The silence that settled after Kathy's departure was a comfortable one, filled only by the distant whisper of the wind and the soft, steady sound of spoons against bowls. The stew was a masterpiece of Alerian practicality—thick, hearty, and capable of warming a man down to his bones. Kuzan ate with a slow, appreciative diligence, while Geo seemed to absorb the meal through some deeper, structural need.
After a while, Geo pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned back, the chair groaning in familiar protest. "So, Lumenara," he began, fishing a small, curious object from his apron pocket. It was a Dial, but unlike any common variety. Its shell was a milky, opalescent white, smooth and cool to the touch. "You'll need one of these. A Chime Dial. It's the only thing that'll sing you the right path."
Kuzan took the proffered Dial, turning it over in his large hand. It was surprisingly light. "Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it," Geo said, pouring them both another measure of rum. "The Rainbow Currents… they're not like a river you can just see and follow. Old story says they're the bones of a sky snake named Bobbi-Bobbi, laid down as a gift. Truth is, they're pathways of solid light, but they only wake up under a certain sun. You can be sitting in empty sky one moment, and the next, a bridge of color just… manifests around you. The Chime Dial here," he nodded at the object in Kuzan's hand, "it feels the heart of the current before it forms. It'll point the way. You just have to trust it, and have the guts to steer your ship into what looks like thin air."
Kuzan placed the Dial carefully on the table, his expression unreadable. He let the topic of navigation settle before steering into darker waters. "Any updates on the other thing?"
Geo didn't need a map for that conversation either. He took a slow drink, the liquid catching the light. "The Ophidian Covenant."
Kuzan gave a single, grave nod. "That's the one."
A sigh, heavy with the weight of unwanted knowledge, escaped Geo. "Yeah. They're getting bolder. Polishing their knives in the shadows. Won't be too long before they decide the current management isn't to their taste and attempt a… hostile change of leadership."
One of Kuzan's brows crept upward. "Is that possible?"
"Yeah," Geo said, the word flat and final. "It's possible. The Covenant… they're not just disgruntled nobles. They're a splinter group of Celestial Dragons who think Imu and the Five Elders are too soft, too distracted. They see the Empty Throne as a lie and themselves as the 'true heirs' who should be ruling as open gods, not hiding in the shadows. Their intended purpose is to tear it all down and build something worse from the rubble." He swirled the rum in his mug. "Rumors have it they've secured an ancient, lost sky island. Aethelgard. A fortress from the Void Century. They plan to use it as a staging ground to end Mary Geoise."
Kuzan rolled the liquor around in his mug, watching the legs it formed on the glass. "Any info on who's pulling their strings?"
Geo shook his head. "No. That's a ghost. There's no information on that. They're careful."
"And this Aethelgard? Where is it?"
"Somewhere in the sky," Geo said, gesturing vaguely with his mug at the vast expanse beyond the porch. "That's all I know. No idea what currents are attached to it, if any. It's a locked box, and they have the key."
Kuzan was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. "I tried to warn Akainu," he mumbled, more to himself than to Geo. "But that was a waste of time."
A dry, humorless laugh escaped Geo. "There's nothing Akainu will be able to do. He'll be powerless when the fall comes. He's just another puppet, convinced he's holding the strings."
"Yes," Kuzan agreed, the word a soft sigh. "But if the rumors are true and the government falls to these… snakes… then what will the future look like?"
Geo studied his old friend, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. "It sounds like you're cooking up a plan, old friend."
A faint, familiar smirk touched Kuzan's lips, the first sign of real engagement in the conversation. "Maybe I am."
---
The silence that followed was heavy and thick, broken only by the faint ringing in their ears and the slow, gritty trickle of dust and small stones from the damaged ceiling. Every patron in The Zephyr's Roost was staring, their faces a canvas of shock and dawning awe, all directed at the woman standing with her hand on her sword's hilt.
"Bloody hell," Jannali breathed, shattering the quiet. She brushed cloud-stone dust from her shoulders. "What in the seven seas was that? A welcome party?"
Marya's golden eyes, sharp and scanning the stunned crowd, narrowed. She could feel it—a building pressure in the air, a deep, groaning shift from the island's core. "Jannali," she said, her voice cutting through the murmur that was starting to rise. "Everyone, get down!"
The patrons and staff, Alerians and Birkans alike, simply stared, frozen like cloud-sheep in a storm.
"NOW!" Marya's voice snapped like a whip, devoid of its usual lazy calm, infused with a command that brooked no argument.
That did it. The spell broke. There was a scramble of movement as chairs were overturned and people dove for cover. Vesta and Vera practically fell under the large, solid cloud-wood table with the rest of the crew. From the relative safety of the shadows, they watched as Marya, instead of taking cover, moved into the open space she had just cleared.
