The air in the Golden Berry Bar was a thick, warm stew of spiced ale, roasted nuts, and the salty tang of the sea that clung to every patron. It was a place carved from the very heart of Bootleg Island, where the constant, low rumble of the nearby volcano was a bass note to the symphony of clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and the slosh of dice. Lanterns crafted from old, repurposed ship gauges cast a warm, wavering light over the scene, illuminating a clientele as diverse as the Grand Line itself: a Fish-Man with gills still dripping saltwater argued good-naturedly with a man whose arms were covered in living, squirming tattoos.
At a circular table of dark, scarred wood, the epicenter of the room's energy seemed to cool. Dracule Marya Zaleska sat with the stillness of a deep-sea trench, a stark contrast to the chaos around her. Her leather jacket, emblazoned with the faded yellow insignia of the Heart Pirates, was unzipped over a simple shirt, the outfit completed by denim shorts and tall, scuffed boots that were propped on a rung of her chair. One hand rested on the table, her fingers, marked with the faint, spidering black veins of her curse, idly tracing a watermark.
Across from her, Jannali Bandler was a study in vibrant motion. A stylish headscarf of deep indigo and gold was artfully tied to conceal her forehead, though it did nothing to hide the large, intelligent brown eyes that saw everything. Her golden hoop earrings caught the light from under robust afro as she leaned forward, a playful smirk on her lips. Between them, the dealer, a tall individual with bored, reptilian eyes, slid the final card across the felt with a soft whick.
Marya lifted the corner of her new card with a single, calloused finger. Her golden eyes, so like her father's, flickered over it before returning to a neutral stare.
"Place your bets," the dealer intoned, his voice a dry rasp.
The silence was punctuated by a loud, satisfied sllluuurrrp. Perched on the edge of the table itself, Jelly "Giggles" Squish was engulfed by a glass of something frothy and pink, a straw nearly as tall as he was wobbling in his mittened hand. He let out a giggly sigh of pure bliss, his gelatinous body jiggling. "Bloop! Fizzy!" he chirped, before snatching a handful of roasted peanuts from a bowl and stuffing them into his grinning mouth, crunching happily.
Without a word, Marya flicked a stack of chips into the center of the table. They landed with a soft, plastic clatter.
Jannali rested her chin on a bent elbow, her gaze not on her cards but on Marya. It was a calculating, appreciative look, as if she were appraising a fascinating relic. "Want to make this more interesting?" she asked, her voice a melodic counterpoint to the tavern's din.
Marya's eyebrow arched a fraction of an inch, the only sign she'd heard. The dealer, growing impatient, tapped the table. "Bets. Now."
With a theatrical sigh, Jannali tossed her cards face-down onto the felt. "I fold." Her eyes never left Marya's. "I believe you and I have mutual interests that far outweigh a handful of plastic."
"If this is all your interest amounts to," Marya replied, her voice low and even, "then I will pass." She made to gather her winnings.
"I have something you are looking for," Jannali said, her smirk widening. "And you… you will lead me to something I am looking for."
Marya's eyes narrowed. She stood, the chair scraping against the rough-hewn floor. "No one has what I am looking for." She turned to leave, Jelly immediately hopping down from the table to bounce at her heels like a cheerful, azure ball.
"Your name," Jannali called out, also rising. "It is whispered on the wind."
Marya didn't break stride, a low groan of irritation barely audible. As she passed, Jannali's hand shot out to grab her arm—and passed straight through, encountering nothing but a faint, cool dampness, as if she'd grasped a handful of morning fog over the sea.
Jannali blinked, her hand freezing in mid-air. Her confident expression faltered for a single, shocked second. "It is true then," she whispered, awe cutting through her usual playful demeanor.
Marya kept walking. Spurred into motion, Jannali rushed after her, weaving through the crowded tables. When Marya didn't stop, Jannali began to speak, her voice dropping into a rhythmic, ancient cadence that seemed to momentarily still the air around them.
"What roots drink the tears of the sky? Four keepers born of flame, sight, storm, and flame's denied. The tyrant's child must weep alone— A crown undone, a debt atoned."
