The sun broke over the Fermentation Current, painting the water in shades of gold and rose. The Dreadnought Thalassa's hull gleamed darkly against the light, her solar sail furled but ready, the Red Hair Pirates' grinning skull emblazoned across its surface. The morning air smelled of salt and promise.
Marya Zaleska stepped onto the deck, her leather jacket zipped against the morning chill, the Heart Pirates insignia catching the first rays of sun. Denim shorts. Tall combat boots. Nisshoku strapped across her back. Her raven hair—still loose, still flowing—swayed with the movement of the ship.
Atlas Acuta followed close behind, his rust-red fur ruffled, a piece of bacon already in his hand. He was chewing before his second foot hit the deck.
Jannali Bandler brought up the rear, her afro proud, her headscarf pressed tight against her forehead. Her golden hoop earrings swung as she scanned the dock, her brown eyes sharp.
Marya stopped.
Her foot froze mid-step. Her golden eyes—her father's eyes—went wide.
The dock was packed.
Coast Guard sailors stood in perfect formation at the edge of the pier, their navy blue uniforms crisp, their brass buttons gleaming. Behind them, a crowd of civilians pressed forward—fishermen in weathered coats, merchants in bright silk, children clutching flowers, old women waving handkerchiefs. The entire harbor of Vàng-Harbor had turned out.
Marya's face went through three expressions in rapid succession: confusion, horror, and resigned disgust.
Jannali stepped up beside her. Her twang accent stretched the vowels.
"Bloody hell. What's all this?"
Marya's voice came through gritted teeth. "They are seeing us off." Her jaw tightened. "The exact opposite of what I said."
Behind them, the hatch banged open.
Vesta Lavana burst onto the deck like a rainbow-colored tornado, her hair a mess of tangled hues, her violet eyes sparkling with manic energy. She was still wearing her concert clothes—sequined top, high-waisted pants, platform boots. Mikasi bounced against her hip.
"GOOD MORNING, EVERYBODY!"
She barreled past Marya, nearly knocking her into the railing. Marya caught herself on a cleat, her eyebrow twitching.
Vesta threw herself against the railing, leaning so far over that her feet left the deck. She waved both arms above her head.
"HELLO! HELLO, KUSHI! THANK YOU! THANK YOU FOR LAST NIGHT! I LOVE YOU ALL!"
The crowd cheered. Someone threw a flower. It landed in the water.
Marya pinched the bridge of her nose.
Atlas chuckled, grease from his bacon dripping down his chin. "She's got energy."
"She has no sense of self-preservation," Marya muttered.
Atlas swallowed the last of his bacon and wiped his mouth. "I'll go release the mooring lines."
He lumbered toward the bow, his rust-red fur bright in the morning light.
Jannali watched him go, then turned back to Marya. "Hey, mate, what about—"
She didn't finish.
Bō-Zak Kaminosukei sauntered up the gangplank.
His tattered awayo shawl draped over one shoulder. His pipe smoldered in one hand. His gold-flecked brown eyes—half-lidded, satisfied, grinning—surveyed the deck like a man who had just enjoyed a very, very good night.
Behind him, Kaburo Gusaki followed.
The samurai moved with his usual economy—silent, contained, his dark hair tied in a low ponytail, his scarred face unreadable. Kalamaru hung at his hip, the cursed blade's obsidian sheath gleaming. His dark eyes found Charlotte Amaretto on the dock.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, her auburn hair loose, her hand raised in a small wave. She wasn't cheering. She wasn't crying. She was just... watching. Waiting.
Kaburo's hand drifted to Kalamaru's hilt. He nodded once.
Charlotte nodded back.
Bō-Zak stepped onto the deck, his grin stretching wider. He took a long drag from his pipe and exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke.
"Good morning."
Jannali crossed her arms. "You look like you had a good night."
Bō-Zak's eyebrows rose. "Oh, do I?"
Atlas appeared behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Come on, lover boy. You can help me with the lines."
Bō-Zak let himself be dragged toward the bow, his chuckle trailing behind him.
Marya walked toward Kaburo.
Her golden eyes met his dark ones. The morning light reflecting off the edges of Nisshoku's hilt.
"You sure about this?"
Kaburo looked over his shoulder. At Charlotte. At the woman who had given him a reason to stop being a monster.
He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.
Then he turned back to Marya.
"Yeah." His voice was low, rough, certain. "The sooner we get going, the sooner I can return."
Marya nodded.
Jannali walked over, her hoop earrings swinging. "Good day, mate. Come with me."
Kaburo nodded and followed her toward the interior of the ship.
Marya looked over her shoulder.
Vesta was still at the railing, practically falling over, her rainbow hair whipping in the morning breeze. She waved at the cheering crowd with both hands, her face split in a grin so wide it looked painful.
"BYE! BYE! I'LL COME BACK! I PROMISE! I'LL WRITE A SONG ABOUT YOU! ABOUT ALL OF YOU! IT'LL BE CALLED 'THE HARBOR OF HOPE'! OR MAYBE 'THE NIGHT THE COYOTES DANCED'! I HAVEN'T DECIDED YET!"
Marya shook her head. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She turned to face the dock.
Phởlaurant Vanluc stood at the front of the Coast Guard formation, his navy blue uniform crisp. His hand rested on his revolver—not threatening, just present. Beside him, King Vitis Koshu wore his formal robes of deep burgundy silk, the Vine Crown resting on his silver-gray hair.
Marya raised her voice. Not shouting. Just... projecting.
"This is the exact opposite of what I wanted."
Phởlaurant's lips twitched—almost a smile. He raised his hand.
"PRESENT ARMS!"
The Coast Guard formation snapped to attention. Hands saluted. Boots stomped in unison. The sound echoed across the harbor.
King Vitis Koshu waved both arms above his head like an excited grandfather.
"SAFE TRAVELS! WE HOPE TO SEE YOU AGAIN SOON! VERY SOON! SOONER THAN LATER, IF POSSIBLE!"
Marya nodded. Then, reluctantly—like a woman pulling a thorn from her foot—she raised her hand and waved back.
Atlas and Bō-Zak walked past her, heading toward the hatch.
"We're ready to shove off," Atlas said.
Marya nodded. She walked to the communications panel on the deck, pressed the button, and leaned into the receiver.
"Galit. Set the sail. We are ready to depart."
The speaker crackled. Galit's voice—calm, focused, tinged with static—came through.
"Aye. Setting sail."
The solar sail extended.
The Red Hair Pirates' insignia—the grinning skull, the crossed swords, the red stripe—snapped against the morning sky. The Dreadnought Thalassa pulled away from the dock, her hull cutting through the Fermentation Current's golden waters.
The crowd cheered.
Vesta waved until her arms ached.
Marya stood at the railing, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon.
Behind her, the island of Kushi grew smaller. The rice terraces became green ribbons. The mountains became shadows. The people became specks.
Charlotte Amaretto stood on the dock, her auburn hair blowing in the wind, her hand still raised.
Kaburo Gusaki stood at the stern, his dark eyes fixed on her.
Neither waved.
Neither needed to. The Dreadnought Thalassa moved faster.
And the crowd watched until the submarine disappeared into the sun of the new horizon.
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