She didn't run; she flowed, her combat boots making no sound on the debris-littered floor. A faint, grey mist began to wreathe her form, making her outline shimmer as she gripped Eclipse. Then it came—a deep, gut-wrenching tremor, followed by a second, closer explosion that lit up the street outside with a hellish orange glow. A wave of destructive force, carrying shattered timber, shards of cloud-stone, and hungry, licking flames, blasted through the already compromised wall.
Marya stood fast. She didn't swing her blade in a wild arc. Instead, she moved with an economy of motion that was both beautiful and terrifying. Eclipse became a blur of obsidian, its crimson runes glowing like embers as she met each piece of incoming debris. She used the flat of the blade to bat a chunk of spinning masonry into the floor, the edge to slice a spear-like timber in two, and a pulse of her jet-black Armament Haki to deflect a wave of fire, the flames parting around her like water around a stone. It was less like a sword fight and more like a deadly, chaotic dance, each movement perfectly timed to intercept the chaos.
Under the table, Vesta watched, her jaw slack. "What... what is she?" she whispered, her voice full of disbelief.
Eliane, crouched beside her with her hands protectively over her head, smiled, her eyes shining with admiration. "She is amazing, isn't she?"
Vesta nodded slowly. "Yeah, but... how is she... doing that?"
Jelly, wedged between Atlas's legs, gave a wobbly, enthusiastic bounce. "Strong stabby friend!" he chirped. "Adventure!"
Vesta's brow furrowed in concentration. The strap of her guitar, Mikasi, suddenly jerked hard against her shoulder, the instrument twitching as if trying to leap into the fray. Vesta clamped a hand down on its body. "Hey, settle down," she hissed.
Atlas, his lynx ears flat against his head, chuckled low in his chest. "Don't think I've ever seen an instrument with a mind of its own, girlie."
Vesta chuckled awkwardly, her eyes still glued to Marya. "Well, Mikasi, can get a little... well... um... excited..."
"All clear," Marya's voice called out, sharp and clear, cutting off Vesta's explanation. The immediate danger had passed. The dust began to settle, revealing the full extent of the damage. The front of the tavern was now a gaping maw open to the chaotic street, where cries of alarm and the shouts of the Aerie Guard could be heard.
Dyaus slowly peeked out from behind the solid bar, his stormy eyes scanning the destruction. A colorful curse in a language they didn't know slipped from his lips. "Is everyone alright?" he called out, his voice a steadying rumble.
The patrons, shaken but miraculously unharmed, looked at each other and began to nod, a wave of relieved murmurs passing through them.
Vera crawled out from under the table, dusting off her stained apron. "It appears so," she announced, her voice only trembling slightly. She turned to the woman standing in the ruined threshold. "Thanks to... I'm sorry, what is your name?"
Marya turned from her survey of the street, sheathing Eclipse with a soft, definitive click. The faint mist around her dissipated. "Marya."
Dyaus walked over to her, stepping carefully over the wreckage. He looked from the devastation outside to the unscathed patrons inside his tavern. "That was... amazing, Marya," he said, the words heartfelt and full of genuine respect.
Vesta finally emerged, her rainbow hair dulled by a layer of grey dust. She stared at Marya, her earlier fan-girl energy replaced by a new, profound awe. "Are... are all Blue Sea people like you?" she asked, her voice small.
A round of chuckles came from Marya's crew as they extracted themselves from their hiding spots.
Marya allowed a faint, dry smirk to touch her lips. She glanced at the destruction, then back at Vesta's wide, earnest eyes. "Um, no," she said, a hint of wry amusement in her tone. "Not all."
The dust motes, glittering like tiny shattered suns in the sudden openness where the tavern's front wall used to be, swirled in the agitated air. A faint, dry smirk touched Marya's lips as she glanced from the wreckage to Vesta's wide, earnest eyes. "Um, no," she said, a hint of wry amusement coloring her stoic tone. "Not all."
The initial shock was wearing off, replaced by the rising buzz of confusion and relief. Patrons, clutching their chests and brushing cloud-stone grit from their clothes, stumbled out from under tables. The sounds of the street, previously muffled, now flooded in with startling clarity: the distant, escalating shouts of authority, the sharp clatter of booted feet on stone, and the unmistakable, powerful whoosh of massive wings beating the air. Large, sweeping shadows—eagles the size of small ships—darted across the chaos of the debris-covered street, their forms blotting out the sun in rapid, rhythmic passes.
