The silence of Elegia was a living thing, a heavy blanket that smothered sound and soul alike. Marya found Uta in a high, circular chamber that might have once been a composer's aerie. A grand piano, its ebony finish dulled by time but still majestic, stood as the room's centerpiece before a vast arched window that framed the decaying city and the grey sea beyond. Uta was perched on the edge of the piano bench, her back to the door, her shoulders hunched and her hands gripping the bench's corners so tightly her knuckles were bone-white.
Marya's boots were quiet on the dusty marble floor, but in the profound hush, each step was a declaration. She didn't speak at first, simply lowering herself onto the bench beside her cousin. The old wood creaked under their combined weight. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint, mournful sigh of the wind through a crack in the window frame.
"Uta," Marya said, her voice softer than the one she'd used with Gordon. "Explain this to me."
Uta took a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to catch in her chest. "You wouldn't understand."
Marya hesitated, then placed a hand on Uta's shoulder. The leather of her jacket rustled with the movement. "You are right," she admitted, a rare concession. "I don't understand. You are the daughter of an Emperor. You have the voice to call a thousand ships. You have the ability to leave. Why are you choosing to stay in this… this tomb?"
Uta turned her head, her violet eyes glistening with unshed tears, her chin quivering. "Please," she whispered, the word choked. "Don't ask me again. I am happy you are here, truly. But I can't leave."
Marya studied her face, the stubborn pain etched into features usually so full of light. She sighed, a low sound of frustration and concern. "Okay, then," she tried a different tack, her tone pragmatic. "What if I called Uncle Shanks to come get you?"
"NO!" Uta snapped, jerking away from Marya's touch as if scalded. The word cracked through the room like a whip.
Marya's brow wrinkled in genuine confusion. This reaction was too visceral, too raw. "Uta…"
"He wouldn't come!" Uta shook her head, her white-and-crimson hair swaying. "He wouldn't come even if you did call."
Marya's expression flattened into one of sheer disbelief. "I find that hard to believe. He's your—"
The door burst open, shattering the intense moment. Vesta stood framed in the doorway, gasping for dramatic effect, her eyes like twin constellations of admiration. "Is this it?" she breathed, her voice full of awe as she gravitated toward the piano as if pulled by a magnet. "Is this where you mastermind your masterpieces?"
Marya closed her eyes for a brief second, shaking her head with a wry smirk. The emotional siege was over, for now, replaced by a rainbow-haired whirlwind.
Uta, forced to surface from her despair, managed a wet chuckle at Vesta's boundless energy. "Something like that."
Meanwhile, Atlas prowled over to the large window, his lynx-like grace making him seem more a part of the wild landscape than the room. "The view from up here is amazing," he remarked, his voice a low rumble. "You can see every place something isn't."
A blue blur shot past him. "Bloop!" Jelly Squish tumbled into the room, landing on the piano keys with a comical, discordant thwump. He wobbled to his feet, looked down at the ivory and ebony keys beneath his gelatinous feet, and his massive, starry eyes widened with delight. "Squishy walkway!" he giggled, and began to run back and forth across the keyboard, producing a chaotic, jangling cacophony. "Tappy-tappy toes! Music-feet!"
The sheer, absurd innocence of it broke the last of the tension. Uta clapped a hand over her mouth, but a genuine, bubbling laugh escaped, bright and clear as a bell, the first real sound of joy the room had likely heard in years.
Vesta, completely in her element, was already scooping up the scattered notebooks and sheets of music from the top of the piano. She plopped down on the bench on Uta's other side, her movements eager. "Is this what you're working on?" she asked, holding up a page filled with Uta's flowing musical notation.
Uta, still smiling, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. You want to sing it with me?"
Vesta's eyes widened to impossible dimensions. "Would I?" she squealed, slinging Mikasi around to the front of her. The guitar seemed to vibrate with anticipation. She shooed a still-bouncing Jelly off the keys with a gentle, "Shoo, you walking maraca!" Jelly, delighted with his new title, bounced over to Atlas by the windowsill, who absently poked his wobbly side with a single claw.
Uta placed the sheet music on the ledge, her movements becoming sure and focused, the musician taking over from the tormented girl. Vesta strummed a single, clean chord from Mikasi, listening intently as Uta played the opening bars on the piano. The notes, though emanating from the old instrument, were rich and sonorous, a testament to Uta's skill.
