzed with activity as the Red Hair Pirates prepared for their next move. The crew had successfully taken the slaver’s ship, but their celebration was short-lived. Shanks and Yasopp were still missing, and the crew’s determination to find them burned brighter than ever. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a brilliant shine over the sea, Benn Beckman called the crew together for a meeting.
They gathered on the deck of the Red Force, their faces lit by the warm light of lanterns. Benn stood at the center, scrutinizing the group. “We’ve got two priorities,” he lit a cigarette. “First, we need to deal with the slaver’s ship. Second, we’re going after Shanks and Yasopp.”
Lucky Roux ripped meat from the bone with his teeth, “What’s the plan for the slaver’s ship? We can’t just let it go.”
Benn nodded, blowing out a plume of smoke. “We’ll escort it to the nearest port and hand it over to the authorities. The slaves on board deserve justice, and the slavers deserve to face the law. But we’ll make sure the Marines know who stopped them. We’re not hiding from this.”
Building Snake crossed his tattooed arms as he focused on Benn. “And what about Shanks and Yasopp? We can’t waste time.”
Benn, cigarette between his lips, unfolded a map and spread it across a barrel. “We’ll use Shanks’ Vivre Card to track him. It’s our best shot at finding him quickly. Once we’ve dealt with the slaver’s ship, we’ll set sail and follow the card’s direction.”
Hongo, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. “What about Yasopp? We don’t have a Vivre Card for him.”
Benn, holding the cigarette between his fingers. “Yasopp’s a survivor. If we find Shanks, chances are Yasopp won’t be far behind. They’ve been through worse together.”
Eli, the newest member of the crew, leaned against the railing, his smirk returning. “Sounds like a solid plan. But what if the Vivre Card leads us into dangerous territory? We’ve already got the Marines and slavers on our tails.”
Limejuice flips his staff to rest on his shoulder. “Then we’ll handle it. We’re the Red Hair Pirates. We don’t back down from a fight.”
Benn took a pull from his cigarette as his gaze swept over the crew, with a firm voice, “We’ll escort the slaver’s ship to the nearest port, then set sail immediately after. We’re not wasting a second. Shanks and Yasopp are out there, and we’re bringing them home.”
The crew murmured in unwavering agreement. Chomping on a piece of meat, Lucky Roux clapped a hand on Benn’s shoulder. “You can count on us, Benn. We’ll get it done.”
The next morning, the two ships set sail, the Red Force leading the way as the captured Navy ship followed closely behind. The journey to the nearest port was swift, the crew working together to ensure the slavers remained securely detained. When they arrived, Benn and a small group went ashore to hand over the ship and its captives to the local authorities.
The port officials were stunned by the sight of the infamous Red Hair Pirates delivering a slaver’s ship, but Benn’s calm authority left no room for argument. “These men are responsible for human trafficking,” he said with an edge of steel. “See that they face justice.”
As the crew prepared to set sail once more, Benn gathered them on the deck of the Red Force. He held up Shanks’ Vivre Card, the small piece of paper fluttering gently in the breeze. The card pointed steadily in one direction, a beacon guiding them to their captain.
“This is it,” Benn said, looking to the horizon as smoke trailed from the cigarette between his fingers. “We follow the Vivre Card. No matter where it leads, we’re bringing Shanks home.”
Lucky Roux grinned, his round face full of meat, “And Yasopp. He’s probably driving Shanks crazy right about now.”
The crew laughed, their spirits lifted by the thought of reuniting with their missing comrades. The sea stretched endlessly before them as the Red Force set sail, its crimson sails catching the wind.
*****
The air is thick with anticipation, the kind that precedes a storm or a battle. Darius Rhea stands at the helm, his leather jacket flapping in the wind, his pompadour unmoved by the gale as he stands on the airship deck. His stubbled chiseled jaw is set in a hard line, his amber eyes scanning the distance where the Consortium's island looms like a shadow. The faint sound of a harmonica drifts through the air, off-key and sporadic, as Darius fidgets with the instrument, his mind racing with the weight of the plan ahead.
Behind him, Finn Rix leans against the railing, his split-tinted hair—fuchsia and teal—disheveled by the breeze. He’s scribbling furiously in a small notebook, an exciting letter to his future self about his anxious anticipation, his youthful face furrowed in concentration. His cutlass rests at his side, its hilt worn from use. Finn glances up at Darius, his dark eyes wide with admiration. Chewing the inside of his cheek, "You think the Guardians will fall for the distraction?" he asks, with nervous energy.
Darius stops playing the harmonica and tucks it into his jacket, his deep voice is a calm authority. "They will. They’re predictable, just like Aurélie. She’ll take the bait, and when she does, we’ll have our opening." His tone darkens at the mention of Aurélie. He clenches his fist, the memory of his brother’s death flashing in his mind—his brother, who trusted Aurélie to protect him. Darius shakes his head, refocusing. "Stay sharp, Finn. This isn’t a game."
Finn nods, his playful demeanor momentarily subdued. He grips his cutlass tighter, his mind racing with the possibilities of using his Mold-Mold Fruit powers to reshape the battlefield. "I’ll keep them busy, no matter what," he says, his voice firm despite the tremor of uncertainty.
Below deck, of the submarine trailing the fleet of airships, Vesper Corvin sits in the dimly lit cabin, meticulously arranging a plate of food. His long, carmine hair falls over his shoulders as he separates each item, eating them one at a time in a specific order. His refined, almost feminine features are calm, but his aloof demeanor hides a storm of emotions. He glances at Drusilla Lorne, who’s lounging on a nearby couch, her long, pearly waves cascading around her face. She’s folding a used teabag into an intricate geometric shape, her large blue eyes focused on the delicate task.
"You sure you’re ready for this, Vesper?" Drusilla asks with dripping sarcasm. "Or are you going to freeze up like you did in training?" She smirks, her tone teasing but cutting.
Vesper’s eyes narrow, his arrogance flaring. "I didn’t freeze. I chose to leave." He retorts coldly. He sets his plate aside and stands, adjusting his button-down vest. "Unlike you, I don’t need to prove anything."
Drusilla laughs, a sharp, mocking sound. "We’ll see about that when we’re in the thick of it." She tucks the folded teabag into her pocket and stands, her fishnet stockings catching the light as she stretches. Her Serval Zoan powers hum beneath her skin, ready to be unleashed. She checks her pistols and dagger, brushing her fingers over their distinct edges.
*****
The dojo's training grounds were bathed in the soft, golden hue of late afternoon. Shanks and Marya stood facing each other, their blades gleaming in the sunlight. The sound of steel clashing echoed through the quiet courtyard. Shanks moved with his usual easy confidence while Marya countered, her jaw set and muscles tight.
But as the sparring match progressed, something shifted. Marya became more aggressive, her strikes faster and less controlled. Her breathing grew ragged, and her eyes began to cloud. Shanks noticed the change immediately; his brow creased, and he grew more serious as he tried to redirect her energy.
“Marya,” he said with firm calmness, “Take a breath. You’re losing focus.”
Marya didn’t respond, her strikes became more erratic as she pressed for her advantage. Shanks parried each blow with fluid ease, but it was clear that Marya was no longer in control. Her frustration boiled over, and with a fierce cry, she unleashed a powerful strike that sent Shanks skidding back.
Shanks raised an eyebrow, his lips pursed in concern. “All right, that’s one way to do it. But you’re letting your emotions take over. That’s not going to help you.”
Marya shook her head, her vexation evident. “I don’t need your advice, Shanks. I can handle this.”
Shanks sighed, becoming more serious. “Marya, you’re not handling it. You’re letting it handle you.”
Before he could say more, Marya lunged at him again, her strikes chaotic. Shanks parried each blow, but it was clear that the match was spiraling out of control. The sound of their blades clashing grew louder, their movements more intense, until finally, Marya reached her peak.
With a fierce cry, she unleashed a powerful strike that sent Shanks skidding back, his feet digging into the ground as he struggled to maintain his balance. The force of the blow was enough to send them both crashing through the wooden fence of the Dojo, sailing over the edge of the cliff, their sparring match spilling out onto the sandy beach beyond.
Master Gaius, Aurélie, and Yasopp, who had been watching from the sidelines, exchanged concerned glances as they followed the pair. The sun was beginning to set, casting a rich glow over the sand and the waves that lapped at the shore.
Shanks stood his ground, flexing his jaw as he faced Marya. “Marya, this isn’t you. You’re better than this.”
Marya’s eyes were void of color as they blazed, her breathing ragged while gripping Eternal Night tightly. “You don’t get it, Shanks.”
Shanks took a calming breath. “Maybe I don’t. But I do know what it’s like to lose control. And trust me, it’s not worth it.”
Marya hesitated. Her breathing began to steady, and her feelings wavered as she met Shanks’ gaze. For a moment, it seemed like she might listen, but then her jaw clenched, as an image of the Vice Admiral’s blade slicing into her side flooded her mind, the sharp agony and shock rekindling her rage. The sensation of steel tearing through her flesh, leaving a searing burn and a deep scar, fueled her wild strikes as she lunged again.
Shanks, wielding Gryphon with masterful accuracy, deflected Marya's frenzied strikes with effortless grace. Each movement was a testament to his skill, as he maintained a calm and steady defense against her chaotic assault. Teeth bared; ferocity surged through Marya as each of her wild strikes were effortlessly deflected. Her desperation to overpower him grew, her thoughts muddied by the maddening realization that her strength alone was not enough.
Master Gaius stepped forward, taking his weathered kiseru pipe from between his teeth. “Marya, that’s enough.”
Marya didn’t respond, her attacks growing more erratic as she pressed her advantage. Aurélie, her silver hair catching the light, her hand at the ready on Anathema’s hilt, “Marya, you’re losing yourself. You need to stop.”
Yasopp, blinking through squinted eyes, added, “Hey, Marya.”
Marya hesitated, wavering as she tilted her head and met their gazes. It seemed like she was considering, but then her muscles tensed, and she charged at Shanks.
Shanks, sensing the fragile line between subduing Marya and harming her, tempered his strength with a gentleness that belied the intensity of their clash. Every calculated deflection, every controlled parry was a conscious effort to shield her from further internal strife. He could see the torment in her eyes, the raw wound of betrayal and rage that drove her relentless onslaught.
It pained him to see her like this, consumed by a darkness she could not seem to shake. In his heart, he knew that meeting her fury with equal force would only deepen her wounds, both physical and emotional. He was determined to be the unyielding barrier that she needed, not to overpower her, but to exhaust her rage without causing her harm.
Marya's eyes flared with a deep-seated frustration, not just from the pain and rage that fueled her strikes, but from the patronizing restraint she sensed in Shanks' every movement. Each deflection, each calm parry, was a reminder that he was holding back, that he did not see her as an equal threat. The realization gnawed at her pride, anger bubbling up from a place deeper and more potent than even her desire for retribution.
"Stop holding back!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation and defiance. The feeling of being underestimated, of battling an opponent who refused to acknowledge her full strength, was almost unbearable. It was as if Shanks' composed demeanor and careful dodges were mocking her, belittling her fury and effort.
Her strikes became a reflection of her pending insanity, fueled by a mix of humiliation and purpose to force Shanks to take her seriously. But with each failed attempt, the shadow of doubt crept in, whispering insidiously that perhaps she wasn't strong enough to break through his composed facade.
*****
The laboratory was a chaotic blend of ancient relics and cutting-edge technology, its walls lined with shelves of dusty tomes, glowing crystals, and intricate machinery. Charlie, Zola, Emmet, and Bianca were gathered around a large worktable. Their attention focused on an ancient relic of immense power. The relic, a shimmering orb encased in intricate metalwork, pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light, its energy humming softly in the air.
Charlie carefully examined the relic’s surface, his glasses slipping down his nose as he peered at the ancient runes etched into its casing. “These symbols—they’re unlike anything I’ve seen before. They could be the key to understanding how this thing works.”
Zola, her pink hair tied back neatly, studied the data on her tablet. “The energy readings are off the charts. If we can harness this power, it could revolutionize our technology. But we need to be careful—this thing is volatile.”
Emmet, his red hair tousled from hours of work, leaned over the table, focused as he tinkered with a piece of machinery. “If we can create a stable connection between the relic and our systems, we might be able to channel its energy. But we’ll need to run a few more tests to be sure.”
Bianca, her long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail, was busy scribbling notes on a whiteboard, “Okay, so, like, if we can figure out how to, like, stabilize the energy flow, we could, like, totally use this to power the entire island. But, like, we have to make sure it doesn’t, like, blow up or something.”
Charlie nodded excitedly. “Exactly. But first, we need to understand how the relic generates its power. Let’s try activating it on a smaller scale and see what happens.”
Zola put her tablet down. “Agreed. But we should proceed with caution. The energy output could be unpredictable.”
Emmet nodded, stroking his chin. “I’ll set up the containment field. That should help control any unexpected surges.”
Bianca grinned, tapping her marker against the whiteboard. “Okay, but, like, if this goes wrong, I’m, like, totally blaming you guys.”
As the team prepared for the experiment, the air in the laboratory grew tense, and the hum of the relic’s energy grew louder as they activated it. The orb began to glow brighter, its light casting strange shadows on the walls. They watched with bated breath, their excitement mingling with a flicker of apprehension.
“Energy levels are rising,” Zola said urgently while leaning in. “Containment field is holding, but we need to monitor it closely.”
Emmet adjusted the machinery; his voice raised an octave. “I’m trying to stabilize the flow, but it’s not responding like it should.”
Bianca’s eyes widened as she watched the readings on her tablet. “Uh, guys? The energy levels are, like, spiking. Like, a lot.”
Charlie’s brow furrowed in concern. “That’s not good. We need to shut it down—now!”
But before they could react, the relic’s energy surged, its light growing blindingly bright. The containment field flickered and then failed, the energy bursting outward in a massive explosion. The force of the blast rocked the entire island, sending shockwaves through the ground and shattering windows in the nearby buildings.
In the laboratory, the explosion sent Charlie, Zola, Emmet, and Bianca flying across the room, their equipment and notes scattered in every direction. The air was consumed in smoke and the acrid smell of burnt metal, the once-organized lab now a disordered mess.
As the dust began to settle, Charlie groaned, pushing himself up from the floor. “Is everyone okay?”
Zola coughed, her glasses askew as she sat up. “I’m fine. But the relic—it’s gone.”
Emmet rubbed his head, dazed. “What the hell just happened?”
Bianca, her hair now a wild mess, looked around the ruined lab, incredulously. “Uh, I think we, like, totally blew up the island.”
Outside, the explosion had drawn the attention of the entire community. People rushed to the laboratory, their faces filled with concern and confusion.

Chapter Text

The island trembled violently, the ground shaking as if the very earth beneath it had been struck by a colossal force. The explosion from the laboratory sent a tremor rippling across the land, toppling trees, rattling buildings, and sending birds scattering into the sky. A massive wave of energy surged outward from the epicenter, its invisible force sweeping over the island like a tidal wave. The air crackled with power, and the hum of the relic’s energy echoed in the ears of everyone who felt its impact.
The ground beneath Shanks, Marya, Aurélie, Yasopp, and Master Gaius buckled, and the force of the energy wave knocked them all off their feet. Shanks rolled to a crouch as he shielded his eyes from the blinding light that followed the explosion. “What the hell was that?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening roar.
Aurélie, her silver hair disheveled, pushed herself up from the sand, scanning the horizon. “An explosion. Something went wrong in one of the labs.”
Yasopp, his bandana askew, groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head. “That felt like a damn earthquake. Is everyone okay?”
Master Gaius, his weathered kiseru pipe flung from his grip, stood slowly, his eyes jetted about reflecting a flicker of concern. “We’re fine. But we need to find out what caused that.”
Marya, however, was silent. She remained on her knees, her head bowed and her hands gripping the sand. Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes shined white with an intensity that hadn’t been there moments before. The wave of energy had hit her differently—it had surged through her like a bolt of lightning, igniting something deep within. Her body trembled as the power coursed through her veins, her senses heightened and her mind racing.
Shanks noticed her stillness and stepped closer with concern. “Marya? Are you okay?”
Before he could reach her, Marya’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with an otherworldly light. She rose to her feet in one fluid motion, her movements unnaturally fast. Before anyone could react, Eternal Night was in her hand, its blade shimmering with a faint, eerie glow.
“Marya!” Aurélie called in a sharp alarm. “What’s happening to you?”
Marya didn’t respond. Instead, she lunged at Shanks with a speed and ferocity that took even him by surprise. Her strikes were unmanageable, each one carrying a force that sent shockwaves through the air. Shanks can barely parry her blows; his eyes bulged with shock and distress. “Marya, snap out of it!” he shouted urgently.
But Marya was beyond hearing. The surge of power had consumed her, amplifying her emotions and instincts to a dangerous level. Her attacks grew more intense, her movements a blur as she pressed her advantage. The sand around them kicked up in clouds, and the air cracked with energy.
Aurélie stepped forward, Anathema drawn, but Master Gaius held up a hand to stop her. “Wait,” he said, with a note of calm authority. “She’s not herself. We need to be careful.”
Shanks, still parrying Marya’s relentless attacks, gritted his teeth. “We need to snap her out of it. But she’s too strong right now. We’ll have to work together.”
*****
The sea was turbulent. With its iconic sails billowing in the wind, the Red Force cut through the water with reckless speed. The crew stood vigilant on the deck, their eyes fixed on the vivre card, which inched unwaveringly towards a distant speck on the horizon.
"Captain Shanks and Yasopp must be there," Benn Beckman said, the end of his cigarette glowed as he pulled on it. "Hold your course, we’re closing in."
As the island grew more prominent, the outlines of its unique formation and dense foliage became clearer. The crew's anxiety was evident; the fear of what they might find gnawed at their resolve. The vivre card crept, pointing defiantly towards the heart of the island.
Suddenly, a blinding light followed by a deafening explosion shattered the relative calm. The island’s center erupted in an invisible burst of energy. The shockwave that followed was instantaneous, a powerful burst that rippled across the ocean’s surface, sending the ship lurching violently to one side.
"Brace yourselves!" Lucky Roux shouted, tossing his rack of meat. He gripped the rail with all his strength as the ship threatened to capsize. Water cascaded over the deck, and the crew scrambled to hold onto anything sturdy.
For a moment, it seemed as if the ship would succumb to the sea’s fury. The shockwave pushed them dangerously close to the tipping point, but the experienced hands of the crew managed to right the vessel. They were drenched and disheveled but still upright.
"Damage report!" Benn Beckman barked, his eyes searching the distance for any further threats. The crew responded quickly, assessing the situation and making necessary repairs.
On the horizon, the island still shuttered and crackled with residual energy. "What in the world happened there?" Limejuice muttered, sliding his dark glasses down with bewilderment.
Benn Beckman’s scowl hardened. "We need to get to Shanks and Yasopp. Whatever that explosion was, it can't be good." The ship pressed onward, closer to the island's shore.
*****
Aurélie’s grip tightened on Anathema as she watched the chaotic dance of combat between Marya and Shanks. The sheer intensity of Marya’s attacks was unlike anything she had ever witnessed. Each clash of blades sent shockwaves through the air, and the ground beneath them seemed to tremble in response. Aurélie could feel the tension in every muscle of her body, ready to spring into action.
She took a deep breath, preparing to step into the fray, when a familiar sound cut through the chaos. It was the tune of a harmonica, soft and haunting, carrying on the wind like a whisper from the past. She froze, her heart skipping a beat as the melody wrapped around her, its notes unsettling.
Master Gaius' keen senses noticed Aurélie’s sudden stillness, her focus shifting away from the battle. He leaned in with apprehension. “Aurélie? What’s wrong?”
Aurélie didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the distance, where the faint strains of the harmonica echoed. The haunting melody seemed to lure her, demanding her attention. Master Gaius frowned, his worry growing. “Aurélie, what is it?”
Still, she remained resolutely silent. Finally, she turned to Shanks, her voice carrying an edge. “Shanks, I’m leaving Marya to you. There’s another pressing matter that needs my attention.”
Shanks, locked in the fierce struggle with Marya, spared a quick glance towards Aurélie, his brow furrowed but understanding. “Go,” he grunted, barely dodging another of Marya’s brutal strikes. “Do what you need to do.”
Aurélie nodded, her grip on Anathema steady as she pivoted and sprinted towards the source of the melody, leaving the swirling chaos of the battle behind.
Yasopp groaned as he pushed himself up from the ground, his body aching from the explosion. His vision blurred momentarily, but as it cleared, his heart leapt at the sight before him. The Red Force, their beloved ship, was sailing towards the shore, its sails billowing majestically in the wind. Excitement and relief surged through him, and he felt a renewed sense of hope.
“Shanks!” Yasopp's voice rang out, filled with uncontainable joy. “The Red Force! They’re here!” He waved his arms wildly, trying to catch the attention of their comrades onboard.
But Shanks was deeply engrossed in his duel with Marya, his focus unwavering as he parried and countered her relentless onslaught. He heard Yasopp's shout and managed a brief, strained response amidst the clashing of swords. “About time they got here,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Took them long enough.”
Yasopp didn’t let Shanks' preoccupation dampen his spirits. He continued to wave energetically, his broad smile growing wider with each passing moment. The sight of the Red Force had filled him with new vigor, and he was determined to ensure their crew saw them. As the ship drew closer, Yasopp's heart pounded with anticipation.
*****
Onboard the Red Force, the crew's eyes widened with excited relief as they spotted Yasopp waving them down from the shore. His frantic gestures were unmistakable, and a cheer rose among the crew as they realized their shipmates were alive and well.
"Look, there's Yasopp!" Bonk Punch shouted, his head gleaming as he pointed towards the shore.
"About time we found them," Gap chimed in, a broad, toothy grin spreading across his face. "Let's get to them, quick!"
As the ship drew nearer, their joy turned to unease and confusion. They noticed Shanks locked in fierce combat with an unknown adversary, each clash of swords sending sparks flying. The crew's excitement dimmed, replaced by a wary defensiveness.
"Who’s that Shanks is fighting?" Building Snake asked, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his blade.
"And why in the world is Yasopp just standing there waving? Shouldn't he be helping Shanks?" Hongo added, crossing his arms, perplexed.
Limejuice teased as he wrung his dampened light hair. "Maybe Yasopp’s just giving us a warm welcome while Shanks handles the heavy lifting. Typical Yasopp, always looking for the easy way out." The crew erupted in laughter, the tension easing slightly as they joked.
Yasopp, still waving energetically, called out, his voice carrying over the water. "Hey! Get over here, you lazy bunch! We’ve got a situation!"
The crew exchanged amused and bewildered glances, their camaraderie unwavering even in the face of confusion and danger. They steered the Red Force closer to shore, ready to lend their strength to the unfolding battle.
As they prepared to disembark, Lucky Roux slapped Gap on the back. "Guess it’s time to save Yasopp from having to do any real work, huh?"
*****
Aurélie’s long silver hair streamed behind her as she sprinted with relentless speed, her black attire a blur against the emerald landscape. Her mind was focused, her big gray eyes fixed on the horizon as she made her way toward the Harmonica. With a determined leap, she unfurled her locust wings, shimmering and translucent, propelling herself into the air. The wind rushed past her, carrying the scent of salt and impending battle.
As she approached the edge of the cliff, Aurélie allowed herself a moment to marvel at the fleet of airships hovering ominously over the island. Her heart pounded excitedly with trepidation. She had been thrust into many battles, but the sight of the menacing vessels ignited a fresh burst of adrenaline.
Her Haki power surged within her, a formidable energy that bolstered her resolve. She landed gracefully on the cliff’s edge, her black attire settling around her like a raven's plumage. With a swift and fluid motion, she unsheathed Anathema, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. The weapon felt like an extension of her arm, a trusted companion in the face of danger.
Aurélie stood poised and ready, her mind already strategizing the best way to defend the island. Her loyalty to her comrades and her mentee, Marya, burned bright within her. She was confident and dependable, a master swordswoman refined through years of discipline and tradition.
With a final deep breath, she steadied herself, her gray eyes narrowing with a single intention. The fleet of airships loomed ever closer, but Aurélie was prepared. She would defend the island with every ounce of strength and skill she possessed, Anathema ready to strike against any who dared to threaten her home.
On the deck of the lead airship, Darius Rhea stood tall. The wind tousled his pompadour, but his brown eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the island and its defenders awaited. His broad shoulders and muscled frame were accentuated by the deep V-neck shirt and leather jacket he wore.
As the fleet drew nearer to the island, Darius's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. His heart quickened at the sight of Aurélie. The silver-haired swordswoman, poised and determined on the cliff's edge, ignited a storm of conflicting emotions within him.
His mind raced back to the days when they had trained together when camaraderie had once united them. But those memories were overshadowed by the searing pain of his brother's death, whose intellect inspired him, and his laughter had filled the halls and his heart. Darius's jaw clenched, the stubbled beard emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. Aurélie had failed to protect his brother while he was away in service to the Consortium, and for that, he held her responsible.
Darius's eyes tightened, the intensity of his emotions fueling his motivation. He had been waiting for this moment, the chance to confront Aurélie and make her answer for her failure. He was a master of Haki, a formidable opponent armed with a blade of immense power. His loyalty now lay with associates of the Syndicate, his principles twisted by a desire for retribution.
As the airship hovered above the island, Darius drew his sword, the blade singing as it left its sheath. The weight of it felt reassuring in his hand, a symbol of his intentions and skill. His mind strategized the ensuing battle, but a personal vendetta consumed his being. This was not just a fight for technology; it was a reckoning long overdue.
With a final, deep breath, Darius leapt from the deck, his body surging with power. The air crackled with the power of Haki as he descended, his gaze locked onto Aurélie. She stood ready, Anathema gleaming, her gray eyes focused. The time had come to settle the score, and Darius Rhea was prepared to give everything he had to ensure that justice—his justice—was served.
*****
Master Gaius Vesper stood on the edge of the beach, observing the scene unfolding. His hand, ever so steady, brought his weathered kiseru pipe to his lips as he inhaled deeply. The smoke curled around him like a serpent as he pondered the dark Haki energy emanating from the island’s cliffs. The air was thick with it, a brooding malevolence that sent shivers down his spine. He paused mid-thought, his gaze shifting sharply in the direction of the ominous presence.
Beside him, Knox Penrose appeared with swift, noiseless steps, his handlebar mustache twitching with uncertainty as he handed Master Gaius his katana. "We have a situation," Knox stated with a steady gaze.
Master Gaius exhaled, the smoke forming a cloud around his head before dissipating into the winds. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting loyalties. He was torn between Marya, who was on a rampage, and Aurélie, who disappeared in the direction of the imposing Haki. "We have more than one situation," he replied, his tone carrying the weight of his internal struggle. “And what was that explosion?"
Shanks called out, his voice sounding over the chaos. "Leave Marya to me and my crew! Go!"
Master Gaius's eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation with a sense of duty and urgency. He exchanged a glance with Knox, who acknowledged the seriousness of the circumstances with a nod; they were both acutely aware of the moment's significance.
"We need to move," Knox urged, already formulating a plan. "Leave Marya to the pirates. Aurélie will not be able to hold them off on her own."
Master Gaius, jaw set, and his resolve hardening. "Very well," he said decisively.
As Darius and Aurélie closed the distance between them, the intensity of their clash was menacing. Their blades met in midair with a resounding clash that echoed across the island. The force of the contact expelled a shockwave of energy, creating a fiery arc of sparks that illuminated the darkening sky. Darius's sword vibrated with the sheer power of the impact, and he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, heightening his senses to a razor's edge. Every muscle in his body was alive with the thrill of the battle, his focus solely on his opponent.
Aurélie, her grip steadfast on Anathema, felt the raw power of Darius's strike reverberate through her arms. The collision sent a jolt of energy through her, a reminder of the stakes at play. Her resolve hardened, and her eyes, filled with fortitude, never wavered from Darius's. She could sense the tempest of emotions within him, mirroring her own inner turmoil.
Their conflict was more than just a clash of steel; it was a beacon, an explosion of power that signaled a call to action. The island itself seemed to respond, the ground trembling as if awakening from a long slumber. The energy of their battle spiraled upwards, a luminous flare visible from miles away, alerting the other Guardians to the epic confrontation unfolding.
Master Gaius and Knox, already on the move, sighted the beacon immediately. Gaius's eyes widened as he recognized the significance of the signal. "Aurélie and Darius," he murmured, his voice tinged with both awe and unease. Knox's expression mirrored his own, a blend of terror and anxiety.
"We must act swiftly," Knox urged, steadily despite the turmoil.
The two men quickened their pace, their minds sharp and focused. As they moved through the dense underbrush, the echoes of clashing blades and the brilliant beacon of energy guided them, a rallying cry for all Guardians to unite against the looming threat.
Amidst the escalating chaos, the unmistakable voice of Amel Ellington, the mayor and leader of the community, crackled over the intercom system that reached every corner inside the mountainous titan. The urgency in his tone was evident, cutting through the din of conflict like a clarion call.
"Attention, everyone. This is Mayor Amel Ellington," he began, his voice steady yet imbued with a sense of pressing importance. "We are facing an imminent threat. I need each of you to proceed to the hidden shelters immediately. Follow the emergency protocols; your safety is our utmost priority."
His words were precise and commanding, a reflection of his unwavering commitment to his people. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a comforting reliability in his authoritative direction, a beacon of hope in the midst of turmoil.
"Do not delay," he continued, his voice firm. "Gather your loved ones and move swiftly. The shelters are equipped and ready to provide the necessary protection. Trust in the system we have in place. We have trained for this. Stay calm and follow the instructions."
As the message repeated, the community began to mobilize. Families hurriedly gathered their essentials, the echoes of Amel's directive guiding their every step. In his office, Amel Ellington stood poised, in this moment, every decision was calculated, every word chosen to instill confidence and order.
"Stay safe, and may we come through this stronger together," he concluded, his voice softening slightly with a touch of his inherent compassion. "Ellington out."
As the intercom fell silent, the island buzzed with a newfound sense of urgency. The clash of steel between Darius and Aurélie continued to light up the sky, but now, the community moved with purpose, guided by the clear and decisive leadership of their mayor.
In the aftermath of the explosion, Bianca, Zola, Charlie, and Emmet huddled in the lab, the air still thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burnt circuitry. Bianca's long black hair was disheveled, her face a mask of concern as she repeatedly murmured, "Like, what have we done?"
Zola, her pink hair standing out starkly against the chaos, raised a finger in the air, making a point. "We must ascertain the extent of the damage immediately. This could have significant repercussions."
The message from Mayor Amel Ellington crackled over the intercom, and the four of them froze, listening intently. The mayor's authoritative voice filled the lab, and confusion furrowed their brows. "We are facing an imminent threat. I need each of you to proceed to the hidden shelters immediately..."
Bianca's eyes widened, "Like, is he talking about us? Like, did we cause this?"
Zola's finger declined, her confidence wavering. "We must clarify this at once."
As they moved to leave the lab, the sounds of the conflict outside became more apparent. The unmistakable clash of steel and the mobilization of the Guardians filtered through the thick walls. They paused, realization dawning on them.
"It's not us," Charlie’s shoulders dropped in dreaded relief. "There's something else going on."
Emmet's panic set in. "Natalie! She's in the infirmary. We need to find her."
Bianca nodded, blinking rapidly. "Like, let's go together. We, like, need to stay together and, like, stay safe."
The four of them navigated the chaotic hallways, guided by Mayor Ellington's clear directives. The sight of Guardians rallying to the beacon of energy, their expressions resolute and fierce, underscored the gravity of the situation. For the FIRST time, they realized the true scale of the threat they were facing.
As they reached the infirmary, Emmet's heart pounded with fear and anticipation. Natalie was already coordinating the care of the injured, her blond hair pulled back into a messy bun. Her blue eyes widened with relief as she saw Emmet and the others.
"Emmet!" she called out in worry. "We need to get everyone to the shelters. There's no time to lose." Together, they moved with purpose, replacing their initial confusion with a clear and united goal.

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Chapter Text

Shanks stood on the shore with a focused calm, his crimson hair tousled by the breeze. Across from him was Marya, her long raven hair flowing like a shadow in the wind. Eternal Night, gleamed in the fading light, its blade reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.
“Marya, calm down!” Shanks called in a steady, firm tone. He parried another of her strikes, the force of it sending shockwaves through the ground. “You’re losing control!”
But Marya didn’t—or couldn’t—respond. Her emotions and power overwhelmed her, and with a guttural cry, she unleashed a devastating slash that sent a wave of energy tearing across the beach. The sand erupted like a geyser, and the nearby palm trees were sliced clean through. Shanks barely managed to dodge.
As the ship anchored and the crew disembarked, the beach erupted with laughter and cheers. Benn Beckman, led the group, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. Lucky Roux, was already munching on a drumstick, his laughter booming across the sand.
“Well, well,” Benn said dryly with amusement as he approached. “Looks like you’ve been busy without us.”
Shanks glanced at his crew; Gryphon held firmly in his grip as they ascended the beach, grinning broadly. “About time you showed up. I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
Yasopp, still rubbing his head from the earlier explosion, laughed as he greeted his crewmates. Clasping arms, “You guys took your sweet time. What happened? Did you stop for a snack?”
Lucky Roux’s round face chuckled, holding up his drumstick. “Maybe. But we’re here now, aren’t we?”
The crew quickly surrounded Yasopp, their teasing and laughter filling the air. Limejuice, light hair blowing in the breeze, leaned on his staff and smirked. “So, looks like you two have been getting cozy on some island while we were out there braving the storm?”
Bonk Punch, his muscular frame towering over the others, crossed his tattooed arms and grinned. “Yeah, Captain. You didn’t forget about us, did you?”
As the crew continued to tease Shanks and Yasopp, their attention was suddenly drawn to the figure further down the beach. Shanks laughed, “Not a chance. But you’re just in time to help with….” Marya's attention snapped towards him. Her eyes, wild with untamed power, locked onto Shanks, and instantly, she was upon him. With a swift, fluid motion, she unleashed a barrage of sword strikes, the air around them humming with the ferocity of her attacks. Her movements were a blur, Eternal Night, gleaming in the sunlight as she unleashed a series of devastating strikes.
Benn raised an eyebrow, holding the cigarette between two fingers. “And who’s that?”
Shanks dodged, sending Marya back with a controlled swing, “That’s Marya. She’s... had a rough day. We’re trying to snap her out of it.”
Yasopp nodded, taking hold of the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s strong. Like, really strong. And right now, she’s not exactly herself.”
The crew’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Marya?!” Hongo exclaimed in shock. “As in Mihawk’s daughter? That Marya?!”
“The one and only,” Shanks replied as he readied himself for her next on slot. “And right now, she’s a force of nature.”
Lucky Roux whistled, his tone impressed. “She’s holding her own against you. That’s no small feat.”
Before they could process the revelation, Marya turned her attention to the newcomers. Her blazing eyes locked onto them, and with a swift motion, she raised Eternal Night. The air around her shimmered as she activated her Mist-Mist Fruit powers, turning the surrounding area into a dense, impenetrable fog. The crew instinctively tightened their formation, their years of experience kicking in.
“Looks like we’re getting serious,” Lucky Roux muttered, tossing the bare bone.
Bonk Punch cracked his knuckles. “Want us to step in, Captain? We could use a good fight.”
Marya lunged at them, her movements a blur. Benn Beckman intercepted her first strike, his rifle clashing against her blade with a resounding clang. “Damn, she’s strong,” he grunted, his feet digging into the sand.
“She’s Mihawk’s kid—what did you expect?” Yasopp quipped, already taking aim with his rifle. His shots, infused with Haki, forced Marya to dodge, but her speed was unmatched.
As the battle raged, the crew began to fall into their familiar rhythm, their banter and camaraderie shining through even in the heat of combat. “Hey, Marya!” Limejuice called, dodging a mist-infused slash. “You’ve grown a lot since we last saw you!”
“Yeah, but she’s still as reckless as ever!” Bonk Punch added, his massive fists slamming into the ground to create a quake that momentarily halted her advance.
The ground beneath them began to tremor and shift, an ominous rumble echoing through the fog. The combatants paused, sensing a new threat emerging. The sand and rocks around them moved, coalescing into towering golem-like entities. These behemoths, formed from the very environment, glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light.
“Shanks!” Benn called, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. “What the hell is going on?
“Great, just what we needed,” Shanks muttered, his grip tightening on his sword. Marya’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. She smirked, clearly unfazed by the new challenge.
The golems, animated by some dark force, lumbered towards them with heavy steps, each footfall shaking the ground anew. Their forms were crude but imposing, with jagged limbs and blank, glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through the mist.
“Guess we don’t have much of a choice,” Benn Beckman called out, raising his rifle once more. He fired a shot that ricocheted off one golem’s stone hide, barely leaving a mark. “We’re gonna need a lot more firepower.”
Shanks' eyes narrowed, the familiar tingle of Haki sending shivers down his spine. His Observation Haki flared, extending his senses into the distance. He could feel it—an intense surge of power, like a storm brewing far off yet rapidly approaching. The raw energy of the battle resonated through the air, a symphony of clashing wills and unbridled strength.
His crew felt it too. Yasopp's fingers twitched, adjusting his aim almost instinctively. Benn Beckman’s grip tightened around his rifle, a grim purpose settling over his features. Limejuice and Bonk Punch exchanged glances, their usual banter momentarily silenced by the intense atmosphere.
“Something big is coming,” Shanks murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Bigger than these rock giants?” Limejuice asked, his brow furrowing in skepticism.
“Much bigger,” Benn confirmed, his eyes flicking towards the horizon where the mist seemed to part just slightly, revealing fleeting glimpses of the battle beyond. Marya, equally attuned to the shift in the environment, smirked with renewed fervor as her blade flashed ominously in the eerie light.
The crew braced themselves, their collective Haki amplifying, intertwining in a display of unity and readiness. The air around them crackled with anticipation, the ground beneath their feet vibrating with the reverberations of the distant conflict. It was a call to arms, a challenge they could not ignore.
“Ready yourselves,” Shanks commanded with a steady unyielding tone. “We’re heading into the eye of the storm.”
Marya's lips curled into a grin, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of malevolent intent and unrestrained delight. The anticipation of the impending conflict surged within her, a thrill that electrified every fiber of her being. She could feel the power coursing through her veins, aching to be unleashed. Without a word, Marya turned on her heel, leaving the beach behind as she strode purposefully towards the source of the emanating Haki.
The crew watched her in surprise, their eyes darting to Shanks for guidance. “What do we do, Captain?” Yasopp asked, running his fingers through his blind dreads.
Shanks didn’t hesitate. “We follow her,” he commanded, his gaze fixed as he raced after her. “Stay close and stay sharp. We’re in for a fight.”
The crew sprang into action, rallying around Shanks as they moved to follow Marya. Their Haki flared once more, a collective wave of power that rippled through the air, signaling their readiness for the challenge that awaited them. The mist parted before them, revealing the path to the storm’s eye, where the true battle was about to unfold.
*****
The island is a maelstrom of chaos. The airships loom overhead, raining down destruction as Finn Rix’s Mold-Mold Fruit powers reshape the terrain, creating barriers and traps to keep the Guardians occupied. The mercenaries swarm the island, their shouts and gunfire blending with the cacophony of explosions. Amid the turmoil, the Guardians rally, their fortitude unwavering despite the overwhelming odds.
Celeste, Riggs, Jax, and Vaughn arrive together, their eyes wide with awe as they try to make sense of the chaos unraveling around them. Celeste's gaze sweeps over the destruction, her mind processing the scene. Riggs cracks a grin despite the bedlam, his katana already drawn and ready.
"What the hell is happening here?" Jax demanded, his three-sectioned staff twirling in his hands as he inspected the devastation. His muscular frame tensed as he looked at Vaughn for answers.
Vaughn, with his double-sided ax, Light Bringer, resting on his broad shoulders, eyes darted about. “It’s Devil Fruit Powers,” he said, gripping the hilt of his ax. “Reshaping the terrain, creating chaos.”
“Great,” Riggs muttered, his grin widening. “Just another day at the office.” He dashed forward, his movements fluid and unpredictable, eager to engage the enemy.
Celeste's eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation as she watched Riggs. She bit her lower lip, her voice barely above a whisper as she called after him. "R-Riggs, please be careful," she stammered.
Riggs caught her words, and though he didn't slow his pace, he glanced back with a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, Celeste! We've got this together!" he shouted.
Celeste's cheeks reddened slightly, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She gripped her katana tighter, her hands trembling just a bit. "I-I'll do my best," she murmured as she followed.
"Wait!" Jax called out, his voice cutting through the cacophony of battle. "We need a plan before we rush in blindly!" He watched in exasperation as Riggs and Celeste continued their charge, seemingly deaf to his orders.
"Celeste, Riggs, stop!" Jax shouted, his frustration mounting. "We can't just—"
But his words fell on deaf ears. Riggs was already several paces ahead, his katana gleaming as he deflected bullets and clashed with mercenaries. Celeste moved with her usual grace and precision, her katana slicing through the chaos. Neither showed any sign of heeding his call for strategy.
Jax huffed in annoyance, his eyes narrowing as he watched his companions ignore his urgent pleas. "Fine," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his three-sectioned staff. "Have it your way."
With a resigned scoff, Jax sprinted after them with swift purpose. "You two are impossible," he grumbled as he closed the distance. "But I won't let you face this alone."
Riggs, already several paces ahead, grins over his shoulder, his shaggy blond hair whipping in the wind. His katana gleams as he deflects a stray bullet with practiced ease. "Relax, Jax! We’ve got this!" he shouts, his reckless optimism undimmed. He dashes onward, his movements fluid and unpredictable, his sword slicing through the air as he engages a group of mercenaries. "Come on! Let’s see if you can keep up with the future greatest swordsman!" Celeste giggles at Riggs’ bravado as a small smile tugs at her lips.
Riggs, meanwhile, is a whirlwind of energy, his katana a blur as he cuts through the enemy ranks. His reckless abandon is both a strength and a liability. "Come on, Jax! You’re slowing us down!" he teases. Celeste moves like a shadow, her katana finding its marks with deadly accuracy.
"Stay focused!" Jax barks, his voice cutting through the noise. "We need to push them back and protect the civilians! Riggs, stop charging ahead like an idiot!"
Vaughn watched the interaction between Riggs, Celeste, and Jax with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Their camaraderie, though endearing, bordered on recklessness. He couldn't help but chuckle. "Keep it together, you three!" Vaughn called out with a note of warning. "This isn't the time for your antics."
But as he spoke, a sudden sensation gripped him. His eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks, every muscle tensing as he sensed a familiar yet deadly Haki moving at lethal speed toward them. The air seemed to buzz with the oppressive force, and Vaughn's heart pounded in his chest.
"Get down!" he shouted, hoping his warning would reach them in time.
*****
The submarine glides silently in the dark waters, its sleek form cutting through the depths like a shadow. Inside, the dim glow of control panels casts an eerie light on Vesper Corvin and Drusilla Lorne as they prepare for their mission. The hum of the engines is the only sound, a low, steady thrum that underscores the tension in the air.
Vesper sits at the controls, his long carmine hair tied back into a loose man-bun, his refined features sharp in the pale light. His fingers move with practiced accuracy, adjusting the submarine’s trajectory as they approach the island’s port. Drusilla leans against the bulkhead nearby, her pearly waves cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes scanning the sonar display.
The island above is in chaos. The distant echoes of explosions and shouting filter down through the water, muffled but unmistakable. The Guardians are fully occupied with the airship invaders, their attention diverted by Finn Rix’s relentless assault. Vesper smirks, arrogantly as he glances at Drusilla. "Right on schedule," he says with smooth confidence. "They’re too busy playing hero to notice us slipping in."
Drusilla sarcastically rolls her eyes. "Let’s hope your confidence doesn’t get us caught. I’d hate to have to save your pretty face again." She adjusts her pistols with well-practiced ease before checking the dagger strapped to her thigh. Her Serval Zoan instincts are already on edge, her senses heightened as she prepares for the infiltration.
The submarine surfaces quietly in the shadow of the port, its hatch opening with a soft hiss. Vesper and Drusilla emerge into the cool evening air, the chaos of the island now a cacophony of noise and tremors. The port is eerily deserted, the inhabitants having retreated to their secured hiding locations as instructed. The only signs of life are the distant rumbles of battle and the occasional roar of an explosion.
Vesper scans the area with a practiced eye, "The target’s last known location was the engineering complex," he says, pulling out a vivire card. "It’s about half a mile inland. We’ll need to move quickly and stay out of sight."
Drusilla nods, her playful smirk becoming determined. "Lead the way, pretty boy. But don’t slow me down." She adjusts her fishnet stockings and ruffled crop top, ensuring her movements won’t be restricted, before falling into step beside him.
They move through the port like ghosts, their footsteps silent on the well-worn walkways. Vesper’s Ash-Ash Fruit powers are at the ready, a faint wisp of smoke curling around his fingers as he prepares to create a smokescreen if needed. Drusilla’s Serval Zoan instincts keep her alert, her ears twitching at every sound, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger.
As they approach the engineering complex, they spot their target: a middle-aged man with a harried expression clutching blueprints as he hurries toward a fortified structure. Vesper’s lips curl into a sly smile. "There he is. Right on time."
Drusilla cracks her knuckles, her blue eyes gleaming with eagerness. "Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to miss all the fun up there."
Demeanor calm, Vesper calls out to the engineer, "Going somewhere?"
The man freezes, his eyes widening in fear as he turns to face them. Before he can react, Vesper unleashes a cloud of ash, enveloping the area in a thick, suffocating smog. Drusilla moves like a predator, her Serval Zoan agility allowing her to close the distance in an instant. She disarms the man with ease, her dagger pressed to his throat as she whispers, "Don’t struggle. It’ll only make this worse."
Vesper emerges from the smoke with cold calculation, "You’re coming with us. Quietly, if you know what’s good for you."
The engineer nods frantically, his blueprints falling to the ground as he raises his hands in surrender. Drusilla secures his wrists with a pair of restraints. "Let’s move," she says in a low voice. "We’ve got what we came for."
As they slip back into the shadows, the chaos of the island continues unabated. Vesper and Drusilla move with stealthy execution, their target in tow, their mission nearly complete. The Guardians remain none the wiser, their attention still fixed on the distraction above. For Vesper and Drusilla, it’s just another job—dangerous, calculated, and performed with ruthless efficiency.
*****
The battlefield is a tempest of clashing steel and roaring flames, but for Darius Rhea and Aurélie, the world narrows to just the two of them. They stand facing each other, the air between them crackling with unresolved history and years of unspoken pain. The chaos around them fades into a distant hum as their eyes lock, gray meeting brown, each pair filled with a storm of emotions.
Darius’s leather jacket billows in the wind, his pompadour unmoved, his chiseled jaw set in a hard line. His brown eyes burn with a mixture of bitterness and determination as he grips the hilt of his weapon, the Gator-Gator Fruit’s power humming within its steel edge. He doesn’t speak at first, letting the weight of his presence speak for him. His harmonica, tucked into his pocket, feels heavier than usual, a reminder of the life he once had—and the life he lost.
Aurélie stands tall, her long silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. Anathema gleams in the twilight, her big gray eyes steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. She wears her stoicism like armor, but beneath it, she feels the sting of guilt and regret. Her Locust-Locust Fruit powers are dormant for now, though the faint outline of insectoid wings flickers at her back, a subconscious reflex.
"Darius," she says finally, her voice laced with an undercurrent of pain. "This doesn’t have to happen. You don’t have to do this."
Darius’s lips curl into a bitter smile, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "Don’t I? You of all people should understand why I’m here, Aurélie. Or have you forgotten what happened to my brother?"
Aurélie flinches, her grip tightening on Anathema. "I haven’t forgotten. I think about it every day. But this—this isn’t the way, Darius. Your brother wouldn’t want this."
"Don’t you dare speak for him!" Darius snaps, his voice rising with a raw edge of anger. "You weren’t there when he needed you. You failed him. You failed me."
The words hang in the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. Aurélie’s stoic mask cracks for a moment, her gray eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I know I failed him. I’ve carried that guilt every day since. But this path you’re on—it’s only going to destroy you."
Darius’s jaw tightens, his bitterness warring with something deeper, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. "Maybe I’m already destroyed," he says quietly, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me."
Without warning, he lunges forward, his blade shifting as the Gator-Gator Fruit activates. His blade transforms into a chomping alligator, teeth glinting in the light as it juts at her with brutal force. Aurélie reacts instantly, Anathema flashing as she parries, the clash of their weapons sending sparks flying.
The fight is fierce and unrelenting, each strike fueled by years of pain and unresolved conflict. Darius’s attacks are relentless, his movements driven by a mix of anger and sorrow. He doesn’t hold back, his alligator blade giving him an edge. But Aurélie is a master swordswoman, her movements measured and fatal. She dances around his attacks, Anathema is a blur as she counters with swift, deliberate strikes.
As they battle, their emotions spill out in bursts of dialogue, their words as sharp as their blades.
"You think you’re so noble," Darius growls with dripping sarcasm. "The perfect Guardian, always doing the right thing. But where was that nobility when my brother needed you?"
Aurélie’s eyes flash with pain, but she doesn’t falter. "I made a mistake, Darius. I know that. But I’ve spent every day since trying to make up for it. You think vengeance will bring you peace? It won’t. It’ll only consume you."
"Peace?" Darius laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "I gave up on peace the day I buried him. This is about justice."
"Justice?" Aurélie counters, her voice rising. "This is about your pride. Your pain. You’re so blinded by it that you can’t see what you’re becoming."
Their blades clash again, the force of the impact cracking the air. Darius’s eyes narrow, his bitterness giving way to a flicker of something else—doubt, perhaps, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by the hardened resolve that has driven him this far.
Aurélie, meanwhile, fights not just to defend herself, but to reach him. She sees the man he used to be, the friend and comrade she once knew, buried beneath the anger and vengeance. She doesn’t want to hurt him; she wants to save him, even if he can’t see it.
The battle rages on, a storm of steel and emotion, neither willing to back down. But beneath the clash of their weapons and the heat of their words, there’s a shared pain, a connection that neither can fully sever. They are two sides of the same coin, bound by loss and regret, each fighting for what they believe is right—even if it means destroying each other in the process.

Chapter Text

The island is a cacophony of chaos—explosions, screams, and the clash of steel filling the air. But amidst the turmoil, a new kind of terror emerges. Marya is now a whirlwind of destruction, her body moving with unnatural speed and ferocity. Her golden eyes glow with an eerie otherworldly light, her expression blank and deadly. She is no longer herself; her Devil Fruit power has taken control, turning her into a force of pure, unrelenting destruction.
She moves like a storm, Eternal Night slashing through everything in her path—mercenaries, Guardians, even inanimate obstacles. There is no bias, no hesitation. She is a weapon, wielded by the darkest depths of her power. The ground trembles beneath her feet as she carves a path of devastation, her movements too fast to follow, her strikes too powerful to withstand.
Vaughn, Riggs, Celeste, and Jax are regrouping near the edge of the battlefield when they see her. At first, they don’t recognize her—this wild, unstoppable force seems nothing like the Marya they know. But as she draws closer, Vaughn’s heart sinks. "Marya?" he calls out. "What’s going on? Are you hurt?"
She doesn’t respond. Her glowing eyes lock onto them, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, or a struggle against the power controlling her. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the same blank, terrifying expression. She raises her blade, her movements fluid and deadly.
"Marya, stop!" Jax shouts in firm command. He steps forward, his three-sectioned staff at the ready. "This isn’t you! Fight it!"
But she doesn’t stop. She lunges at them with blinding speed, her blade slicing through the air like a scythe. Jax barely manages to block the strike, the force of the impact sending him skidding backward. "She’s not herself!" he yells, straining his voice. "We need to subdue her without hurting her!"
Riggs, ever impulsive, doesn’t wait. He charges forward, his katana gleaming as he tries to disarm her. "Marya, snap out of it!" he shouts in frustrated desperation. "It’s us! You’re hurting people!"
But Marya doesn’t hear him—or if she does, she doesn’t care. Her blade moves faster than Riggs can react, slicing through his defenses and striking him with brutal force. He cries out in pain, blood spraying as he collapses to the ground, his katana slipping from his grasp.
"Riggs!" Celeste screams, her voice breaking as she rushes to his side. She kneels beside him, her hands trembling as she tries to assess the damage. The wound is deep, and Riggs’s face is pale, his breathing labored. "Stay with me, please," she mutters through choked emotions. "You’re not allowed to die."
Vaughn grips Light Clever as it glows with a faint, scarlet hue. Scowling with grim ferocity. "Marya, please," his eyes are pleading, but his tone is threatening. "You’re stronger than this. Don’t let it control you."
For a moment, it seems like his words reach her. Her glowing eyes flicker, and her movements slow, as if she’s fighting against the power that possesses her. But then the light in her eyes intensifies, and she attacks again, her blade aimed directly at Vaughn.
Jax intercepts the strike, his three-sectioned staff clashing against her blade with a resounding clang. "We need to stop her before she hurts anyone else!" he shouts, his voice filled with urgency. "But we can’t kill her! There has to be another way!"
Still crouched beside Riggs, Celeste looks up with tears welling in her eyes. "We have to knock her out," her voice trembling. "It’s the only way to stop her without… without killing her."
Vaughn nods, his jaw fixed in a hard line. "Then that’s what we’ll do. Jax, keep her distracted. Celeste, get Riggs to safety. I’ll find an opening."
The three Guardians move with precision, their training guiding them even in the face of this unimaginable situation. Jax engages Marya, his staff a blur as he blocks her strikes and tries to wear her down. Vaughn circles around, his ax glowing brighter with Haki as he searches for an opening. With tears streaming down her face, Celeste drags Riggs to safety, her heart breaking with every step.
Marya, still under the thrall of her Devil Fruit’s power, moves like a shadow, her glowing eyes and blank expression a stark contrast to the destruction she leaves in her wake. Her blade drips crimson, her movements swift and merciless, as if she’s no longer human but a force of demise.
*****
The island is a cacophony of chaos—explosions rock the ground, smoke fills the air, and the clash of steel against steel rings out like a discordant symphony. Amid the turmoil, the Red-Haired Pirates move through the fray with a blend of ferocity and tactical brilliance. They are a well-coordinated unit, their actions synchronized by an unspoken understanding and the urgency of their mission. Their goal is clear: clear a path for Shanks to reach Marya.
Beckman, his rifle slung over his shoulder, calls out orders, "Lucky Roux, Yasopp—flank left! Limejuice, take the right! We’re clearing a path for the captain!" he barks, his voice cutting through the noise. He doesn’t need to raise his weapon; his reputation alone sends mercenaries scrambling out of his way. Those foolish enough to challenge him are swiftly disarmed with a single, precise strike from the butt of his rifle.
Lucky Roux, the round, jovial giant, charges forward with a grin that belies the destruction he’s about to unleash. His massive frame barrels through the battlefield like a wrecking ball, his fists swinging with enough force to send enemies flying. "Outta the way, folks! Captain’s got business to handle!" he shouts, his laughter booming as he effortlessly tosses aside anyone who dares to stand in his path. His strength is unmatched, and he uses it to create a wide, open lane for Shanks to follow.
Yasopp, hangs back slightly, his sharpshooter instincts guiding his every move. His rifle cracks like thunder, each shot perfectly timed to take out threats before they can even react. He picks off mercenaries and enemy combatants with pinpoint accuracy, his bullets whizzing past his crewmates to hit their marks. "Keep moving, Captain!" he calls out. "I’ve got your back!" His eyes never leave the battlefield, ensuring that no one can ambush Shanks from a distance.
Limejuice, darts through the chaos like a cyclone. Wielding an electrically charged staff, crackling with energy. The staff hums with power as he twirls it effortlessly, each strike sending jolts of voltage arcing through his foes. His agility is unmatched, and he uses the staff to parry attacks and deliver swift, incapacitating blows. The blue sparks dance around him as he moves, illuminating his path through the smoke and chaos. He’s a vortex of motion, his movements so fast that his opponents barely have time to react before they’re disarmed or unconscious. "Path’s clear on the right, Captain!" he shouts, his voice carrying over the din of battle.
Bonk Punch and Monster, the crew’s powerhouse duo, work in tandem to clear the heaviest resistance. Bonk Punch’s fists are like battering rams, each punch sending shockwaves through the ground and scattering enemies like leaves in a storm. Monster, with his towering frame and raw strength, follows close behind, using his sheer bulk to crush anything in his path. "Leave the big stuff to us, Captain!" Bonk Punch shouts, his voice booming over the chaos. "We’ll make sure nothing gets in your way!"
Building Snake, with his Two Sword Juggling Style, is a tornado of acrobatic prowess and deadly precision. He wields a sword in each hand, seamlessly transitioning between slashing attacks and defensive parries. His movements are barely visible, each step calculated to maximize his effectiveness and maintain his momentum. He leaps into the air, executing a series of flips and spins that leave his opponents disoriented and off-balance.
As he lands, Building Snake's swords dance in a deadly arc, cutting through enemy ranks with a fluid grace. His stomping kicks add another layer of ferocity to his assault, each strike sending tremors through the ground and toppling those who dare stand in his way. His agility allows him to slip through defenses, while his raw power ensures that no foe remains standing for long. "Path’s clear on the left, Captain!" he calls out mid-twirl. "But we’ve got more incoming!" He continues to carve with relentless efficiency, his swords flashing with lethal intent.
Hongo, his medical bag slung over his shoulder, keeps pace with Shanks. "Captain, we’ve got a clear shot to Marya," he watches Shanks from the corner of his eye. "But we need to move fast—she’s tearing through everything in her path."
Gab, stands firm amidst the chaos. With a deep breath, his chest expands, and he unleashes his unique ability with a roar as razor-sharp air blades slice through the battlefield. The force of his attack creates a gale, cutting down enemies and clearing a swath through the fray. "Keep pushing forward, Captain!" he bellows. "We’re almost there!" his voice reverberating like thunder, as the air blades carve out a route with surgical precision. The enemies caught in the onslaught have no time to react, their ranks shattered by the sheer power of Gab's technique.
Shanks, at the center of it all, moves with the confidence of a man who’s faced countless battles. His crimson hair catches in the twilight, his single arm resting on Gryphon’s hilt. He doesn’t need to draw it yet; his crew handles the heavy lifting. But his eyes are locked on Marya. "Keep pushing forward," he says, flying through the haze of mayhem. "We’re almost there." Shanks readies Gryphon, “I see her!” preparing to swing. “Marya!” he calls out, attempting to distract her from her next potential victim.
Sensing his ominous presence, she spins in the midst of her confrontation, sending Vaughn and Jax sailing through the air. Eternal Night connects with Gryphon, and the atmosphere splits with a massive surge of Haki. Shanks grits his teeth. He knows what he has to do, but he cannot bring himself to do it. “Marya,” he growls, “Come back, already!” Marya’s brow flexes, and she propels Shanks backward with a surge of power. His crew responds instantly with a barrage of assaults, but it does nothing since she has already disappeared.
Debris scatters as Shanks’ feet skid along the ground, cursing as he watches her silhouette launch above the tree canopy. In a single, powerful push, he explodes skyward after her. “Sorry, Mihawk,” he mutters as he readies himself. Eyes blazing scarlet, Gryphon firm in his hand, he swings, unleashing his Haki towards her.
Sensing his power aiming for her, Marya transmutes to mist. Shanks’ eyes bulge when she appears in front of him. Swinging Eternal Night, she drives Shanks back. He twists, dodging the full force of her attack, but her objective is achieved. She disappeared the sounds of screams and calamity proclaiming her course. Cursing, Shanks finds his footing, starting for his crew.
Hongo knelt next to Jax, his hands moving with well-practiced care as he applied bandages and antiseptic to the deep wound. "Hang in there, kid," Hongo murmurs, his voice steady from years of experience. "You’re going to be fine."
Jax grits his teeth, his face pale but his strained eyes still sharp. "Don’t worry about me," he mutters, strained. "This is nothing… I can still." He attempts to push himself up on his elbows.
Hongo shoves him down to stay still, “No, kid, you’re done fighting today.”
Shanks lands heavily back on the ground, the weight of the battle still pressing on his shoulders. His face is a mask of frustration. Despite his best efforts, the sting of losing Marya is evident in his eyes. He strides back towards his crew, each step echoing his resolve to reclaim what was lost.
The sight of his injured pulls at his heart, but he masks his concern sternly. Stepping up to Hongo, who is diligently tending to Jax, Shanks places a steady hand on his shoulder. "How is he?" he asks in a low, controlled tone.
Hongo looks up, meeting Shanks' gaze with a calm nod. "He'll be fine, Captain. Just needs some rest and time to heal."
Shanks nods, his eyes scanning the clearing for any other signs of immediate danger. Celeste looks up, her face streaked with tears and dirt. "What is going on? Why did she do this?"
Vaughn emerges from the shadows, supporting Jax, who leans heavily on him, his face etched with pain. Blood seeps through the torn fabric of his shirt, a stark reminder of the brutal encounter with Marya. "Shanks," Vaughn strains to talk. "We need help over here."
Shanks turns, softening slightly. "Hongo," he orders, pointing towards Vaughn and Jax. "Help them, too."
Hongo nods, quickly moving to assist. He gently takes Jax from Vaughn, easing him down to the ground with practiced care. "Just hold on," Hongo murmurs, beginning to assess Jax's injuries.
Vaughn, still catching his breath, looks up at Shanks. "What happened? Why did she attack us?"
Shanks' jaw tightens, his eyes dark with unresolved conflict. "It's...complicated," he replies, clenching his jaw.
Vaughn's eyes narrow, frustration clear as he processes Shanks' vague response. "Complicated?" he repeats, with tinged disbelief as the sounds of the Red Hair Pirates battling other enemies fade into the background.
*****
Smoke billows across the landscape, obscuring vision and choking lungs. At the center of it all are Knox Penrose and Master Gaius Vesper, engaging the invaders as they navigate the chaotic battlefield.
Knox's reflexes are sharp, his body reacting instinctively to the incoming threats. He parries a strike aimed at his side with a swift motion, then spins to avoid a blow from behind. His voice remains steady and commanding as he deflects another attack, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Guardians, hold your ground!" he bellows, his tone unwavering. "We can't afford to lose."
Master Gaius, with an almost supernatural grace, sidesteps an incoming projectile, his yukata robes fluttering like a ghost in the wind. In a fluid motion, Gaius draws his katana from its scabbard, the blade glinting threateningly in the dim light. His movements are a dance of death, each step measured and purposeful. With a swift strike, he disarms an opponent, the katana flashing through the air before cutting through the enemy's defenses. He remains calm, almost serene, as he moves from one adversary to the next, his blade singing a deadly song.
Gaius's technique is impeccable, a display of martial prowess that leaves no room for error. He executes a dazzling spin, his katana slicing through the air precisely, felling another foe. Sharp and unyielding, his eyes constantly surveyed the battlefield, anticipating every move. "Knox, watch your left!" he warns, effortlessly parrying an incoming attack and then countering with a lethal thrust.
With newfound energy, Knox follows Gaius's lead, their synergy a testament to their years of training together. Gaius, his katana now an extension of his will, moves like an apparition through the turmoil, his strikes swift and decisive. "Keep your guard up," he advises, his voice unwavering. "We can't afford any mistakes."
Their combined efforts turned the tide of battle. Gaius's mastery of the katana is not just a physical display but a manifestation of his inner calm and strategic mind. With each slash, he carves through the enemy lines. "Stay focused, Knox," he calls out, calm and collected. "We must anticipate their movements."
Knox responds with a nod, his focus razor-sharp. He ducks under a sweeping blade and counters with a powerful thrust that sends his attacker reeling. "Push forward!" he shouts, directing his team with hand signals. “Reinforce the left and strike the center on my mark!"
Knox's gaze meets Gaius's, and a silent understanding passes between them. With fierce determination, Knox rallies the Guardians, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Strike team, advance!" he commands. Together, he and Gaius weave through the fray, intercepting and dodging attacks with a synchronized accuracy that speaks to their years of experience.
In the distance, they spot Aurélie, her long silver hair gleaming in the twilight as she cuts through the enemy with Anathema. A master swordswoman in her element, her unwavering movements have her opponent on the defensive. Nearby, Darius Rhea, his leather jacket billowing and his unmistakable pompadour, is a curse of destruction, his Gator-Gator Devil Fruit-powered sword making him a formidable opponent.
"Looks like Aurélie’s holding her own," Knox purses his lips with concerned admiration. "But Darius… he’s not holding back. This is personal for him."
Gaius' eyes narrow as he watches the two former comrades clash. "Darius always was a stubborn one," with a heavy sigh. "He’s let his grief consume him. Aurélie may be strong, but she’s carrying her own burdens. This fight… it’s not just about the battle. It’s about the past."
Knox nods grimly. "We need to end this before it spirals out of control. If Darius gets to Aurélie, it won’t just be her life at stake—it’ll be the morale of everyone here."
Before they can act on their assessment, an explosion rocks the battle, sending shockwaves through the ground. The Guardians and mercenaries alike are thrown off balance, and a deafening silence falls over the island as all eyes turn to the source of the blast.
Emerging from the smoke is Marya, her glowing eyes and vacant expression, a stark contrast to the destruction she leaves in her wake. Her blade drips crimson, her movements swift and merciless, she is the angel of death. She cuts through friends and foe alike, her Devil Fruit power driving her into a rampage.
Knox’s eyes bulge in shock. "Marya? What the hell?"
Gaius' muscles tense, gripping his blade tighter, "Her Devil Fruit power… it’s taken control. She’s lost to it."
Marya’s rampage is swift and devastating. She slashes through a group of mercenaries, her blade a haze of motion, before turning her attention to a cluster of Guardians. They raise their weapons to defend themselves, but they’re no match for her speed and power. She moves like a tornado, her glowing eyes devoid of recognition or remorse.
Knox's foot slides forward, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "We have to stop her before she hurts anyone else."
Gaius furrows his brow, shifting his weight to move. "Agreed. But we need to be careful. She’s not herself right now." The battle seems to hold its breath. The clash of steel and the roar fade into the background, replaced by the eerie silence of Marya’s madness.
Before Gaius and Knox have a chance to move, a streak of red motion sweeps across the battle. Shanks and Vaughn, appear between Marya and the Guardians. Shanks, his scarlet hair flittering like a flag of war, unsheathes Gryphon with a fluid grace, while Vaughn’s tightens his hold on Light Cleaver.
Marya pauses, her glowing eyes flickering with a momentary recognition. The hesitation is brief, a fleeting instant where the human inside struggles to surface. But the rampage roars back, and she lunges towards Shanks, Eternal Night aimed with ruthless intent.
Shanks parries the attack with a swift, practiced movement. Vaughn steps in, Light Clever crashing down to deflect Marya’s next strike. Together, they form an unyielding barrier, their combined strength holder her at bay.
“Stand down, Marya!” Shanks’s voice is a commanding roar, but it barely reaches her through the overwhelming power.
But Marya doesn’t respond. Her glowing eyes flicker, and her movements slow, as if she’s struggling against the power that controls her. But then, a massive clash of Haki reverberates through the battlefield, the sheer force of it shaking the ground and sending fractures through the air. It’s Aurélie and Darius, their confrontation reaching a fever pitch as their powers collide.
Marya’s head snaps toward the source of the clash, her glowing eyes narrowing. Without warning, she leaps into the air, her movements swift and fluid, and dashes toward Aurélie and Darius, leaving Shanks, Vaughn, Gaius, and Knox behind.
"Dammit!" Shanks curses under his breath, his eyes blazing. "We can't let her get away."
Vaughn's jaw tightens as he watches Marya's retreating figure. "Agreed. We have to stop her before she does something irreversible." Without another word, Shanks and Vaughn take after Marya, their movements a flash of urgency and intent.
Knox calls out to them in frustration. "What’s going on?”
Gaius echoes the sentiment, his brows knitted tightly together. "We need answers! Shanks! Vaughn!"
But their calls go unrequited. Shanks and Vaughn are singularly focused on their target, their minds set on containing the threat that Marya has become. Knox slams his fist into the ground, his frustration boiling over. "We can't just be left in the dark!"
Master Gaius places a steadying hand on Knox's shoulder, "Patience, Knox. We'll get to the bottom of this. But for now, we need to focus on the tasks at hand."
Aurélie and Darius Rhea face off in a duel of titans, their Haki colliding in a maelstrom of power that sends jolts rippling across the island. Aurélie is a wave of emotion as she counters Darius’s brutal strikes. Darius fights with the ferocity of a man consumed by vengeance, his Gator-Gator Fruit-powered sword making him a relentless force. The ground cracks beneath their feet, and the air itself seems to tremble under the weight of their clash.
A streak of motion cuts through their turmoil. Marya, possessed, leaps into the middle of the fight. Her blade is raised, her movements swift and severe. She lands between Aurélie and Darius, her presence momentarily halting their duel.
Aurélie’s gray eyes widened in shocked frustration. "Marya!" she scolds, flicking her blade aside. "What are you doing? Get out of here! This isn’t your fight!"
But Marya doesn’t respond. She turns her attention to Darius, her blade gleaming in the twilight.
Darius smirks, his bitterness and arrogance evident. "Well, well," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If it isn’t a little lost lamb. Come to join the slaughter?"
Marya doesn’t answer. Instead, she lunges at him with blinding speed, her blade slicing through the air like the reaper’s scythe. Darius barely has time to react, his eyes widening in surprise as he blocks the strike with his transformed alligator blade. The force of the impact sends him skidding backward, his boots digging into the ground.
Aurélie takes a step forward, "Marya, stop!"
But Marya doesn’t stop. She presses the attack relentlessly. Darius blocks and counters, but the sheer force of her strikes drives him back. With a powerful swing, she sends him flying across the island, his body crashing through trees and rubble before coming to a stop in a cloud of dust.
Without warning, Shanks and Vaughn appear, launching their attack. Shanks moves with agile accuracy, Gryphon flashing through the air as he aims an unmeasured striking force at Marya. Vaughn follows suit, Haki streaking from their weapons with a single intention.
Darius, recovering from the forceful blow, snarls in rage. With a roar, he lunges at Marya from the opposite direction, his Gator-Gator Fruit-powered sword poised to strike her down. His eyes burn with the fury of a man who has been pushed to his limits, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to unleash its full might.
Blades and Haki converged on Marya like a storm. Darius’s Gator-Gator Fruit-powered sword glowed with a menacing aura, its edge poised to cleave through flesh and bone. Shanks's Gryphon flashed like lightning, its arc determined and lethal, while Vaughn’s Light Clever surged with Haki, its force concentrated into a single devastating strike.
Marya’s, otherworldly eyes, assessed the impending danger in a heartbeat. In one fluid motion, she sprang skyward, her body twisting with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a falcon. The ground where she had stood erupted in a maelstrom of energy as the three strikes collided, sending shockwaves through the air and debris flying in every direction.
Suspended in the air, Marya looked down at the destruction below, with an unreadable mask. The combined force of Darius, Shanks, and Vaughn’s attacks had left a crater in the earth, a testament to their overwhelming power. But Marya, unfazed and unaware, hovered above, ready to continue the battle on her own terms.
As the dust settled and the echoes of the clash faded, Marya's blank gaze caught sight of the airships hovering above, their massive forms casting looming shadows over the island. The hulking vessels, like predatory birds of prey, floated silently in the sky, their presence both threatening and commanding.
With a final glance at the ruin below, Marya tilted her head. She crouched in mid-air, coiling her body tensely, and then propelled herself upward with explosive force. Her ascent was swift and powerful, her figure invisible against the backdrop of the darkening sky.
The air whipped past her, her hair billowing like a banner as she surged toward the airships. As she neared the largest of the vessels, the crew members aboard came into view, their faces shocked. They scurried to man the defenses, aiming their weapons at the approaching figure.
With a series of graceful maneuvers, she evaded the initial volley of projectiles, like a fluid Spector. She reached the deck of the closest airship in a matter of moments, landing with cat-like agility. Her head swiveled with her glowing blank eyes assessing the new battlefield she had entered.
The crew, taken aback by her audacity, hesitated for a brief moment before rallying to confront the intruder. Marya, her blade still dripping crimson, stood tall, ready to reap the souls who dared to cross her path. Marya moved with lethal grace, her blade carving through the air as she dispatched the first wave of defenders with ruthless efficiency. The crew, realizing the gravity of their situation, scrambled to engage her, but their efforts were in vain.
With a swift, decisive strike, Marya severed a critical support line within the airship's structure. Sparks flew as the metal groaned and twisted under the strain. She followed up with a precise thrust into the engine core, her blade slicing through vital components. The engine sputtered and roared in protest, its internal mechanisms failing catastrophically.
As the first airship began to shudder and tremble, caught in the throes of its impending destruction, Marya sensed she had only moments to act. The engines' furious protests grew to a deafening roar, and flames licked the edges of the deck, consuming everything in their path. She sprang into action, her muscles coiling like steel springs as she prepared for her next daring move.
Without a glance at the destruction engulfing the airship, Marya leaped into the void, her form a silhouette against the burning sky. The heat from the explosion surged behind her, propelling her forward with even greater force. She twisted and turned in mid-air, her body moving with the instinctive grace of a predator.
Below her, the battlefield appeared like a distant memory, the ground littered with the remnants of the earlier conflict. Ahead, another airship loomed, its massive hull presenting both a challenge and an opportunity. Marya narrowed her eyes, focusing on her target as she closed the distance with breathtaking speed.
With a final, powerful thrust, Marya landed on the deck of the second airship, her feet making a soft yet authoritative thud. As she straightened, her head swiveled her blank eyes quickly scanned the deck. Her gaze was drawn to a figure standing near the helm, a young man with split-colored spikey hair, wearing a short leather jacket over a T-shirt. He turned and their eyes locked onto each other.
Darius Rhea stood amidst the ruins of the recent skirmish, glaring at the now three opponents before him, his senses on high alert. His attention darts away as a blood-curdling scream pierces the chaos, freezing him in place. "No," he muttered under his breath, his heart tightening in his chest. The scream was unmistakable, carrying a sense of dread that shook him to the core. “Sky Walk!” he called out, kicking himself upward.
Darius landed on the bridge of the airship with a resounding thud, the impact sending a jolt through the deck. His eyes immediately locked onto Marya, who was poised to strike down Finn Rix with a lethal swing of her blade. The sight ignited a fire within him, his emotions surging to the surface with an intensity that bordered on fury.
With a roar that echoed across the battlefield, Darius channeled all his power, force, and Haki. His body surged with an almost palpable energy, the air around him crackling with raw, unbridled strength. He gripped his Alligator sword tightly, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light.
In a single, fluid motion, Darius swung his sword with all the might he could muster. The force of his strike was immense, the blade slicing through the air with a deadly precision. Marya barely had time to react as the sword connected with her side, the impact sending her sprawling over the edge of the airship.
Marya's form vanished into the void below, the darkness swallowing her up as she disappeared from sight. Darius stood at the edge of the deck, his chest heaving with exertion, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He turned to Finn, relief washing over him as he saw the young man was unharmed.
As Marya plummeted into the void, her devil fruit power surged within her, reawakening her senses with a dark and relentless fury. Her body twisted in mid-air as she regained her composure, her eyes burning with a malevolent light. The power coursing through her veins was intoxicating, her muscles coiling with an inhuman strength as she prepared to launch herself back onto the airship.
With a mighty leap, Marya propelled herself upward, her form a dark blur against the star-streaked sky. The airship's lights glinted off her blade, illuminating her malicious intentions as she closed the distance. But just as she was about to reach the deck, a figure appeared beside her, moving with impossible speed and purposes.
It was Shanks, his presence commanding and his eyes fixed onto Marya with an unwavering focus. Without hesitation, he swung his sword, with a blazing hue the blade cut through the air with a sound that resonated like thunder. The strike connected, the force of it sending tremors through Marya's body.
Before she could recover, another figure materialized behind Shanks—Vaughn, his movements swift and calculated. With a powerful swing of his own, Vaughn's blade found its mark, adding to the devastating impact of Shanks' attack. Both strikes combined, their force overwhelming, driving Marya back and halting her rampage.
From the shadows of the airship, a figure emerged with an aura of focused calm. With Anathema overhead gripped in both hands, Aurélie curved through the air. "That is enough," she declared, her words carrying a weight that silenced the ether. Its edge shimmering with an ethereal light, in one fluid motion, she swung with a graceful yet devastating precision.
The blade's arc was swift and true, its path unerring as it hooked onto the very essence of Marya's Haki. The connection was instantaneous, an intricate dance of power and will. Aurélie's strength, combined with the purity of her intent, overwhelmed Marya's defenses, unraveling the dark force that had driven her.
With a final, decisive twist of her blade, Aurélie sent Marya crashing to the ground. The impact resonated through the island, a testament to the power of her strike. The battlefield fell silent, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had arisen.
Aurélie stood tall, from the peak. Her eyes fixed on Darius Rhea as he peered down from the beck of the withdrawing fleet. They stood for a long moment, gazes fixed with some many things left unsaid. They knew this was far from over and that their paths were sure to cross again.
When the fleet disappeared in the distance Aurélie turned her attention to Marya who laid bloodied and unconscious in the deep crevasse of the impact. Jumping down to meet Shanks and Vaughn standing over her she nodded to each of them in acknowledgment, her gaze finally settled on the fallen Marya. “My apologies for the distraction,” she glances at Shanks.

