The ocean stretched out in every direction, black as ink under a moonlit sky.
Jethro's vessel swayed gently with the rhythm of the waves, the creak of its wooden hull blending with the soft hiss of the water.
"Daddy, how come you're always here at the steering thing?"
Link's small hands gripped the back of Jethro's coat as he clambered onto his dad's back, settling himself so his chin rested comfortably on Jethro's shoulder.
"You rarely sleep" Link went on. "And if you do sleep, you're here, standing, holding that stick thing… with your eyes closed!" His tone carried both curiosity and worry.
Jethro kept his gaze on the dark horizon, the faint glimmer of moonlight on the waves.
Then he glanced at the boy clinging to him.
"The weather out here changes without warning" he explained.
"And there's always something hungry swimming under us. If I don't pay attention, we could end up in a storm… or in a sea beast's stomach."
He chuckled.
GRRROOOWL!
The sound didn't come from the ocean.
Before Link could form a reply, his own stomach protested loudly.
"Hehe…" He looked away, sheepish, before leaning back in. "Daddy… where's the next island? I'm really hungry." His pout pressed against Jethro's shoulder.
"Hmph! And who's been devouring our supplies?" Jethro shot back.
Link looked down, embarrassed.
They had been sailing for four days and four nights. No ships. No islands. Nothing but water.
Jethro reached into his robe, pulling out an old, weathered map. He traced a finger along the faded ink, lips moving slightly as he calculated distance.
"…We're close. Tomorrow morning, we should see land."
GRRRRROOOOOOWL!
This time it was louder.
Jethro paused, eyes shifting toward the boy now burying his face against his neck. Link's ears were red.
A rare, low laugh escaped Jethro.
"Stop laughing!" Link mumbled, voice muffled against his dad's neck. His small fists gave Jethro's back a light, indignant punch.
"Alright, alright…" Jethro said "There's an emergency ration under my bed. Go and eat it."
Link lifted his head, eyes bright. "You're the best."
He rubbed his cheek affectionately against Jethro's in a quick, silent gesture, dropping on his back before vanishing in a blink, thanks to his Devil Fruit ability.
Not long after, the soft sound of snoring drifted up from the cabin, a proof he'd eaten his fill and collapsed instantly.
Jethro shook his head, eyes lifting to the silver moon hanging over the waves.
He wouldn't admit it aloud but the boy's presence had loosened something in him, made him a little less sharp, a little less guarded.
Dangerous for his line of work.
And yet…
A faint smile touched his lips, the second one in as many days.
Both because of Link.
The first light of dawn bled over the horizon, turning the calm ocean from deep indigo to molten gold.
Jethro stood at the helm, eyes narrowing as the haze parted to reveal a thin ribbon of white along the waterline.
A shoreline.
The beach stretched far in both directions, glistening under the rising sun, the sand so pale it almost looked like snow.
A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and something faintly floral, perhaps the vegetation just beyond the dunes.
Jethro eased the vessel forward until its keel scraped gently against the sand.
The wood groaned, settling. He stepped away from the helm and headed to his cabin.
The cabin door creaked open, revealing Link sprawled sideways across the bed, one arm dangling off the side, a thin trail of drool running toward his chin.
"Link," Jethro said, shaking him gently. "Wake up. We're here."
A muffled hum left the boy's throat.
His eyelids fluttered, unfocused at first, then the words clicked.
The air filled with a faint fwip sound.
By the time Jethro blinked, the bed was empty.
Link was gone.
From outside came the boy's gleeful shout, carried on the wind.
Jethro shook his head, stepping back onto the deck.
He secured the vessel so it wouldn't drift, dropping the small anchor from the bow and tying a thick mooring rope around a driftwood post jutting from the beach.
The knots came easy, practiced from years of docking in far less forgiving waters.
On the shore, Link was on his back in the sand, arms and legs moving furiously, sending pale grains scattering in every direction.
"Finally, land!" he shouted, grinning so wide it almost split his face.
As he lay there, catching his breath, a distant noise pricked his ears, thudding footsteps, ragged breaths and the clink of metal.
He sat up, brushed sand from his clothes, and squinted toward the sound.
Two men burst into view, one fat and short, the other tall and thin, both giving chase to a smaller figure roughly Link's height.
The target was clad in plate armor that covered their head and torso, a naginata clutched in their hands.
Even at a glance, Link could see the armored figure's movements were slowing, the sand dragging at their steps.
"Hey!" Link shouted, stepping forward. "What are you two doing?"
The men skidded to a halt and turned toward him.
The fat one wore a blue-and-orange striped shirt, a bandana adorned with the Pirates' Jolly Roger and a short sword clutched in his meaty fist.
The Jolly Roger is designed to resemble a crab, with the central skull flanked by two sets of three spiny legs. Above each set of legs is a red pincer and a set of eyeballs rests atop the skull.
