In the warm, wood-paneled belly of the Crystal Goblet Tavern, the air was thick with the comforting scent of baking bread, spiced ale, and the faint, ever-present undertone of volcanic sulfur that no amount of cleaning could fully erase. Polished dragon-bone stools lined the long bar, which was currently bathed in the soft glow of enchanted ship-gauge lanterns.
Behind this bar stood Auset Kryptos, her presence a still point in the tavern's gentle chaos. Her long, dark waves, threaded with silver and gold, were mostly tucked beneath her intricate silk headwrap, a few stray curls framing a face that was both serene and intensely watchful. Her large violet eyes, avoiding direct contact, tracked everything from the boisterous arm-wrestling match between a horned man and a long-armed man to the way the light caught the dust motes dancing in the air. She polished a glass with a clean, white cloth, the motion rhythmic and methodical, a way to impose order on the constant, whispering stream of information that flooded her mind from the objects and people around her.
Two women sat at the bar, a study in contrasts. Celeste Tenko, her sleek silver bob seeming to reflect the warm light, perched on the very edge of her stool. She held a set of wanted posters, her grip delicate but firm. Her posture was perfect, yet she seemed to be trying to make herself smaller, her large, doe-like grey eyes wide with a mixture of duty and anxiety. She pressed her two index fingers together nervously, a self-soothing gesture, before sliding the pictures across the polished wood.
"P-pardon the interruption," Celeste began, her voice soft as falling ash. "Have you, by any chance, seen these people? We received intel that they are on the island." The pictures showed the scowling faces of Finn Rix, Vesper Covin, and the sharp-featured Drusilla Lorne.
Annabell Ellis, seated beside her, adjusted her oversized round glasses, which magnified her earnest, hazel eyes. She was petite, nearly swallowed by her tweed vest, but her voice held a scholar's conviction. "We heard they've been frequenting this tavern," she finished, her words precise. A tiny, involuntary sniffle escaped her, a prelude to a sneeze she quickly stifled.
Auset's gaze didn't immediately drop to the pictures. Instead, it swept over the two women, reading the story they didn't tell. She felt the thrum of Celeste's disciplined power, a quiet, sheathed blade of immense potential, and the buzzing, academic intensity of Annabell, a mind sharp enough to cut but housed in a fragile vessel. The history of the paper, the ink, the faint sweat from Celeste's palms—it all whispered to her. She finally let her eyes fall to the images.
"Why are you looking for them?" Auset's voice was a low, melodic hum that seemed to form directly in their minds, not their ears. She rarely used her physical voice, and the effect was disarming.
Celeste floundered, her fingers pressing together again. "Well, we— that is to say—"
Annabell smoothly cut in, taking charge. "They stole something. We want it back." She tried to project confidence, but another sniffle betrayed her nerves.
Auset's skeptical look could have curdled milk. Her eyes, flicking between Celeste's timid posture and Annabell's slight frame, communicated her disbelief more clearly than any words. These were not retrievers of stolen goods. "And what is it that they stole?" she projected, the question laced with a knowing patience.
Annabell and Celeste shared a frantic, silent conversation with their eyes. How much to reveal? Annabell finally let out a resigned sigh. "A book. From our… library. We would simply like for it to be returned."
Auset cocked her head, the silver jewelry at her ears catching the light. The lie was a sour note in the symphony of the tavern's whispers. But the truth behind the lie—their genuine, urgent need—was resonant. She gestured with her chin, a barely perceptible motion toward the far corner of the room. "They are seen here in the afternoons. They usually sit at that table. But I must tell you," she added, her mental voice firm, "I do not believe you capab—"
Her thought cut off abruptly. Her entire body went still, her violet eyes widening a fraction before narrowing, becoming transfixed on the tavern's entrance. The stream of psychic noise from the room seemed to focus into a single, piercing signal.
Celeste and Annabell both turned, following her gaze.
The door swung shut, framing three new arrivals. In the lead was a woman whose presence seemed to cool the very air around her. Dracule Marya Zaleska, her long raven hair a stark contrast to the warm tones of the tavern, her golden eyes scanning the room with a calm, predatory stillness. She wore her signature leather jacket with the Heart Pirates insignia, denim shorts, and scuffed boots that made no sound on the wooden floor. Beside her, Jannali Bandler moved with a vibrant, almost theatrical energy, her indigo headscarf and golden earrings marking her as a splash of color next to Marya's monochrome intensity. And between them, wobbling with joyful obliviousness, was Jelly Squish, his azure body glimmering as he bounced toward a corner booth.
