The Marine headquarters at Sabaody loomed like a fortress of salt-crusted steel, its walls still smoldering from the day's battle. The air reeked of burnt resin and seawater, mingling with the metallic tang of bloodied bandages and gunpowder. Inside the war room, maps lay scattered, pins marking the Thousand Sunny's escape route through Grove 66. Vice Admiral Venus Harlow leaned heavily on the table, her prosthetic leg hissing with every shift of weight, the gears inside grinding like a broken clock. Sentomaru paced nearby, his seastone axe propped against the wall, its edge still glowing faintly from clashing with Marya's Haki energy.
The door creaked open, and Dracule Mihawk strode in, Yoru slung casually over his shoulder. His presence sucked the tension from the room, replacing it with a cold, predatory stillness. The Fleet Admiral's Den Den Mushi glared from the table, its screen cracked.
"Where have you been?" Sentomaru barked, fists slamming onto the table. "Your daughter turned half the archipelago into kindling! The Straw Hats' ship slipped through our fingers because of her!"
Mihawk's golden eyes flicked to Venus, who stood rigid, her bladed hand guards trembling with suppressed rage. "She maimed me," she hissed, slamming her prosthetic leg into the floor. The hydraulic joint sparked, a thin trail of smoke curling upward. "I want her head."
The Fleet Admiral's voice crackled through the snail, cold as deep-sea currents. "Mihawk. Your association with her complicates matters. Deal with her. And the Heart Pirates."
Mihawk tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "An order… or a request?"
Sentomaru's face reddened. "This isn't a game! That girl carved through Pacifistas like they were toys. She's a threat to the World Government's—"
"To your pride?" Mihawk interrupted, his voice a velvet blade. He strode to the window, where the sunset painted the shipyard's wreckage in hues of blood and gold. Below, Marines scrambled to salvage half-sunk warships, their shouts muffled by the groan of dying metal. "Marya Zaleska is… a novelty. One you've failed to contain."
Venus slammed her fist, a vial of sparkling water shattering on the floor. "She took my leg! My career's in shambles because of her! You think this is amusing?"
Mihawk turned, his gaze slicing through her. "I think you underestimated her. A fatal error."
The Fleet Admiral's snail narrowed its eyes. "Enough. Mihawk—neutralize her. Or your Warlord's status will be in jeopardy."
Silence fell, thick and suffocating. Mihawk traced the edge of Yoru's crossguard, the black blade humming faintly, as if eager to taste carnage again. Finally, he chuckled—a low, resonant sound that made the room's lanterns flicker.
"Very well. I'll hunt the girl."
Venus bristled. "Hunt? You'll coddle her! I demand—"
Mihawk's gaze silenced her. "You demand nothing. Your vengeance is a child's tantrum." He turned to leave, his coat sweeping the floor like a shadow. "But Marya… Let us see if her blade can cut more than metal."
As he exited, Sentomaru snarled at his back, "This isn't over, Hawkeyes!"
Mihawk paused at the threshold, the dying light framing his silhouette. "No. It's just begun."
Outside, the wind carried the salt of the sea and the distant wail of a wounded battleship. Mihawk boarded his coffin-shaped skiff, Yoru resting across his knees. The waves whispered of Marya's crescent scar on the horizon—a challenge etched into the world.
Venus watched from the war room's shattered window, her prosthetic leg trembling. "He'll protect her. You know he will."
Sentomaru grunted, sharpening his axe. "Doesn't matter. Mihawk's playing his own game. But when those two blades clash…" He smirked grimly. "The New World will shake."
In the harbor, Mihawk's skiff glided into the twilight, the Sea's whispers and Kuma's cryptic warning—"A future… unshackled"—echoing in his wake.
*****
The Polar Tang's docking bay hummed with the metallic clatter of wrenches and the hiss of welding torches. Jean Bart's massive frame blocked the flickering overhead light as he tightened the last bolt on Marya's submarine, its hull now patched with seastone plating that shimmered faintly under the dim glow. The air reeked of brine, oil, and the sharp tang of fresh solder. Ikkaku wiped grease from her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge across her cheek, while Uni and Clione bickered over a misaligned thruster nozzle.
"You're cross-threading it, idiot!" Clione snapped, shoving Uni aside.
"Am not! Your eyesight's just worse than a mole in a fog!"
Bepo hovered nearby, clutching a folded black jacket embroidered with the Heart Pirates' Jolly Roger—a grinning face with protrusions in six directions. His ears twitched nervously as Shachi sauntered over, tossing a screwdriver into a toolbox with a clang.
"She's gonna say no," Shachi muttered, eyeing the jacket. "Bet you 10,000 Berry she tosses it overboard."
Bepo's whiskers drooped. "Don't say that! Captain said she's… complicated."
Above deck, Law and Marya stood at the Polar Tang's prow, the wind carrying the distant shouts of Shakky haggling with the Flying Fish Riders over the Sunny's next hiding spot.
"Grove 42's crawling with Marines now," Shakky called up, her cigarette smoke curling into the salt air. "But there's a cove near Rusukaina—rocks like teeth. Even Kizaru wouldn't bother."
Duval struck a pose atop his winged mount. "My crew'll escort you! For a modest fee!"
Law ignored them, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Dressrosa's silhouette loomed in his mind. "Doflamingo's got a base of operations. SAD vats, weapons… secrets. I need to crack it open."
Marya leaned against the railing, Eternal Eclipse propped beside her. "And you think I care about his secrets?"
"No. But you care about…. your condition. He's hoarding Poneglyph rubbings."
Her golden eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"
Law smirked. "I listen."