They began to play together, the guitar and piano weaving around each other, finding a harmony that felt both practiced and spontaneous. When they reached the chorus, their voices joined—Uta's, powerful and trained, and Vesta's, brimming with raw, passionate enthusiasm. They shared a look, a fleeting, electric moment of pure, appreciative joy, a silent conversation between two souls who spoke the same language of melody and rhythm.
Marya watched from the sidelines, her arms crossed. The music was beautiful, the scene was heartwarming, but her golden eyes held no joy. They were fixed on Uta, on the way her smile didn't quite reach the sorrow in her eyes, even now. The joyful melody was a flag planted on a fortress of grief, and Marya knew the walls were still standing, thick and impregnable. The concert was a distraction, not a solution, and the haunting silence of Elegia waited patiently just beyond the last, fading note.
---
The path from the castle was a ribbon of cracked white stone winding through a graveyard of musical grandeur. Crumbling amphitheaters gaped like empty shells, and statues of long-forgotten musicians stared with sightless stone eyes, their instruments frozen in mid-melody. The further they got from the castle's oppressive shadow, the more Jannali's demeanor changed. The harsh lines of pain around her eyes softened. Her steps, which had been hurried and stiff, slowed to a more natural rhythm.
By the time the docks were in sight, the metallic taste of panic at the back of her throat had faded. She spotted a low, moss-covered wall, the remnant of some old seaside promenade, and sank onto it with a heavy groan, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
"You alright?" Eliane asked, her voice full of immediate concern. She hovered, her small hands fluttering as if mentally cataloging her kit for a remedy. "Do you need water? I might have some herbs that could help…"
Jannali waved a hand, not looking up. "Nah, I'll be right, little chef. Just need a sec to let my head stop spinning like a top in a cyclone." She took a deep, deliberate breath of the sea air, which was cleaner here, less tainted by the castle's stagnant sorrow.
Galit observed her, his head tilted in that characteristic, avian-like angle. "The physical distress appears to be receding," he noted, his sharp emerald eyes missing nothing. "The correlation with distance from that so-called 'king' is… notable."
Jannali finally looked up, pushing a stray lock of hair from her afro out of her face. Her large brown eyes were weary but clear. "What's going on in that big brain of yours? You've got that look, like you're working out a battle plan against the tide."
Galit's mouth twitched, a flicker of annoyance, but his focus didn't break. "I am uncertain. But every variable of this situation is an outlier. The isolation. The decay. That man. It defies logical patterns of behavior."
"Yeah, he's the most off thing on this bloody island," Jannali agreed, rubbing her temples again, though the motion was now more habit than necessity. "The whole aura around him is just… wrong. All dissonance and dead static."
Eliane's head swiveled between them, her expression one of genuine confusion. "What are you saying? The king… he seemed really nice. A bit nervous, but nice."
Jannali sighed, her voice losing its edge and gaining a patient, almost maternal quality. "Think about it, little chef. You know what it's like to be hidden away for your own good. When you were taken, your family moved heaven and earth to get you to safety, right? But they did it out of love. They didn't just… leave you with a stranger in a dead place."
Eliane's face flexed in concentration, the pieces slowly clicking together. "But… her family left her with him. And they're all by themselves." Her blue eyes widened as the implication dawned. "Why don't they just leave?"
"Precisely," Galit said, his voice low and intent. "She is the daughter of a Yonko. Resources are meaningless to her. There are a thousand islands that could offer sanctuary, comfort, even a stage for her talents. Yet she chooses this ruin. Why?"
Eliane, ever practical, asked the simplest question. "Can't she just call her family to come get her?"
Jannali shook her head, a grim set to her jaw. "I don't know, love. But it doesn't make a lick of sense, does it? It's like a puzzle with half the pieces missing."
Galit's gaze swept over the desolate port, the silent ships rotting in their berths. "Logistics also fail. How are they sustaining themselves? Cultivating food? Procuring supplies? There is no commerce, no visible agriculture. Whatever might have been left in these ruins would be spoiled or unusable after years."
"Right you are, mate," Jannali said, pushing herself to her feet. The color was returning to her face. "It's not like there's a corner shop for a meat pie run."
Eliane, still trying to grasp the intangible, looked at Jannali with hopeful curiosity. "Is the wind… is it saying anything now? Now that we're away from him?"