Celeste gasped, a soft, startled sound. "No way."
"Is that…" Annabell whispered, her scholarly mind racing to connect the stories she'd heard with her own memories of the woman now in front of her.
But Celeste was already moving. Without thinking, driven by a loyalty that overrode her shyness, she slipped from her stool. She didn't run, but her steps were quick and purposeful, carrying her toward Marya.
Auset's voice, now laced with a new, sharp curiosity, formed in Annabell's mind. "You know them?"
Annabell, still watching the scene unfold, nodded absently. "Yeah. Sort of." She finally tore her gaze away to look at the enigmatic bartender. "Do you?"
Auset's eyes remained fixed on Marya, who was now sliding into the shadowy booth, Jannali following with a conspiratorial grin. Jelly happily began molding himself into a makeshift seat.
Auset's response was a whisper that felt ancient and heavy with implication. "Only what is whispered."
The low, constant thrum of Bootleg Island's volcanic heart was a bass note beneath the Crystal Goblet Tavern's warmer symphony of clinking glasses and murmured conversation. Marya was about to slide into the shadowed embrace of the corner booth, Jannali already gracefully slipping into one side, when a voice, soft yet unmistakable, cut through the ambient noise.
"Marya? Is that you?"
Marya froze, one hand on the table's edge. She knew that voice, a sound as refined and gentle as a perfectly balanced blade being sheathed. She swallowed hard, a rare, almost imperceptible tension tightening her jaw. Slowly, she turned.
Celeste Tenko stood before the booth, her sleek silver bob seeming to glow in the tavern's warm light. She was a portrait of hesitant grace, her posture perfect yet somehow fragile, her large, doe-like grey eyes wide with a mixture of hope and anxiety. She wore a simple, dark crop-top and leggings under a light violet letterman jacket, the outfit of a practitioner, not a brawler.
Jelly, who had been morphing into a wobbly seat cushion, perked up. "Bloop! New friend!" he chirped, his gelatinous form jiggling with excitement.
When Marya's golden eyes met hers, Celeste's shoulders dropped in a wave of visible relief, a small, genuine grin breaking through her nervousness. She immediately pressed her two index fingers together, a self-soothing gesture, and dropped her gaze to the floor. "Um. It is good to see you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
She was about to ask another question, her lips parting, when Marya interrupted, her own voice low and even. "It is good to see you too, Celeste." Her gaze swept over Celeste's shoulder, scanning the room behind her with a practiced, guarded intensity. "Are you traveling alone?"
Celeste perked up, a flicker of her duty surfacing. "Oh, no. I am on—" She stopped abruptly, noticing the subtle, almost invisible shake of Marya's head. She blinked, processing the silent warning. "—I am looking for some people," she finished, amending her statement.
Marya's brow furrowed. "And you think they are here?"
Celeste nodded, her silver hair swaying. "We know they are. We were just talking to the owner. She verified it for us."
Jannali, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, cleared her throat. "Friend of yours?" she asked, her tone light and curious.
The sound of a new voice addressing Marya made Celeste jolt slightly, as if she'd forgotten anyone else was there. She flushed, flustered, and gave a quick, formal bow. "I am sorry, I should have introduced myself. I am Celeste Tenko. I didn't mean to interrupt."
Jannali's smile was warm and disarming. "You didn't interrupt; we just got here. I'm Jannali." She gestured with her chin toward the wobbly blue blob on the table. "And the enthusiastic one is Jelly."
Jelly bounced happily, waving a mitten-hand. "Jelly Jelly!"
A small, surprised chuckle escaped Celeste, and she covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
From across the room, Annabelle Ellis, seeing that Celeste wasn't being met with hostility, took a fortifying breath. She adjusted her oversized glasses, pushed her chestnut-brown hair out of her face, and walked over, her steps quick and purposeful. As she arrived next to Celeste, a sudden, violent sneeze shook her small frame. "Hah-ISHOO!" Sniffling, she looked up at Marya. "It is good to see you again, Ms. Dracule."
Marya's brow creased slightly, her golden eyes narrowing as she tried to place the petite scholar. The name didn't immediately register.
Annabell noticed the lack of recognition and provided a clue, her voice gaining a scholarly precision. "You provided rescue when I was with a young boy in Rommel." When that didn't spark immediate recall, she added, "You defended us from a… demon prince? Cavendish?" She sneezed again, a smaller, quicker choo! That made her glasses slide down her nose. She pushed them back up, her final clue delivered with a hint of exasperation. "Golden locks?"