Shachi's voice cut through the tension. "Yo, mist-girl! Get down here! We've got a surprise!"
The docking bay fell silent as Marya descended, her boots echoing on the grated floor. The crew huddled around her submarine, their faces streaked with grime and triumph. Ikkaku slapped the hull, leaving a greasy handprint.
"Good as new. Better, actually. Installed a hydrostatic stabilizer from the Sunny's scrap pile. Should handle sea current surges… probably."
Marya ran a hand along the sub's flank, her fingertips brushing the Heart Pirates' emblem welded near the hatch—a gesture even she didn't fully understand.
Bepo shuffled forward, ears flat. "Um… we, uh… fixed your jacket too!" He thrust the folded garment at her, the Jolly Roger's sigil threads gleaming gold. "The old one was singed, so Penguin sewed on the… the…"
"The family crest," Penguin interjected, grinning.
Marya took the jacket, her expression unreadable. The fabric was heavier than she remembered, the embroidery pricking her palm like a dare.
Shachi crossed his arms. "So? You staying or what?"
For a heartbeat, the bay held its breath. Then Marya shrugged the jacket on, the round face grinning defiantly over her heart and on her back. "I have debts to settle. And a father to locate."
Law's brow arched. "You're coming back, then."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "When it suits me."
Bepo's tail wagged. "That's a yes! Right? Right?"
Marya ignored him, turning to her sub, hiding her cacophony of mixed emotions. The hatch hissed open, releasing a puff of cold, metallic air. Inside, the control panel glowed faintly, and holographic charts of the Sea's currents spread across the navigator's desk.
As she stepped aboard, Shachi tossed her a Den Den Mushi stamped with a heart. "For when you're done being mysterious."
Marya caught it, tucking it into her coat without a word. The sub's engines hummed to life, vibrating the bay with a deep, resonant thrum.
On the Sunny's deck, Shakky raised her glass. "To sharper blades and softer landings!"
Marya took a deep breath and didn't look back as the hatch sealed. But as the Polar Tang's bay flooded, her submarine slipping into the ink-black water, she glanced once at the Jolly Rogers in the mirror—a ghost of a smirk on her lips, murmuring a curse word.
Somewhere above, Mihawk's gaze followed her descent, Yoru's edge thirsty for the clash to come.
*****
The submarine breached the surface of the New World's obsidian waters, its hull glistening under the pallid light of a crescent moon. Waves lapped against the metal with a rhythmic, almost mocking gentleness, as if the sea itself dared to soften the moment. Marya emerged from the hatch, the chill night air biting through her Heart Pirates jacket. The Jolly Roger's embroidered smiling face stared defiantly over her shoulder, its grin mirroring her own as she gripped Eternal Eclipse.
She didn't need to turn to sense him—the weight of his gaze was a blade pressed to her spine.
"Come out, then," she murmured.
The attack came not from the shadows, but from the horizon itself. A crescent slash of pure Haki split the night, its arc tearing through the waves and sky alike, a golden scar against the dark. Marya pivoted, her blade meeting the strike with a roar that shook the submarine's frame. The force sent shockwaves rippling outward, scattering bioluminescent plankton into glittering constellations.
"A love tap?" she called, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "You've gone soft."
The reply was another slash—wider, sharper—but this time, Marya answered in kind. A surge of Void energy coiled around her blade, and she retaliated with a crescent of black Haki that clashed against her father's. The collision lit the sea in bursts of gold and obsidian, the shockwave hurling water skyward in a temporary rain.
In the silence that followed, Mihawk's coffin-shaped skiff materialized from the mist, cutting through the settling spray. He stood at its prow, Yoru resting casually on his shoulder, his eyes twin suns in the gloom.
"You've improved," he acknowledged, his voice a low rumble that carried over the waves.
Marya sheathed Eclipse, her smirk sharp. "You've stagnated."
He didn't smile, but something flickered in his gaze—pride, perhaps, or the ghost of regret. With a fluid motion, he vanished in a burst of Soru, reappearing on her submarine's deck so silently the metal didn't even creak. The distance between them was a chasm and a breath.
"Hello, Father," she said, tilting her head. "Miss me?"
Mihawk's gaze swept over her—the jacket's Jolly Roger, the faint scars on her knuckles, the Void's shadow clinging to her like a second skin. "You left," he said simply.
"You let me."
A beat passed, the sea holding its breath. Then, slowly, Mihawk inclined his head. "You needed to."
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken history. Years ago, their argument had been a storm—clashing blades, shattered vases, her teenage voice raw with accusations, his silence a fortress. She'd fled that night, the echo of his final warning chasing her into the dark: "The world will not coddle you."
Now, Marya stepped forward, her boots echoing on the damp deck. "Did you?" she asked quietly. "Need me to leave?"
Mihawk's hand tightened imperceptibly on Yoru. "I needed you to survive."
The admission hung in the air, fragile as seafoam. Marya's stoic mask wavered, just for a heartbeat. Then, with a scoff that lacked venom, she closed the distance.
Their embrace was swift, awkward—a collision of guarded hearts. Mihawk's arm brushed her back, his coat smelling of aged wine and steel, while Marya's face pressed briefly against the familiar feel of his top. It lasted less than a breath, but in it lived a decade of silence.
Pulling away, Marya crossed her arms. "Don't expect sentimental visits."
Mihawk turned toward the horizon, where the Sabaody Archipelago's shadow loomed. "Expect nothing. But know this—" He glanced back, moonlight carving his profile into something almost gentle. "Your blade is your own. But your enemies… are mine."
Marya rolled her eyes, though her lips quirked. "Dramatic as ever."