Jannali moves through the crowd like a fish swimming upstream—darting, weaving, slipping through gaps that shouldn't exist. Her sandals slap against the cobblestones in a rapid rhythm, and her afro bounces with each step. The music—that impossible, haunting melody—pulls at her like a current, and she follows it without question, without hesitation.
Vesta calls after her, her voice rising in panic. "Hey! Wait up!"
But Jannali doesn't slow. She can't. The music is louder now, a thread of silver sound that wraps around her heart and squeezes. It's not just a melody—it's a voice. A voice she's never heard before, singing words she somehow knows.
We can choose the way of our future...
She stops in front of a shop door.
The building is old—older than most of the structures in King's Basin, its limestone walls weathered by decades of salt wind and tropical rain. A wooden sign hangs above the entrance, creaking slightly in the breeze. It reads: Anchor and Pawn.
Jannali stares at the door. Her hand reaches for the handle.
Vesta catches up, bent over, gasping for breath. "What... what... what are you..."
Sanza arrives a moment later, his short legs pumping furiously. He reads the sign aloud, his aristocratic accent drawing out each syllable. "Anchor and Pawn. How delightfully pedestrian. I assume this is a pawn shop? How quaint."
Eliane catches up last, Jelly perched on her shoulder like a gelatinous parrot. The little chef is breathing hard, but her eyes are bright with curiosity.
"Hey, what's up?"
Vesta shakes her head, still trying to catch her breath. "Something about... music?"
Sanza pushes past them both, his hand reaching for the door. "So are we going in, or are we going to stand here like—"
The bell above the door rings as Jannali swings it open.
The interior of the Anchor and Pawn is a treasure trove of forgotten things. Shelves line every wall, crammed with objects that tell stories no one remembers: rusted ship's compasses, tarnished silverware, cracked porcelain dolls, and—in one corner—a stuffed crocodile wearing a top hat. The air smells of dust and old wood and something faintly sweet, like dried flowers pressed between the pages of a book.
A man stands behind the counter. He's jovial in the way of someone who has spent decades convincing people that everything is fine—round-faced, rosy-cheeked, with a smile that stretches just a little too wide. His clothes are neat but worn, and his hands are the hands of a man who has handled a thousand objects and remembers every single one.
"Well hey there!" he calls, his voice booming through the small shop. "Welcome! Welcome! Can I help you fine folks find anything special today?"
Jannali doesn't hear him. She's already walking—not toward the counter, but toward a shelf in the back corner. Her gaze locks on something as she strides toward it with the certainty of someone who has found exactly what she came for.
The man watches her, blinking. "Something caught your eye, miss?"
Vesta, Sanza, and Eliane exchange a look of confusion. Jelly, still perched on Eliane's shoulder, licks his lips as he eyes a jar of candy on the counter.
Vesta turns back to the man, her voice taut with the nervous politeness of someone trying to mask her confusion. "Sorry, I think we are—"
Her voice trails off.
Jannali has stopped in front of a display bust. The bust is old, its plaster surface cracked and yellowed, but the necklace that hangs around its neck is pristine. A silver locket, shaped like a heart, with a triple clef dangling from the center. The metal gathers the shop's dim light and scatters it into trembling shards, each flicker beating to a rhythm almost too faint to see.
Eliane and Sanza rush to Jannali's side. Eliane takes her hand, her voice soft with concern.
"What is it?"
Jannali stares at the locket. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Then she jumps—actually jumps—as Vesta's hand lands on her shoulder.
Looking over her shoulder, Vesta smiles. "It's really pretty."
Jannali shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nah, mate. It's really loud."
Vesta's brow furrows. "What is it saying?"
Jannali shakes her head again, her afro brushing against Vesta's arm. "It's not talking. It's singing."
Vesta's eyes widen. "What's it singing?"
Jannali turns to her, and her voice is steady as she repeats the words:
"We can choose the way of our future
Try a brand-new path
If I change the world
If I change the world..."
Vesta gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, her violet eyes filling with something that looks like tears. She knows those words. She's memorized those words. She's sung those words in her shower, in her room, in the quiet moments when she thought no one was listening.
And she knows, with the kind of certainty that comes from years of devotion, exactly where they come from.
Jannali continues, and together, their voices join:
"Say goodbye to everyone who stands against us
No one has the power to stop a change that comes through music
No, you can't stop magic..."
Vesta mutters, her voice cracking with disbelief. "No way."
And then, together:
"Close your eyes and you can see the future before you
Every note I sing is bringin' you closer to your purpose
Once you're there, don't let go..."
The song fades. The shop falls silent. Eliane and Sanza exchange a look of complete and utter confusion.
Eliane asks, "What is it?"
Vesta looks down at her, her eyes still shimmering. "Uta."
Eliane's eyes bulge. Her jaw drops. "Wait—the Uta? The Diva of Elegia? The one who—"
"The one who almost destroyed the world with her music," Vesta finishes. "Yeah. That Uta. She's Marya's cousin."
Sanza's brow furrows. "Cousin? But I thought—"
"Well, hello again!"
Everyone's heads snap around.
