Nysera stormed into the grand hall, her steps sharp and deliberate. She had already heard whispers of what Solmar had reported, and though she tried to contain herself, frustration weighed heavily on her voice.
"Father," she began, her tone edged with both disbelief and indignation, "what is the meaning of this? Soldiers flooding the districts as if we are on the brink of war? Entire streets locked down, families forced back into their homes. People are frightened. They believe an invasion is upon us, when in truth there has been no such attack. How can you order such madness?"
The king, seated upon his throne, straightened his posture, his fingers tapping the armrest slowly in thought. His eyes carried no anger—only the heavy burden of responsibility. "You speak as though I made this decision lightly, Nysera. But Solmar's report cannot be ignored. If what the Desert Fangs say is true, then pirates have already stepped foot on our soil. They are not common thieves—they are dangerous, unpredictable, and will not hesitate to take what they please. Precaution is necessary."
Nysera took a step closer, her hands balled into fists. "Precaution? Father, this is not precaution—this is fearmongering! You've turned the streets into cages. Our people cannot live under the shadow of swords and spears. They look to their king for stability, yet all they see now is suspicion and unrest. What are they to think, when their king bars them from their own markets and streets?"
The king's gaze hardened, though his voice remained steady. "And what would you have me do instead, daughter? Sit idle, waiting for raiders to set fire to our homes? To gamble with the safety of our kingdom because we feared offending the people with caution? No. My duty is to protect this land, and sometimes that means acting before the threat reaches our gates."
Nysera shook her head, her voice tightening with emotion. "There must be balance, father. I do not ask you to ignore Solmar's warning. But I cannot stand by and watch you treat our people as prisoners within their own walls. Soldiers should guard against an enemy—not against our own citizens. If you continue this, you may find the people more resentful of their king than fearful of any pirate."
The hall fell silent for a moment, the tension between them lingering like a taut rope ready to snap. The king leaned forward on his throne, his expression shadowed by doubt yet unwilling to yield.
"You speak with passion, Nysera. Perhaps even with wisdom. But understand this—when the safety of the kingdom is at stake, I will err on the side of caution every time. I would rather have our people curse me for being overprotective than mourn me for being too late."
The throne room doors opened once more, and Solmar stepped inside with that same wide grin plastered across his face. His stride was steady, brimming with the confidence of a man convinced the world had aligned with his will.
"Nysera," he began, his voice carrying a sharp edge, "you question father's orders as if they were rash—but you fail to see the brilliance in them. Our people are shielded now. The streets are watched, the walls guarded, and no pirate nor pretender will set foot inside without meeting steel. Father has made the correct choice, one worthy of a king."
Nysera turned to him in disbelief. "The correct choice? You truly believe that?" She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "Solmar, the people are not enemies to be contained. They are frightened because soldiers march through their homes. Mothers beg to step outside without being driven back by spears. You call that protection?"
Solmar tilted his head, his grin tightening, as though her words were little more than a child's protest. "Yes. Protection is not always comfortable, sister. Fear in the short term is far better than death in the long term. These measures ensure the survival of our kingdom. Pirates will think twice before laying eyes on our walls again."
Nysera stepped closer, her tone sharpened with defiance. "Or perhaps they'll see a kingdom ruled by fear, crumbling from within before any outside enemy need lift a blade."
Through it all, the king sat in silence, his gaze heavy upon them both. Solmar's smile never wavered, his eyes locked on his sister as though he relished her outrage, while Nysera's chest rose and fell with contained frustration.
Finally, the king exhaled, his voice calm yet resonant. "Enough. My command stands. Soldiers will remain where they are—for now. This kingdom will not fall to complacency." His gaze flicked toward Nysera. "Your concerns are noted, daughter. And your resolve, Solmar, is clear."
But even as the king spoke, Nysera noticed the grin carved into her brother's face—unsettling, triumphant, as though he had already claimed a victory that went beyond their father's words.
Nysera's fists clenched at her sides, her eyes flashing with a storm of frustration. Without another word, she spun on her heel, the hem of her cloak whipping through the air as she stormed out of the throne room. Her footsteps echoed furiously against the marble floor, each one a sharp punctuation to her anger until the massive doors groaned open and slammed shut behind her.
Solmar remained where he stood, shoulders squared, chin slightly lifted. His eyes followed her exit, but his expression never faltered. That same smile—calm, sharp, almost too deliberate—curved across his face as though he had been expecting this very reaction.
