The hum of the Armored Frames was a steady, mechanical heartbeat in the void. Through the thick viewports, the six strangers watched the star-dusted tapestry of the Typhon Cluster unfold, a silent, majestic spectacle that dwarfed any ocean they had ever known. The initial shock began to recede, replaced by a buzzing, analytical curiosity, particularly for one of them.
Bianca, strapped into her passenger seat in the Storm Dancer, chewed on a thumbnail, her eyes darting across the readouts on a secondary screen. "So, like," she began, breaking the solemn quiet, "your propulsion system. The energy signature is, like, totally wild. How does it manage the space-time variables when hopping between planetary gravity wells? The math must be, like, a nightmare."
Next to her, Charlie adjusted his pith helmet, which had miraculously stayed on through the entire escape. "Ahem! I must confess, Ms. Clark, your vernacular is occasionally impenetrable. Could you clarify these 'variables'?"
Bianca launched into an animated explanation, her hands weaving intricate shapes in the air. "Like, traveling through the vacuum, right? You've got cosmic background radiation, relativistic time dilation, the whole quantum foam party. To go any real distance without, like, taking a thousand years, you'd need to, like, fold the map or something…"
From the cockpit above, Evander's voice, thick with strained patience, cut through the technobabble. "Kid. Like this."
There was a simultaneous, decisive click from both the Storm Dancer and the Scarlet Marauder. Caden, in the other Frame, let out a soft, gleeful chuckle. Then, the universe outside the viewports bent.
The pinpricks of light streaked into long, brilliant lines, weaving together into a roaring, silent tunnel of incandescent energy. The Frames shuddered, not violently, but with a deep, resonant power that vibrated in their bones. The sensation was less of moving and more of the cosmos itself rearranging around them.
Bianca's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened, reflecting the rushing river of light. "Whoa," she breathed, all her frantic theories coalescing into a single, glorious understanding. "Like… a wormhole. A legit, tunnel-of-light wormhole! So your robots don't just fly, they, like, stitch space! That is so cool! I like, gotta see the engine!"
Charlie, pale and gripping his armrests, managed a weak, "Ahem! I would… I would appreciate a more detailed briefing on the underlying principles…"
As quickly as it began, the light-show ended. The star-tunnel collapsed back into a field of steady, distant suns. And now, something new dominated the view. A jagged, crater-pocked moon hung before them, and carved into a massive canyon on its surface was a sight that defied simple description: Orphan's End.
It was not a city; it was a geode of stolen dreams and scrap metal. The canyon walls were studded with layers of haphazard structures, welded together from the hulls of starships, the carcasses of Armored Frames, and industrial container modules. A precarious mesh walkway, "The Grating," zigzagged over a profound darkness below, where the only light came from the soft, blue glow of strange moss cultivated on the rock faces. The entire settlement was bathed in the perpetual, gloomy twilight of the gas giant Jörmungandr, which filled the sky above like a furious, banded god. The air around their descending Frames, even through the hull, carried a faint, metallic tang mixed with the yeasty smell of recycled life support.
Their two Frames, along with the others carrying the submarine, were guided towards a landing ledge. A voice, crackling with static, came over the comms. "Cleared for landing on Pad Gamma. And welcome back. Mia Chronis is expecting you."
The moment the name was spoken, both Caden and Evander visibly stiffened in their cockpit seats, their previous bravado evaporating.
The hatches hissed open, releasing them into the atmosphere of Orphan's End. The air was dry and carried the scent of hot metal, sulfur from geothermal vents, and the faint, coppery hint of old oxygen. The constant, industrial hum of the settlement was a living thing, vibrating up through the metal deck into their souls.
A woman with grease-smudged cheeks and a toolbelt slung low on her hips was waiting for them, her arms crossed. "Welcome back," she said, her voice pragmatic and warm. "Name's Piper. Most folks call me 'Gearbox'."
Aurélie, Bianca, Charlie, Kuro, Ember, and Souta exchanged a rapid volley of glances—a silent conference of confusion and ingrained distrust. Ember, utterly enthralled by the new environment, began to hum a discordant tune and skip towards the edge of the platform.
Souta, without a word, flicked his wrist. The tattoos on his forearm swirled, and a tendril of liquid shadow, shaped like a graceful ribbon, looped gently around Ember's waist, holding her back from the precipice. The display was subtle, but in the dim light, it was unmistakably unnatural.
