The bridge of the Dreadnought Thalassa hummed with the low thrum of the singularity core, a vibration that settled in the bones and reminded everyone that they traveled through a world of crushing darkness. The main viewscreen cast a pale blue glow across the curved walls, illuminating the faces of the crew with the cold light of the deep sea. Outside, water pressed against the hull in an endless dark curtain, but the screen showed the world above—the grey sky, the green terraces of Kushi Island, and the ring of Navy battleships that surrounded it like iron teeth.
Marya sat in the captain's chair, her leather jacket creaking as she shifted her weight, small white reflections danced across the Heart Pirates insignia. Her raven hair spilled down her back, and her golden eyes—her father's eyes, hawk-like and unreadable—fixed on the monitor with an expression that could curdle milk. Her jaw stayed tight. Her fingers drummed once against the armrest, then stopped.
Nisshoku leaned against the seat, the obsidian blade dark as the water outside. She had not drawn it. She did not need to. Its presence was enough.
Galit Varuna sat in the pilot's seat, his long neck curved in that loose S-shape he favored when observing rather than striking. His emerald-green eyes darted across the console readouts, tracking ship positions, water currents, and the treacherous Fermentation Current that surrounded the island. His fingers moved across the controls with the restless energy of a man who wanted to be doing something more active than sitting still. As he turned, the short-cropped hair revealed flashes of sea-green, the brightness igniting the pigment into sharp, emerald streaks.
"The island is completely surrounded," he announced. His voice carried the clipped efficiency of a man who had run this scenario a hundred times in his head. "Twenty-three battleships in the initial cordon. Patrol vessels every four hundred meters along the perimeter. They're not leaving gaps."
Aurélie Nakano Takeko sat in the copilot's seat, her silver hair loose and flowing over the shoulders of her dark top. Her hand rested on the console, fingers tracing patterns across the scanning interface. The small gold studs in her ears reflective. Her expression stayed calm, almost detached in a way that had nothing to do with coldness—she was simply thinking, processing, building a map in her mind.
"I'm scanning the island for potential locations to dock." Her voice carried a musical quality, the same tone she used when reciting poetry or describing a sunset. "The harbor is swarming with Marines. We'll need something less obvious."
Jannali Bandler sat in the communications seat, her full afro brushing the top of the chair's headrest. The headscarf was wrapped tight around her forehead. Her large hoop earrings swung as she turned to look at the screen. Her brown eyes widened at the density of ships.
"Bloody hell." Her drawl stretched the words into something almost musical. "The place is absolute chockers. It's a dog's breakfast out there."
Aurélie glanced over her shoulder at the comment, one eyebrow raised. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She returned to her scanning without a word, but the smirk stayed.
Bō-Zak Kaminosukei reclined in a seat near a secondary console, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his sandals crossed at the ankles. His tattered awayo shawl draped over one shoulder, and his pipe smoldered in his hand, trailing fragrant smoke that smelled of herbs and corn liquor and something deeper. His gold-flecked brown eyes tracked the Navy ships on the screen with lazy amusement. A grin spread across his face, the expression of a man who had just found something interesting to watch.
"So this is the Navy?" He took a long drag from his pipe, blew out a plume of smoke, and watched it curl toward the ceiling. "The infamous World Government everyone is always talking about. I expected something more... dramatic."
Charlie Leonard Wooley sat at a console near the back of the bridge, his pith helmet firmly in place despite being indoors. His round wire-framed glasses caught the screen's glow, and his leather satchel sat at his feet, overflowing with scrolls and crumbling notebooks. He cleared his throat— Ahem! —the sound sharp and pointed, designed to draw attention.
"The Navy, or Kaigun in the common tongue, serves as the primary military force of the World Government, operating under the authority of the Five Elders and, by extension, the Celestial Dragons. Their hierarchical structure includes—"
Bianca Yvonne Clark looked up from the engineer's seat, where she had been hunched over a console with her magnifying goggles pushed up on her forehead. Her waist-length black hair escaped its messy bun in curling strands, and a pencil had materialized behind her ear at some point. Her grease-stained overalls hung open over a floral blouse, and her colorful nail polish gleamed under the lights.
"Like, yeah, this is them." She waved a hand at the screen, nearly knocking over a cup of something she had been drinking. "And they are like a total pain in the ass."
