The floodwaters from the tsunami had begun to recede, leaving the island of Tlalocan glistening under the pale light of a sun obscured by volcanic ash. The crater lake, Lago de la Serpiente, churned with the remnants of the storm, its surface reflecting the towering ruins and the jagged cliffs that surrounded it. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and sulfur, and the distant cries of the island's sacred birds echoed through the mist-shrouded valleys.
High above the lake, perched on the cliffs of Aerion's Perch, the Sky Riders gathered. Their giant birds, known as Cielo's Children, were magnificent creatures—featherless, with leathery wings that spanned the length of a warship and eyes that glowed like molten gold. Their beaks, curved like scimitars, glinted in the dim light, and their talons, capable of crushing stone, gripped the rocky outcrops with ease. These birds were not mere animals; they were guardians, bound to the island by the Primordial Current, an ancient force that flowed through the world like a hidden river of power and mystery.
Aerion, the Sky Lord, stood at the edge of the perch, his stern gaze fixed on the lake below. His bird, Vuelo Magnifico, the largest and most revered of the flock, let out a low, resonant cry as it preened its wings. Aerion's hand rested on the hilt of his obsidian blade, a weapon forged in the fires of the island's volcano and etched with glyphs that told of the Sky Riders' sacred duty. He was a man of few words, but his presence commanded respect, his every movement deliberate and calculated.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence. A young Sky Rider, Ciela, rushed onto the perch, her breath ragged from the climb. Her bird, Pluma Ligera, a smaller, agile creature, followed close behind, its wings still damp from the storm.
"Lord Aerion!" Ciela called, her voice tinged with urgency. "There's something in the lake—a foreign object, unlike anything we've seen before!"
Aerion turned sharply, his golden eyes narrowing. "Describe it," he commanded, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.
Ciela hesitated, her gaze flicking to the lake below. "It's… metal, shaped like a great beast, but lifeless. It's lodged in the shallows near Ixtabay's Gate. The waters are still high, but it's clear it doesn't belong here."
Aerion's expression darkened. The legends of Tlalocan spoke of outsiders who would come bearing shadows in their hearts, their arrival heralding either salvation or destruction. The Primordial Current, the lifeblood of the island, had whispered of such an event for centuries, but Aerion had always dismissed it as the ramblings of the ancients. Now, as he stared at the distant glint of metal in the lake, he felt a chill run down his spine.
"Gather the riders," he ordered, his voice low but firm. "We will investigate this… intrusion. But be cautious. The Current has been restless since the storm. The gods may be testing us."
Ciela nodded, her face pale with determination. She mounted Pluma Ligera with practiced ease, the bird's wings unfurling with a soft whoosh. As she took to the sky, Aerion turned to Vuelo Magnifico, his hand brushing the bird's neck. The creature let out a deep, resonant cry, its eyes glowing brighter as it sensed its master's unease.
The Sky Riders descended toward the lake, their birds cutting through the ash-filled air with grace and power. Below, the waters of Lago de la Serpiente churned, the surface rippling with the remnants of the tsunami. The foreign object—a massive, metallic structure—lay half-submerged near the ancient stone archway of Ixtabay's Gate, its surface scarred and battered by the storm. The glyphs carved into the gate seemed to pulse faintly, as if reacting to the presence of the intruder.
Aerion landed on a rocky outcrop overlooking the lake, his eyes fixed on the strange vessel. "This is no natural occurrence," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "The Current brought them here. But for what purpose?"
Ciela hovered nearby, her bird's wings beating steadily. "Could they be the ones from the prophecy?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.
Aerion did not answer. His mind raced with the legends of Tlalocan—the tales of the Volcanic God, Tlaloc, whose slumber kept the island in balance, and the sleeping sea monster that guarded the submerged ruins. The arrival of these outsiders could mean many things, but one thing was certain: the island's fragile peace was about to be shattered.
As the Sky Riders circled above, the waters of the lake began to stir once more, the faint hum of the Primordial Current growing louder. Somewhere in the depths, the sleeping sea monster shifted in its slumber, its ancient eyes opening for the first time in centuries. The island of Tlalocan, a place of ash and ruin, of gods and guardians, was awakening—and the Heart Pirates, unwittingly thrust into its heart, would soon find themselves at the center of a storm far greater than any tsunami.
*****
The floodwaters of the tsunami had begun to retreat, leaving the island of Tlalocan cloaked in an eerie stillness. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet ash and brine, the once-violent waves of Lago de la Serpiente now lapping meekly against its obsidian shores. The crater lake's surface mirrored the ashen sky, broken only by the skeletal remains of petrified trees jutting like spears from the water. Above, the island's sacred birds—Cielo's Children—circled restlessly. These colossal creatures, revered as divine guardians, were featherless with leathery hides, the color of storm clouds, their wingspans casting shadows that swallowed the ruins below. Their eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, glowed with intelligence that bordered on the supernatural, and their hooked beaks, sharp enough to cleave stone, glinted like blades forged in the heart of the island's slumbering volcano.