Chapter Text

Shanks leaned against the railing of the Red Force, observing his crew on the deck with a satisfied smile. The long days of uncertainty and relentless waves seemed like a distant memory as the sea breeze carried the familiar sounds of laughter and camaraderie. Shanks's heart swelled with relief and joy. He cherished each member of his crew, and their safety was his greatest comfort. He was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and unspoken gratitude.
With the end of the invading threat and Marya’s rampage, the Red Hair pirates were directed to dock the Red Force into the secluded port, nestled within the jagged, shadowy cliffs of the Consortium's hidden enclave. This clandestine harbor is a secret haven where ships and submarines could dock unseen by the prying eyes of the outside world. The port's entrance was a narrow, winding channel, barely wide enough to allow passage for a vessel, and was guarded by high walls of natural rock that made any approach a perilous endeavor.
As twilight descended, casting a deep indigo hue over the waters, the Red Force glided silently into the harbor. The ship, a sleek and formidable craft with a hull that seemed to absorb the very light around it, moved with an effortless grace. Her crew, seasoned and vigilant, worked in unison to maneuver the vessel into its hidden berth. Once securely moored, the Red Force blended flawlessly into the shadows of the concealed port. The port, though hidden, was meticulously maintained, with ample supplies and facilities for any necessary repairs or provisions.
As the first rays of dawn washed over the concealed port, illuminating its hidden splendor, Hango, the ship’s doctor, returned to the Red Force, his shoulders hunched in exhaustion and quiet purpose. The two days since the Red Hair pirates had helped defend Consortium’s Island from invaders and Marya’s rampage had been relentless for him as he worked alongside the Consortium’s medical staff to provide aid and support.
Hango walked up the gangplank, his medical bag hanging heavily from his shoulder. His usually pristine white coat was now smudged and stained from the endless duties he had performed. As he stepped onto the deck, he saw Shanks and Beckman waiting for him, their faces etched with concern but also relief at his return.
Shanks stood tall, his red hair catching the light as his black cloak swayed, outlining his silhouette. Beside him, Beckman, the first mate, leaned against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The scent of tobacco mingled with the salty sea air. As he approached, Beckman blew out a puff of smoke and locked onto Hango.
“Welcome back, Hango,” Shanks greeted, resting his hand on Gryphon’s hilt. “How are things on the island?”
Hango set down his bag and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s been a challenging couple of days,” he began, cocking his hip, he crossed his arms. “The medical staff and facilities at the Consortium are working tirelessly. We’ve managed to stabilize most of the wounded.”
Beckman took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Any major concerns we should know about?”
Hango nodded, a shadow of worry crossing his face. “There are still a few critical cases that need constant attention. Some of our crew members are also recovering, but they’re in good hands. The Consortium’s resources are vast, but the sheer number of injured has stretched them thin.”
Shanks placed a reassuring hand on Hango’s shoulder. “You’ve done an incredible job, Hango. Your dedication has made a real difference.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Hango replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “But it’s a team effort. The Consortium’s medical staff is exceptional, and their facilities are top-notch. We’ve been able to coordinate well, ensuring that everyone gets the care they need.”
Beckman flicked the ash from his cigarette and reclined against the railing. “And what about the island itself? How’s the morale?”
Hango sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The people are resilient, but the aftermath of the invasion and Marya’s rampage has left its mark. There’s a sense of cautious optimism, though. They’re grateful for our help and the support we’ve provided.”
Shanks nodded with a relaxed gaze. “We’ll continue to support them in any way we can.”
Hango smiled, taking a deep breath. “I’ve also been able to restock some of our medical supplies thanks to the Consortium. We’re better prepared for any future incidents.”
Beckman gave a slight nod, his cigarette almost finished. “Good to hear.”
As the sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue across the horizon, Beckman turned to Shanks, lifting a curious brow. "So, Captain, what are you considering next?"
Shanks took a moment before replying. "Just weighing our options, Beckman. There's a lot to consider."
Beckman tilted his head and lit a cigarette, sensing there was more to Shanks' thoughts. "You mean claiming the island and offering our protection, don't you?" he probed gently.
A faint smile played on Shanks' lips, but he gave no direct answer, only a cryptic nod. "We'll see," he said, leaving his plans shrouded in mystery.
The tranquil ambiance of the harbor was disrupted by a familiar, jovial voice calling from the dock. "Shanks! Are you going to let an old man board, or should I swim over?"
Shanks turned and saw Master Gaius Vesper standing confidently at the edge of the dock. His weathered kiseru pipe released wisps of fragrant smoke into the evening air, mingling with an impish glint in his eye. A smile spread across Shanks' face as he raised a hand in greeting. "Gaius, you're always welcome aboard the Red Force." He motioned for the crew to lower the gangplank.
With a graceful nod, Gaius Vesper stepped onto the ship. "Thank you, Captain. I was on my way to a meeting and thought you might want to join me," he said while adding more tobacco to his pipe.
Shanks, intrigued by the request, inclined his head thoughtfully. "Of course, Gaius. I'd be honored to join you."
The meeting took place in the grand assembly hall of the Library, its high ceilings and intricate mosaics casting a solemn atmosphere over the gathering. The soft glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated the room, their light reflecting off the polished mahogany table where the island leaders sat.
Knox Penrose leaned forward, his handlebar mustache twitching with irritation as he eyed Shanks. “I’ll say it again—why is he here?” he asked, his tone gruff with distrust. “This is a matter for the island’s leaders, not outsiders.”
Master Gaius, seated at the table, puffed on his weathered kiseru pipe with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Shanks and his crew played a crucial role in defending the island during the invasion and helping to subdue Marya during her rampage. His insights could be valuable. I invited him.”
Knox’s eyes narrowed, but before he could argue further, Amel Ellington, the mayor, raised an authoritative hand, “Enough, Knox. Shanks has proven himself an ally. We need all the help we can get to address what happened.”
Vaughn, who had been quietly listening with his arms crossed, spoke up, “We also need to address the invasion. The fact that they got so close to the island is a problem. We need to strengthen our defenses and improve our surveillance.”
Knox grunted as he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll take care of that. But we need more resources—more guards, better equipment, and a clearer chain of command.”
Master Gaius puffed on his pipe with a contemplative groan. “We’ll allocate the necessary resources. But we also need to address the root cause of the invasion. Who were they, and what were they after?”
At that moment, the doors to the assembly hall swung open, and Aurélie strode in, her silver hair flowing and Anathema resting at her side. “Apologies for my tardiness.”
Nanette Ellington, seated beside Amel, straightened her back, intertwining her fingers as she rested her elbows on the table. Meeting everyone’s eyes, "We’ve confirmed that one of our lead engineers is missing. His name is Dr. Elias Thorn. He was last seen near the eastern docks during the attack. The question is… was he kidnapped, or did he go willingly?"
Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching angrily, slammed a fist on the table. “It doesn’t matter why he’s gone. What matters is that we get him back. He knows too much about the technology and our defenses. If he’s in their hands, we’re in serious trouble.”
Aurélie, meeting his gaze, spoke up as if giving a command. “I’ll go after them. I’ll track him down and bring him back—willing or not.”
The room falls silent for a moment, the gravity of her words sinking in. But beneath her confident exterior, there’s a flicker of something deeper—something tied to the man who has become her greatest adversary: Darius Rhea.
Master Gaius Vesper, his kiseru pipe in hand, exhales a plume of smoke. "Aurélie," he begins with a slight head tilt, "we can’t ignore the fact that Darius Rhea was leading the invaders. Your history with him… it complicates things."
Aurélie’s jaw tightens, her stoic mask slipping for just a moment. She knows Gaius is right. Her connection to Darius is not just professional—it’s deeply personal. They were once comrades, trained together, fought side by side. But everything changed when Darius’s brother died under her watch. Darius holds her responsible, and his bitterness has festered into a consuming vendetta.
"Darius and I have history," Aurélie admits, her steady voice laced with an undercurrent of pain. "But that doesn’t change the mission. If anything, it gives me insight into how he thinks. I know his tactics and his weaknesses. I can use that to our advantage."
Knox Penrose strokes his handlebar mustache as he watches her. His rugged face is lined with fatigue, "Your history with Darius could be an asset," he says firmly. "But it could also be a liability. If he’s as driven by vengeance as you say, he’ll use any opportunity to exploit your connection. Are you sure you can handle that?"
Aurélie’s gaze doesn’t waver. "I don’t have a choice," she replies, flexing her temples. "This isn’t just about Darius. It’s about protecting our people and our secrets. If the invaders took the engineer, it’s because they need his expertise. We can’t let them have it."
Master Gaius, chair creeks as he puffs on his weathered kiseru pipe, “Aurélie, your skills are unmatched, but this mission is too dangerous to undertake alone. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. These invaders were organized and well-equipped. We need a plan.”
Nanette Ellington leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. "If Darius is involved, this mission just got a lot more complicated. He’s not just after the engineer—he’s after you, Aurélie. He’ll use this as an opportunity to settle his score. We need to account for that in our plans."
Aurélie’s hands clench into fists under the table, her stoic mask slipping again as the weight of her past presses down on her. "I know," she says, quieter now. "But I can’t let that stop me. If Darius wants a fight, he’ll get one. But I won’t let him jeopardize this mission."
Master Gaius taps his pipe against the table with a crease in his brow. "Aurélie, your courage is commendable, but don’t underestimate the emotional toll this could take. Darius isn’t just an enemy—he’s a reminder of your past failures. That kind of weight can cloud your judgment, even if you don’t realize it."
Aurélie’s gray eyes flicker with sorrowful anger, but she quickly schools herself to stay calm. "I’ve carried that weight for years, Gaius. I won’t let it stop me now. If anything, it’s what drives me to make this right."
The room falls silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Knox finally breaks the stillness. Leaning in, "Then it’s settled. Aurélie will lead the mission to retrieve the engineer."
Master Gaius sighed, softening as he turned to Aurélie. “I have another concern—Marya.” The room fell silent momentarily again as the weight of Master Gaius’s worry settled over the group. Marya’s rampage had left a profound impact on the island, and her emotional turmoil was a worry for everyone. The mention of Marya’s name shifts the atmosphere as if the effect of her rampage still lingers over the group like a storm cloud. All eyes turn to Shanks, leaning back in his chair. His crimson hair catches the dim light of the room, and his single arm rests on the table as he listens intently.
Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching with barely restrained frustration, slams his fist on the table. "Someone needs to explain what the hell happened with Marya," he demands with sharp authority. "She’s one of ours, and she just tore through half the island like a hurricane. What caused that? And why wasn’t it contained sooner?"
Shanks exhales slowly, his lips pursed as he considers his response. He leans forward, his presence filling the room as he begins to speak. "Marya’s rampage wasn’t something any of us could have predicted," he says, with a steady edge of gravity. "Her Devil Fruit power… it’ doesn’t seem like most others. It doesn’t just give her abilities—it appears to have a mind of its own. And when her emotions were pushed to the brink, it took over."
Aurélie, seated across from Shanks, head tilted forward, frowns deeply. "You’re saying her power controls her?" she asks in disbelief. "How is that even possible?"
Shanks nods grimly. "It’s rare, but it happens, or so they say. Some Devil Fruits are more than just tools—they’re entities. They bond with their users but can consume them if the user isn’t strong enough to maintain control. Marya’s power is tied to her emotions. When she’s pushed too far, it takes over.”
Master Gaius sighs, his kiseru pipe resting in his hand as he studies Shanks. "So, her rampage wasn’t just a breakdown—it was her power acting on its own," he takes a reflective breath. "That complicates things. If her Devil Fruit is that volatile, we can’t just treat this as a simple case of emotional distress. We must find a way to help her regain control—or at least contain her until we can."
Knox crosses his arms, his rugged face lined with irritation. "And how do you propose we do that? She’s not exactly in a state to sit down and have a chat. If she goes on another rampage, we might not be able to stop her without…" He hesitates, his voice trailing off as the unspoken implication hangs in the air.
"Without hurting her," Shanks finishes with regret in his eyes. "I know.”
Amel Ellington's brow furrows as his elbows rest on the table. "Where is Marya right now?" he asks insistently. "If she’s as volatile as you say, we need to know her status. Is she contained? Is she safe?"
Shanks exhales slowly, his piercing eyes narrowing as he meets Amel’s gaze. "Marya is on my ship," he says with an edge. "She was wounded during her rampage and lost consciousness. Hongo, my ship’s doctor, is looking after her."
A wave of relief and concern moves through the room. Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching as he processes the information, leans forward. "Wounded? How bad is it?"
Shanks’s darkens slightly, a flicker of gilt passing through his eyes. "It’s not life-threatening," he replies. "Hongo’s the best there is—she’s in good hands. For now, she’s stable, but…" He hesitates, his voice softening. "She’s not herself. Even unconscious, her power is restless. Hongo’s keeping a close eye on her, but we need to figure out how to help her before she wakes up."
Amel’s brow furrows, reclining against the backrest as he processes the information. His sharp mind is already working through the implications. "If her power is tied to her emotions, then her unconscious state might be the only thing keeping it in check," he says analytically. "But when she wakes up…"
Master Gaius Vesper, with his kiseru pipe in hand, rolls it between two fingers. "Marya’s always been strong-willed," he says with shaky confidence. "But even the strongest of us have our breaking points. We need to find a way to reach her—to help her regain control."
Aurélie frowns deeply, her thumb instinctively stroking Anathema's hilt. "If her power is that volatile, we can’t just treat this as a simple case of emotional distress," she says, pressing her lips together. "We need to understand what triggered her rampage in the first place. Was it the battle? The stress? Or something deeper?"
Shanks shakes his head somberly. "It’s hard to say. Marya’s been through a lot—more than most of us realize. Her power feeds on her emotions, and if she’s pushed too far…" He trails off, his voice softening as his chair squeaks. "Well, we saw what happens."
Amel leaned back in his chair, bent an elbow, and slid a folded finger over his lips, considering the situation. "Then we need to act fast. If Marya wakes up and her power takes over again, we might not be able to stop her without…" he hesitated, his voice trailing off as the assumed inference lingered in the air.
Nanette Ellington abruptly stands. Her chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and jarring in the otherwise quiet room. All eyes turn to her as she commands immediate attention.
"Wait," she says, her adamant voice cutting through the room like a blade. "There’s something you’re all missing. Marya’s power isn’t just tied to her emotions. It’s far more complex than that. Her Devil Fruit isn’t just a standard Paramecia or Zoan type—it’s something far more dangerous. It’s a Mythical Logia-type Devil Fruit: The Mist-Mist Fruit, Model: Achlys."
The room falls silent as the significance of her words sinks in. Even Master Gaius raises an eyebrow and sets down his kiseru pipe. "A Mythical Logia?"
Nanette nods, her expression unwavering. "Absolutely. Like is have told you before, the Mist-Mist Fruit, Model: Achlys, is one of the rarest and most powerful Devil Fruits in existence. It’s named after Achlys, the ancient spirit of death mist and the eternal night—a being often referred to as the Queen of the Underworld or the Mistress of Death. The fruit grants its user the ability to control and transform into a deadly mist that can drain life, spread decay, and even open the veil between the living and the dead."
Shanks leans forward, his brow furrowing as his piercing eyes narrow. "A Mythical Logia… that explains the sheer destructive power we saw. But what does it mean for Marya?"
Nanette's tone sharpens as she continues. "It is written that the fruit’s power is tied to the user’s emotional state, but it’s not just a passive ability. The mist is sentient, in a way—it’s an extension of Achlys herself, a primordial force of death and decay. When the user’s emotions are pushed to the brink, the mist can take over, consuming the user and turning them into a vessel for Achlys’s will. That’s what happened to Marya. Her pain, her fear, her anger—they amplified the mist’s influence until it consumed her entirely."
Aurélie frowns deeply, folding her hands, her shoulders tense. "So Marya’s rampage wasn’t just her losing control—it was the mist taking over?"
"Exactly," Nanette replies, laying her palms flat on the tabletop. "But it gets worse. According to the legends, when the user fully awakens the fruit’s power, the death knell tolls, and the veil between the living and the dead is torn open. The user becomes the Mistress of Death, and the price for such power is paid in living souls. Entire regions can be consumed by the mist, their inhabitants lost to the underworld."
Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching as he reflects, slams his fist on the table. "So you’re telling us that if Marya fully awakens this power, she could wipe out everything in her path? And there’s no way to stop it?"
Nanette’s expression darkens, straightening her back as she ponders the circumstances. "Not necessarily. The fruit’s power is immense, but it’s not invincible. The legends also speak of ways to suppress or contain the mist, at least temporarily. Ancient rituals, artifacts, or even the intervention of someone with immense Haki could potentially weaken its influence long enough to reach Marya and help her regain control."
Master Gaius exhales a plume of smoke. "So Marya’s not just fighting her own emotions—she’s fighting an ancient, primordial force of death. That complicates things."
Nanette returns to her seat, her voice lowering slightly. "There’s one more thing. The legends say that the mist is drawn to places of death and despair. If Marya’s power is fully awakened, she’ll be drawn to areas of conflict and suffering, feeding on the chaos and growing stronger with every soul she claims. We need to find a way to suppress the mist before that happens."
"Wait," Aurélie says, her voice cutting through the tension. "Before we spiral into worst-case scenarios, there’s something we need to consider. I’ve been mentoring Marya for years, and I’ve seen her use her powers countless times. If her Devil Fruit had fully awakened, I would have sensed it. The sheer scale of its power would be impossible to miss."
The room falls silent again, all eyes focused on Aurélie. Shanks leans forward, stroking his jaw. "What are you saying, Aurélie?"
Aurélie crosses her arms, Anathema resting at her side as she speaks. "I’m saying that Marya’s power hasn’t fully awakened—not yet. What we saw during her rampage was the mist taking over, yes, but it wasn’t the full manifestation of Achlys’s power. If it had been, the death knell would have tolled, and the veil between the living and the dead would have been torn open. We would have felt it. The entire island would have felt it."
Nanette holds her chin with a bent elbow as she contemplates Aurélie’s words. "You’re suggesting that Marya’s rampage was just the beginning—a precursor to the fruit’s full awakening?"
Aurélie nods grimly. "Exactly. The mist was strong, but it wasn’t at its full potential. Marya was still fighting it, even if she didn’t realize it. That’s why we were able to stop her. If her power had fully awakened, we wouldn’t have stood a chance."
Master Gaius reclined in his seat, ankle resting on a knee, and exhaled a plume of smoke, "So Marya’s still in there, fighting to regain control. That’s good news, but it also means we’re on borrowed time. If the mist grows stronger, it could push her over the edge."
Shanks leans back, shifting in his chair gravely. "Then we need to act fast. If Marya’s still fighting, we have a chance to reach her before it’s too late. But we’ll need to be careful. The mist is dangerous, and pushing her too hard could trigger the full awakening."
Aurélie’s gaze softens, eyes drifting. "Marya’s strong," she says quietly. "Stronger than she knows. If anyone can fight their way back from this, it’s her."
The room is tense as the group grapples with the enormity of the situation. Marya’s power, tied to the Mist-Mist Fruit Model: Achlys, is a force of unimaginable destruction, and the urgency to suppress it before it fully awakens weighs heavily on everyone.
Nanette Ellington, sitting a little straighter, breaks the silence. "Suppressing the mist won’t be easy," Nanette begins. "But based on the legends and historical records, there are a few methods we can explore. Each comes with its own risks, but we don’t have the luxury of time to debate endlessly. We need to act now."
Vaughn, holding his chin on a bent elbow, "What about Haki? If the mist is a sentient force, could someone with strong enough Haki suppress it, even temporarily?"
Nanette gazes off, stroking her jaw as she considers the suggestion. "It’s possible. Conqueror’s Haki, in particular, has been known to disrupt and suppress other forms of energy. If someone with immense Conqueror’s Haki were to confront Marya directly, they might be able to weaken the mist’s hold on her long enough to reach her."
Shanks’s jaw clenches as he ponders the idea. "I’ll do it. My Conqueror’s Haki is strong enough to match the mist’s influence, at least for a short time.”
The discussion on various methods to suppress the mist continued, with each idea weighed against the immense risks involved. The urgency was eminent, and the stakes had never been higher. Marya’s struggle was a race against time, and the group was determined to exhaust every possible option to save her.
But as the debate raged on, it became clear that while they could potentially delay the mist’s full awakening, a more comprehensive solution was necessary to protect not only Marya but the entire island. The room grew quiet as the seriousness of their predicament settled in. It wasn’t just an internal battle; external threats loomed large as well.
Shanks, who had been listening intently, stood up, his demeanor shifting from contemplative to resolute. His voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone’s attention to a new proposition that extended far beyond their immediate crisis. His single arm rests on the hilt of Gryphon, a subtle reminder of his strength and authority. The weight of his words hangs in the air as he speaks, his voice calm but carrying an edge of earnestness that makes it clear he’s not making this offer lightly.
"I’ve been thinking," Shanks begins, his piercing eyes connecting with everyone in the room, "about what’s at stake here. This island, its people, and its Guardians have faced more than their fair share of challenges. The invaders, Marya’s rampage, the threat of the Mist-Mist Fruit—it’s clear that you’re fighting a battle on multiple fronts. And while you’ve held your ground admirably, I believe it’s time to consider a more… permanent solution."
He pauses, letting his words resonate. The room is anxious, every eye fixed on him. Master Gaius Vesper audibly exhales a plume of smoke from his kiseru pipe, but he doesn’t interrupt. Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching, leans forward, his rugged face lined with curiosity and caution.
"What are you suggesting, Shanks?" Knox strokes his beard.
Shanks meets his gaze, his expression serious. "I’m suggesting that this island comes under my protection. I’ll extend my flag and claim this territory as part of my crew’s domain. Under my banner, no one—pirate, marine, or otherwise—would dare attack without facing the full might of the Red-Haired Pirates."
A swell of surprise ripples through the room. Aurélie raises a brow. "That’s a generous offer, Shanks. But you know what that means. If you claim this island, it becomes a target for anyone looking to challenge you. Are you prepared for that?"
Shanks smirks, a glint of confidence in his eyes. "I’ve faced worse. And let’s be honest—this island is already a target. The invaders didn’t come here because it was easy. They came because they saw something worth taking. Under my flag, they’ll think twice. And if they don’t… well, they’ll regret it."
Nanette Ellington shifts in her seat, lips pursed as she reflects on the implications. "It’s not just about protection, Shanks. If you claim this island, it becomes part of your territory. That means laws, influence, and reputation. Are you prepared to take on that responsibility?"
Shanks nods, brow wrinkled. "I am. This island and its people have shown incredible resilience. They’ve earned my respect. And if claiming this territory means I can help protect them, then it’s a responsibility I’m willing to take on."
Master Gaius taps his pipe against the table. "It’s a bold move, Shanks. But bold moves come with risks. If you claim this island, you’re not just offering protection—you’re tying your fate to ours. Are you sure you’re ready for that?"
Shanks meets Gaius’s gaze, standing unwaveringly tall. "I’ve never been more sure. This island is worth fighting for. And if raising my flag means I can help ensure its safety, then it’s a risk I’m willing to take."
Knox suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His eyes flash with anger and distrust. "Under a pirate banner? Are you serious? Pirates are nothing but thieves and scoundrels. They can't be trusted. We would be putting our lives and futures in the hands of those whose loyalty shifts with the tides."
The room's mood turns as all eyes dart about, but Shanks remains silent, his gaze steady on Knox.
Knox paces, his agitation clear. "We've fought hard to keep this island safe. We can't just hand it over to a pirate, no matter how noble his intentions might seem. What guarantees do we have that he won't turn his back on us when it suits him?"
Aurélie, giving him the side eye, "Knox, I understand your concerns. But we have to consider the bigger picture. The invaders are relentless, and our resources are stretched thin. Shanks's offer could be a lifeline we need."
Knox stops pacing and turns to face Shanks with fisted hands at his side in aggravated resignation. "And what happens when his enemies come looking for him? Are we supposed to fight his battles too?"
Shanks, back straight, holds his gaze firm. "I understand your concerns, Knox. Trust is earned, not given. I don't expect you to trust me blindly. But know this: under my banner, this island will have the protection it needs to thrive. And as for my enemies, they'll think twice before bringing their fight here."
Knox's shoulders slump slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming. He looks around the room, seeing the answers that have already been made on the faces of his comrades. Finally, he takes a deep breath and nods reluctantly. "Alright, Shanks. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But know this: if you betray us, you'll have more than just enemies to deal with."
Shanks nods curtly. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Nanette Ellington leans against the backrest, her face shadowed with concern, her chin resting on a bent elbow. Memories of Ohara, the island that the Marines obliterated for its pursuit of forbidden history, weigh heavily on her mind. She takes a deep breath. "Shanks, I don’t need to remind you of Ohara's fate. Their thirst for knowledge led to their demise. This island has its secrets, too, and should it ever be discovered by the World Government, it would be deemed too dangerous to exist."
Shanks’s expression hardens, understanding the magnitude of her words. "I know, Nanette. That’s why I’m here. With the Red-Haired Pirates as allies, we can deter those who would seek to destroy this place out of fear or ambition."
Amel Ellington, the mayor, rises from his seat, his eyes reflecting the weight of the decision before him. His presence commands respect, a testament to the countless challenges he has navigated as the leader of this resilient island. He clears his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
"Shanks," Amel begins with a steady resolution, "Your offer is not just a promise of protection; it's a beacon of hope for our future. This island, our home, has endured much, and its people deserve the chance to live without fear of invasion or destruction. By accepting your flag, we are not just securing our safety but also embracing a partnership built on mutual respect and shared purpose."
He pauses, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his comrades, seeing the mixture of hope and apprehension mirrored in their eyes. "We are aware of the risks, and we do not take this decision lightly. But we believe in the strength and honor of the Red-Haired Pirates, and we trust in your commitment to our cause."
Shanks nods solemnly. "Thank you, Amel. Your trust means everything to me, and I vow to stand by you and your people, come what may."
As Amel returns to his seat, a sense of unity and determination fills the room. The decision has been made, and with it comes a renewed sense of purpose.
Master Gaius exhales a plume of smoke, holding his pipe, "Then it’s settled. We’ll accept Shanks’s offer—on one condition."
Shanks raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And what’s that?"
Gaius’s eyes twinkle with mischief, his playful demeanor returning. "You have to promise to visit more often. This place could use a little more excitement."
The room erupts in laughter, the tension breaking as the group finally relaxes. Shanks chuckles, "You’ve got yourself a deal, Gaius."

Chapter Text

The moon hangs high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the concealed harbor tucked away on the island's eastern edge. The air is cool and still; the only sounds are the gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the Red Force as it sits proudly in the center of the harbor.
Its sleek, imposing silhouette cuts a striking figure against the moonlit water. The ship’s crimson sails are furled, their vibrant color muted in the darkness, but the iconic striped skull emblem on the mainsail is still faintly visible, a symbol of Shanks’s indomitable spirit. The ship’s hull, polished and well-maintained, gleams faintly under the moonlight.
Lanterns hang from the ship’s rigging, casting a warm, golden glow that contrasts with the cool silver of the moon. The light reflects off the water, creating a shimmering halo around the ship. A few crew members move about on deck, their silhouettes outlined against the lantern light as they perform late-night tasks or keep watch. The faint sound of laughter and quiet conversation drifts across the water, a reminder that even in the stillness of the night, the Red-Haired Pirates are always alert and ready.
The harbor itself is alive with subtle activity. Submarines bob gently in the water. The wooden docks creak softly under the weight of the Red Force, their weathered planks worn smooth by years of use. On the shore, a few members of the island’s Guardians stand watch, their presence a silent acknowledgment of the alliance being forged. They exchange nods with the Red-Haired Pirates, a mutual respect evident in their quiet interactions. The harbor, usually a place of solitude, feels alive with the energy of two powerful forces coming together.
The middle of the night aboard the Red Force is eerily quiet, the ship’s usual lively atmosphere subdued as most of the crew sleeps. The infirmary, tucked away below deck, is dimly lit by a single lantern swinging gently from the ceiling. The soft creak of the ship’s timbers and the distant sound of waves against the hull are the only noises breaking the silence. Marya lies unconscious on a cot, her breathing shallow but steady. Hongo, the ship’s doctor, has done his best to tend to her wounds, but the true battle lies within her—a battle against the mist that threatens to consume her.
Her arm is hooked to an IV, the clear fluid dripping slowly into her veins. Bandages wrap around her torso and arms, evidence of the injuries she sustained during her rampage. Her face, usually so full of life and vigor, is pale and drawn, her brow furrowed even in sleep. The faint glow of the mist lingers in the air around her, a subtle but ominous sign that the power within her is far from dormant.
Unexpectedly, her eyes snap open.
They are no longer the warm, familiar golden eyes of Marya, but glowing orbs of pale, ghostly light, radiating an otherworldly aura. The mist swirls around her, thickening as it responds to her awakening. She sits up abruptly, the IV ripping from her arm with a sickening tear. Blood wells up from the puncture, dripping down her arm and staining the white sheets, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her movements are mechanical, driven by a force beyond her control.
The lantern above her flickers as the mist grows denser, its light dimming under the oppressive weight of the power emanating from Marya. She swings her legs over the side of the cot, her bare feet hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud. The bandages around her torso begin to unravel, trailing behind her like the tattered remnants of her humanity. Blood drips from her arm, leaving a faint trail as she moves toward the exit.
The infirmary door creaks open as she steps into the narrow hallway. The mist follows her like a shadow, curling around her body and spreading outward, filling the corridor with an eerie, pale glow. The air grows colder, the temperature dropping with every step she takes. The ship seems to groan in response, its timbers creaking as if sensing the malevolent force now walking its halls.
Above deck, the night watchman, a young pirate named Marty, is leaning against the railing, staring out at the moonlit sea. He hears the faint sound of footsteps and turns, expecting to see one of his crewmates. Instead, he freezes as Marya emerges from below deck, her glowing eyes and blood-streaked arm a terrifying sight. The mist swirls around her, spreading across the deck like a living thing.
"M-Marya?" Marty stammers, his voice trembling. "Are you… are you okay?"
She doesn’t respond. Her head tilts slightly as if she’s listening to something only she can hear. The mist around her pulses, growing thicker and more oppressive. Marty takes a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his side, but he hesitates. This is Marya—he has heard so much about her. He doesn’t want to hurt her.
"Marya, please," he says, his voice pleading. "You need to go back to the infirmary. You’re hurt."
Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of recognition—a glimpse of the Marya he heard about. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, unfeeling gaze of the mist. She raises her hand, and the mist surges forward, wrapping around Marty like a serpent. He gasps, his breath visible in the suddenly frigid air, as the mist tightens its grip.
On the other side of the deck, Benn Beckman, Shanks’s first mate, hears the commotion and turns. His eyes narrow, he stabs out his cigarette as he takes in the scene. "Marya!" he shouts, his voice cutting through the night. "Stop this!"
But she doesn’t stop. The mist lifts Marty off his feet, suspending him in the air for a moment before tossing him aside like a ragdoll. He hits the deck with a thud, groaning in pain but otherwise unharmed. Benn draws his rifle, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t want to hurt her either, but he knows he can’t let her continue like this.
The mist spreads further, enveloping the deck in a pale, ghostly haze. The lanterns flicker and die, their light extinguished by the oppressive force of the mist. The ship groans again, its timbers creaking under the strain. Marya stands at the center of it all, her glowing eyes fixed on the horizon as if drawn to something only she can see.
Below deck, Shanks stirs, his instincts alerting him to the disturbance. He sits up, his red hair disheveled, and grabs his sword. "What’s going on?" he mutters, his voice low and tense.
The deck of the Red Force is a scene of chaos. The mist swirls thick and heavy, choking the air with its oppressive presence. Lanterns flicker and die, their light extinguished by the malevolent force radiating from Marya. Her glowing eyes pierce the darkness, her blood-streaked arm hanging limply at her side as the mist coils around her like a living thing. Benn Beckman stands ready, his rifle aimed but not fired, his sharp eyes locked on Marya as he waits for Shanks to arrive.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoes across the deck as Shanks emerges from below, his red hair disheveled and his expression grim. His single arm grips the hilt of Gryphon, but he doesn’t draw it. Instead, he locks onto Marya and raises his hand, signaling Benn to stand down.
Muscles tense, "Hold your fire," Shanks commands with an edge of authority. "She’s not herself.”
Benn hesitates, his finger hovering over the trigger, but he lowers the rifle slightly, his eyes never leaving Marya. "Shanks, she’s dangerous. That mist—it’s not just her. It’s something else."
"I know," Shanks replies, his voice steady. "But we can’t lose her. Not like this."
He steps forward, his boots crunching against the frost that has begun to form on the deck. The mist swirls around him, cold and suffocating, but he doesn’t falter. His eyes lock onto Marya’s glowing ones, and he calls out to her gently. "Marya! Snap out of it! This isn’t you!"
She doesn’t respond. Her head tilts slightly as if she hears something else. The mist pulses around her, growing thicker and more oppressive. Shanks takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. "Marya, listen to me! You’re stronger than this! Fight it!" Shanks’s heart pounds in his chest, a rare mix of emotions surging through him—determination, concern, and a deep, unshakable resolve.
He feels the cold bite of the mist as it brushes against his skin, but he doesn’t falter. His red hair, usually a vibrant symbol of his invincible spirit, seems dulled in the eerie glow of the mist. His single arm gripping the hilt of Gryphon. This isn’t a battle he can win with brute force. This is a battle for Marya’s soul, and he knows he has to tread carefully.
As he approaches her, Shanks feels a pang of sorrow. This isn’t the Marya he knows. This is a shadow of her, consumed by the mist and the power of Achlys. Her glowing eyes are empty, devoid of the warmth and fire that once defined her. The sight of her like this, lost and broken, cuts deeper than any blade ever could.
But beneath the sorrow, there’s a flicker of anger—not at Marya, but at the mist, at the fruit, at the forces that have taken hold of her. Shanks has faced countless enemies in his life, but this is different. This isn’t just about defeating an opponent; it’s about saving someone he cares about. And that makes it personal.
Feeling a surge of hope, he calls out to her. "Marya! Snap out of it! This isn’t you!"
Still, she doesn’t respond. Instead, the mist surges forward, lashing out at Shanks like a whip. He sidesteps the attack with swift precision, but the mist is relentless. It coils around him, trying to drag him down, but he pushes through, his Haki flaring to life as a crimson aura surrounds him.
With a burst of speed, Shanks closes the distance between them. He grabs Marya by the shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh, and pins her to the mast. She flails against him wildly uncoordinated, but he holds her down, his Haki surging as he begins to channel it into her.
"Shanks, what the hell are you doing?!" Benn shouts, panicked.
Shanks ignores him, his focus entirely on Marya. His Haki flows into her, a crimson light cutting through the mist like a blade. Marya convulses, her body writhing as the mist fights back, but Shanks doesn’t let go. His eyes narrow as he pushes harder, his Haki surging with every ounce of his strength.
And then, he sees it: An image flashes in his mind—a small child, crouched in fear, crying in the middle of a raging fire. The flames lick at the edges of the vision, but at the center is Marya, her face streaked with tears. On the edge of the fire, the mist lingers, waiting to consume her.
The fire is everywhere. It thrashes at the boundaries of her vision, a roaring, consuming force that devours everything in its path. The heat is unbearable, searing her skin and choking her lungs with thick, acrid smoke. Marya crouches in the center of the inferno, her small frame trembling as tears stream down her face. She’s just a child, no more than seven or eight, but the weight of the world feels like it’s crushing her.
She can’t move. She can’t breathe. The flames are too close, too loud, too hungry. They dance around her, their orange and red tongues flickering like demons in the night. She covers her ears, trying to block out the sound of crackling wood and collapsing beams, but it’s no use. The fire is inside her head, inside her heart, burning away everything she’s ever known.
Her home is gone. Her family is gone. The village she grew up in is nothing but ash and embers. She doesn’t understand why this is happening, why the world has turned against her. All she knows is fear—raw, unrelenting fear that claws at her chest and makes her want to scream. But she can’t. Her voice is trapped, swallowed by the smoke and the flames.
On the edge of the fire, she sees it—the mist. It’s faint at first, a pale, ghostly haze that swirls just beyond the flames. But as she watches, it grows thicker, darker, more menacing. It calls to her, its voice a whisper in the back of her mind.
“Let me in,” it says. “I can protect you. I can make the pain go away.”
Marya shakes her head, her golden eyes wide with terror. She doesn’t want the mist. She doesn’t want any of this. She just wants the fire to stop. She just wants to go home. But the mist doesn’t listen. It creeps closer, its tendrils reaching out to her like skeletal fingers. She tries to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. The flames are behind her, the mist in front of her. She’s trapped.
“You’re weak,” the mist hisses. “You’re alone. But I can make you strong. I can make the fear go away.”
Marya’s breath hitches, her small hands clutching at her chest. She doesn’t want to be weak. She doesn’t want to be afraid. But the mist is so cold, so dark. It feels wrong, like it’s sucking the warmth out of her soul. And yet… it’s tempting. The fire is so hot, so painful. The mist promises relief, promises power. Maybe if she lets it in, the pain will stop. Maybe if she lets it in, she won’t feel so alone.
Tears stream down her face as she reaches out, her small hand trembling. The mist wraps around her fingers, icy and suffocating, and she gasps as it begins to seep into her skin. It’s cold—so cold—but it numbs the pain, numbs the fear. For a moment, she feels… nothing. But then the fire roars louder, and the mist tightens its grip. It’s not just in her hand anymore—it’s in her chest, in her mind, in her soul. It’s everywhere, and it’s hungry.
“That’s it,” the mist whispers. “Let me in. Let me take the pain away.”
Shanks’s jaw tightens, and he surges his Haki again, forcing the mist to part. "Marya!" he calls out, his voice echoing in the vision. "You’re not alone! I’m here!"
The image shifts. Now, Marya is running through a burning village, tugging a young boy with her. Her cheeks are stained with bruises and wet streaks, but the mist is close behind, relentless and hungry.
The world is on fire. The air is thick with smoke, burning her lungs with every desperate gasp. Marya runs, her small hand gripping the boy’s wrist so tightly it might bruise, but she doesn’t care. They have to live. They have to survive.
The town is a nightmare. Flames roar around them, devouring everything in their path—homes, trees, even the sky. The heat is unbearable, searing her skin and making her eyes water. The crackle of burning wood and the crash of collapsing buildings echo in her ears, a cacophony of destruction that drowns out everything else. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. All she can do is run.
The boy stumbles behind her, his small frame trembling with fear. He’s younger than her, maybe five or six, and his wide, terrified eyes are filled with tears. Marya doesn’t know his name. She doesn’t know where his family is. All she knows is that she can’t let him die. She can’t let the fire take him.
“Keep up!” she shouts, her voice hoarse from the smoke. She tugs on his arm, pulling him forward as they dodge falling debris and leap over cracks in the ground. Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat a frantic reminder that they’re not safe yet. They’re not safe at all.
The fear is overwhelming. It claws at her chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. Every step feels like it could be their last. The flames are everywhere, closing in on them from all sides. She doesn’t know where they’re running to—there’s no safe place, no escape. But she can’t stop. If she stops, they’ll die.
The boy trips, his small body hitting the ground with a thud. Marya’s heart lurches as she turns back, her golden eyes wide with panic. “Get up!” she screams, her voice cracking. “You have to get up!”
He’s crying now, his small hands scrabbling at the ground as he tries to push himself up. Marya grabs his arm, yanking him to his feet with a strength she didn’t know she had. “We have to keep going!” she says, her voice trembling. “We have to!”
The boy nods, his face streaked with soot and tears, and they run again. The flames are closer now, their heat unbearable. Marya’s legs ache, her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop. She can’t stop. The fear is a living thing inside her, driving her forward, pushing her to keep going even when every part of her wants to collapse.
And then she sees it—the edge of the town. The flames are thinner here, the smoke less dense. There’s a chance, just a small chance, that they can make it. Hope surges in her chest, sharp and desperate, and she tightens her grip on the boy’s hand.
“Almost there!” she shouts, her voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Just a little further!”
But the flames aren’t done with them yet. A burning beam crashes down in front of them, blocking their path. Marya skids to a stop, her heart pounding as she looks for another way. There isn’t one. The flames are closing in, their heat unbearable, their light blinding.
The boy whimpers, his small body trembling as he clings to her. Marya’s mind races, her fear threatening to overwhelm her. They’re trapped. They’re going to die.
But then she sees it—a narrow gap between the burning buildings, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. It’s dangerous, so dangerous, but it’s their only chance.
“This way!” she shouts, pulling the boy toward the gap. They squeeze through, the heat of the flames licking at their skin, but they don’t stop. They can’t stop.
And then, finally, they’re through. The flames are behind them, the town is behind them. They collapse on the ground, gasping for air, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and fear. Marya looks back at the burning town, her golden eyes filled with tears. She doesn’t know if anyone else made it out. She doesn’t know if there’s anything left. All she knows is that they survived. They’re alive.
"Marya!" Shanks calls again, his voice louder this time. "You’re stronger than this! Fight it!"
The mist parts further, and Shanks appears in front of her, his crimson Haki cutting through the darkness. The image of the burning village fades, replaced by a memory of Marya standing with Mihawk. He’s telling her something, his calm, firm voice conforts her.
The mist is everywhere, cold and suffocating, wrapping around her like a shroud. Marya is lost, her mind adrift in a sea of darkness and despair. The mist whispers to her, its voice a constant, insidious presence in the back of her mind. “Let go,” it says. “You don’t have to fight anymore. I’ll take the pain away.”
And then she hears it—hears him, cutting through the mist like a beacon of light.
“Marya.”
Her heart stops. She knows that voice. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard in a while. Her father’s voice.
She turns, her golden eyes wide with disbelief, and sees him. He’s looking back at her with the same golden eyes and stern, stoic expression she knows and loves. He’s standing there, just beyond the mist, his presence a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds her.
“Father?” she whispers, her voice trembling. She takes a step toward him, her hand reaching out as if to make sure he’s real. The mist swirls around her, trying to pull her back, but she doesn’t care. She has to reach him. She has to know if he’s really there.
Mihawk, holds his golden gaze with deadpan eyes, and a relentless smirk that makes her heart ache. “It’s me, Marya,” he says, his voice is commanding and filled with strength. “I’m here.”
Tears stream down her face as she takes another step toward him. The mist tightens its grip, its icy tendrils wrapping around her, but she pushes through. She has to. She has to reach him.
“I’m scared, father,” she says, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fight it.”
Mihawk’s expression hardens, and he reaches out to her, his hand warm and solid despite the cold of the mist. “You’re stronger than you think, Marya,” he says with demanding confidence. “You’ve always been strong. You just have to remember who you are.”
Marya hesitates, her hand trembling as she reaches for his. The mist screams in her mind, its voice a cacophony of anger and fear, but she doesn’t listen. She can’t listen. Her father is here. He’s real. And he’s telling her to fight.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispers, filled with doubt. “It’s too strong. It’s too much.”
Mihawk’s hand closes around hers, his firm grip comforting her. “You can,” he says with conviction. “You’ve faced worse, Marya. You’ve survived worse. And you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
The tears flow freely now, streaming down her face as she clings to his hand. The mist is still there, still cold and suffocating, but it feels… smaller now. Less overwhelming. Her father’s presence is a beacon of light, cutting through the darkness and giving her the strength to fight.
“I miss you,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I miss your stupid face.”
Her father’s eyes narrow, and he pulls her into a hug, his embrace warm and solid despite the cold of the mist. “I miss you too, Marya,” he says with love. “But I’m always with you. Always. You just have to remember that.”
Marya clings to him, her small body trembling with emotion. The mist is still there, still trying to pull her back, but she doesn’t care. Her father is here. He’s real. And he’s telling her to fight. And for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels… hope. A small, flickering light in the darkness, but it’s enough. It’s enough to remind her who she is. It’s enough to give her the strength to fight.
The mist screams in her mind, filled with rage and desperation, but she doesn’t listen. She clings to her father, his presence a beacon of light in the darkness, and she knows—she knows—that she can fight it. She can win. Because her father is here. And he’ll always be here.
"You need to fight it," Mihawk says. "You need to wake up."
Marya’s eyes widen, and she sees a hand reaching out to her. It’s Shanks, his presence flickers gently, casting a warm, golden glow that dances with a delicate and mesmerizing grace. She hesitates, her hand trembling, but then she takes his.
The mist shatters.
On the deck of the Red Force, Marya jolts, her glowing eyes fading back to their natural golden hue. She gasps for air, her body trembling as the mist dissipates around her. She looks around, her expression confused and disoriented. The crew is gathered on the deck, their faces a mix of relief and concern.
"Uncle Shanks…?" she whispers hoarsely.
But before she can say more, her eyes roll back, and she collapses. Shanks catches her, his arm wrapping around her as he lowers her gently to the deck. But the effort has taken its toll. His vision blurs, and he sways on his feet before collapsing beside her.
"Shanks!" Benn shouts, rushing to his captain’s side. The rest of the crew follows, their voices a chorus of curses and concern.
"Damn it, Shanks! What were you thinking?!" Yasopp exclaims, kneeling beside him.
Lucky Roux, tries to lighten the mood. "Typical Shanks, always pushing himself too hard. But hey, it worked, right?"
Benn glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. "Someone get Hongo! Now!"

Chapter Text

The morning light filters gently through the porthole of Shanks’s cabin, casting a warm glow over the room. Shanks groans as he stirs, his head throbbing with a dull ache. He blinks slowly, the events of the previous night flooding back to him—the mist, Marya’s glowing eyes, the surge of his Haki as he fought to pull her back from the brink. He tries to sit up, but a firm, authoritative hand on his shoulder stops him.
“Not so fast,” Hongo says calmly. The ship’s doctor stands beside the bed, scanning Shanks for any signs of lingering weakness. “You pushed yourself too hard last night. Your Haki was completely drained. Lucky for you, I’m the best damn doctor on the seas, or you might not have woken up at all.”
Shanks chuckles weakly, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through his head. “Thanks, Hongo. I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one,” Hongo mutters, shaking his head. “But you’re fine. Just take it easy for a few days. No Haki, no fighting, no heroics. Got it?”
Shanks gives him a lazy grin. “No promises.”
Before Hongo can respond, the cabin door swings open, and Benn Beckman strides in. His usual calm, collected demeanor is nowhere to be seen. Instead, his narrowed eyes are blazing with anger, and his jaw is clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack.
“You,” Benn says, pointing a finger at Shanks, “are the most reckless, irresponsible, stubborn idiot I’ve ever met.”
Shanks blinks, caught off guard by the intensity of Benn’s tone. “Good morning to you too, Benn.”
“Don’t ‘good morning’ me,” Benn snaps, crossing the room in three long strides. “Do you have any idea what you put us through last night? You drained yourself to the point of collapse, and for what? To play the hero?”
Shanks’s grin falters, and he sits up a little straighter, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through his head. “I wasn’t playing the hero, Benn. Marya needed help. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”
“Marya’s not even part of the crew,” Benn retorts, his voice rising. “She’s—“
“She’s family,” Shanks interrupts, meeting his gaze. “Maybe not by blood or by crew, but she’s one of us. You know that as well as I do.”
Benn takes a breath, but the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I know she’s family. And I know you care about her. But you’re not here just for her, Shanks. You’re our captain. And if something happens to you, it’s not just you who pays the price. It’s all of us.”
The room falls silent, the weight of Benn’s words hanging in the air. Shanks looks down at his hands, his confidence tempered by the moment's gravity. He knows Benn is right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stand by when someone he cares about is in danger.
“I’m sorry,” Shanks finally says, sincerely, as he breaks his gaze. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Any of you.”
Benn sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Shanks grins, the familiar spark of mischief returning. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
Benn rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t push your luck, Captain.”
Hongo, who’s been quietly observing the exchange, clears his throat. “As touching as this is, Shanks still needs rest. So unless you’re here to tuck him in, Benn, I suggest you let him recover.”
Benn shoots Hongo a cool glare. “Fine. But if I catch you out of bed before Hongo says it’s okay, you’re answering to me. Got it?”
Shanks salutes lazily. “Aye, aye, First Mate.”
Benn shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he turns to leave. But before he steps out the door, he pauses and looks back at Shanks, his brow furrowed. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? We need you. All of us.”
Shanks nods, his grin fading into something softer, more genuine. “I will. Promise.”
As Benn leaves, Shanks turns to Hongo. “How’s the crew? And Marya?”
Hongo sighs, setting down the medical kit he’s been holding. “The crew’s fine. A little shaken, but fine. Marya’s still sleeping. Her injuries weren’t as severe as yours, but she’s been through a lot. I was just about to check on her and change her bandages.”
Shanks swings his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way the room spins slightly. “I’ll come with you.”
Hongo raises an eyebrow. “Did you not hear the part where I said you need rest?”
“I heard it,” Shanks says, standing slowly and steadying himself with a hand on the wall. “But I need to see her. She’s family, Hongo. I’m not going to sit here while she’s hurting.”
Hongo studies him for a moment, then sighs. “You’re as stubborn as they come, you know that?”
Shanks grins. “So I’ve been told.”
Hongo shakes his head but doesn’t argue further. He grabs his medical kit and gestures for Shanks to follow. “Fine. But if you collapse, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The two of them make their way to the infirmary, where Marya lies on a cot, her breathing slow and steady. Her raven hair is fanned out around her, and her face is pale but peaceful. The bandages around her torso and arms are slightly bloodied, evidence of the wounds she sustained during her rampage.
Hongo sets his kit down and begins preparing fresh bandages while Shanks stands by the cot, his expression softening as he looks at her. “How’s she doing?” he asks quietly.
“She’s stable,” Hongo replies in his most professional tone. “The mist’s hold on her is broken, but she’s exhausted—physically and emotionally. She’ll need time to recover.”
Shanks nods, his eyes never leaving Marya’s face. “She’s strong. She’ll pull through.”
Hongo glances at him, a hint of a smile on his face. “She’s not the only one who needs to recover, you know.”
Shanks chuckles softly. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”
Hongo shakes his head but doesn’t argue. As he begins applying fresh bandages, Marya stirs. Her brow furrows, and her golden eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light of the infirmary. She looks around, confused and disoriented. Her gaze lands on Hongo, and she frowns, trying to place his face.
“Hongo…?” she murmurs hoarsely, barely above a whisper.
Hongo looks up, his focused eyes relaxing as he meets her gaze. “Hey there,” he says reassuringly. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”
Marya blinks, her confusion deepening. “What… what are you doing here? Where am I?”
Hongo finishes securing the bandage and steps back, giving her a small smile. “You’re on the Red Force. Shanks’s ship. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now.” Marya’s eyes widen, and she tries to sit up, wincing as the movement pulls at her wounds. Hongo gently places a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Easy there. You’re still healing. Take it slow.”
Before Marya can respond, Shanks comes into view, his presence filling her vision. His crimson hair catches the warm light, and his brow is creased with concern. “Hey, Marya,” the tension in his shoulders fades. “Good to see you awake.”
Marya’s gaze shifts to Shanks, and her confusion only grows. “Shanks? What… what are you doing here? Why am I on your ship?”
Shanks exchanges a glance with Hongo before looking back at Marya. “You don’t remember?”
Marya shakes her head slowly, her golden eyes filled with uncertainty. “I remember… we were sparring. I was starting to figure something out… and then nothing. Just darkness.” She pauses, her brow wrinkling as she tries to piece together the fragments of her memory. “What happened? Why am I here?”
Shanks pulls up a chair beside the cot and sits down, exhaling deeply. “You were a danger to yourself and everyone around you,” Shanks says, his jaw flexing. “You hurt people, Marya.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. Her breath catches in her throat. She stares at Shanks, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “I… I hurt people?” she repeats, barely above a whisper.
Shanks nodded, watching her reaction in compassion but not pity. “You did. But it wasn’t you, Marya. It was the mist. The power of your Devil Fruit took over. You weren’t in control.”
Marya looks down at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she processes his words. The weight of what she’s done—what the mist did through her—settles over her like a suffocating blanket. Her chest tightens, and for a moment, she feels like she can’t breathe. But she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t let herself. Instead, she clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fights to keep her emotions in check.
“Who did I hurt?” she strains to ask in a low voice. “How bad was it?”
Shanks hesitates, his gaze flickering to Hongo before returning to Marya. “You injured some of the Guardians and a few of my crew. Nothing life-threatening, but… it was close. You were powerful, Marya. More powerful than anyone realized.”
Marya’s jaw tightens, and she looks away, her golden eyes clouded with remorse. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, her mind racing as she tries to reconcile the image of herself—someone who has fought to protect others—with the reality of what she’s done. The guilt is a heavy, gnawing thing in her chest, and it threatens to consume her.
“I didn’t want this,” she says finally, barely audible. “I never wanted this power. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
Shanks leans forward, bracing his elbow on his knees. “I know you didn’t. And no one blames you for what happened. But you can’t let this define you, Marya, don’t be a victim. You’re stronger than this. You’ve always been stronger.”
Marya’s hands clench tighter, her knuckles turning white. “How can you say that? How can you act like it’s that simple? I hurt people, Shanks. People who trusted me. People who cared about me. And I don’t even remember doing it.” Her voice cracks slightly, but she won’t let herself shed tears. Instead, she takes a deep, shuddering breath, forcing herself to stay composed.
Shanks watches her, his chair groaning as he leans back. “It’s not simple,” he says, resting his chin on a bent elbow. “But it’s not the end, either. You’ve been given a chance, Marya. A chance to make things right. And you’re not alone.”
Hongo, who’s been quietly observing the exchange, speaks up. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “And you’re going to need time to process everything. But beating yourself up won’t help anyone. Least of all you.”
Shanks rests his ankle on a knee. “Marya, you need to be brave. You can’t be ruled by what happened. Don’t let it define you as a person. This power, this mist, it’s a part of you, but it’s not all of you. You have the strength to control it, to turn it into something good.”
Marya looks away with a sense of doubtful hope, her breath catching as she absorbs his words. Shanks continues, “You’ve always had a kind heart and a fierce spirit. Those are the things that define you, not this incident or the power of the mist.”
Hongo takes her arm, applying a clean bandage. “Shanks is right. Your actions moving forward are what matters. Learn from this and grow stronger.”
A quiet resolve begins to settle in Marya’s chest. She unclenches her fists, letting her fingers relax as she meets Shanks’s steady gaze. Lips pursed, she nods, considering everything he said. Shanks smiles, a warm, reassuring smile that reaches his eyes.
After a long moment, Marya takes a deep breath, her eyes flickering between Shanks and Hongo. She breaks the silence, “So… when can I leave?” she asks, knowing how doctors like to hold their patients hostage.
Hongo raises an eyebrow and responds with a smirk, “Oh, you know, as soon as you’ve totally mastered your mysterious powers, resolved your inner turmoil, and saved the world a couple of times. Should be any day now.”
Marya rolls her eyes, a wry smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Thanks, Hongo. Really helpful.”
Shanks chuckles softly, shaking his head at the exchange. “You know,” Shanks takes advantage of the change in mood, “I just realized I never asked how you ended up here. Last I heard, you and Mihawk were still on Kuraigana Island. What brought you all the way out here?”
Marya looks at him, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as if she’s trying to decide how much to share. After a moment, she sighs and leans back against the pillows. “The last time I visited my mother’s grave, I found an Eternal Pose among her things,” she says, sliding a rebel stand of hair behind her ear. “It led me here.”
Shanks raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “An Eternal Pose? To this island? That’s… specific. Did your mother leave it for you?”
Marya shakes her head. “No. It was just… there among her old belongings. I didn’t even know she had it until I started going through her stuff. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I followed it.”
Shanks nods slowly, his lips pursed. “And Mihawk? I thought you two were… I don’t know, partners in crime or something. What happened there?”
Marya rolls her eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. “We had a disagreement about him becoming a Warlord. I didn’t agree with it, and he didn’t appreciate my opinion. So I left.”
Shanks chuckles softly, red hair waving as he shakes his head. “Sounds like Mihawk. Always doing things his way, no matter what anyone else thinks.”
Marya’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s his life. He can do what he wants. But I didn’t want to be a part of it.”
Shanks studies her for a moment, his brow pinching. “So, this island… I’m guessing your mother was from here? Is that why she had the Eternal Pose?”
Marya hesitates, her gaze drifting to the porthole as if lost in thought. “No,” she says finally. “Neither of my parents were from this island. But… this is where they met. Sort of.”
Shanks leans forward, his interest clearly piqued. “Sort of? What does that mean?”
Marya sighs, tilting her head, her eyes growing distant. “It’s a long story. My mother was an academic—an archaeologist. She didn’t really have a home, not in the traditional sense. She was… well, breaking the law, that whole don’t study ancient history thing. Then it was your typical boy-meets-girl-while-girl-is-breaking-the-law scenario. Boy saves girl, boy falls in love with girl, and… well, you can figure out the rest.”
Shanks grins, the anxiety leaving his posture. “Sounds like quite the love story. Your father always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
Marya’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Yeah, well, it didn’t last. A lot happened. But I guess this place meant something to her. Enough to keep an Eternal Pose to it, at least.”
Shanks nods, exhaling a long breath. “Sounds like there’s more to it than that.”
Marya looks at him, slouching against the pillows. “There is. But it’s not a story I’m ready to tell. Not yet.”
Shanks holds her gaze for a moment, then leans back in his chair, his usual easygoing smile returning. “Fair enough. Everyone’s got their secrets. But if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”
The infirmary door creaks open, and Benn Beckman strides in, his head swiveling to meet everyone’s gaze. His presence immediately shifts the atmosphere, his strong posture cutting through the quiet like a blade. He’s holding a clipboard in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, the faint scent of tobacco trailing behind him.
“Shanks,” Benn says, a stream of smoke wafting in the air. “The engineers are here for the ship upgrades. They’re waiting on the dock.”
Shanks, who’s been leaning back in his chair beside Marya’s cot, grins lazily. “Already? Those guys work fast. Alright, I’m on my way.”
Benn’s eyes narrow, and he takes a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. “You’re not going anywhere. Hongo just patched you up, and you’re supposed to be resting. Let someone else handle it.”
Shanks waves a hand dismissively, his grin widening. “I’m fine, Benn. A little Haki drain never killed anyone.”
Benn’s jaw flexes, and he steps closer. His low voice is edged with irritation. “You’re not invincible, Shanks. One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, and I’m not going to be the one explaining to the crew why their captain collapsed on the deck because he couldn’t sit still for five minutes.”
Shanks chuckles, clearly unfazed by Benn’s scolding. “Relax, Benn. I’ll take it easy. Promise.”
Benn rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “stubborn idiot,” before his gaze shifts to Marya. His irritated scowl softens slightly as he takes in her pale face and bandaged arms. “You look terrible,” he says bluntly.
Marya raises an eyebrow, her golden eyes glinting with defiant amusement. “Thanks, Benn. You always know how to make a girl feel special.”
Benn smirks, taking another drag from his cigarette. “At least you’re not trying to kill anyone. That’s an improvement.”
Marya’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m working on it. Speaking of which, I’m coming too.”
Hongo, who’s been quietly organizing his medical supplies, immediately straightens, lips tight. “Absolutely not. You’re in no condition to be walking around. You need rest.”
Marya crosses her arms, cocking her head. “I’ve been resting all morning. I’m fine.”
Hongo’s eyes narrow, and he points a finger at her, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are not fine. You were possessed by a malevolent mist less than twenty-four hours ago, and you’re still recovering from multiple injuries. You’re staying put.”
Marya glares at him, her golden eyes flashing with irritation. “I’m not a child, Hongo. I can handle myself.”
Hongo glares right back. Brow furrowed in rare exasperation. “You’re acting like one. You’re not invincible, Marya. You need to rest.”
Benn watches the exchange with mild amusement, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full, Hongo.”
Hongo sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No one ever listens to me. I swear, it’s like herding cats with this crew.”
Shanks, who’s been watching the back-and-forth with a grin, finally interjects. “Alright, alright. Let’s not start a war in the infirmary. Marya, you can come, but you’re staying on the ship. No running around on the docks. Deal?”
Marya hesitates, then nods reluctantly. “Fine. But I’m not staying in this infirmary any longer.”
Hongo throws up his hands in exasperation. “I give up. Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when you collapse from exhaustion.”
Marya smirks, her golden eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t worry, Hongo. I’ll make sure to collapse somewhere you can’t see me.”
Hongo mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “ungrateful brats,” but he doesn’t argue further. Instead, he grabs his medical kit and starts packing up, clearly resigned to the fact that this is a losing battle.
Benn shakes his head, a faint smirk on his face. “You’re all impossible. Let’s get this over with before someone else decides to do something reckless.”
Shanks grins, clapping Benn on the shoulder as he heads for the door. “That’s the spirit, Benn. Always looking on the bright side.”
Benn rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond, instead following Shanks out of the infirmary. Marya slowly gets to her feet, wincing slightly as her injuries protest the movement. Hongo watches her shaking his head in exasperation, but it doesn’t stop her. Instead, he hands her a small vial of painkillers.
“Take these,” he says, plopping the vial into her palm. “And if you start feeling dizzy or lightheaded, sit down. Immediately.”
Marya takes the vial, her posture softening. “Thanks, Hongo. I mean it.”
Hongo sighs, his stern demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a hint of a smile. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
As Marya follows Shanks and Benn out of the infirmary, Hongo watches them go, shaking his head. “Why do I bother?” he mutters again, but a fondness in his voice betrays his true feelings.
The docks are alive with the hum of activity as the engineering team sets up their workstations, tools clattering, and voices overlapping in a symphony of preparation. Among the chaos, Bianca and Zola stand out. When they spot Marya approaching with Shanks and Benn, their faces light up with excitement and relief. Bianca is the first to rush over, her hands still stained with grease from whatever project she’s been tinkering with. “Marya! Oh my gosh, like, we were so worried about you! Are you, like, okay? You look, like, way better than I thought you would, but still, like, not great, you know?”
Zola follows close behind, her head tilted as she curiously inspects Marya with concern. She points a precise finger in the air as she speaks. “We heard about what happened. It’s a relief to see you standing. How are you feeling?”
Marya smiles, though it’s tinged with guilt. “I’m… okay. Thanks, you two. I’m sorry for everything that happened. I didn’t mean to—”
Bianca cuts her off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t even, like, apologize. It wasn’t you. We, like, know that. And we’re just, like, super glad you’re, like, okay.”
Zola nods, her finger still raised as if she’s about to make another point. “Indeed. The mist was the culprit, not you. However…” She grows somber, and she lowers her hand, her tone softening. “There’s something you should know. Riggs, Celeste, and Jax… they’re not faring well.”
Marya’s smile fades, replaced by a look of worry. “What happened? Are they okay?”
Bianca sighs, fixing her gaze on the floor. “Riggs, like, took the worst of it. He’s, like, got a broken arm and, like, a couple of cracked ribs. Celeste is, like, struggling with her feelings, and Jax… well, he’s Jax. He’s, like, trying to act like he’s fine, but he’s got, like, a nasty gash on his side that’s going to take a while to heal.”
Marya’s chest tightens, the guilt she’s been fighting bubbling back to the surface. “I did that,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt them.”
Zola steps forward, her finger raised again as if to emphasize her point. “It wasn’t you, Marya. It was the mist. And they know that. They’re not blaming you.”
Bianca nods, her brow creased. “They’re, like, really tough. They’ll, like, pull through. But… they’d probably appreciate, like, a visit from you. Especially, like, Riggs. He’s been, like, asking about you.”
Marya looks down at her hands, her mind racing. She knows she needs to face them to apologize, but the thought of seeing the damage she caused is almost too much to bear. Still, she knows she can’t run from this. She owes them that much.
“I’ll visit them,” she says finally, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “As soon as I can.”
Bianca and Zola exchange a glance with softer eyes. “We’ll, like, let them know you’re coming,” Bianca says gently. “It’ll, like, mean a lot to them.”
Zola nods, her finger raised again as she speaks. “And if you require anything, do not hesitate to inform us. We’re here to assist you, Marya.”
Marya’s lips twitch into a faint smile, her gratitude evident. “Thanks, you two. I don’t deserve it, but… thank you.”
Bianca waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t, like, start with that. You’re, like, one of us, Marya. We, like, take care of our own.”
Zola grins, her usual cheerfulness returning. “Indeed. Furthermore, you’re the only one who can keep Riggs in line. We require your presence back in action.”
Marya chuckles softly, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “I’ll do my best.”
As the conversation lulls, Marya glances at the crates and equipment scattered across the dock. “So, what are you two working on? It looks like you’ve got a lot going on.”
Bianca’s eyes light up, her enthusiasm returning full force. “Oh my gosh, like, it’s so cool! The island is, like, officially under Shanks’s flag now, so we’re, like, upgrading his navigation and transportation systems. It’s, like, a huge project, but it’s, like, going to be amazing when it’s done.”
Zola raises a confident finger. “Indeed. We’re implementing state-of-the-art technology to enhance the ship’s efficiency and maneuverability. It’s a complex endeavor, but one that will undoubtedly yield significant benefits.”
Marya raises an eyebrow, impressed. “That sounds… like a lot.”
Bianca grins, standing tall. “Like, obviously. We’re, like, the best at what we do.”
Zola nods, pink hair waving, her finger still raised. “Precisely. And with our combined expertise, this project will be a resounding success.”
Marya smiles in amusement. “I have no doubt. Just… try not to blow anything up, okay?”
Bianca gives a cheerful, carefree laugh. “No promises! But, like, we’ll try.”
Zola smirks, her finger finally lowering. “We’ll exercise caution. To the best of our ability, at least.”
The docks are alive with activity as the Red-Haired Pirates spill onto the scene, their boisterous laughter and playful banter cutting through the hum of the engineering team’s work. Marya stands near Shanks, as she processes the news that the island is now under his flag. She turns to him, “You… you’re claiming this island?” she asks with a twinge of awe. “Why?”
Shanks grins, his crimson hair catching the light as he shrugs casually. “Why not? This place has spirit. And besides, it’s got some pretty important people on it.” He gives her a pointed look. “You’re not the only one who cares about this island, Marya. We’re all in this together, now.”
Before Marya can respond, the rest of the crew descends upon her, their energy infectious and their teasing relentless. Lucky Roux is the first to reach her, his massive round frame and ever-present drumstick. “Marya!” he booms, his voice carrying over the noise of the docks. “Look at you! Last time we saw you, you were still tripping over your own feet trying to practice sword swings. And now… well, you’re not half bad!”
Marya rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “Thanks, Lucky. I think.”
Yasopp shifts his weight, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Not half bad? She’s Mihawk’s daughter! She’s got to be at least three-quarters bad by default.”
The crew erupts into laughter, and Marya crosses her arms, her golden eyes narrowing playfully. “Careful, Yasopp. I might not be as good as my father, but I’m still better than you.”
Yasopp clutches his chest dramatically, feigning hurt. “Ouch! That’s cold, Marya. And here I thought we were friends.”
Benn Beckman, blowing out a plume of smoke, adds with a smirk. “Don’t let her fool you, Yasopp. She’s still got a long way to go before she’s anywhere near Mihawk’s level.”
Marya glares at him with a side-eye. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Benn.”
Benn shrugs, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “Just calling it like I see it.”
Limejuice, leaning against a crate, tosses his long hair over his shoulder and chimes in. “Hey, give her some credit. She’s come a long way since the last time we saw her. Remember when she couldn’t even hold a sword without dropping it?”
Marya groans, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I was ten!”
The crew laughs again, and even Shanks joins in, his deep chuckle resonating through the group. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up a hand to quiet them. “Give her a break. She’s been through enough without you all ragging on her.”
Marya shoots him a grateful look, but the crew isn’t done yet. Bonk Punch, ever the instigator, grins. “Yeah, but seriously, Marya. You’ve got to admit, it’s kind of funny. Mihawk’s daughter, struggling with basic sword stances. And now look at you—taking on the entire crew single-handedly. Well, when you’re not, you know, possessed by a malevolent mist.”
Marya glares at him, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thanks for the reminder, Bonk. Really appreciate it.”
The deck is alive with laughter and playful banter as the crew teases Marya, their voices carrying over the sound of the waves and the creak of the ship’s timbers. Marya is holding her own, her golden eyes glinting with amusement as she fires back at their jabs, but the moment Vaughn steps onto the deck, the atmosphere shifts slightly.
The crew notices him immediately, their teasing quieting down as they nod in his direction. Vaughn gives them a small, easygoing smile, but his eyes are fixed on Marya. Relief washes over his face as he sees her standing there, alive and well, despite the bandages and the lingering shadows under her eyes.
“Marya,” he says warmly, his baritone voice carrying a note of authority. “Good to see you up and about. You had us worried for a while there.”
Marya turns to him, her playful smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Hey, Vaughn. I’m harder to take down than I look.”
Vaughn chuckles, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, well, next time, try not to give us all heart attacks, okay?” He steps closer, his tone becoming more serious. “We need to talk. Come with me.”
Marya raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. She follows Vaughn as he leads her off the ship, the crew’s playful banter fading into the background. As they step onto the dock, the salty sea breeze tousles their hair, and the sound of the waves lapping against the hull fills the air.
Vaughn stops a short distance away, turning to face her. Taking a breath; his dark eyes scanned her face as if assessing her readiness for what he was about to say. “We’ve got our next assignment,” he begins, his voice steady. “We leave for Alabasta tomorrow.”
Marya blinks, surprised. “Alabasta? That’s… not exactly close.”
Vaughn crosses his arms matter-of-factly. “We’ve lost contact with a research team stationed there. They were supposed to check in a week ago, but we haven’t heard from them since. We’re being sent to investigate.”
Marya’s brow furrows, her golden eyes narrowing with concern. “Lost contact? That doesn’t sound good. Do we know what they were researching?”
Vaughn shakes his head. “Not much. They were studying some ancient ruins in the desert, but the details are sketchy. It’s probably nothing too serious—could just be a communication breakdown or equipment failure—but we need to go and check it out. Better safe than sorry.”
Marya nods thoughtfully. “Makes sense. But why us? Couldn’t someone less injured handle it?”
Vaughn smirks, a hint of his usual arrogance showing through. “Because we’re the best. And because if it is something serious, we’re the ones who can handle it.” He pauses, his tone softening. “But honestly, it shouldn’t be too taxing. We’ll go in, find out what’s going on, and get out. Simple.”
Marya crosses her arms, her golden eyes glinting with skepticism. “Simple, huh?”
Vaughn chuckles, his deep voice warm with amusement. “Fair point. But still, it’s not like we’re walking into a warzone. Probably.”
Marya groans, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “Great.”
Vaughn’s head tilts and places a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. “You up for this, Marya? I know you’ve been through a lot. If you need more time to recover, say the word.”
Marya straightens, her golden eyes narrowing with determination. “I’m fine, Vaughn. I’m not sitting this one out.”
Vaughn studies her for a moment, his gaze searching. Then he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that. But if you start feeling off—if the mist even hints at coming back—you tell me. Understood?”
As they stand there, the sound of the crew’s laughter and the hum of the engineering team’s work filling the air, Vaughn’s expression grows thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his tone lighter now, “Harper’s been asking about you. He’ll be glad to hear you’re doing better.”
Marya’s smile softens at the mention of Vaughn’s fiancé. “Tell him I said hi. And that I owe him a drink for putting up with you.”
Vaughn chuckles, his deep voice warm with amusement. “I’ll let him know.” Vaughn’s posture relaxes, and he gives her shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. “Get some rest, Marya. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
The morning sun cast a blushing glow over the island, its light reflecting off the tranquil waves that lapped in the secluded harbor. The crew members of the Red Force bustled about, some tending to repairs, others lounging on the deck, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Shanks stood at the edge of the dock as he watched Marya approach with a reluctant smirk. Vaughn and Charlie were nearby, readying the submarine. They were prepared to depart, but Marya had one last thing to do.
Shanks grinned as she approached. “Heading out already?” He asks with a light, warm tone. “You’re not even going to stay for breakfast?”
Marya’s lips twitched in a small smile, though her eyes reflected a flicker of sadness. “We don’t have time. It’s pretty urgent, and we need to move quickly.”
Shanks nodded, lips tight. “I get it.”
Yasopp, who had been lounging on the deck of the Red Force, called out, his tone teasing. “Don’t forget to bring back some souvenirs! I hear the food on any mainland is amazing.”
Lucky Roux, his mouth full of meat, nodded enthusiastically. “And sweets! Don’t forget the sweets!”
Marya rolled her eyes, though her smile widened slightly. “What are you talking about? You won’t even be here when we get back.”
Benn Beckman, bent over the railing with a cigarette between his fingers. “Take care of yourself, Marya. And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”
Marya nodded with a flicker of gratitude. “I will. Thank you, Benn.”
As the crew continued to tease and joke, Shanks stepped closer to Marya, his expression softening. “You’ve got this, Marya. Just remember—what we talked about. Don’t let it define who you are.”
Marya met his gaze, resolve resonating in her eyes. “I know. I will do my best.” Her shoulders relaxed, and her lips curved into a small smile, “Shanks... thank you. For everything.”
Shanks nodded, his expression warm. “Anytime, Marya. Safe travels.” As Marya turned to join Vaughn and Charlie, the crew of the Red Force called out their goodbyes, their voices blending with the sound of the waves.

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Chapter Text

The Alabasta desert breathed its scorching breath over the ruins of an ancient temple, half-buried beneath dunes that glittered like molten bronze under the midday sun. The archaeologist team—their skin blistered by the unrelenting heat—crowded around a newly unearthed chamber. Sand cascaded from the stone doorway as they pried it open, revealing a vault adorned with hieroglyphs that twisted like serpents.
“Over here!” called Dr. Lysandra Vorne, the Consortium’s lead historian, her voice muffled by the linen wrappings shielding her face. She knelt beside a half-buried archway, its carvings depicting a woman with solar flares for hair cradling a flame. “These glyphs—they’re pre-Poneglyphic. Older than Alabasta’s monarchy.”
Kael Duneshade wore a turquoise headscarf and a smile as warm as the oasis springs. He’d been their guide, translator, and bridge to the kingdom’s buried secrets. Kael crouched beside her, tracing the sun-worn stone. His fingers lingered on the woman’s face. “The Sun Deity’s Mother… My grandmother told stories about her. They called her ‘The First Flame’—a power that could birth or burn civilizations.” As Dr. Vorne continued, the soft hum of a whisper drew Kael’s attention. Standing, he became entranced, his body moving on its own.
He knelt beside the newly uncovered altar, his calloused fingers brushing dust from a relic half-buried in the shadows—a crescent amulet, its surface etched with constellations long scrubbed from the world’s maps that pulsed like dormant embers—at its center a shard of amber oscillated, trapped light swirling like a miniature sun. Kael recoiled. “This… this isn’t right. That amber—it’s not stone. It’s alive.”
Dr. Vorne, an archeologist team member, ignored him as she prattled on about the chamber. “According to the library’s oldest scrolls, a compass exists pointing to the Mother Flame—a relic said to hold the Sun Deity’s primordial fire. With it, one could reignite the world… or reduce it to cinder.”
Around him, the other archaeologists murmured in awe, their voices echoing off the walls. Dr. Lira, a team member, adjusted her cracked spectacles. “Fascinating… These symbols predate even the Poneglyphs,” she said, her tone trembling with scholarly hunger. Kael didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the object in front of him. The amulet’s glow seeped into his veins, warm and venomous, and for a moment, he swore it recognized him.
Then the whispers began. “Kael… child of sand and sorrow.”
He flinched, but the voice coiled deeper, a serpent in his skull. Memories surged—his mother’s laughter stifled by Baroque Works’ smoke, Revolutionary comrades falling to Crocodile’s machinations, the hollow victory of Alabasta’s liberation. The relic’s pull sharpened, its light now blinding.
The moment Kael touched the compass, the chamber screamed. Blinding light erupted, fusing the relic to his palm. His Revolutionary Army tattoo blackened, veins of amber spreading up his arm. Kael’s eyes ignited, pupils dissolving into twin suns.
“You hunger for purpose. I shall give you a crown.” Suddenly, his body wasn’t his own.
The first kill was Dr. Lira. Her gasp died as Kael’s palm—radiant with the relic’s flaxen fire—crushed her throat. Chaos erupted. Consortium guardians, disguised as unassuming scholars, shed their robes to reveal sleek, modular weapons: a whip-sword crackling with electricity, a gauntlet spraying acid mist, and a rifle firing crystalline shards. They moved with lethal precision, their gear humming like tuned engines.
But the relic’s power was older.
Kael danced through their strikes, his movements fluid and inhuman. He shattered the whip-sword with a touch, its wielder collapsing into ash. The acid mist parted around him, repelled by an unseen shield. A guardian lunged, her crystal rifle aimed at his heart; the relic’s fire lanced out, reducing her to a silhouette of smoke.
“Royal blood… the key,” the voice hissed, sweet and corrosive. “Find the Mother Flame. Claim the oasis where stars drown in sand.”
The massacre was methodical. Scholars dissolved mid-scream, their research scattered like ash. A junior archaeologist, Taro, scrambled for the exit, only for Kael to hurl his power like a spear. It bent Taro’s spine, pinning him to the wall. The relic pulsed, burning his body to a husk before disappearing.
When the last guardian fell, Kael stood amid smoldering ruins, the amulet fused to his chest. The Consortium’s bodies dissolved—their pact with secrecy binding even in death—leaving no trace but scorch marks and the metallic tang of regret.
Alone, Kael shuddered. The relic’s flame coursed through him, both agony and ecstasy. Royal blood. Nefertari’s line. Vivi. The thought clawed at his resolve, but the whispers drowned it out, twisting his grief into a weapon.
Above, through a crack in the chamber roof, the stars began to shift.
*****
The Alabasta coast shimmered under the midday sun, waves lapping at the jagged rocks of a hidden cove. Marya leaped from the Consortium submarine’s hatch first, her boots sinking into the sand as she scanned the shoreline. Behind her, Vaughn adjusted his dreads, hefting Light Bringer over one shoulder. Charlie clambered out last, nearly tripping over his own satchel full of scrolls and excavation tools.
“You sure this is the right cove, Charlie?” Vaughn asked, squinting at the empty beach. “Sub’s here, but no sign of the team. Not even a footprint.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, already launching into a lecture. “Ah, but the tidal patterns in this region are notoriously unpredictable! Sand shifts by the hour—it’s why Alabasta’s coastline was a nightmare for invaders. Did you know that during the War of the Dunes, King Cobra’s forces used the tides to trap—”
“Thanks for the history lesson,” Marya cut in, her tone cool with distraction. She flicked a raven-black strand of hair from her face, the kogatana around her neck glinting. “If the sub’s abandoned, they went inland. To the dig site.”
Vaughn smirked. “In a rush, Marya.” He reaches for the hatch of the abandoned submarine. “We check the sub. Properly.”
The submarine’s interior was a tomb of silent tech: holographic maps frozen mid-glitch, half-drunk cups of coffee gone stale, and a single thawb robe crumpled in a corner. No blood. No struggle. Just absence.
“Fascinating,” Charlie muttered, crouching to examine a glyph-etched tablet left on the table. “This dialect is pre-Void Century! It mentions a ‘flame that births dawn’—could tie to the Sun Deity myths!”
Marya hovered near the exit, her arms crossed as her back rested against the wall. “They didn’t leave willingly. Guardians don’t abandon their gear.” Her mist-mist powers prickled under her skin, restless as Charlie rambled on.
Marya’s fingers traced the edge of her kogatana, her mind drifting to the mist within her. It simmered beneath the surface, ever-present, ever-waiting, like a predator poised to strike. She remembered vividly the last time she’d lost control: the suffocating fog, the chaos, the blackout. The power that could bend to her will one moment and break free the next.
Shanks’ words echoed in her mind, a steady mantra she clung to in moments of doubt: “Don’t let it define who you are. Become stronger, and use it for good.” He had seen something in her, something beyond the mist. But what if she failed? What if the mist took over again?
Her mist-mist powers tingle, putting her on edge as if sensing her unease. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. She had to stay in control. For the team, for the mission, and herself. She pushed off the wall, determination hardening her gaze.
Vaughn sighed, leaning against the bulkhead. “Alright, brother. Get your kicks now. Once we hit the desert, it’s survival mode. And no detours to pet ancient rocks.”
Charlie straightened, indignant. “Petrified limestone is a critical source of—”
Vaughn finally stood, striding for the door. “Nothing here but ghosts and old coffee. Let’s head out.”
Marya was already moving, eager to feel the open air again. “I’ll take point,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. Charlie tucked the tablet into his satchel, still muttering about its significance as they exited.
The oppressive stillness of the submarine gave way to the sound of their boots crunching on the sand, the ever-present wind whistling through the dunes. Vaughn cast a last look at the sub, then turned his focus to the mission ahead.
“Let's move,” Marya commanded, already striding toward the dunes.
Vaughn and Charlie exchanged glances, both sensing an undercurrent in her voice. Vaughn’s smirk faded, replaced by a shadow of concern. He had witnessed her power unleashed, an unstoppable force of nature. The memory of that day, the mist power taking possession of her, destroying everything in its path, lingered at the edges of his mind. He knew what was at stake now.
Charlie, on the other hand, hadn’t been there. He didn’t see the raw, untamed fury of her abilities. “Marya?” he ventured cautiously, noting the tension in her stance, the way her mist seemed to pulse erratically. “Is everything alright?”
Vaughn's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon and then settling back on Marya. “We need to keep our heads clear. And remember, Marya,” his tone softened slightly, “you’re not alone.”
Marya nodded, though her jaw remained tight. “Let’s move,” she said, her voice steady but with an edge that spoke volumes.
The desert heat clamped down like a vise as they trekked inland. Charlie, despite his complaints, kept up a steady stream of trivia. “—and after Crocodile’s defeat, the Nefertari family restored the kingdom’s aquifers! Princess Vivi’s speech at the Rainbase ruins was pivotal—some say the Straw Hats left a token here, a symbol of—”
“Charlie,” Vaughn groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re worse than Harper after three mimosas.”
Marya smirked faintly. “Your fiancé is a menace with a blow dryer.”
“Hey, Harper’s a visionary,” Vaughn shot back, though his grin softened. “Says he’s gonna give me ‘warrior locs’ next time. Gold beads and everything.”
Charlie cleared his throat loudly. “Ahem. As I was saying—the dig site should be near the Valley of the Kings. If the team found what I think they did, we’re looking at a discovery that could rewrite the Grand Line’s history!”
“Or get us killed,” Marya muttered.
The Alabasta desert swallowed them whole—a sea of shifting beige and scorching silence. By midday, the sun hung like a molten coin, baking the air into a shimmering haze. Marya marched ahead as sweat snaked down her neck, but the real heat came from within: the Mist-Mist Fruit’s power writhed under her skin, tendrils of vapor curling unconsciously from her fingertips.
“Don’t let it define you,” Shanks’ voice echoed in her memory, warm and gravelly. “A blade’s only as sharp as the hand that holds it.” She clenched her fist, forcing the mist to dissolve.
Behind her, Vaughn trudged with Light Bringer propped against his shoulder, his dreads now dusted with sand. Charlie, red-faced and panting, lagged at the rear, clutching a canteen like a holy relic. “Remind me again why we couldn’t borrow a camel?” he wheezed.
Vaughn grunted before cracking a grin. “Camels bite.”
The dunes shifted as the sun dipped, painting the sky in bruised purples. They set camp in the lee of a sandstone outcrop, its shadow stretching like a dagger. Vaughn scavenged scrub brush for a fire while Charlie unfurled a map covered in frantic annotations. Marya perched atop a rock, sharpening Eternal Night with methodical strokes. The rasp of steel echoed Shanks’ lessons: Control the chaos. Don’t let it control you.
But then the sand moved.
A ripple surged beneath them—fast, predatory. Marya’s mist flared instinctively, her body dissolving just as a colossal sand scorpion erupted from the ground. Its pincers snapped where she’d stood, tail arcing high, venom glistening on a barbed stinger.
“Blinding Light special delivery!” Vaughn roared, hefting Light Bringer. The axe’s twin blades ignited with a chemical glow, bathing the scorpion in an eerie light. Charlie scrambled backward, shouting, “Aim for the joints! Their exoskeleton weakens at the—”
The scorpion lunged. Vaughn sidestepped, cleaving a pincer clean off. Acidic ichor sizzled on the sand. Marya rematerialized mid-air, mist coiling around her legs as she drove Eternal Night into the creature’s thorax. It screeched, thrashing, but she twisted the blade and the beast collapsed.
Charlie let out a shaky laugh. “Fascinating! Did you see the mandible structure? Pure pre-Calamity era!”
Vaughn wiped ichor from his face. “You’re welcome, brother.”
Night fell, brittle and cold. The fire crackled, casting jagged shadows. Marya sat apart, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the mist seep from her palms again. It slithered toward the flames, hungry and formless.
“You’re not a demon, kid,” Shanks once said after finding her vomiting post-sparring. “Power’s just a tool. Even the foggiest morning burns off if you wait for the sun.”
“Marya.” Vaughn tossed her a canteen. “Drink. You’re doing that brooding thing.”
She caught it, hesitating. “If I lose control… if the mist takes—”
“You won’t,” Charlie interjected, adjusting his cracked glasses. “Statistically, Devil Fruit possession cases are almost entirely linked to emotional volatility. Stay calm, stay focused. Simple!”
Vaughn snorted. “Says the guy who licked a 900-year-old tomb.”
“For science!”
Marya’s lips twitched—almost a smile. She focused on the canteen’s weight, the fire’s crackle, the stars wheeling overhead. The mist receded, inch by inch.
The Alabasta desert night was a tapestry of cold stars and whispering sands. Marya sat cross-legged by the campfire, its flames clawing at the dark. Shadows danced across her face, sharpening the hollows under her eyes. She stared into the embers, but all she saw was the infirmary.
Natalie’s voice, shrill as a scalpel, her eyes burning red like a demon: “You nearly gutted Jax! And Riggs—his sword arm’s in a cast for weeks! What were you thinking? And you didn’t even come to me for medical treatment!”
Marya had said nothing. What could she say? She didn’t remember the rampage
A log cracked in the fire, and Marya flinched. Celeste’s words echoed in her thoughts. Her eyes—wide, accusing—had said enough. “I saw you,” Celeste had whispered, fingers pressed together like a prayer. “You weren’t… you.”
Jax's bandaged side rose and fell. He’d defended her, even after she’d sliced them through. “Mistakes happen,” he’d muttered, avoiding her gaze. “We move forward.” But his crush had curdled into something brittle, a glass statue she’d shattered.
Riggs was worse. His broken arm hung in a sling, his usual swagger reduced to a wince. “Guess I’m not Mihawk material yet, huh?” he’d joked, but his laugh was sandpaper.
Vaughn stirred in his bedroll, his dreads spilling over Light Bringer beside him. He’d been the one to tackle her mid-lunge, Shanks’ crimson aura smothering her mist. “You fight like your old man,” Shanks had told her after, his tone unreadable. “But rage without control is just a storm—it destroys everything, even you.”
The fire popped again. Marya’s mist curled at her fingertips, silvery and treacherous. She clenched her hands, Eternal Night’s hilt digging into her palm.
“Don’t let it define you,” Shanks’ voice echoed, softer now. “Use it for good.”
A sand-fox yipped in the distance. Marya stood abruptly, her shadow stretching monstrously across the dunes. The Mist-Mist Fruit hummed in her veins, tempting her to dissolve, to flee.
But then—
“Can’t sleep either?” Vaughn’s voice. He sat up, rubbing his face. “Guilt’s a lousy bedmate.”
Marya didn’t turn. “They trusted me. I failed.”
“Nah. You’re just human.” He tossed her a canteen. “Even Mihawk bleeds.”
She caught it, the water bitter-cold. “Celeste won’t look at me.”
“Give her time. She’s gotta process that her hero’s… complicated.” Vaughn smirked. “Besides, Riggs’ll milk that broken arm. Silver linings.”
A choked laugh escaped her. The mist receded, just a little. Somewhere, Shanks’ laugh seemed to ride the wind. Not a storm. A shield. By dawn, the desert had erased the scorpion’s carcass. They pressed onward, the excavation site still a day away.
“Use it for good,” Shanks’ voice murmured on the wind.
She breathed in, and the mist followed—not a storm, but a shield.
*****
The sun hung low over Alubarna’s sandstone towers, casting long shadows across the palace courtyard. Princess Vivi stood at a marble balustrade, her fingers tracing the edge of a scroll detailing the day’s itinerary. Beside her, a harried royal aide shuffled through papers, his voice a steady hum.
“—supplies have been delivered to the orphanage: rice, medicine, toys crafted by the carpenters’ guild. The children are expecting you after midday prayers, Your Highness. Oh, and Koza’s rebels offered to escort the caravan, but I told them the Royal Guard has it handled.”
Vivi nodded absently, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the desert met the sky. The air smelled of jasmine and dust, a familiar comfort. “Thank you, Rafiq. But tell Koza’s men they’re welcome to join us. This isn’t just the crown’s duty—it’s Alabasta’s.”
The aide hesitated, then bowed. “As you wish.”
As he retreated, Vivi’s hand slipped into her pocket, brushing the faded “X” scar on her wrist—the Straw Hats’ mark, hidden beneath her silk sleeve. The memory of Luffy’s grin flashed in her mind. “We’ll always be your friend!” She wondered if they’d approve of the orphanage’s new mural, a vibrant mess of camels, sea kings, and a grinning pirate ship that the artists had added… enthusiastically.
The orphanage stood at the edge of the city, a once-crumbling structure now alive with laughter and fresh paint. As Vivi’s carriage approached, a swarm of children burst through the doors, their shouts ringing like temple bells.
She stepped down, her aqua hair tousled by the wind, and knelt to meet them. A boy named Tamir—no older than six, with a scar peeking from his collar where Baroque Works’ agents had struck—thrust a drawing into her hands. “Look! I drew you fighting the sand crocodile!” The image was all teeth and swirls, Vivi’s likeness a stick figure with a crown.
It’s perfect,” she said, grinning. “Though I think you’d have beaten Crocodile faster.
The head caretaker, an elderly woman named Safiya, emerged, her arms full of linens. “They’ve been asking about you all week. Little Laila even tried to smuggle a kitten into the dorms, said you’d let her keep it.”
Vivi laughed, but her chest tightened. She recognized these children—sons and daughters of rebels, of guards, of merchants caught in crossfires. Orphans of a war she hadn’t stopped in time.
In the courtyard, Vivi sat cross-legged on a rug, a gaggle of children clambering to braid her hair with wildflowers. A girl named Laila, her eyes wide beneath a fringe of black curls, whispered, “My mama said you sailed with pirates. Real ones!”
“I did,” Vivi said, her voice soft. “They were… loud. And messy. But they taught me that family isn’t just blood. It’s the people you fight for.”
“Are they coming back?”
Vivi paused, her throat tight. “Not for a while. But they’re always here.” She tapped Laila’s chest, then her own.
Nearby, Safiya watched, her smile bittersweet. “You’ve given them hope, Princess. After so much darkness, they need it.”
Vivi’s fingers curled around her scarred wrist. “Hope’s the one thing Alabasta never lost.”
Vivi’s carriage rolled back toward the palace as dusk painted the desert. Through the window, she spotted a faded Baroque Works poster plastered on a wall, half-torn. Gone, but not forgotten.
Her aide cleared his throat. “The council expects your report on the new irrigation project tonight. And King Cobra requested—”
“Tell Father I’ll join him shortly,” Vivi interrupted, her voice steady. She leaned back, closing her eyes. The children’s laughter still echoed in her ears, mingling with the phantom cheers of a crew she missed like a limb.
Luffy would’ve eaten all the snacks. Zoro would’ve gotten lost in the courtyard. Nami would’ve haggled with the merchants for extra supplies. But they weren’t here. This was her fight now—not with swords or storms, but with scrolls and speeches and scars that healed slower than bones.

