The late afternoon sun on the open sea was a bruised, watery gold, bleeding into a horizon of violet clouds. The ancient submarine floated like a slumbering leviathan, its dark, light-absorbing hull making the water around it look inkier. On its broad, retracted deck, the air was cool and carried the sharp, clean scent of salt and distant rain.
Vesta Lavana sat cross-legged on the smooth deck plating, her rainbow hair a vibrant shock against the monochrome metal. In her arms, Mikasi the guitar emitted a warm, woody resonance, the sound intertwining with the sigh of the waves. She was picking out a playful, looping melody, her Sky Islander wings—small, feathered, and white—fluttering gently on her back in time with the rhythm. A semi-circle of unlikely listeners sat around her.
Ember "The Pyre" sat with her knees drawn up, her charred plush rabbit, Mr. Cinders, held tight. She nodded her head almost imperceptibly, her mismatched eyes fixed on Vesta's fingers. Sanza Kaplan Figarland was sprawled on his stomach, his chin propped on his fists, his heavy Gallagher eyebrows furrowed in what he hoped looked like critical appraisal instead of captivation. Eliane was next to him, a small basket in her lap, her silver ponytail gleaming. Jelly Squish wobbled happily beside her, his gelatinous body shimmering with each chord, letting out soft, echoing "bloops" of appreciation.
The music painted a fragile bubble of peace over the deck. It was shattered by the hiss of a pressure-sealed door.
Marya stepped out, followed by the silent shadow of Aurélie and the looming, red-furred presence of Atlas. The group turned as one. Sanza was on his feet in a flash of red hair and tailored jacket.
"Big Sis! You're awake!" he declared, his voice a practiced mix of aristocratic haughtiness and childish eagerness.
Vesta's melody stumbled to a halt. "Oh! You wanna listen to my new song too? The chorus is a little, uh…" she trailed off, strumming a discordant jangle.
"Pedestrian," Sanza finished for her, not looking away from Marya. He thrust a thumb over his shoulder, pointing past the submarine's low railing. "They've been waiting for you."
The shadow that fell over them wasn't from clouds. Moored alongside the submarine, towering over it like a cliff face, was the massive, stolen ferry. Its barnacle-crusted hull and silent paddle wheels cast a long, cool darkness across the deck. Ember stood, smoothing the rumpled crimson-and-black ruffles of her Lolita dress.
"I'll let them know you're here," she said, her voice a hair's breadth away from a manic edge.
A booming, theatrical voice rolled down from the ferry's high railing, sixty feet above. "Good morning! Looks like sleeping beauty has rejoined the land of the living!"
Juni Vexwell leaned over the side, his colossal 66-foot frame a silhouette against the pale sky. His hot-pink duster was a vivid smear of color. One by one, four more heads appeared beside him, peering down. Noon Scort Reveil, his broken horn a jagged testament to his defeat. Roco Vultion, his tiger-striped features set in a grim mask. Maki Nazigai Wicklock, her ram-like horns curving with maternal solidity. Amira Kestrel Wevits, her large, eyes watchful and analytical.
The sheer scale of them, even at a distance, was humbling. They were forces of nature given Ogre form.
Marya didn't look up for long. Her golden eyes, still shadowed with exhaustion but clear, glanced over her shoulder at Aurélie. "Tell Galit to prep for departure. We go as soon as I'm finished here."
Aurélie gave a single, sharp nod. "Understood."
Vesta whined, hugging Mikasi to her chest. "Aww, I was hoping to have a private concert on the water! The acoustics would be amazing with the sea as an amphitheater!"
Eliane jumped up, clutching her basket. "I made rice balls! I'll go get them ready for the trip!" She turned, a girl on a mission.
"Rice balls sound pretty good!" Atlas chimed in, rubbing his stomach with a grin that didn't quite hide the wince of pain from his wounds.
"Wait for me!" Jelly giggled, bouncing after Eliane in a wobbly azure blur.
"Do not dally!" Sanza called after them, before marching off with an air of supreme importance, likely to find a better vantage point to observe the "negotiations."
