The sled carved a final, graceful arc across the packed snow of the coastal plain, coming to a rest with a soft whump that sent a plume of diamond-dust snow into the air. The silence that followed was immense, broken only by Polar's panting and the distant, angry roar of the forest guardian they'd left behind.
In a fluid motion, Marya, Atlas, and Galit disembarked. Marya reached into her coat, the frozen Jelly in her pocket giving a faint clink, and pulled out a heavy, clinking pouch. She tossed it to Chessa, who caught it with both hands, the berries inside jangling a merry tune that felt utterly out of place. "Thanks, kid. Good work," Marya said, her voice its usual low, even timbre, though a hint of genuine respect colored the edges.
Chessa's wind-chapped cheeks bunched into a bright grin, her blue eyes crinkling. "Good luck! It was really nice meeting you all!" she called out, giving a vigorous wave. Polar gave a short, affirmative woof, his tail thumping against the sled.
They didn't waste another second, turning as one and sprinting around the jagged, ice-encrusted rock formation that hid their cove. The sight that greeted them pulled a unified curse from their lips.
Their submersible was no longer a secret. A squad of ten Whitebeard pirates, looking decidedly unhappy in the bitter cold, had formed a loose perimeter around it. One was even trying to pry the main hatch open with a crowbar, his breath puffing out in frustrated clouds.
"They found the sub," Galit stated, his voice flat. His long neck coiled slightly in annoyance.
Marya's golden eyes narrowed. "Dammit, Dalton," she grumbled under her breath, a quiet accusation against the king who must have revealed its location under pressure.
"What's the play, Captain?" Atlas asked, his muscles coiling, rust-red fur bristling with barely contained energy. A few stray sparks of Electro jumped between his knuckles.
Marya didn't even look at them, her gaze fixed on the scene ahead. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "It looks like there's only ten or so. I say we charge."
A wide, predatory grin split Atlas's features, his sharp canines glinting. "I like it."
Galit let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smirk played on his own lips. "Alright. So, are we counting down from three, or—?"
He was talking to air. Marya and Atlas were already moving, a blur of black coat and crimson fur exploding from behind the rocks. Galit pinched the bridge of his nose. "Really," he muttered to himself before launching after them, his Vipera Whips already slithering from their sheaths like eager serpents.
The Whitebeard pirates' reactions were a comedy of delayed shock. The one with the crowbar froze, his tool slipping from his fingers to clatter on the ice. Another, who'd been rubbing his hands together for warmth, choked on his own gasp.
"They're here! Charge!" a burly fighter finally bellowed, hefting a massive cutlass.
The clash was not a battle; it was a tidal wave meeting a sandcastle. Marya became a whirlwind of obsidian steel, her sword moves economical and brutal, using the flat of Eternal Eclipse to knock a man off his feet and send him skidding across the ice. Atlas was a living storm, a crackling lynx-shaped bolt of lightning that zipped through their ranks. He didn't strike to maim, but his electrified tackles were like being hit by a thunderclap, leaving pirates twitching and stunned on the ground.
Galit provided the finesse. His whips didn't cut; they ensnared. They wrapped around ankles and wrists, yanking pirates off balance with sharp tugs, sending them stumbling into each other or, with a powerful heave from Galit, flying through the air in a graceless arc.
"A little help would be nice!" Galit called out, expertly tripping two pirates who crashed into a third.
"You're doing great!" Atlas called back cheerfully, shoulder-checking a man so hard he sailed ten feet before plunging into the freezing ocean with a spectacular splash.
Marya didn't comment. She simply moved, a study in focused motion. She disarmed a swordsman with a flick of her wrist, caught the falling blade by the hilt, and tossed it, end over end, into the sea after its owner.
In less than a minute, it was over. The squad was defeated, most of them dumped unceremoniously into the numbingly cold water, spluttering and flailing. The three of them stood on the dock, barely winded.
"Scramble!" Marya ordered. They didn't need telling twice. Atlas bounded for the hatch, yanking it open. Marya was right behind him. Galit took one last look at the floundering pirates, gave a sarcastic two-fingered salute, and dove inside, sliding into the pilot's seat with practiced ease.
Marya grabbed the heavy hatch wheel, her muscles straining for a second before she slammed it shut with a final, resounding CLANG that sealed out the cold, the wind, and the whole mess of Drum Island.
"Dive!" her voice echoed in the suddenly silent metal chamber.
Outside, the only sounds were the panicked shouts of Whitebeard pirates and the first, deep gurgle of the submersible as it slipped beneath the waves, leaving nothing but churning bubbles in its wake.
*****
A gloomy calm had settled over Kuraigana, the air still thick with the coppery tang of Humandrill blood and the strange, sweet-rotten odor of the vanquished insectoids. The silence was a heavy blanket, a dramatic contrast to the dimensional chaos that had nearly torn the island apart. In the quiet cove, the sleek Consortium submarine sat half-beached on the dark sand, its hatch open like a waiting mouth.
From within its metallic belly came the sound of frantic activity and creative cursing. Bianca Clark was buried up to her shoulders in the engine's access panel, her voice muffled by the machinery. "Like, come on, you temperamental piece of… just thread already! Why did they use reverse-twist coils in this era? It makes no sense!"