Marya stopped. She didn't turn, but her shoulders went rigid beneath the leather jacket.
Jannali pressed on, stepping closer, her words weaving a tapestry of cryptic lore. "Three keys forged in star, beast, and bone: One charts the path where gods have flown, One beats where leviathans groan, One wears the face the world disowned."
Slowly, deliberately, Marya turned all the way around. Her judgmental glare could have frozen the volcanic rivers outside.
Undeterred, Jannali walked right up to her, her voice gaining intensity. "The dancer laughs where shadows part— His joy the spark to mend the heart. But blood must flow from six torn veins: Sky's heir, moon's scorn, and D's old chains."
"How," Marya asked, her voice dangerously quiet, each word edged like her blade, "do you know this?"
Jannali finished, her eyes locked on Marya's, "When heaven's stars align as one, Four shades shall rise where light has spun— Serpent's wrath, Condor's toll, Tiger's grace, and Tide's lost scroll. Bound by chains of cosmic creed, Their oath unlocks what shadows bleed. Speak the price the Void demands, And sail where Lethe's gate commands."
She took a final breath. "Dracule's shadow. His legacy is whispered on the wind. I can help you."
Marya's brow was deeply furrowed, the lines on her forehead telling a story of intense internal calculation. They both looked down as a tremendous, wet BURRRAP echoed from Jelly, who then giggled, covering his mouth. "Oopsie! Too fizzy!"
The tension broke for a mere second. Marya's gaze returned to Jannali, sharper than ever. "What is it you want?"
Jannali's smile returned, brilliant and assured. "I want to go with you."
"I don't take on passengers," Marya stated, her tone final.
Jannali took a graceful step back. In one fluid motion, she unhooked the compact cylinder from her belt and flicked her wrist. With a series of sharp clacks, it extended into a full-length spear, its dark sea-stone tip gleaming dully under the tavern lights. "I am no passenger," she said, hefting the weapon with practiced ease. "You need me."
A massive bouncer with arms like cannon barrels took a step forward from the shadows. "NO WEAPONS IN THE CLUB!" his voice boomed, shaking the glasses on the nearest tables.
Marya merely shifted her weight, utterly unimpressed by the display. "I do not need people."
"You need me," Jannali insisted, collapsing the spear just as quickly and hooking it back on her belt. She closed the distance again, this time leaning in so close Marya could smell the faint scent of salt and spice on her skin. Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Marya's ears. "I know the chant to open the door. The wind has sung it to me."
Marya's jaw tightened, a muscle flexing beneath her skin. "How?"
Jannali leaned back, her expression triumphant. "The how does not matter. But you need me. And the wind tells me you will accept my offer."
The lines on Marya's forehead deepened as she weighed the impossible truth in this stranger's words against a lifetime of solitary purpose. Finally, she let out a short, sharp breath. "I will not be responsible for what may happen."
"Of course not," Jannali said, her grin threatening to split her face. "And I do not need you to be." In an instant, she looped her arm through Marya's, pulling her towards the door as if they were the oldest of friends.
Jelly bounced along behind them, mimicking the motion with a wobbly, "Bloop! Adventure time!"
"This," Jannali declared, beaming at the smoky, chaotic tavern they were leaving behind, "is going to be so much fun!" Marya allowed herself to be led, her stoic expression momentarily cracked by a faint, reluctant shake of her head at the sheer, audacity of it all.
*****
The air inside the submersible was a thick cocktail of scents: the sharp, coppery tang of sea pressure on metal, the warm, nutty aroma from the stains on Bianca's overalls, and the faint, dry scent of old paper that seemed to emanate from Charlie's overstuffed satchel. The vessel, a sleek, dolphin-shaped craft of reinforced iron and brass, hummed with a low, steady rhythm, its internal dials and gears a symphony of controlled power as it cut through the dark waters.
In the pilot's seat, Aurélie Nakano Takeko was a statue of focused intent. Her long silver hair, a cascade of moonlight, spilled over the back of the chair, contrasting starkly with the minimalist black of her tactical hakama and reinforced corset. The sheath of Anathema lay flat against her hip, a silent promise of violence. Her steel-gray eyes were fixed on the main viewing port, where the abyssal gloom was occasionally broken by schools of strange, deep-sea fish that scattered at their approach.
