The six frames—a ragged convoy of rescued, rescuers, and rivals—streaked away from the lightshow of destruction surrounding The Bastion. The sense of precarious victory was short-lived. As they closed in on the designated coordinates, their sensors painted a grim new picture. The Nutter brothers' freighter was there, but it was surrounded by a full squadron of CUA Sentinel Frames, their blocky forms hovering with menacing intent like wolves circling a wounded animal.
Caden's voice was tight over the comms. "Is this part of the plan? A welcoming committee?"
Kuro's reply was clipped, analytical. "Negative. This is a deviation. A significant one."
"Deviation?" Evander's laugh was harsh. "This looks more like a double-cross. It appears your 'benefactor' has farmed you out to the CUA to settle his own debts."
Aurélie's assessment was pragmatic, her voice cutting through the rising anger. "Our options are limited. We are low on fuel, and we are still towing a damaged frame. A direct confrontation is impossible."
"It's more than impossible," Caden added, his sensors confirming the numbers. "That's too many frames. We'd be scrap in seconds."
Before they could plot a desperate course change, a familiar, stern voice crackled over an open channel. Josiah Manos. "There is no point in attempting to retreat. You will dock your frames with the freighter and prepare to be escorted to Argus Prime. Resistance is futile."
A collective chill went through the group. Evander cursed vividly. "The CUA capital? What in the seven hells could they want with us there?"
"That is not your concern," Josiah replied, his tone leaving no room for inquiry. Then, it shifted, becoming almost dismissive. "JFF pilots. Caden Arashi. Evander of the Crimson Blade. This is your chance. Break off now. We have no interest in you. Leave, and you will not be pursued. Stay, and we will not be responsible for the outcome."
The ultimatum hung in the silent void. Caden and Evander exchanged a look through their canopies, a silent conversation of curses and clenched jaws. Abandoning the others went against every code, both the honorable one Evander clung to and the unspoken one of the battlefield that Caden lived by.
Aurélie began, "We should—"
She was violently interrupted.
A soundless, psychic shockwave slammed into them, a pressure that made their vision swim and their frames shudder. It was the same deafening echo from the battle, but closer now, hungrier. The comms erupted with Josiah's voice, all former control gone, replaced by raw alarm. "DEFENSIVE MANEUVERS! CLASS IV! WORLD EATER! INCOMING!"
The neat CUA formation around the freighter broke apart in an instant. Sentinels spun away, their weapons tracking not on the small group of frames, but on the new, colossal shadow beginning to occlude the stars.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Caden breathed, his hands flying across his controls.
"It followed us?" Evander roared, hefting his massive shield.
In the midst of this fresh chaos, a new, wonderfully familiar voice chirped over their private channel. "Like, hey! You guys look like you, like, need a ride?"
It was Bianca.
Caden and Evander barked out simultaneous, relieved laughs. "Hell yeah! Where are you?"
"Like, turn around and, like, move fast!" Bianca replied, her voice buzzing with frantic energy. "We, like, brought company with us!"
Aurélie didn't hesitate. "Copy. Adjusting course now." She and Souta swung their tethered formation around, Ignoring the CUA frames that were now fully engaged with the approaching apocalypse.
Souta's voice was laced with concern for the necessary compensation they were leaving behind. "What about the—"
"Like, we got it!" Bianca cut him off. "It was, like, a whole thing. Cassius tried to kill us, then he didn't, it was messy! I'll, like, update you once we get the heck out of here!"
Another psychic roar, closer this time, was answered by the concentrated fire of every CUA weapon in the vicinity, lighting up the void in a desperate, futile display.
"Like, hurry up and dock!" Bianca yelled, the strain clear in her voice. "I don't know, like, how long they'll be able to keep that thing distracted!"
Ahead of them, emerging from the shadow of a large asteroid, was the Stubborn Mule, its landing bay doors wide open like a promised sanctuary. Behind them, the CUA and the World Eater began their terrible dance, buying them a few precious, stolen moments to escape.
*****
The atmosphere within the submarine's galley was a peculiar brew of domestic routine and simmering tension. The low, resonant hum of the engines formed a constant baseline, a sound so ingrained it felt like a home. The air itself was warm, carrying the rich, savory scent of sautéing onions and garlic that Eliane, the crew's resident culinary prodigy, was expertly working into a foundation for dinner. Her small, nimble hands moved with a practiced grace, her focus so absolute that the world beyond her cutting board and simmering pots seemed to fade away.
