The Wardroom of the Dreadnought Thalassa was a capsule of calm, incongruous with the vessel's monumental scale and tragic history. The walls were paneled in a warm, honey-colored wood that might have grown on a surface world, not forged in the abyss. A single, long table of the same material dominated the space, its surface bearing the faint, ghostly rings of cups set down by hands eight centuries old. The air smelled of that ancient wood, static from hidden systems, and the faint, sweet tang of Bianca's butter.
Marya sat at the head of the table, her posture relaxed but alert, the rings in her golden eyes catching the soft overhead light. Galit occupied a seat to her right, his long neck curved in a contemplative 'S' as he studied a crude chart he'd sketched on a slate. Bianca was to her left, a live wire of nervous energy. Mikasi, the coyote, sat primly on the table itself between Marya and Bianca, his feathered headdress perfectly still, his dark eyes watching the room with an intelligence that was deeply unsettling.
The relative quiet was shattered by the ongoing, chaotic ballet of Sanza and Jelly.
"You cannot escape the Supreme Commander's justice, you confectionary insurgent!" Sanza declared, lunging across the room. He was a blur of red hair and tailored parka.
"Bloop! Nope-nope-nope!" Jelly giggled, his azure form compressing into a wobbly disc and shooting sideways like a dropped pudding, sliding effortlessly under a chair. Sanza's grasping hands closed on empty air.
"So, like, we had to leave without them," Bianca was saying, her hands carving shapes in the air as if physically assembling her explanation. "The whole island was, like, doing its best volcano impression, and the drydock was coming down like a house of cards, and we might have been able to like, use the sub to rescue them, but with the tsunami wavefront it was like trying to bail out a sinking ship with a teaspoon!"
Galit let out a long, weary sigh through his nose, a sound like a tired tide. "I weighed the operational variables," he interjected, his voice a low, focused counterpoint to Bianca's sprawl. "Retrieval in the collapse carried a ninety-four percent casualty risk for us and them. The logical play was to assume we could extract them once we'd secured the asset and stabilized—" He gestured vaguely around, indicating the gargantuan submarine.
Marya listened, her gaze flicking from Bianca's animated face to Galit's tense neck-knot. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of stoic acceptance. "Do you have any of their vivre cards?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.
Bianca blinked. Her gesturing hands froze mid-air. "Like… why didn't I think of that?" she breathed, the realization hitting her like a dropped wrench. She frantically patted down her grease-stained overalls, digging into a pouch. "Like, yeah!" She pulled out a small, folded piece of paper, placing it flat on her palm.
Everyone leaned in. The scrap of vivre card, a magical lifeline woven from the fingernails of its owner, lay inert for a moment. Then, with a gentle, willful pull, it began to drift. Not in a slow, pained crawl, but with a firm, deliberate motion. It slid steadily across Bianca's palm, pointing like a compass needle toward the starboard hull.
Galit's emerald eyes narrowed. "It appears they are no longer in the location we left them," he observed, his analytical mind already processing vectors. "The trajectory is clean. They're moving. And in an entirely different direction from Gora-Gora."
Marya watched the card's unwavering path. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her. "At least we know where not to go, then."
A ghost of a smile touched Galit's lips. "A starting point. I can run some triangulations, see what islands lie along that bearing. Narrow down the viable locations."
"Okay," Marya nodded. "While you do that, we should plot a course for Agashima."
Bianca's head swiveled between them. "So, like, what is your plan, then?" she asked, her voice laced with an engineer's need for a blueprint.
Marya leaned back in her chair, the leather of her jacket creaking. "Find them," she said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if stating the sea was wet. "And get them back."
Bianca's brow furrowed so deeply it threatened to swallow her goggles. Galit, however, let out a dry, knowing chuckle.
"That… like… doesn't seem like a plan," Bianca protested. "That's like, a mission statement. Where's, like, the schematics? The contingency flowcharts?"
Marya shrugged one shoulder. "It should be a simple retrieval."