Over her shoulder, Bianca Yvenne Clark was on her knees, her waist-length black hair escaping its messy bun and sticking to her damp forehead. A pencil was speared through the dark knot. Her grease-stained overalls were unbuttoned, revealing a splash of floral silk beneath, now smudged with oil. Her calloused fingers stained with colorful polish, she secured the final, hair-thin wire into the complex tangle of dials and coils that was her reimagined masterpiece: the Bubble Porter.
"Finally," she breathed, sitting back on her heels and wiping her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a fresh smudge of grime.
Aurélie's voice cut through the hum, cool and level. "Are we clear to initiate transport?"
Bianca pushed herself up, already moving toward the nearest bolted-down seat. "Like, all clear," she said, her words tumbling out in her characteristic rhythm. "You can, like, go whenever." She fumbled with her harness, her expressive hands making quick, sure work of the buckle.
Aurélie gave a single, sharp nod. Her hand, moved to a large, crystal lever set into the console. It glowed with a soft, internal light. With a firm push, she engaged it.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the Bubble Porter emitted a low, building whine that climbed into a piercing, metallic squeal. The entire submersible jolted violently, as if a leviathan had struck it. Loose tools and scrolls from Charlie's satchel clattered to the groaning floor.
Everyone braced. Kuro, who had been observing the proceedings with an air of detached superiority from his seat, stiffened. His hand went instinctively to his cracked spectacles, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with his palm—a subtle, telling gesture. His sharp eyes narrowed. "Is this… part of the standard procedure?" he asked, his voice a carefully modulated blend of curiosity and underlying threat, the refined tone of Klahadore barely masking the pirate beneath.
"Like, no!" Bianca cursed, her voice pitching higher, the frequency of her "likes" beginning to spike. She frantically clawed at her harness buckle. "The resonance is, like, totally out of phase! The pressure coupler is—"
A violent hiss erupted from the Porter. A jet of superheated steam shot across the compartment, followed by a fist-sized bolt that sheared from its housing and ricocheted off the reinforced wall with a deafening clang. The submersible groaned in protest, a deep, aching sound of metal stressed far beyond its limits. A hairline crack spiderwebbed across a secondary viewing port.
"Shut it down!" Bianca yelled, but her voice was warping, stretching into a low, distorted drawl as the very air in the cabin seemed to thicken and swirl.
Aurélie was already moving, reaching for the emergency shutdown rune beside the main lever. But her arm felt heavy, impossibly slow, as if she were pushing through a sea of molasses. The world around her was losing its form. The hum of the engines became a deep, agonized screech, a scream of dying machinery. The light from the dials and crystals bled together into swirling vortexes of color.
Time itself seemed to fracture. Charlie Leonard Wooley, his pith helmet miraculously still in place, had one hand clamped over his satchel and the other gripping his seat, his mouth open in a silent, protracted "Ahem!" of academic alarm. Souta, the Ink Shadow, sat perfectly still, his gloved fingers steepled, but the tattoos on his exposed forearms writhed and swirled like agitated eels, a silent, panicked betrayal of his calm exterior. Ember, strapped in beside him, wasn't panicked. A wide, unblinking grin was frozen on her face, her mismatched eyes—one blue, one gold—alight with a chaotic joy. She held her charred plush rabbit, Mr. Cinders, tightly, her lips seemingly frozen mid-whisper to an unseen critic.
The submersible didn't break apart; it unmade itself. The solid iron walls rippled like liquid, becoming translucent, then insubstantial. The screeching filled their skulls, a torturous, slow-motion sound that was the only thing left feeling real. The last thing Aurélie saw was Bianca, stretched and distorted, one hand reaching out, her mouth a perfect 'O' of horror, before the light swallowed everything.
In a final, silent concussion of twisted reality, the submarine vanished from the deep, leaving behind nothing but a few bubbling currents and the profound, ancient silence of the sea.
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!