The sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in broad strokes of violet, gold, and a particular fiery orange that reminded Marya of the zinnias that grew wild on a certain winter island. The cove was bathed in this warm, settling light as Marya, Galit, and Aokiji, with Marco in tow, discussed the quiet logistics of camping for the night. The peace was shattered by the triumphant return of the procurement team.
Atlas thumped a massive crate onto the sand with a grunt that spoke of its considerable weight. The wood groaned.
Galit stared at the mountain of provisions, his brow furrowing. "A little excessive on the food, don't you think?" he asked, his mind calculating rations for eight, not eighty.
Vesta tilted her head, genuinely confused by the question. Eliane, wiping her hands on her chef's jacket, looked up with earnest concern. "I hope it will be enough."
"Enough for what?" Galit's question was laced with dawning dread.
Jannali let out a groan that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Jelly, meanwhile, bounced in place, chirping, "Big party! Big Party!"
Vesta struck a dramatic pose, sweeping her hand across the empty beach as if envisioning a grand coliseum. "My debut concert in the Blue Sea! Tonight!"
Before anyone could process this, Eliane had already zeroed in on the two strongest members of their party. She ran up to Aokiji, tugging on his coat. "Come help me with the grill!" She then looked over her shoulder at Atlas. "You too!" To everyone's surprise, the former admiral, with a resigned but not unkind sigh, allowed himself to be led toward the sub. Atlas followed with a shrug, the ever-pliable muscle for a determined chef, with Jelly bouncing in their wake like an excited blue balloon.
Marya chose that moment to step out of the sub, her arms laden with rolled-up sleeping bags. She paused mid-stride, her golden eyes locking onto the crate that looked like it belonged in a royal kitchen. She blinked slowly. "Who is she planning on feeding with all that?" she asked, her voice flat.
Her gaze found Jannali, who was suddenly very interested in the pattern of her own boots, shifting her weight and rubbing the back of her neck.
Vesta, having spotted a large, flat-topped boulder that made for a perfect natural stage, scrambled atop it. She scanned the cove like a queen surveying her domain. "This is perfect!" she announced to the twilight.
Marya's head turned slowly back to Jannali, her expression dangerously calm. "Jannali. What the hell is going on?"
Jannali winced. "Well, you see... she kind of told all the villagers we would be having a party down here."
The sleeping bags slipped from Marya's hands and landed in a soft heap on the sand. She stood utterly still, her mind clearly replaying their entire "low-profile" mission and watching it explode in a rainbow-colored fireball.
A loud, hearty laugh burst from Marco, who was watching the entire scene with a grin that was equal parts amusement and nostalgia. This was the kind of unplanned, chaotic goodwill he remembered from the Whitebeard Pirates—the kind that always ended with a feast.
Jannali, seeing the storm brewing in Marya's silence, made a nervous sound halfway between a chuckle and a squeak. "Right! Gotta help with the grill!" She ducked past Marya and fled towards where Eliane was already directing Aokiji and Atlas with the intensity of a naval commander.
Marya opened her mouth, a likely sharp order poised on her lips, but it died there. Because now, filtering down the path into the cove, came the villagers. Dozens of them. Men, women, children, carrying blankets, lanterns, and curious smiles, all drawn by the promise of music and a free meal.
Galit, ever the pragmatist, rushed over, scooped up the discarded sleeping bags, and announced, "I'll get a fire going," as if a massive, unsanctioned community event was just another item on the day's checklist.
Marya could only stand and watch, a statue of disbelief in a leather jacket and denim shorts, as her covert operation transformed into a bustling beach festival.
Marco walked over, crossing his arms as he stood beside her, the scent of sizzling meat beginning to mix with the salty air. "Looks like it will be a fun night," he commented, his voice warm with memory.
Marya didn't look at him. She simply stared at the growing crowd, at Vesta warming up her vocals for an imaginary audience, at the former Admiral Kuzan manning a barbecue grill under the command of a twelve-year-old chef.
"I think I need a drink," she stated, her voice dangerously level. She turned on her heel and strode back towards the sub.
Marco's laughter followed her. "Think I'll join you."
The impromptu concert was a roaring success, a pocket of joyful chaos nestled in the quiet cove. Bonfires painted dancing shadows on the cliff faces, their crackling a rhythmic counterpoint to Vesta's powerful voice. She was lost in the music, pouring her soul into every chord she wrung from Mikasi. Jelly bounced around her like an enthusiastic, bioluminescent stage effect, his joyful "Bloop!"s harmonizing with the melody. Eliane, her chef's jacket smudged with soot and her face flushed with happiness, was being showered with compliments from villagers holding her expertly grilled skewers. The air was thick with the smells of sizzling meat, woodsmoke, and saltwater, a testament to a perfect, unplanned night.
