Sterile light bled through Marya's closed eyes. Underneath her, the bed frame's mechanical hum wasn't a sound—it was a tremor settled firmly in her teeth. Her consciousness surfaced slowly, fighting through a fog of absolute exhaustion. The last thing she remembered was the world cracking—a sound like a mountain snapping, followed by the deafening roar of the sea claiming everything.
Her eyes fluttered open, wincing against the brightness. The ceiling was smooth, curved metal, etched with faint, glowing lines that pulsed with a soft blue rhythm. She pushed herself up on her elbows, the simple motion sending a dull ache through every muscle. The leather of her jacket creaked softly against the med-bed's sheet.
A blur of shifting light and gentle beeping resolved into a familiar, yet always startling, figure. Dr. Octavious hovered before her, his portly, octopus-like form shimmering with a semi-translucent blue hue. Six flexible tentacles, each tipped with a different shimmering medical instrument—a scanner, a syringe, a caliper—moved with a will of their own. One held a circular device that buzzed as it passed over her torso. His large, spectacled eyes, flickering with tiny data streams, blinked slowly.
"Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Captain," his voice quavered, a friendly, wobbly sound with a slight echo, as if coming from the bottom of a well. "Vital signs are… acceptably chaotic. A remarkable improvement from 'nearly zero.'"
"Hey, boss."
Marya's head turned. Atlas Acuta sat on another med-bed a few paces away, his rust-red fur looking dull under the lights. A charcoal-tufted ear twitched. One of Dr. Octavious's secondary arms was scanning his broad chest, the scanner emitting a series of irritated chirps. Atlas ignored it, a stubborn set to his jaw, though the tightness around his sapphire-blue eyes betrayed his discomfort.
The crisp, dry sound of a page being turned made Marya look the other way.
Aurélie Nakano Takeko sat in a chair of molded metal, a worn leather-bound notebook open on her knee. Her silver hair, loose and straight, fell like a curtain, partly obscuring her sharp features. Dressed in her signature black, reinforced attire, she looked less like a patient and more like a sentinel. The elegant, cursed black blade, Anathema, rested in its sheath against the chair leg. Her steel-gray eyes lifted from the page and met Marya's.
"You are awake."
Her voice was calm, measured, devoid of warmth but not of focus.
From across the room, near a console of glowing screens and crystalline interfaces, a muttering voice cut through the hum. "Fascinating. The residual energy signatures in her bloodstream don't match any documented Haki decay patterns. They're more akin to… geological stress fractures."
Everyone turned. Dr. Zip H. Scatyl stood with his back to them, his slender Ogre frame looking out of place. His sickly grey skin was visible above the high collar of his immaculate white sea-silk coat. He didn't turn, one black-gloved finger tracing a line on the screen. "A live sample of power that cracks islands. The data would be… invaluable."
Aurélie's notebook snapped shut with a sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. "He says you agreed to give him a ride." Her tone was flat, stating a fact, though her gaze remained fixed on the doctor, wary and cold.
Marya let out a long, slow sigh, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The cool floor met her boots. "Yeah. Something like that."
A series of concerned beeps and fluting whistles erupted from Dr. Octavious. One of his tentacles morphed into a blunt, padded prod and gently tapped Marya's shoulder, as if to push her back into bed. His spectacles flickered, displaying a rapid, chaotic string of symbols. "Now, now! Cellular regeneration is at eighty-seven percent! Muscular micro-tears are still knitting! The patient should not be engaging in ambulatory activities without a full metabolic scan and at least two servings of nutrient paste!"
No one paid him any attention.
Aurélie stood, fluid and silent, and moved to stand beside Marya's bed. "That was an impressive display." Her words were careful, deliberate.
Marya, gripping the edge of the bed as the room made a gentle, nauseating roll, gave her a sideways look. Her golden eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded with fatigue.
Atlas chimed in, a grin tugging at his scarred cheek. "Yeah, boss. Heard you sliced an island in half. Must've been one hell of a swing." He shifted, and a grimace flashed across his face. "Owch!"
Marya made an audible exhale, not quite a laugh. "Did I."
"Do you remember?" Aurélie asked, her head tilting slightly.
Marya closed her eyes. Not memories, but sensations flooded back. The crushing, immovable pressure of Grutte Pier's will. The scream of metal and ancient stone. The feeling of Nisshoku in her hands, not as a blade, but as a key turning in a lock it was never meant to fit. The catastrophic give, followed by the world falling away beneath her.
She opened her eyes. The fog had cleared, replaced by a cold, clear certainty. "Yeah. I remember."
She looked from Aurélie to Atlas, her voice low. "Everyone make it back?"
Aurélie gave a single, firm nod. "Yes. We are currently just outside Genroshi territorial waters. Bianca is installing the power crystals acquired from Mount Kyosei. The Jitan rebels are…"
Marya raised a brow. "The who?"
"The rebel Ogres you assisted in escaping."
Marya's nod was slow, processing. "I see." With another steadying breath, she pushed off from the bed. The room tilted again, a wave of lightheadedness washing over her. She locked her knees, her hand finding the wall. The metal was cool and solid under her palm.
"You should not push yourself," Aurélie stated, her arms crossing.
"Did these Jitan rebels say what they wanted?" Marya asked, ignoring the advice. She took a testing step forward. Her boots felt heavy.
"To express their gratitude, primarily."
"Okay." Marya began walking toward the med-bay's arched doorway, her steps deliberate. The hallway beyond was lit by the same soft, embedded glows, the walls curving away into the submarine's heart.
Aurélie was instantly at her heel, a silent shadow. Atlas hopped down from his bed with a grunt, landing lightly despite his size.
Dr. Octavious let out a squeal of protest, two tentacles waving in the air. "Unacceptable! The scans are incomplete! You have not fully recovered!"
Atlas waved a dismissive hand behind him without looking back. "Save it, doc. The patients are walking."
"What is it, boss?" Atlas asked, falling into step on Marya's other side, his lynx-like gait a slight limp he was trying to hide.
Marya kept her eyes forward, navigating the familiar corridors. The air smelled of recycled oxygen, filtered sea salt, and a faint, lingering scent of energy systems—a smell she always associated with the ancient vessel. "I want to get out of these waters," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "And keep moving."
Ahead, the air shimmered with gathered light. Particles coalesced into the graceful, stately form of Halia. Her flowing silver-blue hair moved as if in a gentle current, and her lower body faded into a luminous, ethereal tail. A soft blue glow emanated from her, painting the metal walls with watery light.
"It is good to see you have recovered, Marya," Halia said, her voice a soothing, melodic cascade. "Your presence is requested on the command bridge."
Marya nodded. "Okay. Is Galit there?"
"He is standing by for coordinates at the helm."
"Alright. Let me deal with our guests first."
Halia inclined her head, the bioluminescent streaks in her hair pulsing gently. "Understood. I will relay your message." Her form dissolved into a shower of fading light particles, leaving the corridor empty again.
The walk continued, the only sounds the hum of the ship, the tap of their footsteps, and the faint, ever-present groan of the ocean pressing against the hull. Marya's mind was already shifting, the grogginess of recovery burning away under a familiar, focused restlessness. Kamaten was behind them, a sinking ruin. The Hitotsume's awakening was a problem for the World Government and the Sovereign now. Her path, as always, lay forward, towards the next enigma, the next page of her mother's book. The weight of Nisshoku on her back felt like a promise, and a chain.
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