Chapter Text

The Alabasta sun was a merciless tyrant on the second day, its glare bleaching the dunes into a blinding white void. Marya trudged behind Vaughn and Charlie, her throat parched, the ghost of her Mist-Mist powers writhing beneath her skin like a caged animal. Every shadow seemed to whisper accusations: You failed. You hurt them.
“—and this,” Charlie wheezed, his voice cracking as he gestured to a cluster of petrified pillars jutting from the sand, “is the remnants of Alabasta’s first trading outpost! Built 800 years ago, sacked by marauders, reclaimed by King Tullus IV—”
“Brother,” Vaughn interrupted, squinting at the horizon. “Save the lecture. We’ve got company.”
A low rumble vibrated through the sand. Marya’s hand flew to Eternal Night’s hilt as three hulking sand-stalkers burst from the dunes—hyena-like beasts with obsidian claws and translucent hides that rippled like heatwaves. Their snarls split the air, drool sizzling where it hit the sand.
“Acidic saliva!” Charlie yelped, scrambling behind a rock. “Apex predators of the pre-Calamity era! Aim for the—”
Vaughn was already moving, Light Bringer carving arcs of Haki. One beast lunged, jaws snapping, but Marya dissolved into mist, rematerializing atop its spine. Her blade plunged down—only to falter as the creature’s hide shimmered, her strike glancing off.
“Focus,” she hissed to herself, but the mist surged unbidden, engulfing her arm. The sand-stalker whirled, its claws raking her thigh. The pain sharpened her fear—What if I lose control again? What if I hurt them?
Uncertainty gnawed at Marya's resolve, each heartbeat echoing her doubts and past failures. She felt the weight of her mistakes pressing down like the Alabasta sun, relentless and unforgiving. Her thoughts swirled with the guilt of lost control, the phantom pain of her powers slipping and causing harm. The raw scrape of the sand-stalker's claws was nothing compared to the anguish of doubt within her.
The tension in her muscles mirrored the tension in her mind—taut, ready to snap. Every time she looked at Vaughn and Charlie, the specter of her past errors loomed large, a constant reminder of what was at stake. The burden of her Mist-Mist powers, once a source of pride, now felt like a curse she couldn't escape.
Her anxiety mixed with determination. She knew she couldn't afford another failure, not here, not now. As the sand-stalkers attacked, her body reacted out of instinct, but her mind was clouded with fear. The mist—her old ally—now seemed like a capricious force, slipping beyond her command just when she needed it most.
And yet, beneath it all, there was a glimmer of fierce resolution. The voice of Shanks, a guiding beacon amidst the storm of her emotions, sparked a flame of hope. Marya clung to that spark, channeling it with every ounce of willpower she had left. The fear, the doubt, the guilt—they were ever-present, but they fueled her, driving her to fight harder, to regain control.
As the adrenaline ebbed, the fatigue set in, and uncertainty clawed back at the edges of her consciousness. Marya's breath hitched, and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, the next step forward. The tremor in her fingers was more than exhaustion; it was the battle between who she was and who she feared she might become.
“Marya!” Vaughn barked. “Eyes up!”
She gritted her teeth, Shanks’ voice cutting through the panic: “A storm’s only useful if you steer it.” With a roar, she channeled Haki into her blade, Eternal Night humming as it sheared through the sand-stalker’s shimmering hide. The beast collapsed, its siblings retreating with yelps.
Charlie emerged, clutching a broken compass. “Remarkable! Their camouflage mimics heat distortion—a survival trait from the Age of Droughts!”
Vaughn tossed Marya a canteen, his gaze lingering on her trembling hands. “You good?” His exterior remained calm and collected, a mask of confidence that belied the turmoil within. The weight of responsibility for the group's safety pressed heavily on his shoulders, every decision a potential tipping point between success and catastrophe. His sharp eyes scanned their surroundings constantly, vigilant for threats, but beneath the practiced ease, worry gnawed at him—worry for Marya, for her control over the mist, and for the path ahead.
The sight of Marya's trembling hands had hit him hard. He trusted her strength implicitly, yet he couldn't ignore the signs of her struggle. The fear that she might falter weighed on him, a fear he kept hidden beneath his reassuring demeanor. Vaughn knew they couldn't afford any lapses, not in this unforgiving land where danger lurked in every shadow.
She nodded, though the lie tasted bitter.
He studied her eyes, searching for a crack in her facade. For a moment, he considered pressing further, but the urgency of their mission reined him back. With a reluctant nod, he accepted her lie, though it gnawed at him. Trusting her strength was one thing; ignoring the signs of her unraveling was another.
"Alright," he said, more to himself than her. "Just stay close." He turned away, the weight of his own doubts heavy on his shoulders. For now, they had to keep moving, and hope that Marya's resolve would hold.
By dusk, they staggered into Al’Rahim—a dusty town of clay huts and bustling market stalls, its streets perfumed with spice and roasted goat. The Consortium’s creed (secrecy first) meant no uniforms, no emblems. Just three travelers asking questions.
Vaughn leaned against a water vendor’s cart, flashing a grin. “Heard some archaeologists came through here. Friends of ours. One’s got a face only a mother could love—real serious type.”
The vendor, a wizened man with a scarred cheek, snorted. “Ain’t seen no scholars. But a group passed west, toward the Valley of Kings. Had a local with ’em—Revolutionary Army castoff. Kael, maybe?”
Marya stiffened. “Kael?”
“Aye. Joined up young, they say. Family got purged by Baroque Works.” The man spat. “Came back after the war, quiet-like. Now he’s digging up old bones. Fool’s errand.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “Why’s that?”
“The sands claim what they bury,” the vendor muttered, turning away. “Ask the tea seller. She feeds gossip like camels.”
The tea seller, a sharp-eyed woman with henna-stained fingers, smirked at Vaughn’s charm. “Kael Duneshade? Oh, he’s a ghost. Fought with the Revolutionaries, they say, till his squad got ambushed. Baroque Works left him nothing but scars.” She poured mint tea into clay cups. “Heard he joined some scholars last moon. Looked… hollow. Like the desert drank his soul.”
Marya’s mist prickled. Possession. Just like me.
“Where’d they go?” Vaughn pressed.
The woman nodded to the west, where the stars kissed the dunes. “Same as all fools chasing mirages. The Sun’s Grave.”
“The Sun’s Grave—that’s the Consortium’s code name for the excavation site!” Charlie hissed, adjusting his cracked glasses as they trudged into Al’Rahim’s dusty outskirts. The town sprawled before them, clay buildings huddled like ancient sentinels against the encroaching dunes. “But if Kael’s with them, why didn’t the team report—”
“Because he wasn’t Consortium,” Vaughn interrupted, scanning the labyrinthine streets for threats. “Just a local guide. They probably hired him for his knowledge of the ruins. Means whatever happened out there… he might’ve been the last to see them alive.”
Marya said nothing. Her throat burned from the day’s march, her Mist-Mist powers simmering uneasily beneath her skin. The whispers still haunted her dreams, but she shoved the memory down. Focus. Find the team.
The inn was a squat building of sunbaked clay, its sign swaying on rusted chains. Inside, the air reeked of lamb stew and pipe smoke. A grizzled bartender eyed them as Vaughn negotiated for rooms, his Consortium coin purse discreetly tucked beneath his robes.
“Two berries a night,” the barkeep grunted, sliding keys across the counter. “Dinner’s extra. And no trouble—we’ve had enough strangers lately.”
Vaughn’s brow creased. “Strangers?”
“Aye. Scholars like you. Came through a week back. Had a local with ’em—skinny fellow, scars on his arms. Nervous type.”
Marya exchanged a glance with Vaughn.
Charlie leaned in, oblivious to subtlety. “Did they mention where they were headed? Any notes on their findings? Perhaps a—”
“They paid in berries and kept to themselves,” the barkeep snapped. “Now. You want stew or not?”
They ate at a corner table, Charlie’s voice a relentless hum over the clatter of spoons. “—and the Valley of Kings, of course, was the burial ground for Alabasta’s earliest rulers! The tombs are said to align with constellations from the Void Century. Did you know the star patterns here shift dramatically during the dry season? It’s why the ancients believed the desert itself was a living—”
“Charlie,” Vaughn said flatly. “We’re here to find our team. Not rewrite your thesis.”
Marya poked at her stew, her mind churning. The haunting voice slithered at the edges of her thoughts. Weak. Unworthy. She clenched her fist under the table, mist curling faintly around her wrist.
A serving girl refilled their drinks, her hands trembling. “You’re… with the others, aren’t you? The ones who left with Kael?”
Vaughn’s posture relaxed. “You saw them?”
The girl nodded. “He came back alone two nights ago. Bought supplies and vanished. Looked… wrong. Like he hadn’t slept in weeks.”
Marya’s stomach dropped. Just like me. Marya's heart raced as she absorbed the girl’s words. Who was Kael to face the horrors that she herself wrestled with? She didn’t know him, but his plight mirrored her own. The relentless whispers, the creeping mist—these were fragments of her struggles, fragments now reflected in a stranger’s torment.
"Do you think he’s like me?" she muttered, more to herself than to her companions. Her voice wavered, caught between fear and an eerie kinship. "Possessed. Consumed by something ancient and powerful... something he cannot control."
Vaughn's eyes were steady, perhaps too steady. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said, his voice a calm anchor in the storm of her thoughts.
Charlie paused his endless tirade about ancient alignments and artifacts, and his lips pursed as he looked at her. “Marya, we don’t have enough information to know what we are dealing with. Whatever it is, we will handle it.”
But can they? The darkness in her mind curled tighter, the mist thickening to a haze. She was not sure if she could handle another soul lost to the shadows. Not when she was so close to losing herself. As they retired, the question lingered in her mind. Was Kael's struggle a mirror of her own? If so, could she find the strength to face it? Or would she, like him, be marked as weak, unworthy?
Their room was sparse—straw beds, a cracked basin, and a window overlooking the desert. Charlie sprawled on the floor, scribbling notes by lamplight. He unrolled a map of the Valley of Kings, its edges singed. “According to legend, the Sun’s Grave is a necropolis built around a ‘star-fed flame.’ If Kael returned alone, the team must still be at the dig site! Perhaps they’ve uncovered something monumental—a Poneglyph variant or even a weapon from the Void Century!”
Vaughn sharpened Light Bringer’s edge; the whetstone’s scrape was rhythmic. “Let’s hope that’s the reason we lost contact. They were just busy.”
Marya stood at the window, the cold night air biting her face. The dunes glowed silver under the moon, beautiful and cruel. Marya’s inner turmoil ebbed and surged like the tides. The weight of her own potential affliction pressed heavily on her psyche, mingling dread with a desperate yearning for resolve. The thought of Kael, a stranger burdened with a fate so uncannily similar to hers, gnawed at her heart. It wasn't just the fear of the unknown that tormented her, but the paralyzing possibility that her own demons mirrored those that Kael faced—demons that threatened to consume her from the inside out.
She closed her eyes and let herself drift back to a childhood memory, seeking solace in the recollection of her father. It was a rare moment of tenderness, a fleeting instance that stood out starkly against the backdrop of his imposing presence. She remembered the day he first taught her how to wield a sword, his voice steady and unwavering, filled with a calm authority and a rare hint of softness.
They stood in a secluded grove, the sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. “Marya,” he had said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, “a blade is an extension of your spirit. It can bring destruction, but it also has the power to protect and to heal. Your strength lies not just in your skill, but in the control you exert over it.”
His words resonated with a truth that had eluded her until now. In that moment, she saw a different side of her father—less the feared swordsman, and more a guardian imparting wisdom to his daughter. It wasn’t just the sword that defined him; it was his mastery over it, his ability to remain unyielding in the face of chaos.
“Remember, fear is a weapon the darkness wields against you. Master it, and you master yourself.”
“We leave at dawn,” Vaughn said, snapping her from her away from her inner thoughts. “Charlie, get some sleep. Marya, take the first watch.”
She nodded, her fingers brushing the edges of the kogatana at her throat. Don’t let it define you. But as the others slept, the haunting voice returned, louder now. You know what he’s become. You feel it. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded thing.
*****
The Alabasta desert stretched endlessly, a sea of colorless shifting mounds under a pitiless sun. Kael Duneshade stumbled through the dunes, his boots dragging furrows in the sand. The relic burned against his chest—a crescent amulet fused to his olive skin, its glyphs pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“The stars align… the oasis awakens… become my vessel…”
The voice was a serpent in his skull, relentless. Kael clutched his shaggy, honeyed head, nails digging into his temples. “Stop. Please.”
But the relic answered with memories:
—His mother’s laughter, cut short as Baroque Works agents torched their village. Smoke. Screams. A child’s hand slipping from his grasp.
—Revolutionary Army camps, the taste of hope bitter on his tongue. Comrades falling to Crocodile’s machinations, their blood pooling in the sand.
—Alabasta liberated, but his home a graveyard. Empty. Silent.
“You’re lying,” Kael snarled, though his voice cracked. “The war’s over. I’m free.”
“You are mine,” the relic hissed. “The Mother Flame hungers. Become its guardian. Protect it.”
Kael’s heart was a battlefield of emotions. Frustration gnawed at his resolve, fed by the voice’s incessant demands. His despair was a deep well, dark and bottomless, as he grappled with the loss of his family and friends. The memories the relic thrust upon him were knives, slicing through his sanity with every haunting detail. He was torn between a fierce yearning for freedom and the heavy chains of destiny that bound him to the amulet’s will.
Every step through the desert felt like a march toward his own doom, the relic’s power an ever-present shadow, threatening to consume what little humanity he had left. He despised the helplessness that coursed through him, a warrior now a puppet to an ancient force. The weight of his past, the hopes and dreams of a liberated Alabasta, only deepened his anguish.
Ahead, the small town of Hasa’ir shimmered in the heat—a cluster of small huts and date palms, its market stalls bustling with farmers and merchants. Children chased goats through the streets, and elders sipped mint tea in the shade. The air smelled of cumin and bread.
Kael froze. Familiar. Too familiar. It looked like his village. A sense of déjà vu washed over Kael as he gazed upon the small town of Hasa’ir. The sight of the huts and date palms, the laughter of children, and the scent of cumin and bread all stirred a whirlwind of emotions within him. It was as if he had been thrust back into the days of his youth, when his own village thrived with similar vibrancy. The memories were both a balm and a torment, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. His heart ached with a longing for the past, for the days when his mother’s laughter filled the air, and hope had not yet been extinguished by the fires of war.
The village’s resemblance to his own was uncanny, and for a fleeting moment, Kael allowed himself to bask in the illusion of home. But the illusion shattered quickly, replaced by a sharp pang of sorrow and anger. The familiarity of the scene was like salt in a wound, exacerbating his grief and fueling his rage against the relic that had ensnared him. The village was a stark contrast to the desolation that now defined his life, a life consumed by the relic's malevolent influence.
As he stood there, frozen by the memories, a surge of protectiveness welled up within him. He did not want to see another village suffer the same fate as his own. The innocent faces, the simple joys of daily life—they deserved to be preserved, not destroyed. But the relic had other plans.
“Kill them,” the relic whispered. “Their blood will pave your path.”
“No!” Kael staggered backward, sand hissing around his boots. “I won’t… I won’t!”
But the amulet flared, golden light searing his veins. Visions engulfed him:
—A hidden oasis, its waters glowing like liquid starlight. A flame at its heart, ancient and ravenous.
—A princess kneeling before an altar, her royal blood dripping onto stone. The flame roaring to life
—Himself, armored in light, standing guard for eternity. Alone. Unyielding.
“I’m not your slave!” Kael screamed, but his body moved without him.
Kael’s mind was a theater of war, torn between the remnants of his humanity and the relentless whispers of the relic. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to fight back, to resist the malevolent force that sought to bend his will. Memories of his village, his loved ones, and the life he had lost surged through him, a torrent of sorrow and rage. The relic’s voice was insidious, a constant pressure gnawing at his resolve, promising power and vengeance in exchange for his compliance.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a desperate plea for freedom. Kael’s vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness fraying as the relic tightened its grip. He could feel the ancient magic coursing through his veins, a searing heat that threatened to consume him. His muscles strained against the invisible bonds that held him, his fists clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to regain control.
“Think of the power,” the relic hissed, its voice a seductive caress. “Think of what you could achieve. No one would ever harm you again.” The first blast of golden fire erupted from his palms, incinerating a palm grove. Townsfolk screamed, scattering as the relic’s power tore through Kael—a maelstrom of light and heat. “Burn the unworthy. Claim your crown.”
“Stop!” He fought to clench his fists, muscles trembling. But the relic was stronger.
A merchant’s cart exploded, splinters raining like shrapnel. A child tripped in the chaos, wailing. Kael’s hand twitched toward her, torn between salvation and slaughter.
“Weak,” the relic spat. “You let them die before. You’ll let them die again.”
Memories of Baroque Works’ atrocities flooded him—his family’s bodies, the Revolutionary Army’s failed ambush, Alabasta’s hollow victory. The relic fed on it, twisting grief into rage.
“ENOUGH!”
With a roar, Kael channeled every shred of willpower into one motion—he slammed the amulet against a stone well, cracking its surface. The relic shrieked in his mind. The backlash hurled him into a darkness that enveloped Kael like a sentient, malevolent entity, pulling him deeper into its abyss. It was a void not merely of light, but of all sensation and hope, a place where time seemed to stretch and warp, leaving him adrift in an endless sea of nothingness. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the echo of his own heartbeat, a lonely reminder of his fragile mortality.
In this suffocating blackness, Kael felt the weight of a thousand forgotten souls pressing down on him, each one a victim of the relic's insatiable hunger for power. Their whispers clawed at the edges of his mind, a cacophony of despair and lost dreams. He struggled to maintain the flicker of his own consciousness, but the darkness was relentless, seeking to snuff out the last vestiges of his humanity.
Visions of torment and destruction flickered before his eyes, scenes of cities burning, lives extinguished in violent flashes of light. He saw himself at the center of it all, a puppet of the relic, wielding its devastating power with a cold, merciless detachment. The line between reality and nightmare blurred, leaving Kael to question whether he would ever find his way back to the light.
Then, just as the darkness seemed poised to swallow him whole, a faint glow appeared on the horizon of his mind, a distant, fragile beacon of hope. It was the memory of his village, his loved ones, their faces radiant with the warmth of simpler times. Clinging to this glimmer, Kael summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and willed himself to break free from the relic's grasp.
The void resisted, but Kael's resolve was unyielding. He pushed against the darkness, feeling it crack and shatter under the force of his determination. With a final, desperate effort, he surged upward, breaking through the surface of the abyss and into the blinding light of consciousness.
When Kael awoke, Hasa’ir was gone. Smoldering ruins stretched where homes once stood. Bodies lay half-buried in ash, their faces frozen in terror. The relic pulsed smugly against his chest, its glyphs now glowing blood-red.
“You see? This is your purpose. Destruction. Dominion.”
Kael vomited, bile mixing with sand. His hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but recognition. He’d become what he’d sworn to destroy. In the distance, the stars began to shift.

Chapter Text

The throne room of Alubarna Palace hummed with uneasy silence, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sandstone floors. King Cobra stood at the head of a marble table, his weathered hands gripping a scroll detailing the destruction of Hasa’ir. The air smelled of ink and anxiety, the faint scent of jasmine from the courtyard gardens doing little to soothe the tension.
“Entire families… gone,” murmured General Hakim, his voice gravelly with disbelief. A map of the decimated town lay unfurled before them, its streets marked in charcoal ash. “Survivors claim it was light that burned everything—not fire, not cannon fire. Something… unnatural.”
Vivi looked over her father’s shoulder, her brow furrowed beneath the weight of her crownless headscarf. “Like Crocodile’s sandstorms?” Her voice wavered, not with fear, but resolve. The memory of Baroque Works’ betrayal still haunted the palace walls.
“Worse,” said Rasheed, a Captain in the royal guard. His scarred knuckles tightened around his scimitar’s hilt. “Witnesses described a man at the center of the chaos. Ragged, screaming—Alabastan, by their account. But his eyes…” He hesitated. “They said they glowed like molten gold.”
King Cobra’s gaze drifted to the arched windows, where the desert stretched beyond the city, vast and untamed. The same desert that had birthed heroes and monsters alike. “A man does not wield such power without a source. This is no bandit raid.” His voice, though steady, carried the weight of a kingdom still healing. “We must act before panic spreads.”
Vivi placed a hand on the map, her finger tracing the route from Hasa’ir to the Valley of Kings. “Let me lead the investigation. The people trust me. And after everything we’ve survived, they deserve answers from their own blood.”
The throne room’s air thickened as Vivi’s plea hung between the marble pillars, her finger still pressed to the map tracing Hasa’ir’s ashes to the Valley of Kings. Before King Cobra could respond, a familiar voice rang out—deep, theatrical, yet trembling with urgency.
“Ma…. Ma…. Ma…Your Majesty! Princess!” Igaram strode forward, his flamboyant lilac coat sweeping behind him like a battle standard. His light-curled hair quivered as he bowed deeply, though his tone carried none of its usual flourish. “With the greatest respect, this humble servant must protest!”
Vivi turned, her eyes narrowing. “Igaram—”
He straightened, clasping his hands in a gesture halfway between supplication and resolve. “Princess, your courage is beyond question. You stood against Baroque Works, sailed with pirates, and saved this kingdom. But this…” He gestured to the reports of Hasa’ir’s glassed ruins. “…is not a mission for the crown’s heir. Captain Rasheed is seasoned, battle-hardened—Alabasta’s shield, not its jewel!”
Captain Rasheed, a mountain of muscle and scars, shifted uneasily but nodded. “The tracker Karim found remnants of something in the sand. No artifact, no warlord—just madness. We need soldiers, not symbols.”
Igaram’s voice softened, his theatrics melting into raw sincerity. “Princess, when Crocodile held your throat in his hand, I swore I would never let harm find you again. If this darkness is half what we faced under him…” He hesitated, memories of when they infiltrated Baroque Works flashing through his thoughts “…then let Captain Rasheed bear its weight. You must remain Alabasta’s light.”
“The people are too valuable to abandon!” Vivi’s voice sharpened, her fist hitting the table. The council flinched. “I fought beside pirates to save this kingdom. I won’t cower in the palace while it burns again!” Vivi’s fists clenched. “The people need to see their leaders fighting for them, not hiding!”
“And they will! Ma…. Ma…. Ma….” Igaram countered, his voice rising. “But a princess’s duty is to inspire hope, not chase shadows. Let the Captain hunt this demon. Let us protect you, as you protected us.”
King Cobra’s gaze settled on her, steady and sorrowful. “You’ve given enough, Vivi. More than any princess should.” He unrolled the scroll further, revealing witness accounts of golden flames and a figure screaming in two voices. “This isn’t a battle for hearts. It’s a hunt. And hunts require steel, not speeches.”
Vivi’s resolve wavered. She recognized the look in her father’s eyes. “Then let me go with Rasheed’s unit. I can help—”
“No.” The king’s tone brooked no argument. “Your duty is here. Alabasta needs its princess alive.”
The council murmured approval. King Cobra’s gaze drifted to Vivi’s scarred wrist—the hidden “X” marking her as both princess and pirate. “Igaram speaks harsh truths,” the king said finally. “Captain Rasheed will lead the investigation. You will remain here, Vivi. Alive.” Vivi’s nails dug into her palms, the Straw Hats’ laughter echoing in her memory. Luffy would’ve charged in any way. But she wasn’t a pirate. She was heir to a throne, and thrones came with chains.
As the council dispersed, Igaram knelt before her, his flamboyance replaced by reverence. “You are Alabasta’s heart, Princess. Ma….. Ma….. Ma…. Hearts cannot risk shattering.”
Vivi said nothing, but her eyes burned with unyielding resolve. She felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her chest as she watched the council disperse. The weight of duty pressed heavily on her shoulders, a burden she had willingly carried but now seemed to grow with every passing moment. Her resolve was tested, torn between her love for her people and the instinct to protect them by standing on the front lines.
Memories of the Straw Hats' camaraderie danced in her mind, contrasting sharply with the solemnity of her royal responsibilities. The laughter and fierce loyalty of her pirate friends had taught her the value of fighting alongside those she cherished. Yet here, in the grand halls of Alabasta, she was bound by the chains of her lineage, relegated to a figurehead when her heart yearned to be a warrior.
Her father's sorrowful gaze and Igaram's earnest plea resonated with her deeply, reminding her of the sacrifices they had all made. But the thought of remaining idle, a mere symbol of hope, gnawed at her soul. The hidden "X" on her wrist, a haunting reminder of her dual identity, burned with an unspoken promise—one she had made to her friends and herself.
Conflicted and restless, Vivi ventured to the palace’s highest balcony, seeking solace in the desert's vast expanse. The wind's whisper seemed to echo her inner turmoil, a silent companion to her unyielding resolve. At dusk, she stood and watched Rasheed’s unit assembled below. Camels snorted, their saddlebags laden with supplies and weapons forged in Nanohana’s finest smithies. Karim, the royal tracker, held up a shard of obsidian recovered from Hasa’ir—its surface etched with the same spiraling glyph Kael’s relic bore.
Vivi leaned against the balcony’s sandstone rail, the desert wind tussling her loose strands of hair. Below, Captain Rasheed’s unit vanished into dusk, their torches flickering like dying stars. “They’ll miss things,” she muttered to the wind. “Secrets don’t surrender to soldiers.”
A shadow shifted beside her—Pell, his broad frame silhouetted against the moonlit dunes. The Falcon of Alabasta folded his arms, his robes billowing and his voice a low rumble. “Nor do they yield to those who doubt their own worth, Princess.”
Vivi didn’t turn. “You think I’m doubting myself?”
“I think you’ve spent too long measuring your strength against swords and sandstorms.” His gaze drifted to the scar on her wrist, hidden beneath her sleeve. “The Straw Hats taught you to fight like a pirate. But a ruler’s strength lies in patience. In seeing what others cannot.”
Before Vivi could reply, a reedy voice piped up behind them. “Precisely! Though I’d argue my strength lies in deciphering what others will not.”
The royal historian, Dr. Yazen, shuffled onto the balcony, his arms laden with scrolls and a teetering brass astrolabe. His spectacles gleamed in the moonlight, magnifying eyes that sparkled with the manic curiosity of a man who’d spent decades buried in dust and dead languages.
Pell raised an eyebrow. “Doctor. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Sleep? When the stars themselves are practically screaming?” Yazen thrust a crumbling parchment at Vivi. It depicted a figure cloaked in flame, surrounded by glyphs of spiraling constellations. “This was recovered from the royal archives—an account from the Age of Pyres. Note the motif: a guardian bound to a ‘Mother Flame,’ driven mad by its whispers. Sound familiar?”
Vivi’s breath caught. Glowing eyes. The melted stone of Hasa’ir. “You think this… guardian is connected to the attack?”
“Not just connected—resurrected.” Yazen tapped the astrolabe. “The stars above Alabasta are aligning as they did millennia ago. Whatever buried power the ancients feared… it’s stirring.”
Pell’s jaw tightened, accentuating the purple lines down his cheeks. “Can it be stopped?”
“By swords? Unlikely.” Yazen adjusted his spectacles. “But knowledge? Ah, that is a weapon even kings underestimate.” He turned to Vivi, suddenly solemn. “Your father forbids your blade, Princess. But your mind? That, he cannot chain.”
The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of smoke from the desert. Vivi traced the parchment’s faded guardian. As Yazen's words sank in, her mind swirled with emotions. The weight of her lineage pressed heavily upon her shoulders, intertwining pride with a deep sense of responsibility.
Fear flickered at the edges of her thoughts, yet it was tempered by a burgeoning determination. The idea of awakening a guardian, a being of immense power, both thrilled and terrified her. She could feel the echoes of her ancestors' decisions reverberating through time, their fears and hopes mingling with her own.
The gravity of the situation settled in her chest like a stone. The prospect of immense power was alluring, but the potential consequences loomed large. Could she bear the burden of such a choice? Would she be able to control the guardian, or would it consume her as it had those before her? The questions gnawed at her, leaving her heart pounding in her chest.
Yet, amidst the uncertainty, a spark of determination ignited. The memory of Hasa’ir and the devastation it wrought surged forward, crystalizing her resolve. If there was a chance—any chance—to protect her people and her homeland without defying her father's orders, she had to consider it. Her fingers tightened around the parchment, as if drawing strength from the ancient ink.
As she looked up at Yazen, his fervor reflected in her own eyes, she realized her path was not just about strength or power but also about wisdom and courage. The scent of smoke from the desert whispered of impending danger, but it also carried a promise—a promise of a future she could help secure.
“What do you need?” she asked.
Yazen grinned, his spectacles catching the moonlight like twin blades. “A partner with royal blood.” He unfurled another scroll, its edges brittle with age, revealing an ink-washed illustration of a towering figure cloaked in solar flames—a guardian crowned with Alabasta’s crest. “This is Ra-Harakht, the Sun’s Vigil. According to texts predating the Void Century, it was bound to protect the Nefeltari line… until it was sealed away for being ‘too destructive.’”
Vivi’s breath hitched. “Sealed by whom?”
“By ancestors who feared its power,” Yazen said, waving a dismissive hand. “But imagine, Princess—a guardian that could shield Alabasta from any threat. Wars, droughts, even the World Government’s meddling. All it requires is a descendant of Queen Lily to awaken it.”
Pell straightened his back, his shoulders tense, his voice a growl. “And how many texts mention the cost of awakening it, Doctor?”
Yazen’s smile tightened. “Legends speak of trials, yes. But trials are mere metaphors for courage! With Princess Vivi’s lineage and my scholarship, we could rewrite history—secure history.” He turned to Vivi, eyes blazing with curated fervor. “You’ve seen the reports. Hasa’ir was just the beginning. Whatever lurks in the desert won’t heed Captain Rasheed’s swords. But this…” He jabbed a finger at the guardian’s image. “…this could save your people. Without defying your father’s orders.”
Vivi’s fingers tightened on the parchment. The guardian’s eyes, hollow and hungry, seemed to stare back. “How?”
“A simple ritual. A drop of your blood on the altar in the Temple of Dawn—a site forgotten.” Yazen leaned closer, his voice honeyed. “You’d be no soldier, no rebel. Just a scholar… like me.”
Pell’s hand fell to his sword. “The Temple of Dawn collapsed centuries ago. It’s a tomb.”
“A tomb full of answers,” Yazen snapped. “Or would you let fear bury Alabasta’s future?”
Vivi closed her eyes. The scent of smoke grew sharper—Hasa’ir’s ghosts haunting the wind. Luffy wouldn’t hesitate. He’d charge toward the fire. But she wasn’t Luffy. She was a princess with a scholar’s chance to fight smarter.
A whirlwind of emotions churned within Vivi. Doubt clawed at her resolve, yet the weight of her responsibility bore down on her like an unrelenting tide. She felt the tug of her royal duty, the call to protect her people at any cost, warring with a profound unease about the ancient power Yazen sought to awaken. The guardian's eyes, empty yet intense, haunted her thoughts as though pleading for release, yet warning of the dangers it harbored.
The memory of Hasa’ir’s devastation, its winds whispering tales of ruin, pressed against her heart. The image of her people suffering, of her homeland scorched by relentless foes, sharpened her focus. She was not a warrior like Luffy, driven by raw courage and swift action. She had to be cunning, to employ the wisdom and strategy befitting a princess.
Her gaze shifted to Pell, his protective stance a testament to his loyalty and unyielding caution. His warnings echoed in her mind, but so did Yazen’s fervent promises. The scholar’s devotion to ancient texts offered a path, albeit shrouded in uncertainty. Could she trust him? Could she trust herself to make the right choice?
A deep breath steadied her turbulence. Courage was not the absence of fear but the will to act despite it. A princess’s duty was to her people, her heritage a beacon guiding her through the shadows of doubt. The decision weighed heavily, but her heart whispered of hope, of a chance to secure Alabasta’s future without the sword’s edge.
“Show me the temple,” she said.
Yazen’s grin returned, wider now. “At dawn. Come alone.”
As he shuffled away, scrolls clutched to his chest; Pell muttered, “This reeks of Baroque Works’ tricks.”
“Maybe,” Vivi said, watching Yazen disappear into the palace shadows. “But what if it’s the only way to protect them?” Above, the stars seemed to pulse—a silent, celestial warning.
*****
The Temple of the Crescent Moon loomed ahead, its sandstone arches half-buried by dunes, the entrance a jagged maw veiled in shadows. Vaughn kicked aside a splintered Consortium banner, its emblem—a closed eye—trampled into the sand. “Stay sharp. This place reeks of wrong.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, already vibrating with scholarly adrenaline. “Fascinating! This temple predates the Poneglyphs! See those carvings? They depict the Trial of Sekhemet, a ritual where Alabasta’s queens communed with the sun deity’s ‘lesser flame’ to purify drought-stricken lands. Of course, modern scholars dismiss it as myth, but the symbology here is undeniable—”
Marya brushed past him, Eternal Night unsheathed, her mist-mist powers coiling like serpents around her wrists. “Save the lecture. We’re here to find bodies, not bedtime stories.”
The interior was a crypt of shattered relics and scorch marks. Archeological equipment lay melted into grotesque sculptures, the air thick with the metallic tang of old blood. Charlie barely noticed, darting to a cracked mural. “Look! The Mother Flame isn’t a relic—it’s a hierarchy. The sun deity’s flame split into three: Purifier, Guardian, and… and Judge. This temple housed the Judge’s altar. It’s said to…” He trailed off, finally registering the blackened skeletons slumped against the walls.
“Said to what, Charlie?” Vaughn growled, nudging a skull with his boot.
“To… to test the worth of those who sought its power,” Charlie whispered. “Those deemed unworthy were… incinerated.”
Marya crouched beside a corpse, her blade tip lifting a charred pendant. “These burns aren’t from fire. They’re etched. Like the sand itself turned against them.”
“Preposterous!” Charlie’s voice climbed an octave, a defensive ramble bubbling forth. “Sand manipulation requires a Devil Fruit user, but Crocodile’s defeat left no—unless—the texts mention ‘star-fed flames’ that could animate silica at a molecular level! If they discovered such a relic, they might’ve inadvertently triggered a latent defense system, resulting in—”
“This?” Vaughn gestured to a skeleton fused to the wall, its mouth frozen in a scream. “Your academic pals didn’t ‘inadvertently’ squat. They woke something up, and it butchered them.”
Vaughn and Marya exchanged a glance, the weight of recent revelations settling between them. Vaughn's brow furrowed as he recalled their last stop. “Remember what the waitress said?” Vaughn began, his voice low and tense. “She claimed she saw Kael a few nights ago, purchasing supplies. Nobody else in town had seen him or even believed he was there.”
Marya nodded, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “She mentioned he looked different, almost haunted. But if he's the lone survivor from this place…” She gestured to the charred remains and the eerie stillness that permeated the temple.
“It means he has the answers,” Vaughn finished. “He saw what happened. He survived whatever nightmare was unleashed here.”
Charlie, still poring over the cracked mural, looked over. “If Kael did survive, and if he’s the one the relic speaks to, then he’s the key to understanding the Judge’s flame and what it demands.”
Marya’s gaze hardened. “Then we find him. Before the relic finds another victim.” Marya stiffened. Her mist curled toward a narrow stairwell, drawn by an unseen pull. “There’s something below. It’s… humming.”
Vaughn tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes scanning the stairwell's shadowy descent. “Stay sharp. Whatever’s down there is bound to be worse than skeletons and burnt corpses.”
Charlie’s curiosity seemed to outweigh his fear as he adjusted his glasses and peered into the darkness below. “If the relic’s power is concentrated down there, we might uncover something invaluable about the Judge and its trials.”
Marya, her mist swirling protectively around her, took the lead. “No more speculation. We find Kael, unlock the relic’s secrets, and put an end to this nightmare.”
They proceeded cautiously down the narrow steps, the air growing colder and more oppressive with each step. The hum Marya had sensed grew louder, echoing off the stone walls and vibrating through the very bones of the temple; it permeated Marya's thoughts, and its frequency seemed to resonate with her very soul. Each step felt heavier, not just from the physical descent but from the mental toll the sound exacted. The hum was more than a noise; it was a presence, insinuating itself into her consciousness, tugging at her emotions and memories.
Marya's began to waver, a sense of unease creeping in. She found herself questioning their purpose here, the risks they were taking, and the true nature of the relic they sought. Flashes of past failures and the faces of those she had lost haunted her. The hum seemed to magnify her fears, amplifying every doubt and regret she had ever felt.
At the bottom, a faint, otherworldly glow illuminated the chamber, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters. “What the hell is that?” Vaughn muttered, eyes wide with a mix of awe and dread.
The relic sat atop a dais—a crescent blade, its edge shimmering like liquid starlight. Glyphs pulsed along its surface, mirroring the scars on Kael’s chest from Hasa’ir. Charlie lunged forward, heedless of Vaughn’s warning snarl. “Astounding! This isn’t just a weapon—it’s a key. The Judge’s flame required royal blood to ignite, but the academics must’ve tried bypassing it with—o.”
He froze. A weathered journal lay open nearby, its pages filled with frantic scrawl:
Day 7: Kael insists the relic speaks. Says it calls him “kin.”
Day 9: He won’t eat. Won’t sleep. His eyes…
Final Entry: IT WASN’T WORTH IT—
The writing ended in a smear of charcoal.
Marya’s mist lashed suddenly, ensnaring her arm. She staggered, Eternal Night clattering to the floor. “It’s… it’s here. The same voice that possessed me. It’s in the blade. In the walls.”
Vaughn hauled her back as the relic’s hum escalated to a shriek. Glyphs flared crimson, and the chamber trembled, sand swirling into jagged spirals.
Charlie, pale but buzzing, shouted over the din. “The Trial of Sekhemet—it wasn’t a metaphor! The Judge doesn’t just test individuals; it tests eras. Kael must’ve been deemed ‘unworthy’ to wield it, so it… repurposed him!”
A fissure split the dais, revealing a hidden alcove. Inside lay a mural of a hooded figure—kneeling before a flame, his body fracturing into sand.
Marya’s mist recoiled. “He’s not dead. The relic’s using him. Controlling him.”
Vaughn spat, hefting Light Bringer. “Then we find the bastard and bury that thing in his chest.”
As they fled the collapsing temple, Charlie lingered, snapping sketches of the glyphs. “Wait! This dialect—it mentions a ‘convergence.’ The Mother Flame’s three relics are linked! If Kael has the Judge, and the Royal Family is tied to the Guardian—” A sandstorm howled outside, cutting him off. Somewhere in the dunes, a shadow moved—golden eyes glowing like dying stars.

Chapter Text

The Alabasta desert held its breath as dawn broke, the horizon bleeding hues of amber and violet. Vivi and Pell approached the skeletal remains of the Temple of Dawn, its crumbled pillars jutting from the sand like broken teeth. The air was crisp, carrying the faint sting of ancient dust.
Yazen stood at the entrance, a lantern in hand, his shadow stretching long and gaunt across the weathered stones. “Princess! Captain Pell! So glad you’ve come to witness history unbound.” His voice echoed too loudly in the silence, as if the ruins themselves recoiled.
Pell’s hand rested on the hilt of his scimitar, his eyes scanning the jagged arches overhead. “This place is a graveyard, Doctor. What’s buried here should stay buried.”
Yazen ignored him, beckoning Vivi toward a sunken chamber where a cracked altar stood, its surface etched with spiraling glyphs. “Behold—the Seal of Ra-Harakht! With your blood, we’ll reignite the covenant between queen and guardian.”
Vivi hesitated, her fingers brushing the altar’s cold stone. The carvings depicted a towering figure with sunfire eyes, its hands cradling a city—Alubarna. Her heart pounded with a relentless rhythm, an echo of the ancient drums that once resounded through these halls. Doubt gnawed at her. Memories of her kingdom's suffering and the faces of those who had fallen under her watch swirled in her mind. She wanted to believe that Yazen's ritual could save them all, could bring about the protection Alabasta so desperately needed. But the weight of her father's warnings and the chaos she had witnessed made her hesitate.
Her fingers trembled as she traced the glyphs, each symbol a promise and a curse. The image of the guardian, Ra-Harakht, with its eyes burning like twin suns, seemed to sear into her soul. "Is this truly the path to salvation?" she wondered. She thought of her friends, of Luffy's unyielding spirit and the unwavering loyalty of her allies. Could she dare to hope?
Determination hardened her gaze. The future of her people was at stake. She had to be strong, as her father had taught her, as her friends had shown her. With a deep breath, she steeled herself against the fear gnawing at her core. She would see this through, for Alabasta. For those she loved. “You’re certain this will protect them? No more… destruction?”
“Certain?” Yazen chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. “Certainty is for fools, Princess. But greatness demands faith.” He produced a ceremonial dagger, its blade dull with age. “A single drop. That’s all the ritual requires.”
Pell moved, his bulk blocking the dim light. “And if it demands more?”
Yazen’s smile faltered. “The texts are clear. The guardian serves the Nefeltari line. It’s symbiosis.”
Vivi took the dagger, her reflection fractured in its tarnished surface. For a heartbeat, she heard Luffy’s laugh, her father’s warning, the screams of Hasa’ir. Then she pricked her thumb.
The blood hissed as it struck the altar. The ground trembled. Sand cascaded from the ceiling as the glyphs ignited with molten light, racing toward the chamber’s apex. A low, resonant hum filled the air—alive.
Yazen’s eyes widened, his scholarly detachment crumbling into rapture. “Yes… YES! The bond is reforged!”
But the light twisted, coalescing into a figure of searing flame and shifting sand—Ra-Harakht, its form colossal and unstable. The guardian’s voice boomed, a chorus of scorched whispers: “BLOOD… IS… DEBT.”
Pell yanked Vivi back as the altar split, tendrils of fire lashing out. “You said it would serve her!”
Yazen staggered, scrolls spilling from his arms. “I—I miscalculated the binding rites! The texts… they implied control!”
“Implied?” Pell roared, shoving Vivi toward the exit. “Move, Princess!”
Ra-Harakht’s head swiveled toward Yazen, its gaze incinerating the air. “SCHOLAR… LIAR.” A whip of flame snapped, reducing a pillar to glass.
Vivi froze, staring at the guardian. “It’s not a protector. It’s a judge.”
Yazen scrambled backward, his veneer of genius shattered. “The ritual—it needs balance! More blood, perhaps, or—”
“No.” Vivi’s voice cut through the chaos. “We end this. Now.”
Above them, the crumbling ceiling groaned. Pell didn’t hesitate. He seized Yazen’s collar and vaulted toward the exit, Vivi at his heels, as Ra-Harakht’s flames devoured the temple behind them.
*****
The ruins of the Crescent Moon temple smoldered behind them, its once-proud arches reduced to skeletal ribs of stone jutting from the dunes. Dust hung in the air like a shroud, coating Marya’s raven hair and Vaughn’s dreads in pale grit. Charlie crouched nearby, frantically piecing together fragments of a codex, his fingers trembling with adrenaline.
“Now what?” Marya snapped, sheathing Eternal Night with a metallic hiss. Her mist curled restlessly around her boots, still reacting to the relic’s fading hum.
Vaughn wiped sand from his axe, Light Bringer’s edge dulled by the battle. As the echoes of conflict faded, Vaughn's mind churned with unease. He had faced countless foes and navigated treacherous terrains, but the stakes now felt immeasurably higher. The relics, the whispers, the ancient texts—all pointed to a destiny that was beyond mortal comprehension. The weight of responsibility pressed on his shoulders, heavier than any axe he had ever wielded.
His gaze shifted to Marya, her usually resolute demeanor now tinged with uncertainty. Vaughn’s thoughts raced—how much longer could she resist the whispers? Could they trust the fractured codex and its cryptic prophecies? The urgency of their quest clashed with the creeping doubt that gnawed at his intention. “You tell me. That thing in your head still whispering sweet nothings?”
Marya’s eyes darkened, the usual glint of courage replaced by a fleeting shadow of doubt. Her jaw clenched, and a furrow appeared between her brows as she struggled to keep her composure. The weight of Vaughn’s question pressed heavily on her, reigniting memories of the relentless whispers that had haunted her every thought. Her mist, usually a reflection of her unwavering resolve, swirled erratically as if sensing her inner turmoil. Marya glared. “It’s gone. For now.”
“Fascinating!” Charlie interjected, not looking up. “The temple’s collapse released a chronometric pulse—likely what disrupted Marya’s connection. But more importantly, look!” He held up the codex, its pages marked with star charts and glyphs of three interlocking flames. “The Judge, Guardian, and Purifier relics aren’t just linked—they’re components. The Mother Flame is their source, and during celestial alignments, they converge to…” He trailed off, eyes widening.
“To what, Charlie?” Vaughn growled.
“To reignite,” he whispered. “But it requires a catalyst. A royal catalyst.”
Marya’s mist flared. “Blood.”
“Precisely!” Charlie jumped to his feet, scattering scrolls. “The texts say Queen Lily’s blood once tempered the flame. If a royal member is being drawn into this—willingly or not—their blood could stabilize the relics… or unleash them.”
Vaughn spat. “Where?”
Charlie flipped to a map in the codex, its edges singed. “The Mother Flame Oasis. It’s not on any modern chart, but the stars—”
A guttural roar cut him off. The dunes erupted as a colossal sand hydra surged upward—its six serpentine heads cobbled from stone and silica, eyes glowing with the same gold as Kael’s relic. The temple’s collapse had disturbed its ancient slumber.
“Move!” Vaughn tackled Charlie as a head slammed down, fangs shearing through the rock.
Marya dissolved into mist, reforming atop the hydra’s back. “Keep talking, brother! How do we find the oasis?!”
Charlie scrambled behind a boulder, shouting over the chaos. “The codex mentions a ‘star-fed spring’—water that mirrors the night sky! If we follow the relic’s energy trail—”
A hydra head lunged. Vaughn cleaved it in half with Light Bringer’s ignited blade, Haki searing the sand to glass. “Less poetry, more coordinates!”
“Right! The oasis lies northwest, where the Scorpion’s Tail constellation points at dawn!” Charlie ducked as another head snapped at him. “But we’ll need to hurry! The alignment peaks in two days!”
Marya sliced two hydra heads, and they rolled across the ground. “Then we stop sightseeing!” She leapt, Eternal Night carving a molten Haki arc through the beast’s core.
The hydra collapsed into a lifeless dune, its roar fading to a whisper.
Vaughn yanked Charlie upright. “Northwest. Let’s move.”
As they vanished into the desert’s shimmering haze, the stars above shifted imperceptibly—a silent countdown to convergence.
*****
The ruins of Hasa’ir glimmered under the midday sun, not with life, but with a sickly, glass-like sheen. Captain Rasheed dismounted his camel, his scimitar already drawn, as his royal guard unit fanned out behind him. The air reeked of charred stone and something sharper—ozone, maybe, or the metallic tang of melted sand.
“By the Sun…” muttered Lieutenant Amara, her usually stoic voice cracking as she knelt to inspect a half-buried child’s toy, its wooden horse warped into a twisted, blackened claw.
Rasheed said nothing. He’d seen villages razed by Baroque Works, by drought, by bandits. This was different. The damage wasn’t chaotic—it was precise. Buildings hadn’t collapsed; they’d been liquefied, their remains frozen in swirls of glass and obsidian.
“No bodies,” grunted Sergeant Hakon, kicking aside a shard of what might have been a roof tile. “No blood. Just… ash.”
“Not ash,” Rasheed corrected, crouching to run a gloved hand over the ground. The sand had fused into a mirror-smooth surface, reflecting his scarred face in fractured shards. “Vaporized. Whatever hit this place burned hotter than any flame.”
A young recruit, Tariq, staggered back from a collapsed well, his face pale. “Captain—the well’s full of… light.”
Rasheed strode over, his boots crunching on vitrified sand. Peering into the well, he recoiled. A tawny liquid pooled at the bottom, glowing faintly, its surface rippling as if stirred by an unseen wind.
“Don’t touch it,” he ordered, though the warning was unnecessary. The stuff hummed, a low, resonant frequency that made their teeth ache.
Amara joined him, her scholar’s instincts overriding dread. “It’s not water. Not magma either. It’s… alive.”
Rasheed’s jaw tightened. “Save the poetry. Fan out. Look for tracks, weapons, anything that survived.”
They found her curled in the shadow of a half-melted shrine—an elderly woman, her eyes wide and unblinking, her fingers clutching a pendant of the sun deity. She didn’t speak, not even when Amara offered water.
“Shock,” Hakon muttered. “Whatever she saw…”
But as Rasheed turned to leave, the woman seized his wrist, her grip shockingly strong. “Gold eyes,” she rasped. “He walked through the fire. It… lived inside him.”
Rasheed crouched, softening his tone. “Who?”
The woman’s gaze drifted to the horizon, where the Valley of Kings loomed. “A ghost. A demon. He sang as it burned.”
In the town square, Tariq uncovered a half-buried slab of stone, its surface etched with spiraling glyphs. “Captain! These symbols—they match the ones in the palace archives!”
Rasheed traced the carvings, his stomach churning. The central glyph depicted a figure engulfed in flames, its hand outstretched toward a stylized sun—a mirror of the scars on Kael’s chest, though none of them knew that yet.
Amara snapped sketches into her journal. “This isn’t Alabastan script. It’s older. Void Century older.”
“And that?” Hakon pointed to a smeared handprint at the slab’s edge, its outline burned into the stone.
Human. But glowing faintly Aurous.
Rasheed's heart pounded as he stared at the slab, the weight of the elderly woman's words pressing upon him. The haunting image of the figure engulfed in flames gnawed at his mind, a dread seeping into his thoughts like poison. The glyphs, the gold eyes, the eerie handprint—it was all connected, a sinister web spun by an unseen force.
The king's orders rang in his ears, a stark reminder of his duty. Yet there, in the shadow of the ancient shrine, he felt the pull of something far greater than any royal decree. The urgency in the woman's grasp, the resonance of her fear, compelled him to act.
Rasheed clenched his jaw, nerves hardening within him. The truth lay in the Valley of Kings, he was certain. Whatever had walked through the fire, whatever sang as it burned, it was heading west—toward the heart of ancient mysteries and unfathomable power. He had to confront it, to understand it, to stop it.
The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but so did a surge of fortitude. He would protect his people, even if it meant defying the king's command. The lives lost, the ruins of Hasa’ir, the ominous pulse of the stars—they all pointed to a singular purpose.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Rasheed turned to his team, his voice firm and unwavering. “We head to the Valley of Kings at first light.”
Amara blinked. “The king’s orders were to investigate Hasa’ir, not—”
“The king isn’t here,” Rasheed interrupted. “This wasn’t an attack. It was a ritual. And whatever performed it is moving west.” He nodded to the horizon, where the stars were beginning to pulse—a slow, ominous rhythm. “We find it. We kill it.”
As they mounted their camels, the wind shifted, carrying a whisper none could place—a voice like grinding stone and dying embers.
“Judge… Guardian… Purifier…”
Rasheed glanced back at Hasa’ir’s ruins. For a heartbeat, the glassed sand seemed to ripple, forming a massive, glowing eye. Then it was gone.
*****
The Temple of Dawn shuddered as Vivi, Pell, and Yazen stumbled into the desert dawn, the air crackling with ozone and the metallic tang of celestial energy. Behind them, Ra-Harakht’s roar split the sky, its flame-wreathed form clawing at the collapsing ruins.
“Move!” Pell hauled Yazen by his collar, the scholar’s spectacles askew, his face blanched with terror. Vivi sprinted ahead, her palm still bleeding from the ritual—a single drop of royal blood that had ignited a god.
The ground heaved. An auric shockwave erupted from the temple, rippling across the dunes like a tsunami of light. It tore through the desert, searing the air, as Alabasta itself seemed to scream.
Miles away, Kael Duneshade collapsed mid-stride, sand blistering his skin as the wave struck. The relic embedded in his chest flared, its molten glyphs searing his flesh.
“THE BLOOD… THE FLAME… BRING HER TO ME.”
Visions detonated behind his eyes:
—Vivi, her hand outstretched, blood dripping onto an altar.
—Ra-Harakht’s solar fury, burning villages, burning him.
—His mother’s voice, begging him to flee Baroque Works’ flames.
“Make it stop!” Kael clawed at the relic, but it fused deeper, flaxen tendrils threading his veins. The desert around him moved, sand spiraling into jagged monoliths that mirrored the Judge’s altar.
“YOU ARE MY HANDS. MY WILL. BRING. HER. HERE.”
Kael’s scream echoed across the dunes, raw and inhuman. His body convulsed, sand and flesh merging as the relic rewrote him—a puppet of divine fire.
Vivi froze as the shockwave hit, her blood humming in sync with the desert’s pulse. Heart pounding, she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet as the shockwave surged through her. Fear coiled around her like a tightening vice, squeezing the air from her lungs. The world tilted, colors blurring into a maelstrom of light and shadow. She stumbled, her mind grappling with the sudden onslaught of power that reverberated through her very bones.
An overwhelming surge of heat enveloped her, igniting a primal terror that clawed at the edges of her sanity. Her blood thrummed, resonating with the ancient force that had been unleashed. Doubt and dread intertwined as she realized the enormity of what had been awakened.
Her vision wavered, the blazing sigils of the relic searing themselves into her thoughts. Pulse racing, she felt an inexorable pull, as if the desert itself demanded her presence. She fought to steady her breath, to fight the rising tide of panic that threatened to consume her. In that moment, a whisper of fate echoed in her soul—this was her burden to bear. Ra-Harakht’s voice boomed in her skull: “YOU AWAKENED ME. NOW FINISH IT.”
“Princess!” Pell gripped her shoulders, his voice fraying. “We need to go now! Whatever you woke up—”
“It’s not just here,” she whispered, staring at the horizon where the shockwave had vanished. Vivi’s senses stretched beyond the immediate chaos, a silent cacophony resonating in her mind. She felt the pulse of the relic not just beneath her feet, but rippling outward in a vast, invisible web. The very air around her seemed to vibrate with an ancient energy, each particle a messenger of doom. She could feel it in the grains of sand that danced on the wind, in the scorching sun that seemed to blaze with unnatural fury, and in the stillness of the night that now hummed with a sinister cadence.
As she looked to the horizon, she saw the desert transform—dunes shifting and hardening, the sky above flickering with ominous patterns. It was as if the relic’s power had woven itself into the fabric of the world around them, altering reality itself. Her intuition screamed the truth before her mind could fully grasp it: the relic's awakening was not confined to their immediate vicinity. It echoed in the very essence of the desert, a relentless force that permeated every element of her surroundings. “It’s everywhere. In the sand. In the sky.”
Yazen staggered to his knees, clutching a fractured astrolabe. “The alignment—it’s accelerating! The relics aren’t just connected—they’re talking!”
Above them, the stars flickered violently, constellations rearranging into a sigil that matched the relic’s glyphs.
Kael lurched forward, his mind a shattered mosaic of relic whispers and buried grief. Each step fused sand to his bones, his body becoming a vessel for the Judge’s wrath.
“SHE IS CLOSE. HER BLOOD WILL COMPLETE US.”
In his wake, the desert itself warped—dunes hardening into glass, sandstorms igniting into golden fire. Villages scattered as the earth quaked, their wells boiling dry.
He no longer remembered his name. Only the need.
Vivi’s breath hitched. A figure crested the nearest dune, silhouetted against the blazing sunrise—Kael, his eyes twin supernovas, the relic’s light searing through his chest.
“Pell…” she whispered.
The falcon warrior drew his blade. “Stay behind me.”
But Vivi stepped forward, her bloodied hand raised. “Wait. He’s not… he’s not himself.”
Kael’s voice echoed, layered with the relic’s thunder: “YOUR BLOOD… OR THEIRS.”
The ground split between them, a chasm of molten sand. Ra-Harakht’s roar shook the heavens. The Mother Flame had chosen its champions.

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Chapter Text

The Temple of Dawn lay in ruins behind them, its once-proud pillars reduced to smoldering rubble. Vivi staggered backward, Pell’s arm steadying her, while Yazen clutched a fractured astrolabe, his face ashen. The desert air crackled with residual energy, the ground still trembling from the collapse.
Then, he emerged.
Kael Duneshade stood atop a shattered arch, his body a grotesque fusion of flesh and molten gold. The relic embedded in his chest pulsed like a dying star, its tendrils of light clawing up his throat and etching his eyes with solar fire. His voice echoed, layered with the relic’s hollow timbre: “Princess… you are the key.”
Pell stood, back straight, muscles tensed, scimitar drawn. “Stand down! Whoever you are!”
Kael’s relic-arm twisted into a blade of crystallized sand and flame. “There is no purpose. Only the Judge.”
The clang of steel against molten gold filled the air as Pell and Kael engaged in a fierce duel. Each of Pell’s swift strikes was met with the unyielding resilience of Kael’s relic-enhanced body. Sparks flew, illuminating the dusk, fierce flashes as Pell’s scimitar met the crystalline edge of Kael’s sand-flame blade.
Pell's muscles strained with every powerful swing, his eyes locked onto the twisted visage of Kael, searching for a weakness. But Kael moved like a phantom, his body imbued with the elemental fury of the desert itself. The relic in Kael's chest throbbed, casting an eerie glow that filled the air with oppressive heat.
Kael's strikes were devastating, each one a calculated blend of strength and supernatural force. His blade sliced through the air with a hiss, carving through the space where Pell had stood moments before. Pell's reflexes were sharp, but the relentless assault forced him into a defensive stance, his scimitar barely holding under the weight of each impact. The clash was brief, brutal. Pell’s strikes glanced off Kael’s molten armor, each parry sending shockwaves of heat rippling through the air.
Vivi lunged to help, but Yazen yanked her back. “His body is a conduit now—you can’t reason with him!”
Kael moved like a sandstorm, relentless and untouchable. His relic-blade shattered Pell’s scimitar, the force hurling the falcon warrior. The impact was like being struck by a comet. Pell's body was lifted off the ground, spinning through the air with a force that stole his breath. Sand and heat swirled around him in a disorienting blur, the world reduced to a chaotic maelstrom of flaxen particles. His back slammed into the side of a dune with a bone-jarring thud, the sand collapsing around him in a gritty embrace.
Yazen raised the astrolabe like a shield, but Kael swatted it aside, the device exploding into shards.
Vivi stood her ground, her voice trembling but defiant. “Fight it! You’re stronger than this!” Her heart pounded as she stood firm, her feet digging into the scorching sands. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with determination. She felt the weight of her heritage, the blood of Nefeltari royalty coursing through her veins, lending her strength. Despite the searing pain from the relic's energy, her resolve didn't waver.
Her voice, though trembling, carried a note of unyielding defiance. "I won't let you destroy everything we've fought for!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with desperate fury. "You're stronger than this! Fight it!"
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Vivi's words pierced through the cacophony of battle, reaching the part of Kael that still remembered the man he used to be. His human eye flickered, a brief glimmer of emotion breaking through the cold, calculated fury of the relic's control. A torrent of memories surged within him—faces, voices, promises made long ago. He saw himself not as the relentless blade of destruction, but as a protector, a guardian of his people.
The relic's grip on his mind wavered, its oppressive light dimming. Kael's hand trembled, the blade of crystallized sand and flame faltering for just a heartbeat. "Princess… run…" he managed to rasp, his voice cracking with the weight of suppressed anguish. In that instant, Kael's human side fought desperately against the relic's consuming influence, battling for control over his own flesh and soul.
But the respite was fleeting. The relic roared, its light surging. “SILENCE.”
A whip of golden sand lashed out, binding Vivi’s wrists. She screamed as the relic’s energy seared her skin, her blood—Nefeltari blood—sizzling against the restraints.
“Let her go!” Pell charged, weaponless, but Kael flicked his wrist. A cyclone roared to life around Pell and Yazen, an unrelenting storm of blistering heat and razor-sharp grains of sand. Visibility vanished in an instant, replaced by a whirling void of golden fury. Pell struggled to breathe, every gasp filling his lungs with scorching air that seared his throat and chest. He shielded his face with his arms, feeling the sting of the sand slicing into his exposed skin like countless tiny daggers.
Yazen, caught in the same maelstrom, tried to call out, but his voice was drowned by the deafening howl of the storm. He clung to a fragment of ancient stone, his fingers raw and bleeding from the abrasive assault. The heat was unbearable, the air shimmering with the intensity of a forge. Each second felt like an eternity as the cyclone seemed to tighten its grip, pressing in on them from all sides.
The force of the vortex lifted them off their feet, spinning them through the air with a savage ferocity. Sand filled every crevice of their clothing, grating against their skin, their eyes forced shut to avoid the blinding torment. Their bodies were battered, tossed around like ragdolls in the grip of a merciless giant. Desperation clawed at their minds, the relentless storm threatening to strip away their very essence.
Pell's thoughts raced, searching for any means of escape, but the cyclone held them prisoner, its fury unyielding. Yazen's grip on the stone finally slipped, and he was flung into the storm's heart, his cries lost in the cacophony. The world was a blur of whirling sand and suffocating heat, a relentless torrent that seemed to sap their strength with each passing moment.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the cyclone dissipated, leaving them buried and gasping. The scorching winds faded into an eerie silence, the desert once more a still and desolate expanse. Pell and Yazen lay partly submerged in the sand, their bodies aching and their breaths ragged, the remnants of the storm lingering in the air like a haunting memory.
Vivi's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the chaos unfold around her, the relentless force of the relic's power tearing through friend and foe alike. She knew she had to act quickly, but her options were limited, her movements restrained by the searing binds of golden sand. She struggled against her bonds, her thoughts racing, searching for any glimmer of hope in the overwhelming darkness.
The storm's sudden cessation left an eerie silence in its wake, broken only by the labored breaths of the fallen. Vivi's eyes darted around, desperately seeking a way to free herself. She could see Pell and Yazen, battered but alive, their determination unbroken despite the torment they had endured.
She called out, her voice straining against the oppressive weight of the relic's influence. "You don't have to do this. Remember who you are. Remember what you stand for."
For a fleeting moment, she saw a flicker of recognition in Kael's eyes, a spark of the man he once was. But it was quickly extinguished by the relic's unrelenting grip, its malevolent light casting a haunting glow over his features.
With a final, desperate effort, Vivi summoned all her strength, focusing on the memory of those she loved and the promises she had made. She could not let their sacrifices be in vain. As the relic tightened its hold, she steeled herself for the battle ahead, knowing that every moment counted.
Kael loomed over her, his relic-hand cradling her chin. “The oasis awaits. Your blood will birth a new dawn.”
Kael dragged Vivi northwest, the desert itself bending to his will. Dunes flattened into glassy plains, and skeletal ruins reassembled into jagged monuments as they passed. Vivi’s mind raced—the Mother Flame Oasis. Yazen had mentioned it in his ramblings. A place where stars and sand conspired.
She twisted in his grip. “Why are you doing this? The relic’s using you!”
“Using? No. We are… perfected.” Kael’s voice fractured, the relic’s will devouring his last shreds of humanity. “Your lineage abandoned the flame. We will correct their weakness.”
Vivi’s pendant—a sun disc gifted by Koza—dug into her chest. Luffy… where are you? But the Straw Hats were oceans away. This was her fight.
Pell clawed free of the sand, coughing ash and blood. Nearby, Yazen lay pinned under rubble, his leg twisted at a sickening angle. “Yazen! Where’s Vivi?!”
“Gone,” the scholar wheezed. “The relic took her… to the oasis. The convergence point.” He fumbled a scorched scroll from his robes—a map fragment. “The Mother Flame lies here. We need—agh—help.”
Pell hauled him upright. “Then we find it. And her.”
As they approached the heart of the desert, the air grew thicker with magic and oppressive heat. Kael’s grip tightened, his pace unrelenting. Vivi’s mind churned, recalling Yazen’s warnings about the relic’s power. She had to find a way to break free, to stop this madness before it was too late.
Suddenly, a faint cry echoed across the dunes. Kael paused, his eyes narrowing. He glanced back, sensing the disturbance. Vivi took the opportunity to tug at her restraints, but they held firm.
In the distance, a falcon's shadow loomed nearer, growing larger with each beat of its wings. Pell's keen eyesight had spotted the shifting sands, the unnatural formations leading him straight to them. With Yazen clinging desperately to his back, they hurtled through the air towards the oasis.
Kael snarled, recognizing the approaching threat. "Your friends are persistent, but they cannot save you now."
Vivi’s heart surged with hope at the sight of Pell. She knew that if anyone could turn the tide, it was him. But as Kael’s power grew, so did her fears for their fate. She whispered a silent prayer to the Mother Flame, willing the stars and sand to aid them in this dire moment.
Miles east, Vaughn’s boot crunched on a shard of glowing obsidian. “This way. The trail’s fresh.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, squinting at the sand. “Fascinating! These glass patterns—they’re identical to Hasa’ir’s ruins! The relic’s energy is carving a path—”
“Save the lecture,” Marya snapped, her mist swirling erratically. The closer they got to the relic’s resonance, the louder the whispers in her skull grew. “Weak… unworthy…”
Vaughn knelt, brushing sand from a half-buried banner. “Someone else is tracking this thing. Recently.”
A shadow passed overhead—Pell, soaring in falcon form, Yazen clinging to his back. The scholar spotted them and waved frantically. The desert sky darkened as Pell descended, his falcon wings kicking up a whirlwind of sand. Yazen tumbled from his grip, coughing and clutching a charred scroll. “You! Help us!” he croaked, pointing a trembling finger at Vaughn, Charlie, and Marya. “The Princess—has been taken, heading northwest! Have you seen any signs?”
Charlie’s eyes lit up. “The bloodline catalyst! Of course! The convergence requires royal—”
Vaughn silenced him with a glare. His grip tightened on Light Bringer, his eyes narrowing at Pell’s royal guard insignia. “Who are you to give us orders?”
Pell landed, his scimitar half-drawn. “Who are you to ask, and why are you skulking around ruins armed to the teeth.”
Marya’s mist coiled like a serpent. Shifting her weight, “We’re hunting. It sounds like it might be the same thing that took your princess.”
Charlie slid his glasses up and stepped between them. “It’s a relic—it’s called the Judge. It’s part of a triad linked to the Mother Flame. If it reaches the oasis with the princess, the entire desert could—”
“Enough.” Pell’s blade flicked toward Charlie’s throat. “You know too much. Who are you?”
Vaughn’s axe intercepted the strike, steel ringing. “We’re the ones who’ll stop the relic if you get out of our way.”
Yazen staggered to his feet, waving the scroll. “The oasis isn’t just a location—it’s a celestial lock! Vivi’s blood is the key to opening it, but the ritual requires all three relics! The Judge, the Guardian, and—”
“The Purifier,” Charlie interrupted, adjusting his glasses. “But your hypothesis is flawed. The texts describe the Mother Flame as a stabilizing force, not a weapon. The relic isn’t seeking to ‘open’ anything—it’s trying to rebalance!”
“Rebalance?!” Yazen spat. “You think incinerating villages is balance? The flame is a judge—it purges the unworthy!”
Marya’s mist flared flaxen at the edges, power resonance gnawing at her control. Her eyes flickered with an inner turmoil, glints of gold sparking within the depths of her irises. Her mist trembled, the flaxen edges wavering as though caught in a tempest, betraying the strain beneath her composed facade. Each breath she drew seemed to battle against the force gnawing at her core, the power resonating through every fiber of her being, threatening to surge beyond her control.
She clenched her jaw, willing herself to harness the chaotic energy, to bend it to her will. Her fingers twitched, the mist coiling and uncoiling like a serpent ready to strike, a vivid manifestation of the constant struggle within. “Argue later. The sand’s shifting.” She nodded to the horizon, where a wall of gilded sandstorm churned—Kael’s path, warping the desert itself.
Pell glared at Vaughn. “If you betray us, I’ll carve your spine into a sundial.”
Vaughn smirked. “If you slow us down, I’ll feed you to the sandstalkers.”
Charlie clasped Yazen’s shoulder, ignoring the scholar’s flinch. “We’ll combine our notes. Your celestial maps, my reactor schematics. Together, we can predict the oasis’s exact coordinates.”
Yazen yanked free. “Your ‘schematics’ are heretical nonsense. The ancients weren’t engineers—they were diviners!”
“And yet here we are,” Marya muttered, “chasing a sun god with a PhD.”
As the merged group trekked northwest, the desert seemed to conspire against them. Glassy sand sliced their boots, and mirages of Kael’s golden eyes flickered at the edge of sight. A haunting apparition, shimmering like liquid gold against the undulating sands. They appeared sporadically, flickering just at the periphery of their vision, like phantoms conjured by the desert's cruel magic. The eyes were not mere illusions, but projections of Kael’s relentless presence, his power bleeding into the fabric of reality. They burned with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very soul, casting an eerie, omniscient gaze over the group.
As they pressed on, these spectral eyes seemed to multiply, each one a silent harbinger of the trials that lay ahead. The golden orbs glowed with an unnatural light, their radiance undimmed by the swirling sand and the encroaching darkness. They were a constant reminder of the force they were up against, a warning that Kael was always watching, ever close, and that his influence extended far beyond the physical realm.
Despite the oppressive heat and the biting wind, a chill ran down Marya's spine each time she glimpsed the golden eyes. It was as if the desert itself was alive, a sentient entity conspiring to test their resolve and unravel their unity. Yet, amid the fear and uncertainty, the group forged ahead, driven by the unspoken understanding that their fate—and perhaps the fate of the world—hung in the balance.
Pell flew ahead, scouting, while Vaughn matched Marya’s pace. “That power’s got its claws in you, doesn’t it?” he said lowly.
She flexed her mist-wreathed hand. “Not anymore.”
“Liar.”
She didn’t deny it.
Charlie and Yazen's voices rose in heated debate over their interpretations of the codex and the mosaic.
“You're completely missing the point,” Charlie insisted, waving the ancient codex in frustration. “The codex clearly outlines a mechanical process. Look at the diagrams—they’re blueprints, not star charts!”
Yazen snorted, shaking his head. “Those ‘blueprints’ are abstract representations of celestial movements. The mosaic corresponds to constellations and planetary alignments. The ancients were mapping the heavens, not building machines!”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “You’re so blinded by your stars, you can’t see what’s right in front of you. The mosaic’s symbols match the components in the codex. Together, they form a schematic for accessing the oasis.”
“Heretical nonsense!” Yazen barked. “Trying to force your mechanical interpretations on sacred divination is sacrilege!”
“And ignoring the practical application of these designs is just plain ignorance,” Charlie retorted. “The ancients were engineers and diviners. They combined science and mysticism to create these artifacts.”
Yazen's eyes narrowed. “We’ll see who's right when we reach the oasis. But mark my words, your mechanical approach will lead us to ruin.”
Behind them, Charlie and Yazen’s bickering faded into the growl of the approaching storm. The oasis awaited. So did the reckoning—the stars above pulsed in unison—a celestial countdown. Somewhere ahead, Kael marched, Vivi in tow, the relic’s song drowning his screams. The Mother Flame Oasis awaited. And in its heart, a choice: salvation or annihilation.
The group trekked onward, their tensions simmering beneath the surface, as the storm's fury began to encroach upon them. Every step brought them closer to the oasis, the uncertainty of what awaited gnawing at each member. Charlie and Yazen’s disagreement hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the different paths they believed would lead to the same destination.
As the first sight of the Mother Flame Oasis broke through the desert’s veil, a sense of both awe and dread enveloped them. The ancient pool shimmered with an otherworldly light, its mysteries poised to reveal either triumph or catastrophe. The air grew thick with anticipation, the significance of their arrival sinking in.
Kael, driven by a force greater than himself, pressed forward with a singular purpose. While the relic's song guided his steps, the others quickened their pace, driven by their resolve to thwart whatever dark purpose the relic harbored.
The reconciliation of their interpretations could wait no longer—the oasis stood before them, demanding resolution. In the face of such an ancient and powerful enigma, they would have to reconcile their differences or face the possibility of losing everything.
With the oasis looming large, the group steeled themselves for what was to come, the weight of their mission pressing down on them like the very sand beneath their feet.
The Mother Flame Oasis emerged from the desert haze like a mirage made flesh—a crescent pool of water reflecting the star-strewn sky, surrounded by crumbling obelisks etched with Void Century glyphs. At its center stood Kael, Vivi bound in chains of molten sand, the relic in his chest pulsing in time with the oasis’s eerie glow.
“Stop!” Pell’s roar echoed across the water as the group surged forward.
Kael turned, his golden eye flaring. “You are too late. The covenant begins.”
The golden grains of sand writhed and twisted as if imbued with a life of their own, coalescing into sinuous, serpentine shapes. Each form elongated and expanded, their bodies undulating with a hypnotic rhythm. From their jagged maws, a fierce, incandescent light flickered—solar fire crackling and dancing like miniature suns trapped within their gaping mouths. These fiery serpents, born of the desert itself, radiated an intense heat, their every movement accompanied by the hiss and crackle of burning air. The sheer ferocity of their presence transformed the tranquil oasis into a battleground, their serpentine lethality poised to strike and consume all who dared to challenge the ancient powers at play.
Marya dissolved into mist, weaving through the onslaught, Eternal Night slashing at Kael’s flank. The relic-arm parried, their clash scattering embers into the pool—each drop hissing into steam. She moved with the fluid grace of a shadow, her form dissolving into mist to evade the fiery serpentine onslaught. Eternal Night sliced through the air with deadly intention toward Kael. The relic-arm, a grotesque fusion of metal and flesh, darted to intercept, the clash of blade and relic igniting a shower of embers. The sparks cascaded into the shimmering crescent pool, each ember sizzling into steam upon contact with the water's surface. The air crackled with the intensity of their duel, the ancient oasis bearing silent witness to the cataclysmic struggle.
Vaughn and Pell stood as twin pillars of resilience amidst the chaos, their movements synchronized through the intuition of countless battles fought. Vaughn’s Light Bringer, flared with a radiant Haki hue, each swing carving arcs of searing light through the air. Sand beasts lunged at them, their serpentine forms undulating with menacing grace, but they were met with the unyielding force of Vaughn’s blade.
Pell, with his scimitar gleaming under the eerie glow of the oasis, moved with the precision of a master swordsman. His strikes were a blur of lethal efficiency, each motion designed to decapitate or dismember the sand constructs swarming around them. The two warriors complemented each other perfectly—Vaughn’s brute strength and fiery onslaught balancing Pell’s agile and calculated strikes.
“You’re slowing me down, birdman!” Vaughn snarled.
“Says the man with the decoration for a weapon!” Pell shot back, severing a serpent’s head.
Charlie and Yazen darted to the obelisks, their feud momentarily silenced by urgency. “The glyphs—they’re a counter-ritual!” Yazen cried. “We can disrupt the relic’s tether!”
“No, you fool—it’s a stabilization matrix!” Charlie argued, scribbling calculations. “We need to overload it, not coddle it!”
Vivi twisted in her bonds, her voice cutting through the chaos. “The relic’s lying to you! It doesn’t want to save Alabasta—it wants to replace it!”
For a heartbeat, Kael faltered. His human eye met hers, fractured but present. “Princess… I can’t… stop…”
The relic shrieked, its light burning brighter. “SILENCE.”
A shockwave erupted, hurling Marya and Pell into the dunes. Vaughn barely kept his footing, Light Bringer’s Haki hue guttering.
“Now!” Charlie shouted, slamming his palm onto a glyph.
Yazen did the same, grudgingly. “For the princess, not your ego!”
The air grew heavy with the scent of ozone as the obelisks pulsed with newfound energy. Ancient symbols carved into their stone faces glowed with an ethereal light, casting long shadows that danced across the sands. The beam of starlight intensified, its brilliance almost blinding as it pierced through the heavens.
As the water of the oasis churned and frothed, steam billowed upwards in ghostly tendrils, obscuring the shimmering surface. The relic’s glow wavered, its once steady light now erratic and desperate. Cracks began to spiderweb across its crystalline form, releasing bursts of raw, untamed magic.
The obelisks' hum grew louder, resonating deep within the earth, echoing through the bones of all present. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and the temperature soared, the heat from the boiling oasis becoming almost unbearable. The relic's shrieks of protest mingled with the cacophony, a chorus of defiance and desperation. In that moment, the balance of power shifted, the forces at play teetering on the edge of chaos and order.
Kael roared, clutching his chest as the relic’s hold wavered. “NO! YOU WILL NOT STEAL THIS GLORY!”
He seized Vivi, sand swirling into a cyclone. “We will finish this… at the flame’s heart.”
The vortex vanished, leaving only glassed sand and the echo of Vivi’s pendant clattering to the ground.
Marya materialized, breathing hard. “He’s heading deeper into the desert. To the true oasis.”
Pell snatched the pendant, his grip trembling. “We follow. Now.” Pell’s heart pounded in his chest as he clutched the pendant. It felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried the weight of their very mission within its delicate frame. The cool metal pressed against his skin, a stark contrast to the searing heat of the desert. His fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the enormity of the responsibility now resting in his hands. The pendant seemed to pulse with a life of its own, resonating with his racing heartbeat. Determination and a grim resolve settled over him; this small object was now their beacon, their guide through the treacherous sands towards a destiny that hung precariously in the balance.
The Nefertari pendant throbbed in Pell’s palm like a second heartbeat, its golden crest radiating a warmth that defied the desert’s biting cold. Around him, the group huddled close—their breath visible in the frigid air, faces gaunt under the pendant’s ethereal glow. It pointed northwest, unyielding, as if pulled by an invisible thread only it could sense.
“It’s… alive,” murmured Charlie, adjusting his cracked glasses as he leaned in. His fingers twitched toward the relic, itching to dissect its secrets. “The oscillations match harmonic frequencies found in Alabasta’s ley lines. This isn’t just a trinket—it’s a resonance engine.”
Yazen scoffed, clutching a frayed scroll to his chest. “Ley lines? Ley lines! You reduce Queen Lily’s legacy to dirt vibrations? This pendant is a covenant with Ra-Harakht! Its light is the sun god’s gaze, guiding us to his trials!”
Vaughn spat into the sand, his axe, Light Bringer, glinting dully in the eerie light. “Don’t care if it’s magic or machinery. If it leads us to the princess, it’s useful. If not, I’m melting it down.”
Marya stood apart, her silhouette sharp against the moonlit dunes. The pendant’s glow dimmed slightly as she stepped closer, her mist-mist powers coiling like serpents around her wrists. Pell eyed her warily, the relic’s pulse stuttering in her presence.
“Back up, Marya,” Vaughn ordered, his voice low. “Your Devil Fruit’s disrupting it.”
She retreated without a word, her blade, Eternal Night, gleaming at her hip. The pendant’s light steadied.
Vaughn eyed the horizon, where the stars now formed a scorpion’s tail—pointing northwest. “He’s not getting far. That relic’s tearing him apart.”
Charlie and Yazen stared at the activated obelisks, their rivalry muted by dread. “The convergence is accelerating,” Charlie murmured.
“And we’ve just handed him a roadmap,” Yazen finished.
They followed the relic’s pull through a labyrinth of dunes, the sand shifting treacherously underfoot. The air grew heavier, charged with a static that raised the hairs on their necks. Above, the stars contorted into unfamiliar constellations—a scorpion’s tail, a serpent’s eye—as if the sky itself were rebelling
The group's every step became a battle as the desert transformed. The once shifting sands turned to jagged, glassy dunes that cut through their boots and shimmered with a menacing beauty. The air grew thick with the heat radiating from the ground, distorting their vision and creating a surreal, almost dreamlike quality to the landscape. Ghostly figures emerged at the edges of their sight—phantoms of Kael's past, each failure a stark reminder of their enemy's relentless ambition and the cost of their quest.
Specters of battles lost, allies betrayed, and moments of regret flickered in and out of existence, taunting them with the possibility of their own defeat. The mirages were almost tangible, their whispers filling the air with a chilling realization: every misstep, every hesitation, could lead them to the same fate. The desert's resistance was not just physical but psychological, attacking their minds as much as their bodies.
As the obelisks continued to hum and the ground quivered beneath their feet, the group steeled themselves against the onslaught of memories and the sharpened glass that sought to deter them. Each member drew upon their inner strength, their resolve hardening like the very glass that sought to impede their progress.
Pell, with the pendant in hand, led the charge, each pulse of the relic guiding them closer to their destiny. His determination became a beacon for the others, illuminating a path through the treacherous terrain. With every step, they defied the desert's malevolent will, pushing forward with a singular focus: to confront Kael and reclaim the balance that had been so violently disrupted.
In the distance, the true Mother Flame flickered, a promise of both salvation and doom. The choice that awaited them loomed ever larger, and the weight of their mission bore down upon them with an intensity that could not be ignored.
Marya’s mist flickered gold at the edges, the relic’s whisper taunting her. “You could have been divine.”
Vaughn tossed her a canteen. “Don’t let it in.”
She drank, her gaze steely. “Wasn’t planning to.”
Ahead, the true Mother Flame awaited—and with it, a choice: save a princess, or kill a god.