Marya, however, hovered on the periphery. She leaned against a large boulder, sipping from a bottle of wine, her gaze lifted not to the performance, but to the sky. The full moon hung like a polished silver coin, its cold, clear light a stark contrast to the warm fires.
Marco ambled over, chewing on one of Eliane's skewers. He leaned against the same boulder, following her gaze. "That kid can really cook," he commented around a mouthful. "How did you—"
Marya pushed off the boulder, her focus sharpening. She glanced across the crowd towards Aokiji, who was sitting on a log near the grill, quietly enjoying his own skewer. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. That was all it took. Aokiji stood, dusting sand from his trousers. Seeing him move, Galit, Atlas, and Jannali, who had been mingling, seamlessly disengaged from the festivities and fell into step.
Marco, his curiosity thoroughly piqued, watched the silent exodus. Abandoning his skewer, he followed at a discreet distance as the group moved to a secluded part of the cove, hidden from the noise and light of the concert by a jutting wall of rock.
Here, the world grew quiet, the music a faint echo. The only light came from the moon, reflecting off a small, still pool of seawater trapped in a rocky basin. Marya withdrew the completed Celestial Tideglass from her pocket. The moonsteel facets caught the lunar light, shimmering with a soft, internal radiance.
"Think it has to be immersed," Galit said, his voice low.
Marya nodded and handed him the compass. Galit knelt, his movements deliberate, and submerged the device in the dark water. For a heart-stopping second, nothing happened. Then, the black opal at its core—the Tear of the Abyss—fractured into a thousand shifting points of light. A complex, holographic image bloomed above the water's surface, a spectral map of constellations none of them recognized. Scattered across this starry field were pulsing sigils, each one a unique, glowing symbol.
A collective, sharp intake of breath was the only sound. They stood in stunned silence, the map's ethereal light painting their awestruck faces.
Atlas was the first to break the silence with a low, impressed curse.
Aokiji let out a soft, low whistle.
"Bloody hell," Jannali muttered, her usual bravado replaced by genuine wonder. "It actually works."
A sharp curse from behind them made the group spin. Marco stood there, his eyes wide, having seen the projection from his hiding spot.
Marya's eyes narrowed into a challenge, her hand drifting instinctively toward Eternal Eclipse.
Marco quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa. I'm not looking for trouble." He slowly approached, his gaze locked on the swirling star chart. "But... what in the world is this?"
Galit, his eyes still glued to the calculations unfolding in the light, answered reluctantly. "It is the location of all the Devil Fruits."
Marco's head snapped around. "Are you serious?"
Jannali gave a grim nod. "Yeah, mate."
Marco glanced at Aokiji, but the former admiral's attention was locked on a specific, rhythmically pulsating sigil, his expression unreadable.
"Can anyone even read this ancient scribble?" Atlas asked, squinting at the cryptic script accompanying each symbol.
Marya and Jannali both said "Yeah," at the same time. They shared a brief, knowing glance and a simultaneous smirk.
"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Atlas pressed. "What does it say? Can you see the ones you're after?"
Marya stepped closer, the starry light reflecting in her golden eyes. She scanned the map with a hunter's intensity, then smiled—a sharp, devilish expression. She pointed. "Galit, think you can calculate these locations?"
Galit stepped up beside her, his tactical slate already in hand. As Marya pointed, his fingers flew, correlating the celestial positions with known navigational charts. His voice was a rapid-fire report:
"Wani Wani no Mi, Model: Ginga Ushirika... Hebi Hebi no Mi, Model: Bhūta Kāla... that one's on Wano... Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Kuntur, located on Tawantin... Tora Tori no Mi, Model: Byakko... that's in Mary Geoise."
Marya continued her scan, her finger pausing over a sigil that pulsed with a particularly joyful, wild rhythm. Her breath hitched. "No way…"
Atlas noticed her shift. "What is it?"
Marya's devilish grin returned. "Nika," she said, the name feeling both foreign and significant on her tongue. "Nika is a Devil Fruit."
Jannali cursed again, and both she and Atlas rushed to flank Marya, peering at where she pointed.
Galit narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I don't get it. What's a Nika fruit?"
Jannali looked back at him incredulously. "Mate, you don't know—?"
Marya cut them off, her focus shifting. "And that… that looks like it might be Zou." She pointed to another cluster.
Atlas cursed, his ears flattening. "What the hell is he doing there?"
Marya leaned in, her smirk deepening. "He isn't alone. Looks like the Ope Ope Fruit is with him."
The group turned as one when Marco attempted to get Aokiji's attention. The former admiral seemed lost in a daze, staring fixedly at one particular, darkly swirling sigil.
"What is it, Frosty?" Atlas asked.