From the haze of dust and settling wreckage, two figures rounded the corner at a run, their arrival as sudden as the explosions themselves. Altair Toschi, his Kestrel Cloak flaring behind him, took in the scene with sharp, observant eyes that missed nothing—the shattered wall, the unscathed patrons, the unfamiliar faces of the Blue Sea dwellers. Beside him, Zeke Fairbairn moved with a stout, purposeful gait, his gaze scanning the structural damage with a practical, assessing scowl.
"Anyone need a medic? Casualties?" Altair's voice was calm, cutting through the din with practiced authority.
Dyaus, leaning against his scarred but intact bar, gestured with a thumb towards Marya. "None. The only thing that got hurt was my tavern, thanks to this young lady here."
Altair's hazel eyes narrowed, focusing on Marya with the intensity of a hawk sighting prey. He began to close the distance between them, each step deliberate.
Meanwhile, Zeke stomped through the rubble, his heavy boots crunching on splintered wood and pulverized cloud-stone. He gave a cursory sniff of the air, a habitual tic that made a nearby patron instinctively lean away. "Terrorist attack," Zeke declared, his voice a low rumble. "Stinks of the Storm-Callers' handiwork."
Vera, wringing a clean rag in her hands, her face smudged with dust, asked the question on everyone's mind. "What happened?"
"Terrorist attack," Zeke repeated, stepping up to the tall, lean form of Galit. "Most likely the Storm-Callers." He looked Galit up and down. "Blue Sea dwellers?"
Jannali, leaning casually against a miraculously un-shattered support beam, piped up, her voice dripping with insouciance. "Yeah, mate. What of it? Drawn a short straw on the welcome committee?"
Altair, now standing directly before Marya, ignored the quip. His attention was locked on the young woman with the raven hair and golden-ringed eyes. "And no one was harmed… because of you?" he mused, his tone laced with a deep, professional skepticism. "That's offlay convenient."
"The timing. The location," Zeke continued, turning his square-jawed scowl on the rest of the crew. "It's… suspect."
Galit let out a long, weary sigh, his exceptionally long neck dipping slightly as if already feeling the weight of bureaucratic trouble. "We had nothing to do with this," he stated, his voice intense and rapid. "We don't even know who or what these 'Storm-Callers' are."
A small, pained sound came from Vesta. She cringed at the name, her vibrant rainbow hair seeming to dim for a moment. "They're… Birkan sympathizers," she offered, her voice suddenly small.
Both Zeke and Altair swiveled their heads towards her, their focus shifting entirely. "You appear to have a connection to Birka," Zeke stated, his gaze lingering on her Sky Islander features.
Vesta swallowed hard, her dramatic confidence deserting her under the officials' stares. "Well, I… I lived there before it was… well, you know…" She gestured vaguely upwards, her words trailing off into a sheepish mumble. "But anyway, I'm actually from Lumenara."
The name hit the air with an almost physical force. Marya's head snapped around so fast her long black hair whipped over her shoulder. Her golden-ringed eyes, previously locked in a silent battle of wills with Altair, were now fixed on Vesta with laser-like intensity. Lumenara. The very island she needed to find.
Vesta, wilting under the combined attention, hurried on nervously. "So, ah, my connection to Birka isn't as direct as all that…"
Altair used the distraction to step even further into Marya's space, a clear, unspoken challenge. Marya turned back, meeting his gaze squarely. The air between them grew thick and silent, a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the Aerie Guard outside.
"I think you should come with us," Altair said, his voice low and firm.
Dyaus immediately stepped forward, his usual joviality replaced by a protective sternness. "She has nothing to do with this! She's the reason none of us are splattered across your street!"
Zeke, folding his muscular arms, offered a pragmatic, if grim, counterpoint. "If there's no affiliation, and they're innocent as you say, then they have nothing to worry about. A few questions. Standard procedure."
Marya didn't blink, her stare unwavering. Altair matched it, his own eyes hard and calculating. He was a man who trusted evidence and his own instincts, and right now, both were screaming that this powerful, unknown fighter in the Heart Pirates jacket was at the center of something.
From the side, Atlas Acuta, his rust-red fur dusted with pale powder, let out a low, rumbling chuckle. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like small pebbles grinding together. "What's the play, boss?" he called out, his tone a mix of amusement and readiness for a fight.
Marya considered for a long, silent moment. She could feel the nervous energy from the Alerian and Birkan patrons around them, a tangible wariness directed at the two Guards. Zeke and Altair, for all their official capacity, made these people nervous. To fight or go quietly? Both had consequences.