The jovial man is suddenly beside them—not so much arriving as materializing with the silence of someone practiced at appearing exactly when least expected. He gestures toward the locket with a flourish.
"Looks like something has caught your eye!"
Vesta interrupts in a moment of unbridled passion, her voice rising to a pitch that makes Jelly wobble in surprise. "MR.! Where did you get this?!"
She points at the locket, barely able to contain herself. Her finger shakes with the effort of not simply snatching the necklace and running.
The jovial man chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "Well, it may not be best for me to say."
Jannali's eyes narrow. "How much you asking?"
The man strokes his chin, his expression shifting to something calculating. "Well, it's a rare piece, you see. It belonged to a Diva. I don't know if I can just go parting with it."
Jannali's voice hardens. "What's the damage? How'd you go about getting it?"
The man's lips press together. He considers—really considers—for a long moment. And then Vesta jumps into his space, her palms pressed together, her eyes wide with desperation.
"Please, mister! We have to know! We'll buy it, promise! And we won't tell anyone!"
The man holds his chin, his expression thoughtful.
Eliane steps forward, her voice earnest. "Yeah, mister, we promise to keep it a secret. We won't tell anyone about Ut—"
She covers her mouth instantly, her eyes going wide with horror.
The man raises a brow. "Well. It seems you've already started putting the pieces together." He carefully lifts the locket from the display bust, his practiced hands treating it like a treasure. "I should probably go ahead and let it go before it causes me any more problems. Considering it may be carrying a curse."
Sanza's nose scrunches. "A curse?"
The man carries the locket to the counter, the others following like iron filings drawn to a magnet. He lifts the counter top and walks behind, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Since she died and all." He pauses, letting the words settle. "To think she was the daughter of the Red Hair Emperor."
Sanza's eyes go wide. "She's dead?"
Sanza looks at Eliane, who shakes her head—a sharp, warning gesture that says don't ask any more questions.
Jannali's voice is clipped, impatient. "Yeah, mate, tragic. How much and how'd you get it?"
The man shakes his head as he searches for a box. "You want it that badly?"
Vesta bounces on her heels, her platform boots clicking against the wooden floor. "Oh yes! We're huge fans!"
The man raises a brow. "Even after what she did?"
Vesta shrugs, laughing nervously. "Can't help but love her music."
The man nods, seemingly satisfied. "Okay. How about you give me thirty thousand berries."
Jannali curses. "Bloody hell, that's highway robbery."
The man shrugs. "That's the price. Take it or leave it."
Eliane and Vesta look at Jannali nervously. Vesta bites her lower lip, her violet eyes wide with anxiety.
Jannali reaches into her pocket. She slams the coins on the table—a heavy pouch that clinks with the sound of emergency funds being spent.
"How'd you come about it, then?"
The man pauses. Jannali presses.
"No information, no berries."
The man nods, sliding the necklace across the surface. He reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a flyer—a single sheet printed with the accuracy of a master craftsman. He hands it to Jannali.
"Romano Armando. Brought it by a day ago with this flyer. Said to let him know if there were any interested parties."
Jannali picks up the flyer, her eyes scanning the text. Vesta looks over her shoulder, reading aloud:
"PRIVATE ACQUISITION LOT: 0-SILENCE
By Special Dispatch of the Umbral Exchange
'The Curtain Never Truly Fell.'
Gentlemen, Scholars, and Sovereigns of the New Tide:
The world was told the melody ended in the ash of the island that never slept. The world was given a tragedy. We have secured the instrument.
We present for private tender: The Undying Cadence.
Cellular architecture preserved in pristine stasis; uncorrupted by salt, rot, or time. Lineage Factor harmonics intact and awaiting the proper catalyst. Not a relic of what was, but the vessel of what shall be rekindled.
The silence was merely an intermission. Supply the current, turn the key, and the Diva shall breathe her chorus once more across the seas.
Coordinates enclosed via carrier transponder. Admission strictly by bloodline or silver seal."
Jannali curses again, the word sharp and colorful. "Bloody hell."
Vesta's head tilts, her brow furrowing. "How did they get her..."
Eliane cuts her off, her voice soft with confusion. "Yeah, I thought—"
Jannali interrupts them both. "Yeah, nah, mate. All we got is questions."
The jovial man nods. He taps the flyer, pointing to the jolly roger in the corner—a skull and crossbones, but with scissors where the bones should be.
"Find this, and you'll find the person who gave me that flyer."
---
CRASH!
Everyone's head snaps toward the sound.
Jelly "Giggles" Squish lies in a pile of broken glass, his translucent blue body shimmering with the glow of a creature who has just done something very, very wrong. Shards of the candy jar are scattered around him like fallen stars. His mouth is crammed with colorful sweets, his cheeks bulging.
He burps.
"Bloop! So good!"
The jovial man's face transforms. The warmth drains from his eyes, replaced by something cold and sharp. "Hey! What are you—"
Sanza rushes over, scooping Jelly up in his small arms. The eight-year-old's face is a mask of diplomatic calm, the kind of expression that has been practiced in front of mirrors in Mary Geoise.
