The cramped apartment was steeped in the kind of quiet that comes from waiting, broken only by the faint, woody creaks of Vesta's guitar as it subtly reshaped its own body. Then, a new sound intruded, filtering through the single window—a low, building roar that was less a cheer and more a growl from the throat of the city itself.
In his cramped corner, Aokiji opened one eye, the nap he'd been cultivating clearly over. Galit and Marya, who had been standing in a silent conference, turned their heads towards the noise.
"What in the seven seas is that?" Galit muttered.
Atlas uncoiled himself from the floor and padded to the window, his rust-red fur brushing against a poster of Brook. Vesta scrambled after him, peering around his broad frame.
"That is a lot of people," Atlas observed, his voice a low rumble.
"Yeah," Vesta agreed, her usual dramatic flair replaced by a nervous tremor. "And they look… pretty mad."
From his corner, Aokiji's voice drifted over, laced with a weary familiarity. "Sounds like a demonstration. The kind that starts with shouting and ends with broken windows."
Jelly, intrigued by the commotion, gave an enthusiastic bounce and landed with a soft splat on Atlas's shoulder. "Bloop! Party!" he chirped, his massive starry eyes wide.
Atlas glanced sideways at the blue blob on his shoulder. "Don't think it's that kind of party, little guy."
Jelly cocked his head, confused. "Bounce-bounce party?"
"Nah," Atlas said, a grim smile touching his lips. "Looks more like a fruit salad kind of party."
The effect was instantaneous. Jelly let out a tiny, horrified squeak and quivered, folding in on himself until he was a trembling, azure puddle on Atlas's shoulder. "N-no fruit salad…"
Vesta watched the exchange, utterly baffled. "Fruit Salad? What does that even mean?"
Galit interrupted, his voice sharp with renewed concern. "It's getting late." The unspoken words hung in the air, heavier than the gathering crowd's roar. "Jannali and Eliane have not returned yet."
Marya's eyes narrowed, her gaze turning inward. The stoic calm on her face hardened into something more alert. "What could be holding them up? A market run shouldn't take this long."
"Maybe they had to go a long way to find one that was open?" Vesta offered, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Maybe…" Marya's brow furrowed. She looked to Galit, who was already a step ahead, the transponder snail in his hand. The snail's face had morphed, taking on the distinct, sharp features of Jannali. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on the little creature as it emitted a soft, rhythmic buru buru buru… ring.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
The silence from the snail was louder than the crowd outside.
Atlas was the first to break the quiet. "That's not a good sign."
"No," Marya agreed, her voice flat and cold. The black veins on her arms seemed to darken.
"What's the plan, Boss?" Atlas asked, his laid-back demeanor gone, replaced by a predator's readiness.
"We split up and search for them," Marya stated, her decision made in an instant. "Stay in touch."
Vesta jumped up and down, her rainbow hair flying, one hand shooting into the air. "Oh! I want to help! Let me help! Please! I know the streets pretty well!"
Marya gave a single, sharp nod. "Go with Atlas." She pointed a finger at Jelly, who was still quivering. "Jelly, with me. Galit, you and Aokiji work together." Her golden-ringed eyes swept over all of them, the weight of command settling on her shoulders. "It's getting hostile out there. Stay alert."
The waiting was over. The search had begun.
---
The first thing to return was the smell—a damp, musty chill that clung to the back of the throat, carrying the ghost of old cloud-wood and wet stone. Then came the feeling: a rough, fibrous cord biting into her wrists. Jannali groaned, the sound thick in her dry mouth. Her head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache behind her eyes.
"Ugh... my head feels like a herd of Seakings had a party in it," she mumbled, her voice raspy with twang. She blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust to the profound gloom. They were in a small, windowless room, its walls hewn from the same dark cloud-stone that formed Aleria's spires. The air was cold and still.
A small, shaky sob cut through the silence next to her. "J-Jannali?"
"I'm here, Ell. Don't you fret." Jannali's bound hands scrabbled against the gritty floor as she maneuvered herself into a sitting position, her back against the cold wall. "Just a bit of a sticky situation, is all."
Eliane sniffled, her small form trembling. Her hands were tied similarly, resting in her lap. The silver of her hair was a faint glimmer in the dark. "I... I remember... the market... a prick..." Her voice hitched. "It happened again. They took me again." The fear in her voice was a tangible, living thing, feeding on the memory of a past captivity.
Jannali's heart clenched. "Hey. Look at me." She bumped her shoulder gently against the younger girl's. "We've been in tighter spots. Well, maybe not this tight, but the principle's the same. We ain't alone, remember? Marya and the others... they'll be turning this whole floating rock upside down looking for us. That Atlas bloke probably wants to punch something, and Galit's got a brain that won't quit. We just gotta keep our heads."