He turned his gaze briefly toward their father, still seated upon the throne, before letting it drift back to the door where Nysera had vanished. "Run along, sister," he murmured under his breath, voice low and mocking. "The more you struggle, the easier it is to prove you wrong."
For a moment longer, he lingered in the silence of the hall, basking in the weight of his father's decree and the echo of Nysera's retreat. His grin deepened, his eyes narrowing with a knowing gleam—as if every piece of the game was falling neatly into his hands.
At the same time that the royal heirs argued within the palace halls, Chiaki and her companions found themselves gathered at the heart of Iron Messa. The benches were brittle, the air dry, and the people seated around them frail—shadows of the lives they once lived. Children clung silently to their parents' sides, their lips cracked from thirst, while elders sat motionless, their eyes dim but still burning with memory.
The oldest among them, a man whose frame looked as though a strong wind might shatter it, stepped forward. His voice trembled at first, but as he spoke, it grew steadier—anchored by years of pain that demanded to be told.
"Long ago," he began, "before this place became a graveyard of forgotten souls, Iron Messa was alive. Trade routes crossed here, water was drawn from the wells, and caravans from the jungle lands brought fruit and grain. Children laughed in the streets, and the sound of hammers and merchants filled the air. We were not wealthy, no—but we were alive."
His gaze wandered as if he could still see it. Then his shoulders sank, and his voice turned bitter.
"But then the war came. The Jungle Kingdom raised their blades against us, and the king… our king… grew desperate. He gave an order that sealed our fate. He commanded that everything of value be taken from the smaller towns—food, grain, livestock, even the last jars of clean water—and sent to the capital. He believed if the heart of the desert was strong, the kingdom itself would endure. A mighty fortress in the dunes, he said, where the enemy's reach could never touch."
He paused, his voice cracking.
"The strong were conscripted. Every able man and woman was pulled from these streets to march into the sands and fight. And the rest of us—the elderly, the sick, the mothers with their children—we were left here, stripped of everything, told to survive."
Around him, the people lowered their heads. Some wept quietly, others clenched their teeth. The elder clenched his own thin fists.
"We waited. At first, we thought it would last only a season. That the soldiers would return, that the king would send us what we needed. But years passed. The jungle war dragged on, and the caravans never came. Our wells dried. Our fields withered. We starved while the capital city flourished behind its gilded walls. They grew stronger while we rotted."
He gestured weakly at the people gathered. "What you see now… this is all that remains of us. Generations born into thirst and hunger. Children too frail to walk, mothers too weak to carry them, elders who no longer have the strength to stand. We are the ones the kingdom abandoned to die, so that its walls might stand tall."
The old man's words hung in the air like smoke, sinking into the hearts of all who listened. Even Razor—usually so unhinged and irreverent—stood quietly, her grin gone for once.
Chiaki felt the heaviness settle on her chest. These people weren't simply unlucky victims of a harsh desert; they had been deliberately sacrificed for a dream of survival that had left them to rot.
Chiaki's jaw tightened as the elder's words echoed in her head. She looked around at the weak, starving faces, then spat under her breath, "Unbelievable… he really just threw you all away. Built himself a shiny kingdom and left everyone else to rot."
Yumiko crossed her arms, frowning hard. "Yeah. He didn't just defend the capital—he gutted the rest of the land to do it. Took the food, the water, the fighters… and what was left? This." She gestured at the broken homes and thin, coughing people sitting on the benches. "A graveyard waiting to happen."
Chiaki shook her head, her voice sharpening. "That's not protection. That's selfish. How many kids died just so he could sleep easy at night? How many families starved while the capital stuffed their bellies?"
Yumiko's eye narrowed under her bangs. "Guess to him, people are just pieces on a board. The useful ones get moved, the rest get tossed aside. Cold, but… makes sense why the capital's so heavily guarded. They're not just protecting the king. They're protecting his lie."
Chiaki clenched her fists, heat rising in her chest. "Then that lie needs to end. People deserve to know what he did. And these folks here? They deserve better than this… than being treated like trash that got left behind."
Razor, sprawled on a half-broken bench with her arms dangling, snorted and cackled. "Ohhh-hooo! And I thought I was crazy! But nah, your majesty takes the crown for biggest brain-melting idiot. Steal all the food, hoard the water, leave everyone else to starve? That's… that's pure genius! Who needs humans when you've got shiny floors and comfy chairs, am I right?! HA!" She threw her head back, flailed her arms wildly, and nearly fell off the bench laughing, her chaotic energy breaking the heavy silence.