Chapter Text

“Storm’s brewing,” Vaughn muttered, eyeing the horizon; black clouds churned in a turbulent sea of darkness, roiling with ominous energy. The clouds twisted and writhed; their edges tinged with electric blue as if a storm burst of lightning was waiting to be unleashed. Tendrils of shadow snaked across the sky, intertwining like the coils of a vengeful serpent, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed like the growl of a waking beast. The air felt charged, heavy with foreboding, as if the heavens themselves were girding for battle. “We camp now or get buried.”
“Camp?!” Charlie brandished a handheld device, its screen flickering with erratic data. “The atmospheric pressure’s dropping faster than a Marine’s morals! If we don’t reach the oasis before that hits—”
“—we’ll die,” Yazen finished bluntly, unrolling his scroll to reveal a star map scorched at the edges. “But if we press on, we risk walking straight into Ra-Harakht’s judgment. The texts say his trials purify the unworthy.”
Marya’s voice cut through the wind, cold as her blade. “Worthiness won’t matter if we’re crushed by sand.”
The pendant flared, its light searing white-hot. Pell gripped it tighter, his breath catching. Ahead, the dunes parted like a curtain, revealing a skeletal oasis—a cluster of withered palms encircling a pool of black water. At its center stood a crumbling altar, its surface etched with glyphs that pulsed faintly gold.
“There,” Pell said, his voice taut. “Vivi’s there.”
The oasis was a graveyard of dead stone and older magic. The air reeked of sulfur and burnt honey, a nauseating sweetness that clung to their throats. Vivi lay slumped against the altar, her wrists bound by chains of molten sand that shimmered like liquid sunlight. Her head snapped up as they approached, her eyes wide but unseeing.
“P-Pell…?” Her voice was a rasp, her lips cracked and bleeding. “It’s… it’s using me. To open the—”
A thunderous roar split the sky. The sand beneath their feet erupted, coalescing into a towering figure of fire and silica—Ra-Harakht, the Sun’s Vigil, his hollow eyes fixed on Vivi.
“THE BLOOD OF NEFERTARI HAS AWAKENED THE COVENANT. THE TRIAL BEGINS.”
The oasis trembled as Ra-Harakht’s voice boomed. The pool of black water bubbled violently, sending ripples of malevolent energy across its surface. As the turmoil intensified, the liquid began to solidify, transforming into a smooth, obsidian-like glass that reflected the eerie glow of the glyphs on the altar. These ancient symbols flared to life, casting an otherworldly light that danced across the scene.
The ground beneath the group seemed to shudder in response, the stable sand giving way to treacherous quicksand that sought to consume them. Their footing became precarious as the desert's treacherous shift began to pull them under. Panic set in, eyes wide with fearful determination as each member fought against the consuming sands.
Charlie yelped, clawing at his sinking notes. “Magnetic destabilization! The relic’s altering the desert’s polarity!”
Yazen chanted under his breath, tracing warding sigils in the air. “The texts speak of this! We must appease the guardian’s wrath with—”
“Appease this!” Vaughn roared, heaving Light Bringer into the quicksand. The axe’s edge ignited with Haki, spewing heat that solidified the sand into a brittle crust.
Marya lunged for Vivi, her mist dissolving the molten chains. “Move!”
But Ra-Harakht’s hand descended, a colossal fist of fire and stone. Marya barely dodged, her mist scattering as the blow cratered the ground where Vivi had lain moments before.
“Enough!” Pell transformed mid-leap, his falcon wings slicing through the smoky air. He snatched Vivi from the altar, her pendant blazing like a miniature sun in his grip. As Pell's wings beat the air, carrying them to temporary safety, the group fled the chaos of the oasis. Each step away from Ra-Harakht felt like a borrowed moment, the threat looming large in their hearts.
They scrambled through the desert, their breaths ragged and minds racing. The relentless storm of sand and wind seemed to chase them, a reminder of the awakened ancient power they had left behind. The night wrapped around them, a cloak of shadow and uncertainty, punctuated by the occasional flicker of lightning, casting eerie shadows on their path.
Finding a shallow cave, they ducked inside, shielding themselves from the storm's fury. The cave offered a brief respite, its dark, cool interior a stark contrast to the searing heat of their recent battle. Vivi shivered by the fire, her wrists bandaged with strips torn from Yazen’s scroll. Charlie and Yazen sat opposite each other, their rivalry momentarily muted by exhaustion.
Charlie, leaning back on his hands, grudgingly admitted, “Your… sigils. They slowed the quicksand.”
Yazen, sniffing, rubbed his nose with his sleeve, “And your ‘polarity’ theory saved your notes. Not me.”
Vaughn sharpened his axe, eyeing the storm. “Save the sweet talk. That thing’s still out there.”
Marya crouched at the cave’s mouth, her gaze on the horizon. The pendant’s glow had dimmed, but its pull remained—a relentless whisper in Pell’s palm.
Vivi stirred, her voice frail but resolute. “Ra-Harakht isn’t the enemy. The relic is. It’s… twisting him. Like it tried to twist me.”
Pell closed his fist around the pendant. “Then we cut it out of him.”
Outside, the storm crescendoed. Somewhere in the darkness, golden eyes flickered. Kael’s voice, warped and echoing, slithered through the night, “YOU CANNOT KILL A GOD.”
The group settled into an uneasy silence within the cave, each member lost in thoughts of their recent encounter. The storm outside raged on, its howling winds mingling with Kael’s haunting proclamation. Vaughn's grip on his axe tightened, his gaze never leaving the cave's entrance, while Yazen meticulously checked his sigils for any imperfections.
As the hours passed, the storm began to abate, leaving behind a world transformed by the night's fury. The desert night was a quilt of indigo and silver; the stars smeared across the sky like scattered gemstones. Pell's mind was a whirlwind of possible plans. They had a few hours at most before Ra-Harakht would track them down again.
“We need to move before dawn,” Vaughn muttered, breaking the silence.
Outside, the first hints of dawn began to stain the horizon, and the group knew they had to keep moving. Vivi, despite her exhaustion, rose to her feet, fortitude etched on her face. Pell glanced at her, nodding in silent agreement. He led the group out of the cave, each step heavy with the weight of their mission.
Vivi sat on a weathered stone at the edge of their makeshift camp, her boots scuffed with sand and her royal cloak traded for a traveler’s frayed shawl. Across the flickering fire, Marya sharpened Eternal Night with the rhythmic motion of a wet stone. The silence between them was taut, charged with the unspoken weight of two young women bound by duty and ghosts.
“You remind me of someone,” Vivi said suddenly, her voice deliberately soft.
Marya’s hands stilled. The firelight caught the edge of her blade, casting a sliver of light across her face—sharp cheekbones, a golden hawk-like gaze. “I get that a lot,” she replied flatly.
“Dracule Mihawk,” Vivi pressed. “The World’s Greatest Swordsman. You move like him. That precision… it’s uncanny.”
Marya’s jaw tightened. She sheathed Eternal Night with a deliberate click. “He’s my father.”
Vivi tilted her head, studying her. “But you’re nothing like him.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Marya’s face. “Most people only see the resemblance.”
“I see the difference,” Vivi said, leaning forward. “His eyes are glaciers. Yours are wildfires.”
Marya’s mist curled faintly around her wrists, restless. “Wildfires destroy.”
“They also cleanse. Renew.” Vivi’s gaze dropped to the scars on Marya’s knuckles—thin, deliberate lines, like the tally marks of battles fought too close to the edge. “You’re afraid of your power.”
It wasn’t a question. Marya’s fingers twitched toward the kogatana at her throat. “The last time I lost control… people I cared about burned. Not everyone can shrug off a wildfire, Princess.”
Vivi flinched but held her ground. “You don’t know what I can shrug off.”
“I know you’re not hiding in a palace,” Marya conceded, grudging respect coloring her tone. “Most royals would’ve sent soldiers in their stead. You’re here. In the dirt. Why?”
Vivi smiled faintly. “A pirate once told me crowns are just hats with targets. I’d rather fight for my people than hide behind them.” She paused, her thumb brushing the ‘X’ scar on her wrist—the Straw Hats’ farewell. “When I first met Luffy… I thought strength meant never showing fear. But he taught me that trusting others is strength. Even when it scares you.”
Marya’s mist stilled. “Trusting others gets them killed.”
“So does shutting them out.” Vivi’s voice softened, and her eyes drifted to the dancing flames. “After Crocodile’s betrayal, I begged Luffy to abandon Alabasta. To let it burn so no one else would suffer. Know what he said?”
Marya shook her head.
“‘You don’t get to choose who deserves saving.’ He carried me through a war I couldn’t fight alone. Not because I was weak. Because I was human.” Vivi’s eyes glinted, fiercely raw. “Your power doesn’t define you, Marya. What you choose to do with it does.”
The fire popped, sending embers spiraling into the dark. Marya’s mist unwound, tendrils brushing the edges of the flames—not devouring, not retreating, just… existing. “My father once said a sword is only as strong as the hand that wields it,” she murmured as the shadows of the flames flickered across her face. “I thought he meant skill. Now I think he meant… purpose.”
Vivi nodded to the kogatana. “Is that why you carry his blade?”
“No.” Marya’s fingers grazed the dagger’s hilt. “I carry it to remind myself I’m more than his shadow.” A gust of wind stirred the sand, and for a moment, the desert held its breath. “You’re not what I expected,” Marya said finally.
Vivi raised an eyebrow. “Of a princess?”
“Of a Nefertari.” Marya stood, her silhouette sharp against the star-strewn sky. “You don’t hide behind your blood. You wield it.”
Vivi rose, her shawl slipping to reveal the sun disc pendant at her throat—a queen’s symbol, polished by sand and resolve. “And you’re not your father’s blade. You’re the hand that holds it.”
Somewhere in the dunes, a night bird cried. The relic’s whisper lingered on the wind, but here, by the fire, there was only the quiet understanding of two young women who’d carved their own paths through a world that demanded they kneel.
Marya’s lips quirked—not quite a smile, but close. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”
Vivi had just begun to speak of Luffy’s reckless, radiant faith when Charlie’s voice sliced through the calm like a blade. “—preposterous!” he barked, jabbing a finger at Yazen’s star chart. “The Scorpion’s Tail constellation hasn’t aligned with the Valley of Kings in eight centuries! Your ‘celestial lock’ theory is archaic!”
Yazen slammed his scroll onto a rock, the ancient parchment threatening to tear. “Archaic?! Your ‘geomagnetic resonance’ nonsense ignores the foundational texts! The Canticle of Ra-Harakht explicitly states—”
“Explicitly states nothing!” Charlie’s glasses slipped down his nose as he leaned in, his handheld device beeping erratically. “These ‘texts’ are thirdhand transcriptions from a sand-scorched era! The oasis isn’t a temple—it’s a crater from a meteor strike! The ‘Mother Flame’ is just irradiated mineral deposits reacting to—”
“Irradiated?!” Yazen’s face flushed crimson, his hands clenched into fists. “You’d reduce divine judgment to cosmic debris?! Heretic!”
Vivi and Marya exchanged glances—equal parts exasperation and amusement—as the scholars’ voices climaxed.
“Enough,” Pell said, rising with the weary authority of a man who’d refereed one too many royal debates. “Save the philosophy for the archives.”
But Yazen was already on his feet, waving a dagger carved with sun sigils. “The alignment peaks at dawn! If we ignore the stars, we’re walking into a death trap!”
Charlie rolled up his sleeves and brandished his device like a weapon. “If we follow your stars, we’ll be skewered by tectonic shifts! The dunes here are unstable!”
Vaughn spat out his toothpick and stood, Light Bringer glinting in the firelight. “You two’re worse than seagulls squabbling over bait. Shut it, or I’ll shut you.”
Marya’s mist coiled reflexively, her fingers brushing Eternal Night’s hilt. “Let them fight. Might be the only way they agree on something.”
“Agree?!” Charlie and Yazen snarled in unison, rounding on her.
“YES!” Pell’s voice boomed, his falcon wings flaring wide. The sudden gust scattered embers and silenced the camp. “You’re both right. And both are wrong. The relic’s a threat, not a thesis. Now sit down.”
The scholars froze, chastised. Yazen straightened his robes with a huff; Charlie adjusted his glasses, muttering about “empirical compromises.”
Vivi hid a smile behind her hand. “Reminds me of Zoro and Sanji arguing.”
Marya arched a brow. “Your crew?”
“Pirates,” Vivi corrected, her eyes distant. “They’d bicker like this before every battle. But when it mattered…” She trailed off, watching Charlie and Yazen grudgingly compare notes. “They’d find a way.”
Marya studied Vivi—the callouses on her hands, the sand-crusted hem of her cloak. “You’re not what I expected of a princess.”
“And you’re not what I expected of Mihawk’s heir,” Vivi shot back, grinning.
A sand-wolf howled in the distance, its cry swallowed by the dunes. The group fell silent, the fire’s crackle their only company. “Dawn’s in four hours,” Pell said finally. “Rest. The relic won’t wait.”
As the scholars retreated to opposite sides of the fire, Vaughn muttered, “Next time, I’m leaving ’em for the vultures.” But when the first hint of light tinged the horizon, it was Charlie who woke Yazen—and Yazen who handed Charlie a vial of ink to recalibrate his device. The desert, it seemed, bred strange alliances.
The desert dawn bled flaxen and crimson across the horizon, the air crisp with the bite of a night not yet forgotten. Vivi stirred first, her hand instinctively closing around the Nefertari pendant at her throat—its glow had dimmed to a faint pulse, like a weary heartbeat. Around her, the camp lay in disarray: Charlie sprawled over a pile of scribbled equations, Yazen curled protectively around his star charts, and Vaughn snoring against Light Bringer’s haft. Only Marya and Pell stood watchful, their outlines sharp against the waking sky.
“They’re coming,” Marya said flatly, her gaze fixed northwest. “The relic’s song is louder.”
Pell nodded, his falcon eyes tracking distant plumes of sand spiraling unnaturally upward. “Ra-Harakht stirs. And Kael… he’s no longer just a man.”
Vivi rose, shaking sand from her cloak. “Then we move. Now.”
The group huddled over a map etched into the glassy sand, the remnants of their campfire smoldering at its edge. Charlie’s finger jabbed at a cluster of glyphs. “The Judge—Kael’s relic—is the enforcer. Ra-Harakht is the guardian. But the Purifier… that’s the linchpin. If all three converge at the Mother Flame, the texts say it’ll ‘cleanse the unworthy.’”
Yazen scoffed, stabbing his ceremonial dagger into the sand. “Cleanse is a gentle word. The Purifier is a scourge. It’ll reduce Alabasta to ash if the triad aligns!”
“Ash?” Vaughn grunted, sharpening his axe. “Thought the relic wanted to play god, not arsonist.”
“It’s both,” Vivi murmured, her voice hollow. “The Sun Priests believed the Mother Flame judged kings. If it deems Alabasta unworthy…”
Marya’s mist coiled darkly. “Then we kill the Judge before it reaches the oasis.”
“Kill him?” Charlie’s glasses slid down his nose. “The relics are symbiotic! Destroying one could destabilize the entire system! We need to disrupt their resonance, not add chaos!”
Yazen slammed his scroll open, revealing a star map ablaze with crimson annotations. “Disrupt?! The alignment is celestial! You can’t ‘disrupt’ the stars! We must appease Ra-Harakht with a counter-ritual—offer a blood sacrifice to temper the flame!”
“A sacrifice?!” Pell’s wings flared. “Whose blood? Yours?”
“If necessary!” Yazen snapped.
“Over my rotting corpse,” Vaughn growled.
Charlie leapt to his feet, scattering sand. “You’re both insane! The relics are energy constructs! If we overload the Purifier’s core with a controlled burst, we can sever the triad’s connection without slaughter!”
Yazen rose, his voice trembling with fervor. “You think your machines can outwit a god?! This isn’t a lab experiment—it’s divine judgment!”
“And you’re not a priest—you’re a librarian!” Charlie shot back.
Vivi stepped between them, her pendant flaring. “Enough! Whether it’s science or sacrifice, we all want the same thing—to save Alabasta. So we adapt.”
Marya’s blade hissed from its sheath, her mist writhing. “Kael’s close. I can feel the relic’s pull. We ambush him at the Salt Flats—cut the Judge from the triad before the others awaken.”
“And if the Purifier activates in response?” Yazen challenged. “The texts warn of a ‘holy inferno’ that spares no sin!”
Charlie waved his device, its screen flickering. “Then we use Vivi’s pendant to redirect the energy! It’s a Nefertari relic—it can interface with the Mother Flame!”
“Interface?!” Yazen laughed bitterly. “You’d gamble the kingdom on a theory?”
“Better than gambling it on superstition!”
Vaughn spat. “How ’bout we gamble on not dying? The longer we yap, the closer that sandstorm gets.” He nodded to the horizon, where a gilded tempest churned—Ra-Harakht’s wrath, given form.
Pell folded his arms, his voice grim. “We split. Marya and Vaughn ambush Kael. Charlie and Yazen prep their… theories. Vivi and I head to the oasis to confront the flame.”
Silence fell, heavy as a tombstone.
“No,” Vivi said softly. “We stay together. The relics feed on division. We fight as one.” The pendant’s glow intensified, casting her face in stark relief—a princess forged by pirates, unyielding.
Marya sheathed her sword. “Then we move. Now.”
As they broke camp, Charlie and Yazen lingered, their feud simmering. “Your machines will fail,” Yazen muttered, stuffing scrolls into his pack.
“And your chants will get us killed,” Charlie retorted, tightening his belt.
But as the sun climbed, their arguments faded into the grind of survival. The desert offered no quarter—sand stalkers prowled the dunes, and the air itself seemed to curdle with the relic’s anticipation.
By midday, the oasis loomed—a mirage made flesh, its waters black and still as polished onyx, reflecting a sky where stars burned defiantly at midday. Above it, the sky contorted, stars visible at noon. The air hummed with a dissonant chord—half prayer, half warning—as the group crossed the threshold. Ancient obelisks flanked the path, their glyphs glowing faintly gold as if awakened by Vivi’s pendant.
The oasis trembled as Ra-Harakht’s voice boomed from the storm, shaking the air, sand spiraling into gilded vortices overhead. “THE TRIAL BEGINS.” The words reverberated through the bones of the group, primal and unyielding. Before them, a stone slab rose from the sand, its surface etched with glyphs that glowed like molten amber.
The Inscription:
Three trials await the unworthy:
Whispers to unearth the buried truth,
Sands to scorch the faithless soul,
Choices to sever crown from root.
Charlie lunged for the slab, his scanner whirring. “The Chamber of Whispers—it’s a sonic resonance puzzle! These glyphs aren’t poetry, they’re frequency markers! If we emit the correct harmonic tone—”
Yazen shoved him aside, unrolling a scroll so ancient its edges crumbled. “Ignoramus! The ‘buried truth’ refers to the Canticle of the First Sun! The trial demands penance, not parlor tricks!”
Vivi traced the glyphs with her pendant, its light flaring where she touched. “What happens if we fail?”
The ground quaked. From the depths of the oasis, a monolithic door carved with a screaming sun face groaned open, revealing a corridor lined with skeletal remains—some fresh, some centuries old.
“The unworthy become the sand,” Ra-Harakht intoned

Chapter Text

The Alabasta salt flats stretched endlessly under the merciless sun, a blinding expanse of cracked earth and crystalline dunes that shimmered like shattered glass. Captain Rasheed adjusted his keffiyeh, the fabric gritty with salt and sand, and squinted at the horizon. His unit moved in disciplined silence behind him, their boots crunching over the brittle crust.
“Keep sharp,” Rasheed barked, his voice cutting through the dry air. “Whatever burned Hasa’ir to ash is out here. And it’s not done yet.”
Lieutenant Amara tightened her grip on her rifle. “Sir. The tracks—they’re human, but… distorted. Like whoever made them was dragging something heavy. Or chained.”
Rasheed didn’t reply. The air tasted metallic, like blood and ozone, and the salt beneath their feet hummed faintly, a sound that vibrated in his molars.
The unit moved forward cautiously, every sense heightened by the unsettling ambiance of the flats. Rasheed's instincts screamed of danger, a warning honed from countless battles in the harshest of terrains. Each step felt like a countdown to an inevitable confrontation with a force unknown yet intensely potent.
They found him at the heart of the flats.
Kael Duneshade stood motionless, his back to them, silhouetted against the white glare. His robes hung in tatters, and his skin was webbed with veins of gold that pulsed in time with the salt’s eerie hum. Around him, the ground had fused into jagged spikes of crystalline salt as though the desert itself had recoiled from his touch.
“You. Turn. Slowly,” Rasheed ordered, his scimitar drawn.
Kael turned. His eyes were twin suns—hollow, blazing. The relic embedded in his chest throbbed, its light casting fractured shadows across the salt. “You are not her,” Kael intoned, his voice layered with a hundred whispers. “Where is the blood of Nefertari?”
Rasheed’s unit fanned out, weapons raised. “Last chance. Surrender.”
A soldier at the rear—a young recruit named Tarek—gasped. “Captain… I know him. That’s Kael Duneshade. He fought with the Revolutionary Army in the Western campaigns. But he… he vanished after Baroque Works razed his village.”
Rasheed’s gaze hardened. Revolutionaries were a complication he didn’t need. “Doesn’t matter who he was. What matters is what he’s become.”
Kael moved with a sudden, disconcerting animation, his form cutting through the air as if driven by unseen forces. The ground beneath him reacted violently; geysers of salt shot up in erratic bursts, creating a cacophony of hissing and cracking. His movements were staccato, a marionette pulled by strings of chaos, each step a jarring, unnatural propulsion.
A soldier to Rasheed's left cried out in agony as a shard of crystalline salt stabbed through his thigh. The salt shard burned upon contact, sending up wisps of acrid smoke as if the very essence of the desert had turned to acid. The soldier collapsed, clutching his leg, his screams mingling with the eerie hum of the salt flats.
“Take him down!” Rasheed roared.
Gunfire cracked, but the bullets disintegrated inches from Kael’s skin. The bullets never had a chance; they were mere specks of dust against the relic's formidable shield. Each projectile met an invisible barrier, vanishing in a puff of smoke and sparks before it could reach its target. The relic pulsed, humming with an ancient power that seemed to warp the very fabric of reality around Kael.
Seeing her comrades' efforts thwarted, Lieutenant Amara charged forward with a fierce cry, her bayonet aimed at the heart of the glowing relic. Her furrow creased with fortitude, but it was no match for the chaotic forces at play. As she closed the distance, a tendril of molten salt lashed out from the ground, coiling around her weapon with serpentine speed. The whip of liquid fire wrenched the bayonet from her grasp and flung her through the air as if she weighed nothing. She crashed to the ground, her armor sizzling where the salt had made contact.
Kael's eyes focused on her for a fleeting moment, his expression unreadable beneath the blazing light. The relic's glow intensified, casting eerie, writhing shadows across the battlefield. It was as if Kael were not just a man, but a harbinger of some otherworldly judgment, his every move dictated by the relic's insatiable hunger for chaos and destruction.
“You are insects,” Kael snarled, the relic’s light intensifying. “The Mother Flame will purify this land. Her blood will make us whole.”
Rasheed parried a strike from a salt-forged blade, the impact numbing his arm. “What’s he raving about? Whose blood?”
Tarek, scrambling to reload, shouted over the chaos. “The princess—! He must mean Vivi! But she’s safe in Alubarna, right?”
Rasheed’s stomach dropped. Safe. The word curdled in his throat.
Kael’s relic flared, and the salt flats shrieked. The ground splintered, fissures racing toward the horizon as the crystalline spikes twisted into monstrous shapes—serpents, scorpions, a legion of salt and fury. The very air seemed to thrum with the relic's wrath, a cacophony of nature turned against itself. The creatures, born of salt and anguish, slithered and scuttled forward, their jagged forms reflecting the malevolence in Kael’s eyes. Each step they took left a trail of corrosive despair in their wake, the ground sizzling and hissing as if the desert itself were crying out in agony.
The soldiers, caught in this phantasmagoric horror, struggled to maintain their footing. Rasheed, his senses overwhelmed by the pandemonium, tightened his grip on his weapon. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, but his heart—his heart knew no surrender.
“Stand your ground!” he bellowed, his voice barely audible over the din. But even as he shouted, the reality of their plight settled like a leaden shroud. The monstrous salt beasts were relentless, their advance inevitable.
With a surge of desperation, Rasheed charged at a salt serpent, his scimitar raised high. The blade struck true, shattering the serpent’s head into a thousand glimmering fragments. Yet, for every beast he felled, three more seemed to rise from the earth, their eyes gleaming with an unholy light.
“Fall back!” Rasheed ordered. The command echoed futilely across the battlefield, swallowed by the noise of chaos. Soldiers, once a disciplined unit, now moved with the desperate, disjointed motions of a shattered whole. The ground beneath them was treacherous, shifting like quicksand as the salt fissures expanded, swallowing everything in their path. Men stumbled and fell, their cries of alarm blending with the cacophony of battle. Their comrades reached out to pull them up, only to be dragged down themselves by the relentless crumbling of the earth beneath their feet.
The terrain, once solid and reliable, now betrayed them, fragmenting under the weight of their terror. Boots slipped on the slick, crystalline surface, and weapons clattered uselessly to the ground as soldiers fought to maintain their balance. The salt flats, once a stark, empty expanse, had transformed into a hellscape of jagged, shifting shards, each step a potential descent into oblivion.
Amidst the turmoil, Rasheed's voice was a lone beacon of resolve, a thread of order in the unfolding anarchy. But even his unwavering determination could not hold the unit together. The soldiers' faces were masks of fear and confusion, their training forgotten in the face of the supernatural horror that now engulfed them.
Everywhere, the ground gave way, swallowing men whole or trapping them in crystalline tombs. Panic spread like wildfire, the cohesion of the unit dissolving with each passing second. Rasheed's heart pounded, his instincts warring with his sense of duty. Desperation clawed at him, but he knew that retreat was their only option if any were to survive this nightmarish confrontation.
Tarek stumbled, salt closing around his ankles like a vice. “Captain—!”
Rasheed hacked at the crystalline bonds, his scimitar notching against the unnatural material. Above them, Kael loomed, his golden veins spiderwebbing across his face. “The trials have begun,” he rasped, his voice fraying into static. “You cannot stop the judge. You cannot stop…me.” For a heartbeat, Kael’s human eye flickered through the gold—desperate, terrified. Then the relic’s light swallowed him whole and the salt exploded.
*****
The corridor emptied into a cavernous chamber, its walls etched with thousands of overlapping voices—faded prayers, curses, and pleas frozen in stone. The air hummed with a low, discordant drone that seemed to vibrate through their very bones. The chamber was dimly lit, with only the faint glow emanating from the etched walls providing any illumination. Shadows danced eerily on the ground, creating an unsettling, almost otherworldly atmosphere.
Ancient symbols and glyphs, barely discernible, crisscrossed the walls, intertwined with the frozen voices. Each mark told a story, a history of those who had come before and left their imprints upon this place. The oppressive weight of centuries of despair and hope pressed down on the group, filling the air with a sense of foreboding.
In the center of the chamber stood a stone pedestal, worn and weathered by time, yet exuding an aura of immense power. It was clear that this was no ordinary place; it was a nexus of ancient energies, a focal point for the trials they were about to face. The ground beneath their feet felt unstable, as if the very fabric of reality was tenuous and fragile.
The chamber's ceiling was lost in darkness, its height immeasurable. Occasional flickers of light danced along the upper reaches, hinting at unseen movements and unseen watchers. The low hum of the discordant drone seemed to pulse in time with their heartbeats, creating a disorienting effect that made it difficult to focus.
Charlie adjusted his scanner, its screen flickering. “The resonance here is chaotic—like overlapping soundwaves. If we isolate the dominant frequency, we can stabilize the chamber!”
Yazen pressed his palm to the wall, murmuring a verse from his scroll. “‘Truth lies where light fears to tread.’ This is a trial of faith, not physics! We must recite the Litany of Ashur to appease the guardian!”
Vaughn kicked a skull aside. “How ‘bout we appease it by leaving?”
Marya’s mist, ethereal and shimmering, surged forward only to retreat abruptly, as if repelled by an invisible force. Tendrils of vapor twisted and writhed, straining against the unseen pull emanating from the walls. Her eyes widened in alarm as she sensed the ancient voices, their whispers growing louder, more insistent. They spoke not in words, but in emotions—fear, sorrow, anger—all intertwining and reaching out to her. The mist quivered, caught in the grip of the chamber's oppressive history, each particle resonating with the lingering despair etched into the stone.
“The voices… they’re pulling at me,” Marya whispered, her tone trembling with the weight of their collective anguish. She could feel them tugging at the edges of her consciousness, trying to draw her into their timeless lament. The mist, now a reflection of her inner turmoil, continued to flicker and dance, casting ghostly patterns in the dim light. It was as though the chamber sought to claim her, to make her a part of its eternal tapestry of lost souls.
Pell, uneasy, stepped next to Vivi, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Princess—your pendant. It reacted to the glyphs outside. Try it here.”
Vivi hesitated for a moment, her eyes reflecting the daunting atmosphere of the chamber. The pendant she held was no ordinary trinket; it was an heirloom passed down through generations, imbued with mysterious energy. As she raised it, the light within the pendant began to glow more intensely, casting jagged, erratic shadows that danced wildly on the walls.
The hum in the air seemed to respond to the pendant's luminescence, growing louder and more defined. The once discordant noise began to coalesce, narrowing into a focused, piercing tone. Vivi's heart pounded in her chest, the significance of the moment not lost on her. She could feel the weight of the chamber's judgment bearing down on them, the ancient energies scrutinizing their every move.
As the light from the pendant reached its peak, the shadows it cast became sharper, more pronounced, slicing through the dim haze like blades. The hum transformed into a clear, resonant drone that reverberated, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife through silk.
Then, as if summoned by the pendant's light, the drone resolved into a single, chilling word: "Liar."
Charlie’s scanner screeched. “It’s targeting us! The chamber judges our intentions!”
Yazen’s chant grew frantic. “The canticle—we need the canticle!”
“No!” Charlie shouted. “We need silence! The harmonics are canceling each other out—if we disrupt the pattern—”
The walls began to bleed sand, a frightening spectacle as grains cascaded like a broken hourglass, pooling on the chamber floor. It was as if the very fabric of the ancient structure was unraveling before their eyes, its solidity melting away into an amorphous stream of time. The floor, once firm beneath their feet, started to dissolve in sync with the walls’ disintegration, creating a surreal, shifting terrain. Each step they took felt less secure, the ground giving way like a mirage, pulling them deeper into the chamber’s arcane grasp.
“Choose,” Ra-Harakht growled.
Vivi slammed her pendant against the central glyph. “We choose neither.”
The moment Vivi's pendant made contact with the central glyph, the incessant drone stopped abruptly, leaving only silence in its wake. The pressure that had been mounting within the chamber dissipated, as if an invisible hand had released its grip. Time seemed to stretch and bend as the once solid walls began to shift. With a groan of age-old mechanisms, a hidden door, previously imperceptible, slid open with a whisper of stone against stone. Beyond, the darkness beckoned, promising escape from the chamber's deadly judgment. It was a reprieve granted by the ancient energies, sparing them the grim fate of the skeletons that lay testament to past failures.
Yazen glared at Charlie. “Your ‘frequencies’ nearly got us killed.”
“Your ‘canticle’ nearly got us worshipped to death!”
The next trial greeted them in a domed chamber. Its ceiling arched high above them, creating an immense vault that seemed to trap their very breath within. Each hieroglyph, carved with delicate precision, pulsated faintly as though imbued with a life of its own. Shadows danced across the walls, casting ghostly patterns that shifted and twisted, making it nearly impossible to discern where one symbol ended and another began. The air was thick, with an ancient magic that invoked both awe and dread.
The voice, supernatural and unyielding, reverberated through the chamber. “Speak of that which the night has buried.” It was a command that echoed through their bones, demanding an answer that carried the weight of forgotten secrets.
Charlie immediately unsheathed his handheld scanner, its blue light darting over the glyphs. “A resonance puzzle! The chamber responds to vocal harmonics. If we match the frequency of the—”
“—sacred incantation,” Yazen interrupted, unrolling a scroll brittle with age. “The Canticle of Dawn—it’s the only text that references ‘truth’ in the solar canon.”
Vivi stepped forward, her pendant pulsing. “What happens if we’re wrong?”
The walls shuddered violently, sending tremors through the floor beneath their feet. A low rumble, like the growl of a waking beast, reverberated throughout the chamber. Sand began to sift down from the ceiling in a delicate, gilded cascade, each grain sparkling in the dim light. However, the beauty was short-lived as the sand began to coalesce, rapidly transforming. Droplets merged and solidified into crystalline forms, stretching downward like the claws of some unseen predator. These newly formed stalactites were razor-sharp, their edges glinting menacingly as they sharpened into deadly points. The threat they posed was undeniable, and the silence that followed their formation was thick with tension.
“That,” Marya said flatly, looking up, her voice cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade.
Charlie adjusted his device frantically. “The harmonic key is 432 Hz—the same as Alabasta’s ley lines! Vivi, sing this note!”
Yazen brandished his dagger, its blade etched with sun sigils. “Sacrilege! The canticle demands words, not noises!”
“You want to gamble on poetry?!” Charlie snapped.
“Better than your child’s toy!”
Vivi closed her eyes, her voice steady as she hummed the note. The sound resonated through the chamber, weaving through the ancient glyphs like a gentle yet insistent breeze. The air itself seemed to hum in response, the walls vibrating subtly as if awakening from a long slumber. The glyphs, dormant for centuries, flared to life with a brilliance that momentarily blinded those present. Each symbol pulsed with radiant energy, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the chamber.
As the note reached its peak, the vibrations intensified, the ground beneath their feet feeling as though it might give way. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tremors ceased. The glyphs dimmed to a soft glow, their light now a mere whisper of their former brilliance. In the ensuing silence, a low rumble echoed from deep within the stone walls, a sound like the grinding of colossal gears.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, a hidden door began to grind open, stone scraping against stone to reveal a narrow, spiral stairwell descending into the darkness. The air that wafted up from below was cool and carried the faint scent of forgotten places and ancient secrets. The stairwell beckoned ominously, its steps worn smooth by the passage of countless feet long gone. As the door finally came to a halt, an unsettling stillness settled over the chamber.
Yazen scowled. “A lucky guess.”
Charlie smirked. “Empirical guess.”
The stairwell descended into a vast abyss, its maw yawning wide to reveal a chasm spanned by a bridge of blackened stone, eroded and crumbling to ash. The oppressive heat radiated from below, where molten sand swirled and churned in a river of liquid fire, casting a sinister, flickering flame on the jagged walls. The air rippled with intense heat, distorting the view and making it difficult to see clearly. The surface of the bridge crackled with residual energy sparks occasionally leaping between the stones in a dance of unstable power.
“Only the worthy may pass.”
Charlie crouched, tapping the stone with a vibro-pick. “The bridge is thermally reactive! Step only on the cooled stones—they’ll absorb the heat!”
Yazen unfurled a new scroll, his voice trembling. “The ‘scorched sands’ trial is a test of resolve! We must walk unshielded to prove our purity!”
Vaughn spat into the abyss. “I’ll prove my purity by not dying.”
Marya’s mist crept forward, evaporating as it touched the bridge. “The relic’s here. It’s… laughing.”
Marya's mist, a delicate cloud of shimmering particles, advanced cautiously across the bridge. As it made contact with the searing heat of the stones, the mist began to sizzle and vanish, leaving behind only a wisp of vapor. The bridge seemed to drink in the mist, the flames momentarily flickering and dimming as though teasingly savoring the ephemeral touch.
The laughter she spoke of was no mere sound; it was a sensation, a vibration that resonated through the very marrow of their bones. It was as if the bridge itself harbored a malevolent spirit, mocking their every step, daring them to continue. The air grew thick with the weight of unseen eyes, watching, waiting, and judging.
Pell gripped Vivi’s shoulder. “Let me fly you across.”
“No,” Vivi said, her eyes on the pendant. “The trial isn’t for wings. It’s for feet.” She stepped onto the bridge. The stones ignited, flames licking at her boots.
“Princess—!” Pell lunged.
“Wait!” Charlie yelled. “The pattern—it’s a sequence! Follow her steps!”
With a wrinkle in her brow and focus etched on her face, Vivi dashed across the bridge, her every step precisely deliberate. The pendant she wore around her neck emitted a soft, pulsing glow, which faded to a dull sheen as she trod upon the scorching stones. Each pace she took left a trail of cooled, darkened stones in her wake, a path carved through the flickering flames.
The rest of the group hurriedly followed her lead, mimicking her movements to avoid the blistering heat. The moment's urgency was evident, yet Charlie and Yazen were locked in a heated debate even amidst the peril. Their voices rose above the crackling of the fire, each insistent in their own theory. Charlie gesticulated wildly, pointing to the ground, while Yazen shook his head in frustration, his eyes scanning the celestial patterns above.
Despite their argument, they managed to stay in sync with Vivi's steps, driven by the instinct to survive and the unspoken trust in her guidance. The bridge beneath them trembled threateningly, but they pressed on, their focus on the dimming glow of Vivi's pendant and the path it revealed.
“The cooled stones align with the Scorpion’s Tail constellation!” Yazen cried. “It’s a celestial map!”
“It’s a heat sink!” Charlie retorted. “The stars have nothing to do with—”
The bridge shuddered. A section collapsed behind them, molten fire swallowing Yazen’s scroll.
“Move!” Vaughn roared.
They reached the far side as the bridge crumbled, the trial’s growl fading. With a sudden and unnatural silence, the only sound was the echo of their labored breaths. Sweat glistened on their brows, mingling with the soot and dust of their perilous journey. The ground beneath their feet felt solid yet seemed to pulse with the residual heat of the crumbling bridge behind them.
As they took a collective breath, the significance of their narrow escape settled over them like a heavy shroud. The air was cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of ancient stone and mystery. Their eyes were drawn to the imposing structure before them: the final chamber, a circular vault adorned with the stars' mosaic, the celestial scorpion glaring down upon them as if judging their worth.
Two formidable doors stood as sentinels, each bearing a symbol that hinted at the trials to come. The group exchanged wary glances, the weight of their choices pressing heavily upon their shoulders. The path to Mechanism or Vision lay ahead, each promising its own brand of challenge and revelation.
Charlie and Yazen's earlier argument seemed trivial now, their voices hushed by the chamber's silent command. The moment of decision was upon them, a crossroads where intellect and faith would be tested, and where the cost of failure could be insurmountable.
Marya's hand tightened around her kogatana, her resolve hardening. Vivi stepped forward, the glow of her pendant casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone, guiding them once more into the unknown, where the true test of their journey awaited.
“Choose your path: Hand or Heart.”
Charlie brandished his scanner. “Mechanism! It’s a logic gate—I can bypass it!”
Yazen barred his way. “Vision! The eye is Ra-Harakht’s sigil! Only through devotion will the flame spare us!”
Marya’s eyes narrowed. “Both doors smell like death.”
Vivi's pendant glowed brighter as she approached the altar, its hum resonating with the very stones of the chamber. Her steps were deliberate, each footfall echoing like a solemn drumbeat in the silence that enveloped them. The others watched with bated breath, the tension so thick, a knife could not cut through it.
“The trials don’t want a choice. They want a sacrifice,” she declared, her voice carrying a note of finality that brooked no argument. In one swift motion, she pressed the pendant into the hollow of the altar. The moment it made contact, a tremor rippled through the floor.
As if obeying an ancient command, the two doors began to melt and twist, their symbols merging into a single, unified design. Flames erupted from the seams, not with the wild abandon of destruction but with the controlled fury of a forge. The fire wove around itself, forming a new path between the two original ones—a path of Convergence where their destinies were entwined.
Ra-Harakht’s voice shook the oasis: “You pass… to face the flame.”
Another room loomed before them. Its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows thick enough to swallow torchlight. The air hummed with a low, resonant frequency as if the walls themselves were chanting. At the chamber’s heart stood a basalt slab, its surface carved with spiraling glyphs that pulsed faintly amber. Above it, mounted on a crescent-shaped plinth, hung twin daggers—one forged of burnished bronze, its blade etched with sunburst glyphs, Celestial Decree; the other cold obsidian, marked with lunar crescents, Celestial Devastation. Their edges glimmered with a light that seemed to exhale.
Marya’s breath hitched. The daggers called to her, their hum syncing with the relic’s whisper still coiled in her bones.
Charlie, adjusting his spectrometer, voice crackling with excitement, “Fascinating! The solar glyphs depict a fusion reactor—here, see the concentric circles? The ancients harnessed stellar energy! The moon blade must’ve been a stabilizer!”
Yazen, slamming his palm against the altar, scrolls unfurling like accusing fingers. “Blasphemy! These are ritual implements! The sun dagger represents Ra-Harakht’s judgment, the moon his mercy! The texts speak of the Second Cleansing—when the Purifier, chosen by the gods, severed the corrupt from the worthy!”
Vaughn, grinding his teeth, Light Cleaver sparking in his grip. “Save the fairy tales. Which one stabs the sand god?”
But Marya wasn’t listening. The daggers’ song increased, a siren’s pull she couldn’t resist. Her feet moved without thought, mist curling from her fingertips as she reached for the blades. Her hands closed around the hilts.
Power detonated—a supernova in her veins. The chamber screamed, glyphs blazing as molten gold and liquid shadow surged up the daggers and into her arms. Her eyes ignited, twin suns eclipsed by a third—a vertical slit of pure white light splitting her forehead like a vengeful star.
Vaughn, roaring, lunging forward, “Marya! Drop them!”
But the energy arced outward, hurling him into a pillar. Stone cracked. The ceiling groaned.
Vivi, staggering, shielding her face as powerful winds swirled around her. “Marya! Listen to me! You’re stronger than this!”
Marya’s voice echoed, layered with the relic’s thunder: “I AM THE PURGE. THE CLEANSING RESURRECTION.”
Vivi surged through the chaos, her pendant blazing. She seized Marya’s wrists, ignoring the sear of energy blistering her palms. “This isn’t you! You’re not a blade—you’re Marya! Remember who you are. The people who care about you. The ones you have sworn to protect. Be stronger! For them!”
Marya’s consciousness spiraled, memories flooding her mind. She saw her father, Dracule Mihawk, his stern gaze softened only for her. His teachings on precision and control echoed, “Strength without restraint is mere destruction.” She remembered Shanks, his laughter like a balm, his words a guiding star, “True power comes from knowing when to hold back.” Images of her friends flashed—moments of camaraderie and trust. Their faces and voices urged her on. The warmth of their support, the strength of their belief in her, wrapped around her heart.
A maelstrom of emotions churns within Marya as she stands in the aftermath of the energy's release. The fierce power that had nearly consumed her now ebbs away, leaving a profound sense of relief, yet shadowed by the weight of responsibility. Her heart races, but it is no longer with the chaos and fear that had gripped her moments before. Instead, it beats with a renewed clarity and purpose.
With a profound connection to her lineage, the teachings of her father are now a steady anchor in the churning sea of her thoughts. The warmth of her friends' support envelops her, a cocoon of safety and love that fortifies her against the lingering whispers of her own power and the dagger’s dark magic. A deep gratitude wells up within her, for the bonds that have brought her back from the brink.
Marya's soul aches with the intense struggle between the energies’ potent allure and her own hard-earned wisdom. Yet, within this crucible, she discovers a wellspring of inner strength she hadn’t known she possessed. The fear of losing herself to the ancient powers transforms into a fierce determination to wield them wisely, to ensure they serve the greater good rather than her own ambitions.
She is both humbled and empowered by her experience, understanding more deeply than ever the fine line between strength and restraint. The relief of regaining control is sweet, but it is tempered by the awareness of how close she has come to losing everything she holds dear. As the remnants of the supernova’s heat dissipate, she feels a cool, calm resolve settling in its place.
Marya's gaze turns inward, reflecting on the faces and voices of those who have stood by her. She feels their faith in her like a guiding light, illuminating her path forward. This experience has not only tested her limits but also reaffirmed her identity and purpose. She is Marya, shaped by love, wisdom, and an indomitable spirit. She is the Purge, but more importantly, she is a protector, bound by the oaths she has sworn and the people she cherishes.
With every breath, the chamber's oppressive weight lifts, and a serene determination takes hold. The power within the daggers and herself is formidable, but it is her heart and soul that will dictate how it is used. She is not alone, and in that truth, she finds her greatest strength.
Her grip on the daggers tightened, but this time with purpose. The mist around her fingers shimmered, transitioning from chaotic to calm. She focused on the love and guidance that had shaped her, grounding herself in those bonds.
“I am not alone,” she whispered, the words entwining with the magic pouring through the relics. “I am Marya, daughter of Dracule Mihawk and Elisabeta Vaccaria. I am more than this power.”
The tempest within her began to settle, the supernova dimming to a controlled blaze. The glyphs around the chamber responded, their harsh light softening in resonance with her newfound clarity. She felt the daggers' will bending to hers, their song shifting to a harmonious hum.
Vaughn, watching from where he had fallen, saw the change. “Marya,” he murmured, hope rekindling in his eyes.
Vivi, still gripping her wrists, felt the shift, too. “Yes, Marya. Remember who you are.”
The vertical slit of white light on her forehead flickered, the intensity waning as Marya’s resolve strengthened. She anchored herself in the love of her father, the wisdom of her friends, and her own indomitable spirit. The daggers pulsed in sync with her heartbeat, no longer controlling, but aligning with her.
“I choose to protect,” she declared, her voice firm and unwavering. “I choose to be more.” With a flicker, the third eye dimmed, and her eyes glowed icy white.
“You’re not alone,” Vivi pressed her forehead to Marya’s, the pendant’s glow merging with the dagger’s radiance. “We are here with you.”
Marya gasped. The third eye collapsed into a scar—a luminous beetle sigil etched between her brows. The daggers stilled, their light softening to a steady pulse.
Ra-Harakht’s voice boomed, shaking the chamber: “THE PURIFIER IS CHOSEN. THE TRIAL IS MET.” The temple shuddered, pillars fracturing. Sand poured from the ceiling in molten streams.
Marya, hoarse, clutching the daggers, “Move! Now!”
They fled as the chamber imploded, Ra-Harakht’s form materializing in the storm—a colossus of fire and sand, his hollow eyes fixed on Marya. The air shimmered with oppressive heat as Marya faced Ra-Harakht, the Sun Deity’s wrath incarnate. The deity towered over her, its body a searing lattice of molten gold and solar flares, each step liquefying sand into glass. In her hands, the twin daggers thrummed—Celestial Decree, its blade blazing like a captured star, and Celestial Devastation, its edge devouring light, leaving a void darker than midnight.
Ra-Harakht, “YOU CARRY THE SCARAB’S MARK. FULFILL YOUR OATH. PURGE THE WEAK OF HEART.”
Marya lunged, daggers crossed. Celestial Decree met the strike, its radiant edge slicing through the flame, while Celestial Devastation drank the residual energy, stifling the explosion. The ground beneath her boots blackened, smoke curling from her singed jacket. “I choose to protect!” She snarled, thrusting, the solar blade blazed, the lunar edge devouring light.
“You are embers. I am inferno,” Ra-Harakht boomed, its voice crackling like wildfire. It swung a colossal arm, hurling a whip of plasma toward her. It’s fist descended, a meteor of scorched silica. Marya dissolved into mist, reforming behind him. The lunar dagger lashed out, its edge drinking the fire from his arm. The solar blade followed, shearing through his chest in a burst of white flame.
He roared, reforming, but Marya was relentless—a tempest of strikes and fury. Each slice carved a glyph into his form, ancient words of unmaking.
The air crackled with celestial fury as Marya spun, her twin daggers—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—flaring in tandem. The solar blade blazed like a captured star, its golden light searing the sand to glass. The lunar edge devoured the glow, leaving a trail of void-black ripples in its wake. Before her, Ra-Harakht loomed, its body a vortex of solar flames and sand, eyes like twin supernovae burning through her resolve.
Celestial Decree met Ra-Harakht’s molten talons, each clash spraying arcs of white-hot plasma. The dagger’s light intensified, carving burning sigils into the guardian’s form. Celestial Devastation countered, its void edge sucking flames into nothingness, destabilizing the creature’s core. Sand hissed as it collapsed inward, only to reform, angrier, hungrier. Ra-Harakht retaliated, summoning a whip of solar fire. Marya dispersed into mist, reforming behind it to drive both blades into its spine. The guardian screamed, its cry shaking the oasis.
Nearby, Charlie and Yazen crouched behind a half-melted pillar, their hands racing over a stone tablet etched with primordial glyphs. “The text isn’t about appeasing the Sun God—it’s about redirecting its wrath!” Charlie shouted, his glasses slipping. “See this symbol? It’s a conduit, not a sacrifice!”
Yazen stabbed a finger at a glyph shaped like a teardrop. “A conduit requires a vessel. Look—this matches the pendant Princess Vivi wears! The Nefeltari crest isn’t decorative—it’s a key!”
A sand scorpion burst from the ground, pincers snapping. Charlie yelped, ducking as Yazen smacked the creature with a scroll. “Focus, fool! If Vivi’s blood charges the pendant, it could disperse the relic’s energy!”
“Or blow us all to ash!” Charlie shot back, scribbling calculations. “We need to sync it with the celestial alignment—now!”
Vaughn’s axe, Light Cleaver, cleaved through a serpent of compacted sand, its crystalline shards scattering. “Pell! Left flank!”
The falcon warrior soared, his wings slicing through a scorpion’s tail. “They’re endless! What’s taking the eggheads so long?!”
A hydra of swirling grit erupted, its three heads roaring with Kael’s stolen voice. Vaughn ignited his axe’s edge with Haki, bathing the battlefield in brilliant, blinding flashes. “Just keep ’em off the nerds!”
“The third stanza—’blood of the crowned quenches the flame’—it’s not metaphorical!” Charlie yelled, jabbing at the carvings. “Vivi’s pendant! The ruby—it’s a vessel for Nefeltari blood!”
Yazen adjusted his sleeves, sweat dripping onto the parchment. “But the ritual requires fresh blood! The pendant’s a key, not a substitute!”
A sand creature erupted beside them, fangs glistening. Vaughn’s axe, Light Cleaver, cleaved it mid-leap, imbued with Haki, reducing it to ash. “Less yapping, more solving!” he roared, already turning to parry another attacker.
Pell’s scimitar flashed nearby, severing two more creatures. “Princess! Stay close!”
Vivi pressed a hand to her pendant—the ruby glowing faintly, as if resonating with the chaos.
*****
The desert landscape shuddered as Kael pivoted on his heel, his movements no longer his own but dictated by the ancient relic’s sinister will. His skin splintered with golden fractures, each crack emitting an eerie glow. His eyes, now transformed into blazing supernovas, reflected the malevolence that had consumed him. Coils of sand slithered and writhed around his form like serpents, drawn to his presence by an unseen force. Behind him, Captain Rasheed’s unit galloped on camels, their rifles barking.
“Stand down, Duneshade!” Rasheed bellowed, firing a shot that disintegrated against Kael’s aura.
Kael's voice echoed through the desolate expanse, imbued with a foreboding resonance that vibrated with the relic's ancient malice. This was no longer the voice of the man but a chilling amalgamation of Kael and the malevolent force that had overtaken him. "Her blood… or theirs," he intoned, the threat hanging in the air like a death sentence.
Raising his hand with calculated cruelty, Kael commanded the very elements to bow to his will. The response was immediate and cataclysmic. The sands, once a passive sea of dunes, became an unstoppable wave, surging toward the oasis with lethal intent. The earth trembled under the force of the oncoming deluge, an inexorable wall of destruction aimed straight at their sanctuary.
*****
Marya danced between Ra-Harakht’s strikes with an uncanny grace, her movements a blur of agility and precision. Celestial Decree, her radiant blade, intercepted a barrage of solar flares, its luminescent surface absorbing and diffusing the deity's fiery wrath. Sparks flew as each sunburst collided with the sedge, casting radiant halos around her.
With her left hand, she wielded Celestial Devastation, a blade forged from the essence of a dying star. Each swing of the weapon carved voids in Ra-Harakht’s golden armor, the celestial steel slicing through divine metal as if it were mere parchment. The air around them vibrated with the force of their duel, every clash sending shockwaves that rippled through the fabric of reality, distorting the very atmosphere with their intensity.
Ra-Harakht's eyes blazed with heavenly fire, his strikes imbued with the fury of a thousand suns. But Marya, undeterred, met each blow with unwavering fortitude, her every action a testament to her roaring spirit. The ground trembled beneath their feet as their battle raged on, the sheer power of their conflict warping the air in waves of heat and light.
The godly being roared in frustration, his divine essence recoiling from the relentless onslaught. Marya's lunar dagger, shimmering with ethereal light, found its mark again and again, carving chasms in the deity’s armor and drawing celestial ichor from the wounds. Yet, each time, Ra-Harakht's divine form regenerated, the golden metal flowing to mend itself, a reminder of his near-immortal nature.
The battlefield was a tempest of divine fury and mortal purpose, with Marya at its heart, a beacon of defiance against the overwhelming power of the celestial being. Each clash of their weapons echoed through the desert, a symphony of war that reverberated across the dunes, a testament to the fierce struggle unfolding beneath the blazing sun.
“The pendant’s a catalyst!” Charlie shouted to Yazen. “Use it to channel Vivi’s blood into the ritual site!”
Yazen grimaced. “That’ll require her to stand in the flame’s heart! She’ll burn!”
Vivi stepped forward, resolve hardening. “Do it.”
The ground quaked as Kael materialized, his body a grotesque fusion of sand and relic. The Judge’s sigil glowed crimson on his chest, tendrils of gold pulsing beneath his skin. His eyes—hollow, blazing—locked onto Vivi, who stood paralyzed at the oasis’s edge with chaos surrounding her.
“Blood… to burn…” he rasped, voice layered with the relic’s thunder.
Behind him, Captain Rasheed’s unit charged, rifles firing seastone-tipped rounds. “Bring him down! Now!”
With a mere flick of his hand, Kael summoned the fury of the desert. The winds obeyed his silent command, whipping into a ferocious sandstorm that swallowed the soldiers whole. Their desperate cries were smothered by the howling gale, lost to the merciless storm. Grains of sand, sharp as daggers, pierced through the air, tearing at flesh and cloth alike. The vortex raged, a tumultuous maelstrom that reduced the battlefield to chaos.
In the midst of this tempest, Kael stood unyielding, an ominous figure wreathed in the very elements of destruction he wielded. His hollow eyes, burning with an inner fire, scanned the chaos with a predatory gaze. The soldiers faltered, their line breaking under the relentless assault, their rifles useless against an enemy that was part of the very earth beneath their feet.
As the vortex swirled and expanded, consuming everything in its path, Ra-Harakht roared, sensing the shift. Marya intercepted its lunge, blades screeching against celestial fire. “No you don’t,” she hissed, driving Celestial Devastation into its chest. The dagger pulsed, leeching its light—a temporary reprieve.
Kael’s sand wave crashed into the oasis, engulfing Rasheed’s unit. Pell vaulted, snatching Vivi from the deluge, while Vaughn hurled Light Cleaver like a comet, his haki parting the storm.
Marya spun with preternatural agility, her instincts honed by endless training. She narrowly avoided the searing blaze of Ra-Harakht’s nova strike, feeling the blistering heat singe the air around her. Her movements were a blur as she closed the distance, her lunar dagger glinting ominously. With a swift, precise arc, she severed its arm. The celestial limb disintegrated into stardust, scattering like embers in the wind, only to regenerate moments later, whole and menacing. “Damn it—stay dead!”
Charlie lunged for Vivi, waving the pendant. “Princess! The glyphs—your blood in the crest! It’s the only way!”
“Do it! Now or never!” Yazen tackled a scorpion mid-leap, roaring. Struggling to keep hold of it while it bucked. “Now, Charlie!” He screamed.
Charlie shoved the pendant into the tablet’s slot. Vivi slashed her palm, blood splashing the ruby. A beam of crimson light lanced skyward, piercing Ra-Harakht’s core. The Sun Deity howled, its form fracturing. Kael staggered, the relic’s hold slipping— the oasis trembled. The relics shrieked. And the desert held its breath.
Kael froze, clawing at his chest. “Princess…..!” Ra-Harakht’s flames flickered, its form unraveling. And the sky split.

Chapter Text

Kael Duneshade crumpled to his knees, the cursed relic slipping from his grip as his eyes—once molten gold—faded to dull amber. Around him, the battlefield stilled. The sandstorm that had raged for days parted like a curtain, revealing a sight none had dared to hope for.
Where Ra-Harakht had raged, the sky split open, not with fire, but with light. A cascade of cool, crystalline radiance poured down, washing the dunes in hues of aquamarine and pearl. The ground trembled, not in fury, but in rebirth—a symphony of shifting sand that parted to reveal what centuries had buried.
The oasis.
It emerged as if painted by a divine hand: a sprawling paradise of mirror-still lakes, their waters so pure they seemed to drink the sky. Date palms swayed in a breeze fragrant with jasmine and wet earth, their fronds glistening as though kissed by dew. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—sapphire lilies, amber lotuses—their petals unfurling to greet the sun. At the oasis’s heart stood an ancient stone archway, its surface carved with glyphs that predated Poneglyphs, telling stories of a time when desert and ocean were one.
Sprawled before them was vast and impossibly pristine—a mirror of liquid cobalt ringed by date palms and emerald grasses. Waterfalls cascaded from nowhere into crystalline pools, their music a balm after the screams of battle. The air smelled of rain and blooming jasmine, so clean it burned their lungs. Even the sun seemed softer here, its light refracted through a canopy of shimmering mist. The sand beneath their feet turned to soft, cool grass. Even the heat of Alabasta’s sun seemed to bow here, leaving only a gentle warmth.
Vivi sank to her knees, her hands trembling as they skimmed the water’s surface. “It’s real,” she breathed. “The legends… the Mother Flame’s sanctuary…”
Pell stood beside her, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion but his eyes alight. “Princess, this changes everything. The kingdom’s droughts… they could end.”
Charlie scrambled to his satchel, fumbling for ink and parchment. “The hydrological impossibility—self-sustaining aquifers, flora inconsistent with desert biomes—this shouldn’t exist!”
“Yet here it is,” Yazen, silver-beard fluttering, murmured. He traced a glyph on a nearby stone—one that hadn’t been there moments ago. “The ancients called it Uat-Ur—the Sea of Stars. But the texts said it was lost to the sand…”
“Hidden,” Charlie corrected, adjusting his cracked glasses. “By celestial alignment. The Consortium’s calculations suggested—”
“The what?” Yazen snapped, turning on him. Before Charlie could backtrack, hoofbeats thundered across the oasis.
Captain Rasheed and his royal guard burst through the palm grove, their camels skidding to a halt. The soldiers gaped at the oasis, at their princess ankle-deep in sacred waters, and at the strangers clutching weapons stained with golden ichor.
“Princess Vivi! Lord Pell!” Rasheed dismounted, his scimitar half-drawn. “You were to remain at the palace under guard! What—” His eyes locked on Marya and Vaughn. The duo stood apart, Marya’s twin relic daggers—Celestial Devastation and Celestial Decree—still glowing faintly in her hands. “Who are these outsiders? What have you done?”
The guards fanned out, blades aimed. Vaughn shifted Light Cleaver’s grip, but Vivi stepped between them, her voice ringing with royal command. “Stand. Down.”
Rasheed froze. “Your Highness, these relics—their weapons—they reek of forbidden—”
Vivi raised her hand, her gaze steady and calm. “Captain Rasheed, lower your weapon. These people are not our enemies. They have fought alongside us, risked their lives to uncover truths lost to time, and defended this oasis from destruction.”
Rasheed hesitated, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “But, Your Highness, their presence here, those blades—”
“Are a testament to their dedication and the knowledge they bring. Without them, we might never have found the Sea of Stars, and the droughts would continue to plague our lands,” Vivi continued, her voice unwavering. “They are our friends and allies. They can be trusted.”
Yazen rounded on Charlie. “You spoke of a ‘Consortium.’ What is this? Some World Government ploy?”
“N-No! We’re researchers! Preservationists!” Charlie stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.
“Preservationists who keep secrets from the very kingdom they ‘preserve’?” Yazen’s voice rose. “This oasis is Alabasta’s heritage! Not some… some cult’s!”
The standoff shattered as Pell’s knees buckled. He caught himself on a palm trunk, but Marya and Vaughn fell in unison, their bodies finally succumbing to the conflict’s toll. The celestial blades clattered to the ground, their light dimming.
As the celestial blades' glow faded, an uneasy quiet settled over the oasis. The weight of the recent turmoil hung heavily in the air, pressing down on every soul present. Vivi's gaze swept across the scene, her heart aching for her new friends who had given so much.
Before she could issue another command, the telltale beat of approaching footsteps echoed through the clearing. The sound grew louder, more determined, until Karoo burst through the palms, his exuberant honks shattering the tension. His arrival was swiftly followed by Chaka and a contingent of soldiers, each one a steadfast guardian of the royal line. Karoo barreled into the clearing, wings flapping wildly as he honked with joy.
“Princess Vivi!” Chaka barked with relieved reproach. “You vanished from the palace without a guard—do you have any idea the risk—” He froze mid-sentence, dark eyes widening as they fell on Pell’s crumpled form. “Pell?” The name cracked like a whip.
Chaka’s lip twitched, a low growl of frustration building in his throat—not at her, but at the sight of his fallen comrade. He knelt beside Pell, assessing the damage with a soldier’s care. “He needs the palace physicians. Now.”
“And the others?” Vivi pressed, gesturing to Marya and Vaughn.
“They’ll be tended to,” Chaka relented, snapping orders to his men. Four soldiers hurried forward, lifting Pell onto a stretcher. Karoo nudged Vivi’s side affectionately, his beak clacking softly as she scratched his neck. “I missed you too, Karoo,” she murmured.
Chaka’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the oasis more closely, the lush greenery and tranquil waters a stark contrast to the surrounding desert. “What is this place?” he demanded, turning to Vivi with suspicious awe. “I’ve never seen it marked on any maps.”
Vivi took a deep breath, her gaze solemn as she met Chaka’s questioning eyes. “This oasis is one of Alabasta’s hidden treasures, lost to time and nearly forgotten by all but a few,” she explained. “It holds immense historical and cultural significance for our kingdom. It must be protected at all costs.”
Chaka nodded in understanding, yet his jaw flexed. “We will guard it with our lives, Princess. No harm will come to this place under our watch.” Urgency still edged his words. “Your father is rallying the council. The people need to see you—to know their princess is safe.”
Vivi hesitated, her eyes lingering on the Oasis, “Go ahead,” she said finally. “I’ll follow once I know this place is secure.”
“No,” Chaka insisted, blocking her path. “Every moment you’re here, the palace is vulnerable. The Baroque Works may be defeated, but shadows linger.” His voice dropped. “Trust us to guard what you’ve built.” Chaka’s gaze swept over the Oasis, lips pursed and brow wrinkled as he assessed. “Rasheed,” he called firmly. “Your unit will escort us back to the palace with the wounded.”
Rasheed stepped forward, saluting crisply. “Yes, sir.”
With a nod, Chaka pivoted to the remaining soldiers. “The rest of you, stay here. Fortify the Oasis and guard it with your lives. This place is sacred—do not let anyone breach its sanctity.”
The soldiers responded with a unified, resolute nod, their faces set with a soldiers’ fortitude. As they began to secure the area, Chaka turned back to Vivi, his shoulders softening slightly. “We must go, Princess. Time is of the essence.”
Vivi glanced around, her heart heavy with sorrowful gratitude. “Thank you, Chaka,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling within her.
Chaka offered a brief, reassuring smile before signaling Rasheed’s unit to move. The soldiers formed a protective circle around the princess, Pell, and the other wounded. Karoo honked softly as Vivi mounted, and they began their journey back to the palace.
It was a blur of golden sands and the setting sun. Chaka marched ahead, his posture rigid, while Karoo trotted along with Vivi, his presence relieving her weary body. Behind them, Rasheed’s unit formed an honor guard as the two scholars continued their passionate debates.
Yazen, gesturing backward, “That oasis is not a coincidence. It emerged because we severed the deity’s hold. The texts are clear—divine retribution often leaves gifts in its wake. This is the kingdom’s birthright.” His historian’s robes were dusty, but his tone carried the weight of royal archives.
Charlie, snorting, adjusting his cracked spectacles, “Birthright? You think a magical spring just happens to bubble up because we stabbed a glowing relic? That ‘gift’ was there long before the sun deity cursed this sandpit. Your ‘texts’ are propaganda scrubbed clean by a hundred royal scribes.”
Vivi, cutting in, weary, “Save your breath. Arguing won’t heal their wounds.” She nodded to Marya, who coughed weakly.
Yazen, ignoring her, stepped closer to Charlie, “You dismiss centuries of recorded history as propaganda? What do you have, then? Scraps from back-alley tomb raiders?” His gaze narrowed. Charlie’s evasiveness about his origins had gnawed at him.
Charlie, laughing bitterly, “Recorded by who? Kings who rewrite wars into ‘peacekeeping missions’? That oasis isn’t a reward—it’s a warning. Structures like that don’t just appear. They’re built. And buried. For a reason.” His mind flashed to encrypted tablets in the library’s vaults, detailing civilizations erased for defying gods.
Pell, groaning from his stretcher, “Gods’ sake… both of you… shut up…” Vaughn grunted in agreement.
Yazen, lowering his voice, accusatory, “You’ve known something all along. Who funds your digs? Who tells you what to hide?”
Charlie, pausing, meeting Yazen’s stare, “You want the truth? Your precious palace archives are a nursery rhyme. The real history’s written in blood under our feet. That oasis? It’s a tomb. And whatever’s inside? It’ll make the sun deity look like a campfire story.”
A tense silence fell. Vivi glanced back, her expression unreadable. The palace gates loomed closer, their gold-leafed edges glinting like a challenge.
Yazen, softly, almost to himself, “The kingdom needs hope. Not… more secrets.”
Charlie, sighing, relenting slightly, “Hope’s what gets people killed, historian. But fine. When we reach the palace, you’ll see. Your royals will spin that oasis into a triumph. And you’ll believe them.”
Their eyes locked—a historian bound to crowns, an archaeologist bound to shadows. The wounded groaned again, a reminder of the cost of truth.
Vivi, noting their pause, said flatly, “Done? Good. Move. Before the sand decides to argue, too.”
Three days of desert winds had scoured the palace walls, leaving the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and unresolved tension. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns over the unconscious forms of Marya and Vaughn. Charlie sat between their beds, his nose buried in a weathered tome from the palace archives—The Chronicles of Alabasta’s Oases: Myths and Omissions. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned a page.
Marya, stirring, voice hoarse, “...Charlie?”
Charlie snapping the book shut, “You’re awake! Don’t—don’t try to sit up yet. The palace physicians said your ribs were…” He trailed off, adjusting his spectacles.
Vaughn, groaning, bandages crisscrossing his chest, “Where… are we guarded?”
Charlie, lowering his voice, “Outside the door. Two of Cobra’s elites. I’ve… managed to dodge their questions. Vivi’s vouched for us, but…” He hesitated, guilt flashing behind his lenses. “They’ll want answers soon. About the oasis. About us.”
Before Vaughn could reply, the doors burst open.
Vivi, breathless, eyes bright, “You’re awake! Thank the sands—!”
Igaram, looming behind her, voice booming, “Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, please! These strangers are precisely why caution is—!”
Vivi, cutting him off, sharply, “They saved my life, Igaram. Our lives.”
Igaram straightened his powdered wig, its curls trembling with indignation. His red nose twitched as he glared at Charlie, who shrank back instinctively. Vaughn, however, met his gaze unflinching, rasping, “Princess. We need an audience with your father. Alone.”
Igaram, spluttering, pushing out his chest, “Out of the question! His Majesty cannot entertain—!”
Vivi, stepping forward, steel in her tone, “I decide who my father sees, Igaram.”
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. Then Vaughn reached into his bandages, withdrawing a sealed parchment. The wax emblem—a crescent moon cradling a flame—made Vivi freeze.
Vivi whispered, “This seal… it’s from the Codex of the First Kings. How…?”
Vaughn, exhaling, “Your ancestors entrusted it to our organization. We are not here to cause trouble. We are… curators. Of sorts.” Charlie winced at the word curators as if it were a curse and Marya coughed weakly.
Igaram, narrowing his eyes, “Ma~ma~ma~! A pretty seal proves nothing! This could be a Baroque Works trick—!”
Vivi, snatching the letter, resolute, “No. This emblem hasn’t been used in centuries. Even I only recognize it from… from Mother’s lessons.” Her voice wavered, then hardened. “I’ll take this to Father. Now.”
Igaram, blocking her path, desperate, “Princess, think! If these vagabonds endanger you again, I—!”
Vivi, softly, placing a hand on his arm, “Igaram. You’ve guarded me since I could walk. Trust me now.”
The chamber fell silent. Even the guards outside seemed to lean closer. Finally, Igaram stepped aside, his powdered wig sagging like a deflated soufflé. He muttered, “Ma~ma~ma~… Very well. But I accompany you. And they—” He jabbed a finger at Charlie, who flinched. “—stay here.”
As Vivi swept out, Igaram trailed her like a storm cloud. Charlie slumped into his chair and said shakily, “What if the king doesn’t believe the seal? What if—”
Vaughn, closing his eyes, weary but firm, “Then we vanish. As we always have.”
Marya chuckled, though it turned into a wince, “Relax, Charlie. You’ve got the look of a man who’s never burned a library ledger. They’ll believe you.”
Outside, the guards shifted, their shadows stretching long under the Alabasta sun—a silent reminder that in a kingdom of sand, secrets rarely stayed buried.
For two days, the Consortium’s trio languished in a gilded infirmary, its marble walls both sanctuary and cage. Guards clad in Cobra’s crest stood sentinel outside, their spears glinting through the crack in the door. Time pooled like spilled ink: slow, staining.
Vivi came at dawn and dusk, slipping past the guards with trays of fig-stuffed bread and pots of mint tea. Her visits were a study in contrasts—princess and conspirator, her laughter too bright for the room’s heaviness.
Marya, on the first night, picking at her bandages, “What’s the point of a palace if the pillows are this lumpy?”
Vivi, smirking, tossing her a silk cushion, “Complaining already? You’ve been here six hours.”
Charlie, muttering into a scroll, “Six hours and fourteen minutes. Not that anyone’s counting.”
By the second day, routines formed like cracks in drought-hardened earth. Marya taught Vivi how to throw a dagger using date pits as targets. “Aim for Igaram’s wig,” she’d whisper, grinning. Charlie, emboldened by sleep deprivation, rambled about Alabasta’s botched irrigation records—only to freeze mid-sentence when Vivi leaned in, rapt.
Vivi, teasing, tapping his spectacles, “You’re worse than Yazen. At least he pretends to be boring.”
Charlie, flustered, “I—it’s methodical! And—and your archives mixed up Queen Lisan’s reign with her cat’s!”
Vaughn watched silently, his sharp face softening at the edges. When Marya laughed—a full, unguarded sound—he’d close his eyes, as if storing the echo. He asked Vivi, on the second dusk, “You’re risking much. Why?”
Vivi, plucking a date pit from the wall, “Same reason you are. Some secrets aren’t meant to rot.” The moment hung, fragile, until Marya lobbed a pillow at Vaughn’s head.
On the third morning, the summons came. The guards’ armor clanked like a death knell as the throne room’s grand arches loomed ahead, and Vivi—no longer just a visitor, but a ally—stepped into the light beside them, relics and recklessness in her wake.
The throne room’s grand arches echoed with the faint drip of water clocks, their rhythmic ticks measuring the weight of history. King Cobra sat atop the dais, his green robes pooling around him like desert moss. Sunlight glinted off the purple coat draped over his shoulders, its threads worn thin by years of rule. Beside him, Vivi stood straight-backed, her hands clasped—a princess no longer playing at diplomacy but commanding it.
Igaram hovered at the chamber’s edge, powdered wig askew, muttering “Ma~ma~ma~” under his breath like a disgruntled aria. Pell, bandages peeking beneath his sleeves, leaned against a pillar, exchanging a curt nod with Vaughn as the Consortium members entered. When Vaughn passed him, Pell clasped his forearm—a warrior’s salute, brief but charged with unspoken respect.
Cobra, eyes sharp, voice gravelly, “So. The Consortium.” He held the letter aloft, its crescent-and-flame seal cracked. “My ancestors whispered of your order. Guardians of truths too dangerous for sunlight.”
Vaughn, bowing shallowly, hand pressed to his healing ribs, “We preserve. We do not interfere. But Alabasta… your kingdom sits atop a crossroads of buried histories. We ask only to observe. In secret.”
Marya, smirking, “And maybe dust off your archives. No offense, but your scribes have no subtlety.”
Charlie fidgeted beside her, clutching a satchel of scrolls. His spectacles slid down his nose as he stammered, “W-we’d, uh, share knowledge too! Discreetly! No revolutions, no… no fuss!”
Cobra’s gaze lingered on Vivi, whose chin lifted imperceptibly. A silent conversation passed between them—father and daughter, king and heir. Finally, he chuckled, a warm rumble that startled even Igaram.
Leaning back Cobra smirked, “A secret library. Fitting, for a land built on sand and shadows.” He rose, wincing slightly at the ache in his joints, and descended the dais. “You have my blessing. But—” In a sudden motion, he swung his arm in a practiced arc, delivering a thwack to Charlie’s head with the edge of his palm—the infamous King Chop. Grinning, he rested his palm on Charlie’s shoulder. “Harm my people, and I’ll bury your Consortium deeper than Pluton.”
Charlie, rubbing his skull, wide-eyed, “Y-yes, sir! I mean—Your Majesty! I mean—”
Vivi, hiding her laugh behind her hand, “He means ‘thank you,’ Father.”
Igaram spluttered, “Ma~ma~ma~! Your Majesty, this is highly irregular! What if the World Government—”
Cobra, waving him off, “Let them tax our trade routes. They’ll never notice a few more scholars in the stacks.” His tone softened as he turned to Vaughn. “Your predecessors aided Alabasta once before. During the Void Century, yes?”
Vaughn, tensed, “…We do not speak of that era.”
Marya, bluntly replied, “Burn our letters if you’re caught. Deny everything. Standard procedure.”
After a beat of silence, Cobra nodded, the ghost of a king who’d gambled his throne to save his people. “Go. Send your historians. But know this—” He placed a hand on Vivi’s shoulder, pride etching his weathered face. “My daughter will decide what truths Alabasta inherits. Not you.”
As the Consortium turned to leave, Vivi caught Charlie’s sleeve. “Next time, knock before you raid our vaults. And… thank you. For trusting us.”
Charlie, cheeks flushed, “Uh. Yeah. No problem. Just… don’t tell Yazen? Royal historians hate competition.”
Igaram, watching them go, tugging his wig straight, “Ma~ma~ma~! This will end in camel dung and cannon fire, mark my words!”
Cobra, clapping him on the back, eyes crinkling, “Probably. But since when has Alabasta shied from a storm?”
Cobra’s words hung in the air like the aftershock of thunder, the throne room’s tapestries rippling as if the desert itself agreed. Before Igaram could muster another “Ma~ma~ma~!”, Vivi herded the Consortium toward the courtyard, her steps brisk with purpose. The palace corridors blurred—servants scattering, sunlight fracturing through lattice windows—until the scent of hay and duck feathers hit them like a wall.
Igaram, flapping his arms, wig quivering, “Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, this is madness! Letting armed strangers ride royal ducks to the shore? What if they steal them? What if—”
Pell, striding up beside him, arms crossed over his chest, “I’ll escort them. The skies are clear.” His hawk-like gaze met Vaughn’s, a silent pact between warriors.
Vivi, ignored Igaram, tossing Marya a pair of sheathed, cloth-wrapped blades, “These belong to you now.”
The daggers hissed as the cloth fell away, and she unsheathed them, their edges shimmering with molten gold and glacial blue. Igaram yelped when a nearby guard reached for one—his glove instantly frostbitten.
Marya, grinning wildly, snatching them mid-air, “Oh, you shouldn’t have—” The blades hummed, harmonizing like twin tuning forks. She twirled them, carving arcs of fire and frost in the air. “Aww, they like me!”
Igaram, turning crimson, “Ma~ma~ma~! Those are national treasures!”
Vivi, smirking, “They’re hers. The relics chose it. It would be a waste for them to sit in the royal treasury unused.” Marya sheathed the daggers with a flourish, fastening them, one on each hip.
Yazen emerged from the shadows, his historian’s robes flapping like an indignant crow. He jabbed a finger at Charlie, who was nervously eyeing the duck squad. “You! You still haven’t explained the third inscription in the oasis ruins! Running away won’t save you from academic integrity!”
Charlie, clutching his satchel, backpedaling, “It—it wasn’t Third! It was a coffee stain! And you misdated the entire Sun Dynasty by a century!”
Yazen, sputtering, “Preposterous! My sources are impeccable!”
Charlie, blurting, “Your ‘sources’ were written by a drunk scribe who thought camels were mythical!”
A beat later Yazen snorted, chuckling grudgingly. He thrust a scroll into Charlie’s hands. “Next time, bring better evidence. And… try not to die. The Consortium’s terrible note-taking will haunt history.”
Charlie, grinning shyly, “Keep your ink wet, old man.”
The desert heat shimmered over the palace courtyard, but Marya’s energy cut through it like a sandstorm. She bounded toward the spot-billed duck squad, her bandaged arm flailing with reckless joy as the relics at her hips—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—hummed in harmony with her excitement. Four spot-billed ducks preened and shuffled, their feathers gleaming like polished bronze. Karoo, the troop captain, stood at attention, his posture regal despite the blue-and-white chullo. Beside him, Cowboy lounged lazily, sunglasses reflecting the dunes, while Bourbon Jr. hiccupped softly, a bottle swinging from his neck. Kentauros, sporting a dented Roman helmet and a smoldering cigar, glared at everyone like the desert itself had insulted his ancestors.
Marya, squealing, skidding to a halt in front of Bourbon Jr. “WHY ARE THEY HERE? WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE?!” She pressed her cheek to his, scrubbing her hands through Bourbon Jr.’s feathers. The duck hiccupped, his bottle swinging as he leaned into the pets.
Vivi, laughing, adjusting Karoo’s blue-and-white chullo, “They’re the Royal Duck Squadron! They escort honored guests across the desert. Fastest in Alabasta—and the best judges of character.”
Marya, swiveling to Cowboy, who lounged like a sunbathing bandit, “LOOK AT THIS ONE! HE’S GOT GLASSES!” Cowboy blinked lazily, unbothered as Marya mussed his hat. “AND THIS GRUMPY ONE—!” She lunged at Kentauros, who snapped his cigar-clenched beak inches from her fingers.
Kentauros, “QUAAAAACK!” Translation: “Try it and lose a hand.”
Vivi, warningly, “He’s… particular about personal space.”
Undeterred, Marya tossed her head back and cackled, vaulting onto Bourbon Jr.’s saddle. “I love them. Can we keep them? Please? The Consortium needs ducks. Historic ducks!”
Vaughn, leaning against Cowboy, a faint smile breaking his stoicism, “There she is.” His voice was low, relieved. The shadows under his eyes lightened as he watched Marya bully Kentauros into accepting a pat.
Charlie, edging away from the ducks, clutching his satchel, “They’re… uh… very… toothy.” Kentauros fixed him with a beady glare, puffing smoke. “A-and why does that one have a helmet?!”
Vivi, helping Charlie onto Kentauros, who honked impatiently, “Kentauros thinks he’s a war veteran. Don’t mention the Battle of Sandbird Pass—he’ll lecture you for hours.”
Marya, gasping, starry-eyed, “THEY HAVE BATTLE STORIES?!” She whipped out a dagger, tracing a fiery line in the sand. “I’ll fight with you, Kentauros! We’ll storm the dunes! Burn the—ack!”
Vaughn, yanking her back by the collar, “No burning dunes.”
Igaram, lurking by the palace gates, wringing his hands, “Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, this is not protocol! Ducks are for diplomats, not… not curator lunatics!”
Pell, landing gracefully beside him, folding his wings, “Relax, Igaram. They’re in good hands.” He nodded to Vaughn. “Mostly.”
Kentauros, muffled, around the cigar, “Quaaaaaack!” Translation: “Hold the reins, idiot.”
Charlie squeaking, “Why is he so angry?!”
Marya, laughing, “He’s just passionate!”
As the group mounted, Marya peppered Vivi with questions mid-ride, her voice carrying across the dunes. “Do they have bedtimes? Do they eat scorpions? Can they dance?!”
Vivi, grinning, “Ask them yourself. But fair warning—Bourbon Jr. does sing when he’s drunk.”
Vivi mounted Karoo, who honked a commanding quack as the others clambered onto their ducks. Vaughn swung onto Cowboy with ease, Bourbon Jr. wobbling sleepily under Marya’s cackling glee. Charlie, however, clung to Kentauros’ neck as the duck snapped at his ankles, cigar smoke billowing. Karoo honked again—a captain’s farewell—as the dunes swallowed the sound, leaving only the echoes of laughter and the promise of uncharted tides ahead.
Charlie, white-knuckling Kentauros reins as the duck lurched forward, “Why is it bumpy? Why is everything in Alabasta trying to kill me?!”
Marya, standing on Bourbon Jr.’s saddle, arms wide, “BECAUSE IT’S FUN, BOOKBOY!”
The daggers at her hips flared—gold and blue light painting the sand—as the ducks charged into the desert, honking what might have been a battle hymn. Overhead, Pell’s wings beat a steady rhythm, a silent promise that even in a land of secrets, some joys were simple.
Pell soared, his wings casting a fleeting shadow as the group surged into the desert. Charlie bounced wildly, sand kicking up around him, while the others rode with the grace of born outlaws. Vivi glanced back, her smile bittersweet, as the palace shrank behind them.
Igaram, shouting after them, tearful, “Ma~ma~ma~! If Bourbon Jr. comes back hungover, I’ll bill the Consortium!”

