The lingering cold of the phantom winter bled away, replaced by a dull, persistent ache in her bones and the sterile scent of damp stone and harsh soap. Marya's eyes snapped open, her golden irises focusing on a cracked ceiling of grey mortar. A shadow fell across her.
Leaning over her was a figure of unsettling contrast. He wore an impeccably clean, high-collared white coat, but his skin was a sickly, translucent grey, like old bed sheets held to a light. Two small, needle-sharp white horns pointed forward from his brow. A neatly trimmed beard framed a mouth set in a professional line, but his eyes—wide, unblinking, and a yellowish hue—darted over her with a bird-like intensity. The cold disc of a stethoscope rested against the Heart Pirates insignia on her leather jacket.
Marya blinked, her brow furrowing. The movement was slight, but the man noticed instantly. His eyes shifted from her chest to meet her gaze.
"Ah. You are awake," he said. His voice was soft, sibilant, overly polite. It was the sound of a library ghost.
Marya took a sharp breath, the air tasting of dust and something faintly metallic. Pushing past a deep fatigue, she leveraged herself up onto her elbows. "Where…" she started, her own voice a horse rasp.
"Do not push yourself," he chided, removing the stethoscope and letting it drape around his neck. "What is the last thing you remember?"
Marya looked away, pushing the visions of ghosts and lost kingdoms into a mental lockbox. She concentrated. The shattered dome of Lugh-Grange. Grutte Pier Dorian's monstrous Genbu form. The corrosive, singing power of Igutoshi flooding her veins, and then… a violent, vibrational interruption that felt like a snapped cable. Her scowl returned. "I lost."
Her head snapped around, taking in the cell. It was small, hewn from the same dark rock as the rest of Agashima. A single, high window barred with thick iron cast a weak, dusty beam of light onto the floor. "Where am I?"
"You appear to be recovering. Which is impressive, considering," the ogre doctor said, his tone suggesting she was an interesting lab result. He began placing items into a black bag: a silver lancet, a few vials of cloudy fluid.
Marya moved to sit up fully, and a cold, heavy weight clamped against her wrist answered her. A dull clank of chain followed. She looked down. Her wrists were bound in thick, dark-grey manacles. Sea-Stone. A sigh, more of annoyance than despair, escaped her. Her shoulders slumped for only a second before tightening again.
The doctor smirked, his yellowish eyes crinkling. "Were you expecting something different?"
"Where are my friends?" she asked, her voice flat.
"I am not obligated to tell you anything," he replied pleasantly, his gaze flicking toward the heavy wooden door. Under it, the long, distorted shadows of two guards stretched across the floor.
Marya's lips pressed into a thin line. She ignored him, her observant nature cataloging the room. The door, the bars, the rough walls. Her eyes fixed on the high window. It was small, but it was a way out.
The doctor, finishing with his bag, pulled the zipper closed with a slow, hissing sound. "Your friends…"
Marya's head snapped around.
He continued, unbothered. "I could tell you where they are."
Marya's eyes narrowed. Her golden gaze was hawk-sharp. "What will it cost me?" She lifted her hands, the chains rattling with a sound like dead bones. "As you can see, I'm short on currency."
His strange eyes shifted, focusing on her forearms where the inky black veins of Igutoshi's curse stood out against her skin. "Those black veins…"
Marya stood up, the chains pulling taut. "Are not your concern."
He nodded slowly, as if accepting a clinical finding. "Understood. But you survived a confrontation with the Sovereign Grutte Pier Dorian. That is a feat unto itself."
Marya, standing under the weak light of the window, didn't look at him. "I lost."
"Zi-hi-hi…" His laugh was a dry, breathy thing. "Perspective. I could provide some assistance." He let the offer hang in the stale air.
Marya's eyes shifted toward him, guarded, calculating. "Go on."
"I provide you information," he said, holding up a single, black-gloved finger. "And you provide me transportation."
