Rowland Marlbrow crouched low, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, one eye squeezed shut as he lined up his shot. The marble—a smooth, milky-white sphere he'd found—sat between his thumb and forefinger, ready to fly.
"Come on already!" one of the other boys whined, bouncing on his heels. "You're taking forever!"
Rowland ignored him completely. His focus narrowed to a single point: the cluster of colored glass marbles arranged in a loose triangle at the center of the dirt circle. His father's words echoed in his head—"Patience, boy. A farmer who rushes his planting reaps nothing but weeds." But Rowland had never been good at patience.
He flicked his wrist. The marble shot forward, ricocheted off a red one, and sent it spinning out of the circle.
"YES!" Rowland jumped to his feet, fists raised in victory.
But before he could celebrate, another boy—Marcus, older and faster—lunged forward, his own marble finding its mark. "I'm the winner!"
"What? No! That doesn't count! I—"
"Did you hear?"
Rowland's protest died in his throat. A panting figure came careening toward them—Tobias, the miller's son, his face flushed and his chest heaving. He buckled over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
"Did you—" pant "—did you—" pant "—did you hear—"
Another boy placed his hands on his hips, huffing with frustration. "Spit it out already!"
Tobias straightened, one arm pointing toward the distant dock. His voice cracked with excitement as he yelled, "PIRATES!" He gulped air. "They just docked! They're here!"
Rowland's feet hit the ground before his brain caught up. "Pirates!"
Tobias nodded frantically. "Yeah! Everyone's talking about it! The priest is on his way! The prophecy—"
But Rowland didn't hear the rest. His legs were already pumping, bare feet slapping against the packed earth, the red bandana around his neck fluttering like a battle flag. He dodged a cart, nearly collided with a woman carrying a basket of bread, and vaulted over a sleeping dog.
Pirates. Real pirates. Not just stories. Real ones.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
This is it. This is how I get out of here.
---
The dock stretched out from the riverbank, ancient stone worn smooth by centuries of water. The minisub sat berthed against it, its charcoal and gold hull gleaming in the frog's perpetual twilight. Steam rose from its engine vents, curling into the humid air like dragon's breath.
Law stepped onto the dock first, his spotted hat tilted low, his hand resting on his sword's hilt. His eyes swept the gathered crowd with the practiced assessment of a man who had survived worse than anything this hidden paradise could throw at him.
Marya followed, her leather jacket creaking with each movement. The Heart Pirates insignia, a beacon insignia. Her raven hair spilled over her shoulders, and her golden-ringed eyes—one half-silver, half-gold—scanned the shoreline with guarded curiosity.
Jannali wasted no time. She pushed past the others, her afro bouncing with each step, her head tilted as if listening to something only she could hear. "This way, mate," she said, already moving toward the road that led inland. "Straight down that track."
Atlas stepped onto the dock, his rust-red fur rippling as he stretched. He glanced back at the Buccaneers who had gathered to stare—massive figures, towering over even the tallest human, their eyes wide with shock and wonder. "Do you think they get a lot of visitors?" he asked, his voice carrying that lazy grin.
Kaburo followed, his hand never straying far from Kalamaru's wrapped hilt. "Of course they don't," he said flatly. "I don't suspect there's a log pose or any compass that could find this place."
Law fell into step beside Marya, his voice low and measured. "The Buccaneers were considered criminals at birth by the World Government. Instantly enslaved." His eyes swept the crowd forming along the road. "This must be some sacred lost tribe that survived the slaughter."
Marya nodded, her expression thoughtful. "We encountered something similar on another island. Occupied by Minks."
Law raised an eyebrow. "Minks?"
Marya nodded. "Not from Zou."
He opened his mouth to ask more, but the question died as a small figure came thundering toward them.
Rowland Marlbrow skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, his stormy grey eyes wide with barely contained excitement. He buckled over, bracing his hands against his knees, gasping for air.
Jannali stopped, her brow furrowing. "Bloody hell, mate. Are you alright?"
Rowland straightened, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face. "It's true?" he demanded, his voice cracking with hope. "It's really true?"
The group exchanged glances. Atlas tilted his head, his tufted ears twitching. "Is what true, kid?"
Rowland's chest heaved as he forced the words out. "Are you really pirates?"
Law, Marya, Jannali, Bō-Zak, Kaburo, and Atlas exchanged cheeky glances—that shared look of people who had been called worse things and lived to laugh about it.