Jannali stilled. She closed her eyes, her head tilting as if listening to a distant conversation. The breeze played with the strands of her hair, carrying the salt of the sea and the dry, dusty scent of decay. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, and they were filled with a new, deeper unease.
"That's just it," she whispered, her accent making the words sound like a dire confession. "The wind is too quiet."
Galit took a step closer, his voice dropping. "Is that… normal for you?"
"No," Jannali said firmly, shaking her head. "I have always been able to hear. Even in the calmest seas, there's a murmur. The stories in the stones, the memories in the water… it's never silent. But here…" She gestured around them at the hauntingly beautiful, corpse-like island. "It's like the history's been scoured clean. Or… locked away." She squared her shoulders, a determined fire igniting in her eyes. "Right. Let's stop speculating like a bunch of galahs at a barn dance. Let's find out why the wind whispers here."
She looked from Galit's analytical intensity to Eliane's worried but resolute face. The mystery of Elegia was no longer a background unease; it was a trail, and the three of them were now on the hunt.
*****
The air in the Tomb of the First Warden was so thick with ancient memory it felt like breathing syrup. They stood in a cavern so vast the ceiling was lost in a gloom that shimmered with the same sickly auroral light that plagued the moon's surface. But here, the light came from below, radiating from the cavern's center. It was not a structure built by hands, but a cavity formed around a nightmare.
The walls were not rock, but a lattice of fossilized, biomechanical matter—rib-like struts the size of ancient trees, threaded with veins of hardened, glassy material that pulsed with a faint, slow light. The floor was a mosaic of colossal, interlocking plates, each one scarred with patterns that resembled cosmic charts and alien anatomy. In the center of it all, rising like a malignant mountain, was the heart of the horror: the partially exposed, petrified core of the Class IV World Eater. It was a jagged, monstrous shape, part crystalline growth, part ossified organ, from which the very substance of the moon seemed to have crystallized. A low, sub-audible thrum vibrated up through the soles of their boots, a heartbeat slowed to a geological pace.
Emily's breathing hitched, becoming a labored, ragged thing. She stumbled, one hand flying to her chest as if trying to claw the oppressive weight from her lungs. The silvery lines on her face seemed to burn with captured light. "It's… it's too much," she gasped, her voice a thin whisper against the cavern's immense silence.
Souta was there in an instant, his arm a solid brace around her shoulders, keeping her upright. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low, its usual analytical coolness warmed by urgency.
She shook her head, her white hair clinging to her damp forehead. "This place… it's…"
"Take your time," he murmured, his grip firm. "Don't push yourself."
Emily swallowed hard, her storm-grey eyes wide with a terror that was not her own. "The moon is scared," she breathed, each word a struggle. "They've… stripped away the elements containing the entity. The essence of the World Eater is stirring. It's beginning to wake, and its…" She panted, gulping for air that seemed to offer no sustenance.
Souta, his own heart hammering against the terrifying logic of her empathic reading, reached out with his free hand. He gently moved a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing against her feverish skin. The gesture was infinitely careful. "Maybe we should…"
Emily's gaze snapped up to his, locking with an intensity that silenced him. "We need to leave this moon!" The declaration was a desperate, forceful whisper. "The elements that were holding this moon together are almost depleted. It's only a matter of time, but…"
Souta's expression hardened into a mask of grim understanding. He finished the terrible sentence for her. "Will die."
Emily gave a weak, frantic nod. "We need to…"
"Leave," Souta cut in, his voice gaining a decisive edge. "We need to leave."
"We need to warn them!" Emily insisted, her compassion warring with the primal need for survival.
Souta let out a sigh that was heavy with the cynicism of a strategist who knew the follies of crowds. "Do you think they would listen?"
"We have to try! We can't just let them all perish!"
Souta helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on her arm, a silent promise of support. "Okay. But we warn them after we have left."
Emily opened her mouth to counter, her selfless nature rebelling, but he pressed on, his voice low and compelling. "If we say anything while we are still here, it's a guaranteed prison sentence. The warning should be broadcast from a safe distance. Then people can make their own choice about…"
Emily tried again, "But…"
Souta shook his head, his dark eyes holding hers. "All that can be done is to inform them. It is the same in my world as well. People will do what they will do, regardless of dangers and warnings." It was the resigned philosophy of a man who had seen grand plans fail for the simplest of human reasons.