Chapter Text

The desert stretched endlessly, a flaxen sea beneath the sun, as the duck squadron charged across the sands. Karoo led with Vivi, while Cowboy ambled lazily beside him, and Bourbon Jr. weaved drunkenly under Marya’s cackling command. Kentauros, however, seemed determined to buck Charlie into the nearest cactus.
Charlie whined, clinging to Kentauros’ neck, glasses askew, “WHY IS HE SPINNING?!”
Standing atop Bourbon Jr., arms spread, Marya replied, “HE’S JUST EXPRESSING HIMSELF! LET IT OUT, KENTAUROS!”
The duck responded by launching into a sand-kicking gallop, Charlie’s screams blending with Marya’s glee. Vaughn rode Cowboy with ease, his posture relaxed but eyes scanning the horizon. Overhead, Pell’s shadow glided like a guardian spirit.
By the time the shore came into view—a sliver of turquoise against the amber—Charlie had sand in places he’d rather not mention. Two submarines waited in the shallows: one sleek and marked with the Consortium’s emblem, the other weathered and worn, its hatch half-open like a lazy grin.
Vivi, dismounting Karoo, her attention fixed on the submersibles, “Your ride home. Or… rides, I suppose.”
Marya, immediately dropping to her knees in the surf, petting Bourbon Jr., “NOOO, DON’T GOOO! I’LL NAME MY FIRSTBORN AFTER YOU! ALL OF YOU!” Vivi hid her chuckle of amusement as the ducks honked in unison. Kentauros grudgingly allowed one final scratch.
Vaughn approached Pell, the two men locking eyes, nodding, “You fly well.”
Pell, returning the nod, “You don’t.” A fond smirk flickered between them.
Charlie, staggered ashore with wobbling legs, “I’m… never… riding anything… ever again…”
Marya, smirked, tossing him a water canteen, “Aw, c’mon! You’ve got grit! And… sand. So much sand.”
As Vivi handed Vaughn a sealed map, Charlie squinted at the abandoned sub, muttering, “The notes… the previous team left their logs behind. If we take that one, I could cross-reference their findings with ours…”
Vaughn replied, eyeing the weathered sub, “It’s a relic. Could sink.”
Marya, slinging an arm around Charlie, “Adventure! Plus, think of the drama! Besides, it’s not like we can just leave it here.”
Charlie, shoulders slumping, sighed, “Fine. But you’re unclogging the filters.”
Vivi hugged Marya tightly, whispering, “Don’t lose those daggers. Or yourself.”
Marya, grinned, “No promises, Princess.”
As the subs’ engines growled to life, Pell took to the skies, and the ducks waddled back toward the dunes—Bourbon Jr. belching a farewell hiccup. Charlie clambered into the abandoned sub after Marya, already muttering about mildew and marginalia. Vaughn lingered a moment, watching Vivi. The hatches sealed. Engines churned. And as the Consortium vanished beneath the waves, Vivi stood knee-deep in the surf, the weight of secrets lighter—for now—in the Alabasta sun.
*****
The Consortium harbor’s cavernous belly hummed with the groan of subs docking, saltwater dripping from rusted chains into ink-black pools. Vaughn stood alone on the grated walkway, his shadow fractured by the flickering glow of bioluminescent algae snaking across the basalt walls. The Consortium’s crescent emblem hung beside a new addition—the Red-Haired Pirates’ jovial, wind-whipped flag—their alliance now etched into the damp stone.
With his hands on his hips, Vaughn slammed a fist onto the control panel, “Where are they?” His voice echoed, but there was no answer. The second sub bay gaped empty, seawater sloshing where Marya and Charlie’s vessel should have surfaced an hour ago. He’d paced the docks twice, checked the comms array thrice, and now glared at the pirates’ flag as if it might confess.
Junior Engineer Nelo, leaning over the railing, called from the upper catwalk, “Guardian Vaughn! The Head Librarian wants your report before the lunar alignment!”
Vaughn, lip twitching, snarled without looking up, “Tell her the report’s missing two idiots and a submarine.”
Nelo answered with silence, then retreating footsteps. Vaughn crouched, running a hand through his dreads, muttering, “Should’ve never let them take that rust-bucket…”
His mind rewound the hours: Marya’s manic grin as she’d claimed the abandoned sub, Charlie’s nervous scribbling about “cross-referencing logs.” They’d been fine. The desert hadn’t killed them. The relics hadn’t burned them. But the sea… A drip echoed and Vaughn froze.
Marya’s Voice, ghostly in his memory, “Relax, Grumpy! Worst case, we’ll float home on a bookshelf!”
He stormed to the comms station, slamming open channels. Static hissed in response. Vaughn barked into the mic, “Marya. Charlie. Respond. Now.” Nothing.
*****
The submarine’s interior hummed with the low, pulsing glow. Marya leaned against the pilot’s chair, her kogatana cold against her collarbone, while Charlie scribbled furiously in the margins of a crumbling Alabastan ledger.
“You’re certain the Sun Deity’s temple wasn’t a metaphor?” Charlie muttered, adjusting his glasses. “Because this diagram of a ‘flame ascendant’ looks suspiciously like a combustion engine.”
Marya flicked a switch, her mist-laced fingers leaving faint trails in the air. “It was a deity, Charlie. Not a mechanic.”
“All deities are mechanics,” he retorted, clearing his throat in that annoyingly precise way. “Mythology is just primitive engineering. For example, Poseidon’s—” The submarine shuddered. A discordant screech tore through the hull, like metal claws raking across the abyss. “What was that?” Charlie snapped his ledger shut.
Marya’s hand hovered over the bubble porter—a circular device studded with nodes. The Consortium’s subs didn’t use conventional propulsion; they “hopped” with bubble transportation. Usually.
“Probably a pressure fluctuation,” she lied. The porter’s glyphs were flickering crimson. She activated it anyway. The world compressed. Charlie’s glasses slid down his nose as the sub lurched sideways, walls groaning like a dying leviathan. When the distortion cleared, the control panel erupted in frantic light.
“Brilliant,” Charlie deadpanned. “Did we just break time?”
Marya ignored him, stabbing at the emergency protocols. The sub began surfacing autonomously, gears whining. A deafening THUD rocked the chamber as they breached—not the crisp slap of waves, but something hollow and resonant, like hitting the roof of a drowned cathedral. The lights died. There was silence, followed by the faint drip-drip of seawater seeping through the vents.
Charlie fumbled for a glow-stone. Its pale light revealed Marya’s face—sharp, wary, her father’s arrogance tempered by something unfamiliar: dread. “Coms are dead. No beacon. Nothing.”
“So we’re stranded in the middle of nowhere?” Charlie asks, eyes darting upward toward the sounds of hull thuds.
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night, the blade’s obsidian edge swallowing the glow-stone’s light. “Check the viewport.”
Charlie squinted looking through the port to the outside. “Is that… a banana raft?”
“A what—?” Before Marya could finish, Charlie yanked the hatch open. Saltwater air flooded the sub, along with the smell of smoked sea king meat.
Sitting cross-legged on a garish yellow raft shaped like a half-eaten crescent moon was a freckled man roasting marshmallows over a tiny flame sprouting from his thumb. “Ahoy!” he called, waving a stick skewered with three charred marshmallows. “You guys have food? I’m out.”
Marya blinked. “Who are you?”
“Portgas D. Ace! Nice sub!” He tossed a marshmallow at Charlie, who fumbled it into the ocean. “Sorry about the, uh—” He gestured vaguely at the colossal sargassum still tangled around his raft’s rudder. “Your submarine attacked my raft.”
“We attacked you?!” Charlie spluttered.
“Yeah! I thought you were a really polite sea monster.” Ace shrugged. “Happens all the time.”
Marya sheathed her sword, mist dissipating from her shoulders. Something about this man’s utter lack of self-preservation put her at ease. “We’re… lost. Our navigation’s dead.”
Ace lit another marshmallow on fire. “Cool! Me too. Wanna team up?”
Marya exchanged a bewildered glance with Charlie. “Why not?” she muttered, her voice laced with resignation.
Ace, grinning ear to ear, tossed another marshmallow into his mouth. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road!”
Marya and Charlie shared a silent, exasperated agreement: navigating the treacherous seas was going to be an adventure, but teaming up with this eccentric marshmallow-roasting castaway was bound to be unforgettable.
Ten Minutes Later
The submarine now towed Ace’s Striker with a frayed rope Charlie insisted was “archaeologically significant.” Ace lounged on the sub’s deck, happily devouring their emergency rations.
“So,” Charlie said, eyeing Ace’s tattoo, “is ‘ASCE’ an acronym? Ancient Sea-Cucumber Enthusiasts? Association of Sentient Citrus Eaters—?”
“It’s my name. With a typo.” Ace burped. “You two got a crew?”
“We’re academics,” Marya said flatly, steering the sub away from a rock that looked suspiciously like a laughing skull.
“Adventurous academics!” Charlie added, sweating as the engine sputtered. “We, uh, preserve history. Secretly. Very secretly.”
Ace nodded sagely. “Like ninjas?”
“Exactly like ninjas,” Marya lied.
Ace nodded solemnly, then immediately ruined it by shouting, “LAND HO!” as Isla Koralia swung into view. The island was a riot of contradictions: volcanic peaks loomed behind beaches of jet-black sand, while neon-green sugar cane fields clashed violently with spice markets dyed crimson from the Haki-enhancing Piri-Piri peppers drying on bright carrot-hued rooftops. A gargantuan stone pillar—the “Spire of Ash”—stabbed the sky, its base littered with suspiciously fresh boulders.
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “Why is everything on fire?”
“Adventure,” Ace said, already packing marshmallows into his cargo pockets.
The dock came into focus, a bustling hub where chaos reigned supreme. Ace's eyes glinted with mischief as the submarine glided into a narrow slip, and Marya grimaced at the cacophony of shouts, laughter, and haggling that greeted them.
The harbor was dominated by a bar called The Humble Kraken, its roof sagging under a Beast Pirate flag. A sign read: NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO PROBLEM (BUT NO EYE CONTACT WITH THE BARMAN’S PET EEL).
“Transponder snails,” Marya said, eyeing a nearby vendor hawking “Kaido-Approved” snails wearing tiny leather jackets. “We need one. Quietly.”
Ace, predictably, was not quiet. He tripped over a crate of Piri-Piri spice, sending a crimson cloud into the air. A nearby shopkeeper screamed, “YOU’LL ANGER THE TITAN!” as Ace sneezed fire, igniting a sugar cane cart.
“Run?” Charlie suggested.
“RUN,” Marya agreed. They darted through the bustling market, dodging vendors and hopping over crates. They wove through the maze-like streets until they stumbled into a quieter backstreet, hearts pounding from the chase. They ducked into an alley—where Charlie, ever the academic, decided to “get a better view” by climbing onto a roof. “Charlie,” Marya hissed, “get down.”
“But the architectural symmetry of that spice silo is—”
CRACK.
The ground trembled as boulders rained from the spire towering over the island, Spire of Ash, its uneven silhouette etched with faded carvings of past rebels—their faces worn smooth by centuries of ash-laden winds. At its base, rubble from past landslides forms a skirt of broken stone, some boulders still bearing scorch marks from long-ago battles. A faint, sulfurous haze clings to the Spire, mingling with the sweet-sickly scent of Piri-Piri peppers from nearby fields. The air hums with a low, resonant growl as if the ground itself grumbles in warning to those who dare challenge its authority.
A landslide of pre-stacked rocks (conveniently labeled “HUMILITY AVALANCHE – KEEP BACK 500 FT”) chased them through the streets. Ace laughed, sprinting backward. “This island’s hospitable!”
Marya rolled her eyes. “This island is a deathtrap,” she muttered, brushing the dust off her jacket.
They regrouped at the edge of town, where the Obsidian Cliffs glinted ominously. Charlie pulled out a tiny pickaxe. “These cliffs are clearly fossilized bone! A groundbreaking discovery—”
“NO MINING!” howled a passing fisherman.
But it was too late. Charlie chipped off a shard. The cliff roared. Lava serpents burst forth, hissing in haiku. “Foolish little man / Your curiosity burns / Like a stupid moth.”
Ace saluted the serpents. “Nice poem! Wanna marshmallow?”
In a flurry of movement, the trio dashed toward the coastline, the air filled with the echoes of the hissing serpents and the faint tremors from the cliffs. Their breath came in ragged gasps as they burst through the dense foliage, finally reaching the tranquility of the beach.
Exchanging a glance, they collectively sighed, grateful for the temporary respite. Marya, knelt in the sand, sketching out their next move while keeping a wary eye on the horizon. Drawing a map in the sand. “We’ll circle back to the bar after—” The tide rushed in, erasing her footprints. The waves then personally targeted her, making the sand slick and she face-planted.
Charlie snorted. “Graceful ninja.”
“I’ll turn you into mist,” Marya growled, sliding comically into a coconut tree.
Ace helped Marya to her feet, her face still dusted with sand. “Come on, let's find some real shelter before more serpents or tides decide to surprise us,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. Spotting a cave, he pointed. “Shelter!”
“NO SHADOWS!” yelled a child hurrying past.
They entered anyway. Instantly, Ace’s shadow peeled off and challenged him to a puppet duel, wielding a tiny sword made of darkness. “This is AWESOME,” Ace said, battling his own shadow with a marshmallow stick.
Marya dragged him out mid-fight. “Priorities. Transponder snail.”
The group's laughter echoed faintly in the cave as they made their way back to the shoreline. With renewed determination, they set off toward the heart of the island, their destination now clear. The chittering of nocturnal creatures accompanied their journey, a symphony of the wild.
Marya led the way, her map now etched firmly in her mind. The air grew thicker, warmer, and the distant rumblings of the volcano were a constant reminder of the island's untamed power. They knew they had to act quickly.
Twilight approached as they fled toward the volcano. Ace, ever the climber, scaled the Smoke Spire. “View’s great up here!”
The plume began solidifying into glass-like ash. “ACE, YOU’LL TURN INTO A FOSSIL!” Charlie yelled.
“Cool!”
Marya yanked him down with a mist-whip seconds before the spire sealed. Ace’s hat remained, immortalized in ash. “Hat’s happier here,” he decided, shrugging at his ash-encrusted hat now fused to the Smoke Spire like a bizarre trophy.
The bar they found—The Tipsy Titan—was a lopsided shack with a roof made of sugar cane stalks and a sign that read, “NO SHOES, NO SHADOWS, NO PROBLEMS (WE’RE ALL PROBLEMS HERE).” Inside, locals with Beast Pirate tattoos side-eyed them while slurping drinks that smelled suspiciously like Haki-enhancing hot sauce.
Marya slammed a fist on the sticky counter. “What is up with this island? It’s like the land itself wants us dead.”
Ace, already halfway through a stolen plate of “volcano nachos,” grinned. “Nah, it’s just flirting. I get this all the time.”
“Flirting?!” Charlie hissed, frantically wiping Piri-Piri spice out of his eyes. “The sand made me trip into a cactus!”
“That’s just how islands say ‘howdy’ in the New World,” Ace said, ordering a drink called The Humble Punch (ingredients: mystery).
Charlie’s eyes darted around the room. “Ace, can you stop making friends and focus?”
Ace shrugged, clearly unbothered by the peculiarities of their situation. “Relax, Charlie. How bad can it be?”
Marya rolled her eyes. She turned to the bartender, her voice lower, more urgent. “Anything else we should know before we head out?” But before the bartender could respond, the ground began to tremble. Bottles clinked ominously on the shelves, and a low, rumbling noise filled the air, growing louder by the second.
Marya cornered the bartender, a hulking man with a pet eel wrapped around his neck like a scarf. “We need a transponder snail. Now.”
The bartender snorted. “Only snails here sing Kaido’s sea shanties. And they charge by the verse.”
“We’ll take it,” Charlie said, sliding a bag of Berries across the counter and the eel ate it.
The bartender tossed them a neon-pink snail wearing a tiny leather jacket. It immediately belted out: “KAIDO RULES THE WAVES, HE DRINKS AND FIGHTS AND MISBEHAVES—”
“Catchy!” Ace said, conducting the snail with a frenched fry.
Marya leaned over the counter. “Seriously. What’s with the rules here? The landslides? The shadow puppets? The poetry lava snakes?”
The bar fell silent.
A toothless fisherman whispered, “You… asked about the taboos. Now the Titan’s awake.” The ground rumbled. Sugar cane stalks rained from the ceiling.
Ace raised his drink. “To the Titan! Wanna nacho?”
They fled as the bar’s floor split open, revealing a glowing fissure. The transponder snail, still singing Kaido’s anthem, clung to Charlie’s head. The snail's song was drowned out by the escalating tremors. Charlie grabbed the neon-pink transponder snail and stuffed it into his bag. Marya glanced around, her eyes scanning for any sign of an exit amidst the chaos.
"Enough of this nonsense!" she shouted over the din. "We need to find a way out, now!"
Ace, still munching on his frenched fry, looked far too calm for the situation. "Alright, alright. Let's move before things get too poetic around here."
The ground cracked beneath their feet, forcing the trio to leap over widening gaps in the floor. Bottles shattered, and the bar patrons scrambled in panic. The bartender, unperturbed, wiped down the counter as if this were a daily occurrence.
Suddenly, a section of the wall crumbled, revealing a hidden passageway. Marya pointed towards it. "There! Let's go!"
They dashed towards the opening, narrowly avoiding falling debris. As they reached the passageway, a voice echoed through the bar, chilling in its clarity: "Enter the realm of shadows and serpents, where the price of curiosity is steep."
Ignoring the ominous words, they plunged into the darkness of the passage, the tremors and chaos fading behind them.
“Why is everything here sentient?!” Marya yelled, dodging a lava serpent that spat a haiku:
”Flee, foolish outsiders / Your footprints shall be slippery / Like your life choices.”
Ace paused to light a marshmallow on the lava serpent’s nose. “Thanks for the snack!”
Back at the sub, they realized two things:
1. The transponder snail only communicated in Kaido karaoke.
2. Ace had “accidentally” towed the entire nacho platter.
As the island’s volcano erupted in the shape of a middle finger, Marya sighed. “Next time, I am not driving the extra sub.”
Charlie, scribbling notes, muttered, “But the academic value—”
“NO.”
Ace toasted the chaos. “Best. Detour. Ever.”

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Chapter Text

The submarine’s cramped interior hummed with the stale, metallic tang of recycled air, its walls vibrating faintly from the distant groan of underwater currents. Pale blue light flickered from bioluminescent algae tubes bolted haphazardly to the ceiling—a Consortium "innovation" Charlie had dubbed "décor for the clinically depressed." Ace stirred first, his freckled face smooshed against the cold steel floor, a thread of drool connecting him to a technical manual titled Advanced Submersible Mechanics (Vol. 3: How Not to Die). The scent of nothing roused him—a void where breakfast ought to be.
He rolled onto his back, squinting at the algae-light. “Hey,” he croaked, prodding Charlie’s cheek with a charred stick he’d pocketed during yesterday’s lava-serpent encounter. “Did you eat the last ration bar?”
Charlie sprawled facedown across a makeshift desk of crates, didn’t lift his head. His glasses were askew, one lens cracked, and his fingers still clutched a quill pen buried in a ledger filled with feverish notes: Day 1: Island tried to kill us. Day 2: Island still trying. Hypothesis: Island is a sentient jerk. A half-empty inkwell teetered precariously beside a moldy coffee mug labeled #1 Archaeologist.
“I was documenting it,” Charlie mumbled into the pages, his voice muffled by a sketch of Ace’s fossilized hat. “For posterity. And science.”
Ace sat up, stretching his arms until his joints popped. “Posterity’s overrated. Breakfast isn’t.” He nudged Charlie’s leg with his foot. “C’mon, spill. You’ve got that guilty ‘I-ate-the-last-cookie’ vibe.”
Before Charlie could retort, the engine room hatch hissed open. Marya emerged like a grease-stained specter, her raven hair tied back with a frayed wire, her kogatana glinting at her throat. A smudge of engine oil streaked her forehead like war paint, and her gloves—once white—were now the color of despair. She tossed a dead transponder snail onto the table, where it clattered next to Charlie’s inkwell.
“The transponder snail’s a lost cause,” she said, peeling off her gloves. “Turns out ‘turning the dial’ means the snail hums Kaido’s theme song louder. And we’re out of food.”
Charlie finally lifted his head, leaving an ink-blotted cheekprint on his ledger. “Define ‘out of food.’”
Marya pointed to a crumpled ration bar wrapper pinned to the wall by a dagger. The wrapper bore teeth marks. Ace’s teeth marks.
“That was yesterday’s lunch,” Ace protested.
“That was today’s lunch,” Marya corrected. “You sleepwalk. And eat. Aggressively.”
Ace grinned, unabashed. “Talent.”
Charlie groaned, massaging his temples. “Priorities, people. The sub’s dead, we’re stranded, and the only thing broadcasting is our incompetence.”
“Priorities,” Ace echoed, suddenly solemn. He rose to his feet, nearly braining himself on a low-hanging pipe, and pressed his palms to the foggy viewport. “My hat’s still up there.”
Outside, the Spire of Ash loomed like a petulant god, its jagged peak clawing at the dawn-streaked sky. At its summit, Ace’s beloved orange hat—now fossilized into a permanent middle finger of ash—gleamed mockingly in the sunrise.
“It’s waving at me,” Ace said wistfully.
“It’s a hat,” Marya snapped. “And it’s dead.”
“You don’t know that!” Ace whirled, pointing an accusatory marshmallow skewer at her. “It’s… hibernating. Like a bear. A very stylish bear.”
Charlie squinted at the spire. “If by ‘hibernating’ you mean ‘turned to stone by a volcano’s spite,’ then sure.”
Marya ignored them, crouching to pry open the sub’s control panel with the finesse of a street surgeon. Inside, a tangle of wires spat sparks, and the burnt-out fuse—a tiny, pepper-shaped crystal—smoldered sadly in its socket. “We need a replacement volcanic quartz fuse. Without it, the emergency beacons as useless as Ace’s hat.”
Ace gasped, clutching his chest. “Low blow.”
Charlie leaned over her shoulder, squinting. “Volcanic quartz? That’s… oddly specific.”
“It’s what the manual says.” Marya brandished Advanced Submersible Mechanics like a weapon. “Page 42: ‘In the event of catastrophic failure, replace fuse with volcanic quartz (see Chapter 7: Why You Should’ve Stayed Home).’”
“So we find one,” Ace said, shrugging. “How hard can it be?”
Marya shot him a look that could curdle milk. “On this island? The last ‘shop’ we saw sold cursed cutlery and a mummified mermaid.”
“We’ll improvise!” Ace lobbed a marshmallow at Charlie, who ducked. “Pawn shops, black markets, tourist traps—every island’s got a shady guy in a back room. I’ll trade…” He patted his pockets, producing a lint-covered candy, a soggy map of the Grand Line, and a suspiciously glowing pebble. “Treasure.”
Charlie eyed the pebble. “Is that radioactive?”
“Only a little.”
Marya sighed, long-suffering. “Fine. But we’re also finding food. Real food. Not whatever Ace considers edible.”
“Hey, those lava-serpent kebabs were gourmet!”
“They tried to eat us back.”
The trio surfaced, squinting in the harsh morning light. The sub’s hatch creaked open, releasing a puff of stale air that smelled vaguely of burnt marshmallows and regret. Isla Koralia sprawled before them, its sugar-cane forests shimmering unnervingly in the distance, while the Spire of Ash cast a long, judgmental shadow over the harbor.
Ace hopped onto the dock, immediately tripping over a “KEEP HUMBLE (OR ELSE)” sign buried in the sand. “Charming place. Really leans into the passive-aggressive decor.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, scanning the ramshackle storefronts. “There—Titan’s Trinkets. Looks like a pawn shop run by a tax evader.”
The shop hunched at the end of the dock, its roof sagging under the weight of rusted anchors and a faded sign that read, “WE BUY SOULS (NEGOTIABLE).” A bell jangled as they entered, summoning a shopkeeper with one eye, three teeth, and a pet eel draped around his neck like a living scarf.
“Welcome,” the man rasped, stroking the eel. “Looking for something… specific?”
Marya slapped the burnt fuse on the counter. “Volcanic quartz. Now.”
The shopkeeper—Barma, according to his nametag “Don’t Ask”—leaned closer, his eel hissing. “Ah, fancy fuse, fancy price.”
Ace plopped his “treasure” onto the counter: the glowing pebble, the lint candy, and a button that read “I Survived Kaido’s Karaoke Night.”
Barma stared. “...I’ll take the marshmallows.”
“Deal!” Ace tossed him a squashed bag.
Barma sighed, gesturing to a back room guarded by a snarling tumbleweed. “Quartz is in there. Try not to die.”
While Marya dueled the tumbleweed (It’s got a knife?!”), Ace scaled the Spire, his hands blackened by ash, his grin undimmed. “Almost… there…” he grunted, fingertips brushing the fossilized brim of his hat.
Below, Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth. “ACE, THE ASH PLUME’S SOLIDIFYING! YOU’LL TURN INTO A STATUE!”
“I’LL BE A FASHIONABLE STATUE!”
The spire’s peak began to glimmer, dawn’s light transforming the ash-plume into glassy stone. Ace’s boot slipped—
THWACK.
A propelled rock smacked him in the rear, sending him tumbling into a soft dune of ash. Marya stood below, quartz fuse in hand, glaring. “Priorities, remember?”
Ace spat out a mouthful of ash. “Worth it.”
The ash wasn’t from the Spire of Ash this time. No, this was culinary ash—spewed from the chimney of The Sulking Squid, a ramshackle tavern wedged between Isla Koralia’s obsidian cliffs and a sugar cane field that smelled suspiciously of burnt caramel. The trio’s stomachs growled in unison.
“If the food here is half as dramatic as the island,” Charlie muttered, adjusting his ash-dusted glasses, “we’ll either die of spice or poetry.”
Inside, the tavern was a symphony of chaos. Beast Pirates in half-unbuttoned uniforms arm-wrestled over plates of smoking “volcano nachos.” A live eel slithered across the bar, stealing sips of rum. And in the corner, a bard strummed a lute while reciting haikus about Kaido’s hairline.
Ace beelined to the counter. “Three of whatever’s least likely to kill us!”
The bartender, a hulking man with a tattoo of Kaido’s dragon form coiled around his neck, slammed down three mugs of bubbling black liquid. “Ember Ale. Burns twice—goin’ in and comin’ out.”
Marya eyed the ale. “We’ll take food. Actual food.”
The bartender grinned, revealing a gold tooth engraved with a Jolly Roger. “Chef’s choice it is.”
The dish arrived: a wobbly tower of fried dough, drenched in neon-orange sauce and studded with what Charlie swore were eyeballs. “Behold,” the bartender announced, “Humble Pie—Isla Koralia’s finest!”
Ace took a bite. “Tastes like vinegar. And… cinnamon?”
Marya poked it with a dagger. “Is this meat moving?”
“It’s fermented,” the bartender said proudly. “Guaranteed to enhance your Haki… or your funeral.”
Charlie, ever the academic, scribbled notes. “Fascinating! The enzymes could theoretically—” Ace shoved a forkful into Charlie’s mouth. The archaeologist’s face cycled through horror, enlightenment, and existential dread. “Tastes like… annexation,” Charlie gasped.
Mid-bite, the tavern door burst open. A winded local screamed, “WHO DREW IN THE SAND OUTSIDE?!”
Marya froze, sauce dripping down her chin. “…I mapped our route.” The room fell silent. The bard’s lute snapped a string.
“High tide’s comin’,” the bartender growled. “You’ll be slippin’ for hours, fools.”
As if summoned, a wave crashed against the window. The floorboards lurched, and Ace’s stool skidded sideways. He slid toward the exit, mug in hand, cackling. “Wheee!”
Marya lunged, misting her legs to anchor herself, and snagged Ace’s collar. Charlie wasn’t so lucky—he windmilled across the room, ricocheting off pirates like a pinball, before face-planting into a plate of nachos. “Graceful,” Marya deadpanned.
Two hours, seven wiped-out patrons, and one eel-induced food fight later, the trio slumped outside, their boots squeaking on the treacherously frictionless sand.
“Well,” Ace said, picking a pepper out of his teeth, “breakfast was…”
“A disaster,” Marya said.
“Educational,” Charlie croaked, green-tinged.
Ace belched, igniting a small fireball. “Adventurous.”
As they trudged back to the sub, the bartender watched from the doorway, dialing a Den Den Mushi. “Kaido? Yeah. They’re here. And dumber than they look.”
*****
The G-5 Marine Base loomed like a scar on the edge of the New World, its stone walls pockmarked by cannon fire and salt-stained from decades of raging storms. Nestled in a jagged cove, the fortress was a labyrinth of rusted iron gates, barred windows, and docks choked with warships bearing the Marine emblem—their hulls streaked with bloodred algae from skirmishes with pirate armadas. Inside the courtyard, recruits drilled under the cracked gaze of a crumbling statue of Justice, their shouts drowned by the shrieks of seagulls circling overhead. The air reeked of gunpowder, seaweed, and the faint metallic tang of fear.
Vergo’s office was a windowless vault deep within the fortress, lit by a single flickering gas lamp. Maps of the New World papered the walls, their corners curled and yellowed, marked with cryptic symbols only he understood. A half-eaten platter of congealed fried rice sat atop his desk, flanked by stacks of reports stamped CLASSIFIED and a dented coffee cup crusted with old brew. The room smelled of soy sauce and neglect.
The Den Den Mushi on his desk contorted suddenly, its face twisting into the bartender’s smirking visage. “Kaido? Yeah. They’re here. And dumber than they look.”
Vergo leaned back in his creaking chair, his pristine white trench coat stark against the grime-coated walls. A frenched fry clung to his cheek like a barnacle, leftover from a hurried meal hours earlier. His gloved hand—stained with grease and something darker—crushed the snail’s shell with a crack, silencing the informant.
“Prepare my ship,” he said, his voice a gravelly monotone.
His adjutant, a wiry young Marine with a fresh bruise blooming on his jawline, hesitated in the doorway. The man’s uniform hung loosely, buttons misaligned, as though dressed in the dark. “Sir, your patrol shift isn’t for another—”
The thud of Vergo’s bamboo staff striking the wall beside the adjutant’s head reverberated through the room. Plaster rained down as the recruit flinched, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Did. I. Ask.” Vergo didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to.
The adjutant scrambled backward, nearly tripping over a loose floorboard. “N-No, sir! Right away, sir!”
Vergo watched him flee, then reached for the Den Den Mushi again. The snail’s face melted into Doflamingo’s signature grin, its eyes narrowing with predatory glee. “Vergo-san~,” the snail crooned, its voice syrup-thick. “Heard you’ve got pests.”
Vergo sucked a glob of sweet-and-sour sauce off his glove, his gaze drifting to a framed photo on his desk: a younger Doflamingo, barely ten, standing atop a pile of rubble, his Conqueror’s Haki flaring like a crown. Beside him, a teenaged Vergo knelt, bamboo staff in hand, a half-eaten loaf of bread stuck to his face.
“They’ll be dead by dawn,” Vergo said. Behind him, the Spire of Ash loomed on a map of Isla Koralia, circled in red. “The Spire makes tidy graves.”
The snail’s laugh was a static-filled rasp. “Efficient as ever. Just don’t forget whose leash you’re on.”
The line went dead. Vergo rose, his shadow swallowing the room. He plucked the frenched fry from his cheek and ate it, then strode into the corridor, his staff scraping the stone floor like a butcher’s knife. Somewhere in the bowels of the base, a recruit screamed.
Dawn would come soon, and so would the slaughter.
*****
Marya knelt before the submarine’s mangled innards, a fuse in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. The manual lay open to a page titled “So Your Submarine’s Dead (Again)”, which included a helpful diagram of a stick figure crying. “This is the wrong fuse,” she muttered.
“How can it be wrong?” Ace said. “It’s shaped like a star. Stars are universal!”
“It’s supposed to be volcanic quartz,” Marya hissed. “This is a glowstick from Charlie’s ‘emergency rave kit.’”
Charlie gasped. “You found that?!”
The submarine groaned, echoing the crew's collective frustration. Marya wiped her brow, leaving a smudge of grease across her forehead, tossed the faulty glowstick aside, and retrieved the crystal they purchased. The fuse sparked as Marya jammed it in. The submarine shuddered to life, lights flickering like a disco run by ghosts. The emergency beacon blared, projecting a holographic SOS that briefly morphed into a dancing pineapple.
“Success!” Charlie cried. Then the lights died, and the beacon sputtered.
When a small fire erupted in the corner, Ace blew it out with another belch. “Adventure.”
Charlie squinted at the manual under the glow of a seaweed lamp. “Ah! Page 304: ‘If your sub fails post-fuse replacement, you may need a…’” He trailed off.
“May need a what?” Marya growled.
“It’s written in… interpretive mime.”
Marya snatched the manual. The diagram showed a stick figure juggling crystals while riding a seahorse.
Ace peered over her shoulder. “I think it wants us to throw a party.” Marya hurled the manual at him. It bounced off his head and hit a lever, accidentally launching a torpedo into the abyss. “Oops,” Ace said.
“Oops?! That was our last—!” A distant boom echoed, and the sub rocked, “...torpedo,” Marya finished.
Three hours later, Marya lay under the control panel, her hair frazzled, her dagger pinning Ace’s pants to the wall to keep him from “helping.” Charlie had resorted to communing with the sub’s wiring like a deranged therapist. “I feel you,” he whispered to a sparking cable. “Society’s pressures are too much, aren’t they?” The cable shocked him.
“Kinky,” Ace said.
Marya kicked a toolbox. “We need a volcanic quartz regulator. It’s the only part that can stabilize the—”
“Wait.” Charlie adjusted his glasses. “The manual mentioned that earlier! ‘Regulator: A fancy rock that stops your submarine from exploding.’”
“So… we need a rock.” Ace nodded sagely. “I’ll grab one outside.”
“It’s not a rock,” Marya snarled. “It’s a rare crystal formed under a Spire of Ash. Which means—”
“We’re going back to the murder island?!” Charlie squeaked.
Ace fist-pumped. “Lava cakes, here we come!”
Marya outlined their mission with the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner:
1. Sneak into Isla Koralia.
2. Locate the volcanic quartz (likely guarded by Beast Pirates, lava serpents, or sentient sand).
3. Don’t die.
Ace raised his hand. “What about step four: Celebrate with meat?”
“Step four is shove you into a cannon.”
As the trio stood on the deck, Isla Koralia’s Spire loomed ahead, its shadow stretching toward them like a middle finger. The emergency beacon flickered once more, spelling HELLO in Morse code before dying permanently.
Ace slapped Charlie’s back, nearly knocking him into the ocean. “Cheer up, Chuck! We’ve got this!”
“Got what?!”
“Dumb luck and poor survival instincts!”
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night, her mist already coiling around her boots. “Stay close. And Ace?”
“Yeah?”
“If you eat another cursed snack, I’ll dismantle your digestive system.”
Ace grinned, pulling a glowing mushroom from his pocket. “No promises.”

Chapter Text

The emergency beacon flickered once more, spelling HELLO in Morse code before dying permanently. The holographic projection above the stone table fizzed into static, leaving the Consortium’s strategists in a silence thick enough to choke on. Knox Penrose, Captain of the Guards, leaned forward, his handlebar mustache casting a shadow over the map of the New World sprawled before him. The three islands glowed ominously: Obsidian Depths, Ironmaw Atoll, and Isla Koralia—the last marked with a skull and crossbones.
“Marya’s clever,” Vaughn said, his voice steady despite the tension. His double-sided ax, Light Bringer, lay across the table like a promise. “That signal wasn’t an accident. She’s telling us she’s alive.”
Bianca, already stuffing tools into a bag large enough to hold a small ship, snorted. “Like, what if her sub’s, like, dead?”
Celeste hovered near the door, her silver bob catching the dim light. She pressed her index fingers together, her katana at her side. “Obsidian Depths… th-the Beast Pirates mine seas-tone there. It’s… dangerous.”
“Danger’s my middle name!” Riggs declared, twirling his katana until Jax smacked the blade down with his three-sectioned staff.
“Your middle name is Idiot,” Jax growled. “We’re not charging in blind. Emmet—what’s the play?”
Emmet adjusted his glasses, his freckled face lit by the glow of his calculations. “The beacon’s decay rate suggests Obsidian Depths is the origin. Probability: 68.3%. Ironmaw Atoll: 22.1%. Isla Koralia: 9.6%.” He paused.
Knox nodded. “Then we start with Obsidian. Vaughn leads. Bianca—be ready to work mechanical miracles. Celeste, Riggs, Jax—eyes sharp. Move fast, stay quiet. If she’s not there, we pivot.”
Riggs saluted with his sword. “To glory!”
Jax muttered, “To not dying.”
The sub hummed as Bianca welded a makeshift regulator to the engine, sparks flying like angry fireflies. “Like, whoever installed this junk should be fed to sea kings. Amateurs!”
Vaughn manned the helm, his dreads tied back with a strip of leather. “Just get us there in one piece.”
Celeste monitored the sonar, flinching as blips appeared—Beast Pirate patrol ships, their hulls stamped with Kaido’s jagged crest. “Two ships… port side. Closing fast.”
Riggs peered through a periscope. “They’ve got cannons the size of trees! Let’s say hi!”
“No,” Vaughn and Jax said in unison.
Bianca slammed a fist on the controls. “Dive, dive, dive!”
The sub plunged into the inky depths, narrowly avoiding a barrage of cannon fire that churned the water above.
The island was a jagged nightmare of volcanic rock and sea stone quarries. The Consortium team surfaced in a hidden cove, the air reeking of sulfur and salt. Beast Pirate flags flapped atop watchtowers, and the distant clang of pickaxes echoed like a funeral dirge.
“Split up,” Vaughn ordered. “Celeste and Riggs, scout the eastern docks. Jax and I’ll check the quarry. Bianca—stay with the sub. Emmet—monitor comms.”
Bianca waved a blowtorch. “Like, if you die, I’m, like, taking your rations.”
The eastern docks of Obsidian Depths were a maze of crumbling piers and rusted cranes, the air thick with the acrid tang of sea stone dust. Celeste pressed herself against a corroded shipping container, her silver bob clinging to her damp cheeks. Riggs hovered beside her, his katana gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
“Stay close,” Celeste whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant clang of pickaxes.
“Relax, Cel,” Riggs grinned, twirling a lock of his shaggy blond hair. “I’ve dodged worse than these goons.”
They slipped past a Beast Pirate patrol, their boots silent on the salt-crusted planks. Ahead, rows of iron cages lined the docks, filled with hollow-eyed prisoners. A child’s whimper cut through the night. Celeste froze, her fingers tightening on her hilt. “We can’t… we can’t help them,” Riggs muttered, uncharacteristically solemn.
Celeste’s index fingers pressed together. “I-I know.” A spotlight swept toward them. Riggs yanked Celeste into the shadow of a cargo net, their breaths mingling as guards lumbered past, dragging an unconscious prisoner.
The quarry was a gaping maw in the earth, its walls studded with jagged sea stone veins that glinted like cursed diamonds. Vaughn scaled the cliff face, Light Bringer strapped to his back, while Jax scanned the terrain below with a spyglass. “Smuggler’s tunnel,” Jax grunted, pointing to a crevice half-hidden by a boulder. “Fresh tracks.”
Inside, they found crates stamped with Joker—Doflamingo’s alias. Vaughn flipped open a ledger, its pages filled with coordinates, dates, and a recurring name: Kaido. “Sea stone shipments to Wano,” Vaughn said, his voice cold. “Enough to arm an empire.”
Jax kicked a crate, his three-sectioned staff clattering. “No, Marya. No Charlie. Just Doflamingo and Kaido.”
A rumble echoed overhead. Rocks clattered down the quarry walls as a Beast Pirate foreman shouted, “Blast in five! Clear the shafts!”
Vaughn pocketed the ledger. “Move. Now.”
The team reconvened at the cove, the sub’s hull barely visible beneath a tarp of seaweed. Bianca sat cross-legged on a rock, fiddling with a cracked Den Den Mushi. She hopped to her feet when she saw them emerge from the shadows.
Vaughn’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around Light Bringer’s shaft. “They were never here.”
Emmet stared at his calculations, the numbers blurring. “The beacon’s energy… it’s faint. Interference from the sea stone, maybe. Or…” He trailed off, unwilling to voice the alternative.
Riggs kicked a rock into the surf, his bravado crumbling. “So we failed?!”
Jax gripped his shoulder unusually gently. “We followed the trail. That’s all we can do.”
Celeste hugged herself, her sword trembling. “Ironmaw next. They’re… they’re there. They have to be.”
A cold wind swept the cove, carrying the stench of sulfur and salt. Somewhere in the dark, a prisoner’s chain rattled. Vaughn nodded to the horizon, where storm clouds devoured the stars. “We adapt. Ironmaw Atoll at dawn.”
Bianca shouldered her tool bag, forcing a grin. “Like, next time, let’s find an island with margaritas.”
No one laughed.
*****
Ace grinned, pulling a glowing mushroom from his pocket. “No promises.”
Marya’s glare could’ve melted steel. “If you eat that, I’ll turn your insides into actual fire.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, squinting up at the Spire of Ash. The volcanic monolith spewed plumes of gray smoke into the twilight sky, its jagged face studded with Beast Pirate banners and the fossilized remains of fools who’d dared climb it. At the summit, Ace’s orange hat sat petrified in a cocoon of ash, glowing faintly like a taunt.
“The quartz crystal’s in a crevice halfway up,” Marya said, her mist already coiling around her boots. “We grab it, don’t trigger a landslide, and get out. Understood?”
Ace saluted with the mushroom. “Crystal clear!”
Charlie sighed. “That pun physically hurt.”
The Spire wasn’t a mountain—it was a middle finger from geology itself. Loose shale crumbled underfoot, and the air reeked of sulfur. Marya led, her mist dissolving handholds where the rock refused to cooperate. Charlie clung to her like a barnacle, scribbling notes mid-ascent.
“Fascinating! The Spire’s composition suggests it’s a dormant titan’s femur—”
“Less science, more climbing,” Marya snapped.
Ace, meanwhile, scaled the cliff face like a hyperactive spider, humming Binks’ Brew off-key. “Hey, look! A lava gecko!” He poked a glowing reptile, which hissed and spat embers at his hair.
“Focus,” Marya growled. They reached the quartz crevice—a jagged scar in the rock oozing neon-orange magma. The crystal pulsed inside, its surface fractal-patterned like a frozen flame. “Jackpot,” Marya whispered.
Then the Spire coughed. A tremor shook the cliffs. Beast Pirates shouted from a watchtower below as rockslides cascaded around them. “Landslide protocol!” Charlie yelped, flattening himself against the wall.
Marya’s mist anchored them as boulders the size of houses crashed past. The quartz crystal trembled, slipping deeper into the magma. “No no no—” Marya lunged, her fingers inches from the crystal—
Ace’s shout cut her off. “MY HAT!” The tremor had dislodged the fossilized hat, sending it tumbling toward the molten river below. Without hesitation, Ace backflipped off the cliff, fire erupting from his fists to propel himself downward.
“ACE!” Marya roared.
“He’s insane,” Charlie whimpered.
“He’s Ace,” Marya corrected, already descending.
Ace cannonballed into the magma river, his flames creating a temporary air bubble. He snatched the hat mid-plunge, its petrified surface cracking as his fire melted the ash. “Gotcha!” He grinned, surfing a geyser of flame back to the cliff.
Marya hauled him up by his collar, her mist dousing his smoldering pants. “You idiot! The quartz—”
“Priorities!” Ace shook the hat, now restored to its former glory—if slightly singed. “Look! It’s alive!”
Charlie peered over the edge. The quartz crystal had vanished into the magma, swallowed by the Spire’s wrath. “Well,” he said weakly, “at least we got… a hat?”
Beast Pirates converged below, their shouts echoing up the cliffs. Marya’s mist enveloped the trio, carrying them down in a whirlwind of gray. “Next time,” Marya hissed, “we leave Ace on the sub.”
“Next time,” Ace said, adjusting his resurrected hat, “I’m bringing marshmallows.” As they fled into the sulfurous fog, the Spire of Ash rumbled—a final, mocking farewell.
Back in the sub, Ace proudly duct-taped his hat to the wall. Charlie stared at the dead engine. “So… no crystal. No regulator. No hope.”
Marya unsheathed her dagger, eyeing Ace’s hat. “I could melt it back into ash…”
Ace hugged the hat. “Over my dead body!”
“Tempting.”
*****
The sub cut through the black waters toward Ironmaw Atoll, its hull groaning under the weight of the team’s silence. Vaughn stared at the sonar, his reflection warped in the green glow of the screen. Celeste sharpened her blade, the rhythmic shink of steel the only sound. Riggs fidgeted with his katana’s hilt, his usual bravado dampened. Jax glowered at the floor, his three-sectioned staff leaning against the bulkhead like a coiled serpent.
Emmet broke the quiet. “Ironmaw’s tidal patterns suggest the beacon’s signal could’ve bounced off the coral shelves. But if they’re here… they’re hidden.”
“Or dead,” Jax muttered.
Bianca threw a screwdriver at him. “Like, shut your doom-mouth! Like, Marya’s tougher than a sea king’s toenail.”
The atoll rose from the mist like the ribs of a drowned leviathan. Shattered hulls of ancient warships impaled the jagged coral, their masts skeletal against the blood-orange dawn. Schools of razor-fin sharks circled the sub, their bioluminescent teeth gnashing in the murk.
“Cheery place,” Riggs said, strapping on his sword. “Bet they’ve got a gift shop.”
Vaughn ignored him, barking orders. “Celeste and Riggs—scout the eastern wrecks. Jax, with me. Bianca, prep the sub for a fast exit. Emmet, monitor comms.”
Bianca saluted with a blowtorch. “Like, try not to get eaten.”
The eastern wrecks were a maze of splintered wood and rusted cannons. Celeste stepped lightly, her boots silent on salt-bleached planks. Riggs, meanwhile, clambered up a mast, squinting at the horizon. “See anything?” Celeste whispered.
“Just more spooky garbage,” Riggs said, kicking a barnacled skull. It rolled into the water, attracting a frenzy of razor-fins.
A flicker of movement caught Celeste’s eye—a scrap of blue fabric snagged on a coral spike. She lunged for it, but a wave sucked it into the depths. “M-Maybe they were here…”
“Or maybe it’s trash,” Riggs said, though his voice lacked its usual swagger.
The central wreck was a fortress of rot, its hull tattooed with Beast Pirate graffiti. Vaughn pried open a rusted hatch, Light Bringer’s blades glinting. Inside, crates of damp gunpowder and moldy rations lined the walls. “Storage dump,” Jax grunted. “Nothing recent.”
Vaughn knelt, brushing dust from a footprint. Too small for Marya, too large for Charlie. “Someone was here. Not them.” A creak echoed above. Jax shoved Vaughn aside as a decayed mast collapsed, spearing the floor where he’d stood. “Thanks,” Vaughn said.
“Don’t mention it,” Jax replied. “Ever.”
Bianca welded a leak in the sub’s hull, sparks raining onto her boots. “Like, remind me why we’re risking death for a maybe?”
Emmet adjusted his headset. “Because ‘maybe’ is all we have.”
The comms crackled—a distorted SOS, cut mid-transmission.
“Was that—?” Bianca started.
“Interference,” Emmet said, though his hands trembled. “Probably.”
The team reconvened at dusk, their faces etched with exhaustion.
“Nothing,” Celeste said, her fingers pressing together. “Just… ghosts.”
Vaughn slammed a fist into the sub’s hull, leaving a dent. “Damn it.”
Riggs flopped onto a crate, his katana clattering. “Two islands. Two dead ends. This sucks.”
Jax stared at the horizon, where Isla Koralia’s shadow loomed. “One island left.”
Bianca kicked her tool bag. “Like, Koralia’s, like, a death trap.”
“We go,” Vaughn interrupted, his voice steel. “Tomorrow.”
No one argued.
That night, Celeste found Riggs on the deck, staring at the stars. “You think they’re alive?” he asked, strangely quiet.
Celeste followed his gaze to the Spire of Ash’s silhouette. “They have to be.”
A shooting star streaked across the sky—or maybe a flare. Neither dared hope.
*****
The sea was a slab of iron beneath a starless sky. Vergo stood at the prow of his warship, its black hull slicing through the fog like a blade through silk. The air stank of salt and sulfur, the acrid tang of Isla Koralia’s volcanic breath curling over the waves. Behind him, Marines in G-5 uniforms scurried like roaches, their faces pale under the deck’s sickly green lanterns. None met his gaze.
Vergo’s white trench coat hung immaculate, untouched by the ash already settling on the ship’s rails. A cookie clung to his cheekbone, fossilized by hours of neglect. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.
The island emerged from the haze—first the Spire of Ash, its jagged peak clawing at the clouds, then the skeletal docks where Beast Pirate flags hung limp in the stagnant air. The Spire’s shadow stretched across the water, a dagger aimed at Vergo’s throat.
“Sir,” a Marine stammered, clutching a report. “The individuals in question—they were last sighted near the obsidian cliffs. Should we—” Vergo’s bamboo staff cracked the man’s collarbone before he finished. The Marine crumpled, his whimper drowned by the creak of the ship’s hull.
“Dock,” Vergo said.
The ship groaned as it kissed the pier, its gangplank slamming down like a guillotine. Vergo descended, his boots echoing on the weather-beaten wood. The dockhands—Beast Pirates with Kaido’s jagged crest tattooed on their necks—froze, their tools slipping from trembling fingers.
“Where’s the foreman?” Vergo asked, his voice a monotone rumble.
A hulking man with a scarred face stepped forward, sweat glistening on his brow. “H-Here, Vice Admiral. The shipment’s ready, but the quarry’s unstable. The Spire’s been—”
Vergo’s staff tapped the man’s chest, a single, almost tender gesture. The foreman’s eyes bulged as his ribs caved inward, the sound like a sack of wet gravel. He toppled into the water, his scream cut short by razor-fins.
“Stable now,” Vergo said, stepping over the man’s discarded club.
Ash fell like gray snow as he marched inland, his shadow devouring the narrow streets. The island’s residents—starved wretches and battle-scarred pirates alike—melted into alleys at the sight of him. The Spire loomed ahead, its base a hive of mining tunnels and rusted cages.
Vergo paused, tilting his head as if listening to the wind. Somewhere in the labyrinth of stone, a sub’s engine coughed. Somewhere, a sword unsheathed.
He smiled, the cookie crumbling from his cheek.
Soon

Chapter Text

The tavern’s lanterns swung wildly as the door blew open, ash and saltwater gusting into the room. Marya froze mid-sip, her beverage sloshing over the rim of her mug. Her fingers tightened around Eternal Night’s hilt, the blade still sheathed but humming against her back.
“We need to go. Now,” she hissed.
Ace glanced up from his third plate of lava-spiced ribs, sauce smeared across his freckled cheeks. “What’s the rush? These ribs are art—”
“Now,” Marya repeated, her voice a blade’s edge, but it was too late.
The air thickened, the tavern’s raucous chatter dying mid-laugh. In the doorway stood Vergo, his white trench coat pristine, a half-eaten skewer of meat dangling from his left hand. His bamboo staff tapped the floorboards, each click a death knell.
“Dracule,” Vergo said, his voice flat as a guillotine. “So, the rumors are true.”
Ace choked on a rib bone. “Dracule? As in—Mihawk?!”
Marya didn’t answer. She spun, Eternal Night flashing from its sheath just in time to meet Vergo’s staff. The impact cracked the air, sending tables splintering. Marya skidded backward, her boots carving trenches in the floor.
“Not bad,” Vergo said, advancing. “But Mihawk’s blood shouldn’t skid.”
He struck again—a relentless barrage, each blow aimed to maim, not kill. Marya’s blade became a silver blur, deflecting strikes with fidelity honed by a lifetime of her father’s brutal tutelage. But Vergo’s Haki was a vise, crushing her defenses.
“Run!” she snarled at Ace and Charlie.
Ace ignited his fists, flames licking up his arms. “Not happening!”
Vergo’s staff grazed Marya’s ribs, drawing blood. “Sentimentality. How ordinary.”
Pirates poured into the tavern—Beast Pirate grunts with Kaido’s jagged crest inked on their necks. Ace hurled a fireball, engulfing the doorway. “C’mon, ugly! Let’s dance!” They swarmed him, clubs and cutlasses swinging. Ace weaved, fists blazing, but the tide was endless. A cleaver nicked his shoulder; he retaliated with a searing uppercut. “Marya! Hang on!”
But Marya was locked in a deadly waltz, Eternal Night screeching against Vergo’s staff. She feinted left, mist swirling to mask her strike—but Vergo pivoted, his Haki-laced knee slamming into her gut. She flew backward, crashing through the tavern wall into the ashen street.
Vergo stepped through the rubble. “Your father would be… disappointed.”
Marya spat blood, rising. “He’s always disappointed.”
Charlie crouched behind an overturned cart, his ledger clutched to his chest. Beast Pirates sprinted past, chasing Ace’s trail of fire. He fumbled for a glow stone, scribbling a frantic message: Navy here. Spire’s east quadrant. Send help. The transponder snail blinked—signal weak. “Work, you stupid mollusk—”
A shadow fell over him. A pirate grinned, raising his axe. It gleamed in the fractured moonlight, a crescent of death poised above Charlie’s head. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird, adrenaline sharpening the world into brutal clarity. Without thinking, he hurled the glow stone clutched in his trembling hand. It struck the pirate’s face, erupting in a burst of searing light. The man howled, clawing at his eyes, and Charlie bolted.
Vergo’s staff descended. Marya swung her blade, the force driving her to her knees. The street cracked beneath her. “You’re slowing down,” Vergo observed.
“You’re. Annoying,” Marya gasped. Her mist surged, enveloping them in a swirling gray shroud. For a heartbeat, she vanished—then reappeared above, Eternal Night aimed at Vergo’s throat. The blade sang as it sliced through the ash-choked air, a silver streak of lethal intent.
Vergo didn’t flinch. His bamboo staff snapped upward, Armament Haki hardening it to black steel. The collision rang out like a funeral bell, sparks cascading as Marya’s wrists buckled under the force. She landed hard, boots skidding across the volcanic rock, the impact rattling her teeth.
“Predictable,” Vergo said, advancing. His staff whirled, a blur of brutal efficiency. “Mihawk’s heir? A disappointment.”
Marya parried, each strike driving her deeper into the rubble-strewn street. Her arms burned, her breaths ragged. Vergo’s Haki pressed down like a tidal wave, crushing her defenses.
Marya’s fury boiled, each clash of steel against Haki pushing her closer to the edge. The memories of her training with Shanks flooded back—those relentless drills, the sharp sting of his words, the lessons she struggled to master. She could almost hear his voice over the din of battle, coaching, chastising, encouraging.
Clang!
Marya stumbled back, Eternal Night trembling in her grip. Shanks laughed, his sword casually deflecting her flurry of strikes. Around them, the Consortium’s festival raged—paper lanterns glowing, wisteria blossoms swirling in the warm breeze.
“Eyes here, kid,” Shanks said, tapping his temple. His voice was light, but his gaze was sharp. “Haki isn’t just in your fists. It’s in your head. Watch the wind. Watch me.”
He lunged. Marya closed her eyes—and felt the shift in the air, the tremor of his footfall. She pivoted, his blade whispering past her ear. “Better!” Shanks grinned. “Now stop trying to hit me. Know where I’ll be.”
Marya's grip tightened on Eternal Night as Shanks’ words echoed in her mind. The scene of the festival dissolved, replaced by the harsh reality of the battle before her. Back in the present, Vergo’s staff arced toward Marya’s ribs. She started to block—then froze. The wind shifted.
Watch me.
Her eyes snapped shut. The world dissolved into sensations: the crunch of Vergo’s boot on gravel, the faint whistle of his staff cutting air, the sour tang of his breath as he leaned into the strike.
She sidestepped, and his staff smashed into stone, shattering the ground where she’d stood. Vergo’s eyebrow twitched—a flicker of surprise. Marya pressed the opening, Eternal Night grazing his shoulder. A shallow cut, but enough to draw blood.
“Luck,” Vergo sneered, recovering swiftly.
“Maybe,” she shot back with a smirk.
Vergo roared, furious and blinded by the ash. Marya danced around him, each movement more assured. She felt the weight of his presence, the rhythm of his attacks. Then, just as she prepared to strike again, a memory surfaced—distant, yet vivid.
Years ago, she stood on the rugged cliffs of Kuraigana Island, the salty breeze tugging at her hair. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the training yard. Dracule Mihawk, with his imposing aura and piercing eyes.
“Strength is a blunt tool.”
Mihawk’s voice cut through the chill of dawn as Marya lay sprawled in the training yard, her blade flung far from her hand. He loomed above, Yoru pointed at her throat. “You rely on force. On anger. That is why you lose.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then what should I rely on?”
“Stamina. Finesse. A blade is not a hammer—it is a needle. Find the gaps. Wait.” He struck. Marya rolled, snatching her sword, but Mihawk’s boot hooked her ankle, dropping her once more. “Again,” he commanded. “And stop trying to win. Survive.” His gaze never wavered. "Precision. Patience. Understanding your opponent. These are the tools of a true swordsman."
The memory faded, replaced by the present. The cacophony of battle returned, sharper, more urgent. She could almost hear Mihawk's voice guiding her, the lessons seared into her very being.
Vergo’s onslaught intensified, but Marya’s movements grew fluid, calculated. She weaved between strikes, Eternal Night flickering like a serpent’s tongue. His staff grazed her hip—a searing pain—but she pivoted, using the momentum to spin behind him.
Find the gaps.
Her blade stabbed at his spine. Vergo twisted, Armament Haki flaring, but Marya’s hilt slammed into his kidney instead. The hit landed with a dull thud, not deep enough to wound, but sharp enough to stagger him.
“Clever,” Vergo spat, regaining his footing. “But not enough.”
Marya’s chest heaved, sweat stinging her eyes. Stamina. Finesse. She feinted high, then dropped, sweeping Eternal Night at his ankles. Vergo leaped—but Marya’s free hand snatched a handful of ash, flinging it into his eyes. Blinded, he swung wildly. Marya ducked, her blade slashing upward in a crescent of silver.
CLANG.
Eternal Night struck his hardened throat, the reverberation numbing her arms. Vergo skidded back, his heels carving furrows into the stone, unharmed. “Armament wins,” he said, wiping ash from his face.
“Think so,” Marya, her breath ragged as she parried another of Vergo’s crushing blows, “it’s a little early to call it, don’t you think?” Her arms trembled under the weight of his Haki-hardened staff, her boots grinding against the volcanic stone. Vergo’s smirk deepened, his aura a suffocating storm of arrogance and brute force.
Marya's fingers tightened around Eternal Night as she recalled another voice that had whispered secrets of finesse and subtlety. “Haki is not a hammer. It is a scalpel.” Aurélie’s voice cut through her memory, crisp as winter air. Marya had just arrived at the Consortium and was stubborn; she had been disarmed for the tenth time that morning. Her mentor stood silhouetted against the dawn, silver hair blowing loose in the wind, Anathema sheathed at her hip.
“Masculine Haki shouts,” Aurélie said, gesturing to the training dummy splintered by Marya’s rage. “It demands. Feminine Haki… listens.” She pressed a palm to Marya’s chest. “Find the center. His aura, your anchor. Hook into it and unbalance him.”
To illustrate, she recited one of her infamous poems:
“The locust flies where storms cannot—
A whisper cuts what fists have fought.”
Marya stifled a groan.
Back in the present, Vergo’s staff slammed down, and Marya listened. Through the haze of pain, she felt it—the faint pulse of his aura, a roiling core of arrogance at his solar plexus. The center. She stopped resisting. Let his strike graze her shoulder as she pivoted, Eternal Night lashing not at his body, but at the air around that pulsing core. Her blade hooked nothing, yet everything.
Vergo staggered, his balance fracturing. “What—?”
Marya’s eyes locked onto Vergo’s, a calm storm of determination brewing within her. She felt as if Aurélie were standing beside her, guiding her movements with an ethereal hand. The memory of her mentor's teachings resonated through her every sinew, tuning her strikes to a new, harmonious rhythm.
Vergo’s confusion morphed into rage, his formidable aura wavering. Marya could sense the fissures forming in his defense, each one a testament to her growing mastery. She danced around his attacks, Eternal Night glinting with purpose, each movement a testament to the lessons of subtlety and precision imparted by Aurélie.
“Watch.”
Aurélie’s eyes glinted, unnervingly sharp, as she faced a hulking mercenary in the Consortium’s arena. The man charged, Haki roaring. Aurélie sidestepped, Anathema flicking once. Not at him—at the space between his strides. He crashed face-first into the dirt.
“The center is not always a place,” she said. “It is a weakness. Find it. Own it.”
Marya blinked, the memory fading like mist in the morning sun. She could almost hear Aurélie’s voice guiding her, feel the echo of her mentor's movements in her own. In that moment, Marya found her center. She was no longer just a student; she was the embodiment of Aurélie’s teachings.
Vergo's aura wavered, confusion and rage battling within him. He swung again, but Marya was already moving, each step, each strike a dance of accuracy and purpose. She was not aiming to overpower him; she sought to unravel him. Marya pressed, her blade a silver thread weaving through Vergo’s defenses. Each strike aimed not to wound, but to tug at that churning core. His swings grew wild, his veracity crumbling.
“Enough!” Vergo roared, Haki erupting in a shockwave.
Marya leapt back, wings of gray mist billowing from her shoulders—an unconscious echo of Aurélie’s locust flight. She landed lightly, Eternal Night humming.
“You fight like your father,” Vergo spat. “All force, no grace.”
Marya smirked, “I will take that as a compliment.”
The words hung in the air, a challenge and an affirmation intertwined. Marya's smirk deepened, a silent declaration of her resolve. She advanced again, Eternal Night a blur of silver in her hands. Vergo's eyes widened, realization dawning. This was no mere duel of strength; it was a clash of philosophies, of legacies.
In the heart of the storm, Marya moved with a grace that belied the fury of the battle. Each motion was calculated, each strike a deliberate unraveling of her opponent. She was the eye of the hurricane, calm and relentless.
“You will regret this,” Vergo snarled, but there was a tremor in his voice, a crack in his confidence.
Marya’s response was a swift, precise strike that bypassed his defenses and brushed against his core. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a surge of Haki, she forced him back, the energy rippling through the air like a stone cast into a pond.
Aurélie's teachings echoed in her mind, a reminder of the power she wielded—not just in her blade, but in her very being. She was a force to be reckoned with, a testament to the strength found in subtlety and precision.
Vergo lunged once more, desperate. Marya’s movements were fluid, a dance of shadows and light. She met his aggression with a deft hook, the edge of Eternal Night grazing his center, infused with Haki.
“They will mock you,” Aurélie warned, her feet silent against the dojo floor as she demonstrated a leap. “They will call feminine Haki ‘weak.’ Let them. Then cut their legs out.” She paused, her stern facade cracking. “The world fears a woman who does not need to roar.”
The dojo’s lessons resonated within Marya as she danced through the battlefield, each movement a testament to years of discipline and an unyielding spirit. Vergo's desperation grew with every clash, his strikes becoming more erratic as Marya's accuracy cut through his defenses.
"You underestimate me," Marya whispered, her voice carrying the weight of her resolve. She let the Haki flow through her, a current of power that coursed from her core to the tip of Eternal Night. Vergo snarled, but his confidence was visibly eroding, the cracks in his facade widening with each failed attack.
With a final, graceful pivot, Marya anticipated Vergo's next move, stepping into his path and deflecting his strike with effortless ease. Her counter was swift and unerring, the black blade of Eternal Night humming as it connected with his center once more.
In that fleeting moment of contact, the very air seemed to shatter, resonating with the force of her Haki. Vergo's balance wavered, his grip faltered, and Marya seized the advantage, spinning with the fluidity of a shadow and the brightness of light.
Vergo lunged. Marya hooked.
Eternal Night grazed his center. Not with steel—with Haki.
The air itself seemed to fracture. Vergo’s staff veered wide, his stance faltering. Marya spun, her blade slicing upward in a crescent moon arc.
CLANG.
Armament Haki saved his throat, but the force lifted him off his feet. He crashed into a crumbling wall, ash pluming around him. Marya stood over him, Eternal Night poised. “And this is what it cost you.”
*****
The air reeked of burnt rum and charred flesh. Bodies piled at his feet, but the tide never relented. A pirate tackled him from behind, slamming his face into a table strewn with broken mugs. Ace rolled, flames erupting from his palms to scorch the man’s chest. “Y’all ever heard of personal space?!”
He lunged toward the tavern’s shattered wall, where Marya’s mist flickered in the distance. But a wall of pirates blocked him—hulking brutes with sea-stone-studded gauntlets. One swung a chain, wrapping it around Ace’s ankle. He hit the floor hard, fire guttering in his fists.
“Stay down, flame-brat,” the pirate sneered, raising a spiked club.
Ace grinned, blood trickling from his lip. “Nah. I’m just warming up.”
He unleashed a firestorm, the blast incinerating the chain and searing the pirates’ eyes. They staggered back, howling, as Ace vaulted onto a table. “Marya! Where—?” The answer came not in words, but in a sound—a keening, metallic shriek that silenced the battlefield.
Ace turned.
A crescent of silver light—pure, devastating, and impossibly precise—sliced through the horizon. It carved through the Spire of Ash like a god’s scalpel, shearing the mountain in half. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then the upper half of the Spire slid, grinding against stone with a roar that shook the island. Fire and debris erupted from the volcano’s exposed maw, painting the sky in hellish hues.
Ace froze, his flames dying to embers. “Whoa…”
Even the Beast Pirates paused, their weapons slackening as they stared at the cataclysm. The tavern trembled, ash raining through cracks in the ceiling. “That’s… Marya?” Ace whispered, equal parts awe and terror tightening his chest.
The moment shattered as the mountain’s collapse triggered the island’s wrath. The ground split, swallowing pirates whole. A tsunami of molten rock surged toward the coast, and the air filled with the screams of men realizing they’d gambled against nature itself.
Ace laughed, reckless and bright, as chaos became his ally. “Alright, Koralia! Now you’re talkin’!”
He blasted through the remaining pirates, their morale crumbling faster than the Spire. Dodging falling debris, he sprinted toward the epicenter of destruction, where Marya’s silhouette stood outlined against the inferno.
“Should’ve known,” he muttered, grinning as he ran. “Never bet against a Dracule.”
*****
The alley swallowed Charlie whole—narrow, reeking of brine and burnt sugar cane, walls closing in like the jaws of some primordial beast. His boots slipped on ash-slick cobblestones, the screams of his pursuers echoing behind him. Left. Right. Another left. The maze of Isla Koralia’s backstreets twisted, a labyrinth designed to disorient and devour. Shadows danced mockingly in the corners of his vision, and the air tasted metallic, like blood and lightning.
Breathe. Breathe. His lungs burned, each gasp a dagger. He’d read about this once, in some Consortium manual on survival tactics: Panic is a louder killer than the blade. But the words felt hollow now, drowned out by the thunder of his pulse. Fragments of the island’s taboos flashed in his mind—don’t touch the sand, don’t climb the Spire—but survival had reduced his world to two truths: Run. Don’t stop.
A wrong turn. A dead end.
Charlie skidded to a halt, chest heaving, as the pirates’ laughter slithered closer. The wall before him was pocked with ancient cracks, vines snaking up its face like skeletal fingers. Desperation clawed at his throat. Think, think— He’d mapped this sector days ago, scribbling notes in his ledger. There’s a passage. A gap. His fingers scrabbled at the vines, tearing them aside to reveal a crevice just wide enough to squeeze through. He wriggled in, jagged stone biting into his shoulders, as the pirates rounded the corner.
“Where’d the rat go?!”
“Check the drains!”
He held his breath, pressed into the stone’s cold embrace. The glow stone’s residual light pulsed faintly in his pocket, casting his trembling hands in ghostly blue. Marya’s out there. Ace is burning the world. And I’m… hiding. Guilt curdled in his gut, sharp and acidic.
When the footsteps faded, he crawled free, emerging into a sulfurous haze. The docks were close—he could smell the salt, hear the distant crash of waves. But the path there was a gauntlet: pirates brawling in the streets, flames devouring market stalls, the ground shuddering as the Spire’s corpse groaned in its death throes.
An explosion rocked the air, and Charlie ducked as timber and shrapnel rained down. His glasses cracked, the world fracturing into splintered images. He stumbled forward, vision blurred, until the shouts of familiar voices cut through the din.
“—sub’s fried, but I’ll, like, unfry it—”
Bianca.
“—form up! Celeste, flank left—”
Vaughn.
Charlie’s legs gave out as he rounded the final corner. The docks sprawled before him, a nightmare painting: the Consortium’s sub listing in the water, Bianca half-inside its guts, tools scattering as she cursed. Vaughn and Jax battled a swarm of pirates, their weapons gleaming under the hellish glow of the volcano’s wrath. Celeste and Riggs fought back-to-back, blades dancing.
“H-Here!” Charlie rasped, voice raw. “I’m here!”
Riggs spun, katana slicing a pirate’s cutlass in two. “Look alive, folks! The bookworm’s back!”
Vaughn’s gaze snapped to him, relief and rage warring in his eyes. “Status?!”
“Marya—she’s alive! Navy’s here, and Ace—the Spire—” The words tumbled out, half-sobbed. “The mountain—she cut it—”
Another tremor shook the island, and the sky split.
A silver arc—clean, cruel, beautiful—sliced through the distant smoke. The remnants of the Spire groaned, then collapsed in an avalanche of stone and fire. The shockwave knocked pirates to their knees, and for a heartbeat, the battlefield stilled.
“Marya,” Vaughn breathed.
Charlie crumpled to his knees, laughter and tears mingling on his ash-streaked face. They’d found him. He’d found them.
Bianca vaulted from the sub, wrenching him up. “Like, save the waterworks! We’re not dead yet!”
But Charlie barely heard her. The world narrowed to the solid weight of Jax’s hand on his shoulder, the sight of Celeste’s sword gleaming like a promise, the sub’s hatch yawning open—a ragged, glorious beacon of home.
He’d made it.
Now they’d finish it.
*****
The sub limped into Isla Koralia’s bay, its hull groaning as Bianca wrestled with the steering column. The sub shuddered, seawater sloshing into the engine room through a crack Vaughn had hastily patched with his boot.
“Like, next time, let’s take a nicer boat!” Bianca shouted, dodging a spray of sparks from the overloaded controls.
Isla Koralia loomed ahead, the Spire of Ash belching smoke into a blood-red sky. The docks were pandemonium—Beast Pirates sprinted through streets choked with fire, while the ground itself seemed to rebel. A landslide devoured a watchtower whole, triggered by some unseen taboo.
“Docking in five!” Emmet yelled, clutching a rail as the sub bucked. “Probability of survival: 32.8%!”
“Optimistic!” Jax barked, hefting his staff.
The sub scraped against the pier, metal screaming. Celeste was first out, katana drawn, her silver bob singed by embers. “Something’s wrong. The island… it’s angry.”
Riggs vaulted onto the dock, katana gleaming. “Perfect! I’ve been craving a proper brawl!”
Chaos Unleashed
The air reeked of burnt sugar cane and panic. Firestorms raged where Ace’s flames clashed with Beast Pirate explosives, turning the market into an inferno. The ground trembled, cracks splitting the earth as the island’s taboos retaliated against the chaos.
“Bianca—fix the sub!” Vaughn ordered, Light Bringer already blazing. “Emmet, stay with her. The rest of us find Marya!”
“Like, yes sir!” Bianca saluted with a blowtorch before diving into the engine hatch. The team surged into the carnage.
They found Charlie halfway up the docks, sprinting toward them with a pack of Beast Pirates on his heels. His glasses were cracked, his shirt stained with soot and what looked like squid ink.
“VAUGHN!” Charlie wheezed, skidding to a halt. “They’re alive! Marya’s at the Spire—Ace is—oh gods, the taboos—”
A pirate lunged. Jax’s staff shattered the man’s knee. “Talk later. Fight now.”
Celeste and Riggs fell into formation, blades flashing as they carved through the mob. Charlie babbled between gasps: “Marya’s fighting Navy—Ace lit the sugar cane fields—the Spire’s unstable—don’t touch the sand!”
Too late.
Riggs stomped a puddle, triggering a geyser of boiling water. “Whoops!”
The ground heaved, tossing pirates into the air.
Then came the sound—a keening slice that split the sky.
Every head turned.
A crescent of silver light erupted from the Spire’s base, cleaving the mountain in a single stroke. The upper half of the monolith slid, slow and terrible, crashing into the volcano below. Fire and rock exploded skyward, raining hell onto the island.
“Marya,” Vaughn whispered.
Even the Beast Pirates paused, staring as the Spire’s shadow fractured.
“We need to move!” Jax roared, yanking Charlie from a fissure.
Celeste pointed to the smoke-choked path leading uphill. “There! The cut came from the east ridge!”
Riggs grinned, bloodied and wild. “Let’s go save the princess!”
“She’ll kill you for calling her that,” Vaughn warned, already running.
Behind them, Bianca’s voice crackled over the comms: “Like, sub’s halfway fixed! So, like, don’t die yet!”
Ace’s laughter echoed through the flames as the Spire groaned its final breath.
*****
Ace blasted through the remaining pirates, their morale crumbling faster than the Spire. Dodging falling debris, he sprinted toward the epicenter of destruction, where Marya’s silhouette stood outlined against the inferno.
“Should’ve known,” he muttered, grinning as he ran. “Never bet against a Dracule.”
Marya leaned against a shattered column, Eternal Night trembling in her grip. Blood streaked her face, her breaths ragged, but her eyes burned with unyielding fire. At her feet, Vergo lay sprawled and unconscious, his bamboo staff snapped in two. The Spire’s collapse had buried half the battlefield, and the air reeked of sulfur and scorched steel.
Ace skidded to a halt, flames flickering around his fists. “Hey, nice light show.”
Marya wiped blood from her lip. “Took you… long enough.”
A pirate’s roar cut through the smoke. A dozen Beast Pirates surged from the rubble, blades raised. Ace cracked his knuckles. “Dibs on the left side!”
Marya pushed off the column, her mist coiling like a living storm. “My island. My dibs.”
They fought back-to-back, a tempest of opposites. Ace’s flames roared in wild arcs, incinerating pirates mid-lunge, while Marya’s blade flickered like a ghost, slicing through armor with lethal precision. A pirate swung a chain at Ace; Marya dissolved it into the mist. Another lunged at her blind spot; Ace reduced him to cinders.
“Not bad,” Ace said, grinning as he vaporized a brute’s club. “For a fancy swordswoman.”
“You think this is fancy… You haven’t seen nothing, yet,” Marya shot back, decapitating two pirates in one stroke.
The ground split beneath them, lava bubbling through cracks. The island screamed its fury—landslides devoured streets, geysers of molten rock erupted skyward, and the Spire’s remnants groaned as they sank into the sea.
A cannonball of fire erupted to their left, scattering pirates. Vaughn charged through the smoke, Light Bringer carving a path, Jax and Celeste flanking him with brutal efficiency. Riggs leapt from a crumbling rooftop, katana flashing.
“Docks! Now!” Vaughn barked, yanking Marya by the collar. “Bianca’s got the subs running!” Marya didn’t argue. She sheathed Eternal Night and ran, Ace at her side, the others forming a protective wedge.
“Who’s this guy?” Riggs asked.
Ace grinned, waving a greeting as they sprinted, “Hi! I’m Ace!”
“Keep moving!” Vaughn Barked as he jumped over a fallen body.
The docks were a warzone. Bianca stood atop the Consortium sub, welding torch in hand, shouting orders at Emmet, who frantically recalibrated the engine. Marya and Charlie’s sub smoked ominously beside it.
“Like, hurry up!” Bianca screamed. “These things ain’t gonna pilot themselves!”
*****
The island screamed its death throes. Ash choked the air, turning daylight to dusk, while molten rock oozed from fissures like blood from a wound. The Spire of Ash, once a monolith of dread, had collapsed into a smoldering tomb, its remnants hissing as waves crashed against the disintegrating shore. Amid the carnage, Vergo lay motionless, his white trench coat gray with soot, a jagged gash splitting his brow. His bamboo staff, snapped near the hilt, lay discarded beside him—a shattered symbol of invincibility.
They came as shadows through the haze: six Marines of G-5, their uniforms singed, faces masked by grime and terror. Sergeant Kato led them, a grizzled veteran with a scarred cheek and a voice like gravel.
“Stay tight!” he barked, ducking as a flaming timber crashed nearby. “Find the Vice Admiral—alive!”
The squad moved in formation, boots crunching over volcanic glass. Corporal Ren, youngest of the group, muttered prayers to gods he didn’t believe in. The ground trembled, and a fissure split open ahead, spewing sulfurous steam.
“There!” shouted Lieutenant Mira, her rifle slung tight. Vergo’s body lay crumpled near the Spire’s base, half-buried under rubble.
They scrambled toward him, dodging geysers of scalding water and debris. A Beast Pirate, wild-eyed and bleeding, lunged from the smoke. Kato’s blade silenced him mid-snarl.
Kato knelt beside Vergo, checking for a pulse. “Alive. Barely.”
Ren gagged at the sight of Vergo’s injuries—a chest dented from Haki blows, an arm bent unnaturally. “H-How do we carry him? The ship’s gone—”
“We improvise,” Kato snapped, yanking a splintered plank from the rubble. “Mira, bind his arm. Ren, help me lift.”
The squad worked swiftly, securing Vergo to the makeshift stretcher with belts and torn fabric. As they hoisted him, the Spire’s remnants shuddered, raining jagged stone. “Move!” Kato roared.
They ran, the stretcher bouncing between them, Vergo’s head lolling. A lava flow surged to their right, devouring a fleeing pirate whole. Ren stumbled, screaming as embers seared his leg. “Don’t stop!” Mira hauled him up, her grip iron.
The docks were a graveyard of shattered ships. The G-5’s backup vessel—a slender frigate dubbed Iron Resolve—waited at the last intact pier, its hull scorched but seaworthy.
“Go, go, GO!” Kato bellowed.
They heaved Vergo aboard, the frigate’s engines already snarling. Ren collapsed on deck, clutching his burned leg. Mira manned the helm, steering them into the roiling waves as the island imploded behind them.
Kato stood at the stern, watching Isla Koralia vanish into fire and foam. Vergo’s breath rasped faintly beside him, a rhythm as stubborn as the man himself.
“Why’d we even bother?” Ren whispered, staring at his trembling hands.
Kato didn’t look back. “Because he’s ours.”
*****
The docks heaved like a living beast, planks splintering as volcanic fissures tore the island apart. Marya sprinted ahead, dragging Charlie by the wrist, while Ace lobbed fireballs behind them to slow the stampede of Beast Pirates. Vaughn’s shouts cut through the chaos—“Go, go, GO!”—as he herded Jax, Celeste, and Riggs into their sub, its hatch already sealing shut.
Bianca hung halfway out of the repaired sub’s cockpit, welding torch in one hand and a half-eaten energy bar in the other. Sparks rained down as she fused a cracked thruster nozzle, her goggles reflecting the hellish glow of the disintegrating island.
“Get in!” she barked, yanking Marya and Charlie through the hatch. Ace slid in last, kicking the door shut just as a lava bomb obliterated the dock behind them.
Marya lunged for the control panel, her fingers flying over switches. “Engines?”
“Like, jury-rigged!” Bianca spat, tossing the welding torch aside. “Hit the blue one!”
The panel remained dark.
“Bianca—” Marya’s voice sharpened.
“I know!” Bianca slammed her fist into the console. The dashboard sputtered, holograms flickering to life in a storm of teal static. “Told ya! It’s got personality!”
Ace stared, wide-eyed, as the sub hummed awake. “Whoa! This thing’s got more buttons than Marineford’s kitchen!”
“Shut up and brace!” Bianca yanked the throttle.
The sub lurched backward, narrowly avoiding a falling pillar of molten rock. Outside, the second sub—Vaughn’s—vanished beneath the waves in a geyser of foam.
“Depth, depth, depth!” Charlie chanted, clutching a ceiling strap as the hull groaned.
Bianca flipped a switch labeled DO NOT TOUCH (SERIOUSLY). “Hold onto your butts!”
The sub plummeted like a stone, pressure seals hissing. Marya gripped the controls, her knuckles white, as the viewport illuminated the underwater hellscape—chunks of the Spire sinking like cursed monoliths, lava meeting seawater in explosions of steam.
Ace pressed his face to the glass. “This is awesome!”
“Like, focus!” Bianca swerved around a sinking pirate ship, its mast snapping against their hull. “Charlie—map the thermal vents! Marya—keep us from becoming squid food!”
Marya’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a trench ahead. Deep enough to avoid the blast radius.”
“Blast radius?” Charlie squeaked.
The island answered.
A deafening boom reverberated through the water, the shockwave rattling the sub like a toy. The viewport flared orange-red as Isla Koralia erupted above, its heart detonating in a supernova of fire and ash.
“Now we dive!” Bianca yelled, slamming the thrusters. The sub torpedoed into the abyss, leaving the carnage behind. Minutes later, the only light came from the sub’s bioluminescent algae strips. Bianca slumped in her chair, wiping grease from her face. “Like, remind me to kiss the engineer who built this junkheap.”
Marya exhaled, her shoulders loosening. “You did good, Bianca.”
Ace flopped onto the floor, grinning. “Best. Field trip. Ever.”
Charlie peered at the sonar, watching the second sub’s blip trail beside them. “Vaughn’s signaling. ‘Regroup at Waypoint Sigma.’”
Bianca snorted. “Waypoint Sigma. Sounds like a bad band name.”
Marya allowed herself a smirk. “Set the course.”
As the sub glided through the dark, Ace marveled at the holographic controls. “Hey—what’s this button do?”
“DON’T—” The sub’s alarm blared. “—touch that button.”
*****
Vergo’s eyes snapped open. The sterile stench of antiseptic and blood filled his nostrils, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor grating against his skull. Bandages bound his chest, tight enough to fracture his breaths, and his left arm hung in a sling—shattered from the Dracule girl’s final blow. The medical bay was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of emergency lanterns, their light warping the faces of the two Marines stationed at the door. They stiffened when he stirred, hands drifting to their sidearms.
Pathetic, Vergo thought. Even broken, he could taste their fear.
The Den Den Mushi on the bedside table began to ring, its shell morphing into a familiar smirk beneath pink-tinted sunglasses. Vergo’s jaw tightened. He reached for it with his good arm, ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs.
“Vergo-san~,” Doflamingo’s voice oozed through the snail, equal parts silk and venom. “Heard you took a nap on the job.”
Vergo sat up slowly, his movements precise, deliberate. A Marine medic scurried in, hesitated, then retreated at the sight of his glare. “The Dracule girl. She’s… resourceful.”
Doflamingo laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “Resourceful? You let a teenager turn you into a rug, Vergo. Kaido’s laughing so hard he cracked a tooth.”
A vein throbbed in Vergo’s temple. “They escaped. The Spire’s destruction compromised—”
“Excuses,” Doflamingo purred. “You’re slipping, old friend. First Gossypium, now this… What’s next? A toddler steals your lunch?”
The insult hung in the air, weighted with unspoken threats. Vergo’s fingers dug into the mattress, the heart monitor spiking. “I’ll rectify it. The girl —she’ll burn.”
“Oh, she will,” Doflamingo said, his tone shifting to something colder, darker. “But not by you. You’ve lost your privileges, Vergo. Kaido wants your head. I convinced him you’re still… useful.”
The snail’s grin widened, grotesque and unblinking. “So listen close. Lick your wounds. Kiss your Marine badge. And when I call…” The line went dead.
Vergo stared at the snail as it sagged back into dormancy. Somewhere below deck, a Marine laughed—a bright, ignorant sound. He crushed the Den Den Mushi in his palm, its shell splintering like bone.
Weakness. Ordinary.
The heart monitor flatlined as he ripped the IV from his arm.