Seated at the central counter, Atlas Acuta occupied his stool with the lazy, coiled grace of a lynx sunning itself. His rust-red fur, marked with leopard-like spots, seemed to shift in the galley's soft light. One hand idly spun a small, venom-tipped dagger on the countertop, a habitual fidget that spoke of a mind accustomed to action, not idleness. Across from him, Jannali Bandler spun slowly on her own stool, her large, expressive eyes taking in the scene. Her proud afro was tucked neatly under a stylish headscarf, a necessary precaution that concealed the third eye on her forehead—the source of both her greatest gift and most dangerous secret. "This waiting about gives me the proper howling fantods," she muttered, her voice colored by a distinct twang. "Feels like we're treading water in a tin can."
"Relax, Sheilasaurus," Atlas drawled without looking up from his spinning blade, using the nickname he knew mildly irritated her. "Not everything can be solved by hearing the wind gossip. Some things just take time."
In the corner, nestled between a storage locker and the wall, Vesta Lavana provided a soft, melodic counterpoint to the engine's drone. Her rainbow-colored hair, a vibrant cascade of hues, seemed to shift subtly in the light as she absently strummed her guitar, Mikasi. The instrument, having consumed the mythical Uto Uto no Mi, was more than wood and string; it was a living entity, and its notes held a warmth that felt almost sentient. She was humming a melancholy tune, a half-remembered fragment from one of Uta's global broadcasts, her thoughts clearly a million miles away on a silent, cursed island.
Pressed against the counter right beside the stove, Jelly "Giggles" Squish watched Eliane's every move with an intensity usually reserved for naval battles. His translucent, azure-blue body wobbled with barely contained excitement, his massive, starry-eyed pupils fixed on the sizzling pan. He was a dedicated, if unorthodox, sous-chef, his morphing form ready to become a potholder, a spill-containing basin, or a tasting spoon at a moment's notice.
The rhythmic, insistent brrr-ring of the Den Den Mushi shattered the galley's soundscape. The small snail's face, currently mimicking a stoic, unimpressed expression, rang out again and again. Marya Zaleska stood over it, her posture a study in controlled stillness. Dressed in her signature uniform—a leather jacket bearing the Jolly Roger of the Heart Pirates, denim shorts, and tall combat boots—she was an island of dark intensity in the warm room. Her long raven hair, so like her father's, framed a face that was calm, stoic, and deeply observant. She watched the ringing snail, her golden eyes with their distinctive rings narrowed in thought, not frustration.
Jannali stopped her spinning. "No dice?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
With a final, definitive slam, Marya brought the receiver down. The sound was sharp, a punctuation mark of failed effort. "No," she stated, her voice level. "He's probably drunk on a beach somewhere, completely oblivious." The 'he' needed no clarification. It was Shanks, the Red-Haired Emperor, her uncle, and the only person she believed could help her cousin, Uta.
Vesta's strumming halted. The absence of music was suddenly deafening. "If you can't get a hold of him," she ventured, her voice soft with concern, "then how are we supposed to tell him about Uta? About… everything?"
Marya let out a long, slow sigh, the sound carrying the weight of recent horrors. The memory of Elegia—the ghostly guardians, the demonic Tot Musica, the heartbreaking discovery of Uta's cloned, trapped existence—was a fresh wound on all of them. "I have his Vivre Card," she replied, her gaze drifting to a small, folded piece of paper tucked safely in her jacket. "We'll just have to go to him. The problem is, with a man like that, he could be anywhere."
A slow, predatory smirk spread across Atlas's face. "Noodle Neck is not going to like that," he chuckled, referring to Galit Varuna by the nickname he'd coined for the lieutenant's long, flexible neck. "He's got his heart set on chasing that Dreadnought Thalassa contraption of his."
Marya gave a single, curt nod. "I know. But we can't afford a major detour right now, anyway. We need to continue—"
"Marya!" Galit's voice crackled over the internal comms, sharp with impatience. "I need you up here. Now."
Just as Marya moved to comply, a smaller, fiercer force intercepted her. Eliane had ripped off her apron, tossing the flour-dusted fabric onto the counter with a determined thwump. She marched directly in front of Marya, her small frame blocking the path to the door. Her usual cheerful expression was gone, replaced by a fiery resolve that made her seem taller. "Marya!" she declared, her voice firm.
Marya stopped, looking down at the young Lunarian. She simply waited, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to Eliane's fervor.