In the core of the Ground Dwellers' settlement, Xochitlán Plaza, Elder Tepec stood amidst the rubble of a collapsed fresco. His gnarled hands traced the cracked depiction of Tlaloc, the Volcanic God, whose wrath had once buried the island's golden age under ash and despair. The fresco's colors—faded ochre and cobalt—still whispered of a time when the Primordial Current flowed freely, binding the island's fate to the ebb and flow of cosmic power. Now, that Current felt stagnant, choked by centuries of curses and the weight of forgotten oaths.
A young runner, Itztli, burst into the plaza, his sandals kicking up puffs of volcanic dust. His chest heaved as he skidded to a halt before Tepec, his eyes wide with awe and dread. "Elder—the lake! Lago de la Serpiente… something has surfaced!"
Tepec turned slowly, his weathered face a mask of calm, though his heart quickened. The Primordial Current had thrummed uneasily in his bones since the storm, its whispers growing urgent, fractured. "Speak clearly, child," he intoned, his voice like wind through ancient reeds.
"A metal beast," Itztli gasped, gesturing wildly toward the lake. "It's lodged near Ixtabay's Gate, half-drowned but intact! The birds—they won't stop screeching. It's as if they know…"
Tepec's gaze drifted to the sky, where Cielo's Children wheeled in agitated spirals. One let out a piercing cry, its talons flexing as if ready to rend the heavens. The Ground Dwellers' legends spoke of these birds as manifestations of the Current itself, their souls woven into the island's lifeforce. Their distress was an omen.
"Show me," Tepec commanded, gripping his staff of petrified wood. The journey to the lake's edge was treacherous, the ground slick with ash and runoff. As they approached Ixtabay's Gate, the monolithic archway that marked the boundary between the living world and the drowned ruins, the air grew colder. The gate's carvings—serpents entwined with celestial bodies—seemed to writhe in the dim light, their stone eyes following Tepec's every step.
There, in the shallows, lay the intruder: a hulking, metal submersible, its hull scarred and streaked with rust. The Ground Dwellers murmured amongst themselves, their voices tinged with fear. To them, it was an omen from the depths, a herald of the prophecy etched into the Templo del Sol y Luna: "When shadows from beyond the waves pierce the serpent's heart, the Current shall rise, and the slumbering ones stir."
Tepec knelt, pressing his palm to the damp earth. The Primordial Current pulsed beneath his fingers—a faint, discordant rhythm. Outsiders. The word echoed in his mind like a funeral drum. The Volcanic God's curse had long warned of their coming, but the elders had dismissed it as myth. Now, the myth has teeth.
"The Current brought them," Tepec murmured, more to himself than to Itztli. "But to save us… or to feed the god?"
Above, a Sky Rider's bird let out a thunderous cry, its wings churning the ash-laden air. Tepec's eyes narrowed. The Sky Riders would already be circling, their leader Aerion swift to brandish blades against the unknown. But the Ground Dwellers' fate was tethered to deeper secrets—to the submerged ruins beneath the lake, where the sea monster slept, and to the Primordial Current's tangled web.
"Summon the artisans," Tepec ordered, rising. "We must consult the Reliquary. If this metal beast is tied to the Current, the answers lie in the ash."
As Itztli sprinted back toward the plaza, Tepec lingered, his gaze fixed on the foreign vessel. The birds' cries crescendoed, a dissonant chorus that seemed to shake the very bones of the island. Somewhere in the lake's abyssal depths, a low, resonant groan shuddered through the water—the sleeping sea monster shifting in its ageless slumber.
The Current was stirring. And Tlalocan's curse, it seemed, was far from finished.
*****
The interior of the Polar Tang buzzed with chaos. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the cramped galley where tools, maps, and half-eaten ration bars littered the floor. A steady drip-drip from a leaking pipe punctuated the tense silence—until Uni pressed his face against a fogged porthole, his voice trembling with equal parts awe and panic.
"Captain! Those bird things outside—they're not just big, they're warped! Look at their eyes! And the statues—those Lunarian mummies are staring at us! What if they're cursed? What if they're puppets? What if—"
"Uni," Law growled, not looking up from the tangled wiring he was splicing. "Shut. Up."
"But Captain, the statues have claws! And beaks! And—and teeth! Since when do birds have teeth?!"
Penguin, elbow-deep in a sparking control panel, threw a wrench at the wall. "They're not birds, they're monsters, and you're giving me a migraine!"
The sub lurched violently, sending Shachi sliding across the floor with a yelp. Bepo, clinging to the helm with both paws, yelped, "S-sorry! The birds—they're diving at us again! Three o'clock! Nine o'clock! All the o'clocks!"
Marya, perched on a swaying overhead pipe, glanced at Law. His jaw was clenched, his amber eyes flashing with irritation—and something sharper. Worry. She smirked. "I'll handle it."