Aokiji snapped out of his trance, shifting his weight awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck. He pointed a hesitant finger. "Where… where do you think this one is?"
Galit leaned in, his eyes darting between the sigil and his slate. After a moment of silent calculation, he looked up. "It looks like it's on an island called Hachinosu."
Jannali peered at the fruit Aokiji had indicated. "Mate, that Devil Fruit looks... warped. Wrong."
Marco's suspicion returned in a wave. "What are you—"
Aokiji interrupted him, his voice strained. "Hachinosu isn't that far from here."
Marya interjected, waving Galit back to her side. She pointed to another, musically-noted sigil. "Galit, where is this one?"
Jannali read the script aloud. "Uta Uta no Mi. Sing-Sing Fruit."
Galit consulted his slate once more. "It's on an island called Elegia."
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Marya's face. "Finally found you!" she whispered, the words full of personal vindication.
As Galit and Jannali cocked their heads in question, Marya's voice became a command. "This is our next stop."
Everyone turned again as Aokiji called out, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. "Marya? Can I… ah… have a word?"
Marya studied him for a moment, then gave a single, curt nod. They turned and walked away from the group, seeking a more private spot on the dark, moon-washed beach, leaving the others surrounded by the glowing, world-altering secrets of the stars.
The music from the cove was a distant, joyful hum as Marya and Aokiji walked along the water's edge, the crunch of sand under their boots a quiet rhythm beneath the stars. The moon painted a silvery path on the dark waves, isolating them in a bubble of quiet conversation.
Aokiji broke the silence, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his usual lazy cadence replaced by a hesitant gravity. "I… ah… think this is where I'm going to step off."
Marya cocked her head, a single raven brow lifting. The moonlight caught the gold in her eyes. "Found what you were looking for?" Her voice was calm, devoid of judgment, merely curious.
He let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the cool air. "I… ah… just want to say, thanks for letting me tag along." He gestured vaguely back towards the hidden glow of the Tideglass. "I didn't know what to expect, but… ah…"
She cut him off, not unkindly, but with a finality that acknowledged the unspoken. "We'll miss you too."
They stopped and turned to face each other fully. The sounds of the celebration felt a world away.
"Whatever it is you're after," Marya continued, her gaze steady on his. "Whatever your mission is… I wish you the best of luck."
Aokiji's lips quirked into a faint, wry smirk. "You know I'm not an Admiral anymore."
Marya cocked a hip, a gesture of pure, dry skepticism. "Sure. And my father isn't a Warlord."
A shared, understanding look passed between them—two people defined by, and fleeing from, the legacies of titans.
The moment was shattered by Marco's voice, sharp with sudden, shocked realization. "Dracule! Dracule Marya!"
Aokiji chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "He couldn't figure that out on his own?"
Marya sighed, a whisper of exasperation. "It appears not."
Marco stood a few paces away, his frame tense with the revelation. But Marya and Aokiji ignored his stunned presence, their private conversation not yet concluded.
"You want me to…?" Marya began, offering to handle the explanations.
Aokiji shook his head. "I'll tell them. I wanted you to be the first to know. Is all." It was a sign of respect, a acknowledgment of their brief, strange partnership.
Marya gave a single, accepting nod. As they turned to walk back, Marco moved to match their pace, his focus now entirely on Marya.
"Vista and Haruta told me about you," he said, his voice tight.
Marya raised a brow, genuinely puzzled for a second. "Who?"
Marco's hand shot out, his fingers closing around her forearm with enough intensity to make the leather of her jacket creak. He forced her to stop and look at him. Marya's head turned slowly, and her golden eyes, usually so calm, now held a glacial glare. Aokiji turned as well, his posture shifting from relaxed to watchful.
"They said you took something from Fishman Island," Marco pressed, his tone a clear accusation.
Then, Marya remembered. "Oh, right," she said, her voice dripping with dismissive clarity. "Some of my father's groupies."
Marco's jaw tightened. "I can't just let you…"
Marya cut him off, stepping into his space without an ounce of fear. She was shorter, but her presence was formidable, a contained storm. "You are right," she said, her voice low and sharp as a razor. "You can't. And you need to remember that."
The threat hung in the air, unspoken but absolute. Her gaze was a challenge, a reminder of the bloodline he was tangling with and the sheer, unyielding will she possessed. Marco's jaw flexed, a muscle twitching under the skin. After a tense heartbeat, Marya pulled her arm from his grip with a smooth, powerful twist, the motion final.
Without another word, she walked away, Aokiji falling into step beside her. The former admiral glanced back over his shoulder, a knowing smirk touching his lips at Marco's frustrated, rooted form. They left the Whitebeard commander standing alone in the moonlight, the cheerful sounds of the concert now a stark contrast to the intense, heartfelt, and unresolved tensions left cooling on the dark beach.
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