Galit's chuckle deepened into a smirk. "Famous last words of every captain who ever sailed into a storm."
Bianca shook her head, sending a pencil spinning from her bun. "Well, like, while you are like doing that, I will like keep working the repairs and stuff." Her eyes drifted to a Karakuri automaton that had quietly entered, its four arms busy polishing the doorframe with obsessive dedication.
Marya gave another nod. "I'm leaving the kid with you."
As if on cue, a triumphant shout echoed. "GOTCHA!"
Sanza had cornered Jelly against a wall, both hands squeezing the gelatinous body with all his might. Jelly's form distorted, his starry eyes bulging comically. Then, with a soft shlorp, he slid up and out of Sanza's grip like over-ripe fruit, bounced off the wall, and smacked squarely into Sanza's forehead with a sound like a wet towel.
"Ugh! Treacherous gelatin!" Sanza cried, staggering back before collapsing onto the floor in a deliberately dramatic heap. He flung the back of his hand to his forehead. "I am met my end… undone by a dessert…"
Jelly, his form wobbling with concern, leaned in, his body glowing a soft, worried blue. "Bloop? Friend-Sanza okay?"
Sanza's eyes snapped open, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "PSYCH!" he yelled, springing up. Jelly squealed in delight, and the chase resumed.
Bianca watched the spectacle, her expression flat. "Like, yeah, cool. But I am not going to be responsible if he, like, dies or something."
Marya actually chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to surprise even her. "Understood."
Galit, his eyes following the chaotic chase, asked the question that had been hanging in the air since the docking bay. "He's calling you 'big sis'."
Marya's chuckle faded into a long-suffering sigh. She glanced at the boy now trying to predict Jelly's bounces with tactical mutters. "Technically," she said, the word feeling strange in her mouth, "he is my cousin. And apparently, he's close to my brother."
The effect was instantaneous.
Bianca's palms slammed down on the wooden table with a crack that made Mikasi's ears twitch. She jetted up from her seat, her chair screeching backwards. "LIKE WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
Marya blinked, her calm momentarily broken by the outburst. "Oh," she said, as if recalling a minor detail. "I guess I never told you about Micah."
Bianca stared, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Like, YEAH! That is something a best friend should, like, KNOW!"
"That's because I thought he was dead," Marya replied, her voice dropping, the casual tone gone, replaced by something harder, older. "But apparently, he's alive." Her golden eyes tracked Sanza's frantic movements. "And he knows him."
Bianca slowly sank back into her chair, the fury replaced by dazed curiosity. "So, like… where is he?"
Marya's gaze grew distant, looking at something far beyond the wooden walls. "Mary Geoise."
Galit's head turned sharply, his neck coiling. "Should I assume we are…?"
Marya shook her head, cutting him off. "I spoke with my father. We will search him out after I have… elevated myself of these." She held out her arms, turning her wrists to display the permanent black void-veins crawling up her skin, a map of her curse and her burden.
Bianca absorbed this, the enormity of it settling over her. She reached out, not touching, but her fingers hovering near Marya's arm for a second before she pulled back and simply nodded. "Like… cool. So, like, one quest at a time."
Marya gave a firm, final nod, the moment of vulnerability passing like a cloud over the sun. "Let's talk about systems and repairs."
Bianca nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Right. Okay." She raised her voice slightly. "Halia? Telchines? You guys, like, on standby?"
The air at the foot of the table shimmered. Light wove itself into the elegant, flowing form of Halia, her aquatic lower body casting a soft blue radiance on the floor. A moment later, with a warmer, amber-hued flicker, Telchines solidified beside her, his stocky, craftsman's form looking solid enough to grip a real hammer.
Halia offered a slight, formal bow of her head. "We have prepared our consolidated assessment and are ready to report," she said, her voice a melody of calm authority.
Telchines crossed his arms, the geometric tattoos on his skin flickering with schematic diagrams. "About time," he grumbled, his voice like gravel rolling in a bronze barrel. "Let's talk about what actually works on this glorious, broken-down relic."
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