Marya's brow furrowed. "Transportation."
"I assume you arrived here undetected on some sort of vessel and have an exit strategy," he stated, his tone implying it was the only logical conclusion.
Marya turned fully to face him, crossing her arms as much as the chains allowed. "And where is it you're trying to go?"
"Anywhere," he said, the polite softness leaving his voice for a fraction, replaced by something colder, "that is not in Hitotsume Sovereign territory."
Marya raised a skeptical brow. "You assume the Sovereigns are the only force out there?"
He shook his head, the movement precise. "Not at all. But anywhere is statistically better than here."
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Marya. She was starting to see the shape of this creature. Desperate, brilliant, and utterly self-serving. "And let's say I agree to this arrangement. What are you offering in return? Besides obvious directions."
Dr. Zip H. Scatyl reached into his coat and produced a simple iron key, letting it dangle from his finger. "The location of your friends. And… freedom."
Marya sighed, the sound heavy in the small cell. "You seem confident I can even get us to a ship."
"I know who you are," he said, his unblinking eyes locking onto hers. "And I know what their plans are for you." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Allow me to clarify. The Celestial Dragons are on their way. To retrieve the Lunarian child. The Three-Eye tribeswoman. And to force the location of their lost dragon from you. Are you willing to risk their… hospitality?"
Marya's stomach turned to ice. Eliane. Jannali. The full weight of her failure crashed down, not as guilt, but as a furious, cold obstacle that now stood between her and her goals. Her shoulders slumped in a gesture of concession. "Okay. You get a ride. But there won't be time for you to pack. I need my people, my sword, and to get the hell out of here."
"As I expected," Dr. Scatyl said, the professional smirk returning. "We have a deal?" He extended his hand.
Marya looked at the gloved hand, then at his eerie, expectant face. A deal with a thing that muttered to statues and saw heartbeats as countdowns. She gripped his hand with a single, firm shake. Her father's lessons on contracts with dangerous beings echoed in her mind. "We do. I drop you at the first island outside this territory."
"Agreed," he said, his grin showing neat, small teeth.
With fluid efficiency, he knelt and inserted the key into her manacles. The locks clicked open with a sound like cracking ice, and the heavy sea-stone cuffs thudded to the floor. Marya immediately rubbed her wrists, the feeling of latent power rushing back into her limbs.
"Where are they?" she hissed, her voice low.
"Shouldn't we first discuss how you are going to—"
A heavy creek from the door cut him off. The handle was turning.
Marya cursed under her breath. There was no time for plans. Instinct took over. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the front of Dr. Scatyl's pristine white coat, ignoring his startled intake of breath. Her body dissolved, not into simple mist, but into a swirling, silvery-grey vapor that pulsed with the faint, dark shimmer of the Void. The vapor enveloped the doctor, who stiffened in shock, and together they streamed upward, a silent, ethereal river flowing toward the high, barred window.
They passed through the iron bars like smoke through a sieve, the cold metal offering no more resistance than air. As the last tendrils of mist cleared the cell, the door swung open.
A hulking ogre guard peeked in, his eyes scanning the empty cot. They landed on the open sea-stone cuffs lying discarded on the floor. His eyes bulged, comprehension dawning with horrific slowness.
He stumbled back into the corridor, his voice erupting in a panicked roar that echoed down the stone halls. "SOUND THE ALARM! SHE HAS ESCAPED!"
Outside, high on the cold wall of the fortress, two patches of mist coalesced on a narrow ledge. Marya reformed, boots finding purchase on the wet stone. Dr. Zip H. Scatyl stumbled, his clinical composure shattered, gripping the wall with white-knuckled hands as he stared down at the dizzying drop to the churning moat below.
"Statistical improvement," Marya muttered, her golden eyes already scanning the fortress layout below, searching for the path to her crew and her sword. The hunt was on, but now, she had a truly unsettling guide.
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