The air in Kano Country was a unique brew of sea salt, sizzling spices from street vendors, and the ever-present, damp chill that rolled in from the western sea where the Path of the High West loomed—a perpetual, silent hurricane of cloud and light that dominated the horizon. The architecture of the port city, Dragon's Gate, was built to withstand this environment, with swooping, heavily-weighted roofs designed to cut the vicious winds and walls of dark, cloud-kelp treated wood that flexed and groaned as of sharing ancient stories of past travelers.
After days of draining their coffers to pay the exorbitant fees of the Guild of Cloud-wrights, the crew had turned to the city's numerous gambling halls to replenish their funds. Their luck, guided by Jannali's sharp perception and Marya's unreadable calm, had been surprisingly good.
Now, they sought respite at the Egg Roll Oasis, an establishment carved into the base of a natural rock spire, featuring open-air baths fed by hot springs and a bustling tavern below
Steam rose in gentle clouds, carrying the faint, mineral scent of the spring water and the sweeter aroma of blooming night-flowers that clung to the rocky walls. In the women's bath, the water was blissfully hot, leaching the tension from tired muscles.
Eliane splashed happily, her silver hair clinging to her damp neck. "It's like a giant soup bowl!" she chirped, watching as Jelly, having absorbed a significant amount of water, transformed into a giant, wobbly, azure blob. He floated serenely in the center of the pool, emitting a soft, contented "Bloop!" every few moments. Eliane poked him, and her giggle echoed off the stones as he jiggled.
"Don't poke the dessert," Jannali advised from her corner of the bath, her headscarf and large golden hoops set carefully on a dry rock. She leaned her head back, looking at Marya through the steam. "So, you reckon our ride will be ready soon? I'm getting tired of this guy's five-star floating accommodation." She jerked a thumb at Jelly.
Marya, submerged to her chin, didn't open her eyes. The black void veins on her arms stood out starkly against her skin in the hot water. "Ming Tao said the Kairouseki inlay should be set by tomorrow. The Jet Dials are already mounted." Her voice was a low murmur, almost lost in the trickle of water.
Jannali sighed, her gaze drifting upward to where the first stars were beginning to pierce the twilight, far beyond the misty veil of the Path. "What do you think it'll be like? Up there."
A faint smirk touched Marya's lips. "I have no idea."
"Helpful. Aokiji's the only one who's been, right? What's his deal, anyway? Why's a former Admiral tagging along with our motley crew?"
Marya finally opened her golden eyes, their usual intensity softened by the steam. "Why are any of you tagging along?" she countered, a note of dry amusement in her tone. "He's probably bored."
Jannali looked over, her expression turning thoughtful. "Or he's looking for something."
Marya shifted, resting her head on a bent elbow against the stony edge of the bath. The movement caused ripples to lap at Jannali's shoulders. "You think?" she asked, the smirk returning full force. "Aren't you looking for something, too?"
Jannali's confident demeanor faltered. A blush crept up her cheeks and she looked away, suddenly sheepish. "That's different."
Marya reclined again, sinking until the water covered her shoulders. "Don't worry. I'm not worried about your little quest," she said, her voice flat but not unkind. "Just like I'm not worried about his."
In the men's bath on the other side of a woven bamboo partition, the atmosphere was similarly steamy but the conversation was more technical.
Galit's long neck was stretched out, the water nearly reaching his chin. He and Aokiji were discussing the nuances of the ascent. "The initial layer is the most turbulent," Aokiji rumbled, his massive frame taking up a significant portion of the pool. "The 'Veil of Sighs.' The cloud matter is hyper-dense there. It's not about speed; it's about finding the current's rhythm."
"And the Windless Belts?" Galit asked, his emerald eyes sharp with focus. "My calculations suggest they occur at the confluence of three major cloud valleys."
"Your calculations are likely correct. That's where the Jet Dials earn their price."