Her eyes flickered from Altair's determined face to Vesta's worried one, then to the hopeful, cringing form of Jelly Squish, who was wobbling near her boots. She remembered the map, the Gate of Lethe, the weight of her mother's sword on her back. A public brawl with the local authorities was not on the itinerary.
Finally, she let out a slow, controlled breath. The black void veins on her arms seemed to pulse faintly under the skin. "Fine," Marya said, her voice calm but leaving no room for argument. "We'll answer your questions. But my crew stays together." It wasn't a request. It was a statement of terms, delivered with the quiet authority of one used to being obeyed. The game had changed; their anonymity was shattered, but they weren't about to be led away like common troublemakers.
A tense silence held for a beat before Altair gave a curt, professional nod. "The Aerie Guard command post. It's secure." He turned, his Kestrel Cloak swirling as he gestured for them to follow. Zeke fell in beside him, a solid, imposing presence that cleared a path through the gathering crowd of onlookers and other Guards.
Marya glanced back at her crew, a single, almost imperceptible tilt of her chin signaling them to move. They fell into step behind her—Galit with his intense, calculating gaze already assessing escape routes, Atlas with a laid-back swagger that belied the readiness in his stance, Jelly wobbling with enthusiastic, gelatinous bounces, and Jannali following with her hands in her pockets, looking for all the world like she was on a mildly interesting sightseeing tour. Eliane stayed close to Jannali, her small Lunarian hand clutching the Three-Eyed woman's sleeve, her large blue eyes wide as she took in the damaged street.
From the doorway of the shattered tavern, Vesta Lavana watched them go, a silent movie unfolding without her. She blinked, her rainbow hair a stark splash of color against the dusty, muted tones of the disaster. They were leaving. The most interesting thing to happen in the White-White Sea since the last time a recorded Brook song had washed up on a cloudbank was walking away. She chewed on her bottom cheek, lost in a whirlwind of what-ifs and maybes.
Then, the guitar strapped to her back gave a violent, sudden shudder. It wasn't a gentle nudge; it was a full-bodied, wooden thwump against her spine, hard enough to make her teeth clack together. It felt less like an instrument and more like a disgruntled animal kicking its stall.
"Ow! Okay, okay, I get it!" she hissed under her breath, as if scolding a misbehaving pet. The jolt had shattered her indecision. Her eyes, previously clouded with doubt, cleared with a sudden, dramatic fire.
She lunged for the rest of her gear, snatching up a oversized bag stuffed with sheet music and what looked suspiciously like a hand-sewn Brook doll. Slinging it over her shoulder, she burst out of the tavern's gaping maw and into the chaotic street. "Wait for me!" she called out, her voice soaring over the din of shouted orders and the distant cries of the giant eagles. She skidded on a patch of loose gravel, arms pinwheeling for a moment before regaining her balance. "I'm coming too!"
The entire procession halted. Altair and Zeke turned, their expressions a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Marya and her crew stopped and looked back.
Jannali let out a short, sharp laugh. "You've got to be kidding me, right? This isn't a fan meet and greet, love."
"But it could be!" Vesta insisted, catching up to them, her breath coming in little puffs. She pointed a dramatic finger at Marya. "You're going to Lumenara! I saw you react! I'm from Lumenara! I can... I can be your guide! Your local cultural attaché! Your... official touring musician!"
Marya simply stared at her, one eyebrow creeping slowly upward towards her hairline. The sheer, unadulterated audacity was, she had to admit, vaguely impressive.
Galit pinched the bridge of his nose. "A cultural attaché," he repeated, his voice flat.
"Absolutely!" Vesta beamed, undeterred. "You'll need someone who knows the lay of the land, who understands the delicate political landscape, who can—"
"Who can what?" Atlas interrupted, a wide, taunting grin spreading across his lynx-like features. "Annoy the local authorities to death with Blue Sea Pirate trivia and walking, talking skeletons?"
Vesta drew herself up to her full height, her pride clearly wounded. "For your information, Brook's skeletal composition is a marvel of post-mortem bio-musical resonance—"
Marya held up a hand, silencing her. She looked from Vesta's desperately hopeful face to the impatient set of Altair's shoulders. This was a complication she didn't need, but the girl had just named the one place they needed to go. A local, especially a talkative, star-struck one, could be useful. Or a colossal liability.
With a faint, almost imperceptible sigh that was more in her eyes than her lungs, Marya gave a single, short nod. "Fine. Keep up." Then she turned and continued walking, leaving Vesta to scramble after the group, a brilliant, triumphant smile breaking out across her face as she fell into step beside a deeply skeptical Jannali and an endlessly fascinated Jelly Squish. The journey to the Aerie Guard post had just acquired its own, very loud, and very colorful soundtrack.
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