Marya didn't walk to the ferry's rope ladder. One moment she was on the submarine's deck, a slight figure in her leather jacket and denim shorts. The next, her form dissolved into a wisp of pale grey mist that streaked across the short gap of open water and coalesced silently on the broad, weather-beaten deck of the ferry.
She stood alone before the five Jitan commanders. The difference in scale was absurd, comical even. Marya came up to roughly Maki's ankle. The quiet was immense, filled only by the groan of the two vessels rubbing together and the cry of distant gulls. The Ogres stared down, their expressions a mix of awe, curiosity, and residual shock from the cataclysm she'd unleashed.
Marya looked from one giant face to another, her own expression its usual mask of calm assessment. "I was told you wanted to meet."
Noon was the first to break the silence. A slow, electric smirk spread across his sharp features. "Yeah. I just wanted to say… thank you." His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder.
Marya raised a brow, about to offer a dismissive nod, but Noon continued, his electric blue eyes crackling with intensity. "I've never seen anything like that. Didn't think something like that was even possible." There was no bitterness in his admission, just raw, revolutionary honesty.
Roco grunted, crossing his massive arms. The chains on his belt clinked. "And you are so small." It wasn't an insult, but a statement of bewildered fact.
A ghost of a smirk touched Marya's lips. "I've been told."
Maki's deep, resonant voice flowed over them, gentle as a tide. "Your crew says you are the daughter of a great warlord."
Marya, finally able to get a full sentence in, gave a small, definitive nod. "Yes."
Noon nodded back, as if a puzzle piece had clicked. "I can see it." He uncrossed his arms, his expression turning serious. "I would ask you to join our cause, but…"
Marya didn't let him finish. "No." The word was flat, final, leaving no room for negotiation. "I don't do causes. I'm on my own quest."
Noon chuckled, a sound like rocks tumbling. "They said as much. Searching for Devil Fruits."
"Something like that."
The massive Ogre knelt then, bringing his face down to her level. Even kneeling, he was the size of a house. The air around him hummed with a static charge. "If you ever need anything…"
Marya raised a pale hand, palm out. A polite, firm stop. "I appreciate the offer. But I don't anticipate being in these waters in the future."
Juni cocked a hip, his ivory horns adorned with rings glinting. "Girlie, anything can happen in the future. But we got your back if you ever need it. Consider it a standing invitation."
Marya dipped her head. "I appreciate that." She looked back at Noon. "What is it you intend to do next?"
Noon stood, his full height blocking the sun. "The Genroshi territory is eighteen islands. Each one has its own monument of suppression, spouting this myth of the Hitotsume to keep the yoke on our people's necks. I intend to free them all. Liberate the entire chain from Genroshi rule."
Marya raised a brow. "It sounds like you'll be very busy."
Noon's chuckle was dryer this time. "The Sovereign was the pinnacle of their influence. The anchor of their lie. Now that he's out of play… we should be able to make a real impact."
Marya's lips pressed into a thin line. She looked out at the churning sea, then back up at him. "Have you considered," she asked, her voice quiet but clear, "that maybe there's some truth to the myth?"
The question hung in the air. Noon's smirk faded, replaced by a weary, knowing resolve. He let out a long sigh that smelled of salt and forge-smoke. "The issue isn't the validity of the myth, Marya. It's the method. It's the system that uses fear—true or false—to subjugate my people. To turn us into batteries for their stability. That's what we're fighting."
Marya held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slow, conceding nod. It wasn't agreement with his crusade, but an understanding of his drive. "I wish you the best of luck with your endeavors."
Amira, her voice soft and clinical, asked, "You're leaving then? Now?"
"Yes," Marya said, turning her body slightly back towards her submarine. "I want to continue on. I'm eager to depart these waters."
Noon straightened to his full, imposing height. He looked down at the tiny, stoic young woman who had cracked an island and a tyrant's will. A fellow force of nature, in her own way. "Good luck to you, then."
Marya offered one last, curt nod. "Same to you."
Then, without ceremony, her body dissolved again into a coil of pale mist. It slipped over the ferry's railing, streamed across the dark water, and vanished into an open hatch on the side of the waiting submarine. Behind her, on the giant ferry, five revolutionary giants were left in her silent, swirling wake, the seeds of a liberated future taking root in the ruin she helped create.
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