No one said anything after that, but the weight in the air was undeniable.
The elder's shoulders sagged as he shook his head, the weight of years of suffering etched deeply on his face. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do… not with just the three of you. Any attempt to challenge the king, or even to secure what little food, water, or shelter is left… it would be hopeless. You'd be crushed before you even reached the capital. The guards are too many, the desert too vast, and the kingdom… the kingdom doesn't care about us. We've been abandoned for decades, left to survive in a land that has nothing for us."
Chiaki's hands clenched into fists, her jaw tight, but Yumiko's calm presence seemed to fill the space, a quiet storm of determination. She stepped slightly forward, her smile radiating confidence that felt almost contagious. "You're underestimating us," she said. Her eyes scanned the exhausted, anxious faces surrounding her. "We're not alone. There are more of our crew scattered across the Land of Armagh. Some of them are in the desert, yes… but some are in the jungle zone too, watching, waiting, preparing. We've been keeping tabs on the kingdom, on their movements, on everything they've tried to control. We know what they've done to towns like this. And we didn't come here to watch anymore."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. People leaned closer to one another, whispering, connecting the dots. Memories of the kingdom's proclamations about pirates roaming the entire island came back to them. For years, the government had painted the world as dangerous, insisting that only obedience and isolation could keep people safe. Yet here, before them, were outsiders—pirates—offering protection.
One of the men, his face lined with worry and disbelief, stepped forward shakily. "You… you're telling the truth? There really are more of you? Out there?"
Yumiko's smile widened, unwavering. "Absolutely. And they're organized. They've been preparing for a long time, in secret. We're not just a small group wandering aimlessly. We've got plans, resources, people who can fight and survive—people who care about this land and its people. You won't be abandoned anymore."
The elder's eyes softened slightly, hope flickering in the depths of his weariness. "So… you mean we might have a chance? That we could fight back… somehow?"
"Yes," Chiaki said firmly, stepping forward now, her voice strong and clear. "You might be weak right now, but strength isn't only in numbers or weapons. It's in unity, strategy, and the courage to fight even when the odds seem impossible. We're here to give you that chance. But you have to believe it too."
The people began to murmur louder, their tired voices filled with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. They asked questions—small, cautious questions at first, then bolder ones—about how many of these crew members existed, what resources they had, whether help could reach the town in time. With each answer from Yumiko and Chiaki, the initial fear slowly morphed into cautious hope.
Razor, ever dramatic, interjected with her usual flair, crawling over a broken bench and stretching her arms wide. "Yeah! Don't just sit there crying over the sand and dust! We've got more friends, more plans, and—frankly—we kick butt! So quit whining and start paying attention!"
Even the elder cracked a small, incredulous smile. The townspeople, seeing the energy and confidence radiating from this strange group, began to straighten up, shake off the weight of despair, and glance at each other as if realizing that perhaps, just perhaps, they weren't entirely helpless.
Yumiko looked around at the small crowd, her smile unwavering. "Do you believe us now? Do you see that we're not here to harm you? We're here to help. And if you trust us, if you stick together and listen, we can make a real difference."
The elder nodded slowly, the years of fear giving way to a cautious spark of hope. "Very well… we will listen. We will try. But know this—this kingdom has taken everything from us. If we fail, the consequences will be ours alone."
Chiaki's expression hardened with determination. "Then we'll make sure you don't fail. We'll protect you. But first, we need to prepare. We need to understand your situation fully, and we need your help to do it. Are you willing to fight back with us?"
For the first time in years, a sense of resolve rippled through the small crowd. Some stood, others knelt, but all of them looked at the trio with a glimmer of trust and expectation. They weren't ready to surrender to the kingdom anymore—not if help had truly come to them.
In the hidden walls of the Desert Kingdom, Ralphie meticulously arranged vibrant plates of food, the aroma wafting through the secret kitchen he had carved into the stone. "Perfect… a pinch of saffron, a touch of salt… that should do it," he murmured, carefully inspecting the final dish. As he wiped his hands on his apron, he paused, sensing something in the air. His gaze lifted toward the sky, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Not far off, in the bustling streets of the Jungle Kingdom, Kou stooped low, helping a woman balance a towering stack of woven bags. "Careful there—don't want to topple the whole load," he said with a grin, steadying her. The woman laughed softly, bowing in thanks. Kou straightened, dusting his hands, and glanced upward, catching a fleeting glimpse of movement above.