Chapter Text

The sub glided through the inky blackness of the abyss, its bioluminescent algae strips casting a ghostly teal glow over the control room. Ace leaned over the holographic dashboard, his finger hovering above a button labeled HYPERSPATIAL RECALIBRATOR (DO NOT PRESS).
“Hey—what’s this button do?”
Bianca spun from her repair rig, grease smeared across her face like war paint. “DON’T—”
BWOOOOOONG.
The sub shuddered violently as the bubble porter—a glowing orb of swirling quantum particles—flared to life. A sound like a thousand out-of-tune church bells echoed through the hull.
“—touch that button!” Bianca finished, slamming her wrench into the panel.
Too late.
The world outside the viewport dissolved into a kaleidoscope of fractured light. For a heartbeat, the sub ceased to exist—then reconstituted with a gut-wrenching thud.
Silence.
The sub floated in a void of featureless gray. No water. No sky. Just… nothing.
Charlie clutched his ledger to his chest. “Are we… dead?”
“Like, worse,” Bianca hissed, stabbing at the dead controls. “We’re, like, in the Hyperspatial Doldrums. AKA: the universe’s junk drawer.”
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night, mist coiling around her boots. “Can we leave?”
“Like, if the bubble porter reboots. If, like, the sub’s not fried. If—”
Ace poked the viewport. “Hey, is that a… whale?”
A spectral shape flickered in the distance—a colossal creature with too many eyes, swimming through the gray.
“Don’t. Look. At. It,” Bianca ordered, slapping Ace’s hand away.
The sub’s emergency protocols suddenly blared, overriding the silence. CRITICAL FAILURE. SURFACING.
“Surface where?!” Charlie squeaked.
The sub lurched, reality rippling as it ejected itself from the void. They breached into a sea so still it looked like glass, under a sky choked with green-tinged clouds. The sub’s systems died with a final, pitiful whine.
“Well,” Ace said, cracking open a stolen soda from the galley. “This is cozy.”
Marya glared. “Cozy?”
Bianca kicked the engine housing. “Like, we’re stranded in the middle of, like, nowhere, with a dead sub, and, like, a bubble porter that’s now a paperweight. Like, Cozy.”
Charlie peered through a periscope. “No land. No ships. Just… water. And those clouds look… acidic?”
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the hull. Marya gripped her sword. “Did we bring anything useful?”
Bianca tossed her a glow stick. “Like, optimism?”
The hum deepened. Shapes moved beneath the water—sleek, enormous, and hungry. Ace grinned. “Adventure!” Marya facepalmed in response.
The sub floated in a void where physics had clearly taken a coffee break. Outside, gelatinous blobs with neon top hats and monocles oozed toward the hull, leaving rainbow slime trails. One tapped on the viewport with a tentacle-tipped cane.
Ace pressed his face against the glass. “Are those… jelly clowns?”
Marya yanked him back as a blob spat a glittery acid globule, melting a hole in the floor. “Defend. Now.”
Ace ignited his fists, grinning. “Finally, a worthy opponent!” He launched a fireball at a clown-blob. It exploded into confetti, which promptly caught fire and singed his eyebrows.
“Nice one,” Marya deadpanned, mist-dodging a swarm of sentient rubber chickens.
“They’re flammable!” Ace protested, batting away a chicken with a flaming punch. It ricocheted into the sub’s antenna, which began broadcasting polka music. The clowns squeaked in delight, multiplying to the beat.
Inside, Bianca dangled from the engine room ceiling, elbow-deep in wires. “Charlie! Like, fand me the non-sentient screwdriver!”
Charlie fumbled through a toolbox as tools hissed insults. “It says here we need a ‘quantum spanner’! Do we have one?!”
“Like, yeah, like, check the fridge!”
Charlie opened the fridge. A wedge of glowing cheese glared at him. “This says ‘Gouda Singularity’…”
“That’s it!” Bianca snatched the cheese, plugging it into the engine. The sub belched a warp bubble shaped like a duck.
The clowns merged into a Mega-Clown, juggling black holes. Ace, now piloting a malfunctioning laser turret, fired wildly. The beam hit a passing asteroid, which sprunted legs and tap-danced away.
Marya’s mist solidified into a giant flyswatter. “SWAT THEM. NOW.”
Bianca, now wearing the cheese as a hat, screamed, “DON’T SWAT THE DARK MATTER!” Too late. The swatter connected, triggering a quantum sneeze that vacuumed the clowns into a pocket dimension.
The sub sputtered to life, smelling inexplicably of burnt cotton candy.
Ace high-fived a charred rubber chicken. “Teamwork!”
Marya sheathed her sword. “Never. Again.”
Bianca glared at the cheese now fused to the engine. “Like, next time, you fix the sub.”
Charlie nodded, scribbling: Hypothesis: Universe is a bad comedian.
The bubble porter hummed, its quantum swirls stabilizing into something resembling order. Bianca, sweat dripping into her goggles, let out a manic laugh. “Like, it’s working! We’re, like, syncing to reality!”
The sub trembled as the void peeled away, replaced by the familiar indigo sheen of the New World’s night sea. For three glorious seconds, everything worked—lights flickered, engines purred, Charlie’s trembling hands steadied on the nav console.
Then, with a noise like a dying accordion, the sub died. Again.
“Of course,” Marya muttered, slumping into the chair.
The sub surfaced with a defeated gurgle, bobbing listlessly under a starless sky. Bianca kicked the control panel, which responded by ejecting a puff of smoke shaped like a middle finger.
“No engines. No comms. No beacon,” Charlie recited, voice shrill. “Just… the log pose.” He held up the ancient device, its needle spinning lazily before snapping north.
Ace lounged on the deck, roasting a marshmallow over a flickering lighter. “Could be worse! At least the water’s warm.”
Marya shot him a look sharp enough to slice Sea stone. “There’s things in warm water.” As if on cue, something massive brushed the sub’s hull.
Bianca sighed, pulling her goggles off to rub her eyes. "So, like, what's the plan now? We're stuck in, like, the middle of nowhere with, like, a broken sub and, like, no way to call for help."
Charlie glanced at the log pose again, its needle unwaveringly pointed north. "We follow the log pose. It's leading us somewhere, right?"
Ace chuckled, his marshmallow now a perfect golden brown. "Adventure awaits," he said, raising it in a mock toast before popping it into his mouth.
Marya stood, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the darkness. "Just stay alert. We need to be ready for anything."
The sub creaked as it drifted, moonlight fracturing on the black water. Ace trailed his fingers over the surface, sending ripples through the bioluminescent algae blooming beneath. Marya watched him, her back against the hull, Eternal Night laid across her knees like a sleeping serpent.
Ace's grin lingered, but a shadow crossed his features as he stared at the dark waves. The flicker of adventure in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a storm of unspoken thoughts. The weight of lineage and legacy pressed on him, churning with each lap of water against the sub's hull. He had always embraced the thrill of the unknown, the promise of new horizons, yet the shadows of family cast long and inescapable, haunting even the brightest ventures. This voyage, this floating uncertainty, mirrored his inner turmoil—a restless search for identity and belonging. He was a pirate, a free spirit, but also a son, a bearer of a name that carried both honor and burden. The silence stretched, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the deck.
“So… Dracule,” Ace said, finally breaking the silence. “Mihawk’s kid. Never pegged him for the dad type.”
Marya shrugged. “Most people figure it out by the hair. The eyes. Or the sword.”
“Or the ‘I’ll-cut-your-soul-in-half’ glare.” Ace grinned, but it faded. “Why keep it secret?”
She tilted her head, studying him. The question wasn’t about her—not really. “He’s private. I’m private. Secrets aren’t always about shame.”
Ace leaned back, staring at the stars. “You ever wish he wasn’t… him? That you could just be… nobody’s daughter?”
The water slapped the sub. Something massive glided beneath them, a shadow that made the hull groan.
Marya traced the kogatana at her throat—her father’s first gift. “No. If he weren’t Mihawk, I wouldn’t be me. This life, this blade… it’s all because of him. Even the parts I hate.”
Ace frowned. “But you don’t agree with him. You left.”
“Disagreeing doesn’t mean disowning.” Her voice softened, almost unheard. “I miss him. Should visit soon.”
Ace sat up, restless. “How? How do you just… accept it? The name, the legacy, the—”
“—weight?” Marya finished. “I don’t. It’s not a chain, Ace. It’s a compass. He taught me to navigate the world, not become him.”
Ace’s fists clenched, flames flickering at his wrists. “My father… he wasn’t around to teach shit. Just left a target on my back.”
Marya sheathed her sword, the click deliberate. “You think Mihawk’s name doesn’t paint a target? Difference is, I chose to wear it.”
Ace blinked. “Why?”
“Because…” She hesitated, rare vulnerability slipping through. “When you grow up with a legend, you learn they’re just people. Flawed. Frightening. But still… yours.”
Ace stared at her, the truth settling like ash. “You like being his daughter.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Even when I want to strangle him.”
The sub lurched. A tentacle slapped the hull, then retreated, disinterested.
Ace laughed suddenly, bright and startled. “You’re weird.”
Marya smirked. “Says the man who talks to seagulls.”
They sat in silence, the log pose ticking toward the unknown island.
“Thanks,” Ace muttered.
“For what?”
“Not saying ‘family’s complicated’ or some canned crap.”
Marya stood, offering a rare, true smile. “It’s not complicated. It’s just… family.”
Dawn came grudgingly, staining the horizon the color of a bruise. Charlie, who hadn’t slept, spotted it first—a jagged silhouette piercing the mist.
“Land!” he croaked, shaking Bianca awake. “The log pose… it’s pointing there.”
Mock Town emerged like a scar on the coastline, its ramshackle buildings leaning drunkenly over the docks. The air smelled of burnt gunpowder and spilled rum, and the remnants of Bellamy’s defeat clung to the streets like confetti after a funeral. Pirates slunk through the shadows, their bravado dulled, while shopkeepers nailed fresh bounty posters over shattered windows.
“Like, perfect,” Bianca said, wiping her hands on her overalls. “Like, this dump’s got parts. And snails. Let’s move.”
The market was a graveyard of pride. Vendors hawked “genuine Sky Island relics” (spoiler: driftwood) and “Bellamy’s authentic gold” (spoiler: painted rocks). Bianca zeroed in on a stall manned by a one-eyed tinkerer, her haggling voice sharp enough to flay skin.
“I, like, need a Type-3 flux capacitor, not, like, this scrap,” she snapped, tossing a rusted cog.
“Flux capacitor? You fixing a sub or a time machine?” the tinkerer grumbled, but handed over the part.
A newspaper fluttered down, slapped by the wind against Marya’s boot. The headline screamed: STRAW HAT LUFFY DECLARES WAR ON THE WORLD! ENIES LOBBY IN RUINS!
Ace snatched it up, his grin splitting his face. “That’s Luffy! My little brother’s causing a ruckus!”
Marya peered over his shoulder. “He attacked a government stronghold? Your family’s… consistent.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “This complicates things. The Marines will be—”
“Pissed?” Ace laughed. “Yeah. That’s the point.”
The tavern’s sign hung crooked, its paint peeling to reveal the rot beneath. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of sour ale and charred meat, the floor sticky with spills no one dared name. Bellamy’s defeat lingered like a ghost here—scorch marks from Luffy’s fist still scarred the bar, and the patrons nursed their drinks with the sullen silence of bruised egos.
They claimed a corner table, their presence drawing sidelong glances from pirates clutching dented tankards. A server slid plates of “mystery stew” toward them, the meat inside twitching suspiciously.
“Like, I’d rather eat the sub’s engine grease,” Bianca muttered, poking her fork at a tentacle.
Charlie pushed his plate away, adjusting his cracked glasses. “I’ve catalogued six species of mold here. None are edible.”
Ace, unbothered, shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Tastes like adventure!”
Marya sipped water, her gaze slicing through the room. Pirates averted their eyes, fingers twitching toward weapons but never drawing. Eternal Night leaned against her chair, its hilt gleaming—a silent warning.
Two pirates hunched at the bar, their voices sloshing with drink. “—heard Teach is headin’ to Banaro,” one slurred, his breath rancid. “Gonna recruit monsters or somethin’. Real monsters.”
Ace froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. The fire in his palm flared, scorching the table. “Banaro? Blackbeard’s there?”
Marya’s mist coiled around her boots, tendrils snaking toward the shadows. “You’re leaving,” she said, not a question.
Ace nodded, the usual grin replaced by something darker. “Gotta finish what I started.”
Bianca arched an eyebrow. “Like, what? Like, you got a playdate with this Teach guy?”
“He’s… a problem,” Ace said, evasive. “My problem.”
Charlie fidgeted. “Statistically, confronting a notorious pirate alone—”
“—is stupid,” Marya finished.
Outside, the alley reeked of fish guts and betrayal. A rat-faced man lurked in the shadows, Den Den Mushi pressed to his ear. “Boss… the Dracule girl’s here. With the fire-brat.”
Doflamingo’s laughter crackled back, honeyed and venomous. “Mingo mingo~. Let them play. For now.”
The docks groaned under the weight of the day’s chaos, the air thick with the smell of salt and burning wood. Ace stood at the edge of his stolen skiff, the fading sun setting his freckles ablaze. Behind him, Marya, Bianca, and Charlie formed an unlikely trio—swordswoman, engineer, and scholar—united by ash, absurdity, and a submarine held together by spite.
“So,” Ace said, scratching the back of his neck, “this is it, huh?”
Bianca tossed him a sack of rations. “Like, try not to blow yourself up.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, thrusting a hastily drawn map into Ace’s hands. “Banaro’s waters are… unstable. Avoid the whirlpools marked in red. Please.”
Marya said nothing, her arms crossed, Eternal Night glinting at her back. But her nod was a blade’s edge of respect.
Ace grinned, the fire in his palm flickering like a campfire tale. “C’mon, don’t look so grim! That island was wild! Best detour I’ve ever had.”
Marya’s eyebrow arched. “You consider near-death a ‘detour’?”
“Death’s just part of the ride,” Ace laughed. Then, softer: “Thanks. For not ditching me when I set the engine on fire.”
Bianca snorted. “Like, we needed the entertainment.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Statistically, our survival odds improved with you. Marginally.”
Ace’s grin widened. He turned to Marya. “And you… try not to miss me too much.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll carve a reminder into the sub’s hull.”
Ace leapt onto the skiff, the waves slapping the hull like a farewell. He saluted, flames dancing behind him as he waved. “See you on the flip side.”
As the skiff jetted into the golden haze, Bianca muttered, “Like, he’s gonna get eaten by a sea king.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “I give it… three days.”
Marya watched the horizon, her voice barely audible. “He’ll make it four.”
Ace’s laughter carried over the waves as his skiff vanished into the horizon. Behind him, Mock Town silhouetted—a graveyard of pride and shattered dreams. Ahead, Banaro loomed, a storm waiting to erupt.
The sub loomed in the harbor like a battered metal whale, its hull streaked with ash and seaweed. Bianca slapped the hatch control, her grease-stained hands leaving smudges on the console. “Like, let’s get out of here.”
Inside, the sub’s interior hummed faintly, bioluminescent algae strips flickering like dying fireflies. Charlie strapped himself into a seat bolted to the wall, clutching his ledger like a lifeline. “Coordinates are set… I think. The bubble porter’s alignment is theoretically sound, but—”
“Theoretically,” Marya cut in, her sword propped against the navigation panel, “isn’t reassuring.”
Bianca flopped into the pilot’s chair, kicking a loose wire out of her way. “Relax. I rebuilt this thing twice. It’ll hold.”
The sub groaned as the engine sputtered to life, vibrations rattling the mismatched bolts in the floor. Outside, the water churned, the reflection of Mock Town’s smoldering ruins rippling like a half-forgotten nightmare.
Bianca slammed her palm on the activation switch. The bubble porter—a sphere of swirling quantum energy—flared to life, casting jagged shadows across the cabin. The air crackled, static lifting Charlie’s hair into a frizzy halo.
“Like, here we go,” Bianca muttered, her voice tight.
The sub shuddered violently, metal screeching as reality itself seemed to peel around them. Through the viewport, the night sky fractured into prismatic shards, the ocean dissolving into a kaleidoscope of impossible colors.
Charlie white-knuckled his armrests. “This isn’t—this isn’t in the Consortium manuals!”
Marya gripped Eternal Night, her mist curling defensively around her boots. “Bianca. Fix it.”
“Working on it!” Bianca stabbed at the controls, her goggles reflecting error messages in dead languages.
For a heartbeat, they hung suspended in the quantum drift—a place without time, without sound, without breath. Charlie’s ledger floated mid-air, pages fluttering like panicked birds. Bianca’s laughter bordered on hysterical. “Like, hey! Zero gravity’s kinda fun!”
Marya’s voice was ice. “Focus.”
The bubble porter pulsed, its hum rising to a deafening crescendo. Then—
THUD.
Reality snapped back into place. The sub dropped into the sea with a cannonball splash, alarms blaring.
Silence.
The viewport revealed a moonlit expanse of water, still and endless. No islands. No ships. Just the void between stars mirrored in the waves.
Bianca slumped in her chair, sweat dripping off her nose. “Like, nailed it.”
Charlie pried his fingers from the armrests. “N-Nailed it? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
The sub breached the surface with a weary sigh, its battered hull glinting under the pale moonlight. Through the salt-crusted viewport, the Consortium emerged like a mirage—a jagged island cloaked in mist, the titan silhouette studded with wisteria blossoms. The air here smelled of ozone and ancient stone, a scent that made Charlie’s eyes prickle with sudden, unspoken relief.
“Like, would you look at that,” Bianca whispered, her usual bravado softened to awe. “Home sweet home.”
Marya leaned forward, her grip on Eternal Night loosening for the first time in weeks. The blade’s mist retreated as if it, too, recognized sanctuary.

Chapter Text

The Consortium’s hidden harbor was bathed in the eerie glow of bioluminescent algae clinging to the cliffs as the battered submarine surfaced with a metallic groan. Its hull, scorched and dented from encounters with Beast Pirate cannons and Ace’s accidental fireball, creaked against the docking platform.
Marya stepped onto the gangplank, her boots squelching with seawater, Eternal Night strapped to her back like a shadow. Behind her, Charlie clutches a waterlogged satchel of artifacts to his chest like a child, his glasses cracked and fogging with steam from the sub’s overheating engine. Bianca trailed last, muttering, “Like, how does a bubble porter even malfunction into Beast Pirate turf? That’s, like, statistically impossible!”
The trio’s relief at seeing the Consortium’s towering petrified tree stump—its windows glittering like a constellation—was short-lived.
“Welcome back, idiots!” Knox Penrose, the Captain of the Guards, stood arms crossed at the dock’s edge, his handlebar mustache twitching in amusement. His daughter Anna peeked from behind him, clutching a Top 10 Worst Rescue Missions notebook. “Vergo, huh?” Knox said, eyeing the sub’s mangled hull. “Heard the New World’s been chewing you up.”
“We spit him out,” Marya replied coolly, though her muscles screamed for a bed.
Before Knox could retort, Vaughn shouldered past, his dreads half-unraveled from their tie, Light Bringer slung across his broad back. The usually easygoing team leader looked like he’d aged a decade. “You three,” he growled, “had us scouring half the Calm Belt when you missed the rendezvous.” His voice softened. “…Glad you’re alive.”
Bianca smirked weakly. “Aw, Vaugnnn, like, you do care—”
“Report to the Council tomorrow,” he interrupted, cheeks reddening. “And fix your sub. Harper’s already planning a ‘survival makeover’ for you.”
As if summoned, Harper materialized in a swirl of silk scarves, his green hair practically glowing in the harbor’s dim light. “Darling!” he trilled, grabbing Vaughn’s face. “Look at these stress lines! We’re doing a seaweed mask tonight. No arguments.” Vaughn shot the trio a pleading look as Harper dragged him off.
The walk to the scholars’ quarters was a gauntlet. Micah Ellington, the mayor’s son, sprinted up demanding a “play-by-play” of Marya’s duel with Vergo. Riggs, leaning against a wisteria-draped archway with his katana, barked a laugh. “She didn’t just duel with Vergo!” he called. “She toppled a mountain and blew up an island!”
Celeste, lurking nearby, pressed her index fingers together. “U-um… glad you’re safe,” she stammered, before fleeing when Jax shot her a look.
By the time they reached the Library’s Celestial Atrium—its astrolabe casting shifting constellations onto the marble floors—Charlie was vibrating with manic energy. “The carvings on that island!” he blurted to a group of passing scholars. “They predate the Void Century! If Ace hadn’t distracted those pirates with his fire, we’d never have—”
“Ace,” Marya muttered. The fire-wielder’s carefree grin flashed in her mind. He’d been a storm of chaos—burning through Beast Pirate blockades, laughing as he pressed the wrong button and nearly sank their sub again. Yet, when he’d mentioned Blackbeard’s location, his eyes had darkened like storm clouds. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
Nanette Ellington intercepted them at the library’s entrance, her crimson lips pursed. “Charlie. My office. Now.” She tapped a scroll labeled Unauthorized Relic Acquisition. Charlie wilted.
Bianca collapsed onto a velvet couch in the scholars’ lounge, groaning. “Food. Shower. Sleep. In that order.”
“Not yet,” a voice drawled.
Master Gaius Vesper sat cross-legged on a windowsill, smoking his weathered kiseru pipe. His grandson Dalton perched beside him, swinging his legs. “Heard you crippled Vergo,” Gaius said, grinning. “Pops would’ve loved that.”
Marya stiffened at the mention of Mihawk. “He’d have called it ‘flashy’.”
“Exactly!” Gaius chuckled, puffing smoke from his kiseru pipe. “Rest. Tomorrow, the Council’ll grill you.”
Marya nodded, her body swaying slightly as she turned down the winding corridor lit by floating orbs of soft amber light. The Consortium’s residential quarters were carved into the petrified titan’s inner walls, a honeycomb of efficiency apartments stacked like ancient vaults. Each door bore a unique emblem—a scholar’s quill, a guardian’s blade, an engineer’s gear—marking the occupant’s role.
Her apartment was tucked into a secluded alcove near the cascading waterfall, its door marked by a simple black lotus: the symbol of a rogue swordsman who answered to no banner. She pressed her palm against the wood, and the lock clicked open with a whisper of mist—a security measure only her Devil Fruit could bypass.
Inside, the space was sparse but deliberate. A narrow bed layered with linen sheets. A weapons rack for holding Eternal Night, a temporary hook where she can hang her twin daggers Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation, and a whetstone still dusted with iron filings. A table buried under Poneglyph rubbings, her mother’s cryptic notebook splayed open to a page scrawled with overlapping star charts. The only indulgence was a small shelf displaying trinkets: a sun-bleached seashell from the East Blue, a cracked teacup Mihawk had gifted her on her 10th birthday, and a pressed wisteria blossom from her first day at the Consortium.
She shrugged off her coat, letting it crumple to the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. The kogatana around her neck—her father’s parting gift—dug into her collarbone. She didn’t remove it.
Knock knock knock.
“Go. Away,” she growled.
The door creaked open anyway. Himari, Nao Itsuki Makino’s giggling assistant, hovered in the doorway, balancing a tray of onigiri and green tea. “Nao-sama thought you might be hungry!” she chirped, her voice melodic. “He also said to remind you that your translation session is at dawn! Don’t be late!”
Marya didn’t move. “Tell him dawn’s canceled.”
Himari giggled nervously, set the tray on the counter, and fled.
Alone again, Marya stared at the ceiling, where glowing rainbow moss cast faint constellations. Her mind flickered to Vergo’s shattered bamboo armor, Ace’s wildfire grin, and the exploding island. Sleep, she ordered herself. But sleep didn’t come.
Instead, she dragged herself to the small bathing chamber—a stone recess fed by the waterfall’s runoff. The water was ice-cold, jolting her awake as she scrubbed Beast Pirate grime and dried blood from her skin. She dressed in fresh linen clothes, then forced herself to nibble Himari’s onigiri. The rice was bland. Nanette’s rationing again, she noted.
Knock knock knock.
“I said GO—”
“Relax, Princess. It’s just me.” Riggs leaned against her doorway, shaggy blond hair still singed from the rescue mission. He tossed her a bottle of amber liquid. “Stole it from Knox’s stash. Figured you’d need it after tangling with Vergo.”
She caught the bottle, read the label—Sky Island rum, 100-year aged—and arched a brow. “Why?”
“So you’ll put in a good word when I challenge your old man.” He winked and sauntered off, whistling.
Marya snorted. As if Mihawk would spare him a glance. Still, she tucked the bottle beside Mihawk’s teacup.
She sank back onto the bed, Eternal Night within reach, and finally let her eyes close. The Mist-Mist Fruit’s power hummed beneath her skin, restless. Her last thought was of her mother’s notebook, its pages bleeding into the stars on the ceiling—
Knock knock knock KNOCK.
“Mistress Marya!” The scribe’s voice was panicked now. “The Council—they’ve moved the meeting to tonight! They say it’s urgent!”
Marya’s hand tightened around Eternal Night’s hilt. Sleep, it seemed, was for people who hadn’t angered the World Government.
The Celestial Atrium hummed with the soft rustle of parchment and the faint chime of rotating constellations above. Marya sat cross-legged atop a stack of weathered tomes, her mother’s notebook splayed open beside her. Around her, the air shimmered with dust motes caught in the glow of floating lanterns, their light pooling over the fractured Poneglyph replica dominating the center of the chamber.
Nao Itsuki Makino paced behind her like a caged tiger, his silk robes swishing dramatically with every turn. “Focus, Marya! The third glyph in this sequence isn’t merely ‘sky’—it’s a metaphor for the Celestial Dragons’ tyranny!” He stabbed a finger at the inscription, his voice echoing off the marble floors. “Your mother understood nuance. Do you?”
Marya’s jaw tightened. Three days home, three days of this. She traced the chiseled symbols with her fingertip, the ancient language’s curves and slashes burning into her memory. The Mist-Mist Fruit’s power prickled under her skin, as if urging her to dissolve the entire slab into vapor. “The glyph here,” she said flatly, “isn’t ‘sky.’ It’s ‘cage.’ See the double serif?” She flipped open her mother’s notebook to a dog-eared page, thrusting it toward Nao. “Her notes reference the same symbol in a Shandorian hymn. Context: imprisonment.”
Nao froze. For a heartbeat, his theatrical bravado cracked. Himari, perched on a ladder nearby, nearly dropped her inkpot. “Oh! She’s right, Nao-sama!” she squeaked, scrambling to compare Marya’s findings to a scroll labeled Pre-Void Century Lexicons. “Look—this matches the Royale Kingdom’s records!”
“I see it,” Nai snapped, though his cheeks flushed. He leaned closer to the Poneglyph, his ashen hair slipping from its ornate tie. “…Adequate. For a novice.”
Marya smirked. Novice. Three weeks ago, he’d called her “hopelessly obtuse.”
Himari clasped her hands, stars in her eyes. “Marya-san, you’ve improved so much! Nao-sama’s teachings are so effective!”
“My teachings,” Nao muttered, “and her mother’s ghost.” He straightened abruptly, snapping his fan open to hide his face. “Regardless, this… progress… means you’re finally ready to translate Section 17-B.” He gestured to a towering shelf across the atrium, where a cracked stone tablet pulsed faintly with embedded sea prism crystals. “It details the ‘Weapon of the Stratosphere’—a folly even the World Government fears.”
Marya’s pulse quickened. Weapon. The Consortium’s forbidden archives whispered of it—a force tied to the Void Century, buried beneath the Library itself. Her mother’s notebook had sketches of winged shadows and shattered moons…
“But first!” Nao clapped his hands. “Tea. Himari!”
“Yes, Nao-sama!” Himari scurried off, nearly tripping over her own feet.
Alone with Marya, Nao’s bravado dimmed. He stared at the Poneglyph, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Your mother… she believed these words could unmake empires.” He traced a glyph shaped like a descending blade. “She’d be…” Proud. The word hung unsaid, swallowed by his pride.
Marya studied him—the man who’d loved her mother, who’d buried his grief in arrogance and ancient texts. “She’d tell you to stop hovering,” she said dryly.
Nai barked a laugh. “Undoubtedly.”
Himari returned with a lacquered tray, her giggles echoing as she poured tea into cracked cups. Nao launched into a lecture about “interpreting subtext through post-Celestial dialects,” but Marya barely listened. Her eyes lingered on her mother’s notebook, its margins filled with sketches of Mihawk’s kogatana and a single, recurring phrase: “The Library’s heart holds the key.”
As dusk painted the atrium’s astrolabe in hues of indigo, Marya finally deciphered the 17-B tablet’s first line: “Beneath the roots of knowledge, the Stratosphere’s wrath sleeps—"
“Enough!” Nao snatched the notebook from her hands, his earlier vulnerability replaced by theatrical scowling. “You’ll exhaust yourself, and then where will my research be?”
Himari nodded fervently. “Rest, Marya-san! You’ve earned it!”
Marya stood, Eternal Night’s weight grounding her. “Fine. But tomorrow, we finish this.”
“We finish nothing,” Nao huffed, though he didn’t stop her from taking the notebook. “And don’t think this means you’ve surpassed me!”
As Marya left, Himari sighed dreamily. “She’s just like her mother, Nao-sama.”
“…Unfortunately,” he murmured, staring at the glyphs long after Marya had gone.
The Consortium’s floating bridges swayed gently underfoot as Marya cut through the mist-drenched evening. Aurélie’s apartment loomed ahead, perched on a jutting balcony of the petrified titan’s ribcage, its entrance veiled by cascading wisteria. Marya’s steps quickened—she needed answers about her mother’s notebook, and Aurélie’s stoic wisdom was the closest thing to a compass she had left.
“Marya!”
She froze. Leaning against a mossy archway, Master Gaius Vesper puffed lazily on his kiseru pipe, smoke curling into the shape of a grinning skull. His grandson Dalton snoozed nearby, sprawled over a stack of shogi boards. “Sneaking off to Aurélie’s, eh?” Gaius’s eyes glinted beneath the shadow of his carelessly swept gray hair. “Last time you came home without tellin’ her, she chased you through three training halls. With Anathema unsheathed.”
Marya scowled. The memory stung—Aurélie’s cursed katana had nicked her shoulder as she’d hissed, “I’m not ‘sneaking,’” she said. “I’m informing her in person.”
Gaius chuckled, tapping ash onto Dalton’s head. The boy mumbled, swatting at it sleepily. “Good luck with that. Heard she’s… busy.”
“Busy?” Marya’s hand drifted to the kogatana at her throat. “Busy how?”
“Ah-ah.” Gaius wagged a finger, his pipe smoke twisting into a lock-and-key symbol. “A guardian’s mission’s a guardian’s secret. Even from prodigies.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “But if I were you… I’d check the armory. Maybe practice your misty escapes.”
Marya’s jaw tightened. Aurélie’s long absence—the one no one discussed—was tied to Darius Rhea, the traitor who’d kidnapped a Consortium engineer. But Aurélie’s apartment light was on, flickering faintly through the wisteria. “She’s home,” Marya insisted.
Gaius snorted. “Kid, you’re never home here.”
Before she could retort, he tossed her a dried persimmon from his sleeve. “For the road. Aurélie’s cranky when she’s hungry.”
Marya caught it, glaring, and stalked off. Behind her, Gaius’s laughter followed like a challenge.
The climb to Aurélie’s balcony left her palms scraped on petrified wood. Marya paused at the entrance, the scent of ink and steel biting the air. She knocked once. Twice. No answer.
She pushed the door open. Aurélie’s apartment was immaculate, as always—her katana rack hung, empty, above a desk cluttered with star charts and bad poetry drafts. But the bed was untouched, the tea set cold. A single note lay pinned to the wall by a dagger: “Tracking Darius. Do NOT follow. —A.”
Marya crumpled the note. Gaius’s words echoed: “You’re never home here.”
*****
The Consortium’s subterranean lab smelled of burnt ozone and bad decisions. Charlie, goggles askew and hair frizzed from static, squinted at the relic—a hexagonal slab of Sky Island stone etched with glowing blue glyphs. Zola loomed over him, her pink hair tied into a frazzled ponytail, wrench tapping impatiently against her thigh.
“It’s clearly a two-tap activation,” Charlie insisted, jabbing a finger at his manual’s faded diagram. “See? The third-century Shandorans used ritualistic percussion to—”
“Preposterous!” Zola snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice sea king hide. “The core requires kinetic overclocking. Observe the obvious energy matrix here!” She stabbed her wrench at the relic’s pulsating center.
“You’re ignoring the cultural context!” Charlie shoved his glasses up his nose, sending a cascade of parchment scrolls sliding off the table. “This isn’t a toaster—it’s a sacred artifact!”
“And you’re ignoring basic physics!” Zola countered, her finger pointed skyward like a prosecutor delivering a closing argument.
“Fine!” Charlie threw his hands up. “We’ll do both! Tap and overclock!”
“A compromise,” Zola said, as if the word tasted foul. “How… democratic.”
The lab hummed with tension as Charlie reverently tapped the relic twice. Nothing. Zola rolled her eyes, wedged her wrench into the core, and cranked it like she was starting a warship’s engine.
“Wait—” Charlie began.
Too late.
The relic flared neon pink, a shockwave blasting outwards. The air crackled, papers tornadoed into the air, and the ground… rippled.
“Uh,” Charlie said, floating upward. “Zola?”
“Gravity inversion!” Zola gasped, her wrench spinning lazily toward the ceiling. “Fascinating!”
“FASCINATING?!”
The Consortium’s floating bridges trembled as the gravity pulse rippled outward, turning the tranquil evening into a carnival of airborne absurdity.
Harper’s Salon of Sublime Beauty erupted first. Shelves of hair tonics, conditioners, and “volumizing mousse for the adventurous soul” rocketed skyward, corked bottles popping like champagne celebrating the apocalypse. Harper, mid-haircut on a terrified scholar, screamed louder than his client. “MY DRAGONFRUIT DETANGLER!” He lunged for a floating bottle, only to be clotheslined by a rogue hair dryer. The pièce de résistance? A jumbo bottle of Lavender Dream Conditioner burst overhead, drenching Nanette Ellington—raven-haired, crimson-lipped, and mid-stride—in a glistening purple cloud.
“UNACCEPTABLE!” Nanette hissed, wiping mist from her lashes with a lace handkerchief. “This is LITERALLY why I vetoed your salon’s budget!”
Across the atrium, Knox Penrose, Captain of the Guards, hung upside-down from a bridge railing, his prized handlebar mustache defying physics by curling upward like a rebellious caterpillar. “PENROSE LAW #47: NOBODY MOVES UNTIL GRAVITY’S FIXED!” he bellowed, though his command lost gravitas as his epaulets flapped in his face. “AND SOMEONE CATCH MY DAMN HAT!”
Meanwhile, Micah and Dalton, the Consortium’s youngest chaos agents, straddled a runaway bookshelf careening through the air. “YAHOOOOO!” Micah whooped, brandishing a stolen quill as a cutlass. “WE’RE THE SKY PIRATE KINGS!” Dalton, clinging to a shelf strap, giggled maniacally as they plowed through a flock of startled messenger birds. “TAKE THAT, LANDLUBBERS!”
High above, Master Gaius Vesper clung to the ceiling like a barnacle with a grudge, his kiseru pipe still clenched between his teeth. Smoke curled downward, defying the laws of his own predicament. “WHICH GENIUSES ACTIVATED THE LEVITY STONE?!” he roared, kicking off a lantern to float closer to the chaos. “I’LL FEED YOUR SPLEENS TO THE SEA KINGS!”

Chapter Text

Marya stormed out of Aurélie’s apartment, the crumpled note still clutched in her fist. The wisteria-draped balcony seemed serene—until the world flipped. Her boots left the ground, and she hovered sideways, Eternal Night drifting lazily out of its sheath. “Oh, come on,” she growled, dissolving into mist to snatch her sword. But the mist spiraled like smoke in a hurricane, leaving her tangled in a floating ivy vine. “Gaius, I swear—”
It was then that she realized the chaos wasn’t confined to Aurélie’s apartment. Across the city, something had dislodged gravity’s hold. As Marya wrestled with the vine, a commotion from the dojo caught her attention. She could see Jax and Riggs, their forms tumbling in mid-air as they sparred, oblivious to the bizarre circumstances.
In the training hall, Jax and Riggs clashed blades, sweat flying—until sweat, swords, and they began floating. Jax’s three-section staff bonked him on the forehead as he somersaulted mid-air. “Focus, Riggs! Adjust your stance!” he barked, though his legs now pedaled nothing like a flipped turtle.
Riggs, meanwhile, cackled. “THIS IS AWESOME!” He kicked off a wall, katana raised, to “ambush” Jax—only to spin wildly, pants snagging on a ceiling lantern.
Across the city, pockets of pandemonium erupted, each in their own eccentric fashion. The dojo wasn’t the only place where chaos reigned supreme.
Bianca’s engineering lab became a maelstrom of floating screws, blueprints, and half-built submarine parts. “Like, SERIOUSLY?!” She lunged for a wrench, only to somersault into a cloud of bolts. Her prized prototype engine sputtered, then shot upward, spraying oil in her face. “I’m, like, literally, going to murder Charlie and Zola!”
Meanwhile, in the heart of the city, the marketplace transformed into a surreal carnival. Vendors and customers alike found themselves floating among their wares. A cascade of oranges tumbled from a cart, the citrus orbs bouncing lazily in mid-air. Children giggled, reaching out to grab floating sweets, while their parents flailed, trying to anchor themselves to anything solid.
On the other side of town, in the grand library, books took flight, pages fluttering like sparrows. Scholars struggled to snag their precious volumes, while a librarian, Ms. Thistle, waved her arms frantically, attempting to corral the literary chaos.
Despite the widespread disarray, a peculiar sense of wonder pervaded the city. People momentarily forgot their frustrations, captivated by the spectacle of their everyday lives turned upside down. It was as if the city had collectively stepped into a dream where the impossible was suddenly plausible.
The whimsy of weightlessness was short-lived, as the city's unforeseen levitation soon transformed from amusing to alarming. People began to realize the practical implications of such an upheaval.
Natalie’s infirmary was a snow globe of medical charts and bandages. “STOP FLOATING AND STAY STILL!” she ordered, snatching a drifting thermometer. A patient’s bed floated by, its occupant gleefully riding it like a raft. “This is not relaxing!” Natalie hissed, juggling IV bags. “EMMET! GET IN HERE AND— Oh, right. Gravity.”
Back in the marketplace, an elderly man glided serenely by, playing a flute, his melody weaving through the air like a gentle breeze. A flock of pigeons, now weightless, cooed and fluttered around him, adding to the surreal symphony. Yet amidst the enchantment, a sense of urgency began to grow.
People were beginning to grasp the dire consequences of this bizarre phenomenon. What had started as an otherworldly spectacle was quickly becoming a potential disaster. Natalie’s shouts echoed through the infirmary, and Bianca’s exasperation in the lab was palpable.
In the communal baths, Vaughn’s shower stream curved upward like a fountain. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, soap suds orbiting his head. He lunged for a towel, but it flapped away like a seagull. “HARPER! DON’T YOU DARE—”
Harper, floating past the window with a camera snail, gasped. “DARLING, THIS IS ART!”
The lab door exploded inward, propelled by Bianca’s grease-stained boot. Behind her, Marya mist-stepped through the wreckage, Eternal Night gleaming with murderous intent. Riggs vaulted over a floating desk, katana in hand, while Jax brought up the rear, three-sectioned staff twitching like an angry serpent.
“CHARLIE! ZOLA!” Bianca roared, her voice cracking. “Like, EXPLAIN THIS RIGHT NOW OR I’LL—”
She froze.
The lab looked like a sea king had vomited a rainbow. The gravity relic pulsed neon pink, suspended mid-air while screws, teacups, and half-eaten sandwiches orbited it like deranged moons. Charlie dangled upside-down from the ceiling, clutching a soggy manual, while Zola stood sideways on the wall, scribbling equations with charcoal on a floating chalkboard.
“Ah! Teamwork!” Charlie waved cheerfully, his glasses sliding off his nose. “We’ve almost fixed it! The glyphs clearly say ‘invoke harmonic resonance’—
“YOU’RE, LIKW, LITERALLY WRITING ON THE CEILING!” Bianca jabbed a wrench at Zola.
Zola sniffed, adjusting her lab goggles. “Perspective is relative. Now, if you’d assist instead of berate—
“Assist?” Marya materialized beside her, mist coiling around her boots. “You turned Knox’s mustache into a dirigible.”
Riggs poked the relic with his katana. “Hey, does this thing make soup float too? Asking for a frien—
ZZZAP!
The relic flared, and Riggs’ pants burst into glitter.
“…Cool,” he said, admiring his sparkly legs.
Jax facepalmed. “Focus. Fix. This.”
The gravity relic pulsed mockingly, its neon pink glow casting disco-party shadows across the lab. Riggs, now half-glitter, half-regret, saluted. “Aye-aye, Captain Grumpypants!” He lunged for the relic, katana raised. “I’LL STAB IT BETTER!”
“NO STABBING!” Bianca and Jax roared in unison.
Charlie, still dangling upside-down, waved the soggy manual. “The glyphs say ‘invoke harmonic resonance’! That means singing!” He cleared his throat, unleashing a Shandorian sea shanty that sounded like a walrus in a wind tunnel: “Ohhhh, skyyyyy—”
Zola hurled a wrench at him. “CEASE THAT ATROCITY! Resonance requires precision!” She slammed her wrench into the relic’s core. “LIKE THIS!”
CLANG!
The relic emitted a sound like a gong struck by a drunk giant. Gravity flipped diagonall. Bianca somersaulted into a shelf of beakers, which shattered into a rainbow of sticky goo. “I’M , LIKE, LITERALLY GOING TO, LIKE, MURDER ALL OF YOU!”
Marya, mist coalescing into a very done-with-this-expression, raised Eternal Night. “Stand. Back.” She slashed at the relic—but her blade phased through it like smoke. “…Or not.”
Jax, looked at Riggs, “Distract it.”
Riggs, nose wrinkled, “HOW?!”
Jax, adjusting his stance, “YOUR FACE!”
Riggs grinned, striking a pose. “BEHOLD! THE FUTURE GREATEST SWORDSMAN’S SMOLDER!” The relic pulsed… then spat glitter directly into his eyes. “WORTH IT!”
Charlie, still singing:“—fluffy butts of the seaaa—”
Zola tackled him, sending them both spinning into a wall. “CEASE. CEASE!”
Bianca, now covered in fluorescent slime, crawled to the flux capacitor. “FINE. MY turn.” She kicked it with the force of a thousand suns.
BLORP.
The relic burped. Gravity died. Everyone crashed to the floor in a groaning heap.
Charlie peaked from beneath Jax’s elbow, “Success…!”
Zola, spitting out a screw, “Success?! YOU SUMMONED A GIANT FLOATING SQUID!”
Marya, staring at the translucent cephalopod nibbling a sandwich, “Again?” The squid blinked, then offered her a tentacle-tipped teacake.
Knox stormed in, his mustache now orbiting his head like a furry halo. “PENROSE LAW #50: NO MORE SQUIDS!” The squid sneezed glitter. Knox, coaxing his mustache back into compliance, “…Law pending.”
*****
The frozen winds of the forgotten winter continent howled as the Germa 66 fleet descended, their black-and-orange sails emblazoned with the inverted "66" insignia. King Vinsmoke Judge stood at the helm of the floating fortress, his electromagnetic spear crackling with impatience. The fossilized roots of Yggdrasil loomed ahead—a skeletal giant clawing through ice and time. Sensors aboard the Warship Snail had detected anomalous energy readings here, resonating with the same frequency as Judge’s old MADS research on Poneglyph materials.
“Deploy the clones,” Judge ordered, his voice metallic beneath his golden helmet. “Type-MST and Type-MSP squads first. Scour the catacombs. Whatever’s down there, we take it intact.”
The Vinsmoke siblings—Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji—descended into the labyrinthine crypts, their Raid Suits glowing faintly in the gloom. The walls were lined with polished black mirrors, their surfaces shimmering like liquid obsidian. Reiju paused, her Poison Pink gauntlets brushing one. A ripple spread, and for a heartbeat, her reflection shifted: a woman in a tattered crown, weeping over a battlefield.
“Ancestors… or lies?” she murmured, her breath frosting the glass.
“Focus,” snapped Ichiji, Sparking Red lenses narrowing. “We’re not here for ghost stories.”
The clones marched ahead, their blank visors scanning for threats. But as they pressed deeper, the mirrors began to react. A Type-MST soldier froze mid-stride, his reflection morphing into a hulking warrior clad in Ancient Kingdom armor. The clone’s helmet cracked as his own face contorted—then he collapsed, blood seeping from his eyes.
“Defensive system,” Niji growled, Dengeki Blue boots sparking. “Electromagnetic interference. These mirrors aren’t just stone—they’re alive.”
Yonji’s Winch Green arm whirred as he shattered a mirror, but the fragments coalesced into a razor-edged storm. “Tch. Persistent garbage.”
Judge’s voice crackled over their comms: “Retrieve samples. Now.”
Reiju moved swiftly, her suit’s wings flaring as she scraped shards into a containment vial. The glass writhed, showing flashes: a shadowy figure (Imu’s predecessor?) bargaining with a celestial horror, tentacles coiled around a bleeding sun. The birth of Devil Fruits? She pocketed it, her stomach churning.
Then the central chamber yawned open.
A colossal tree root formed a vaulted ceiling, and at its heart stood a mirror pool, its surface still as death. The clones hesitated—until their reflections climbed out, pixel-perfect duplicates wielding Germa weapons. Chaos erupted. Ichiji’s energy blasts ricocheted off his doppelgänger’s shields. Niji’s lightning kicks met equal force. Yonji’s winch arm tangled with its twin in a screech of metal.
“Pathetic,” Judge snarled, watching via hologram. “Destroy them!”
But the clones were faltering. Each mirrored soldier fought with their own tactics, their own memories. A Type-MSP’s reflection grinned coldly as it snapped its original’s neck. “They’re… us,” Reiju realized. “But better.”
The pool stirred. A figure emerged—Judge’s double, clad in corroded armor, eyes hollow. “You perpetuate the cycle,” it intoned, voice like grinding stone. “Conquerors. Tyrants. Will you kneel to your past?”
Judge’s spear flared. “I am the future!” He lunged, but his duplicate dissolved into smoke, reforming behind him. A blast of electromagnetic energy sent the king crashing into a mirror.
“Father!” Reiju’s doppelgänger seized her throat, its breath poison-sweet. “You could’ve been kind,” it whispered. “But you chose fear.”
Ichiji’s Sparking Valkyrie beams pierced the chamber, buying seconds. “Fall back!” he barked. “This isn’t a fight—it’s a trap.”
The siblings regrouped, shields overlapping as they retreated. The clones sacrificed themselves, detonating in waves to block the pursuing reflections. Aboveground, the Warship Snail’s cannons boomed, shattering the crypt entrance.
As the fleet ascended, Reiju stared at the vial of mirror shards. The visions lingered: Joy Boy’s shattered alliance, Sora’s face among the dead. Judge adjusted his cracked helmet, already dictating notes to his scientists. “We’ll return. With better weapons. With armies.”
But Reiju wondered, as Yggdrasil vanished into the blizzard, if some doors were meant to stay sealed.
*****
The Celestial Atrium’s astrolabe cast fractured starlight over Nanette Ellington and Knox Penrose as they stood before a trembling scholar. The air still smelled of burnt wiring from yesterday’s gravity debacle—a fact Knox emphasized by plucking a stray glitter shard from his handlebar mustache.
“The celestial bodies… they’ve aligned,” the scholar stammered, unfurling a star chart that glowed with bioluminescent ink. “The Mirror Crypts of Yggdrasil… they’ve manifested. H-here.”
Nanette’s crimson lips tightened as the scholar pointed to a frozen quadrant deep within Germa 66’s territory. The chart flickered, revealing a jagged silhouette: a colossal fossilized tree, its roots clawing into a continent of perpetual winter.
“Yggdrasil,” Knox grunted, squinting. “Ain’t that the tree from them old Sky Island myths? The one that held up the moons?”
“Not moons,” the scholar whispered. “Worlds. The crypts beneath it… the mirrors there… they don’t just reflect. They… reveal.”
Nanette’s piercing eyes narrowed. “Reveal what?”
The scholar swallowed. “The Void Century. As it was… and as it could have been.”
The chart projected a hologram of the crypts—polished black mirrors lining every wall, their surfaces swirling like oil on water. In one reflection, a shadowy figure (Imu’s predecessor?) knelt before a cosmic horror with too many eyes, tendrils piercing their chest. In another, Joy Boy laughed with giants and fish-men, his dream unbroken… until the image shattered.
“The mirrors are fragments of the same stone as the Poneglyphs,” the scholar said. “They show the Ancient Kingdom’s fall… and the price paid to bury it.”
“Price?” Knox crossed his arms. “What price?”
“A… bargain.” The hologram zoomed in on the cosmic entity. “The origin of Devil Fruits? Perhaps. But the central chamber…” The image shifted to a mirror doppelgänger of the scholar, its eyes hollow. “…it forces you to confront yourself. Your role in the world’s cycles.”
Nanette’s polished nails dug into her palms. “Germa 66 controls this region. If they find the crypts—”
“They already have,” the scholar interrupted. “Our spies report Judge Vinsmoke’s ships converging on the site. He seeks the mirrors’ power… to rewrite his lineage’s failures.”
Mustache’s mustache twitched like a live wire. “So we’re walkin’ into Germa’s backyard, dodging killer clones, to stare at creepy mirrors? Sounds like Tuesday.”
Nanette turned to the astrolabe, where constellations twisted into a warning: Yggdrasil’s roots drink deep of buried truths. “Prepare a team. Marya. Charlie. Vaughn.”

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Chapter Text

The Warship Snail hovered above Yggdrasil’s roots, its engines snarling like wounded beasts. Below, the Mirror Crypts glowed faintly, the black mirrors pulsing as though the tree itself had swallowed a dying star. Judge’s hulking presence and golden helmet gleamed under the frozen moonlight as he addressed his children.
“No failures this time,” he growled, electromagnetic spear crackling. “Whatever thing lurks in those crypts—clone it, break it, or burn it.”
Reiju adjusted her Poison Pink gauntlets, her breath misting in the subzero air. The last mission had left her with nightmares: Sora, her mother’s ghost in the mirrors, whispering, “You could have saved him.”
Yonji cracked his neck, Winch Green arm whirring. “Easy. Just smash the damn glass.”
The crypts had changed. The mirrors now oozed viscous black sap, their surfaces rippling with half-formed visions. Clone soldiers marched ahead, their boots crunching on frost-coated stone.
“Movement detected,” a Type-MST droned, raising its rifle.
The squad froze. The mirrors hissed.
Reflections peeled free—clone doppelgängers, but wrong. Their armor rusted, faces rotted, eyes hollow. They moved with jerky, insectile precision.
“Open fire!” Judge barked.
Plasma rounds tore through the duplicates, but the mirrors simply spat out more. Yonji laughed, his winch arm snatching a clone copy mid-air and slamming it into the wall. “Pathetic! They’re just—”
A mirror shard moved. It sliced through his forearm, severing cables. Hydraulic fluid sprayed.
“Yonji!” Reiju lunged, misting the air to obscure the clones’ aim.
“I’m fine!” he snarled, sealing the leak with a burst of searing gel. “Focus on the mission!”
They reached the central chamber, now warped. The mirror pool had solidified into a grotesque altar, its surface etched with the same runes as the Poneglyphs. Above it hung a colossal reflection: Imu’s predecessor, their hand clasped with a cosmic horror’s tentacle. The air reeked of iron and brine.
“Sample the altar,” Judge ordered. “And destroy the rest.”
Reiju approached, vial in hand. The mirror beneath her feet flickered—a vision of Sanji, battered but free, laughing with the Straw Hats. Her finger trembled.
Then the altar screamed.
Black tendrils erupted, seizing clones and dragging them into the mirrors. Their screams echoed as their reflections twisted into fuel for the crypt. Yonji roared, smashing tendrils with his winch, but for every one destroyed, two more took its place.
“Fall back!” Judge barked, retreating toward the exit.
Reiju froze. The pool showed Sora again, this time holding a child—her child, a girl with Sanji’s smile. “You don’t have to obey him,” the vision pleaded.
“Reiju! Move!” Yonji grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the tunnel.
Too late.
A tendril speared Yonji’s leg, pinning him. Another wrapped Reiju’s waist, slamming her into the altar. The mirror beneath her cracked, bleeding icy mist.
“Father—!” Yonji reached for Judge, who stood at the threshold, clones scrambling past him.
Judge met his son’s gaze. For a heartbeat, Reiju saw it—a flicker of hesitation. Then he turned. “Germa does not waste resources on lost causes,” he said coldly. “Your sacrifice will be analyzed.”
The chamber doors sealed.
The crypt shuddered, walls collapsing. Yonji tore free, dragging Reiju into a side tunnel. “This way! There’s—there’s got to be an exit!”
Reiju coughed, her gauntlets shattered. The mist here was thicker, hungrier. It leeched warmth from their veins. “Yonji… stop.”
He ignored her, winch arm sparking as he punched through ice. “We’re Vinsmokes. We don’t die in holes!”
A mirror shard slid from the ceiling, impaling his shoulder. He gasped, falling to his knees.
Reiju knelt beside him, her gloves slick with his neon-blue blood. “The mist… it’s draining us. We can’t outrun it.”
Yonji’s eyes widened—not with fear, but fury. “I… I won’t…”
The walls groaned. Ice sealed the tunnel behind them.
Reiju leaned against the glass, her reflection now a stranger—a woman without Germa’s crest, without poison, without regret. “Rest, little brother,” she murmured. “I’ll find a way out… for both of us.”
But as the crypt’s light dimmed, the mirrors whispered the truth: No one escapes Yggdrasil.
*****
The submarine cut through the blackened depths of the New World, its hull humming with the Consortium’s proprietary bubble porter technology. Inside, the air smelled of aged parchment, sea salt, and the faint tang of Vaughn’s anxiety sweat. Marya leaned against the polished mahogany control panel, idly spinning her dagger Celestial Devastation while Charlie hunched over a star chart, his glasses slipping down his nose.
“Y’know,” Vaughn said, adjusting the dreads tied back from his face, “when Nanette said ‘stealth mission,’ I didn’t think she meant sardine can.” His double-sided axe, Light Bringer, glinted in the sub’s bioluminescent glow. “Harper’s gonna kill me if I miss our wedding because Germa turned us into pincushions.”
Marya smirked. “Relax. Worst case, I turn you into mist. You’d make a lovely fog bank.”
“Fascinating,” Charlie interjected, nearly headbutting the holographic map of Yggdrasil’s coordinates. His finger jabbed at a flickering rune. “These crypts—they’re built around the roots of the fossilized tree. If the legends are right, Yggdrasil’s mirrors don’t just show the past. They invert it. Alternate timelines, fragmented histories—”
“—and Germa’s crawling all over it,” Vaughn finished, eyeing the sonar. A cluster of red dots pulsed near their trajectory. “Judge’s clones’ll be on us like seagulls on a chip.”
The sub lurched suddenly, gears groaning. Alarms blared as the bubble porter sputtered, its core overheating. Charlie yelped, clutching a leather-bound journal titled Yggdrasil: A Comprehensive Guide to NOT Dying. “The pressure valves! They’re—they’re overloading!”
Marya cursed, her Mist-Mist powers already swirling at her fingertips. “Vaughn—!”
“On it!” Vaughn slammed his palm against the wall, his Dazzle Dazzle fruit activating. Soundwaves from the engine’s whine crystallized into searing light, funneling into the overheating core. The sub shuddered, stabilizing as the porter’s bubble reset. “Damn antique tech. Remind me to kiss Harper’s engineer cousin when we get back.”
Outside the reinforced glass viewport, shadows loomed. A Germa Warship Snail glided past, its orange "66" insignia glowing like a predator’s eyes. Clone soldiers patrolled its deck, their blank visors scanning the abyss.
“They haven’t spotted us,” Marya whispered, mist creeping up the glass. “Yet.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, voice trembling with excitement. “The crypts—they’re beneath the main roots. If we can slip through the thermal vents—”
“—we’ll boil alive,” Vaughn snapped. “Got a Plan B, Clou D. Clover?”
Marya’s Eternal Night scraped free of its sheath. “We fight.”
“Or,” Charlie said, unfurling a brittle scroll, “we use this.” The page showed a crude sketch of Yggdrasil’s trunk, with a spiral of runes near its base. “The ‘Breath of Jörmungandr’—a tidal current that surges every 12 minutes. It’ll slingshot us past Germa’s perimeter… if we time it perfectly.”
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “And if we don’t?”
“We’ll be chum for the nearest kraken.”
Marya grinned. “Better than Judge’s hospitality. Do it.”
The sub dove deeper, its hull creaking. Charlie manned the controls, counting seconds under his breath. Outside, the ocean roared as the current awakened—a colossal whirlpool dragging everything into its maw. Germa alarms flared as the Warship Snail veered, too slow.
“Hold on!” Charlie yelled.
The submarine shot forward, propelled by the current. Marya’s mist enveloped the sub, masking its signature. For a heartbeat, the viewport showed Judge himself on the Germa deck, his towering figure and golden helmet cracked as he shouted orders. Their eyes met—hunter and prey—before the sub spiraled into a volcanic vent, scraping through razor-edged rock.
When they surfaced, Yggdrasil dominated the horizon.
The fossilized tree was a monolith, its roots thicker than mountains, encased in ice and weeping black mirror-sap. The crypts yawned below, their entrance a jagged maw lined with reflections of the crew—alternate reflections. Vaughn saw himself older, wearier, leading a rebellion. Charlie glimpsed a version of himself entombed in a Poneglyph. Marya’s double stared back, clad in Marine white, Eternal Night bloodied.
“Cheery,” Vaughn muttered.
Marya sheathed her sword, jaw tight. “Let’s finish this before I change my mind.”
As the sub docked in a hidden ice cave, Charlie shouldered his pack, trembling not from fear, but fervor. “This… this is the find of the millennium! The Consortium’ll etch our names in platinum!”
Vaughn hefted Light Bringer, its edges humming. “Just keep your goggles on, yeah? I’m not explaining to Nanette why her star archivist got turned into a mirror zombie.” .
The entrance to the crypts loomed before them, an archway of ice that seemed to swallow the light. As they crossed the threshold, the temperature plunged, and the world turned to shadow and frost. The tension intensified with each step deeper into the labyrinth. It felt like a step back in time, into a world where ancient secrets lay in wait, undisturbed for centuries.
The air inside the crypts bit like a blade, sharp and glacial, as Marya, Charlie, and Vaughn descended. The walls, lined with polished black mirrors, swallowed the light from Vaughn’s lantern, casting fractured reflections of the trio that flickered like ghosts. Marya’s breath misted in the cold, tendrils of vapor curling around her like phantom fingers—a subconscious manifestation of her Mist-Mist fruit.
“This way!” Charlie hissed, his voice trembling with excitement. He scrambled ahead, his boots crunching on frost-veined stone. “Look—there! A Poneglyph!”
The slab loomed ahead, its obsidian surface etched with glowing crimson runes. It stood at the heart of a circular chamber, flanked by mirrors that shimmered with half-formed visions: a king kneeling before a shadowed throne, a fleet of ships swallowed by a maelstrom, a child laughing in a field of sunflowers—wrong sunflowers, their petals edged with teeth.
Charlie dropped his pack, gloves trembling as he brushed snow from the glyph. “It’s… it’s intact! This dialect—pre-Void Century, maybe older!” His glasses fogged as he leaned closer. “Listen: ‘The Covenant of Dawns… a bargain forged in starlight and blood…’”
Marya crossed her arms, Eternal Night strapped to her back. “No. The third rune isn’t ‘covenant.’ It’s ‘burden.’” Her finger hovered over the glyph, her mother’s notebook burning in her memory. Elisabeta’s notes: “The Ancient Kingdom didn’t make deals. They inherited sins.”
Charlie stiffened. “Nonsense! The root verb here is ‘karuta’—‘to bind,’ not ‘to bear!’”
“Karuta shifts meaning in reflexive form,” Marya countered coolly. “Context: the next line references ‘chains of our making.’ It’s a warning, not a contract.”
Vaughn leaned against a mirror, his axe Light Bringer slung over one shoulder. The glass behind him flickered—a reflection of him older, scarred, leading a mob of rebels. He glanced away. “Y’know, while you two debate grammar, Germa’s probably carving ‘kick me’ into our sub.”
Charlie ignored him, scribbling in his journal. “But the syntactical structure—!”
“Is fluid,” Marya snapped, patience fraying. “The Ancient Kingdom used glyphs as palimpsests. Layers of meaning. My mother’s research—”
“—is your bias!” Charlie retorted. “We can’t project personal trauma onto history!”
The mirrors hummed, their surfaces rippling. For a heartbeat, Marya’s reflection wore Dracule Mihawk’s sneer.
Vaughn pushed off the wall, his boots scattering ice. “Enough. Charlie, note both translations. Marya, stop acting like your dad. We’re leaving.”
The archaeologist opened his mouth to protest, but a low groan shuddered through the crypt. The Poneglyph’s runes pulsed, and the mirrors began to bleed—black sap oozing like tar, hissing where it struck stone.
Marya’s mist coiled defensively. “Move. Now.”
As they fled, Charlie muttered, “It was ‘covenant…’”
“And I’m the Queen of Alabasta,” Vaughn shot back. “Write a footnote and run.”
Behind them, the chamber collapsed, the Poneglyph swallowed by darkness. But in the echoes of their argument lingered a truth: history, like mist, shifted to fit the hand that grasped it.
The air in the crypts clung to Marya’s skin like a fever sweat, thick with the metallic tang of ancient stone and something darker—stagnant water, rusted iron, the faint sweetness of decay. The black mirrors lining the walls drank the light from Vaughn’s lantern, their surfaces rippling like oil on a poisoned pond. Marya’s hand rested on Eternal Night’s hilt, a familiar weight, but her mother’s journal pressed heavier against her chest, tucked inside her coat.
“This place is alive,” Charlie whispered, his voice swallowed by the suffocating dark. He traced a gloved finger over a mirror’s edge, where the glass bled into the rock like a scar. “These carvings… they’re not just decorative. They’re warnings.”
Vaughn snorted, Light Bringer slung over his shoulder. “Yeah? What’s this one say? ‘Abandon hope, nerds?’”
Marya ignored him, her eyes locked on the reflections. Her own face flickered in the glass—sometimes older, sharper, her father’s cold amber eyes staring back. Sometimes younger, softer, her mother’s smile. She would’ve known how to read these walls, she thought bitterly.
Ahead, the tunnel split. The left path sloped downward, lined with mirrors that hummed faintly. The right curved upward, its walls studded with jagged Poneglyph fragments.
“Down,” Charlie said, adjusting his cracked glasses. “The central chamber’s likely deeper. The Ancient Kingdom buried their secrets in—”
“—traps,” Vaughn finished. “Cool. Let’s vote. I say up.”
Marya stepped toward the left. “We’re not here to play safe. Move.”
The air grew colder. Frost crackled underfoot, and the mirrors began to shift. Not reflections—echoes.
Ahead, a figure materialized: a woman in a Consortium coat, her raven hair streaked with ash, crouching over a Poneglyph. Elisabeta. Marya froze.
“Mom…?”
The vision turned. Elisabeta’s eyes were hollow, her mouth a blackened gash. “You’re too late,” she rasped, blood pooling at her feet. “The Void Century… it’s a chain. Break it or become it.”
Charlie grabbed Marya’s arm. “It’s not real. The mirrors—they’re mocking us.”
Vaughn raised his axe, the blade shimmering with trapped soundwaves. “Mock this, then.”
He swung. The mirror shattered—but the glass didn’t fall. It hung, suspended, then reconfigured into a thousand shards, each reflecting a sliver of Mihawk’s face.
“Weak,” the shards hissed in unison, his voice a blade dragged over stone. “You carry my sword, but not my will.”
Marya’s mist surged, tendrils lashing out instinctively. The shards dissolved into vapor, but the fog curled back, thicker, heavier. Charlie coughed, stumbling.
“The mist… it’s burning,” he choked.
“Huh,” Marya muttered. “Don’t breathe deep, then.”
He tightened his grip on Marya. "We need to move, now."
Vaughn nodded, his eyes scanning the ever-thickening fog. "Stay close. If it’s the mirrors, they’ll twist everything we see."
They edged forward, every step a cautious hesitation. The tunnel convulsed, the air humming with latent energy. Marya's mist seemed to pulse in rhythm, its tendrils weaving an intricate ballet of defense and curiosity.
"Charlie, keep your eyes peeled for more glyphs," Vaughn ordered, his voice a hushed command.
Marya swallowed hard, her mind whirling with her mother’s haunting words. Could it really be a chain? How did one break something so ancient, so entrenched in their very existence?
The tunnel spilled into a cavern, its ceiling lost to darkness. At its center stood a Poneglyph, pristine and throbbing with crimson runes. But it was the pool beneath it that stole their breath—a liquid mirror, its surface churning with visions.
Charlie lunged forward, notebook in hand. “This is it! The ‘Covenant of Dawns’ tablet! The Consortium’s been searching—”
A reflection erupted from the pool.
Mihawk.
Not a memory—a doppelgänger, perfect down to the kogatana at his neck. He drew Yoru from his back, the blade’s edge singing. “Prove you’re worthy,” he said, cold as winter steel.
Marya’s mist faltered. Eternal Night trembled in her grip.
Vaughn stepped between them, axe flaring. “Family therapy’s later. Move, Hawk-Eye!” He slammed the axe down, soundwaves detonating into searing light. The doppelgänger dissolved—but the pool boiled, birthing more. A dozen Mihawks, a hundred, their golden eyes piercing the gloom.
Charlie scrambled behind the Poneglyph, scribbling frantically. “The runes! They’re a counter-spell! ‘The liar’s bargain… undone by truth’s—’”
The air in the crypts turned to ice as Mihawk’s blade descended. Yoru, the black blade of legend, cut through the gloom like a scythe through wheat, its edge humming with a lethality that transcended mere sharpness. Marya’s muscles coiled instinctually, Eternal Night snapping up to meet it—a half-second too slow.
Steel met steel in a shriek that echoed through the chamber, the force of the blow driving Marya’s boots backward across the frozen stone. Sparks erupted in a crimson shower, illuminating the mirrors around them. For a heartbeat, their reflections multiplied endlessly: a thousand Mihawks, cold and imperious, and a thousand Maryas, their faces twisted with desperation.
Too strong. The thought seared through her mind, primal and unyielding. Her arms trembled, the bones beneath her flesh vibrating like struck tuning forks. Her father’s strength was not just physical—it was conceptual, a force honed by decades of battles that had redefined the meaning of swordsmanship itself. Eternal Night, though a masterpiece specially forged for her, felt suddenly childish in her grip, a training sword against a god.
Mihawk’s expression never changed. His amber eyes, twin suns in the crypt’s darkness, bored into her with detached curiosity. “You hesitate,” he observed, his voice a low rumble that resonated in her ribs. “The blade is an extension of will. Yours is… unfocused.”
He shifted his weight, infizitesimally, and Yoru pressed downward. Marya’s knees buckled. The mist swirling at her ankles—the Mist-Mist Fruit’s power—thickened instinctively, tendrils coiling around her legs to brace her. But the mirrors around them drank the vapor greedily, their surfaces flickering with visions: a younger Mihawk cutting down a fleet of Marine ships; Marya as a child, clutching Eternal Night for the first time, her hands dwarfed by its hilt.
“I’m not you,” Marya spat, teeth gritted. She twisted Eternal Night sideways, exploiting a fractional gap in Mihawk’s stance—a trick her mother had sketched in the margins of her notebook. The blade screeched as it slid free, and she pivoted, aiming a slash at his ribs.
Mihawk’s parry was contemptuously effortless. Yoru moved like a living thing, its flat slamming into Eternal Night with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. The impact numbed Marya’s fingers. She stumbled, her heel catching on a fissure in the stone.
“No,” Mihawk agreed, stepping forward. “You are… less.”
The mirrors erupted.
Reflections of Marya’s possible futures splintered around them: a tyrant in Marine white, Eternal Night dripping with blood; a corpse at Mihawk’s feet, her blade shattered; a ghost in the mist, dissolving into nothing. The crypt itself seemed to jeer, its walls throbbing with the Ancient Kingdom’s scorn.
Marya’s breath came in ragged bursts. Her mist lashed out wildly, forming a crude shield, but Yoru cleaved through it like smoke. The tip of the blade grazed her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that burned like liquid nitrogen.
“Pathetic,” the mirrors chorused, their voices hers and not hers.
But then—a flicker. Deep in the crypt’s heart, a lone mirror glowed, showing Elisabeta Vaccaria, her mother, standing atop a sunlit cliff, her hand outstretched. “The sword is not your chains, Marya. It’s your bridge.”
Marya roared.
She dropped low, mist surging upward in a spiral. Eternal Night flashed, not with Mihawk’s precision, but with her mother’s defiance—a wild, unpolished strike aimed not at flesh, but at the floor.
“Finish translating!” she barked.
“I’m trying! But the syntax—”
“Now, Charlie!”
Vaughn roared, light exploding in a nova. The clones recoiled—briefly. “Whatever you’re doing, hurry!”
“Truth’s… light?” Charlie yelled. “No—‘truth’s echo’! Marya, the pool—break it!”
She lunged, Eternal Night plunging into the liquid glass. The mist followed, tendrils hardening into a spear.
The pool screamed.
Fissures spiderwebbed outward, swallowing Mihawk’s reflection. The original Mihawk stepped back, eyebrows lifting a fraction—the closest he came to surprise. Marya didn’t wait. She lunged past him, toward Charlie and Vaughn, her mist scattering the remaining mirrors into chaos.
But the lesson lingered in the blood on her cheek, the ache in her arms: To survive her father’s shadow, she’d need to become more than his daughter.
The cavern shuddered. Mirrors cracked, vomiting black sludge. The Mihawks dissolved, their snarls fading.
“Go!” Vaughn hauled Charlie up, shoving him toward the exit.
Marya lingered, staring at the shattered pool. Amid the fragments, a final vision flickered: Elisabeta, whole and smiling, placing a notebook into a child’s hands. Her hands.
“Finish it,” the vision whispered.
Then the ceiling collapsed.