Atlas, bored out of his mind, let out a dramatic groan. His rust-red fur was plastered to his skin, and his leopard-like spots seemed darker. "Can you two talk about something that isn't a weather report? My ears are pruning." He flicked water at Galit. "Hey, Noodle-Neck. Bet I can hold my breath longer than you."
Galit didn't even look at him. "I'm not engaging in your childish contests, Atlas. Unlike some, I need my brain oxygenated for the journey."
"What about you, Pops?" Atlas turned his taunting grin to Aokiji. "Why are you still sticking around anyway? Thought you would've bailed after Ohara."
Aokiji let out a long, weary sigh that fogged the air in front of him. "There is an old friend I want to visit in the sky. You just happen to be going in the same direction." He sank deeper into the water until it covered his mouth, then added, his voice a low vibration, "Besides. The shadow's quest interests me."
Galit stood, water sluicing off his lean frame. "I'm done. I'll meet you two in the tavern. We need to finalize supplies and payment with Ming Tao tonight." He wrapped a towel around his waist and left without a backward glance.
Downstairs, the Egg Roll Oasis tavern was a cacophony of warm noise. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, strong liquor, and the distinct, fragrant smoke of treated cloud-kelp from the hearth. The clientele was a mix of grizzled locals and nervous, ambitious explorers funding their own ascents.
Galit, now in his dry teal riptide cloak, was already at a central table, his tactical slate out. Soon, Marya, Jannali, and Eliane joined him, their hair still damp. Marya had resumed her uniform: the leather jacket with the Heart Pirates insignia, denim shorts, and tall boots. Eliane, looking small and refreshed, immediately started sketching the tavern's layout on a napkin.
Atlas and Aokiji arrived last. The massive Mink snagged a plate of dried fish from a passing server, Chun, a young woman with cheerful eyes and robes of simple hemp. "Thanks, love," he said with a feral grin.
"Anything for you kitten," she replied with a playful wink before hurrying off.
Wen, the bartender, a man with a face like a crumpled map and arms thick from pouring drinks, slid a frothing tankard in front of Aokiji without being asked. "On the house," he grunted. "For the man who fished my brother's ship out of a calm belt twenty years back."
Aokiji gave a slow, appreciative nod.
The tavern doors swung open, and Ming Tao, the lead Cloudwright, entered. She was a woman of middle years, her hands marked with countless small burns and scars, her practical robes stained with oil and Kairouseki dust. She spotted their table and strode over, pulling up a chair.
"It's done," she said without preamble, her voice rough from shouting over shipyard noise. "The Glacial Advent is as ready as she'll ever be. The Kairouseki is fused, the Dial arrays are calibrated, and the Cloud-Kelp buoyancy packs are secured. She'll handle the solid clouds." She fixed Marya with a stern look. "But my work can't compensate for a fool at the helm. The Path does not suffer them."
Marya met her gaze evenly. "We're not fools. We're just determined."
Ming Tao snorted, but a hint of respect glinted in her eyes. "Be at the dry dock at first light. The tide and the western wind will be at their most favorable." She accepted a glass of wine from Chun and raised it. "To the craft of Daedalus on your ship, and the wisdom of Athena in your hearts."
As the crew echoed the toast, Marya leaned back in her chair, her golden eyes scanning their faces—the brilliant strategist, the fierce warrior, the cheerful cook, the mysterious informant, the bouncing experiment, and the retired legend. They were a patchwork of agendas and secrets, thrown together by fate and a shared, impossible destination.
The toast hung in the warm, noisy air of the Egg Roll Oasis for a moment before being shattered by the tavern doors slamming open. A man, wild-eyed and breathless, stood framed in the entrance, pointing back outside as if he'd seen a sea king in the street.
"It's happening! Right now!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the din. "Wen! Turn it on! The old man's in the finals!"
Conversations died mid-sentence. Wen, the bartender, didn't hesitate. He reached under the counter and a moment later, the large Monitor Snail mounted on the wall behind him whirred to life. Its features morphed, settling into the likeness of a frantic announcer with a spectacular gladiator helmet and goatee, superimposed over a roaring colosseum crowd. The image was massive, dominating the entire wall.