Jannali resumed walking, her boots crunching against the gravel road. As she passed Rowland, she called over her shoulder, "Yeah, mate. We're pirates."
Rowland spun on his heel, scrambling to catch up. "What's it like?" he demanded, his voice rising with each word. "Out there? What's it like on the sea? I've only heard stories, and all of them are old stories. I bet you have lots of stories!" He jogged alongside them, his bare feet slapping against the road. "I'm going to go out to sea too, you know. Once we're free from this place."
Marya and Law exchanged a glance. Jannali remained fixated on the temple ahead, her head still tilted, listening to the wind.
Rowland's voice dropped to something like reverence. "Are you here for the prophecy?"
Kaburo's reply was flat and dry. "We don't know anything about a prophecy."
Rowland tilted his head, confusion creasing his freckled face. "But you're walking toward the Shikusashi Temple. You must know something about the prophecy."
Bō-Zak opened his mouth to ask a question—but Theodore Trebonianus chose that moment to emerge from the gathering crowd.
The priest was a mountain in cream and gold. His massive frame—nearly six meters tall—towered over the assembled Buccaneers, yet he moved with the gentle grace of a man who had never raised his hand in violence. His silver-white beard swept across his chest, and his warm honey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. The Nika Bible was pressed against his chest, its gilded edges glinting in the dim light.
"By the Laughing Sun," he boomed, his voice deep and resonant, "welcome, friends!"
Jannali cursed under her breath. "Bloody hell. What now!"
Rowland thrust a finger toward the group. "They're pirates!"
Theodore's brows rose, his smile widening. "Oh, this is a great day indeed."
Jannali's jaw tightened. She didn't slow her pace. "This is grouse, but we've gotta skid. The wind's blowing dogs off chains."
Theodore blinked at her, his expression puzzled. "I... beg your pardon?"
But Jannali had already walked past him, her attention fixed on the temple in the distance. Law, Marya, Bō-Zak, Kaburo, and Atlas followed without hesitation.
Theodore glanced down at Rowland, who shrugged and scurried after them.
The priest's massive stride caught up in three easy steps. "It appears Nika's light is guiding you to the Shikusashi Temple," he observed, his voice warm and unbothered.
Law's jaw flexed at the mention of Nika.
Jannali shot back over her shoulder, "That's got stuffed all to do with it. The wind is our guide."
Theodore chuckled, keeping pace with her despite her obvious irritation. "Just as the Dawn will come. The prophecy foretold your arrival. Outsiders, led by one of the three, will show the way to set us free, bringing us into the new dawn. As the elders described."
Kaburo's voice cut through the priest's joy. "How long have you been on this island?"
Theodore laughed, a warm, rumbling sound. "I have been here my entire life. But it was eight hundred years ago that our ancestors founded this island."
"Were you exiled?" Kaburo pressed. "Or..."
Theodore waved a massive hand. "No, no, no. By Nika's light, no. We are the guardians of the Shikusashi Temple."
Atlas's nub flicked. "Have there been others who found this place?"
Rowland interrupted, his voice rising with indignation. "You're the first!"
Theodore chuckled again, resting a massive hand on Rowland's head. "Forgive my young companion. His enthusiasm has him confused." He looked down at the group. "Every few hundred years, we are found by wayward travelers. But few have come with the intention of finding this place."
Marya's lips pressed together. The priest's joy was genuine—she could see that. But his faith was a wall, and she didn't have time to climb it.
"So you have come with a purpose, then?" Theodore asked, his eyes twinkling.
Jannali's voice was sharp. "Yeah, mate. We're here for the Choros-Anemos."
Theodore clapped his hands together, the sound like distant thunder. "By the dawn! The prophecy is upon us!"
Rowland raced forward, his eyes blazing with hope. "Does that mean we'll finally be free?"
Theodore's smile could have lit the entire frog's interior. "Our liberators have arrived!"
Jannali groaned.
Then she perked up.
The Shikusashi Temple rose before them, a masterwork of Doric architecture carved from marble that gleamed like moonlight on water. Six columns stood at the ends, thirteen along each side, their surfaces etched with geometric patterns and sun motifs. A single beam of light pierced the roof's opening, illuminating something within—something that pulsed with a rhythm that matched the frog's own heartbeat.
"That's it," Jannali breathed.
Atlas tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing. "Is that it?"
Jannali didn't answer. She was already running, her heeled sandals pounding against the stone path.
The others followed without hesitation.
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