Perona floated in a lazy, exasperated circle above the sub, keeping one eye on Ember, who was poking a stick at the half-dissolved carcass of a giant beetle. "Don't touch that! It's gross! And probably poisonous!" Perona scolded. Ember just giggled, giving the carcass a solid prod and squealing when it squelched.
Charlie stood nearby, an anxious tool-bearer, his arms laden with wrenches and strange, crystalline implements scavenged from the ruins. He handed Bianca a spanner with a worried expression. "Ahem! Are you certain about bypassing the primary coolant manifold, Miss Clark? The original schematics were quite explicit about its necessity for deep-sea pressure differentials."
Souta leaned against the open hatchway, his arms crossed, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips every time Bianca let out a particularly inventive swear about "backwards, stone-age technology."
On the shoreline, Aurélie Nakano Takeko sat on a piece of driftwood, her poetry notebook open on her knee. The tip of her pencil was chewed thoughtfully as she stared at a half-finished verse, the crashing waves and distant cries of carrion birds her only audience. Further out, on the sub's curved deck, Kuro stood like a sentinel, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon, his mind no doubt calculating a dozen different strategies and outcomes.
The peace was shattered by a sharp brrr-ring! from inside the submarine. The sound of the Den Den Mushi was jarringly normal.
Bianca sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion. She extracted herself from the engine, wiping greasy hands on her already ruined overalls, and shuffled to the communications station. She picked up the receiver. "Like, hello?"
A familiar, crisp voice came through the speaker. "Bianca? Is that you? The signal is weaker than expected."
Bianca's face lit up with recognition and relief. "Like, hey Nat!"
Charlie hurried over, leaning in. "Ms. Blackwell! It is good to hear from you! But… the encryption on this line is supposed to be—"
"No time for that," Natalie Blackwell's voice interrupted, her tone uncharacteristically tight, all business. "I made contact. I saw Marya."
The air in the sub grew still. Bianca's playful demeanor vanished. "Like, for real? Like, how? Like… where?"
Aurélie, her keen hearing catching the change in conversation, snapped her notebook shut. In two swift strides, she was inside the sub, her presence making the cramped space feel smaller. "What is your location?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the static.
"Drum Island," Natalie replied. "But…"
Bianca's grip on the receiver tightened. "Like, what?"
"She's already gone."
Aurélie's steel-gray eyes narrowed. "Do you know her next location?"
"Marya's too smart for that. She didn't say. But… she's different than she was."
Bianca's face fell. "Like, different how?"
Natalie's voice became low, solemn. "Harder. Colder. The light in her eyes… it's changed. She's not the same person we used to know."
Aurélie turned her sharp gaze to Bianca. "How much longer for repairs?"
Bianca shook off the somber mood, professionalism taking over. "Like, almost done. I can finish the last calibrations in transit. We should be able to, like, leave soon."
Natalie's voice came through again. "Where are you now? Your signal is originating from a… notoriously silent part of the Florian Triangle."
Bianca blinked. "Oh, uh, we're like, with Marya's dad. On his island."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, followed by a stunned, "What? How in the world did you manage—?"
"It is a long and rather eventful story," Charlie began, but Aurélie cut him off.
"This is the island of a Warlord," she stated, her voice cold. "Comms are most likely monitored." Her eyes flicked toward the hatch, and the island beyond.
Bianca went rigid. "Like, yeah. We should, like, go."
"Understood," Natalie said, her voice all business again. "Good luck."
"Like, yeah. Same to you," Bianca said, hanging up the receiver. She turned to Aurélie. "The sub can, like, dive. I can, like, finish the repairs en route to Drum."
Aurélie gave a single, sharp nod and stepped out onto the deck to gather the others.
As they assembled on the sand, a figure appeared on the ridge above the cove. Dracule Mihawk stood there, arms crossed, the massive black cross of Yoru's hilt peeking over his shoulder. The wind tugged at his shirt.
"Ready to depart?" he called down, his voice carrying easily over the waves.
Aurélie looked up at him. "Yes. We have another lead."
Mihawk raised a single, sharp eyebrow, a smirk touching his lips.
And then it dawned on her. Aurélie cocked her head, a rare show of open confusion. "You know," she stated, the realization cold in her gut. "You know where she is. What she is doing."
Mihawk's smirk widened, a flash of white in his stern face. "What would have made you think otherwise?"
Aurélie's jaw tightened, her hand instinctively moving toward Anathema's hilt before she stopped herself. He had been toying with them, watching them scramble for clues he already possessed.
Mihawk's smirk didn't fade. "Good luck. Perhaps our paths will cross again."
Perona zipped into view, pointing a dramatic finger at Ember, who was now trying to lick the strange metal of the sub's hull. "And make sure you take that pyromaniac with you! And don't think about coming back here! You've caused enough trouble for one century!"
Without another word, Kuro and Souta filed into the submarine. Aurélie gave Mihawk one last, long look before descending through the hatch. It hissed shut behind her, sealing with a sound of finality.
In the pilot's seat, Aurélie's hands moved over the controls with a familiar grace. Behind her, surrounded by her nest of tools and rewired panels, Bianca gave a thumbs-up. "Okay! We should be, like, good to transport!"
The engines hummed to life, a deep, steady thrum that was a world away from the unstable whine of the island's ancient technology. The submarine slid backward into the dark water, leaving the haunted shores of Kuraigana behind, its occupants bound for the wintery peaks of Drum Island and the chilling truth of what Marya had become.