"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."