Atlas Acuta sat with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his rust-red fur bristling in the climate-controlled air. The black spots across his back shifted as he adjusted his position. His blue sapphire eyes fixed on Marya, waiting. His nub flicked once against the side of his seat.
"What's the play, boss?"
Halia materialized in the center of the bridge, her silver-blue hair flowing as if suspended in water, the bioluminescent streaks along her hair pulsing with soft light. Her large, expressive eyes—oceanic whirlpools in shades of deep blue and aquamarine—fixed on Marya. Her elegant robe shifted with patterns of navigational charts, and her lower body faded into that luminous, ethereal tail that cascaded into light particles.
"I have completed my scans," she announced, her voice carrying the formal courtesy of a librarian addressing a patron. "There appears to be a possible secluded cave structure on the other side of the island that will facilitate your needs. The entrance is submerged at high tide but accessible via the submarine's displacement capabilities. The Navy's patrol routes do not currently cover that sector."
Marya nodded once, her golden eyes never leaving the screen. "Show us."
The screen shifted, the tactical display replaced by a three-dimensional diagram of Kushi Island. The terrain rotated slowly, revealing the coastline on the opposite side of the harbor—a jagged cliff face pockmarked with sea caves, one of which glowed with a soft blue marker. The cave's entrance sat at water level, hidden from above by an overhang of volcanic rock.
"That's our way in," Marya said. Her voice held no emotion, just the flat certainty of a woman who had made a decision and would not be questioned.
---
The door to the bridge swung open with a soft hiss of hydraulics.
Eliane Anđel led the group, her silver ponytail swinging behind her, her chef's jacket crisp and white despite the humidity of the submarine's interior. A large tray rested in her hands, piled high with pastries—golden croissants dusted with sugar, small fruit tarts glistening with glaze, and what looked like miniature cream puffs arranged in a spiral pattern. The smell of butter and vanilla preceded her, cutting through the bridge's sterile air like a warm blanket.
"I have snacks!" Her voice carried the bright enthusiasm of someone who had just accomplished something important, which she had.
Vesta Lavana followed close behind, her rainbow hair shifting through colors as she moved—pink to orange to yellow as she reached for a pastry. Her eclectic outfit, all bold colors and asymmetrical cuts, stood out against the bridge's functional grey. She bit into a cream puff, and a dab of filling clung to the corner of her mouth. She licked her fingers with theatrical satisfaction.
"These are soooo good!" Vesta's voice rose with each syllable, the pitch of a woman who genuinely believed that good food was a religious experience.
Ember walked beside her, her neon-pink space buns bouncing with each step. Her mismatched eyes—one icy blue, one gold—fixed on the pastry in her hand with the focus of a bomb technician defusing a device. She chewed slowly, swallowed, and nodded. Just nodded. That was enough.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland brought up the rear, his red hair messy and his face flushed from running. He bounced on his heels, reaching up toward the tray as Eliane moved past him. His small hand closed on empty air. He tried again. Missed again. His jaw set in an expression of frustration that looked almost comical on an eight-year-old face.
Jelly "Giggles" Squish bounced beside him, his translucent blue body wobbling with every hop. His starry eyes fixed on the pastries with the desperate longing of a creature who had never met a snack he didn't want to eat. He bounced higher, his gelatinous arms stretching toward the tray.
Eliane glided through the bridge with the grace of a dancer, stopping in front of each crew member to offer the tray. She moved past Galit, who took a fruit tart without looking away from his console. She paused beside Aurélie, who selected a croissant with a murmured thanks. She approached Jannali.
Jannali reached for a cream puff.
A head emerged from the spear at her hip.
Gosan's long neck stretched out, the Hatzegopteryx's head twisting toward the tray with an expression that could only be described as hopeful hunger. Its beak opened. Its tongue flicked out. Its eyes—ancient, burning, yellow—fixed on the pastries with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
Jannali squeaked. "Bloody hell! When did you—"
Gosan snapped its beak. The sound echoed through the bridge like two rocks clapping together.
Jelly saw his opportunity. He bounced higher, his gelatinous hand stretching toward the tray, his fingers inches from a cream puff—
Eliane moved.
The tray shifted, and Jelly's hand closed on empty air. His momentum carried him forward, and he bounced off the edge of a console with a soft splat, his body flattening against the metal before springing back to its normal shape. He wobbled, blinked, and looked around as if trying to figure out what had just happened.
Eliane giggled. The sound was bright and genuine, the laugh of someone who found genuine joy in chaos. She looked at Gosan, whose head still hovered near the tray, its beak clicking hopefully.
