The interior of the vessel was a symphony of strained machinery. The hum of the engines was a pained, warbling groan that shuddered through the deck plates and up into the soles of Marya's boots. The air, usually crisp from the recyclers, held the acrid, metallic tang of overheated wiring and the faint, ever-present scent of the sea forced in through seals stressed by Fujitora's gravity. A single, persistent warning light on the main console pulsed a dull, angry orange, casting a sickly heartbeat over the dim bridge.
Marya sat in the pilot's seat, her posture the picture of an unmovable mountain, even as the world around her trembled. Her fingers danced across the navigational panel in quiet certainty, inputting coordinates with a focus that shut out the groans of the craft. They were moving, but it was a wounded crawl through the deep water, a far cry from the vessel's designed silent sprint.
In the co-pilot's seat, strapped in with a harness that dwarfed him, Sanza Kaplan Figerland fidgeted. The initial terror of the fight and flight was fading, replaced by a buzzing, anxious curiosity. He watched the dark water swirl past the thick viewport, then the listing, mastless shape of the Marine warship shrinking into a blot on the horizon. No pursuit lights cut through the blue gloom.
In a voice that tried for imperious but wavered into genuine nerves, he asked, "They… they aren't following?"
Marya didn't turn from her console, her golden eyes reflecting the scatter of green and amber data on the screen. "No," she said, the single word flat and final.
Sanza digested this, his small shoulders relaxing a fraction. He sat a little straighter, the inherited Figerland pride reasserting itself. He cleared his throat, a formal, practiced sound. "Okay. Then I am ready."
This time, Marya did glance over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. "Ready?"
Sanza nodded, his messy red hair swaying. "Yes. You said you would explain. I am ready to hear your explanation, for you to answer my questions." He folded his hands in his lap, mimicking the posture of a lord holding court, though his knuckles were white.
Marya's lips quirked in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. She pressed a final sequence into the panel, locking in their slow, submerged course toward a pre-arranged oceanic grid. With a sigh that released some of the battle-tension from her frame, she spun the chair to face him fully. She rested her elbow on the chair's arm, her chin in her hand, a picture of weary attention. "You are correct. Go ahead and ask."
Sanza met her gaze, his own piercing eyes searching her face—the sharp angles, the raven hair, the familiar shape that had sparked such desperate, confused hope in the ruins. "Who are you," he began, the demand clear, "and why do you have my brother's face?"
"Marya Zaleska," she replied, her voice calm. "Dracule Marya Zaleska. And the reason we share… features… is because I am his sister."
The word hung in the recycled air. Sanza blinked, his heavy brows knitting together in utter bewilderment. The deliberate, plotting part of his mind scrambled. "Sister?" he repeated, as if the word were in a foreign language.
Marya gave a single, slow nod.
Sanza swallowed, his theatrical bravado crumbling to reveal the confused child beneath. His voice was smaller. "So… does that mean you are my sister, too?"
Now it was Marya's turn to blink, a rare flicker of pure astonishment crossing her stoic features. The question, with its simple, childlike logic, bypassed all the complexity of lineage, betrayal, and Void Century secrets. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the tangled threads of blood, duty, and the shadow of the man they both called father in vastly different ways. She decided to answer with a question of her own. "Why do you—"
"Will you be returning me to the Holy Land, then?" Sanza cut in, his voice regaining its edge, hope and demand warring in his tone.
Marya took a slow, deliberate breath, helping her maintain calm. "Not yet."
Sanza's face flushed, his mouth opening for a furious protest.
"I need your help," Marya continued, her voice cutting through his unvoiced outrage.
The anger died, replaced by a new, profound confusion. Sanza blinked again. "My help?"
Marya nodded. "You are a power holder. A specific one. And I need your help to open a door."
Sanza's expression shifted to one of intrigued bafflement. He glanced at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "My… power can open a door?"
"It can," Marya confirmed. "Yours, and a few other specific keys. You help me open the door, and I will personally return you to your father."
A spark lit in Sanza's eyes. "You know my father?"
A darker, more complex smirk touched Marya's lips, memories of a towering man with red hair and a world of unspoken history between them. "We've met." Sanza nodded, absorbing this. He was a creature of deals and leverage, and this was a framework he understood. Adventure for repatriation. He cocked his head, the little strategist at work. "What do you say? Go on a little adventure with me for a while, then I take you home."
Sanza was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting from her face to the pulsing warning light, to the dark water beyond. He wasn't considering the danger; he was weighing the value of the transaction, the novelty of the proposition against the stifling familiarity of Mary Geoise. Finally, he looked back at her, and his question was not about logistics, but something far more vulnerable. "Can I call you 'big sis'?"
Marya stared. It was as if he had quietly disarmed her with a feather. Her carefully maintained detachment, her view of him as a key and a complication, wavered. The title, so simple, so loaded, echoed in the silent space between them. "Ah…" was all she managed, a soft, uncharacteristic sound.
Sanza took her hesitation as a negotiation. He gave a firm, decisive nod. "Okay, big sis. I will help you open this door." He puffed out his chest, adopting the role of a partner in a grand scheme. "I assume our first objective is to mount a rescue operation to acquire your captured companions?"
From a corner, Jelly, who had been molding himself into the shape of a drum, mimicking Mikasi, perked up. "New friend!" he chimed, bouncing with a soft splot.
Sanza watched the cheerful, gelatinous creature, his nose wrinkling in instinctive disdain, but a fascinated gleam in his eye betrayed him. He was trying very hard not to be intrigued.
Marya shook her head, a genuine, quiet laugh escaping her—a rare sound like stones shifting in a creek. "We are going to rendezvous with the other half of my crew first. Then we go and get them."
Sanza cocked his head. "Are you not concerned for their safety? The pirates seemed… uncouth."
Marya's smirk returned, edged with cold calculus. "They will be fine. The pirate hurts them, she loses her leverage. She gets nothing. She wants you, not their corpses."
Sanza froze, the brutal logic of the outside world settling on his small shoulders. "But… you're just going to trade me?"
Marya shook her head again, her golden eyes sharp. "Don't worry. I am not handing you over. I just need them to think I am." Her gaze swept the cramped, groaning bridge, taking in the flickering lights and the labored sound of the engines. "But this thing isn't going to make it to Agashima. And I'm not sure I can extract four prisoners from a prepared enemy force alone." She met his eyes. "So, we are getting reinforcements."
Sanza followed her gaze, taking in the worn conduits and patched hull plates with a critical, noble eye. "This vessel is certainly in a state of… pronounced distress. It is a wonder it is still afloat."
Marya smirked at his understatement. She stood, the motion fluid and sure despite the vessel's quiver. "We work with what we have."
Sanza watched her move toward a rear compartment sealed with a heavy, circular hatch. "Where are you going?"
Marya didn't look back, her hand resting on the hatch wheel. "To make a call."
The metallic clang of the hatch engaging behind her echoed through the bridge, leaving Sanza alone with the pulsing amber light and the deep, groaning song of the wounded machine carrying them into the dark. He sat back in the oversized seat, the words "big sis" and "reinforcements" swirling in his mind, the first chapter of his unapproved adventure just beginning.
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