The cell beneath Metz-Oni castle was a pocket of swallowed silence, carved from the same cold, river-smoothed stone as the foundations above. The only light bled from a narrow, barred slit high on the wall, casting a thin grey blade across the floor that did nothing to dispel the chill. The air smelled of damp straw, old iron, and a lingering, metallic tang from the deep forges somewhere far above.
Eliane Anđel sat curled on the rough floor, her petite frame looking even smaller. Her face was buried in her knees, her silvery hair falling like a curtain around her. A muffled sniffle broke the quiet, followed by a shaky inhale.
On the opposite wall, Jannali Bandler sat with her back against the cold stone, her long legs stretched out. The stylish off-the-shoulder top and skort she wore were rumpled, and the wide headband that artfully concealed her third eye had slipped slightly. Her large hoop earrings glinted dully in the gloom with every slow, measured breath she took.
"None of that now, love," Jannali said, her voice a low, steady murmur laced with a tempered cadence. It wasn't harsh, but it didn't allow for the despair to thicken the air.
Eliane shook her head, her voice hiccupping and muffled by her knees. "It keeps happening."
Jannali sighed, a soft, weary sound. "What is–"
"We keep getting captured!" Eliane burst out, lifting her head. Tears of pure frustration welled in her large blue eyes, tracing clean lines through a smudge of what might have been flour from a kitchen long ago and far away. Her olive skin was pale with worry. "I was training… I was trying to get stronger with Marya, and it didn't make a difference! It didn't matter!" Her voice cracked. "And now Marya's… she's…"
Jannali's lips pressed into a firm line. "Stop."
Eliane jolted, the command cutting through her spiraling panic.
Jannali took a deliberate breath, her expressive brown eyes locking onto the younger girl's. "Do you reckon she'd be sittin' on a cold floor right now, having a sook?"
Eliane sniffled wetly, then shook her head, her silver ponytail swaying.
"Right-o," Jannali said, pushing herself up. The heavy Sea-Stone shackles around her wrists clanked with a final, ugly sound. She moved to kneel in front of Eliane, the chains pooling on the straw between them. "Then we shouldn't sulk either." She placed a firm hand on Eliane's shoulder. "I get it. I'm cheesed off too. But these," she lifted her own wrists, the dark-grey cuffs, "these are for the big guns. The power holders."
Eliane's tear-filled eyes slid to her own identical cuffs. "But we aren't…"
"Exactly," Jannali said, a spark entering her voice. "And you, little chef… you're a Lunarian. That's not a Devil Fruit. That's in your blood."
Eliane lifted her wrists, staring at the cuffs as if seeing them for the first time. "Yeah, but… Mum and Dad always said…"
Jannali cut her off gently but firmly. "Aren't here. And they can't stop you right now." She leaned in closer. "It's on us. On you. We can let this play out, wait for someone else to maybe sort it… or we can take matters into our own hands."
Eliane glanced nervously at the heavy iron door. Jannali's voice softened further. "Maybe it's time for the both of us to stop hidin' in plain sight, eh?"
Eliane sniffled one last time, a decisive, sharp sound. She swiped her sleeve across her eyes, smearing the tears and grime. A new hardness settled in her gaze, replacing the helpless frustration. "Yeah," she said, her voice small but clear.
The chains clanked in unison as they both stood.
Eliane lifted her shackled wrists, staring at them with fierce concentration. Jannali cocked a hip, the chains dangling. "What do you reckon Marya would do?"
Eliane blinked, her mind flashing to the sparse, focused sword lessons—the relentless drilling on stance, on breath, on the point of it all. "She'd… stay calm," Eliane muttered. "She'd come up with a plan."
Jannali nodded, a faint grin touching her lips. "And isn't she always naggin' you about focus too? 'Eliane, stop flappin', focus your center. Eliane, watch your footwork, focus.'"
Eliane looked up, a flicker of memory crossing her face. "Yeah. She says you have to focus to… to make the cut clean."
Her expression grew taut, her brow furrowing. Her small tongue poked out the side of her mouth in an agony of concentration. Inside, she brushed against the well of warmth she'd spent a lifetime suppressing—the legacy of her parents' fear, the secret that kept her safe, the very thing that now kept her in a cage. It felt like reaching for a hot oven door.
She flinched, gasping, and the sensation vanished.
"Almost," Jannali encouraged, her voice a steady anchor. "C'mon. You've got the recipe. Now cook."
Eliane nodded, setting her jaw. This time, she didn't just brush against the power. She reached for it. Not with fear, but with the same determined will she used to julienne a root vegetable perfectly. She embraced the heat, the right of it.
A gasp, this time of surprise, escaped her.
From her back, with a sound like unfurling sails, erupted two magnificent, feathery wings of purest white, illuminating the dank cell with their soft, ethereal glow. A halo of steady, golden flame ignited between them, casting dancing, warm light that banished the grey and made the straw on the floor look like gold. The air grew warm and dry, smelling faintly of sun-baked stone and cinnamon.
Eliane glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with awe. She spun in a small, delighted circle, the wings rustling. "I did it!" she squealed, the sound utterly unlike her fearful sniffles from moments before.
Jannali's grin was one of unadulterated approval. "Now that's a proper garnish. Now… see if you can break free from these." She lifted her own shackled wrists.
Eliane looked down at the cuffs encircling her own small wrists. The metal was dark, cold, imposing. "How…?"
Jannali shrugged, her chains rattling. "Just give it a burl. Channel that sunny-side-up feeling."
Eliane focused. She stared at the shackle on her left wrist, pouring her will into it. Not just heat, but a focused, penetrating warmth—the same focused intent she used to caramelize sugar without burning it. The dark Sea-Stone began to change. A faint, cherry-red glow started deep within the metal, growing brighter, pulsing in time with the flame on her back. A wisp of smoke curled up, carrying the scent of superheated rock.
With a sharp, decisive jerk of her arms, she pulled her wrists apart.
There was a loud SNAP, not of breaking metal, but of something molecular giving way. The two halves of the glowing, semi-molten shackle fell to the straw with a heavy thud, hissing and steaming.
Eliane stared at her free hands, then at the ruined cuffs on the floor, her mouth agape in astonishment.
Jannali let out a low, impressed whistle. "Good on ya, little chef." She held her own wrists out, the unbroken cuffs looking suddenly less imposing. "Want to see if you can do it again? Reckon you've got the heat for two?"
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