Every patron in the tavern, from grizzled Cloudwrights to wide-eyed aspiring sailors, swiveled in their chairs, their full attention captured. On the screen, a massive, bald figure with a prodigiously long beard and a distinctive conical head was squaring off against a much smaller, bouncy opponent. The old man's voice boomed through the snail, thick with decades of bitterness. "...Garp! This is for what that Marine dog did to me! My treasure… my legendary head…!"
Marya's crew turned as one to look at the broadcast. As Chun arrived at their table, deftly balancing a tray laden with steaming bowls of noodles and frothing drinks, Jannali jerked her thumb toward the screen. "What's all this then? Who's the bloke with the interesting haircut?"
Chun set the plates down, her eyes also glued to the action. "That's Don Chinjao," she said, her voice a mix of pride and awe. "The former leader of the Happo Navy, our kingdom's protectors. He left with a small crew weeks ago for Dressrosa. There's a tournament there—the prize is the Mera Mera no Mi, the late Fire Fist's power." She shook her head in wonder. "The whole country's been waiting for news."
Just then, the announcer—Gatz—screamed a play-by-play of the smaller fighter, 'Lucy', executing a bizarre, rubbery move. A low chuckle rumbled from Aokiji's corner. He shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips.
Atlas, mouth full of dried fish, glanced over. "What's the joke, Pops?"
"Straw Hat Luffy," Aokiji replied, taking a slow drink.
Marya, who had been observing with mild curiosity, leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes narrowing. "That's him?" The scrawny kid from the bounty posters had filled out, but the determined glint was unmistakable.
"Yes," Aokiji confirmed. "And it appears he's grown quite a bit since the last time I saw him."
Their conversation was drowned out by Gatz's electrified shout. "LUCY HAS JUST HIT HIM! HE HIT HIM SO HARD, FOLKS—HE SPLIT THE HEAVENS!"
On screen, a gigantic block of stone was cleaved in two by the force of the impact.
Marya raised a single, skeptical brow. "Isn't he supposed to be in an alliance with Law?" she mused, more to herself than anyone.
Aokiji merely shrugged his massive shoulders, his expression unreadable.
Marya cocked her head, a rare look of genuine confusion on her usually stoic face as she watched Luffy being declared the winner. "This is an odd plan, Law," she muttered under her breath.
Next to her, both Atlas and Jannali were staring, slack-jawed. "Did he just… split that entire stone block with his fist?" Atlas asked, his competitive spirit both irritated and impressed.
Galit, who had been trying to refocus on his tactical slate, didn't look up. "It appears so. Anyway, about tomorrow's ascent vector through the initial cloud layer—"
"What's wrong, Noodle-Neck?" Atlas interrupted, his feral grin returning as he elbowed Galit in the ribs. "Jealous you can't punch a mountain in half?"
Galit's long neck stiffened, a complex knot of irritation forming near his shoulders. "I prefer a method that doesn't involve concussing myself for a cheap theatrical display," he retorted, his voice tight. "Some of us use our heads for more than a battering ram."
Jannali let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, he got you there, Red Fury."
As the tavern erupted into fresh debates about the fight, Marya leaned back again, her gaze drifting from the celebrating Straw Hat on the screen to her own eclectic crew. One was heading for the sky to challenge gods and uncover void-century secrets, the other was winning costume-pageant brawls for a dead man's fruit. The Grand Line, she thought with a slow, inward shake of her head, was truly a place of magnificent, ridiculous contradictions. And tomorrow, they would be sailing into the greatest one of all.
*****
The cacophony of training—the grinding metal, the thrumming reactors, the sharp crack of Ember's latest "careful" adjustment—had become the Cathedral's new normal. Then a new sound joined the symphony, a sound that made Caden's head snap up inside his cockpit. It started as a dry, skittering rustle, like a thousand metal beetles scrambling over a hull, quickly swelling into a chittering, mindless roar.