"You'll what—?" Law snapped, but she was already dissolving. Her body unraveled into swirling mist, slipping through a vent with a hiss.
"Dammit, Marya!" Law snarled, grabbing his nodachi. "Bepo! Hold this tin can steady!"
"I'm trying!" Bepo wailed as the Tang shuddered under another impact.
Outside, the world was a cacophony of featherless fury. The giant birds—Cielo's Children—screamed as they dive-bombed the sub, their scimitar-like beaks glinting. Marya materialized atop the Tang's hull, her boots slipping on the wet metal. One bird swooped toward her, its talons outstretched.
"Hey, pigeon," she muttered, throwing her arms wide. "Play hide-and-seek."
Mist erupted from her pores, billowing across the lake in seconds. The birds squawked in confusion, their glowing eyes darting as the fog swallowed the Tang whole. One clipped another mid-dive, sending both spiraling into the ash-choked sky with indignant shrieks.
Law burst onto the deck, his nodachi drawn, only to nearly slip on the mist-slick hull. "You're insane!" he shouted over the avian chaos.
"You're welcome!" Marya shot back, her form flickering as she maintained the mist. A bird's wingtip grazed her shoulder, and she vaporized again, reappearing beside Law. "They can't see us. But they can smell your bad mood."
"Hilarious," Law deadpanned, though his lips twitched.
Inside the sub, Uni pressed his nose to the porthole again. "I can't see anything! Did Marya turn into a ghost?!"
"No, she turned into a nuisance," Jean Bart grumbled, bracing himself as the Tang rocked.
The mist thickened, muffling the birds' cries until they sounded like distant, angry kazoos. One particularly stubborn avian collided with the Tang's conning tower, let out a comically high-pitched "Squawk?!", and flapped away, dazed.
"Clear?" Law called, squinting into the fog.
Marya dropped the mist with a flick of her wrist. The lake was eerily calm, the birds retreating to the cliffs, their pride wounded. "Told you I'd deal with it."
Law sheathed his nodachi. "Next time? Warn me."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Back inside, Uni was already theorizing. "What if the mist hypnotized them? What if Marya's part bird?!"
Penguin hurled another wrench. "I'll show you hypnotized—!"
The Tang groaned, and Bepo whimpered, "Can we please focus on not sinking now?!"
*****
Aerion soared high above Lago de la Serpiente, the wind tearing at his cloak as Vuelo Magnifico beat its colossal wings with rhythmic, thunderous strokes. Below, the crater lake lay shrouded in an unnatural mist—a swirling, silver-gray veil that devoured the Polar Tang whole. The sight coiled like a serpent in Aerion's gut. Mist. Not the volcanic haze that clung to Tlalocan's skies, nor the ash-choked breath of the sleeping god. This was something foreign, a corruption of the island's ancient rhythms.
"Lord Aerion!" shouted a Sky Rider flanking him, her voice frayed with unease. "The Ground Dwellers—they're rushing into the fog! What does this mean?"
Aerion did not answer immediately. His gaze locked onto the mist, its edges shimmering with an almost sentient malice. The Primordial Current hummed in his bones, a discordant note he had never heard before. The legends whispered of outsiders who would "cloak their sins in the breath of false gods," but he had dismissed such tales as the ramblings of superstitious elders. Now, watching the mist writhe like a living thing, he wondered if the Current itself had begun to unravel.
The Ground Dwellers' figures darted like shadows at the mist's periphery, their torches flickering as they vanished into the haze. Fools. Tepec's people had always been too eager to court danger, too desperate to reclaim their lost glory. Aerion's hand tightened on Vuelo Magnifico's reins. The bird let out a guttural cry, sensing its master's fury.
"It means," Aerion finally growled, "the Ground Dwellers have chosen their side."
A younger rider, Zolin, edged his bird closer. "Should we strike? Tear the fog apart before it spreads?"
Aerion's eyes narrowed. The mist was no mere weather—it pulsed with intent, bending light and sound until the Tang seemed a ghost ship. He recalled the carvings in Teocalli de la Serpiente: "When the breath of the unseen drowns the serpent's eye, the guardians must rise, lest the Current be defiled." But defiance warred with caution. To attack blindly would risk provoking whatever lurked within… or worse, awakening the sleeping monster beneath the lake.
"No," Aerion said, his voice cold. "We watch. We wait. Let the Ground Dwellers grovel in the dark. When the mist falters, we will see what these outsiders truly are."
Vuelo Magnifico banked sharply, circling the mist like a vulture. Aerion's mind churned. The Current's song had shifted since the storm, its melody fractured by the outsiders' arrival. Were they the key to breaking the island's curse—or the spark that would ignite Tlaloc's wrath? Below, the mist thickened, swallowing the last flickers of torchlight. Somewhere in its depths, a laugh echoed—sharp, mocking, alive—before dissolving into the haze.
Aerion's jaw tightened. Patience, he told himself. But patience, he knew, was the luxury of those unburdened by prophecy.