A flicker of memory passed behind Marya's eyes. The chaotic streets of Rommel, a flamboyant swordsman with flowing blonde hair causing a scene, and a terrified academic clutching a child. "Oh yes," Marya said, a hint of dry amusement in her tone. "I think I recall now." She cocked her head, her gaze shifting between Celeste and Annabelle. "And you two are traveling together. Looking for people."
Annabell pushed her shoulders back, a comical attempt to seem taller and more formidable, slightly offended by the implied doubt in Marya's tone. "I am here to authenticate the merchandise they acquired from…" she began, her voice firm.
"—Our library," Celeste interjected smoothly, nudging Annabelle's shoulder with her own in a gentle warning.
Jannali, sipping the fizzy apple cocktail a waiter had just delivered, watched them over the rim of her glass. "Are you planning on buying it back from them? Or have something to trade?" she asked, her tone innocuous.
Annabell's cheeks flushed with indignation. "We most certainly will not! We require they do the honorable thing and return it!"
Jannali bit her lip, struggling to hold back a laugh. "Um. You think thieves are honorable?"
Marya was about to say something when Auset arrived, a stack of menus in her hands. Her movement was silent, her presence suddenly there as if she'd materialized from the shadows. Her violet eyes missed nothing. "You ladies look thirsty. Can I start you out with anything else to drink?" she asked, her voice a quiet hum in their minds.
Jannali nodded. "Yeah, love, I'll take another of these."
Marya, without looking away from Annabelle and Celeste, said, "A glass of your table red."
Jelly, sucking the last of his cola through a straw with a loud, gurgling slurp, chirped, "More fizzy!"
Auset paused for a beat, her gaze lingering on Marya before she turned to leave. Marya returned her attention to the two Consortium members. "Who is it you are looking for?"
Annabell unfolded the wanted poster and handed it over. Marya took it, her eyes scanning the images of Finn Rix, Vesper Corvin, and Drusilla Lorne. A faint sense of recognition stirred. "They look familiar," she admitted.
Celeste leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. "That is because… they are the ones who were there when your uncle came to visit." She paused, choosing her words with care, aware of listening ears. "You may have a hard time remembering because you were not feeling well."
The memory clicked into place with cold clarity. A confrontation. A threat. Aurélie. Marya's lips pressed into a thin line. "This was them?"
Celeste nodded. "Aurélie Sens…" She caught herself, changing course. "Aurélie was able to find their… companion. But she could not find them."
Marya gave a single, slow nod, understanding the awkward, coded explanation. Auset, who had returned with their drinks, pretended to polish a nearby table, her head tilted just so.
Marya handed the poster back to Annabelle. "I hope you are successful in retrieving your book." She finally sat down in the booth, taking a slow sip of the deep red wine that had been placed before her.
Jannali swirled her cocktail. "You don't want to help your friends?"
A faint smirk touched Marya's lips. "Don't be fooled by her appearance. Celeste can handle herself."
A blush spread across Celeste's cheeks at the unexpected compliment, and she looked down at her pressed-together fingers.
Annabell, however, chewed her cheek. The need to stand her ground warred with the acute awareness of her own physical uselessness in a fight. She forced herself to stand as tall as her four-foot-eleven frame would allow. "Ms. Dracule."
Marya paused with her wine glass halfway to her lips at the formal address, then placed it back on the table with a soft clink.
"While Ms. Tenko is very capable and skilled," Annabelle continued, her voice gaining strength, "we would greatly appreciate your assistance with this matter. Your skills and experience would be most valued."
The only sound was the final, desperate clink of ice as Jelly slurped the last drops of his new cola.
Jannali leaned back against the booth's leather cushion, a wide grin spreading across her face. "I say we help them." She gestured around the still-mostly-empty tavern. "Doesn't look like your other mates are here yet. We've got time to kill."
Marya's eyes narrowed, but before she could refuse, Celeste bowed again, deeply and formally. "Your assistance would be greatly appreciated. And… thank you for the compliment. But my skills pale in comparison to your own."
Marya groaned, a sound of fond exasperation. "Celeste, you know I hate it when you do that. You know we both…" She stopped herself, cutting off the rest of the sentence. She let out a short, sharp sigh, the sound of resigned inevitability. "Okay," she relented, her voice flat. "When do they usually show up?"