From the shadowed gaps between the derelict ships that formed the Cathedral's walls, they poured. A swarm of creatures the size of Armored Frame heads, moving in a seething, metallic tide. Their bodies were a nightmare of biomechanical fusion: jagged, rust-red carapaces that scraped against the deck plates, multiple articulated legs tipped with claws that could find purchase on anything, and whirring, drill-like proboscises that already gnashed at the air, hungry for wiring and soft alloy.
"Scrap-Scuttlers!" Jack's voice boomed over the comms, more excited than alarmed. "Well, would you look at that! Kids, consider this your pop quiz!"
Chaos, perfectly contained, erupted.
The veterans moved with practiced ease. Evander's 'Paladin' didn't flinch. It simply turned, its massive physical shield slamming down like a fortress gate, crushing a dozen of the creatures into pulpy paste. His beam saber flashed, not with wild swings, but with economical, sweeping arcs that cleared his immediate space. "Do not let them surround you! Their drills can pierce weaker armor!"
Jack's lighter Frame danced. He used his thrusters to skate backwards, luring a dense cluster of Scuttlers into a pile before firing a concentrated burst from his beam rifle, cooking them in their own shells. "See? Annoying, but manageable! Unless you're dumb enough to stand still!"
Caden's 'Wraith' was a phantom. It didn't so much fight as it appeared—one moment the emptiness of space, the next a flash of motion as a vibro-blade severed legs and proboscises with silent, brutal economy. He said nothing, but his movements were a direct, violent counterpoint to the psychic shrieking of the swarm's simple, hungry minds that were currently scraping against his own.
For the newcomers, it was baptism by fire.
Aurélie's Rust Falcon was immediately set upon. The creatures scrambled up its legs, their drills whining against the armor. She moved on instinct, the Frame mirroring her body's reflexes. It swayed, twisted, and used its own limbs to pluck the scuttlers off and dash them against the ground. But it was defensive, a duelist's parry. "They are… tenacious," she said, her voice tight with controlled disgust.
"Stop playing with them!" Evander's voice was a sharp command. "That is a hydraulic crusher, not a fencing foil! Use its power!"
A scuttler latched onto her cockpit canopy, its drill whirring inches from her face. A cold fury settled over her. With a guttural shout she didn't know she possessed, she commanded the Frame's free hand to close around the creature. There was a sickening, wet crunch of chitin and machinery, followed by a splatter of viscous fluid across the transparent steel. She had met brutality with brutality. The Frame's power hummed in agreement.
Kuro's analytical mind was in overdrive. His Frame moved in short, sharp bursts, keeping to open ground. He didn't strike often, but when he did, it was a calculated stomp or a backhand that targeted the largest concentration, maximizing each movement's effect. He was less a warrior and more a strategist playing a violent game of chess, his cold focus creating a small island of order in the chittering chaos.
Souta, however, was failing. "This is absurd!" he snarled, his Frame backpedaling clumsily as the creatures swarmed. He tried to bat them away, his movements panicked and uncoordinated. "They have no pattern! No tactical logic!" A scuttler drilled into his Frame's shoulder, sending a shower of sparks across his cockpit view. He let out a frustrated yell.
"Ink-blot, your head's empty!" Jack taunted. "Stop thinking and start smashing!"
It was Ember who answered. With a whoop of delight, her Frame lunged forward, ignoring the scuttlers latched onto its own legs. She brought the heavy hydraulic claws down on the cluster attacking Souta, not with careful pressure, but with a joyous, crushing force that flattened them into the deck. "I got it! I got it! See, Souta? You just gotta hit 'em harder!"
"You imbecile! You nearly took my leg off!" Souta shrieked.
"But I didn't!" she sang back, already turning to bludgeon another group.
Caden, pausing for a moment in his silent slaughter, observed it all. His gaze lingered on Kuro's emotionless, calculated efficiency, and then on Aurélie, who was now moving with a grim, newfound acceptance of the destruction she could wield. The swarm was a nuisance. But the reactions of these strangers? That was a mystery, and in the Typhon Cluster, mysteries were often more dangerous than any Class I pest.