"Oh, you want one too?"
Gosan nodded. The gesture was unmistakable—a single, deliberate dip of its massive head.
Eliane tossed a cream puff into the air.
Gosan snapped.
The pastry disappeared into its beak. The creature's throat worked once, twice, and then its eyes half-closed in what looked like satisfaction.
Everyone stared.
Atlas uncrossed his arms, leaning forward in his seat. His blue eyes tracked Gosan's head as it lingered near the tray, considering another target. "That's new." His voice carried a low rumble of amusement. "It has an appetite."
Gosan's head turned toward Atlas. It stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a soft huff that might have been contempt or might have been acknowledgment, the creature withdrew. Its neck contracted, the head sinking back into the spear at Jannali's hip until nothing remained but the dark metal of Anhur's Whisper, still and silent.
Jannali took a bite of her pastry, chewed, and shrugged. "That's a bit of a bugger, but it'll be right." She turned her attention back to the screen, her hoop earrings swinging.
---
Marya wiped her hands on a napkin that had appeared from somewhere—Bianca's pocket, perhaps, or Aurélie's. She set the napkin aside and leaned forward in her chair.
"Plot a course and take us in." Her golden eyes fixed on the screen, on the cave marker, on the path that would lead them past the Navy's watchful gaze. "Don't let the Navy see us."
Galit's hands moved across the controls. The submarine's engines shifted pitch, the vibration changing from a steady hum to something lower, slower, more careful. The viewscreen showed the water flowing past the hull, dark and endless, hiding them from the ships above.
Bō-Zak took a long drag from his pipe, blew out a plume of smoke, and grinned. "This is going to be interesting." He stretched his legs out further, crossing his ankles. "Why are we here again? I mean, besides the obvious 'sneaking past the World Government' part."
Marya sighed. The sound came from deep in her chest, the exhale of someone who had explained this before and would explain it again because that was what leaders did. "We are looking for a power holder of the Hebi Hebi no Mi, Model: Bhūta Kāla."
Atlas's brow furrowed. His rust-red fur bristled along his spine. "Wonder if they're with the Navy."
Galit glanced at him from the pilot's seat, his emerald eyes thoughtful. "I don't think so. Our last scan indicated them sailing away from Wano, but..." He trailed off, his fingers hovering over the controls.
Charlie cleared his throat—Ahem!—and pushed his glasses up his nose. His pith helmet tilted slightly as he turned toward the group. "We can conclude that while this individual may not be associated with the Navy, they may be compromised and possibly in distress. The Bhūta Kāla fruit is known to exert a corrupting influence on its wielder, and prolonged exposure without proper spiritual grounding could result in—"
Marya sighed again. This one was softer, almost resigned.
Sanza stood near the back of the bridge, his red hair still messy, his small hands clasped behind his back in a pose that was trying very hard to look mature. His brow furrowed.
"They could be in trouble?"
Atlas smirked. His blue eyes glinted with amusement. "Yeah, squirt."
Sanza's confusion deepened. His lips pressed together, and his voice came out smaller than he intended. "But the Navy helps people."
The bridge went quiet.
Aurélie turned in her copilot's seat, her silver hair swinging, her dark eyes meeting Sanza's with an expression that held no mockery, only a kind of sad patience. "Not everyone would consider their presence or assistance helpful." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The Navy serves the World Government. The World Government has its own definition of justice. Sometimes that definition... conflicts with what other people need."
Sanza stood still, processing. His face cycled through confusion, doubt, and something that might have been the first stirring of understanding. He did not speak.
Jelly bounced beside him, oblivious to the weight of the conversation. His gelatinous body wobbled, and his starry eyes fixed on the tray still in Eliane's hands. He bounced higher, reaching—
"Adventure!" he chirped, his hand stretching toward the last pastry.
Eliane moved the tray away.
Jelly's hand closed on empty air.
He bounced once more, hit the side of a console, and slid to the floor with a soft bloop of disappointment.
The submarine continued its silent approach, carrying them toward the island, toward the cave, toward whatever waited in the darkness beneath the cliffs. The Navy ships circled above, blind to the shadow passing beneath their hulls. And somewhere on Kushi Island, a power older than the World Government waited in the hands of a man who had traded his honor for a curse.
Marya's golden eyes never left the screen.
The cave grew larger.
The water grew darker.
The hunt continued.
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