*****
The world outside the viewport was a dizzying whirl of grey metal, green-tinged sky, and the immense, retreating forms of the mechanical giants. With a final, groaning shudder, the submarine settled onto the deck of Haven-07. The impact was less violent than the crash into the sea, but it was still a jarring, grinding slide that ended with the sub listing heavily onto its side. The sound of settling metal and the distant, rhythmic clang of heavy industry replaced the roar of battle and sea.
Inside, it was a scene of disarray. Loose tools, scrolls, and the contents of Charlie's satchel were strewn across what was now a slanted wall. A low, pained groan echoed in the smoky air.
Bianca was the first to break the tense silence, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face with a grimy hand. "So," she said, her voice a little shaky, "like, what happens next?"
Kuro was already unbuckling his harness, his movements economical and controlled. He adjusted his spectacles with a practiced push of his palm. "I would assume someone with some authority will be tasked with greeting us." His tone was smooth, the polite cadence of Klahadore masking a sharp, analytical assessment of their predicament.
Souta, righting himself in his seat with a quiet grimace, interjected without looking up. "You mean interrogate us." His gloved fingers absently traced the swirling, agitated lines of a tattoo on his wrist, a silent tell of his calculated concern.
Aurélie ignored them both, her steel-gray eyes locking onto Bianca. Her own silver hair was slightly disheveled, a rare breach of her usual stoic composure. "The damage. How severe is it? Can you fix it?" Her voice was low, urgent, focused on the only objective that mattered: regaining control.
Bianca jumped to her feet, wincing as a sharp pain shot up her side from the earlier tumble. "Ow, like, okay, yeah. One sec." She limped toward the engine room hatch, her boots crunching on scattered debris. With a grunt, she heaved the smoking door open.
A thick, acrid plume of black smoke, smelling of fried electronics and molten crystal, billowed out, making everyone cough. Without hesitation, Bianca yanked her large magnifying goggles down over her eyes, took a deep breath of relatively clear air, and charged into the gloom.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her muffled coughing and the occasional clang of a tool from within the smoke-filled compartment. When she emerged, she was coughing violently, her face smudged with fresh soot. She leaned against the doorframe, catching her breath.
"Like, it's totally fried," she finally gasped, waving a hand to clear the air. "I like, will have to rebuild it."
Aurélie's brow wrinkled, a faint crease of frustration and concern. "Rebuild what component?"
"Like, that's the thing," Bianca said, her words tumbling out in a stressed rush. "When I say I have to like, rebuild it, I mean, like, the whole thing. The core resonator is cracked, the flux conduits are melted into slag… I need new alloys, specialized crystal lathes, like, everything."
Charlie cleared his throat with a loud, deliberate "Ahem!" He had managed to gather a few of his precious scrolls, clutching them to his chest like a life raft. "We are, perhaps, assuming the worst-case scenario prematurely. As we have all witnessed, there appears to be a significant level of advanced technological integration within this society." He gestured vaguely toward the deck beyond the hull. "A culture capable of fabricating such… such… bipedal war platforms would undoubtedly possess the necessary industrial base for our repairs. Indeed, they may be open to providing aid to fellow… travelers in distress." He nodded, seeming pleased with his own deduction.
Kuro and Aurélie both looked at him with identically flat, unimpressed expressions. It was a rare moment of unity between the covert syndicate strategist and the consortium swordswoman.
Souta gave a low, dry chuckle, a smirk playing on his lips. "Those 'platforms' look like war machines to me, scholar. If this is a society entrenched in conflict, its resources are likely dedicated to that end. They don't hand out advanced alloys to strangers who fall from the sky. They inventory them, question them, and determine if they're an asset or a threat." His cynical assessment hung in the air, feeling dangerously accurate.
Ember, who had been curiously poking at a cracked dial on the wall, suddenly clapped her hands together. "Ooh, let's go play! I wanna see the big stompy robots!" She grinned, her mismatched eyes wide with excitement, entirely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
Before anyone could respond, a new sound echoed from outside—a rhythmic, heavy tromping of boots on metal, growing rapidly closer. It was the sound of disciplined, numerous movement. A shadow fell over the main viewport, now tilted at a crazy angle, blocking the strange sky.
Through the smoke-hazed glass, they could see the outlines of figures clad in sleek, grey body armor and full-face helmets, their forms backlit by harsh artificial lights. They moved with a coordinated purpose, surrounding the downed submarine. The lead figure raised a metallic, amplified voice.
"Unidentified vessel. You are on Colonial Union Authority sovereign territory. Power down all systems and exit immediately with your hands visible. Any resistance will be met with lethal force."
The message was cold, impersonal, and left no room for negotiation. The greeting party had arrived. And Souta, it seemed, had been right.