Tarot tumbled through the jungle city, tripping over his own feet while tossing a ball for a group of giggling children. "Ha! Gotcha!" he shouted, stumbling into a small fountain, splashing water everywhere. The kids erupted in laughter as he flailed theatrically, shaking his head and grinning, then finally sat on the fountain edge, looking up toward the sky as if seeking approval from above.
Joker, crouched near a market square in the Desert Kingdom, performed an elaborate handstand trick for a circle of laughing children. "And… tadaaa!" he exclaimed, letting out a dramatic bow. The kids cheered, some clapping wildly while others wiped tears of laughter from their eyes. He stretched, rolling onto his back, and squinted upward through the sun-drenched sky.
Elliott lounged lazily on the steps of a sandstone building, chatting with a few desert dwellers about upcoming festivals. "You see, it's all about patience. You rush the dough, it won't rise right," he said, gesturing with a hand, a warm smile tugging at his lips. Finishing his thought, he leaned back and tilted his head, eyes scanning the horizon above.
Nathaniel moved with quiet precision across the dunes, his long coat brushing against the sand as he passed unseen guards and wandering merchants alike. His face remained calm, composed, expression unreadable as he checked the subtle tracks of travelers. "Everything is in order," he muttered under his breath, before raising his gaze toward the distant sky, as if reading it like a map.
In the Jungle Kingdom, Stitch carefully threaded a needle, repairing torn uniforms for the children of the city. "Almost done… and this should last a long time," she whispered, pulling the final stitch snug. Her lips curved into a small smile as she admired her work, and then, as if on cue, she looked up, following the flutter of leaves to the sunlight streaming through the canopy above.
And in the heart of the Desert Kingdom, Shanya leaned against a market stall, listening intently to a conversation among other Desert Fangs members discussing strategies and rumors. "Interesting… they really think they've got it all planned out," she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips. Her curiosity satisfied for the moment, she lifted her head and let her eyes drift toward the open desert sky, catching a glimpse of a lone cloud racing across the horizon.
For a moment, each of them—Ralphie, Kou, Tarot, Joker, Elliott, Nathaniel, Stitch, and Shanya—stood or paused in their own worlds, united silently by a single glance upward. Though scattered across two kingdoms, their hearts beat in rhythm with the same unspoken purpose, waiting for the signal from their captain to move as one.
Yumiko crouched slightly in front of Chiaki, her gaze steady and firm. "Chiaki… it's time," she said softly, letting the weight of her words hang in the air. "Temoshí's out of commission. You take the lead from here."
She handed Chiaki the small device, the signal transmitter glinting under the dim light of Iron Messa's ruined buildings. "When you're ready, give the signal. Everyone's waiting."
Chiaki took the device, fingers brushing Yumiko's briefly in silent acknowledgment. She inhaled deeply, letting herself focus, and then gave a determined nod. "Understood. Let's do this."
With a confident press, she activated the transmitter.
Moments later, across both the Desert and Jungle Kingdoms, devices beeped in unison.
Ralphie looked down at his and raised an eyebrow. "Huh… that's the signal, isn't it?" He paused, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Time to cook up something bigger than just food."
Kou, balancing a heavy bag in one hand, glanced at his device and grinned. "Finally… I've been waiting for this." He tightened his grip on the bag, already planning his next move.
Tarot, mid-tumble with the children, froze in place and laughed. "Hehe! About time they woke us up! Let's get moving, you little rascals!" The kids giggled, pointing at the device.
Joker, performing his latest trick, shot a playful wink toward the sky. "Well, would you look at that? Looks like playtime's over… and the fun's about to get real!"
Elliott reclined slightly, squinting at the tiny screen. "Looks like the captain's crew is calling us together. Alright… time to get serious." He stretched, then casually strolled off toward his next position.
Nathaniel, calm as ever, let his eyes linger on the device before tucking it safely into his coat. "Understood," he murmured, his voice low but precise. "Everything is in motion."
Stitch's fingers stilled in the middle of a seam, a small smile appearing on her face. "Perfect timing," she whispered. She carefully placed the uniforms aside and looked toward the sky, already imagining the path ahead.
Even Shanya, eavesdropping on the Desert Fangs members, glanced at the notification, a hint of a smirk forming. "Well… looks like the real game starts now."
Back in Iron Messa, Yumiko watched Chiaki with pride. Chiaki's eyes glinted with resolve as she activated the device, her hand steady. Around them, the citizens of the ruined city felt a subtle shift—a quiet, invisible reassurance that hope was returning, one signal at a time.
To be continued...