The tall one, in a plain red shirt and pants, had shaggy brown hair and mean, narrowed eyes.
The second Link saw that skull and bones emblem, his expression hardened. Pirates. The bad kind.
In a blur of light, he was gone.
A sharp zip of displaced air was followed instantly by-
THWACK!
The fat man's eyes bulged. He folded in half, voice breaking into a pained wheeze as his knees buckled.
Another flash-
THWACK!
The tall one crumpled beside his companion, both groaning before collapsing fully, the fight gone out of them.
From somewhere behind, the heavy, deliberate tread of boots approached.
Link turned slowly, tension in his shoulders, then grinned when he saw Jethro. That look again. Proud, even if the man would never say it aloud.
Jethro's eyes flicked down at the unconscious pirates, foam starting to bubble at their mouths. He shook his head once, muttering under his breath.
"Umm…"
Both dad and son turned toward the armored figure, whose voice was unexpectedly soft.
"Thank you for saving me." The words were followed by a polite bow, the plates of the helmet giving a soft clink.
"It's nothing." Link replied brightly, stepping to stand beside his dad.
A faint grrrrowl interrupted him.
His face heated instantly as he clutched his stomach.
Jethro chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
"Umm…" the armored figure tried again, hesitant.
"As thanks… would you like to eat at our house?"
"Yes!" Link blurted without hesitation.
Jethro just sighed quietly and followed as the figure led the way.
From inside the helmet, the stranger's eyes darted to Link.
She, though her voice and manner had hidden it, couldn't believe what she'd seen. No hesitation. No fear.
Just speed, precision and a smile that could only belong to someone who didn't understand the kind of danger he'd been in.
Somehow… that made it even more impressive.
The walk through the village was quiet except for the crunch of sand underfoot. The armored girl moved briskly, the plates clinking with each step. Her naginata rested against her shoulder, the polished blade catching faint glints of sunlight.
She glanced back only once, her voice coming through the helmet's visor.
"My name's Medaka." she said.
That was the first time Link learned she was a girl.
The armor made it impossible to guess her face, her age or even the color of her hair.
By the time they reached a sturdy wooden home at the center of the village, the air inside smelled faintly of dried herbs and smoke.
The old man waiting for them—Skid—had skin weathered by salt air, a thick beard flecked with gray, and eyes like creased parchment. His red knit cap sagged slightly to one side, matching the red vest over his blue shirt.
They were soon seated at a low table, warm bowls of fish stew in front of them. Jethro ate with steady, measured bites, while Link tore through his serving with the kind of enthusiasm only hunger could fuel.
"Thanks for the food." Jethro said, giving the old man a small nod.
"Yeah, we're really grateful, old man!" Link added with a bright grin.
A long exhale followed, the faint fwooo of smoke leaving the stem of a wooden pipe.
"My guests," Skid said slowly.
Jethro and Link looked up.
"Now that you've eaten… please, leave this island quickly."
Link tilted his hea but it was Jethro's question that left his mouth. "Why?"
"They'll return soon!" Skid said grimly.
"Who?" Again, Link spoke the question his dad was about to ask.
The old man's gaze darkened. "Until a few weeks ago, this was a peaceful paradise… then they came. Pirate Ganzack and his thugs. They stole our freedom, and left only the elders and the children behind."
Link's eyes slid toward Medaka, still seated in her armor.
"The girl's father is among them," Skid continued, before fixing the armored figure with a hard stare. "Medaka… don't you ever try something like that again."
Medaka kept her head down, ignoring him.
"Where are the villagers now?" Jethro asked, setting his cup onto the table with a quiet tok.
"They're being held in the tower," Skid replied. His gaze shifted to the window.
Jethro and Link followed his line of sight.
A structure loomed in the distance, the Devil's Tower.
Its massive blue entrance gleamed under the morning sun, framed by white walls and pillars, each topped with a red gem that caught the light like blood.
The tower itself rose from a black and white base shaped like an armless, maned dragon, its maw frozen in a roar, forever breathing golden fire.
"What are they plotting in there?" Skid murmured.
A deafening BOOM split the air.
The ground shuddered, rattling the walls. Plates toppled from the shelves, one shattering against the floor.
BANG!
This time the blast came from outside the village, near where Jethro had moored his boat.
The sound was sharper, closer.
The front door slammed open.
Medaka rushed past, armor clattering, naginata in hand.
"Medaka!" Skid lurched after her but his legs betrayed him, forcing him to grip the doorframe for support.
"You mustn't attack them!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
"I'm gonna save Papa!" she called back without slowing.
"Papa is my treasure!" Her gaze stayed locked on the distant tower, the fire in her eyes brighter than the morning sun.
Inside the house, Jethro glanced at Link, standing beside him.
Link's fists were clenched, his stance tense, his eyes burning with the urge to follow.
"Go on," Jethro said, giving him a nudge toward the door. "We'll follow her."