Eliane took a deep, shuddering breath, nodding. "Right. Okay." She looked around, her large blue eyes wide. "Where are we? It smells like... a cellar that hasn't seen the sun in a hundred years."
Jannali was about to offer another quip, something about the lousy room service, when the sharp, grating screech of a metal bolt broke the silence. A heavy door swung inward, and a rectangle of harsh, artificial light from a bright Dial in the corridor beyond flooded the room, making them both wince and look away.
The silhouette of a man filled the doorway before stepping inside. The door clicked shut, plunging them back into near-darkness, save for the single, uncovered Dial lamp he carried. He placed it on the floor, its stark light throwing long, dancing shadows up the walls. The sound of a wooden chair leg scraping against stone set Jannali's teeth on edge. The man sat, the old wood groaning under his weight, and calmly crossed his legs, his intertwined fingers resting on a knee.
He was gaunt, his features sharp and severe, framed by thinning silver-white Birkan hair. His eyes, pale and intense, seemed to look through them, assessing, calculating.
"Welcome, prophesied one," he said, his voice a low, smooth murmur that seemed to absorb the room's scant warmth.
Jannali scowled, her accent thickening with defiance. "What the hell are you on about, mate? Let us go."
The man—Castor—merely shifted his gaze from Eliane to Jannali, a thin, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "It was assumed your kind had died out." His eyes lingered on Jannali's forehead.
A cold dread, colder than the room, washed over her. She instinctively tried to raise her bound hands to her head, a curse hissing through her teeth. "You drongo..." Her headscarf was gone. The fabric that had hidden her third eye, the secret of her tribe, was missing. The skin there felt naked, exposed.
Castor continued, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "It only makes sense, I suppose. That one of the ancient, sight-blessed tribes would be drawn to the one spoken of in the Covenant."
"I don't know what crackpot story you've swallowed," Jannali snapped, her voice tight, "but we're not just gonna sit here and—"
"Just what?" Castor interrupted, his smirk widening into a devious, condescending smile. He leaned forward slightly, the light carving deep shadows into his face. He knew he held all the power. "What is it you think you can do? I have been chosen by the great Enel himself to spread his doctrine. We await his glorious return, to lead us to the Eternal Vearth."
Jannali blinked, a harsh, disbelieving laugh catching in her throat. "You're mad. Completely off your rocker."
Castor threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the small space. It was a dry, humorless sound.
Eliane whimpered. "Jannali?"
"I'm right here, Ell," Jannali said, her voice softening for a moment before hardening again as she glared at Castor. "It'll be alright. Remember, we're not alone."
"R-right," Eliane said, her voice shaky but trying for bravery.
Castor's laughter died as suddenly as it began. He turned his full attention to Eliane, his demeanor shifting to something almost reverent. The chair creaked again as he stood and knelt before her, bringing himself to her eye level. He reached out, his fingers cold as they gently held her chin. Eliane flinched but didn't pull away, her body rigid with fear.
"We have been waiting a very long time for your arrival," he whispered.
Eliane swallowed hard, her lower lip trembling. "P-prophecy?" she managed to ask, a spark of her own curiosity momentarily overriding her terror.
Castor nodded, his pale eyes gleaming in the Dial-light. "The Covenant of the Twin Moons. 'When the last flame of the Sun-Piercers is rekindled in the sky, the path to Fairy Vearth will be opened.' You, child, are that flame. You are the last Lunarian, the key to our destiny."
A surge of defiant energy, hot and sudden, shot up Eliane's spine. A small, bright flame sparked to life behind her, flickering erratically with her turbulent emotions. "I don't know anything about your prophecy!" she declared, her voice gaining strength. "But I know this is wrong! You can't keep us here like this!"
Castor's smirk returned, smug and unshakable. "But I already have."
Tears welled in Eliane's eyes, but they were now tears of frustration as much as fear. "We have friends! And... and they will come for us! They're super strong too!"
The shift in Castor's demeanor was immediate. The false reverence evaporated, replaced by a flash of raw, cold anger. The smugness vanished from his face, his eyes narrowing. He stood abruptly, his tall frame looming over them, casting a long, oppressive shadow that seemed to swallow the light.
"We have ways of dealing with your friends," he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. The threat hung in the damp air, simple and absolute.
Without another word, he spun on his heel. The door opened and then clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of their stomachs, plunging them back into a darkness that now felt infinitely more dangerous.
*****
A moment later, Evander's more refined tone followed. "All hands, prepare for final approach to Orphan's End. Docking in ten. Secure all loose items and strap in."