Eliane took a sharp breath, her small hands balling into fists at her sides. "You said you would teach me to defend myself!" she stated, her voice gaining volume. Behind her, a small, uncontrolled flame flickered into existence on her back for a split second before winking out—a testament to her roiling emotions.
Marya cocked a hip, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching her lips. "I did," she confirmed, her tone even.
"Teach me now!" Eliane demanded, her voice cracking with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I DON'T WANT TO BE WEAK!" The flame on her back flared again, brighter this time. "I don't want to be a burden. I want to… I want to be able to do something!"
The galley fell silent. Even Jelly had stopped wobbling, his gelatinous form stilled by the intensity of the moment. Marya regarded the furious, frightened girl before her. Then, to everyone's surprise, she reached out and gently patted Eliane on the head. The gesture was so out of character, so unexpectedly tender, that it was more shocking than any display of power.
"I did say that," Marya said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And I will help you." Eliane's face, tight with emotion, began to soften into a tentative smile. Then Marya knelt, bringing herself eye-level with the girl, and leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Eliane's ears. "You could surpass me someday."
Eliane's eyes widened, the fiery determination replaced by a spark of awe and hope. She lit up from within, the potential Marya saw in her igniting a new kind of flame—one of ambition.
Marya stood, her usual stoic mask back in place. "But it will take a lot of work," she stated, her tone leaving no room for illusion. "A lot of pain. Are you sure you are up for it?"
Eliane nodded, beaming. "Yes!"
"Marya!" Galit's voice snapped over the comms again, his tone now thoroughly annoyed. "Now means now!"
Marya stepped around the radiant Eliane. "We'll get you a practice sword at the next island. Deal?"
"Deal!" Eliane chirped, practically floating back to her station at the stove, refastening her apron with renewed vigor.
Jannali watched her, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Okay, little chef," she said, leaning forward on the counter. "So you wanna be a warrior now, do ya? Gonna trade your spatula for a cutlass?"
Eliane shook her head, her silver ponytail swishing. "No," she said, her focus returning to her onions, which she began dicing with a speed and precision that was itself a form of combat. "I just don't want to always be hiding."
Atlas let out a low chuckle. "That's a relief," he said, leaning back and stretching his powerful arms. "For a minute there, I thought we were going to have to fend for ourselves again. I don't think my stomach could survive another one of Galit's culinary adventures'." He gestured with his chin towards his crewmate.
Jannali's eyes snapped to Jelly, who had taken advantage of the distraction to lean over a bowl of unattended chopped potatoes, his mouth stretching to an impossible width. "Oy! Jelly, you drongo, spit that out! That's for the mash, not your gob!" she fussed, swatting at him with a towel. Jelly recoiled with a playful "Bloop!" and reshaped his mouth back to normal, though his eyes remained fixed on the potatoes with undisguised longing.
Marya finally made her way to the front, slipping into the copilot's seat beside Galit Varuna. The lieutenant was a picture of intense focus, his emerald-green eyes darting across a bank of glowing screens and analog dials. His exceptionally long neck was held in a characteristic, observant S-curve as he monitored their course. Without a word, he pressed a sequence of buttons. The main viewscreen flickered and resolved into a terrifyingly beautiful image: a vast, black trench cutting through the seabed like a wound, its depths lost to an absolute darkness that even the submarine's powerful lights could not penetrate.
"It's through there," Galit said, his voice tight. "The Dreadnought Thalassa. The energy signatures, the historical drift patterns… they all point into that trench." He turned to look at her, his expression grim. "But…"
Marya finished the sentence for him, her own gaze fixed on the abyss. "It's too deep for us to submerge any further. The pressure would crush this sub like a paper cup." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Okay. Any islands close that can provide a coating? A proper one, not the bubble-gum and hope we used last time."
Galit's fingers flew across the console, bringing up a navigational chart. A new marker pulsed on the screen, indicating an island not far from their position. Data scrolled alongside it: atmospheric composition, geographical features, and a single, stark warning symbol. "Just one. Nosy Fady. The Island of Taboos. It's in the Calm Belt, surrounded by something called the 'Razor Reefs.' Their coating method is… unique. It's our only viable option."
Marya studied the screen for a long moment, weighing the dangers of the unknown island against the impossibility of their current mission. The path to Shanks, and the path to her mother's legacy, both demanded they go deeper. And to go deeper, they needed to be stronger.
"Set a course," Marya ordered, her voice leaving no room for debate. The decision was made. Their hunt for a legend would have to wait; first, they needed to survive the journey.
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