Everyone froze, their attention snapping to the living ink.
Evander let out a low whistle, while Caden's sharp eyes gleamed with interest. "We didn't have time for proper introductions earlier," Caden said, his voice carefully neutral. "We're with the Jovian Free Fleet. And it seems our new guests have… impressive, otherworldly talents."
Charlie cleared his throat, stepping forward slightly, an academic shield against the unspoken threat. "Ahem! Such abilities, while not common, are known where we hail from. Those who possess them often demonstrate remarkable, paradigm-shifting traits."
Piper 'Gearbox' Sol looked Charlie up and down, from his pith helmet to his scuffed explorer's boots. "But you're not one of them," she observed, not unkindly.
"Indeed not," Charlie replied, straightening his vest. "Ms. Clark and I are academics. We possess a different, though I daresay equally valuable, skillset."
Before anyone could say another word, a new figure, clad in the practical, worn leathers of a JFF enforcer, strode onto the landing pad. His expression was grim. "Mia Chronis will meet with them. Now."
Evander and Caden shared a look of pure, undiluted dread. "We, ah… we better take you to go meet with her," Evander said, his booming voice now subdued.
Piper offered a sympathetic, slightly amused smirk. "Good luck."
Kuro and Aurélie's eyes met again, the suspicion in them deepening. This was not a welcoming committee; it was a summons. But with their submarine in the hands of these scavengers and no other options, they had no choice. With a shared, resolute breath, the two groups—Consortium and Syndicate, still hiding their true allegiances—fell in step behind their reluctant guides, descending from the landing pad into the chaotic, humming belly of Orphan's End.
*****
The quiet hum of the submarine's engine was the only sound for a long while, a steady thrumming that vibrated through the deck plates. Through the thick, reinforced glass of the viewport, the dark water gave way to a faint greenish glow from above. The shadow of the island grew, a monolithic silhouette against the sun-dappled surface.
"There she is," Galit Varuna announced from the helm, his long neck tilted as he studied the readings on from the hologram. His voice was calm, but his fingers danced over the controls with a restless energy. "Ohara. Preparing for surface approach and docking procedures."
Marya sat in the copilot's seat, a silent statue draped in her familiar leather jacket with the Heart Pirates' insignia. Her golden eyes were fixed on the looming island, her expression unreadable. The faint, dark veins on her arms seemed to pulse in time with the submarine's heartbeat.
It was Jannali who broke the silence, leaning against a bulkhead with her arms crossed. Her headscarf was a splash of vibrant color in the dimly lit cabin. "Alright, boss," she said, her twang cutting through the mechanical sounds. "We're about to set foot on a place that's meant to be a ghost town. What's the plan for the ankle-biter?" She jerked her head towards the back.
Eliane, who had been teaching Jelly a complicated hand-clapping game, paused mid-clap. "I'm not an ankle-biter!" she protested, her small hands planting on her hips. "I can take care of myself!"
From his reclined seat, Aokiji let out a soft, breathy sound that wasn't quite a laugh, his eyes still closed, fingers laced behind his head. Atlas, meanwhile, was noisily working his way through a leftover meat skewer, the sounds of chewing echoing slightly.
Marya glanced over her shoulder, a faintly confused crease appearing between her brows. "She can stay here with you," she said to Jannali, her tone matter-of-fact, "or she can come with us."
Jannali's eyes widened. "Babysitting? That wasn't in the job description, love. I didn't sign on to be a nanny."
Eliane huffed, a flicker of silver-white hair escaping her ponytail. "I don't need a nanny!"
"You asked," Atlas chimed in around a mouthful of meat, "so…" His words were lost in a final, decisive chew.
Jannali rolled her eyes so hard it seemed to take her whole body, crossing her arms tighter. "I'm holding you responsible if anything happens to her," she said, leveling a stern glare at Marya.
A wry, almost imperceptible smirk touched Marya's lips. "The island is abandoned. What do you actually think is going to happen?"
Just then, Aokiji's eyes snapped open. He sat up in one fluid, surprisingly swift motion, the lazy atmosphere evaporating instantly. The cabin seemed to grow colder.
Atlas stopped chewing, his ears swiveling forward. "What is it?"