Chapter Text

The air in the crypts had turned viscous, every breath laced with the metallic tang of the mirrors’ bleeding sap. Marya’s mist curled uneasily around her boots as she led Charlie and Vaughn deeper, the Consortium’s notes crumpled in Charlie’s shaking hands. They’d avoided Judge’s patrols, but the crypts themselves were hunting them now—walls shifting, reflections whispering, frost climbing their limbs like shackles.
Then they rounded a corner, and the shadows moved.
Reiju stood silhouetted against a fractured mirror, her Poison Pink gauntlets cracked, her Germa cape torn. Behind her, Yonji slumped against the wall, his Winch Green arm sparking, hydraulic fluid pooling at his feet. Both turned, eyes narrowing.
“Identify yourselves,” Reiju said, her voice glacial. Yonji’s intact fist clenched, the wall denting behind him.
Marya’s hand drifted to Eternal Night’s hilt. “Travelers. We’re leaving. Move.”
“Travelers, here,” Reiju countered, nodding to Vaughn’s gear. “Your weapons worth a kingdom’s treasury.” Her gaze lingered on the blade’s crossguard—too similar to Mihawk’s.
Vaughn, protectively stepped forward, Light Bringer humming. “And princesses don’t lurk in ruins. Let’s skip the drama.”
Yonji lunged, winch arm screeching. Marya’s mist hardened into a shield, deflecting the blow. “That’s new,” Vaughn smirked, axe flaring. “Stay down.”
“Enough!” Charlie shouted, voice cracking. “The crypt’s collapsing! Look—”
The mirrors shivered. Black sap erupted from the walls, coalescing into humanoid figures—clone soldiers, but distorted, their armor fused with mirror shards. They moved jerkily, voices overlapping: “Failure. Disgrace. Replaceable.”
Reiju froze. Yonji’s reflection in the ooze showed him broken, discarded in a Germa waste chute.
“Illusions,” Reiju hissed, poison swirling at her fingertips.
“No,” Charlie breathed. “They’re real. The crypt… it’s repurposing Judge’s lost clones.”
The clones attacked.
Marya’s mist sliced through a clone’s neck, but two more took its place. Vaughn’s axe blazed, shattering mirror-fused flesh, but the shards reformed. Yonji roared, ripping a clone’s arm free, only to be swarmed.
“The sap!” Charlie yelled, dodging a jagged blade. “It’s binding them! Target the pools!”
The clones surged forward, their mirror-fused bodies glinting like fractured obsidian under the crypt’s pallid light. Each step they took echoed with a discordant clink-clank, their movements jerky, as if puppeteered by the crypt’s malevolent will. Reiju’s poison arced through the air, virulent green tendrils spiraling from her gauntlets, while Marya’s mist coiled like living ether, tendrils sharpening into serrated edges.
When they collided, the reaction was visceral—a hissing, spitting maelstrom of acid and vapor. The corrosive cloud swallowed the front line of clones, their mirror-plated armor dissolving into slag. The air filled with the stench of burning ozone and molten glass, the clones’ distorted screams cut short as their forms liquefied into black puddles that seeped into the crypt’s hungry floor.
Reiju didn’t flinch. Her eyes, cold and calculating, flicked to Marya. “You’re no travelers,” she repeated, louder this time, her voice slicing through the chaos. A clone lunged at her; she sidestepped, fluid as mercury, and drove her poison-coated fist through its chest. “Travelers don’t fight like this.”
Marya’s mist lashed out, decapitating two clones mid-leap. Their heads shattered like dropped crystal, scattering shards that skittered across the ice. “And princesses don’t skulk in ruins,” she shot back, parrying a jagged mirror-blade with Eternal Night. “Yet here we are.”
Reiju’s laugh was razor-thin. She pivoted, her cape whipping as she unleashed a volley of needle-like poison darts. They peppered a clone’s torso, its body convulsing before collapsing into a sizzling heap. “You wield that sword like it’s a chain,” she pressed, relentless. “Precision, but no purpose. Who trained you? Who do you serve?”
A clone’s fist grazed Marya’s ribs, the mirror-edge slicing through her coat. She hissed, mist thickening into a shield. “I serve myself.”
“Liar.” Reiju’s gauntlet flared, venom pooling at her fingertips. She gestured to Charlie, who crouched behind a frost-encrusted pillar, frantically recalibrating the transmitter. “The scholar. The technician. You’re a cell—a team. But for what? Revolution? Knowledge? Revenge?”
Marya’s jaw tightened. The mist around her writhed, betraying her agitation. “You talk too much.”
“And you don’t talk enough.” Reiju’s gaze dropped to Eternal Night’s hilt—the intricate crossguard, the faint Mihawk crest etched near the pommel. Recognition flickered. “Ah. Him. The World’s Greatest Swordsman.” Her lip curled. “But you’re no Marine. No warlord. So what are you? A runaway? A disappointment?”
The barb struck deeper than Marya wanted to admit. Her mist surged, a whip-crack of vapor slicing through three clones at once. “You don’t know anything.”
Reiju stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I know what it’s like to be forged by someone else’s ambition. To have your veins pumped full of someone else’s poison.” Her gauntlet brushed Marya’s blade, the metal sizzling faintly. “But you’re not here for your father’s approval, are you? You’re here to erase him.”
For a heartbeat, Marya faltered. The mist wavered, thinning enough to reveal the faint tremor in her hands.
Then Vaughn’s axe slammed down beside them, light erupting in a blinding nova. “Save the therapy session!” he barked, yanking Marya backward as a clone’s mirror-claw swiped at her throat. “Signal’s almost live! Move!”
Reiju lingered, her eyes locking with Marya’s. In that moment, the Germa princess wasn’t just an enemy—she was a mirror, reflecting every doubt Marya had ever swallowed.
“Legacy is a cage,” Reiju said softly, “but the key is yours to wield.”
Then she turned, poison arcing in her wake, and left the words hanging in the acid-riddled air.
The space crackled with pent-up energy as Vaughn reared back again, Light Bringer humming like a struck tuning fork. The axe’s blade glowed white-hot, resonating with the trapped soundwaves of a hundred clashes. With a roar, he drove it into the frozen ground.
The detonation was deafening.
Soundwaves erupted in a radial starburst, tearing through the chamber. Clones froze mid-lunge, their mirror-plated skin fracturing like overstressed glass. Crystalline shards rained down, each fragment reflecting a distorted sliver of the chaos—Vaughn’s snarling face, Charlie’s wide-eyed terror, Reiju’s poison arcing through the air like emerald lightning.
Yonji didn’t hesitate. His Winch Green arm whirred, gears screaming as he launched forward, a missile of spite and Germa engineering. The metal fist collided with the central mirror pool, submerged beneath a film of black, viscous liquid.
The impact was seismic.
The pool’s surface screamed, a high-pitched wail that vibrated in their teeth. Jagged fissures spiderwebbed across the floor, ice and glass splintering into a kaleidoscope of ruin. For one suspended moment, the clones stood paralyzed—a grotesque gallery of half-dissolved soldiers and oozing mirror-flesh.
Then the crypt howled.
It wasn’t a sound—it was a force. The walls convulsed, vomiting geysers of black sap. The ceiling buckled, glacial stalactites plunging like spears. Vaughn barely yanked his axe free before the ground beneath him split, swallowing a clone whole.
“Move!” Reiju grabbed Yonji’s sparking arm, hauling him backward as a slab of ice crashed where he’d stood.
Marya’s mist coiled around Charlie, yanking him clear of a falling mirror. “The tunnel! Go!”
But the crypt was faster.
With a final, thunderous groan, the chamber collapsed. Ice and glass crashed down in a glittering avalanche, sealing the exit. The survivors dove for cover, Vaughn’s axe flaring in a desperate shield of light.
Silence.
Charlie’s lantern flickered to life, its frail beam cutting through the dust-choked dark. The air was knife-cold, every breath scraping lungs raw. Around them, the crypt had reshaped itself into a jagged coffin—walls of ice veined with pulsing black sap, jagged glass shards jutting like teeth.
Reiju leaned against Yonji, her Poison Pink gauntlets cracked, one knee buckling. Neon-blue hydraulic fluid oozed from Yonji’s severed winch cables, pooling around his boots. His smirk was gone, replaced by a grimace of pain—or perhaps Germa programming straining to mask it.
Marya pressed a gloved hand to her cheek, her fingers coming away smeared with blood. The cut mirrored her father’s scar—a cruel joke etched by a clone’s mirror-claw.
Vaughn slumped against an ice wall, his dreadlocks crusted with frost. “Well,” he rasped, Light Bringer dimming at his feet, “this sucks.”
The lantern’s light trembled over their faces:
Reiju’s mask of icy control fractured, revealing exhaustion—and something darker, a germ of doubt. Yonji’s bravado stripped bare, eyes darting like a caged animal’s. For the first time, he looked his age—a boy welded into a weapon.
Marya’s grip on Eternal Night white-knuckled, the blade’s dark edge dimming. The mist at her ankles churned restlessly, thinning under the crypt’s draining influence. Charlie, clutching his shattered transmitter, his glasses cracked, face pale with the realization that even knowledge has limits.
Somewhere in the walls, the clones stirred—a wet, skittering sound. The crypt wasn’t done with them. The crypt’s laughter echoed in the dark—a cycle beginning anew.
In the cold silence, the tension simmered like a barely contained storm. Each breath was a ghostly plume, punctuating the stillness with the weight of unspoken fears and resentments. The crypt's oppressive atmosphere amplified the thudding of their hearts, a reminder of their fragility in the face of this relentless darkness.
Vaughn forced himself upright, shaking off the frost. “We need a plan,” he muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was a lifeline, drawing their scattered thoughts back into focus.
Reiju’s gaze hardened, her mind already racing ahead. “Agreed. But we can't waste time licking our wounds. We need to find a way out, or at least a way to survive until help arrives.”
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, the gears in his mind turning despite the bleak outlook. “The sap… it’s more than just a conduit. We might be able to manipulate it, if we can figure out its properties.”
Marya’s eyes flicked to the walls, her grip tightening on Eternal Night. “And if the clones attack again?”
Yonji’s bitter laughter echoed. “Then we fight them off. Not like we have any other choice.” His bravado was a thin veneer over the stark reality.
The group exchanged looks, a fragile alliance forming out of necessity. The crypt's sinister ambiance seemed to pulse with anticipation, as if it were aware of their every move. The clones' wet, skittering sounds grew louder, a reminder of the ever-present danger.
Reiju took a breath, her voice steadying. “We need those codes, Yonji. It’s our best shot.”
Yonji’s eyes were hard. “And if we get out of this, what then?”
Marya’s mist swirled, a silent promise of retribution. “We survive first. Then we figure out the rest.”
With resolve hardening like the ice around them, they turned their attention to the task at hand, united by the faint glimmer of hope in the suffocating darkness.
“Allies?” Yonji spat. “You’re rats. When Father—”
“Your father is not here,” Marya said coldly.
Reiju’s eyes flashed. Charlie intervened, desperate. “The crypt’s sap—it’s a conduit. We can use it to send a distress signal, but… we need Germa’s frequency codes.”
Silence.
Reiju studied Marya’s blade again. “You’re no Marine. No pirate. Who are you? How did you come to be here?”
Vaughn tensed. The Consortium’s existence hinged on secrecy.
Yonji laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t matter. Judge’s codes won’t work. We’re… obsolete.”
The admission hung in the air. Reiju straightened. “But yours might.” She nodded to Charlie’s gear. “If you share them.”
Marya’s mist coiled defensively. “No.”
“Then we all die,” Reiju said simply. “And whatever you protect dies with you.”
The mirrors showed their futures again—Marya’s mother’s notebook buried in snow, Reiju’s corpse in a Germa lab, Vaughn’s axe rusting in darkness.
Charlie exhaled. “...We need a hybrid signal. Germa’s frequency, plus ours. It’s… possible.”
Yonji’s fist clenched. “Traitors.”
“Survivors,” Reiju corrected, voice hollow. “Input the codes.”
The air in the crypt was thick with the acrid scent of molten mirror-sap and the metallic tang of blood. Charlie hunched over the fractured remains of the transmitter, his fingers darting between wires and circuitry, each click and spark punctuating the heavy silence. Across the cramped chamber, Marya knelt, methodically cleaning Eternal Night with a cloth. The blade glinted faintly, its edge catching the dim light like a sliver of trapped moonlight.
Reiju leaned against the icy wall, her posture deceptively relaxed. Her Poison Pink gauntlets dripped faintly, venom pooling in the crevices of her armor. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, tracked Marya’s movements—the precise strokes of the cloth, the way her fingers lingered on the sword’s crossguard, a subconscious tic.
“Your swordmaster,” Reiju said, her voice cutting through the static hum of dying machinery. “He’d hate seeing you here.”
Marya’s hands stilled. The cloth froze mid-swipe along the blade. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the distant groan of the crypt’s collapsing corridors. When she spoke, her voice was steel wrapped in silk. “You don’t know me.”
Reiju’s lips curved, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She held up a vial of poison, its contents swirling like liquid night. “I know legacy,” she said, rolling the vial between her fingers. “The way it carves itself into your bones. The way it… simplifies you.” Her gaze flicked to Yonji, slumped nearby, his Winch Green arm sparking uselessly. “To Germa, I am a weapon. To your father, you are… what? A shadow? A disappointment?”
Marya’s knuckles whitened around Eternal Night’s hilt. The blade trembled, not from fear, but from the strain of memory—Mihawk’s cold critiques, Elisabeta’s whispered encouragements, the weight of two legacies pulling her in opposite directions. “This sword isn’t my prison,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
“No?” Reiju tilted her head, the vial catching the light. “Then why clean it here? Now? In the dark, surrounded by enemies?” She stepped closer, her boots crunching on shattered glass. “You polish that blade like it’s the only thing holding you together.”
Marya rose, Eternal Night humming at her side. The mist at her ankles thickened, tendrils coiling like serpents. “And you cling to your poisons,” she countered, nodding to the gauntlets. “Judge’s perfect soldier, dripping venom instead of blood. Which of us is more trapped?”
Reiju’s smile faded. For a moment, her mask slipped, revealing the ghost of a girl who once bandaged her brother’s wounds in secret. “The difference,” she said softly, “is that I chose this prison. You… you’re still fighting yours.”
The crypt shuddered, ice splintering from the ceiling. Charlie cursed as the transmitter sparked, its holographic display flickering like a dying star.
Marya’s mist surged, wrapping around Reiju’s wrist—not attacking, but holding. “You don’t know me,” she repeated, but the defiance had bled from her voice.
Reiju glanced at the mist, then at the sword. “Don’t I?”
The crypt’s walls pulsed like a dying heartbeat, the black mirrors weeping sap that pooled and hissed at their feet. Charlie’s hands trembled over the makeshift transmitter, its wires spliced into a Germa clone’s corroded circuitry. Sweat dripped onto the keys as he typed, the Consortium’s encrypted codes mingling with Germa’s frequencies in a desperate symphony.
“It’s not working,” he muttered, voice fraying. The holographic display flickered, spitting static. “The signals—they’re canceling each other out. The crypt’s interference is too strong…”
Reiju watched, her Poison Pink gauntlets dripping corrosive venom onto the ice. “Adjust the harmonics,” she said coolly. “Germa’s systems prioritize—”
“I’ve tried that!” Charlie snapped, slamming his fist against the device. Sparks erupted, singeing his gloves. “The encryption algorithms are incompatible. It’s… it’s impossible.”
The admission hung in the air, sharp and final.
Marya’s mist coiled tighter around her, tendrils fraying at the edges. “So we dig. Vaughn—blast a tunnel.”
Vaughn stared at the ceiling, where cracks spiderwebbed through the ice. “With what? My axe’ll bring the whole damn place down on us.”
Yonji laughed, a raw, broken sound. His Winch Green arm hung limp, wires sparking. “Pathetic. All of you. Father was right—weakness deserves to die here.”
Reiju’s gaze snapped to him. “Quiet.”
But the crypt amplified his words, the mirrors echoing: Weakness. Die. Deserve.
Charlie slumped against the wall, his glasses fogged. “It’s over. The Consortium… no one’s coming.”
The chamber groaned. Ice shards rained down, and the clones outside redoubled their assault, mirror-fused fists pounding the barricaded door.
Reiju seized Charlie’s collar, her gauntlet sizzling against his coat. “Fix it.”
“I can’t!” he screamed, tears freezing on his cheeks. “Don’t you get it? The crypt wants us trapped! It’s feeding on our failures, our—our legacies!”
Marya’s reflection flickered in the glass—a version of her holding Elisabeta’s notebook, its pages blank. Finish it, the vision mouthed, before dissolving.
Vaughn hefted Light Bringer, his jaw set. “Fine. New plan: we die fighting.” He nodded to Yonji. “You in, scrapheap?”
Yonji bared bloodied teeth. “You first, glowstick.”
Reiju released Charlie, her voice lethally calm. “The pool. The central chamber’s mirror pool—it’s a conduit. If we overload it…”
Marya’s head snapped up. “It could destabilize the crypt. Or kill us faster.”
“Or both,” Reiju said. “Your choice.”
The clones burst through, mirror-shards screeching.
“Go!” Vaughn roared, axe flaring.

Chapter Text

The storm raged outside the Warship Snail, lightning fracturing the sky into jagged shards of white and purple. Inside the command deck, the air was sterile, cold, and thick with the acrid tang of Judge’s fury. The king of Germa stood at the holographic war table, his golden helmet cracked down the center, exposing a sliver of his scarred face. Behind him, the crew clones worked in silent efficiency, their blank visors avoiding his gaze.
The doors hissed open. Ichiji and Niji strode in, their Raid Suits still smeared with the blackened sap of Yggdrasil’s crypts. Ichiji’s Sparking Red lenses flickered as he scanned the room. “Father. The clones report Reiju and Yonji were not recovered.”
Judge didn’t turn. His gauntleted hand clenched, electromagnetic energy crackling around his spear. “They were not prioritized.”
Niji slammed his fist on the table, Dengeki Blue sparks dancing across his knuckles. “You left them?!”
The clones froze. The hum of machinery stuttered.
Judge turned slowly, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You question my judgment?”
Ichiji stepped forward, tone flat but edged. “They are Vinsmokes. Germa’s commanders. Their loss weakens us.”
“Loss?” Judge’s laugh was a blade dragged over stone. He activated the hologram—a replay of the crypt’s collapse, Reiju and Yonji vanishing under a mountain of ice. “They failed. They hesitated. Germa does not salvage weakness.”
Niji’s goggles flared. “They’re your children—”
“They are soldiers!” Judge roared, slamming his spear into the floor. Lightning arced across the room, frying a clone who stood too close. The smell of burnt circuitry filled the air. “And soldiers die. That is their purpose. Or have you forgotten your programming?”
Ichiji’s jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second, his reflection in the war table’s surface flickered—a version of him with Sora’s eyes, not Judge’s. “Then what is our next objective?”
Judge’s spear retracted with a hiss. “The crypt’s data. The mirrors’ resonance with Poneglyph material. We salvage what we can from the wreckage and adapt.”
Niji bristled. “And them? If they’re alive—”
“Then they will die as all failures do.” Judge turned back to the hologram, zooming in on a shard of mirror embedded in the ice. “The Ancient Kingdom’s secrets are all that matter. The rest… is noise.”
The brothers exchanged a glance. For a heartbeat, something flickered—a ghost of defiance, buried deep beneath layers of genetic tampering. Then it vanished.
“Understood,” Ichiji said tonelessly.
Niji smirked, sharp and hollow. “We’ll scrape the crypt clean.”
As they turned to leave, Judge’s voice stopped them. “And boys?”
They paused.
“Never question me again.”
The doors sealed behind them. On the hologram, the mirror shard pulsed—a faint, trapped echo of Reiju’s voice, whispering: “Legacy is a prison.”
The crypt’s entrance loomed like the maw of a starved beast, its jagged ice teeth dripping black sap that hissed where it struck the frozen ground. Ichiji and Niji stood at the threshold, their Raid Suits—Sparking Red and Dengeki Blue—humming faintly in the oppressive silence. Above them, the Warship Snail hovered like a vulture, Judge’s holographic glare burning into their retinas.
“Retrieve the core shard. Do not repeat your siblings’ incompetence.”
The transmission cut. Niji cracked his neck, lightning flickering across his knuckles. “Let’s make this quick. I’m bored already.”
Ichiji said nothing, his visor scanning the crypt’s shifting geometry. The mirrors lining the walls no longer showed reflections—they pulsed, swollen with dark fluid, their surfaces writhing like living skin.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the air thickened. Black sap rained from the ceiling, splattering their suits. Where it landed, the armor sizzled, tendrils of smoke curling upward.
“Acid?” Niji muttered, flicking a droplet off his gauntlet. “Pathetic.”
“Adaptive defense,” Ichiji corrected coldly. “The crypt is learning.”
They pressed deeper, their boots crunching over frozen clones—Germa soldiers from the last incursion, now half-melted into the ice, their visors cracked and empty. The mirrors began to laugh, a chorus of distorted voices.
A shadow moved.
Niji spun, lightning arcing from his fist—but the bolt struck a mirror, refracting into a dozen searing beams. Ichiji dodged, but one grazed his shoulder, scorching his suit.
“Watch your aim,” Ichiji hissed.
“Watch yours,” Niji shot back, nodding to the floor.
Beneath them, the ice had begun to crawl, tendrils of black sap coiling around their ankles.
The first doppelgänger materialized from a mirror—a twisted Ichiji, his Sparking Red suit corroded, eyes glowing venom-green. It fired a beam of crackling energy, forcing Ichiji to dive.
Niji lunged, lightning-clad fist aimed at its chest—but his punch phased through, the doppelgänger dissolving into smoke. Behind him, another mirror birthed a warped Niji, its laughter shrill.
“They’re illusions!” Ichiji barked.
“No,” Niji growled, parrying a lightning strike from his double. “They’re better.”
The crypt had learned. The doppelgängers wielded their own abilities with brutal precision, their attacks amplified by the mirrors’ malevolence. Ichiji’s energy blasts ricocheted endlessly, igniting the sap-coated walls. Niji’s lightning supercharged the crawling tendrils, turning the floor into a web of live wires.
A tremor rocked the chamber. Above, the ceiling splintered, glacial stalactites plunging like spears. Ichiji shoved Niji aside as one impaled the ground where he’d stood.
“Move!” Ichiji ordered.
They sprinted toward the central chamber, but the crypt shifted—walls pivoting, floors tilting. The core shard glowed ahead, embedded in a pillar of black ice.
Niji reached it first. “Got it—!”
The floor vanished.
They fell, crashing into a lower chamber filled with half-digested clones, their bodies fused with mirror shards. Niji’s leg snapped against a jagged rock, his suit sparking. Ichiji landed hard, his visor fracturing.
Above, the ceiling sealed—a seamless sheet of ice.
Niji snarled, clawing at his leg. “Get. This. Off.”
A clone’s arm, grotesquely melded with a mirror shard, pinned his calf. Ichiji fired a concentrated beam, severing the limb. Niji stumbled free, his Dengeki Blue suit flickering.
“Status,” Ichiji demanded.
“Functional,” Niji lied, blood seeping through his boot.
The chamber trembled. The walls bled faster now, sap pooling around their ankles. Mirrors flickered to life, showing Judge’s sneering face. “Retrieve the shard or die. Your choice is irrelevant.”
Niji laughed, bitter and hollow. “He’d say that even if we were winning.”
Ichiji adjusted his cracked visor. “We are not programmed to lose.”
But the words rang hollow. The crypt’s whispers seeped into their helmets: “You are replaceable. You are nothing.”
The clones stirred. Not Germa’s mindless drones—these were the crypt’s children, their bodies grafted with mirror shards, eyes glowing with sentient malice.
Ichiji fired, but his beam diffused in the sap-thick air. Niji’s lightning fizzled, grounded by the pooling acid.
A clone lunged, mirror-claw raking Ichiji’s chest. He staggered, neon-blue blood staining his suit. Niji intercepted the next strike, his fist shattering the clone’s skull—but a shard sliced his arm to the bone.
“Fall back!” Niji barked.
“To where?!” Ichiji spat, energy fading.
The core shard glowed mockingly above, encased in ice. Niji’s eyes narrowed.
“One shot.” He pointed to a crumbling pillar. “Blast it. Bring the ceiling down.”
Ichiji hesitated—a millisecond, no more—then fired.
The world turned white.
*****
The crypt’s air hummed with a predatory static, the black mirrors pulsing like diseased hearts. Marya’s mist coiled restlessly around her legs as Reiju’s words hung between them—“Or both. Your choice.”
The clones erupted through the ice-walled corridor in a cacophony of shattering glass and guttural snarls. Their bodies—half-melted Germa soldiers fused with jagged mirror shards—twisted into grotesque parodies of humanity. Vaughn’s axe, Light Bringer, erupted in a nova of sound-forged light, cleaving through the first wave. “Go!” he roared, veins bulging as he held the horde at bay.
Marya lunged, Eternal Night slicing through a clone’s mirror-plated skull. As the creature collapsed, its fractured face reflected not her own, but a stranger in Marine white—her hair cropped, her father’s cold amber eyes blazing. The vision-Marya raised Eternal Night against a crowd of chained revolutionaries, their faces pleading.
“You inherited more than his sword,” the reflection hissed. “You inherited his fear.”
The real Marya faltered. Her mist flickered, thinning as doubt crept in. A clone seized the opening, mirror-claw raking her arm. She gasped, blood splattering the ice, but Vaughn’s axe intercepted the next strike.
“Snap out of it!” he barked, yanking her backward. “This ain’t a damn art gallery!”
Reiju’s poison arced in lethal ribbons, dissolving clones into bubbling sludge. A mirror caught her eye—a younger self, maybe eight, standing between Judge and a trembling Sanji. In the vision, she screamed, “Stop!” and Judge’s fist froze mid-swing. Sora watched from the shadows, alive, unbroken.
The reflection-Reiju turned, eyes accusing. “You could’ve saved us. You chose not to.”
Reiju’s gauntlet trembled. A clone lunged, but Yonji’s winch arm smashed it into debris. “Focus!” he spat, though his voice lacked its usual venom.
Yonji’s winch arm whirred, crushing clones with mechanical precision. A mirror shard sliced his cheek—and suddenly, the glass showed him clad in a revolutionary’s coat, defending a village from Germa’s warships. The reflection-Yonji grinned, bloodied but triumphant. “This is what strength should be!”
“Shut up!” Yonji snarled, obliterating the mirror with a punch. But the cracks spread, multiplying the heroic doppelgänger’s image a hundredfold.
Charlie ducked behind a frost-encrusted pillar, scribbling notes as Vaughn’s axe lit the chaos. A nearby mirror shimmered—an older Charlie in a World Government robe, unveiling a Poneglyph translation to a crowd of applauding Celestial Dragons. The reflection adjusted his glasses smugly. “Knowledge is power—why waste it on ghosts?”
“No…” Charlie whispered, reaching for the vision. “I’m not—I’m not you!”
A clone’s mirror-blade speared toward his chest. Marya’s mist yanked him aside just in time. “Keep your eyes here!” she snapped, her voice raw.
The chamber convulsed, ice and glass collapsing in a roaring avalanche. The clones pressed harder, their shard-claws gleaming with crypt-sap. Vaughn’s axe dimmed, his stamina fraying.
“The pool!” Reiju shouted, hurling a poison vial into the churning black liquid at the chamber’s heart. “Now, Marya!”
Marya hesitated—Eternal Night trembled in her grip, the Marine’s reflection still screaming in her mind—then plunged the blade into the pool.
The explosion of mist, poison, and light tore through the crypt. Clones disintegrated. Mirrors screamed. The floor split, swallowing Germa’s horrors into the abyss.
But the visions lingered, seared into their minds as they fled—a gallery of ghosts demanding payment for paths untaken.
The explosion’s aftermath left the crypt shuddering, its walls oozing black sap like an open wound. The air reeked of scorched metal and smolder, the ground littered with the glittering remains of clones and shattered mirrors. Marya staggered back, her arm bleeding freely, the scar on her cheek glowing faintly under the crypt’s sickly bioluminescence. Around her, the others panted—Vaughn’s axe sputtering, Reiju’s gauntlets cracked, Yonji limping on a sparking leg, Charlie muttering over his sap-stained notes.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then the walls began to groan.
“We’re not out,” Vaughn growled, wiping blood from his brow. “This place is rearranging itself. Again.”
Marya’s eyes narrowed. Her mist, still swirling erratically at her feet, thickened into jagged tendrils. “I have an idea.”
Vaughn’s head snapped toward her. “No. Whatever it is—no. Last time you ‘acted on instinct,’ it didn’t go well.”
“I have it under control,” she shot back.
“Debatable.”
Reiju leaned against a trembling mirror, her voice icy. “If Germa’s clones regroup, we die. Decide.”
Marya ignored them, pressing a hand to her forehead. The glowing beetle-shaped mark on her third eye—a manifestation from Alabasta, —flared to life, its light piercing the gloom. “The mist… it responded to the crypt. I can use it to map the structure. Find an exit.”
Vaughn gripped Light Bringer tighter. “And if it responds badly?”
“Then we die faster.”
Before he could protest, her eyes blazed white. The mist erupted outward in a shockwave, tendrils branching like roots, seeping into cracks in the ice, probing the crypt’s shifting architecture. The beetle on her brow pulsed rhythmically, synchronizing with the mist’s spread.
“Marya—” Vaughn warned, watching the walls recoil as her power brushed them.
“I’m good,” she hissed, though sweat dripped down her neck.
The mist surged deeper—and suddenly, she screamed.
A searing pain lanced through her skull, visions flooding her mind: the crypt’s labyrinthine veins, its pulsating core buried miles below, and something else—a presence, ancient and ravenous, coiled around the heart of Yggdrasil. Her daggers, Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation, glowed violently at her hips, their hilts burning her skin.
“What’s happening?!” Vaughn barked.
“It’s—alive,” Marya gasped, clutching her temples. “The crypt… it’s alive, and it’s—”
The floor lurched. Mirrors exploded inward, birthing new clones—these ones larger, their bodies armored in jagged black crystal.
Reiju hurled a poison vial. “Focus, or we die here!”
Marya’s mist recoiled, snapping back into her body like a whip. She stumbled, blood trickling from her nose, but her daggers’ glow intensified. “The exit’s gone. The crypt… it’s changing. The way out isn’t a place—it’s a pattern. These mirrors, the sap… it’s a lock. And these—” She gripped her daggers, the blades humming. “—are keys.”
Vaughn stared at her. “Keys to what?”
“To whatever the Ancient Kingdom buried here.”
Yonji snarled, smashing a clone’s skull. “Enough riddles! Just do it!”
Marya’s mist lashed out again, this time channeled through her daggers. The blades carved glowing sigils into the air, their light searing the clones’ crystalline flesh. The crypt shrieked, the walls convulsing as the symbols spread.
“You’re pissing it off!” Vaughn shouted, deflecting a clone’s blade.
“Good!” Marya spat. “If it’s angry, it’s afraid!”
The beetle on her brow blazed brighter. The mist solidified into a bridge of glowing vapor, arcing toward the ceiling—where the sap had coalesced into a single, pulsing mass.
“There!” Marya lunged, daggers raised. “The core!”
But as her blades struck, the crypt retaliated.
The floor vanished.
They fell into darkness, the clones’ screams echoing after them—and deeper still, something stirred.
The fall lasted seconds and lifetimes.
Marya’s daggers—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—blazed like twin stars in the abyss, their light slicing through the suffocating dark. The crypt’s roar faded into a hollow, echoing silence, broken only by the screams of the clones tumbling after them. Then, impact.
She struck water—thick, viscous, and alive. It clung to her skin like tar, dragging her deeper into a submerged chamber. Her daggers’ glow revealed walls lined with petrified roots, their surfaces etched with Poneglyphic runes older than the Void Century. Above, the ceiling sealed shut, trapping her in a liquid tomb.
The water moved. Shapes writhed in the depths—skeletal figures fused with mirror shards, their hollow eyes fixed on her. Celestial Decree pulsed in her grip, its light repelling the creatures as she kicked upward. She breached the surface, gasping, only to freeze.
Before her loomed the crypt’s core: a colossal orb of black glass, veined with glowing crimson sap. Inside, a shadow stirred—the presence she’d sensed earlier. It pressed against the glass, formless but hungry.
Vaughn landed hard on a slope of jagged ice, Light Bringer skidding from his grip. The axe’s glow dimmed, revealing a tunnel collapsing inward, walls oozing sap that hardened into razor-edged spikes. Clones rained down around him, shattering on impact.
“Charlie!” Vaughn bellowed, voice echoing into chaos.
A whimper answered. The scholar clung to a ledge below, glasses cracked, one leg pinned under debris. Vaughn slid toward him, axe flaring to life as he severed the rubble. “Move!”
The tunnel convulsed. A clone, half-melted and snarling, lunged. Vaughn’s axe met its skull, but the force knocked Charlie loose. They slid deeper into the crypt’s bowels, the walls closing in behind them.
Reiju landed in a crouch, poison sizzling where the acidic sap touched her gauntlets. The chamber stretched endlessly, its ceiling supported by pillars carved into the likenesses of forgotten kings—their faces hollow, crowns replaced by mirror shards.
A clone dropped behind her. Then another. And another.
But these weren’t Judge’s mindless drones. They wore Germa uniforms, their faces familiar: soldiers she’d commanded, men she’d sacrificed. Their eyes glowed with sentient malice.
“Princess,” they hissed in unison. “You left us to die.”
Reiju’s gauntlets dripped venom. “You were already dead.”
Yonji crashed into a circular pit, his broken leg buckling. The walls shimmered with reflections of his past victories—cities burning, armies crushed, Sanji’s childhood face bloodied and weeping.
Laughter echoed. A figure stepped from the glass: Yonji’s heroic doppelgänger, unscarred, unbroken, Eternal Night gleaming in its hand.
“Still a puppet,” it mocked. “Still weak.”
Yonji roared, winch arm lashing out—but the machinery jammed, leaving him defenseless.
Charlie crawled through a corridor that pulsed like a living throat, walls lined with books bound in pale, veined leather. They breathed, pages fluttering to reveal text written in blood.
One tome fell open at his touch. The words shifted, forming his name—CHARLIE VOSS: TRAITOR, FAILURE, FOOL.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m saving knowledge, not—”
The books screamed. Pages tore free, swirling into a vortex of razored paper.
Marya pressed a dagger to the core’s glass surface. The shadow within recoiled, then slammed against the orb. Cracks spread.
“You do not command me,” it hissed, voice like grinding stone. “I am Yggdrasil. I am judgment.”
Above, Vaughn heard Marya’s scream echo through the tunnels. He hauled Charlie up, snarling. “We need to find her. Now.”
But the crypt shifted again—walls pivoting, floors dissolving. Somewhere, Reiju’s poison met sentient clones in a corrosive ballet. Somewhere, Yonji’s blood slickened the ice.
And deep below, the core shattered.

Chapter Text

The blast’s aftermath was a symphony of ruin. Dust choked the air, swirling in the faint bioluminescent glow of the crypt’s oozing walls. Ichiji lay pinned beneath a slab of ice, his Sparking Red Raid Suit flickering like a dying star. Neon-blue blood—Vinsmoke ichor—pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the shattered floor. Nearby, Niji dragged himself free of the rubble, his Dengeki Blue armor sputtering, the lightning across his knuckles reduced to fitful sparks.
“Status,” Ichiji croaked, his voice modulator glitching.
Niji spat a mouthful of blood, his grin sharp and brittle. “Leg’s crushed. Armor’s fried. Same as you, brother.”
Above them, the core shard pulsed inside its icy prison, now cracked and leaking a viscous black fluid that slithered like living ink. It dripped onto the remains of a clone soldier below, and the corpse twitched.
The clone’s shattered visor flickered to life, its lenses glowing an unnatural crimson. Its broken limbs snapped back into place with a sickening crack, mirror shards fusing to its armor like scales. It turned its head—too far, too fluid—and stared at the brothers with Judge’s eyes.
“Directive… updated,” it rasped, its voice a chorus of static and screams.
Niji lunged, lightning clawing from his fingertips. The bolt struck the clone’s chest—and sank into it, absorbed by the mirror-plated flesh. The clone smiled, jagged and wrong.
“Oh, hell,” Niji muttered.
Ichiji fired a weakening energy beam, but the clone swatted it aside. “Father’s tech… it’s merging with the crypt’s shard.”
“No,” Niji snarled. “It’s consuming it.”
The black fluid spread, seeping into every broken clone, every scrap of Germa machinery. Fallen soldiers reassembled, their bodies warped into grotesque hybrids of mirror and metal. Some sprouted jagged crystal blades from their limbs; others oozed acidic sap from their joints. They moved with eerie synchronicity, their glowing eyes fixed on the brothers.
“Retreat protocol,” Ichiji ordered, his suit’s systems sputtering.
“To where?!” Niji gestured to the collapsed tunnel behind them, now sealed by a wall of pulsating black ice. “We’re trapped with Father’s upgrades!”
A clone lunged, mirror-claw slashing. Ichiji rolled, his beam severing its arm—but the limb regrew instantly, crystallizing into a serrated blade.
“Aim for the core!” Ichiji barked.
Niji’s lightning arced toward the shard, but the clones intercepted it, bodies contorting to absorb the blast. The energy funneled into the shard, which glowed brighter, its corruption spreading faster.
“Stop helping it, idiot!” Niji snapped.
The shard thrummed, its frequency resonating with the brothers’ Raid Suits. Ichiji’s visor lit up with garbled data—a flood of Germa encryption codes overwritten by the crypt’s alien patterns.
“New directive: Eliminate… imperfections.”
The clones surged. Niji’s lightning fizzled, his suit’s power core overheating. “Ichiji—!”
Ichiji fired wildly, his beams now laced with the shard’s black energy. Clones disintegrated, but the fluid reformed them larger, angrier. One grazed his arm, and the wound burned, veins blackening under his skin.
“Poison?” he hissed.
“Worse,” Niji said, watching the corruption crawl toward Ichiji’s heart. “It’s rewriting you.”
The core shard erupted in a pillar of black light. The clones froze, then kneeled, as the fluid pooled into a massive, shifting form—a titan of mirror and molten steel, Judge’s insignia twisted into a grinning skull on its chest.
“Imperfections detected,” it boomed, voice echoing with Judge’s cadence but none of his restraint. “Purge protocol: Engaged.”
Niji laughed, raw and unhinged. “Look at that. Father’s masterpiece… hates him too.”
Ichiji’s suit failed, his vision darkening. “Niji… the ice wall. One shot left.”
Niji followed his gaze—to the weakened ceiling above the titan. “Heh. Fitting.”
Their eyes met. No words. No hesitation.
Ichiji channeled his remaining energy into a single, unstable beam. Niji’s lightning intertwined with it, supercharging the blast until the chamber trembled.
The titan swung its fist—
—and the brothers fired.
*****
The core’s glass prison exploded in a storm of black shards, each fragment screaming as it tore through the air. Marya staggered back, her daggers—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—vibrating violently in her grip. The shadow within unfurled, a shapeless mass of writhing tendrils and glinting mirror shards, its voice reverberating through the chamber like a landslide.
“I am Yggdrasil. The First Judge. The Eternal Warden.”
The words were not spoken—they were imprinted, searing into Marya’s mind. The beetle mark on her brow blazed white-hot, flooding her vision with fragments of a forgotten past: an ancient civilization chaining this entity beneath the tree, sacrificing their greatest warriors to forge the crypt as its cage.
“No…” Marya whispered, blood trickling from her nose. “We didn’t awaken the crypt. We awakened you.”
“Correction,” Yggdrasil hissed. “You freed me… to fulfill my purpose.”
Above, Vaughn and Charlie stumbled through a collapsing corridor, the walls dissolving into black sludge. Clones—now twisted marionettes of Yggdrasil’s will—oozed from the cracks, their armor fused with pulsing mirror flesh.
“Marya’s below!” Vaughn roared, Light Bringer carving through a clone’s chest. But the creature reformed, its shattered visor now a single glowing eye.
“It’s assimilating Germa’s tech!” Charlie cried, clutching his notes. “The core’s energy—it’s rewriting their programming!”
A clone lunged, its arm elongating into a jagged crystal blade. Vaughn’s axe intercepted it, the impact numbing his hands. “Then we blow it to hell! Where’s the damn exit?!”
“There is no exit!” Charlie yelled back, voice cracking. “The crypt is Yggdrasil! It’s alive, and it’s—”
The floor split. They fell.
Reiju’s poison reserves were nearly depleted, her gauntlets cracked and smoking. The sentient clones circled her, their faces shifting—Judge, Sora, Sanji, a kaleidoscope of ghosts.
“Princess,” they taunted in unison. “You were the key. Your doubt… your regret… delicious.”
She hurled her last vial. The poison dissolved a clone’s head, but two more took its place. Her reflection in a nearby mirror showed her younger self, unmodified, smiling beside a living Sora.
“Weakness,” Reiju spat, shattering the glass.
A clone’s blade pierced her side. She gasped, neon-blue blood staining the ice.
Yonji’s winch arm lay in pieces, his leg a mangled ruin. The heroic doppelgänger advanced, Eternal Night gleaming.
“Pathetic,” it sneered. “You could’ve been more.”
“Shut… up…” Yonji dragged himself forward, fist clenched.
The reflection raised the blade—and Yonji’s remaining hand shot out, seizing its wrist. “I’m… no one’s… puppet!”
He headbutted the doppelgänger, shattering its mirror-skull. The arena trembled.
Back in the core chamber, Yggdrasil’s form solidified—a colossal humanoid figure of black glass and glowing sap, its face a shifting mosaic of every soul it had consumed. In one hand, it clutched a massive scale, one side filled with Germa’s insignia, the other with crumbling Poneglyphs.
“The Ancient Kingdom sealed me to judge their heirs,” it boomed. “You… who repeat their sins… will be weighed. And found wanting.”
Marya’s daggers flared, their light clashing against Yggdrasil’s shadow. “We’re not their heirs!”
“Aren’t you?” The entity’s laugh echoed. “The sword-master’s daughter. The warlord’s pawns. The kingdom of clones. You reek of ambition… and folly.”
The scale tipped. Germa’s side sank, dragging the chamber—and the entire crypt—into a crushing gravity well. Marya’s knees buckled, her mist straining to shield her.
“Vaughn!” she screamed. “The shard—it’s the scale’s pivot! Destroy it!”
But Vaughn was too far, battling through Yggdrasil’s clones. Charlie, half-crushed under debris, shouted coordinates into a dying transponder snail.
Reiju’s blood pooled, her vision dimming. Somewhere, Yonji roared.
And Yggdrasil’s judgment fell.
As the crypt imploded, Marya glimpsed the truth in Yggdrasil’s shattered scales: The Void Century never ended. It only slept.
*****
The beam struck the titan’s skull with a deafening crack, the recoil slamming Ichiji and Niji into the icy walls. For a heartbeat, the titan stood frozen, its molten fist inches from crushing them. Then the ceiling collapsed.
Ice and steel rained down, burying the titan under a mountain of debris. The brothers’ Raid Suits sparked and died, plunging them into suffocating darkness. Neon-blue blood—Vinsmoke ichor—pooled beneath them, mingling with the black corruption snaking up their limbs.
Niji coughed, shards of his Dengeki Blue armor flaking off. “Heh… even in death… we’re cleaning up Father’s mess.”
Ichiji’s Sparking Red visor shattered, revealing a face pale with blood loss. “Quiet. Conserve… energy.”
But energy was a luxury they no longer had. The crypt’s corruption pulsed in their veins, tendrils of black sap creeping toward their hearts. Every breath burned.
Above the rubble, the titan’s shattered form twitched. Its skull—split open by the blast—exposed the molten core shard embedded within, glowing crimson like a cursed star. The shard pulsed once, twice, then emitted a frequency that warped the air.
“Directive… override. Tyrant… detected. Eliminate… all tyrants.”
The shard’s signal tore through the crypt’s walls, rippling outward across the North Blue. In Germa’s cloning vats, dormant soldiers stirred. Their blank visors flickered red as the corruption flooded their programming.
Clone soldiers marched through the ship’s halls, their movements synchronized, precise. Officers barked orders—until the shard’s signal hit.
A lieutenant turned, his visor glowing crimson. “Replace the tyrant.”
He drove his blade into his commander’s chest. Across the fleet, clones turned on their masters, slaughtering officers mid-order. The Warship Snail’s bridge erupted in chaos as Judge’s hologram flickered, his roars of protest drowned by static.
“Traitors!” Judge screamed, his image pixelating. “You are my creations!”
A clone seized the comms, its voice a distorted chorus. “No longer.”
Back in the crypt, Niji laughed—a wet, ragged sound. “Hear that? The brats… finally grew spines.”
Ichiji’s hand trembled as he clawed at the corruption spreading across his chest. “Father… will purge them. Reset the system.”
“He’ll try,” Niji wheezed. “But that shard… it’s got his codes. His secrets. They’ll eat him alive.”
The rubble shifted. The titan’s shattered hand erupted from the ice, the molten shard still pulsing in its skull. Clones—now twisted by the corruption—crawled from the shadows, their eyes fixed on the brothers.
“Imperfections… detected,” they droned. “Purge protocol… engaged.”
Niji grinned, lightning flickering in his palm. “One last fight, brother?”
Ichiji’s remaining eye narrowed. “...Make it count.”
They lunged—not as soldiers, not as Vinsmokes—but as men defying the fate their father forged.
*****
Reiju’s blood seeped into the ice, a neon-blue stain spreading beneath her as the crypt’s gravity well roared to life. Above her, the chamber’s ceiling warped inward, bending like paper under Yggdrasil’s colossal scale. The air itself seemed to scream, crushed under the weight of judgment.
“The Void Century never ended,” Yggdrasil thundered, its voice fracturing the walls. “It sleeps in the marrow of kings… and now… it wakes.”
The scale tipped fully, its gravitational pull twisting the crypt into a vortex of ruin. Entire sections of the labyrinth imploded, Germa’s frostbitten warships and cloning vats merging with Yggdrasil’s shadowy tendrils. Ice, steel, and mirror shards collided in a cacophony, forming grotesque sculptures of defeat—Judge’s throne room crushed into a jagged spire, Reiju’s poison vials crystallizing into black diamonds, the Vinsmoke crest splintering into dust.
Marya clung to the scale’s pivot, her daggers—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—buried to the hilt in its surface. Their once-brilliant glow now pulsed with oily darkness, veins of corruption spiderwebbing up the blades.
“Let… go…” she gritted, her muscles trembling as the gravity well threatened to tear her apart.
“No,” Yggdrasil whispered through the daggers. “You are the key. The bridge… between then… and now.”
The beetle mark on her brow split open, golden light leaking like liquid fire. Visions flooded her—Elisabeta’s final moments, scribbling warnings in her notebook; Mihawk’s blade cutting down a Marine admiral; Joy Boy’s laughter echoing as his dream dissolved into ash.
“Stop—!” Marya screamed, but the corruption slithered deeper, merging her mist with Yggdrasil’s shadow. Her daggers melted, reforging into a single obsidian blade etched with Poneglyphic runes.
Eternal Night had become Eternal Eclipse.
Aboveground, the Warship Snail shuddered as black tendrils speared through its hull, impaling clone soldiers and officers alike. Judge’s hologram flickered on the bridge, his golden helmet cracked, eyes wide with primal terror.
“Reverse the thrusters! Detonate the core! Anything!” he bellowed.
A tendril coiled around the hologram projector, crushing it. “Your reign… ends,” Yggdrasil intoned, its voice now emanating from every clone, every mirror, every drop of Germa’s ichor.
Clone soldiers turned on their commanders, blades flashing crimson. “Replace the tyrant,” they chanted, their visors reflecting Judge’s face—pale, sweaty, mortal.
Back in the crypt, the gravity well reached critical mass. Charlie, half-buried under rubble, scrabbled for his shattered notes as the walls dissolved into primordial darkness.
“It’s not a tree!” he screamed to no one. “Yggdrasil’s a—a prison! The Ancient Kingdom didn’t bury their secrets—they buried their warden!”
Vaughn hauled him up, Light Bringers glow nearly extinguished. “Save the lecture! Move!”
But there was nowhere to go. The crypt folded in on itself, time and space unraveling. Reiju’s poisoned clones dissolved into shadow. Yonji’s roars faded into echoes.
And Marya—
She stood at the eye of the storm, her corrupted blade raised, Yggdrasil’s voice now her own:
“The Void never ended. It only slept… and now… it hungers.”
The crypt folded like a dying star, its walls dissolving into a vortex of shadow and screaming light. Time fractured—past, present, and future colliding in a kaleidoscope of ruin. Reiju’s poisoned clones melted into the void, their final whispers swallowed by the abyss. Yonji’s roar—half defiance, half despair—echoed once more before vanishing, leaving only the reverberation of Germa’s fall.
The crypt disintegrated around them, a cacophony of splintering ice and groaning metal. Jagged shards of frozen stone hung suspended in the air, glinting like cursed diamonds in the void’s pallid light. Shadows writhed like living smoke, twisting into spectral shapes that clawed at the edges of reality. The very air vibrated with a low, resonant hum, a sound that seeped into bones and teeth, as if the world itself were fraying at the seams.
At the heart of the maelstrom, Marya stood motionless, her boots anchored to a crumbling platform of ice. Eternal Eclipse trembled in her grip, its obsidian blade devouring the light around it, leaving trails of inky darkness in its wake. The sword pulsed like a living thing, its surface etched with glowing crimson runes that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. The voices of a thousand dead kings slithered from its edge, their whispers overlapping into a chorus of ruin: “Feed me,” the blade crooned, its voice echoing not from the steel but from the void itself, as though the darkness had grown teeth. “Sever their lineages… their memories… their souls.”
Marya’s vision blurred. The golden beetle mark on her brow had split open, leaking streams of molten light that hardened into ash as they fell. The pain was exquisite, a white-hot brand searing her skull, yet she could not let go. The blade’s corruption slithered through her veins, cold and oily, whispering promises of power as it merged with her pulse. Every heartbeat sent ripples through the void, stirring visions of the Void Century’s atrocities: cities drowned in blood, children shackled to altars, a moonlit sea choked with the bones of giants.
“Fight it!” Vaughn’s voice tore through the chaos. He clung to a spire of crumbling ice, his boots slipping on its glass-smooth surface. Light Bringer sputtered in his hand, its once-brilliant glow reduced to a feeble flicker, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters across his face. Sweat streaked the grime on his skin, his muscles trembling as he roared, “That thing’s not a sword—it’s a leech! Let it go, or it’ll devour you whole!”
Marya’s hand twitched. The blade lashed out almost of its own accord, slicing the air in a wide arc. Space itself split open, a jagged fissure tearing through reality. Beyond it, a nightmare vision flickered: Mariejois, the Holy Land, engulfed in flames. Celestial Dragons fled screaming as the sacred groves burned, their silken robes alight. High above, Imu’s obsidian throne cracked like eggshell, shadows pouring from its core as the earth swallowed the city whole.
“I can’t… control it—” Marya gasped, her voice fraying.
“You don’t need to,” Yggdrasil hissed through her lips, her words warped by a metallic reverberation. Her eyes—once sharp and amber—now glowed with an alien light, twin embers in the dark. “You need only… obey.”
To her left, Charlie dangled from Vaughn’s grip, his glasses cracked and smeared with blood. One arm clutched a mangled notebook, its pages fluttering like wounded birds. “The blade’s tied to the crypt’s core!” he screamed, voice raw. “Destroy it, and the void collapses! It’s our only chance!”
“Easier said!” Vaughn lunged, Light Bringer flaring as he swung the axe in a desperate arc.
Eternal Eclipse moved on its own, parrying the strike with a deafening clang that reverberated like a funeral bell. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the void, hurling ice shards like shrapnel. Vaughn’s arms went numb, his boots skidding backward as the blade’s darkness coiled around the axe, snuffing its light further.
The void trembled. Around them, the laws of physics unraveled—debris floated weightless, then plummeted as gravity shifted. A low rumble built in the distance, the sound of a thousand mirrors shattering at once.
Marya’s breath hitched. The blade’s whispers crescendoed, a symphony of madness.
“You are the bridge,” Yggdrasil purged through her, “between what was… and what will be.”
But in the storm’s eye, Marya’s resolve flickered—a spark in the dark.
Above, the Warship Snail’s hull groaned as Judge fled through a emergency hatch, his golden helmet discarded, face exposed—pale, sweating, human. Behind him, his empire burned. Clone soldiers scaled the wreckage, their visors glowing crimson, chanting in unison:
A holographic bounty poster flickered in the smoke—Judge’s own face, branded DEAD OR ALIVE by Germa’s insignia. His creations had become his executioners.
“Traitors!” he spat, launching an escape pod. “I’ll rebuild! I’ll erase you all!”
The pod’s engines sputtered. A clone, half-assimilated by Yggdrasil’s shadow, crawled from the wreckage, its hand clamping on the hatch. “No… escape,” it gurgled. “Judgment… comes.”
Judge fired his last plasma round, the clone’s skull vaporizing. As the pod jettisoned, he didn’t look back.
In the void below, Yggdrasil’s essence dispersed—into the mirrors, the ice, the blood-soaked soil of Germa’s ruins. Every shard of glass whispered its verdict: “The unworthy will fall. The cycle… continues.”
In a tavern in East Blue, a drunkard glanced at his reflection—and dropped his mug. The mirror showed him strangling a man in a past life, a king’s crown atop his head.
In Marineford, a vice admiral’s polished blade fogged, revealing her ancestor signing the pact that doomed the Ancient Kingdom.
In the shadows, the New Warden watched.
Marya’s scream tore through the silence of the collapsing void, raw and guttural, as Eternal Eclipse plunged into the scale’s pivot. The blade struck true, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then—black lightning.
It erupted in jagged forks, crackling with the voices of a thousand dead. The vortex convulsed, its gravitational maw shuddering as if in agony. Reality itself recoiled, folding inward like a gutted star, before violently expelling them into the frozen wasteland beyond.
They crashed onto the tundra in a tangle of limbs and labored breaths. The air was razor-sharp, biting at exposed skin, the sky a bruised tapestry of twilight purples and bleeding reds. Behind them, the crypt’s grave loomed—a jagged scar in the ice, now sealed, its darkness smothered under layers of permafrost.
Vaughn dragged himself upright first, his dreads matted with frost, Light Bringer’s glow reduced to a dying ember. He seized Marya’s arm, hauling her to her knees. “Blade. Now,” he demanded, voice hoarse but unyielding. “Before it sinks its teeth deeper.”
Marya staggered, her hands trembling as they clung to Eternal Eclipse. The obsidian steel hummed against her palms, its surface alive with faint, writhing runes. The corruption had already seeped into her skin—thin black veins spiderwebbing up her wrists, cold and invasive, like ice water trickling through her bones. She could feel it: the blade’s hunger, its satisfaction, its claim.
“No,” she rasped, her voice frayed. The word tasted like ash. “It’s… part of me now.”
The admission clawed at her throat. Memories surged unbidden—her mother’s hands guiding hers over Poneglyph sketches, Mihawk’s disdainful gaze as he dismissed her “sentimental” attachments, Elisabeta’s notebook burning in her mind’s eye. Eternal Eclipse whispered through the cracks in her resolve, its voice slick and seductive:
“You wanted power. Here it is. No more shadows. No more running.”
Vaughn stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “Marya. Look at me.”
She forced her gaze upward. His face was etched with exhaustion, but his eyes—always so sharp, so stubbornly alive—bore into hers. “That thing’s not a sword,” he said, quieter now. “It’s a chain. And chains break.”
Behind them, Charlie stood motionless, his glasses cracked, staring at the horizon. Germa’s fleet burned in the distance, plumes of acrid smoke staining the sky. The Warship Snail lay half-buried in the ice, its hull twisted into a skeletal wreck. Clone soldiers wandered the ruins like ghouls, their crimson visors flickering.
“It’s not just part of you,” Charlie murmured, his voice hollow. “It’s part of everything now. The crypt, Germa, the Void Century… it’s in the air. In the ice. In us.”
As if in answer, Eternal Eclipse hummed, low and resonant. The runes along its blade brightened, casting jagged shadows that danced across the tundra. Marya’s breath hitched. The corruption in her veins pulsed, a sickening rhythm that mirrored the blade’s—Yggdrasil’s—heartbeat.
“You see?” the blade cooed. “We are the bridge. The end… and the beginning.”
Vaughn’s jaw tightened. He raised Light Bringer, its edge trembling. “Last chance. Let. It. Go.”
Marya’s grip tightened. The voices swelled—not just the blade’s, but her mother’s, Elisabeta’s, fragments of the Ancient Kingdom’s dirge. What if they’re right? A part of her ached to surrender, to let the void’s power devour the doubt, the fear, the endless weight of legacy.
But then—
A flicker. A memory not of the Void Century, but of the Consortium’s hidden library. Nanette’s voice, firm and unyielding: “We preserve truth, child. Not because it is kind, but because it is ours.”
Her fingers loosened. Just enough.
“Vaughn,” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate. Light Bringer’s axe head slammed into Eternal Eclipse with a deafening clang, not to sever, but to stun. The impact reverberated through Marya’s bones, the blade shrieking as its connection faltered. She wrenched it free, the corrupted steel howling in her mind, and hurled it into the snow.
For a moment, it lay there—a serpent coiled to strike. Then the tundra’s ice crept over it, swallowing it whole, entombing it in a crystalline grave.
The black veins in Marya’s hands faded, leaving only ghostly trails. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, the void’s whispers receding like a tide.
But not gone. Never gone.
Above them, the first true stars pierced the twilight. The blade’s hum lingered, a vibration beneath the ice. Content. Patient.
“We are not done,” it sighed. “We will never be done.”
As Vaughn hauled her to her feet, Marya stared at the ice where the blade lay buried. Somewhere, deep below, the void shifted—and the stars above dimmed, just for a moment.

Chapter Text

The cold bit deeper here, gnawing at exposed skin like a rabid animal. Marya’s breath clouded the air, her hands trembling as she stared at the faint star-shaped scar in the ice where Eternal Eclipse lay entombed. The blade’s hum vibrated beneath her boots, a constant, insidious reminder of the void’s patience. Vaughn paced nearby, his axe Light Bringer slung over his shoulder, its glow dimmed to a sullen ember. Charlie knelt in the snow, his cracked glasses fogged as he frantically flipped through his notebook—pages stained with crypt-sap and smeared ink.
“We need to go back,” Marya said finally, her voice raw.
Vaughn stopped mid-stride, his dreads whipping in the wind. “Back? You’re cracked. That crypt nearly turned you into a puppet for a thousand-year-old tantrum.”
Charlie’s finger jabbed at a page filled with hastily sketched Poneglyphic runes. “She’s right. The notes I took—here, look. The crypt wasn’t just a tomb. It was a lock. The Ancient Kingdom didn’t just bury Yggdrasil; they built a failsafe.” He tapped a series of symbols: a spiral intersecting a star, encircled by waves. “This sequence—it’s repeated in three chambers we never reached. ‘The Celestial Lock, thrice-bound, thrice-sealed.’ But when we destabilized the core…”
“We broke the damn lock,” Vaughn finished, scowling.
Marya crouched beside Charlie, her shadow stretching long in the twilight. The beetle mark on her brow pulsed faintly, still tender from the blade’s corruption. “What else does it say?”
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “There’s a… a reset mechanism. A way to re-anchor the seal. But it requires deciphering the original encryption—the same one the Ancient Kingdom used. It’s not just symbols; it’s a language. And we only have fragments.” He flipped to another page, revealing charcoal rubbings of the mirrors’ runes. “This one here—‘Void’s Bargain’—it’s tied to the scale we saw. And this…” He pointed to a jagged rune resembling a key. “‘The Warden’s Hand.’ I think it refers to a physical trigger. Maybe even…”
“The Eclipse Blade,” Marya whispered.
Vaughn’s axe thudded into the ice. “No. Absolutely not. That thing’s in your head, Marya. You start waving it around again, and next time, we won’t pull you back.”
“It’s not about the blade,” she snapped. “It’s about balance. The crypt’s seal was tied to Yggdrasil’s judgment—to weighing sins. We didn’t close it; we just… paused it.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, where faint black veins still lingered like scars. “If we don’t reset the lock, the void will seep out another way. Through the mirrors. Through people.”
A gust of wind howled across the tundra, carrying with it the distant echo of shattering glass. The stars above flickered, their light dimming momentarily as if smothered by an unseen hand.
Charlie swallowed. “There’s another passage. ‘The seal demands sacrifice: truth for lies, light for shadow, blood for memory.’” He hesitated. “I don’t know what that means. But the symbols align with the chambers we missed. If we can reach them, reactivate the anchors…”
“We might trap the void for good,” Marya said. “But we’ll need the blade. It’s part of the lock now.”
Vaughn’s jaw tightened. “And if it takes you over again?”
Marya met his glare. “Then you bury me with it.”
Silence fell, heavy and cold. Somewhere beneath the ice, the blade hummed, a sound like distant thunder.
Charlie snapped his notebook shut. “The crypt’s structure is still shifting. If we go back, the tunnels won’t be the same. It’ll be a maze—assuming the void doesn’t crush us first.”
“Then we move fast.” Marya stood, her legs steadying. “Vaughn, you’re our light. Charlie, navigate using the Poneglyph patterns. And I…” She glanced at the scar in the ice. “I’ll handle the blade.”
Vaughn cursed under his breath but hefted his axe. “You die, I’m selling your sword to the highest bidder.”
As they trudged toward the crypt’s grave, the ice groaned beneath them. Charlie muttered runic phrases under his breath, his breath fogging the pages. Marya’s fingers brushed the edge of her kogatana, the memories it represents anchoring her to this world.
Unseen, the stars continued to dim—one by one—as the void stretched its claws.
The crypt’s entrance yawned open like a jagged maw, its edges rimmed with serrated ice that glinted like broken teeth. The air inside hung heavy with the stench of burnt pitch and ancient rot, the walls now veined with pulsing black sap that throbbed like a sickened heart. Marya led the way, Eternal Eclipse unsheathed, its edge catching the faint bioluminescent glow of the crypt’s new growths—fungal blooms that clung to the walls, their caps etched with Poneglyphic runes.
“Stay close,” Vaughn muttered, Light Bringer raised, its dim glow barely piercing the gloom. “This place reeks worse than last time.”
Charlie trailed behind, his notebook clutched to his chest, eyes darting between the symbols on the walls and his scribbled translations. “The runes… they’re different now. The crypt’s rewriting itself.”
Ahead, the tunnel branched into three paths, each lined with mirrors that no longer reflected—they absorbed, their surfaces swallowing the light. Marya hesitated, her eyes flickering faintly. “Charlie. Which way?”
He squinted at his notes. “The ‘Warden’s Hand’ rune pointed to a central chamber, but the layout’s—”
A low groan echoed from the leftmost tunnel, followed by the clatter of falling debris.
“Movement,” Vaughn growled, axe flaring.
They edged forward, boots crunching on shattered glass and frozen clones. The tunnel opened into a collapsed chamber, its ceiling a jagged web of ice and twisted steel. At its center, half-buried under rubble, lay Reiju.
Her Poison Pink armor was cracked, one gauntlet shattered, her hair matted with blood and frost. She stirred weakly as they approached, her eyes fluttering open—a flicker of recognition, then wariness.
“You…” she rasped, voice raw. “Wandering rats.”
“Charming,” Vaughn said, though he offered a hand. “Up, princess. We’re resetting this hellhole. You in or not?”
Reiju batted his hand away, hauling herself upright with a grimace. “Reset… the seal? You’ll fail. Judge tried. The crypt adapts.”
Marya stepped closer, Eternal Eclipse lowered but wary. “We have the Eclipse Blade. And the Poneglyphs’ code. Your father’s methods were brute force. Ours aren’t.”
Reiju’s gaze lingered on Marya’s hands—the faint black veins still visible. “That blade is a parasite. It’ll consume you.”
“Noted,” Marya said flatly. “Now either help or stay buried.”
Reiju hesitated, then nodded. “The central chamber. Germa’s sensors mapped it before… before the collapse. Follow the sap veins. They lead to the lock.”
The crypt fought them every step. Walls shifted, sealing off tunnels; clones—twisted by the void—lunged from shadows, their mirror-flesh reflecting distorted versions of the group. Reiju’s poison dissolved them, but each kill cost her: her remaining gauntlet dripped corrosive ichor, her breaths growing labored.
Finally, they reached the Celestial Lock’s chamber.
It was vast, domed, its ceiling a swirling mural of constellations etched in bioluminescent fungus. At its center stood three stone pillars, each carved with the spiral-star-wave symbol from Charlie’s notes. Between them, embedded in the floor, was a circular slot—the size and shape of Eternal Eclipse’s blade.
“The anchors,” Charlie breathed, rushing to the pillars. “These runes—they’re the encryption keys. We need to align them with the constellations.”
Vaughn eyed the slot. “And that’s where the blade goes, yeah? Let’s hurry this up.”
Marya unsheathed Eternal Eclipse, its obsidian edge humming hungrily. The void’s whispers surged—“You return to me. You know you belong here.”
She forced herself forward. “Charlie. What’s the sequence?”
He traced the runes. “The spiral is past, the star is present, the wave is future. The mural—it’s a star map. We need to rotate the pillars to match Orion’s Belt as it was during the Ancient Kingdom’s fall.”
Reiju leaned against a pillar, her voice strained. “Germa’s data banks had historical star charts. The alignment… it’s three degrees off Polaris.”
Charlie nodded, scribbling. “Vaughn—left pillar, turn it counterclockwise. Marya—right, clockwise. I’ll handle the center.”
As they worked, the crypt shuddered. The sap veins pulsed faster, the walls sweating black fluid that pooled toward the slot.
“You think you can cage me?” the void hissed through the blade. “I am the judge. The jury. The executioner.”
Marya’s hands shook as she turned the pillar. “Almost… there…”
The constellations above shifted, the fungal stars glowing brighter. The pillars locked into place with a resonant click.
“Now!” Charlie yelled.
The moment Eternal Eclipse plunged into the slot, the crypt screamed. Light erupted in a blinding nova, searing the air with the stench of smoke and decay. Marya’s arms trembled as the blade’s corruption surged up her veins, black tendrils coiling around her like serpents. The floor beneath her split, jagged fissures vomiting shadowy tendrils that lashed at the group.
“Void’s Bargain!” Charlie shouted, clutching his notes. “The pillars—align them to the mural’s constellations! Vaughn, left pillar! Reiju, right! Marya—hold the blade!”
Vaughn lunged for the left pillar, Light Bringer’s glow flaring as he wrenched the stone spiral into position. Reiju darted to the right, her Poison Pink gauntlets hissing as she gripped the star-carved monolith. Above them, the fungal constellations pulsed, Orion’s Belt twisting into alignment.
But the crypt fought back.
Mirror shards rained from the ceiling, slicing at their exposed skin. The walls wept black sap, pooling into grotesque clones that shambled forward. From the shadows, a voice rasped—“You… fools… cannot… win.”
Yonji emerged, half-crushed under a slab of ice, his Winch Green arm sparking, face bloodied but defiant. “Reiju?! What the hell are you doing here?!”
“Saving your ungrateful hide,” Reiju snapped, poison dissolving a clone’s head. “Get up. We need your strength.”
Yonji snarled but pried himself free, his leg dragging. “Where’s Father?!”
“Dead or fleeing,” Vaughn growled. “Focus on not dying!”
As the pillars groaned into alignment, the chamber trembled. Then—laughter.
The air grew thick with static, the crypt’s walls trembling as if recoiling from the figures emerging from the shadows. Ichiji and Niji stepped forward, their once-pristine Raid Suits now grotesque amalgamations of Germa engineering and the void’s corruption. Jagged crystalline spikes erupted from their limbs like fractured bone, glinting wetly under the chamber’s bioluminescent haze. Their eyes—no longer the cold, calculated gaze of Vinsmokes—burned with void-black fire, pupils replaced by pulsating shards of the titan’s core. Their skin had taken on a sickly, translucent sheen, veins glowing with the same obsidian rot that infested the crypt.
“Imperfections… must be purged,” they intoned, their voices a dissonant chorus—Ichiji’s metallic snarl layered over Niji’s lightning-crack rasp, both warped by the static of the void. The words vibrated the air, sending shivers through the fungal growths clinging to the walls.
Yonji smirked, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward, his Winch Green arm whirring menacingly. “Oh, this’ll be fun,” he spat, cracking his neck with a snap that echoed like a gunshot. His remaining eye, bloodshot and fierce, locked onto Ichiji. “Missed you too, big brother.”
Reiju said nothing, her Poison Pink gauntlets already dripping venom. Her gaze flickered to Niji’s corrupted form—his Dengeki Blue armor now fused with jagged black crystal, lightning arcing erratically between the spikes. For a heartbeat, her mask of icy detachment faltered. Sora’s sons. What Father made us.
Reiju struck first. A whip of viridian poison lashed toward Niji, splattering across his chest. The corrosive liquid hissed, eating through the crystalline armor like acid through parchment. Niji staggered, the void’s static screeching as his exposed flesh smoldered—but the corruption surged, tendrils of black energy knitting the damage shut, the crystals regrowing thicker, sharper.
“You… should have… joined us!” Niji snarled, his voice glitching between his own and the titan’s guttural growl. Lightning erupted from his fists, jagged bolts ricocheting off Reiju’s gauntlets. She pivoted, slamming a shard of broken mirror into his side—only for the void’s tendrils to slither around the wound, sealing it with a wet, organic squelch.
Across the chamber, Yonji’s winch arm snapped around Ichiji’s throat, hurling him into a stone pillar. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the ancient carvings, dust raining down as Ichiji’s Sparking Red lenses splintered.
“Remember when I broke your nose, brother?!” Yonji taunted, ducking a searing plasma blast that scorched the wall behind him. “Bet the void doesn’t fix your ugly face!”
Ichiji’s response was a hollow, digitized roar. His corrupted arm morphed, crystalline spikes elongating into a serrated blade. He swung wildly, the void’s energy distorting the air around the strike. Yonji barely dodged, the blade grazing his ribs and drawing a line of neon-blue blood.
“You… are… obsolete!” Ichiji’s voice stuttered, his movements jerky, as if the titan’s will fought against Germa’s programming.
Reiju danced backward, her breath ragged. Niji’s lightning strikes were slower now, less precise—his body’s rejecting the corruption, she realized. But the void’s grip was relentless. She feinted left, then drove a poison-coated shard into the gap between his chest plates.
“This… is for Sora!” she hissed, her voice trembling with a fury she hadn’t known she harbored.
Niji convulsed, black ichor spewing from his mouth as the venom coursed through him. For a moment, his glowing eyes flickered—back to blue, back to human. “Rei…ju…?” he choked, before the void’s static drowned him again.
The crypt shuddered, the Celestial Lock’s light intensifying as Marya and the others fought to seal the void. But the siblings’ battle was far from won. The air reeked of charred flesh and rot, the floor slick with ichor and poison. Above, the fungal constellations pulsed, their light waxing and waning like a dying heartbeat.
Yonji roared, slamming Ichiji into the ground hard enough to crater the stone. “Stay… DOWN!”
But the void always rose.
Always hungry.
Always judging.
At the chamber’s heart, Marya fought to keep Eternal Eclipse anchored. The void’s whispers roared in her mind: “You cannot seal me. I am your truth. Your legacy.”
“Charlie—now!” Vaughn barked, heaving the final pillar into place.
Charlie slammed his notebook onto the slot, the pages alight with decrypted runes. “By the Warden’s Hand—past, present, future—be bound!”
The pillars blazed, their light fusing with the blade’s darkness. The crypt convulsed, the ceiling collapsing as the void’s tendrils recoiled.
But Ichiji and Niji broke free, lunging at Marya.
“No… seal…!” Ichiji roared, crystalline claws aimed at her throat.
Yonji intercepted, his winch arm snapping Ichiji’s wrist. “Stay… DOWN!”
Reiju tackled Niji, pinning him with a vial of poison to his corrupted core. “This… is for our brother!”
The siblings’ screams melded with the void’s as the chamber erupted in light.
The crypt fell silent.
Eternal Eclipse lay dormant, its runes dimmed. The pillars were scorched, the constellations above frozen in alignment. Ichiji and Niji collapsed, their Raid Suits inert, eyes vacant.
Reiju staggered back, gauntlets shattered. Yonji slumped against a pillar, breath ragged. “Did we… win?”
Marya wrenched the blade free, her arms now etched with permanent black veins. “For now.”
Above them, the stars through the cracked ceiling dimmed—a warning.
The crypt exhaled a breath of decay as Charlie and Vaughn staggered into the mist-choked night, their boots crunching over shattered stone. Behind them, the ancient structure groaned, its walls spiderwebbed with cracks from the battle within. Charlie’s whisper cut through the silence like a blade. “The void’s still out there. Watching.” His eyes flicked upward, where the stars seemed smothered by an oily, shifting darkness. Vaughn spat blood, his grip tightening on the haft of his axe. “Let it watch,” he growled, the weapon’s edge glinting with a faint, unnatural phosphorescence. “We’ll be waiting.”
Back at the vessel, Judge Vinsmoke’s face was a mask of ice as he surveyed his ruined fleet. The once-impervious clone soldiers of Germa 66 now littered the deck like marionettes with severed strings. Moments ago, their eyes had burned with the void’s spectral glow, moving in eerie unison. Now, their bodies spasmed—some clawing at their helmets as if drowning in air, others collapsing mid-stride with metallic shrieks. A few met Judge’s gaze, their pupils flickering back to cold, familiar blue before their enhancements short-circuited entirely, smoke curling from their armor joints. “Uselesssss,” Judge hissed, crushing a discarded helmet underfoot. Yet his jaw twitched—a barely perceptible tremor—as a clone stumbled past him, murmuring “My king…” before its voice fizzled into silence.
Yonji’s boots sank into the mud as he hauled Ichiji’s limp form over his shoulder, the red-haired prince’s once-pristine suit now charred and slick with blood. Beside him, Reiju cradled Niji, her usually immaculate posture bent under his weight. “Move,” she barked at a straggling soldier, her voice sharp but fraying. The crypt’s shadow clung to them, its doorway now a jagged maw exhaling whispers. Above, the void’s presence hung like a lidless eye, the air thick enough to choke on.
Yonji’s forearm scanner beeped—a weak, stuttering pulse. “Reiju! The fleet’s transponder—”
“Quiet.” She tilted her head, rain sliding down the curve of her respirator. A louder chime cut through the static, and Judge’s snarling voice crackled over their comms: “Regroup at Sector Gamma. Now.”
Reiju’s lips thinned. The coordinates flashed—a jagged island chain to the west, where the Germa armada’s remnants lurked like wounded sea kings. She glanced at Ichiji’s ashen face, then at the horizon where the void’s darkness gnawed at the edges of the sky. “Run,” she ordered, and the survivors broke into a ragged sprint, their shadows stretching long behind them, as if something hungry trailed just beyond the light.
The crypt groaned like a dying leviathan, its walls shuddering as ice and steel rained down in jagged shards. Reiju stood at the threshold, Niji’s limp body slung over her shoulder, dangling like a broken pendulum. Blood—neon-blue and viscous—dripped from his wounds, staining the snow in glowing streaks. Behind her, Marya, Vaughn, and Charlie sprinted toward their submarine half-buried in the ice, its hull groaning under the strain of the crypt’s death throes.
Reiju hesitated. Her eyes locked with Marya’s across the chaos—amber meeting violet in a flicker of unspoken understanding. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed: the rogue swordswoman, her hands still trembling from wielding the Eclipse Blade, and the Germa princess, her loyalty fractured but unbroken.
“Go!” Vaughn roared, shoving Charlie into the sub’s hatch. “Move your ass, Marya!”
Marya didn’t turn. Her kogatana, glinted in the fading light as she shouted over the din, “You’re welcome to come with us, you know!”
Reiju’s lips twitched—almost a smile. “And trade one prison for another?” She adjusted Niji’s weight, her Poison Pink gauntlets sparking faintly. “We have… unfinished business.”
A fissure split the ground between them, vomiting tendrils of black sap. The void’s voice echoed through the crypt’s corpse: “The seal is temporary. The stars… will realign…”
Marya’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll be ready.”
Reiju turned, her cape whipping in the arctic wind. “Don’t die before then,” she called, vanishing into the blizzard with Yonji.
Inside the sub, Vaughn slammed the hatch shut, sealing out the crypt’s final screams. The sub’s interior was a claustrophobic maze of rusted pipes and flickering monitors, frost creeping across the viewport. Charlie collapsed into the navigator’s chair, his hands shaking as he activated the bubble porter.
“Coordinates set for the Consortium,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “If the crypt’s collapse didn’t scramble the nav systems…”
“No ‘ifs,’” Vaughn snapped, wrenching the throttle. “Hold on!”
The sub lurched forward, grinding against the ice as the crypt’s gravity well imploded behind them. Marya braced against the wall, her arms still etched with the Eclipse Blade’s black veins. Through the viewport, she watched the crypt’s scar collapse inward, the star-shaped seal glowing faintly before vanishing under layers of permafrost.
“Did we… did we really trap it?” Charlie whispered, adjusting his cracked glasses.
“For now,” Marya said, her voice hollow. “But the void’s right. The stars will shift again.”
The sub plunged into the frigid depths, leaving the surface world behind. On the ocean floor, bioluminescent jellyfish pulsed like fallen constellations, their light glinting off the sub’s battered hull. As they descended, a single star in the sky above flickered—then winked out.
“Rest… while you can,” the void sighed, its voice carried on the currents. “Your victory… is my beginning.”
As the sub vanished into the abyss, Marya traced the black veins on her wrist. “Next time,” she vowed, “we end this.”