The announcement did little to change the atmosphere of wary observation. Luke, crammed into a jump seat, was noisily devouring a packet of dry, beige protein paste. "You guys got any of the good stuff?" he asked through a full mouth, crumbs dusting his flight jacket. "Something that actually tastes like, you know, food?"
At the center of the quiet drama, Emily Nary was hunched over a small, scarred metal rectangle—a data-cell. Her slender fingers, traced with fine, silvery lines, moved over its surface with a gentle frustration. The device was dead, its surface as inert as a river stone.
Bianca, whose eyes missed little in the realm of broken things, watched her struggle for a moment before leaning forward. "Hey, like, having trouble? Maybe I can, like, help?"
Daniel Kamath, who had been pretending to read a data-slate, let his eyes flick up, his sharp gaze locking onto the interaction like a targeting computer. He said nothing, but his stillness was a louder intervention than any word.
Emily looked up, her storm-grey eyes meeting Bianca's. A contemplative silence hung between them for a heartbeat before she offered a small, graceful nod. "I am open to other perspectives. Thank you."
"Like, cool." Bianca slid from her seat and plopped down next to Emily, her tool belt clinking softly. She held out a grease-smudged hand. "Can I, like, see it?"
Emily passed her the data-cell. Bianca turned it over in her hands, her head cocked. "So, like, it looks super old, but…" Her thumb found a nearly invisible seam and pressed. With a faint, sputtering crackle, a weak, flickering light pulsed from within the device. "See? It's not totally dead. It just needs, like, a different kind of juice. The internal battery's shot." She handed it back.
Emily's serene face broke into a look of genuine, wide-eyed surprise, a crack in her composed demeanor. "You have my gratitude."
"We can, like, rig it to a different power source after we dock and stuff," Bianca said with a casual flick of her wrist.
As Emily activated the device again, a soft, blue light projected upwards, forming lines of jagged, angular script that hung in the air. The symbols were unlike any common language, their forms harsh and mathematical. Emily's brow furrowed, her lips moving silently as she tried and failed to find meaning in the shapes.
"Like, maybe Charlie can help?" Bianca suggested. "He's, like, the word guy."
Upon hearing his name, Charlie launched from his seat as if spring-loaded, his pith helmet nearly toppling off. "Ahem! Allow me to ascertain the linguistic provenance!" He leaned in, his nose almost touching the holographic text, his loupe already in hand. After a moment, he straightened up, a baffled expression on his face. "I do not recognize any of this. It shares no root structures with the twelve major galactic dialects, nor does it correlate with any known Void Century ciphers in my repertoire." He looked at Emily, his curiosity overriding his pomposity. "Is this a common derelict script, or…?"
Emily shook her head, her white hair shifting like a cloud. "It is a language lost to us. A echo from before the First Emergence."
The entire compartment snapped to attention when Souta, who had been observing from his seat with an air of detached interest, spoke. His voice was calm, clear, and he read the flickering text as if it were the afternoon news. "'The stars here are irrelevant,'" he recited. 'The language of power is universal. It speaks in cause and effect, in energy and consequence.'"
A stunned silence fell. Charlie's head swiveled towards Souta, his body angled like a confused bird. "Mr. Souta? You are educated in this… this obscure dialect?"
Daniel, trying and failing to appear uninterested, tilted his head just enough to hear better, his jaw tight.
Souta gave a single, slow nod, his dark eyes unreadable. "It is something I learned from my father."
Charlie perked up, his scholarly passion ignited. "Truly intriguing! Ahem! Where, if I may inquire, did you say you hailed from? What archives did your family possess?"
Before Souta could craft an evasion, Caden's voice crackled over the comm again, sharper this time. "Docking sequence initiated. Everyone strap in now."
The spell was broken. Bianca and Charlie scrambled back to their seats, fumbling with harnesses. As she buckled in, Emily leaned slightly in Souta's direction, her voice a soft, earnest whisper that somehow carried through the sudden flurry of movement. "Sir, if you wouldn't mind the imposition, may I inquire with you later for further assistance? Your insight is… remarkable."
Souta's gaze lingered on her features, on the quiet light of the nebulae that seemed etched in her face, for a long, considering moment. Then he nodded, a brief, almost imperceptible dip of his chin.
A grateful smile, small and genuine, touched Emily's lips as she leaned back and secured her own harness.
In the seat beside Souta, Kuro adjusted his smudged glasses, his voice a low murmur meant for his associate alone. "Consider if it is wise to involve yourself so readily."
Souta cut his eyes towards Kuro, a flash of cold warning in their depths, before decisively pulling the strap of his seatbelt tight with a final, sharp click. The ship shuddered as it began its mating procedure with the hidden port of Orphan's End, the mysteries of the data-cell momentarily secured, but the web of alliances and deceptions growing ever more tangled.
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