Aokiji's gaze found Marya's, a silent, heavy communication passing between them in the space of a heartbeat. Marya's eyes narrowed, her casual posture stiffening into readiness.
"The island isn't abandoned," Jannali announced, her voice dropping to a whisper as she stared out the viewport, her third eye hidden beneath her headscarf seeming to throb.
Galit's voice was clipped and urgent from the helm. "Confirming multiple life signs. A lot of them."
Aokiji added, his voice a low rumble, "And that… is a very big Haki signature."
Marya let out a short, sharp sigh through her nose. She stood from the copilot's seat in a single, smooth motion, her hand closing around the hilt of Eternal Eclipse. The obsidian blade hummed in anticipation in the cabin as she drew it. "No point in trying to hide now," she said, walking toward the hatch.
Aokiji stood, falling into step behind her, his immense frame seeming to fill the corridor. "If we can sense them, they can sense us."
As the hatch hissed open, flooding the cabin with the sharp, salty air and the roar of the sea, the view became terrifyingly clear. Three Navy warships, their hulls gleaming with fresh paint and marine insignias, were arrayed before the ravaged coast of Ohara, their cannons like rows of metal teeth.
Marya cursed, a low, venomous word lost to the wind as she stepped onto the deck, Eternal Eclipse held ready at her side. "Can you handle the one on the left?" she asked, her voice carrying easily over the din.
Aokiji gave a lazy shrug that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. "Shouldn't be too much of a challenge."
Marya gave a single, sharp nod. "I have the other two, then."
Jannali, Eliane, Atlas, and a bouncing, curious Jelly rushed onto the deck just in time to witness the world tear itself apart.
There was no grand flourish, no shouted technique. Aokiji simply raised a hand, and the sea around the leftmost ship erupted into a forest of jagged, crystalline ice, spearing through the hull with a sound like a thousand windows shattering at once. The ship listed violently, its structure groaning in protest before being ripped asunder.
In the same moment, Marya moved. Or, she seemed not to move at all, but a wave of pure, crushing will erupted from her. It was not a physical force, but a spiritual tsunami. The air around the two remaining ships wavered, and then the very space around them split open with a sound like reality screaming. Jagged, black fissures, edged with glowing crimson, spider-webbed across the ships' structures. For a heartbeat, they hung there, intact, and then they simply came apart, their planks, masts, and cannons blasted into splinters and shrapnel in a deafening double-boom of unleashed power.
The concussive force washed over the submarine, making it shudder. Jannali cursed, a raw, shocked sound. Eliane's jaw was hanging open, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and awe as the three vessels split, exploded, and began their swift descent into the churning water, surrounded by floating debris.
Aokiji brushed a non-existent piece of lint from his coat sleeve. "Well. If they didn't know we were coming, they know now."
Jannali swallowed hard, the sound audible in the sudden quiet. She grabbed Eliane's shoulder, her grip firm. "You stick to me like glue, you hear? Don't you dare get separated."
Atlas cracked his neck, a fierce grin spreading across his feline features. "Don't worry. We won't let anyone get to her."
As their submarine cut a path through the field of wreckage, a figure in a crisp Navy uniform stood on the shore, firing a single, defiant pistol shot into the air. The report was a tiny, pathetic sound after the cataclysm they had just wrought.
Marya's gaze was fixed on the island, now teeming with movement. "What do you think, Frosty?"
Aokiji stroked his chin, his eyes scanning the beach and the ruins beyond, where more uniformed shapes were emerging from the greenery. "This," he said, his voice laced with a grim finality, "is not going to be as easy as we thought."
The silence that followed Aokiji's declaration was thicker than the jungle humidity, broken only by the faint, rhythmic crash of waves against the frozen shore. With a weary sigh, the former Admiral raised a single hand towards the charging Marines. "Ice Time," he muttered, the words leaving his mouth in a puff of chilled air.
A wave of crystalline cold erupted from his fingertips, not as a violent blast, but as a swift, creeping tide. It washed over the advancing soldiers, and the din of their battle cries was instantly replaced by an unnerving quiet. The Marines were captured in mid-action, transformed into a gallery of frozen statues, their faces locked in expressions of fury and surprise, their weapons gleaming under a thin, brittle layer of ice.