Emily considered his words, the terrible truth in them warring with her heart. But the debate was cut short as another wave of psychic resonance crashed over her. She swayed, a soft cry escaping her lips as the collective fear of a doomed city and the stirring rage of a primordial beast threatened to overwhelm her senses.
Souta caught her as her knees buckled, pulling her close against his side. His embrace was not romantic, but fiercely protective, a shelter against the storm in her mind. "We should go," he said, his voice firm now, leaving no room for argument.
Leaning heavily into his support, her body trembling with the effort, Emily could only nod. Together, they turned from the stirring heart of the nightmare, their flight a race against a cataclysm that only they, bound by a fragile, growing trust, knew was coming.
---
The shrieking wind of the Styx surface seemed to cheer Ember on, whipping her pink space buns into a frenzied halo as she skipped toward the monolithic entrance of the Aegis Spire. Her voice, a taunting nursery rhyme sung to the tune of pure anarchy, cut through the gale. "You can't catch me, as fast as fast can be! The cake is baked for all to see!"
Behind her, a growing contingent of CUA guards, their bulky white armor making them look like clumsy beetles on the icy rock, struggled to keep pace, their shouted commands torn away by the wind. Ember reached the vast, seamless dura-steel door and stopped dead. She intertwined her fingers behind her back, rocking on her heels as she tilted her head to examine the imposing barrier, a child contemplating a locked cookie jar.
The guards fanned out, surrounding her, the barrels of their pulse rifles looking suddenly very serious. "On the ground! Now! Place your hands on your head!" one of them bellowed, his voice cracking with strain.
Ember paid the weapons no mind. She smiled, a wide, unnerving expression of delight, and looked over her shoulder at the circle of soldiers. "I bet there's a surprise inside," she confided in a stage whisper that somehow carried. She began to clap, jumping up and down in a little dance of anticipation. "I bet! I bet! I want to see what's inside! Let's take a peek, shall we!"
One of the guards, his patience shattered, cocked his weapon with a heavy clack. "The only thing you're going to see is the inside of a—"
BOOM!
The world turned into a storm of fire and shrieking metal. Ember had simply touched the ground at her feet, and the very rock itself erupted. A concussive wave of heat and force slammed into the guards, throwing them backwards like discarded toys. Their armored forms crunched against the frozen ground, a chorus of pained grunts and confused shouts swallowed by the roar of the explosion. A thick, black smoke, smelling of scorched rock and vaporized minerals, billowed out, obscuring everything.
Coughs and curses came from within the smoke as the dazed soldiers tried to regain their footing and their senses.
From the heart of the chaos came Ember's cackle, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. But as the smoke began to thin, her laughter died, replaced by a petulant, disappointed sigh. There, through the haze, the main entrance of the Aegis Spire stood utterly unscathed, not a scratch on its polished, impregnable surface.
Ember crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out in a magnificent pout. "No fair!" she wailed, stamping her foot. "I bet there is a surprise inside. Why are they being so mean…"
A dark shape materialized from the swirling smoke beside her. Kuro, his tailored trench coat whipped by the wind, his cracked glasses reflecting the dying flames. A string of low, vehement curses escaped his lips, the words bitten off and furious.
Ember brightened at the sight of him, her disappointment forgotten. "Kuro! Did you see? I tried to—"
Her words were cut off as his gloved hand shot out, fingers closing around her upper arm with a grip like industrial vise. It was not a guiding touch, but a capture, tight enough to make her wince and ensuring she could not twist away.
"Let's go," he said, and his voice was not the cultured, calculating tone of Klahadore, but the cold, deadly whisper of Kuro the Black Cat Pirate Captain, a man whose plans were in ashes.
Ember whined, trying to pull back. "But—"
"NOW!" The word was a whip-crack, devoid of all patience. It brooked no argument. Through the dissipating smoke, the guards were already staggering to their feet, their weapons rising, targeting lasers beginning to paint the two of them.
In that instant, the manic glee in Ember's eyes flickered, replaced by a spark of something else—a primal recognition of true danger, cutting through the psychosis. Kuro didn't wait for a second invitation. He spun, yanking her with him, and they vanished back into the choking smoke just as the first volley of stun pulses sizzled through the space they had occupied.
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