"Sorry, mister! He's—he's not feeling well. We should really be going. Terribly sorry about the mess. We'll just—"
The man points a trembling finger at the pile of broken glass and scattered candy. "Who's going to pay for—"
The bell above the door rings.
And they are gone.
---
They burst out of the Anchor and Pawn like a cannonball from a barrel, scattering pedestrians and startling a flock of pigeons into panicked flight. Jannali leads the charge, the flyer clutched in her fist, her afro bouncing with each stride. Vesta runs beside her, her platform boots clacking against the cobblestones in a rhythm that sounds almost like applause. Eliane sprints with Jelly clutched to her chest, the little jellyfish still chewing his stolen candy with blissful ignorance. Sanza brings up the rear, his short legs pumping furiously, his face red with exertion.
Behind them, the jovial man's voice rises in fury. "GET BACK HERE! YOU THIEVES! YOU—"
But his voice fades as they round a corner, disappearing into the labyrinth of King's Basin's market district.
They run until their lungs burn and their legs ache, until the sounds of pursuit fade into the general chaos of the port city. Finally, Jannali skids to a halt in a narrow alley between two crumbling buildings, her chest heaving. The others pile up behind her, gasping for breath.
Vesta doubles over, her hands on her knees. "What... what did we just..."
Jannali holds up the flyer. The paper is crumpled from being clutched so tightly, but the words are still legible. The jolly roger—that strange skull with scissors—stares back at her.
"We just found our next lead," she says.
Eliane sets Jelly down, her arms aching from the effort of carrying him. The little jellyfish bounces in place, still chewing his candy.
"Bloop! That was fun! Can we do it again?"
Sanza glares at him. "You just got us banned from a pawn shop!"
Jelly's starry eyes widen. His lower lip trembles. Glittery tears well at the corners of his eyes.
"But... but the candy was so good..."
Vesta sighs, running a hand through her rainbow hair. "Okay. Okay. Let's think about this. We have a flyer about an auction. We have a locket that sings Uta's song. And we have a name: Romano Armando."
Jannali nods, her expression grim. "Yeah. And we have about thirty thousand berries less than we started with."
Eliane winces. "Marya is going to kill us."
"Probably," Jannali agrees. "But first, we need to find this Romano Armando. And we need to figure out what the hell is going on with that auction."
Sanza crosses his arms, his heavy eyebrows drawn together. "The flyer mentioned a 'Undying Cadence.' A 'vessel of what shall be rekindled.' That sounds like—"
"Like someone's trying to bring her back," Vesta finishes. Her voice is barely a whisper. "Like someone's trying to bring Uta back."
The silence that follows is heavy, thick with the weight of what they've just discovered.
And then Jelly bounces, his body wobbling with the enthusiasm of a creature who has no idea what's happening but is determined to be part of it.
"Bloop! Let's do this!"
Jannali sighs. "Yeah, mate. Let's."
She folds the flyer carefully, tucking it into her pocket. Then she turns, her eyes scanning the alley, her mind already racing with possibilities.
"First things first," she says. "We need to find out who Romano Armando is. And we need to do it before anyone else finds out about that auction."
Vesta nods, her expression hardening with determination. "Where do we start?"
Jannali grins—a sharp, knowing grin that speaks of years spent navigating the underworld of the Grand Line.
"We start by asking questions," she says. "And we don't stop until we get answers."
---
The sun is beginning its slow descent toward the horizon by the time they emerge from the alley, casting long shadows across the cobblestones of King's Basin. The market district is still bustling—it never truly sleeps—but the energy has shifted, becoming something lazier, more relaxed. The day's business is winding down, and the night's revelries are just beginning to stir.
Jannali guides them through the streets with the confidence of someone who has spent years reading a city's currents. She stops at a food stall, buys a handful of meat pies, and begins asking questions between bites. The vendor—an old woman with skin like cracked leather and eyes that have seen too much—shakes her head at the mention of Romano Armando.
"Never heard of him," she says. But her eyes flicker, just for a moment, and Jannali catches it.
She moves on.
The next vendor—a young man selling grilled fish on sticks—is more helpful. His eyes light up at the name.
"Romano? The flyer guy? Yeah, I've seen him. Comes through here every couple of weeks. Always printing something. Always in a hurry." He scratches his chin. "Last I heard, he was holed up somewhere near the old cannery. Down by the waterfront."
Jannali nods, tossing him a coin. "Thanks, mate."
She turns to the others, her expression thoughtful. "We've got a lead. The old cannery. Down by the waterfront."
Vesta's eyes widen. "That sounds... ominous."
"It's a cannery," Sanza says, his tone dismissive. "How ominous can it be?"
Eliane looks at him. "Have you ever been in a cannery?"
"No."
"Then trust me. They're ominous."
Jelly bounces, his body wobbling with excitement. "Bloop! Let's go to the ominous cannery!"
Jannali sighs. "Yeah. Let's."
She starts walking, the others falling into step behind her. The sun continues its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and gold. The sounds of King's Basin fade behind them, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves against the harbor walls and the distant cry of gulls.
And somewhere, in the shadows of the old cannery, a man with ink-stained fingers and bloodshot eyes is about to have a very bad day.