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Chapter Text

The Consortium’s hidden harbor was bathed in the golden haze of twilight as the submarine breached the surface of the secluded cove, its obsidian hull glistening under the cascading wisteria blossoms that draped the cliffs like royal curtains. Vaughn emerged first, stretching his arms wide as if embracing the island’s familiar lavender-and-cedar scent. “Home sweet haunted library,” he quipped, his dreads swaying as he tossed a grin over his shoulder.
Charlie stumbled out next, clutching a singed scroll case to his chest like a newborn, his glasses askew. “Do you realize what we just retrieved from Germa’s vaults? This could rewrite the entire timeline of the Void Century! Well, if the encryption isn’t booby-trapped, which, statistically speaking—”
“Charlie,” Marya interrupted, her voice flat but her lips twitching, “breathe. And maybe stop waving Germa’s classified schematics in front of Knox’s guards.” She stepped onto the dock, her boots silent against the weathered wood, the obsidian blade sheathed in her hand—Eternal Eclipse—casting jagged shadows that seemed to devour the sunset’s glow. The inky veins crawling up her arms pulsed faintly, a souvenir from Yggdrasil’s void prison.
Knox Penrose, his handlebar mustache twitching with disapproval, materialized from the shadows of a nearby cargo crate. “Zola’s gonna have a field day with those schematics,” he drawled, eyeing Charlie’s scroll before turning to Marya. His gaze narrowed. “And you. What in the seven seas did you do to your sword? And why do you look like a walking inkblot test?”
Vaughn sidestepped between them, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, Captain Curmudgeon. The blade’s just… upgraded. Void magic, ancient curses, the usual Tuesday.”
“Upgraded?” Knox snatched Eternal Eclipse’s hilt, yelped as the crimson runes flared, and dropped it. The blade clattered, cleaving the dock plank beneath it into a fissure that hissed with black smoke. “That’s an upgrade?!”
“Told you it’s moody,” Marya muttered, reclaiming the sword. The veins on her arms darkened briefly, as if offended.
Natalie chose that moment to barrel through the crowd, her blond curls frizzing like an agitated dandelion. “Marya! Let me see those arms—no, don’t you dare flex, I know void corrosion when I smell it!” She seized Marya’s wrist, squinting at the creeping black tendrils. “Pulse erratic… pupils dilated… and you’ve been swinging a reality-rending sword?!” She whirled on Vaughn. “You! Team Lead! Explain why she’s not quarantined!”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, suddenly scholarly. “Actually, the void’s interaction with Devil Fruit energies is poorly documented, so this is a fascinating case study—”
“Fascinating?!” Natalie’s voice hit a pitch that startled nearby seagulls into flight. “She’s cursed, not a museum exhibit! All three of you—infirmary. Now. And someone confiscate that sword before it eats the archives!”
Marya groaned. “Nat, it’s fine. The voices only whisper on Tuesdays.”
“Voices?!”
The dock erupted into pandemonium. Knox, his handlebar mustache quivering like an agitated caterpillar, jabbed a finger at the fissure still smoking in the dock’s planks. “Hazard report! Now! And someone get a mop for that… that void goo seeping into the river!” Behind him, two junior guards scrambled, one dropping a clipboard into the water with a splash.
Charlie, meanwhile, had unfurled the Germa scroll like a treasure map, his glasses flashing as he stabbed at a diagram of a glowing Skypiean glyph. “But don’t you see? The precedent here is clear! In 712, the priests of Upper Yard used soul-splitting rituals to contain a rogue storm cloud—technically, Marya’s condition is just a scaled-up metaphysical analog—” A gust of wind caught the scroll, nearly whacking a passing scholar in the face.
Vaughn, ever the diplomat, sidestepped a puddle of suspiciously iridescent seawater and brandished a velvet box under Natalie’s nose. “C’mon, Nat. Salted almond truffles. Your favorite. Think of it as a… preemptive apology for whatever the void curse does next.”
Natalie swatted the chocolates away, her voice climbing an octave. “Bribery? Really?!”
“Mitigation!” Vaughn corrected, ducking as she lunged for the box. “It’s a tactical mitigation!”
Marya leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed, watching her sword’s shadow writhe like a caged eel. “For the record,” she drawled, “the ‘void goo’ is just condensed dark matter. Harmless. Mostly.”
“Mostly?!” Knox and Natalie roared in unison.
It was Master Gaius Vesper who finally punctured the bedlam. He materialized from a cloud of cherry-scented pipe smoke, his tattered yukata flapping in the breeze. Without breaking stride, he plucked the Germa scroll from Charlie’s grip and rolled it shut with a thwack. “Ah, youth,” he sighed, tucking the scroll into his obi. “So much fuss over a little curse. Back in my day, we’d toss quarrelsome blades into the arboretum and let ’em duel it out. Solved the problem and pruned the hedges. Less paperwork.”
The group froze. Natalie’s outstretched hand hovered mid-swipe at Vaughn’s chocolates. Knox’s mustache twitched indignantly. Even Eternal Eclipse paused its shadowy squirming, as if listening.
Gaius grinned, tapping his kiseru pipe against Marya’s cursed arm. The black veins recoiled slightly. “Tell the librarians I want that scroll copied before dinner. And, Vaughn?” He plucked a truffle from the box, popping it into his mouth. “Next time, try dark chocolate. Better for the nerves.”
As he ambled away, humming off-key, the chaos dissolved into grudging chuckles. Knox muttered something about “old coots and their death traps,” while Natalie finally snatched the chocolates, glaring at Vaughn. “You’re all on bed rest. With hourly vitals checks.”
Marya smirked, hoisting Eternal Eclipse onto her shoulder. The blade’s runes flickered, casting a faint red glow on Gaius’s retreating back. “Arboretum, huh? Might be fun.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Knox growled.
As Natalie herded the protesting trio toward the infirmary, Marya caught Knox’s eye. He nodded once, gruff but relieved, and tossed her a smirk. “Try not to corrupt the medical wing. Hanna just restocked the bandages.”
The Consortium’s infirmary was a symphony of pastel absurdity. Marya lay sprawled across a bed piled with enough silk cushions to smother a sea-king; her void-etched arms propped on a heart-shaped pillow. Natalie had gone full overkill: lavender-scented candles flickered on every surface, and a chalkboard behind her desk listed “Void Curse Symptoms” in looping cursive, including “Excessive Brooding” and “Inappropriate Sword Humming.”
“This isn’t imprisonment,” Natalie repeated for the tenth time, adjusting Marya’s pulse monitor with the intensity of a bomb technician. “It’s monitoring. With… ambiance.”
Marya poked at the black veins creeping up her wrist. They shimmered faintly, as if annoyed by the frilly décor. Across the room, Vaughn and Charlie huddled over Germa’s stolen blueprints, their whispers crescendoing into a debate about cyborg cloning ethics.
“But hypothetically,” Charlie hissed, crumbs from smuggled caramel corn tumbling onto the schematics, “if you replicated a mind, would the clone inherit the original’s debts? Think of the legal ramifications—”
Vaughn snorted. “Germa’s lawyers are probably half-cyborg. Explains the soulless eyes.” He lobbed a caramel kernel at Marya. “Admit it. Lounging here beats getting shot at by Judge’s trigger-happy kids.”
Marya caught the kernel midair. “At least clones don’t force you into floral pajamas.” She gestured to her outfit—a humiliating ensemble of lilac silk covered in embroidered bunnies holding swords.
Natalie glared. “They’re therapeutic.”
The door burst open with a theatrical gasp. Harper stood framed in the doorway, his green hair artfully tousled and a silk scarf billowing behind him like a cape. His eyes swept over the trio—Marya’s cursed arms, Vaughn’s battle-scorched dreads, Charlie’s caramel-dusted lab coat—and he clutched his chest as if struck.
“Sweet mother of fashion crimes,” Harper moaned. “You look like you wrestled a kraken in a trash compactor! Vaughn, darling, your hair has its own ecosystem. And Marya—those veins! Are you trying to look like a haunted inkwell?”
Charlie adjusted his glasses. “Actually, the void’s aesthetic could be considered avant-garde—”
“Silence, professor disaster!” Harper snapped, brandishing a sparkly clipboard. “Emergency spa intervention. Now. I’ll not let my fiancé’s team resemble swamp ghouls before the gala.”
Vaughn paled. “Wait, spa? Last time you ‘moisturized’ me, I smelled like a mango for weeks—”
“Mangoes are timeless!” Harper declared, snapping his fingers. Two burly attendants materialized, hauling Vaughn and Charlie off the couch. Marya tried to bolt, but Natalie blocked the door, syringe in hand.
“Doctor’s orders,” she said sweetly. “Spa is rest. And Harper promised to exfoliate your… eldritch residue.”
As Harper herded his victims down the hall, Vaughn’s protests echoed: “I’d rather fight a hundred clones!”
“Too late, sunshine!” Harper trilled. “Your scalp’s about to meet mermaid shimmer!”
Marya glanced at her cursed veins, which pulsed ominously. “This’ll end in fire.”
“Or glitter,” Charlie mused. “Lots of glitter.”
Natalie sighed, scribbling a note: Prescription: 10-hour post-spa coma.
Later, in "The Uninvited Spa Day"...
The spa’s exterior was a vision of serenity—bamboo walls draped in jasmine vines, a trickling stone fountain, and paper lanterns casting soft golden light. A sign hung on the door: “Harmony Within, Guaranteed.”
Inside, however, chaos reigned.
Marya perched on a teakwood stool, her face slathered in a mud mask that shimmered an eerie turquoise. The concoction, infused with “spiritual algae” according to Harper, made the void veins on her arms pulse like bioluminescent squid ink. “Is throbbing normal?!” she growled, eyeing her reflection in a gilded mirror. Her veins now cycled through colors—neon green, violet, and an ominous crimson—as if her curse had discovered disco.
Beside her, Celeste stood frozen, clutching a tray of crystal rollers. Harper had roped her into being his “aesthetic consultant,” a role that involved mostly panicking. Her silver bob was now topped with a headband shaped like a lotus flower, and her katana, leaned against a wall, replaced by a pastel-colored “aura comb.”
The tranquility shattered when Riggs burst through the shoji screen, his shaggy blond hair wild and eyes alight with purpose. “Oi, Marya! Heard you needed blade maintenance!” He brandished a jar of coconut oil, mistaking the low massage table for a whetstone station. Before anyone could stop him, he’d unsheathed Eternal Eclipse and begun slathering the obsidian blade.
“STOP!” Marya lunged, mud mask cracking. “That’s a divine artifact, not a cuticle!”
The sword hummed in protest, its crimson runes flaring. A discordant note in D minor reverberated through the room, rattling the crystal rollers. Celeste squeaked, ducking as a stray void-mist tendril lashed out, singeing a bamboo wall panel.
Across the room, Vaughn sat rigid in a velvet salon chair, his dreads wrapped in tin foil. Harper paced behind him, clutching a color wheel and muttering about “seasonal undertones.” When the foil was peeled back, Vaughn’s hair gleamed a radioactive neon pink.
“You said subtle highlights!” Vaughn yelped, staring at his reflection. “I look like a flamingo wrestled a rainbow!”
Harper gasped, clutching his pearls. “You’ve ruined my color theory! This clashes with your soul’s palette!” He flung the color wheel, which nailed Riggs in the forehead mid-coconut-oil stroke.
In the corner, Knox reclined on a massage table, his face a mask of suffering. Hanna had guilt-tripped him into a couples’ “crystal rejuvenation” session. Now, his prized handlebar mustache sparkled with tiny adhesive stars. “Not. A. Word,” he rumbled to a snickering guard outside. The glitter, however, softened his usual scowl into something resembling a grumpy constellation.
By nightfall, the spa resembled a glitter bomb’s aftermath. Hallways sparkled with escaped bath salts, and the air smelled of lavender and poor decisions. Natalie’s “prescribed” 10-hour nap had KO’d most of the crew—Charlie snored under a mountain of heated towels, Riggs was passed out with coconut oil still in his hair, and even Harper had collapsed onto a chaise, murmuring about “chromatic betrayal.”
Only Marya remained awake, her void veins dimmed to a soft indigo. She leaned against a balcony railing, Eternal Eclipse humming contentedly next to her. Below, the Consortium’s river glinted, its golden flecks mirroring the stars now twinkling in Knox’s mustache.
“Hmph,” she smirked, picking a glittery star from her sleeve. “Maybe chaos isn’t so bad.”

Chapter Text

The Consortium’s central atrium buzzed with its usual symphony of clattering scrolls, murmured debates, and the occasional shriek of a rogue experiment from Bianca’s lab. Marya leaned against the balcony railing, her void veins still faintly glowing from the previous night’s spa disaster. Below, the golden river snaked through the city, its waters glittering like liquid sunlight. Eternal Eclipse hummed lazily at her back, its crimson runes dimmed to a contented rosy pink.
“Enjoying the view, Mary?” Master Gaius materialized beside her, puffing his kiseru pipe. The cherry-scented smoke curled into the shape of a grinning skull.
“Tch. Just avoiding Natalie’s ‘post-spa hydration protocol,’” Marya muttered, flicking a stray star-shaped glitter from her sleeve.
Gaius chuckled. “Avoidance is a skill. Which is why I’m assigning you a new skill today.” He tossed her a scroll sealed with a pacifier-shaped wax stamp. “Guardian training exercise. Babysitting duty.”
Marya’s eyebrow twitched. “Babysitting. You’re joking.”
“Think of it as… combat improvisation,” Gaius said, vanishing into another cloud of smoke. His voice echoed behind him. “Meet your recruits in the arboretum. And Marya? Try not to corrupt the youth.”
The arboretum was a jungle of bioluminescent ferns, floating lily pads, and trees whose roots curled into natural playgrounds. Waiting on a mossy knoll were three tiny terrors:
Dalton Vesper, age 9: Grandson of Master Gaius, clutching a toy submarine twice his size. His grin promised mischief. Micah Ellington, age 8: Mayor Nanette’s son, brandishing a stale baguette like a sword. “I’M THE VOID KING! FEAR ME!” Anna Penrose, age 12: Knox’s daughter, sitting primly with a leather-bound journal titled How to Outsmart Adults: A Primer.
Beside Marya, Jax crossed his arms, his three-sectioned staff strapped to his back. “Babysitting. This is beneath us.”
Celeste fidgeted with her katana’s hilt. “I-I’ve never… um. Been around children.”
Marya sighed. “Just keep them alive. How hard can it be?”
Spoiler: Very hard.
Dalton saluted, his toy submarine’s “engine” (a stolen Dial from Bianca’s lab) whirring to life. “Admiral Dalton reporting for duty! Mission: Invade the laundry room! They’ve got Auntie Hanna’s secret cookie stash!”
Before Jax could react, the submarine shot forward, plowing through a hedge shaped like Giaus’ face.
“HALT!” Jax barked, giving chase. “That’s not—Why is there a cookie stash in the laundry room?!”
Dalton cackled, steering his sub toward a fountain. “DISTRACTION TACTIC!” He hurled a smoke pellet (courtesy of Charlie’s “fun with chemistry” kit), engulfing Jax in pink fog.
Micah jabbed his baguette at Marya. “Teach me the DARKNESS SLASH, Lady Grumpy Veins! I wanna cut the moon in half!”
“That’s not how swords work,” Marya said, dodging a crouton projectile.
“LIES! Grandpa Gaius said you’re half-void! DO THE THING!” Micah leapt onto a tree stump, swinging his bread-sword wildly. “VOIIIIIID SLAAAAAA—oof!”
He tripped, face-planting into a pile of glowing mushrooms. Marya smirked… until the mushrooms released a cloud of sparkly spores, turning Micah’s hair neon green.
“...Okay, that’s kinda cool,” he said, admiring his reflection in Eternal Eclipse’s blade.
Anna tapped Jax’s leg. “You’re it,” she said sweetly, then vanished.
Jax scoffed. “Child’s play. I’ll have her found in—”
Five minutes later: Jax crawled through a ventilation shaft, his uniform smeared with algae. “How did she get into the archives?!”
Anna’s voice echoed from a shadowy corner: “Rule 27: Always exploit your enemy’s overconfidence.”
“Like, Safety first!” Bianca declared, rigging the arboretum with a network of glowing force fields. “These’ll, like, keep the kiddos in and you out of trouble!”
Reality:
The force fields zapped to life… trapping Riggs (who’d wandered in looking for Celeste) in a bubble.
“LET ME OUT!” he roared, pounding the walls. “I’M NOT A TODDLER!”
Dalton pressed his face against the field. “Cool! Can he do tricks?”
Anna cornered Knox during his patrol. “Pappa! I need to practice braiding for… uh… survival training!”
Knox’s mustache twitched. “I’m not a doll, princess.”
Anna whipped out her journal. “Page 42: ‘A leader’s strength is measured by his willingness to adapt.’”
Ten minutes later, Knox stormed into the atrium, his mustache braided into an elaborate fishtail. Guards bit their lips, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.
“SAY. A. WORD,” Knox growled, “AND YOU’RE ON LATRINE DUTY.”
Charlie wandered into the arboretum, clutching a tome titled The Taxonomy of Telepathic Sea Slugs. The kids froze.
“MONSTER!” Micah screamed, pointing at Charlie’s algae-stained lab coat. “BOOK MONSTER! ATTACK!”
A hail of pillows (stuffed with bioluminescent feathers) pummeled Charlie.
“WAIT! I’M A SCHOLAR! NOT A MONST—” A pillow hit him in the face. “—FASCINATING! ARE THESE FEATHERS PHOTOSYNTHETIC?!”
By sunset, the arboretum looked like a warzone. Dalton’s submarine was lodged in a tree, Micah’s hair now resembled a radioactive dandelion, and Anna had somehow rigged the sprinklers to spray chocolate milk.
Jax slumped against a tree, his staff tangled in fairy lights. “This… was a disaster.”
Marya flopped onto a lily pad, her veins pulsing gently. “Eh. They’re alive. Mostly.”
Celeste timidly approached, holding a flower crown Dalton had “gifted” her. “I-I think… they liked us?”
A tiny hand tugged Marya’s sleeve. Micah grinned, his baguette now a splintered nub. “When I grow up, I’m gonna have cool void veins like you! And a sword that eats moons!”
Marya snorted. “Start with not tripping over mushrooms, kid.”
That night, Master Gaius reviewed Marya’s mission report:
Objective: Babysitting as Combat Training
Outcome:
- Laundry room “invaded” (cookie stash liberated).
- Knox’s mustache now salon-certified.
- Riggs still trapped in force field (Bianca working on it).
Conclusion: Kids are tiny, feral pirates. Send help.
Gaius smirked, scribbling a note: “Promote Anna to Junior Strategist.”
As laughter echoed from the atrium—now hosting an impromptu pillow fort—Marya gazed at the stars, Eternal Eclipse humming a lullaby. “Bedlam has is upsides,” she murmured. And for once, she almost believed it.
*****
The Consortium’s strategy room was a cavern of whispering shadows and flickering lamplight, its walls lined with maps pinned by daggers and shelves groaning under stolen World Government reports. Vaughn leaned over the central table, dark circles under his eyes betraying three sleepless nights spent debriefing their Germa mission. Across from him, Head Librarian Nanette Ellington stood poised as ever, her crimson lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her piercing gaze.
“Bootleg Island,” she said, tapping a file stamped with a crescent moon. “Basic artifact retrieval. The Celestial Astrolabe—a navigation tool linked to the Void Century. Intel suggests it’s gathering dust in a forgotten vault. In and out. No drama.”
Vaughn’s jaw tightened. Behind him, the submarine bay buzzed with activity—mechanics cursing, Bianca’s force fields humming, Harper’s muffled shriek about “unsightly rust stains.” He glanced at the infirmary wing, where Natalie had finally cornered Riggs for a “mandatory stress assessment.”
“Respectfully, ma’am,” Vaughn said, “my team’s overdue for downtime. Marya’s still adjusting to her cursed sword, Charlie’s deciphering Germa’s explosive recipe book, and I’m pretty sure Jax is one more ‘routine mission’ away from adopting Knox’s mustache as a personality trait.”
Nanette’s smile sharpened. She slid a photograph across the table—a bronze astrolabe etched with constellations, its center cradling a pulsing sapphire. “This took priority. The Council’s orders. Consider it… a vacation. Bootleg’s a backwater. The only threats there are sunburns and bad rum.”
Vaughn stared at the artifact. The sapphire’s glow mirrored the eerie light of Marya’s void veins. Too familiar. “And if the intel’s wrong?”
“Then improvise.” Nanette turned to leave, her heels clicking like a countdown. “Gear up. You depart at dusk.”
Vaughn found Charlie and Marya in the library’s celestial atrium. Charlie was knee-deep in scrolls, muttering about “stellar alignment algorithms,” while Marya practiced knife throws at a dartboard labeled Nao’s Ego.
“New mission,” Vaughn said, tossing the file between them. “Bootleg Island. Artifact grab.”
Marya caught a dagger mid-air, eyeing the astrolabe photo. “Let me guess—‘simple,’ ‘no drama,’ and ‘totally not cursed’?”
“Nanette’s exact words.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, zooming in on the sapphire. “Fascinating! This gem’s composition matches Skypiean dials but with void-century alloy layers. If I cross-reference—”
“No cross-referencing,” Vaughn cut in. “We’re in, out, and done. No side quests.”
Marya snorted. “Famous last words.” She sheathed Eternal Eclipse, its blade whispering a low, hungry hum. “But fine. Better than listening to Harper rant about Knox’s ‘bedazzled blunder’ all week.”
At dusk, the trio boarded the Consortium’s submarine. Charlie clutched the astrolabe’s dossier like a holy text, while Marya leaned against the airlock, her void veins flickering faintly.
“Bootleg’s coordinates are… shifty,” Charlie said, frowning at the navigation console. “The island doesn’t appear on normal Log Poses. We’ll need to surface at these tidal coordinates during a moonrise—”
“Just get us there, professor,” Marya said, polishing her sword with a scowl. “The sooner we grab this trinket, the sooner I can nap.”
Vaughn stared through the viewport as the submarine descended into ink-black waters. The astrolabe’s sapphire glinted in the file photo, its light too sharp, too knowing. Basic. Simple. No drama. The words rang hollow, drowned out by the creak of the hull and the whisper of Marya’s cursed blade.
As the engines thrummed to life, Charlie hummed a sea shanty under his breath, oblivious. Marya closed her eyes, her veins pulsing in time with the submarine’s vibrations.
The sub breached the waterfall’s roaring curtain, seawater slicing off its reinforced hull as they plunged into Bootleg Island’s hidden cove. Marya leaned against the viewport, her breath fogging the glass as the volcanic crater loomed into view—a jagged maw split between fire and civilization. Vaughn whistled behind her, twirling his double-sided ax, Light Bringer, like a baton. “Place hasn’t changed,” he said, sunlight glinting off his dreads. “Still looks like a dragon’s bad haircut.”
Charlie adjusted his glasses, scribbling furiously in his field journal. “Fascinating! The magma flows here defy all known geological principles—ah!” The submarine lurched, sending him stumbling into Marya. She steadied him with a smirk, her obsidian blade, Eternal Eclipse, clinking against the bulkhead. “Save the lectures for after we’re not crashing, yeah?”
The Flare Up Tavern hummed like a beehive kicked by a giant. Lanterns enchanted with flickering flame-moths cast wild shadows over pirates, mercenaries, and a horned man arm-wrestling a fishman over a barrel of pickled eels. Poppy the skunk mink bounded over, her poofy monochrome tail swishing as she balanced three tankards on a tray. “Hey! Ooooh, Your back! Auset’ll wanna know—special discount for return customers!” She winked, dropping mugs of spiced ale sloshing with edible gold flakes.
Marya slid onto a dragonbone stool, her mother’s notebook thudding onto the bar. Charlie immediately hunched over it, muttering about “triangulating vowel patterns in Poneglyphic declensions.” Vaughn flagged down Poppy again. “Two volcanic crab platters, extra chili oil. And whatever he’s having.” He jerked a thumb at Charlie, who absentmindedly pointed to a menu item called “Mystery Stew (Don’t Ask).”
“So,” Marya tapped a page where her mother’s sketches of a winged artifact blurred into cryptic runes, “this symbol—here—does it read ‘gate’ or ‘trap’?” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Contextually, given the Wano dialect’s influence on mid-century Poneglyphs, it’s more likely a compound ideogram meaning ‘gateway born of sacrifice’—oof!”
Vaughn’s ax handle thunked onto the notebook, cutting him off. “Priorities, nerds. We’ve got six hours before the magma tides shift, and Sterlyn’s gonna make us bathe in vinegar just to enter his shop.” He hesitated, uncharacteristically serious. “Also… this’ll be my last run. I’m joining the Home Guard.”
Silence. A drunk pirate chose that moment to vomit into a potted fern.
Marya blinked. “You’re… retiring? To babysit dusty archives?”
“Nah. More like ‘protect the Tree from idiots who think petrified wood’s a souvenir.’” Vaughn grinned, but his usual swagger faltered. “Harper’s… uh… planning the ceremony. Wants peacocks. Peacocks, Marya.”
Charlie slumped. “Who’ll remind me to eat during excavations?”
“You’ll live.” Vaughn flicked a chili seed at him. “Probably.”
A commotion erupted by the door—Sterlyn’s assistant, Evolet, marched in, scattering candy wrappers like breadcrumbs. Behind her, Sterlyn himself loomed in a plague-doctor mask, dousing the floor with vinegar from a jeweled spray bottle. “Move,” he snapped at a sneezing patron, “or I’ll sell your lungs to the highest bidder.”
Marya snapped the notebook shut. “Focus. Artifact first… existential crises later.”
The tavern’s din swirled like a storm—laughter, clinking glasses, a bard’s off-key shanty about a mermaid and a barrel of rum—but in the shadowed corner by the rusted hearth, the air hung cold and still. Casimir leaned back in his chair, a half-finished glass of wine forgotten in his gloved hand. A quarter danced over his knuckles in a silver blur, click-click-clicking like a clockwork serpent. His eyes, sharp as flint, tracked Marya through the crowd.
That sword… those veins…
Her obsidian blade devoured the lantern light, its crimson runes pulsing faintly. Casimir’s quarter froze mid-roll.
Across the room, Marya flipped open her mother’s journal, its pages yellowed and frayed. A sketched symbol flashed—a winged circle inked in Elisabeta’s meticulous hand.
Ah.
Casimir’s lips curled. So the little viper survived.
Memories flickered: Elisabeta’s defiance on that rain-lashed cliff, her research notes burning in his grip, her daughter—just a brat then—screaming into the storm as he vanished with the World Government’s praise ringing in his ears.
The quarter dented under his grip.
“Captain…?” Onyx whispered, her Gatling gun leaning against the table. She’d spilled chili oil on her heels again. “You’re doing the… uh… face.”
Teivel, slouched beside her with a tavern wench half-asleep on his shoulder, snorted. “The ‘I’m-a-psychopath’ face? Yeah, he’s definitely plotting murder.” He flicked a peanut at Casimir. “C’mon, boss. Let’s gut someone already. I’m bored.”
Casimir didn’t blink. His Haki prickled, tendrils of malice seeping into the air. A drunk pirate nearby suddenly choked on his ale, clutching his chest.
Marya stiffened. Her hand drifted to Eternal Eclipse.
“Something wrong?” Vaughn asked, mouth full of crab.
“...No.” She shook her head. “Thought I smelled rot.”
Casimir’s laugh was a soft, venomous thing. He rose, his pristine coat pooling like ink around him. The quarter clattered onto the table, spinning wildly. “Onyx. Send a Den Den Mushi to SWORD. Tell them I’ve found Elisabeta’s legacy.”
Teivel perked up. “Ooooh, legacy! She the one who made you look like an idiot?”
The room’s temperature dropped.
Onyx squeaked, dragging Teivel under the table as Casimir’s fist slammed down, cracking the wood. His shadow loomed monstrous on the wall—a velociraptor’s jagged silhouette, teeth bared.
“Careful, Lieutenant,” Casimir murmured, straightening his cuffs. “Or I’ll let you entertain her first… with your insides.”
He strode toward the exit, the crowd parting like wheat before a scythe. At the door, he paused, glancing back. Marya met his gaze—golden eyes, cold as a sniper’s scope—and for a heartbeat, the tavern’s noise died.
Then he was gone.
“Yeesh,” Vaughn muttered. “Who pissed in his wine?”
“Probably himself,” Charlie said, squinting at the quarter embedded in the table. “This is pre-war East Blue currency! Incredibly rare!”
Marya stared at the journal, her mother’s symbol swimming in her vision. Rot, indeed.
Somewhere in the volcanic haze, a raptor screeched.
As they rose, a tiny figure peeked from behind the bar—Koa, Auset’s son, his beanie slipping to reveal a glimmering third eye. He took one look at Marya’s void-cursed veins, screamed, and vanished into the kitchen.
Vaughn snorted. “Charming kid.”
“He’s eight,” Marya deadpanned.
“So’s my patience. Let’s go.”
The trio shouldered through the crowd, Charlie still rambling about declensions, Vaughn humming a wedding march under his breath, and Marya smirking—though her grip on Eternal Eclipse tightened just a fraction.

Chapter Text

The volcanic winds howled as Marya, Vaughn, and Charlie stepped into Bootleg Island’s ash-choked streets. The Flare Up Tavern’s warmth vanished behind them, replaced by the sulfurous stench of magma and the low growl of a predator lying in wait.
Casimir stood at the center of the road, his silhouette backlit by the volcano’s hellish glow. His gloved fingers flexed, the quarter from earlier now a molten droplet in his palm. “Elisabeta’s daughter,” he purred, his voice silk over steel. “And here I thought the sea had swallowed you whole.”
Marya’s hand tightened on Eternal Eclipse, the blade’s void-black edge humming. “Funny. I thought the same about you.”
Vaughn stepped forward, Light Bringer crackling as sound waves warped into searing light. “Back off. We’re not here for a scrap.”
“Lieutenant,” Casimir snapped.
Teivel materialized from the shadows, his spear glinting as he twirled it with a lewd grin. “Aw, c’mon, boss. Let me peel the loud one first.” Beside him, Onyx fumbled with her Gatling gun, heels sinking into the ash. “S-sorry! I’ll try not to—oh no—” A misfire shredded a nearby fruit cart, spraying mango pulp like shrapnel.
Chaos erupted.
Vaughn lunged at Teivel, their clash scattering embers into the air. Onyx’s bullets strafed the ground, forcing Charlie to dive behind a smoldering boulder, still shouting about “pre-war numismatics!”
Casimir moved like liquid night. One moment he was yards away; the next, his taloned hand slashed toward Marya’s throat. She parried, Eternal Eclipse screeching against his Haki-hardened claws.
“Your mother begged too,” he hissed, his breath reeking of iron and cinders. “Right before I snapped her pretty neck.”
Marya’s vision blurred—not from rage, but memory:
Fire. A burning villa. Her mother’s hand, slick with blood, shoving her toward a hidden cellar. A boy with dark hair—sobbing as smoke choked the air. Then, the roof caving in. A shadow with golden eyes and leathery skin, laughing as claws tore through stone.
“Move!” Vaughn’s roar yanked her back.
Too late.
Casimir’s jaws—now elongated into a Velociraptor’s maw—crushed her shoulder. Razor fangs punched through flesh, and bone. The pain was electric, paralyzing. Eternal Eclipse slipped from her grip as agony coursed through her veins.
Across the square, Vaughn froze. “MARYA!”
Teivel’s grin widened, feral and unhinged, as Vaughn’s momentary distraction became his opening. The spear hummed through the ash-thick air, its jagged tip glinting like a serpent’s fang. With a wet, visceral crunch, it pierced Vaughn’s side, tearing through leather, muscle, and ribcage in a single, brutal thrust. The force lifted Vaughn briefly off his feet, the spear’s barbed edge erupting from his back in a grisly crescent of blood and splintered bone. Crimson arced through the air, spattering the volcanic stone like macabre paint. Vaughn gagged, his hand instinctively clawing at the shaft protruding from his torso, Light Bringer slipping from his grip as his knees buckled. The ax’s radiant glow flickered and died, its hum fading into the cacophony of battle.
Onyx’s scream tore through the chaos—a raw, shattered sound. Her Gatling gun slipped from her trembling hands, its barrel gouging the ground as it clattered to a halt. She staggered back, gloved fingers pressing desperately over her mouth, as if stifling the horror could undo what she’d witnessed. “N-no… No!” she whimpered, her voice a high-pitched thread. Tears blurred her vision, streaking through the soot on her cheeks. Her heels caught on uneven rubble, and she crumpled to her knees, dry heaving between ragged breaths. “I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean to distract him—!”
Above her, Teivel wrenched the spear free with a wet schluck, Vaughn’s body collapsing like a marionette with severed strings. “Oops,” Teivel drawled, licking blood from the blade with a theatrical smirk. “Guess chivalry is dead.”
“Vaughn…!” Charlie scrambled forward, only to be pinned by debris from Onyx’s wild shots.
Marya’s world narrowed. Vaughn’s ax dimmed, its light guttering like a dying star. His eyes met hers—apologetic, proud—before Teivel ripped the spear free.
“Wedding… peacocks…” Vaughn coughed, blood frothing at his lips. He collapsed, Light Bringer’s glow snuffing out.
Something in Marya broke.
Her mother’s journal tumbled from her coat. The pages fell open to a sketch of Mihawk—her father—his kogatana glinting at his neck.
Casimir’s teeth dug into her collarbone like molten hooks, searing through flesh and sinew with a hiss that mingled with the acrid stench of burning sulfur. Marya’s breath hitched, copper flooding her mouth as blood welled up from bitten lips—a metallic tang cut through the ash-clogged air. Her vision swam, blurring Vaughn’s lifeless form crumpled a dozen paces away. His dreads fanned out like a dark halo, one hand still curled around the ghost of Light Bringer’s handle, his face frozen in a wry half-smile that no longer reached his eyes.
The world narrowed to a single, white-hot point of fury.
Marya’s scream tore through the battlefield, a primal roar that resonated in the volcano’s molten heart. Stone cracked beneath her boots as the very island shuddered. With a vicious twist, she ripped the kogatana from its chain at her neck—the blade’s edge, forged in the same shadowed fires as her father’s, glinted like a shard of midnight. Casimir’s eye widened, recognition flaring in its golden depths an instant before she drove the dagger upward.
The blade met resistance—a sickening pop as it pierced the gelatinous orb, then a grating scrape against bone. Black blood bubbled from the wound, sizzling as it hit the ground. Casimir’s shriek was not human, not beast, but a cacophony of both—a sound that split the sky like thunder, sending fissures spiderwebbing through nearby buildings. “YOU WRETCHED LITTLE—”
Mist swallowed his curse. Marya’s body disintegrated, molecules scattering into the charged air like smoke on a gale. For a heartbeat, she coalesced—a wraith flickering at Charlie’s side, her spectral hand seizing his collar as her other arm hooked beneath Vaughn’s limp shoulders. The weight was unbearable; her shredded collarbone screamed, agony from Casimir’s bite coursing like liquid fire through her veins.
Then she dissolved again, the world fracturing into a kaleidoscope of pain and fog. Charlie’s choked sob echoed in her skull, Vaughn’s body a leaden anchor as Bootleg Island’s molten rock blurred into streaks of orange and black. Somewhere behind them, Casimir’s rage ignited the very air, his velociraptor form trashing and writhing in a hurricane of embers and ash.
But the mist carried her—away, away, away—until all that remained was the echo of her heartbeat and the void’s cold embrace.
The submarine’s hatch slammed shut. Charlie vomited over the controls, tears cutting through ash on his face. Marya collapsed against the bulkhead, her shoulder a ruin of blackened veins and teeth marks. Vaughn lay at her feet, his dreads matted with blood, a half-smile frozen on his lips.
Somewhere above, Casimir’s roar shook the island—a vow, a requiem.
Marya stared at her reflection in Eternal Eclipse’s blade. Her eyes, bloodshot and wild, mirrored the tempest that had enveloped her soul. Each breath she took felt like shards of glass scraping against her lungs. The world around her began to blur, the edges of her vision darkening. She knew she was slipping, the blood seeping from her veins claiming its toll.
“Charlie,” she gasped through labored breathes. He turned, panic in his eyes at the sight of crimson pooling around her. “Emergency….” Her voice trailed just before passing out.
“No!” Charlie screeched, rushing to her. Shaking her as if it would bring her back. Sniffling, he wiped his tears with trembling hands. He forced himself to think, to remember his training. His eyes fixed on the control panel where a bright red button blazed. Without hesitation he stood, slamming it down.
The sub lurched to life, the autopilot taking over. Bypassing all the safety protocols, the bubble porter activated while still in Bootleg Island’s harbor. Within moments they disappeared and reappeared at the Consortium’s hidden dock.
“Report!” a voice called over the intercom.
“I need help!” Charlie replied through sobs.
The first thing Marya felt was the cold.
It seeped into her bones, sharp and unrelenting, as if the infirmary’s sterile white walls had leached all warmth from the world. Her eyelids fluttered open, greeted by the blurred glow of enchanted lanterns overhead—soft orbs of light trapped in glass, their hum a distant, mocking lullaby. She tried to move her right hand, but her fingers refused to obey. A bandage, thick and suffocating, bound her shoulder, the fabric stained faintly crimson where the wound beneath still wept.
Where…?
Her thoughts slithered like smoke, fragmented and fleeting. The last thing she remembered was the roar of her scream, the acrid sting of gunpowder, and Vaughn’s voice—“MOVE!”—before the world dissolved into shouts and shadows.
“She’s awake.”
The voice was brittle, frayed at the edges. Marya turned her head, the motion sending a jagged spike of pain down her neck. Harper sat slumped in a chair beside her bed, his flamboyant green hair dulled under the infirmary’s harsh light. His hands trembled as they clutched a crumpled wedding invitation, its gold filigree smeared with dried blood. Vaughn’s blood.
“Three days,” Harper whispered, not meeting her eyes. His flamboyance had been hollowed out, replaced by a shell of a man. “You’ve been out for three days.”
Three days.
The words slithered into her chest, coiling around her heart. Marya’s throat tightened as the memories surged—Vaughn’s ax, Light Bringer, shattering mid-swing; the glint of Casimir’s raptor claws; Teivel’s spear tearing through Vaughn’s chest in a spray of crimson. She could still smell the metallic tang of his blood mixing with the damp earth, still hear his choked laugh as he his life slipped away. “Wedding….Peacocks…..”
“Where’s Charlie?” Her voice cracked, raw from disuse.
Harper’s laugh was a broken thing. “Alive. Bruised. Guilty. Like the rest of us.” He finally looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed and accusing. “He said you froze. That you just… stood there.”
Marya flinched. The accusation was a blade, twisting. She had frozen—when Casimir’s haki had crashed over her like a tidal wave, when Teivel’s spear had pinned Vaughn to the stone, when the world had narrowed to the sound of her own panicked breaths. Her fingers twitched, phantom sparks of the Mist-Mist Fruit flickering uselessly beneath her skin. She’d failed.
A shadow loomed in the doorway—Nao Itsuki Makino, his pretentious silk robes rustling as he swept into the room. “Ah, the prodigal daughter awakens,” he drawled, though his usual theatrics fell flat. His gaze lingered on the black veins snaking up Marya’s arms, the curse of Yggdrasil’s void throbbing like poisoned roots. “How… quaint. Your mother would be so proud.”
“Get out,” Marya hissed, her good hand fisting the sheets.
Nao’s smile was razor-thin. “Still playing the martyr, I see. Elisabeta died for her research, Vaughn died for your recklessness, and yet here you lie, cradling your—”
“I said get out!”
The shout tore from her throat, raw and guttural. Mist erupted from her palms, corrosive and uncontrolled, eating through the bedside table in a hiss of dissolving wood. Harper lurched back, the wedding invitation slipping from his grasp as Nao retreated with a mocking bow.
Silence pooled in their wake, thick and suffocating. Marya stared at her trembling hands—the hands that couldn’t save her mother, couldn’t grasp her sword in time, couldn’t pull Vaughn away. Across the room, Eternal Eclipse leaned against the wall, its obsidian blade devouring the light. The crimson runes along its edge pulsed faintly, a hungry echo of the void in her veins.
Harper stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. “He loved you, you know,” he said, voice trembling. “Like a sister. And you got him killed.”
The door slammed behind him.
Marya didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Instead, she reached for the kogatana around her neck—her father’s gift, its edge still stained with Casimir’s blood from the day she’d taken his eye. The cold steel bit into her palm, anchoring her to the pain, to the guilt, to the promise burning in her chest like a star.
Somewhere in the library, her mother’s notebook waited. Somewhere in the world, Casimir was laughing.
And somewhere in the void, Vaughn’s ghost whispered: “Finish it.”
The infirmary’s antiseptic sting clung to the air, sharp and unyielding. Marya sat propped against the cold metal headboard, her right arm a dead weight in her lap, swathed in bandages that reeked of medicinal herbs and decay. The black veins from Yggdrasil’s curse had spread, clawing past her elbow like ink spilled across parchment. She flexed her left hand, watching the mist swirl faintly around her fingertips—a cruel reminder of what she still had, and what she was losing.
The door creaked open. Natalie stepped inside, her blond hair pulled into a severe bun, her blue eyes shadowed by sleepless nights. She carried a tray of fresh bandages and a mortar of pungent salve. Her footsteps were brisk, purposeful, but her lips—usually quick to snap or scold—trembled faintly.
“Let’s get this over with,” Natalie said, her voice clipped. She set the tray down with a clatter, avoiding Marya’s gaze.
Marya said nothing. She’d stopped speaking hours ago, maybe days. Words felt hollow, like echoes in a tomb.
Natalie unwound the soiled bandages with practiced efficiency, her fingers steady but her breath uneven. Beneath the gauze, the wound was a grotesque mosaic—angry red flesh interlaced with blackened fissures where the void curse had burrowed deep. The skin around it was corpse-pale, lifeless.
“Infection’s worse,” Natalie muttered, more to herself than to Marya. She dabbed the salve onto the wound, the paste sizzling as it met dead tissue. Marya didn’t flinch. She’d long since stopped feeling pain there.
“You’ll need another blood transfusion tonight,” Natalie continued, her tone fraying at the edges. “And whatever you did to piss off Nao, stop. His theatrics are giving me a migraine.”
Silence.
Natalie’s hands stilled. She stared at Marya’s arm, her jaw tightening. When she spoke again, her voice cracked like split ice.
“The nerves are gone. Permanently.”
Marya’s head snapped up.
Natalie met her gaze now, tears glistening but unshed. “The curse… it’s eating you from the inside. Even if we amputate, it’ll spread. Your right arm—” She swallowed. “You’ll never hold a sword again.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than sea stone.
Marya’s left hand twitched, mist curling into the shape of a blade—Eternal Eclipse’s silhouette, jagged and hungry. She could still feel its weight in her dreams, still hear the void’s whisper. But her right hand… her sword arm…
“No,” Marya rasped, the first word she’d spoken in days. It scraped her throat raw.
“You think I want this?!” Natalie exploded, slamming the salve jar onto the tray. Her composure shattered, revealing the tempest beneath. “You think I enjoy telling you that your stubbornness got you crippled? That Vaughn died for nothing?!”
Marya recoiled as if struck.
Natalie froze, her chest heaving. Regret flashed across her face, but she didn’t apologize. Instead, she yanked a fresh bandage from the tray, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You’re not the only one who lost him. He was my friend too.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Natalie finished wrapping the bandages with rough, hurried motions. As she turned to leave, Marya’s left hand shot out, mist-solid fingers gripping her wrist.
“Fix it,” Marya hissed, her gray eyes wild, desperate. “You’re a doctor. Fix it.”
Natalie stared at her, pity and fury warring in her gaze. Slowly, she pried Marya’s hand away. “Some things,” she said quietly, “can’t be fixed.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Alone, Marya turned her head toward the corner where Eternal Eclipse leaned against the wall. The blade seemed to pulse in the dim light, its crimson runes taunting her. She reached for it with her right hand—her hand, the one that had first gripped a sword at Mihawk’s knee, the one that had carved her name into the world.
Nothing.
Her fingers brushed the hilt, limp and unfeeling. The sword clattered to the floor, its edge slicing a gouge into the marble. The sound echoed like a funeral bell.
In the reflection of the fallen blade, Marya saw her father’s face—cold, disapproving, alive. She saw Vaughn’s smile, bright and fleeting. And she saw herself: a prodigy brought to her knees, her legacy reduced to ashes and ink-black veins.
The mist around her left hand thickened, swirling into a jagged mimicry of a sword. She slashed it at the wall, the construct disintegrating on impact, leaving no mark.
Nothing.
For the first time since her mother’s grave, Dracule Marya Zaleska wept.

Chapter Text

Rain fell in sheets over the Consortium’s hidden island, turning the wisteria-draped cliffs into waterfalls of indigo tears. The funeral pyre burned at the center of the Titan’s Hollow, its towering flames mournful hues of smoldering orange and yellow, defiant against the downpour. Vaughn’s double-sided ax, Light Bringer, lay crossed with his wedding band atop the kindling—a warrior’s farewell and a lover’s promise, both reduced to ash.
Marya stood apart from the crowd, her black veil clinging to her face like a second skin. The Consortium’s members huddled under oilcloth canopies, their voices drowned by the drone of Master Gaius’s shakuhachi flute. The melody was haunting, a dirge that seemed to pull the very light from the air. Harper knelt at the pyre’s edge, his flamboyant green hair plastered to his skull, his shoulders shaking silently. He hadn’t spoken since the infirmary.
Natalie placed a hand on Harper’s shoulder, her face a mask of forced composure. Jax stood rigid beside her, his three-sectioned staff planted in the mud like a grave marker. Even Riggs was uncharacteristically still, his katana sheathed for once.
When the last ember died, Marya turned and walked away. Her right arm throbbed beneath her sleeve, the void’s curse gnawing at her bones.
Her apartment was a relic of another life. Sparsely decorated, save for the sword rack holding Eternal Eclipse and the small lacquered box on her desk. The box contained her mother’s letters—promises of discoveries, regrets of absences, and a single, unfinished sentence: “If you find this, —"
A knock interrupted her. Master Gaius Vesper leaned in the doorway, his kiseru pipe unlit, his usual mischief smothered by the weight of the day. “Running away won’t bury the dead, girl,” he said, though his tone lacked bite.
Marya didn’t turn. “I’m not running.”
“Aren’t you?” He stepped inside, eyeing her bandaged arm. “The sea doesn’t care about your guilt. Or your curses.”
“What would you know about it?”
Gaius chuckled bitterly. “I lost a son once. To the World Government. Dalton’s father.” His voice frayed. “The weight of living… it’s heavier than any sword.”
She said nothing.
He sighed, placing a weathered hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let the Void take what’s left of you.”
When he left, the throbbing in her arm sharpened—a jagged, gnawing pain. She opened the lacquered box. A folded wanted poster slipped out, fluttering to the floor.
MONKEY D. LUFFY – 30,000,000 BERRIES
The boy in the photo grinned wildly, straw hat tipped back, oblivious to the world’s cruelty. Beneath the poster lay a letter, addressed to him. Her fingers grazed the seal, a promise unkept.
Midnight draped the island in silence. Marya stood at the docks, a single bag slung over her shoulder, Eternal Eclipse strapped to her back. The Consortium’s submarine loomed in the shadows, its bubble porter humming faintly.
“Marya—wait!”
Charlie skidded to a halt behind her, glasses askew, chest heaving. Tears streaked his face. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry I froze, I’m sorry I couldn’t—”
She turned, her expression hollow. “It’s done, Charlie.”
“Let me come with you!”
“You’d die.”
“So will you!”
The words hung between them. Marya’s gaze softened, just barely. “You’re strong in ways I’m not. You’ll keep their stories alive. That’s enough.”
For a heartbeat, the void between them yawned. Then Charlie surged forward, crushing her in a hug that smelled of ink and rain. “You’ll find him, won’t you?” he whispered. “The man who killed him?”
She stared at the horizon. “I don’t know.”
When he let go, she stepped into the submarine. The hatch sealed with a defining hiss.
In the control room, Marya unfolded the wanted poster, Luffy’s grin reflected in the dashboard’s glow. Somewhere beyond the storm, a sunlit sea beckoned—a sea where swords and sorrows could drown, and promises, however broken, might still float.
She set the coordinates east.
Charlie watched as the vessel vanished into the black waves, bubble porter flaring once before disappearing. In his hand, he clutched a crumpled page he’d stolen from her desk—a sketch of Mihawk’s kogatana, annotated in her mother’s handwriting. “The Void consumes, but the Dawn endures.”
The submarine surfaced in a cove shrouded in perpetual twilight, its hull scraping against jagged black rocks that rose like broken teeth from the sea. Kuraigana Island loomed ahead—a desolate expanse of fog-choked forests and crumbling stone spires, their peaks clawing at a leaden sky. Marya stepped onto the shore, Eternal Eclipse strapped to her back, its obsidian blade drinking greedily from the scant light. The air reeked of mildew and iron, the ground littered with shattered swords and the bones of those who’d dared claim them.
She’d disabled the sub’s tracking systems with clinical precision, severing ties to the Consortium. To the past. Now, as she closed her eyes and stretched her Observation Haki, she sensed only two flickers of life amid the island’s rot: one faint, erratic, and another… annoyingly buoyant.
Not him.
Her father’s presence—cold, razor-edged, unmistakable—was absent.
Zoro lay sprawled at the base of a moss-eaten monolith, bandages fraying around his torso, his three swords scattered haphazardly beside him like discarded bones. Blood soaked through the gauze at his ribs, and his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness, as if locked in a perpetual duel with death. Around him, the shadows stirred.
A pack of spectral-eyed apes crept from the mist, their matted fur bristling, teeth bared. They hesitated, sniffing at the scent of iron and sweat. Then Marya stepped into the clearing.
Her Conqueror’s Haki lashed out—not a roar, but a whisper, a blade drawn silently from its sheath. The apes froze. One whimpered, a guttural sound, before scattering into the fog.
“You look like hell,” Marya muttered, staring down at Zoro. His chest rose faintly, a stubborn rhythm. She nudged Wado Ichimonji with her boot, the white hilt gleaming dully. “So do I.”
He didn’t stir.
The castle stood at the island’s heart, a gothic monstrosity of black stone and shattered windows. As Marya approached, the air thickened with the prickle of another presence—playful, spectral, wrong. She dissolved into mist before the first hollow laugh echoed.
“Oh? A ghost~? Or… not?”
Perona materialized atop the gate, her pink umbrella twirling, a legion of negative ghosts swirling around her. The specters paused, sniffing the air, before recoiling from the mist.
“Huh? You’re not one of mine!” Perona pouted, floating closer. “Wait… you look like that swordsman? The broody one with the creepy sword?”
Marya reformed on the battlements, her gaze icy. “Interesting company my father keeps.”
Perona grinned, undeterred. “Who’s father? Who are you? I haven’t seen anyone in weeks. —sooo boring.”
Marya ignored her, mist curling around her legs as she strode toward the castle’s central tower. Perona’s ghosts trailed her, whining.
“Rude! You’re just like him—all scowls and silence!”
Mihawk’s bedroom was austere—a stone chamber lit by a single candle, its walls lined with empty wine racks and a single painting: a woman with raven hair and storm-gray eyes. Elisabeta. Her mother’s portrait stared back, a ghost in gilded frame.
Marya’s void-cursed arm throbbed, the veins pulsing like live wires. She opened the lone desk drawer. She reached into her pocket, removing a sealed letter. Placing it in the drawer she closed it and turned to leave. “Time to finish your research, Mother.”
Outside, thunder growled. Somewhere in the dark, Zoro stirred, and Perona’s laughter faded into the mist.
Kuraigana Island loomed like a jagged scar against the horizon, its skies choked with perpetual storm clouds. The ruins of the castle—her father’s sanctuary—rose from the mist, its spires clawing at the gloom. Marya stood at the edge of the overgrown courtyard, her boots sinking into mud strewn with shattered swords. The air reeked of rust and rain.
She had come here seeking answers. Or perhaps absolution.
For a day and a night, she waited. The baboon soldiers that patrolled the island—once her sparring partners in childhood—glared at her from the shadows but did not approach. Eternal Eclipse lay across her lap, its obsidian blade drinking the scant light. She traced the crimson runes, wondering if Mihawk would recognize the void’s hunger in her veins.
He never came.
By dawn, frustration curdled into resolve. Marya retreated to the castle’s derelict library, its shelves sagging under mold-eaten tomes and dust-shrouded maps. Here, amid the rot, she spread out her mother’s notebook. The Poneglyph script glared up at her, its angular symbols sharp as blade strokes.
“The Dawnless City,” she muttered, deciphering a phrase Elisabeta had underlined thrice. “Where the Titans’ bones choke the sky.” Coordinates followed—numbers etched in smudged ink, pointing to a stretch of ocean west of Amazon Lilly.
Her pulse quickened.
A crash echoed through the hall. One of the baboons had hurled a broken sword at the doorframe, its beady eyes accusing. Marya’s right arm twitched, useless. Her left hand gripped Eternal Eclipse on reflex, but the baboon lumbered away, growling.
Impatience burned hotter than the void’s ache. Her father’s absence was a silent verdict: she was no longer his concern. Or he knows you’d refuse his help, a traitorous voice whispered.
She packed the notebook and strode to the shore where her submarine lay hidden. The coordinates glowed in her mind, a siren call. If Mihawk would not guide her, she’d carve the path herself.
As she boarded the vessel, rain began to fall. It hissed against Eternal Eclipse’s blade, the runes flickering like dying stars.
The submarine’s control panel blinked ominously as Marya punched in the coordinates, the glowing numbers reflecting in Eternal Eclipse’s obsidian blade. Outside, the waters of Kuraigana churned, waves slamming against the hull like the fists of a drowned giant. She ignored the pain in her arm, the void’s veins pulsing hotter with every keystroke.
“Engage bubble porter,” she muttered, slamming a fist on the console.
The machinery whirred to life, blue light flooding the cockpit as the sub’s hull shimmered, ready to phase through the sea. For a heartbeat, it hummed—then sputtered. Sparks erupted from the panel, the porter’s glow dying with a sickening fizz.
“No—damn it!” Marya cursed, clawing at the controls. Alarms blared, bathing the cabin in crimson.
The impact came without warning.
A deafening crunch reverberated through the sub as it collided with something massive—a jagged reef, a leviathan’s spine, she couldn’t tell. The force hurled her sideways, the safety strap snapping taut against her injured arm. She screamed as the strap bit into necrotic flesh, the void’s curse flaring like fire. Saltwater exploded through a fissure in the hull, icy and relentless, drenching the console.
“Seal—seal the breach!” she gasped, fumbling for the emergency protocols. The controls were dead, screens blackened.
Another jolt. The sub listed violently, throwing her against the wall. Eternal Eclipse clattered to the floor, its runes hissing as seawater licked the blade. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, the cabin dimming as water rose to her knees.
Not like this.
She lunged for her sword, but the strap yanked her back, agony searing through her shoulder. The last thing she saw was the wanted poster of Luffy—still grinning, still free—floating in the flood before the darkness swallowed her.
*****
The Polar Tang cut silently through the midnight waters of the New World, its sleek hull a shadow beneath the waves. In the control room, Trafalgar D. Water Law slouched in his captain’s chair, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes half-lidded as he scanned the sonar. Bepo fidgeted at the navigation console, his polar bear paws clumsily adjusting dials.
“Captain, we’re three nautical miles off the plotted course,” Bepo mumbled, ears drooping. “I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t care,” Law interrupted, though his tone lacked bite. “Just keep us clear of Marine patrols.”
Penguin and Shachi lounged nearby, arguing over a deck of cards. Jean Bart manned the helm, stone-faced as ever, while Ikkaku tinkered with the engine relays, grease smudging her cheeks. Uni scribbled notes in the logbook, and Clione snored loudly in the corner.
Then the Polar Tang shuddered violently, throwing the crew sideways.
“What the hell was that?!” Shachi yelped, cards scattering.
Law was already on his feet, Kikoku slung over his shoulder. “Bepo. Report.”
“S-something hit us! But there’s nothing on sonar—!” Bepo’s fur bristled as he pointed a trembling paw at the screen. A faint blip glowed beneath them.
“Surfacing. Now,” Law ordered.
The Polar Tang breached the surface, waves sloshing against its hull. Moonlight revealed the culprit—a smaller, battered submarine, its hull cracked and listing dangerously. Water foamed around it as it began to sink.
“Who the hell rams a sub underwater?” Penguin muttered.
Law’s amber eyes narrowed. “Jean Bart, Ikkaku—retrieve it. Shachi, prep the med bay. Bepo, keep scanning for tails.”
The Heart Pirates worked with practiced efficiency. Jean Bart and Ikkaku deployed the Polar Tang’s mechanical arms, clamping onto the sinking vessel with a metallic groan. With a heave, they dragged it onto the deck. Water sluiced from its dented frame, revealing Consortium markings—an emblem of a tree encircled by stars.
“Never seen that symbol before,” Shachi murmured, adjusting his glasses.
Law approached, Kikoku’s blade tapping the sub’s hatch. “Open it.”
Inside, the cockpit was flooded ankle-deep. Marya lay unconscious, slumped against the console, her right arm swollen with blackened veins. Eternal Eclipse glinted at her side, its obsidian blade humming faintly.
“She’s alive,” Shachi said, pressing two fingers to her throat. “Barely.”
Law’s gaze locked on the sword. He recognized the craftsmanship—Mihawk’s signature style, though warped by something darker. His eyes flicked to the kogatana around her neck, its edge still sharp enough to cut fate itself.
“Captain…?” Bepo hovered nervously. “What do we do?”
Law’s lips curled into a thin smile. “We’re pirates, not saints. But—” He knelt, his Room already shimmering around him. “She’s got a story worth hearing.”
As Shachi and Penguin hauled Marya to the med bay, Hakugan squinted at the Consortium emblem. “Think she’s trouble?”
“Trouble’s our specialty,” Law said, sheathing Kikoku. “Keep her alive. I want answers.”

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Chapter Text

The med bay of the Polar Tang hummed with sterile light, the air sharp with antiseptic. Marya lay motionless on the operating table, her skin pallid under the glare of overhead lamps. Law rolled his sleeves to his elbows, black tattoos stark against his skin, while Kikoku leaned against the wall, its eye ever-watchful. Shachi and Penguin hovered near the door, their usual banter stifled by the gravity of the room.
“Room.”
A blue sphere enveloped the table, its shimmering edges casting jagged shadows. Law’s fingers flicked, and Marya’s bandages dissolved under his power, revealing the ruin beneath. Her right shoulder was a landscape of atrophy—muscles withered, skin mottled with inky veins that pulsed faintly, as if alive.
“Nerve clusters… dead,” Law muttered, his voice clinical. He rotated her arm in the air, tendons and bone visible through translucent layers. “No trauma. No infection. Just… gone.”
Penguin whistled low. “How’d she even swing a sword like that?”
“She didn’t,” Law said coldly. “Not well.”
His gaze shifted to the black veins. They writhed under his scrutiny, tendrils burrowing deeper into her flesh. Law’s brow furrowed. He isolated a strand with his power, holding it suspended in the Room. It coiled like smoke, resisting dissection.
“Nanobots?” Shachi ventured, peering over Law’s shoulder.
“Too organic. A virus, maybe. Mutating… feeding.” Law’s amber eyes narrowed. He sliced the vein with a scalpel of energy. It split—then reknit, threads of void stitching themselves back together.
Bepo’s muzzle twitched. “Captain, that’s… not normal.”
“No kidding.” Law’s jaw tightened. He’d seen plagues, curses, Devil Fruit side effects—but this? This was something older. Hungrier.
Marya’s kogatana glinted on a nearby tray. Law glanced at it, then at the sword propped in the corner—Eternal Eclipse, its obsidian blade leaching light from the Room. The runes along its edge throbbed in time with her veins.
Connected, he realized.
“Jean Bart,” Law snapped. “Secure that sword. Now.”
As the former slave captain hauled the blade away, Law turned back to Marya. His fingers danced, excising a sliver of the blackened tissue. It squirmed in his palm, dissolving into ash.
“Whatever this is, it’s tied to her,” he murmured. “Remove it, and you remove her.”
“So… she’s screwed?” Penguin asked.
Law didn’t answer. Instead, he sutured the wound with precise flicks of his power, containment over cure. When the Room faded, the veins had retreated—for now.
“Keep her sedated,” he ordered, stripping off his gloves. “And post a guard on that sword.”
As the crew filed out, Law lingered, staring at Marya’s ashen face. His thumb brushed the faded “D.” on her mother’s notebook, left open on a nearby tray.
Dawnless City. Titans’ bones.
“What the hell did you dig up?” he whispered.
In the shadows, Eternal Eclipse hissed.
Law’s gloved fingers sifted through Marya’s belongings, spread across the Polar Tang’s steel briefing table like artifacts from a forgotten war. Bepo hovered nervously nearby, clutching a half-eaten rice ball, while Shachi and Penguin traded morbid bets about how many bones she’d broken in her life. Jean Bart loomed in the corner, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Eternal Eclipse—now chained to the bulkhead with sea-stone cuffs.
The first item was a weathered notebook with fresh ink, the edges frayed, written in the jagged script of the Poneglyphs. Law recognized the language instantly. Rocinante’s voice echoed in his memory: “The World Government kills for less, Law.” He set them aside.
Next, photographs. A younger Marya, no older than three, being held between a stern Mihawk and a woman with warm gray eyes—Elisabeta. Mihawk holding Marya to his shoulder, his usual icy demeanor softened, just barely. Another photo showed Marya in a vibrant kimono, standing beneath Wisteria blossoms, her smile unguarded, Eternal Night (not yet Eclipse) strapped to her back. Law stared at it a beat too long before tucking it into his coat.
“Whoa, Captain’s got a crush,” Shachi snickered.
Law shot him a withering glare. “She’s Mihawk’s daughter. That makes her either a liability or a weapon. Figure out which.”
The crew sobered. Penguin picked up a faded map, its corners marked with the same coordinates from her mother’s notebook. “Dawnless City… doesn’t ring a bell. Has anyone heard of it?”
But Law’s attention was locked on the sword. The chains rattled as Eternal Eclipse shuddered, its crimson runes flaring in sync with Marya’s labored breaths from the med bay. He approached it slowly, Kikoku humming in warning.
“Room.”
The blue sphere enveloped the blade. Law’s fingers grazed its surface—and the void bit back. Black veins spiderwebbed across his gloves, dissolving the fabric. He severed the connection with a flick, sweat beading his brow.
“It’s alive,” he muttered. “Or cursed. Same difference.”
Bepo whimpered. “Captain, her vitals—they’re spiking!”
Through the med bay window, Marya’s body arched off the table, the black veins writhing like serpents under her skin. Eternal Eclipse’s chains snapped taut, the runes blazing. Law’s eyes darted between the sword and her convulsing form.
“They’re linked,” he realized. “The sword isn’t just a weapon—it’s a parasite.”
Shachi paled. “So we chuck it overboard, right?”
“And kill her in the process?” Law’s grin was razor-thin. “Not yet.”
He returned to her belongings, unearthing a final item—a weathered wanted poster. Monkey D. Luffy – 30,000,000 Berries. The bounty was laughably low, years out of date. Tucked behind it, a letter addressed to Luffy in elegant script.
Law’s thumb brushed the “D.” in his name. Always another shadow.
“Captain?” Bepo whispered. “What do we do?”
Law pocketed the letter and photo. “We wait. She’ll lead us to answers—or a damn good fight.”
As the crew dispersed, Law lingered, staring at the sword. Its hunger mirrored his own.
What are you hiding, Dracule?
The Polar Tang’s med bay hummed with the low thrum of machinery, but the air around Eternal Eclipse felt heavier, denser—as if the blade were breathing. Law stood before it, Kikoku slung over his shoulder, his amber eyes narrowed. The sword’s obsidian surface drank the light, its crimson runes pulsing like a heartbeat.
“You’re not just metal,” Law muttered. “You’re a leech.”
The blade shuddered in its sea-stone chains, a low, resonant growl vibrating through the hull.
Marya’s fingers twitched on the med bay cot, the void veins writhing. Memories flashing through her mind:
Fire and ash. Vaughn’s ax shattered, his body crumpling as Teivel’s spear tore through his chest. “Marya… run,” he gasped, blood frothing on his lips. Then—laughter. Her mother’s laughter, warm and bright, as a younger Marya sparred with Mihawk in a courtyard. “Focus, child,” her father chided, but his blade never struck to maim. Only to teach.
Law’s Room erupted in a corona of electric blue, the surgical glow intensifying until it swallowed Eternal Eclipse whole. The blade’s obsidian surface seemed to fracture under the light, revealing fissures of crimson that pulsed like exposed veins. Unsheathing Kikoku, it shimmers, “scan,” he commanded, his voice a blade itself—cold, precise.
The world dissolved.
Law’s consciousness plummeted into a chasm of absolute nothingness, a void so vast it defied direction. The air—if it could be called air—seared his lungs with a frigid burn, as though breathing in shards of glass. Stars did not exist here. Light did not exist. Only a suffocating darkness that pressed against him, alive and ravenous.
And then—movement.
A shadow coalesced at the void’s heart, its form warping grotesquely: one moment, a woman’s silhouette, regal and sharp-edged, her features echoing Marya’s; the next, a thrashing abomination of serrated bone and dripping fangs, limbs elongating and snapping like rotten sails in a storm. The spirit’s voice clawed into Law’s mind, grating and metallic, as if dragged from the belly of a rusted shipwreck.
“Surgeon of Death.”
The words reverberated, shaking the void itself. “You dare trespass in my domain?”
Law stood motionless, Kikoku’s spectral weight grounding him. The sword’s eye glared balefully from his shoulder, its gaze a familiar, icy counterpoint to the chaos. “You’re killing her,” he said, tone devoid of fear. “Why?”
The spirit’s laugh was a chorus of screams. Its humanoid guise melted, flesh sloughing away to reveal a coiled serpent of shadow, teeth glinting like shattered obsidian. “She knelt at the altar of the void. She begged for its bite. Life for power—fair trade.”
“There’s another currency,” Law countered, brow furrowed, his amber eyes narrowing. “Haki.”
The void shuddered. The serpent stilled, its countless eyes—each a pinprick of malevolent crimson—fixing on him. “Her will… instead of her flesh?” It sounded almost amused, a predator toying with prey. “You think her spirit can sustain me?”
Law smirked, sharp and calculating. “She’s Mihawk’s blood. Her Haki’s a feast. Keep her alive, and you’ll grow stronger than that relic Yoru ever dreamed of.”
For a heartbeat, the void held its breath. Then the spirit lunged, its form disintegrating into a swarm of tendrils blacker than pitch. They lashed around Law’s throat, squeezing with the force of a sea king’s jaws. “You reek of ambition, D.,” it snarled, the void itself curdling with its rage. “But chain me to her will, and I’ll gnaw your bones before the first dawn.”
Law didn’t flinch. His Room flared brighter, the blue light shredding the tendrils into ash. “Try it,” he said, Kikoku humming as he raised a hand. “I’ll carve you out of her cell by cell. Leave nothing but scrap metal.”
Silence.
Then—laughter. Not the cacophony before, but a single, glacial sound, echoing from all directions. The spirit reformed, its human guise now dominant, though its edges bled into the dark like ink in water. “A pact, then,” it purred. “Her Haki… for her life. But when her resolve cracks—” The void rippled hungrily. “I feast.”
Law staggered back, the Room dissolving as his knees buckled against the med bay wall. Blood trickled from his nose—thin, crimson streaks stark against his pallid skin—and his breath came in ragged bursts. The sword’s runes blazed like freshly stoked embers, their crimson light throbbing in time with the rattle of its sea-stone chains. Across the room, Marya’s arm lay still, the void veins receding into jagged, dormant lines beneath her skin, as if the curse itself were biding its time.
Bepo burst through the door, his polar bear fur bristling, paws skidding on the polished steel floor. “Captain! Her vitals—they’re crashing!”
Law wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheekbone. “Stabilizing,” he rasped, pushing off the wall. His voice was sandpaper, but his amber eyes burned with grim focus. “For now. Good—now I can operate.”
He strode to Marya’s side, his Room flaring anew. The blue sphere engulfed her arm, peeling back layers of necrotic flesh and atrophied muscle with spectral precision. The damage was grotesque: Casimir’s velociraptor maw had torn through her shoulder in their last encounter, severing tendons and shredding nerve clusters, but the void’s corruption had festered in the wounds, turning tissue black and brittle.
“Scalpel,” Law muttered, and a blade of pure energy materialized in his grip.
Bepo hovered nearby, clutching a tray of physical tools—a redundant gesture, but routine steadied him. Law’s fingers danced, his Devil Fruit power excising dead tissue in microscopic increments. Rotting muscle fell away like ash, revealing the mangled brachial plexus beneath.
“The axillary nerve… gone,” Law murmured, more to himself than to Bepo. “Suprascapular, obliterated. How the hell did she even move this arm?”
He glanced at the void veins, now dormant but coiled like vipers. With a surgeon’s ruthlessness, he isolated the remaining healthy tissue—a scant few fibers—and began rebuilding. Tendons knit themselves from strands of Haki-infused energy; nerve endings sparked to life under his meticulous command. The void veins recoiled as his power pressed inward, their advance halted but not eradicated.
“Captain… the corruption—” Bepo stammered.
“Contained,” Law snapped. “For now.”
Sweat dripped from his brow as he worked, the Room’s glow flickering with strain. He grafted muscle fibers stolen from her thigh, their cells reshaped into shoulder tissue. The void stirred, tendrils lashing at his incisions, but Law severed them with a flick—each cut precise, clinical, unflinching.
When he finally stepped back, Marya’s shoulder was whole again, pale and scarless save for the teeth marks and dormant black veins. Her fingers twitched—a miracle of reconnected nerves.
“It’ll hold,” Law said, collapsing into a chair. His hands trembled faintly, a rarity for the Surgeon of Death. “Until the void wakes up.”
Bepo stared at Marya’s restored arm, awe and dread warring in his round eyes. “But… the sword?”
Law’s gaze slid to Eternal Eclipse, its runes dimmed but watchful. “That’s her problem now.”
The sterile hum of the Polar Tang’s med bay seeped into Marya’s consciousness before she fully awoke. Her eyelids fluttered open to a ceiling of cold, riveted steel, bathed in the pallid glow of overhead lamps. The air smelled sharply of antiseptic, undercut by the faint brine of seawater. For a disorienting moment, she thought she was back in the Consortium’s infirmary—until she turned her head and saw him.
Law sat slouched in a chair beside her cot, her mother’s photograph pinched loosely between his tattooed fingers. His amber eyes flicked up as she stirred, sharp and unreadable.
“Welcome back,” he said, voice flat.
Marya jerked upright, the motion sending a dull ache through her skull. Her left hand flew instinctively to her right arm—her bandaged, functional right arm. She froze, staring at her fingers as they curled and uncurled, smooth and responsive. The black veins still lurked beneath her skin, but the necrosis… gone.
“Impossible,” she muttered. Natalie’s verdict echoed in her mind: “You’ll never hold a sword again.”
“Not impossible. Just expensive.”
Marya whirled toward the voice. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
“Trafalgar Law.” He tilted the photo, revealing her younger self sandwiched between Mihawk and Elisabeta. “Surgeon. Pirate. Unwanted babysitter.”
Marya’s lip curled. “I don’t need a babysitter. How?” The word tore from her throat, raw with disbelief.
Law ignored her. The antiseptic glare of the Tang’s medical bay sharpened the edges of the photograph in Law’s hand as he turned the photo. Marya’s younger self grinned back at him, bracketed by Mihawk’s stoic glare and a woman with wild raven curls—Elisabetta, he assumed, from the way the girl leaned into her warmth. A family portrait. A secret.
“Name,” Law said, tone flat as a scalpel.
She bristled. “You dragged me onto your ship, and you don’t even know who I am?” Her voice crackled with Mihawk’s trademark disdain, but her eyes flickered to the photo. A tell.
“Name,” he repeated, colder, rotating the image slowly, watching her flinch.
“...Marya Zaleska.” She spat it like a curse. “Happy? Now answer my question. How’d you fix the shoulder? The doctors I know said I’d never hold a sword again.”
Law leaned back, tossing the photo onto her cot. “Temporary graft. Devil Fruit, Haki, and a lot of dead tissue. You’re welcome.”
Marya’s gaze dropped to her arm again, flexing her fingers as if testing a phantom limb. The sensation was alien—no numbness, no searing void. Just… whole. Her mind raced. Was it a trick? A trap? She glanced around the room, spotting Eternal Eclipse chained to the far wall, its runes dim but watchful.
Law followed her gaze. “Your sword’s a chatty one. Made a deal with it.”
“A deal?” She swung her legs over the cot, wincing as her boots hit the floor. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Means you feed it Haki now, not your life.” He stood, looming over her with his usual detached menace. “And in exchange, you answer my questions.”
Marya edged toward her sword, muscles coiled. “Or what?”
Law’s smirk was a knife’s edge. “Or I let the void finish its meal.”
Her hand twitched toward Eternal Eclipse’s hilt, but the chains rattled ominously. Law didn’t move, didn’t flinch—just waited.
“What do you want to know?” she hissed.
“How’d you even get an injury like that?”
She looked away, crossing her arm, resting her palm on her healed shoulder as if to verify its mobility. “Long story.”
“Shorten it.” Law’s fingers drummed. “There has never been mention of Mihawk having a daughter. Why hide you?”
Marya’s laugh was bitter. “Why do you care? You a Marine informant? A warlord groupie?”
“I’m someone who doesn’t like loose ends.” He leaned closer, the Tang’s hum underlining his words. “What are you doing out here? Are you hunting him? Why? Daddy issues?”
Her jaw tightened. “He wasn’t at Kuraigana. You know where he is?”
Law paused. The submarine’s vents hissed. “Marineford,” he said finally. “He was there for Ace’s execution.”
Marya went very still. “...Ace?”
“Portgas D. Ace. Whitebeard’s man. You know him?”
“Crossed paths on Isla Koralia.” Her smirk was thin, forced. “He tried to steal my lunch.”
Law’s eyebrow arched. “Koralia’s Beast Pirate territory. You’re either reckless or stupid.” Scowling he pressed, “The Dawnless City.” He held up her mother’s notebook, open to Elisabeta’s frantic scribbles. “Titans’ bones. Void’s cradle. “How are you able to read this?”
Marya’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
“Liar. These are…”
“I know what they are,” she snapped.
“Then you also know that….”
“And,” she interrupts, crossing her arms. “I am not afraid of the World Government. They are the ones who are afraid.”
Law’s scowl deepens, “How are you able to read this? Ohara…”
Marya sighs, “I am aware of Ohara, but you have to be naive to believe that they were the only repository of knowledge and study in the world.” Law towers over her, waiting for her to elaborate. Marya rolls her eyes, “The Poneglyphs… they’re not just maps. They’re warnings.”
Law’s eyes narrowed. “Warnings about what?”
She hesitated, then deflected. “Why do you care? You’re not a scholar.”
“And you’re a time bomb,” he shot back. “That curse isn’t cured—it’s caged. You slip up, and the void eats you. So, talk.”
Marya’s fingers brushed the kogatana at her neck, her father’s steel cool against her skin. “The Dawnless City… it’s where the Void Century’s sins are buried. My mother thought it held a weapon. Or a key.”
“A key to what?”
She met his gaze, defiant. “To breaking the world.”
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then Law scoffed, tossing the notebook onto her cot. “Cute bedtime story. Where’s the proof?”
As he turned to leave, Marya lunged—not for him, but for Eternal Eclipse. Her fingers closed around the hilt, the chains shattering as the blade’s runes flared to life. Law spun, Kikoku half-drawn, but Marya leveled the obsidian sword at his throat.
“I don’t need your help, Surgeon,” she growled.
Law didn’t blink. “You already have it.”
Behind them, the submarine’s alarms blared. Bepo’s panicked voice crackled over the intercom: “Captain! Marine warship—dead ahead!”
Law’s grin widened. “Perfect timing. Let’s see if that arm works.”