Aokiji glanced sideways at Marya, who hadn't moved a muscle during the display. "Maybe we should—" he began, but the words were wasted. With a sharp click of her boots against the deck, Marya launched herself from the submarine, landing silently on the icy field. She didn't look back, her leather jacket—adorned with the smiling Jolly Roger of the Heart Pirates—a dark blot against the gleaming white. Aokiji sighed again, this time with a hint of resignation. "...You are probably right."
One by one, the rest of the crew disembarked. Galit, his long neck coiled in a thoughtful 'S-curve', stepped onto the deck, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Atlas's rust-red fur bristled, his standing on end. "This feels wrong," the Mink announced, his voice a low growl that echoed in the stillness.
"This is too easy," Galit concurred, his fingers instinctively tracing the hilts of his whips. "They gave weak resistance at the shore, and now… nothing."
A sudden, sharp gasp cut through the tension. Jannali stumbled, one hand flying to her chest, the other clutching her forehead as if struck. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her spear, Anhur's Whisper.
"Jann? What's wrong?" Eliane asked, her voice small and worried. The gelatinous Jelly on her shoulder let out a concerned, wobbling "Bloop?"
"So many voices…" Jannali choked out, her accent strained with pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the psychic cacophony. "So many screams… it's an echo, a recording of the past… playing over and over."
Aokiji let out another puff of frosted air, his gaze sweeping over the haunted ruins of the library island. The weight of history was a physical presence here. "History," he stated, his voice grim, "is about to repeat itself."
Marya, several paces ahead, stopped dead. Her jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along its line. Her hand, which had been resting casually on the hilt of Eternal Eclipse, now gripped it until the permanent black veins on her arm stood out in stark relief.
"What is it, boss?" Atlas asked, his own predatory instincts flaring, his ears swiveling forward. "Never mind," the lynx Mink grunted, his sapphire eyes narrowing. "I see it too."
With a visible effort of will, Jannali forced herself to stand tall, shoving the tormenting voices into a corner of her mind. She hefted her spear, its sea-stone tip glinting. "Right then, you noisy ghosts, pipe down," she whispered, a determined fire returning to her eyes.
Marya glanced back over her shoulder at her assembled crew, her golden eyes sweeping over each of them—the stoic helmsman, the fierce Mink, the pained tribeswoman, the protective cook, the wild card ex-Admiral, and the determined child. "Be ready," she said, her voice low and calm, yet carrying an undeniable edge. "They have leverage."
Galit's brow furrowed. "Leverage?"
She didn't answer, turning instead to crest the final hill. The sight that greeted them was a perfectly staged tableau of malice. Arrayed before the skeletal remains of the Tree of Knowledge was a full contingent of Marines, their rifles held at the ready. And in front of them, bound and gagged on their knees, were her friends from the Consortium.
In the center stood Admiral Casimir, his ivory-white coat immaculate, a silver quarter dancing effortlessly over his knuckles. To his sides were the familiar forms of Teivel and Onyx, the latter looking unusually tense.
"Dracule's Shadow and Kuzan," Casimir called out, his voice a monotone that somehow dripped with mockery. "Who would have thought."
Marya's gaze swept over the bound hostages, her expression unchanging, but her eyes narrowed to slits as they landed on three familiar faces: Zola, her pink hair a mess; Emmet, his calculating gaze trying to communicate a plan; and Jax, whose muscular frame strained against his bonds. Jax tried to shout something through his gag, struggling violently until a Marine drove a boot into his back, forcing him face-down into the dirt.
Casimir followed her line of sight, a slow, maniacal grin spreading across his face. "Friends of yours?" he taunted.
Marya said nothing, her scowl deepening.
Casimir roared with laughter, the sound harsh and unnatural. "You look just like your father! It is a shame, really. Your mother was too good for him, truly."
At the mention of her mother, Marya's jaw flexed, the only sign that the barb had struck home.
While this exchange happened, Aokiji's eyes were doing their own work, scanning the Marine ranks for any other familiar faces. His gaze settled on Onyx. The petite sniper flinched the moment she felt his eyes on her, her shoulders hunching slightly as she looked down, unable to meet his stare. Aokiji's brow furrowed in silent, calculating thought.
From just behind Marya, Galit leaned in, his voice a low, tactical murmur. "What's the play?"
The wind, heavy with the salt of the sea and the dust of forgotten knowledge, whipped across the hilltop, waiting for her answer.