Link's face split into a grin and before leaving, he hugged his dad quickly, wordless thanks.
Then, in a flash of light and the faint shhhk of his ability, he vanished.
Zip!
He reappeared beside Medaka, jogging now to match her pace.
"Whoa!" she exclaimed, startled by his sudden arrival.
Behind them, Jethro stepped into the sunlight, giving Skid a brief nod.
"I'll take care of them." he said simply before heading after the two young warriors.
Inside the Devil's Tower, the air reeked of oil, smoke and damp stone.
The cavernous interior echoed with the clang of metal and the muffled grunt of forced labor.
A man shuffled down a dimly lit corridor, balancing a wooden crate in his arms.
His short blue hair clung to his forehead with sweat and his square glasses slid down his nose with every hurried step.
Herring, Medaka's father, moved quickly, but fatigue clung to his body.
His green short-sleeved work shirt was streaked with grime.
His pants, tucked into battered boots, scraped the floor with each step.
Then his foot caught on an uneven plank.
THUNK! clatter! clatter!
The crate tumbled forward and the lid popped open.
Sticks of dynamite rolled out across the stone floor, some bouncing and spinning before coming to rest in the dust.
Before Herring could gather them up, a shadow fell over him.
"Hey. What's wrong with you?"
The voice was low and sharp, belonging to a man with a deep V-neck light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to show the elaborate tattoo running down his right arm.
He gripped a curved sword with a golden hilt, the blade catching a glint of torchlight.
"I–I'm sorry!" Herring stammered, crouching to reach for the scattered explosives.
The man stepped closer, his tone dropping into a dangerous growl.
"If you don't do your work, we'll throw your kids into the sea. You wouldn't want that to happen… right?"
Herring froze, his fingers curling into a fist.
The image flashed in his mind, Medaka, helpless, swallowed by the waves.
His jaw tightened but he bent down again, gathering the dynamite one piece at a time.
Not far away, three figures crouched in the shadows behind a stack of enormous wooden crates.
From here, Link could peek through a gap in the boards.
Dozens of laborers were hauling heavy barrels, stacking munitions and hammering together massive steel frames.
"Go! Keep working! Keep working!" barked a voice from across the chamber.
"For our great leader, Lord Ganzack!" another man shouted.
Link's eyes narrowed. "Looks like they're building a cannon."
Jethro gave a slow nod, his gaze scanning the half finished weapon. "A big one."
The two stayed low, observing the layout.
But before either could speak again-
"Papa! Papa!"
The cry tore through the air.
Medaka had broken from cover, charging toward the fenced off section where the prisoners worked.
Her armored boots pounded against the stone, her naginata bouncing on her back with each step.
Herring's head jerked up, eyes wide.
"Medaka!"
His voice was heavy with panic, not joy.
But before she could reach him, a bony, long fingered hand shot out and clamped around her armored forearm.
"Hey, little missy…" drawled a tall, skinny man with brown hair, wearing a simple red shirt and pants.
His lips curled into a crooked grin, This was Alto.
"So we meet again!" boomed a larger man stepping into view, Chico, his blue and orange striped shirt stretched over his frame.
A dirty bandana with the Ganzack Jolly Roger was tied tight around his head and he rested a small sword casually on his shoulder.
"Stop! Let go of Medaka!" Herring shouted, stepping toward the fence.
But the tattooed man from earlier appeared again, seizing Herring by the neck and shoving cold steel under his chin.
"Keep quiet."
"What are you doing to my papa?!" Medaka yelled, twisting against Alto's grip.
CLANG!
The sound rang through the chamber, Chico's hand slapping across the side of her helmet.
The blow left a dent in the steel and rattled in her ears.
"Shut up!" he barked.
"Oh, it's you two again…"
The voice came from right behind Medaka. Alto and Chico froze.
Link was standing there with his teasing smile.
For a split second, neither pirate moved.
Then-
"-It's the demon child!" they shrieked in unison.
A cold chill raced straight down their spines… and lower.
Link's grin widened into something far more scary in their eyes, a demon's smile.
CRACK
CRACK
The sound was sharp, wet and final, like eggshells breaking.
Alto and Chico's eyes bulged, rolled back and they dropped to the floor in unison, curling into themselves before going limp.
Every man in the room winced and sucked in a deep breath, instinctively guarding his own most vulnerable point.
"Not bad, Link." Jethro said, stepping out from the shadows.
Link turned, beaming at his dad, though they were now surrounded by half a dozen Ganzack pirates closing in fast.
Jethro's shotgun slid into his left hand with practiced ease, the barrel swinging to cover the ring of enemies.
But before the clash could break, a shadow dropped from above, silent and suddenly landing right behind Medaka.
Long, wiry arms wrapped around her like a spider claiming its prey and in an instant she was yanked upward, rope creaking as the figure ascended toward the rafters.
Jethro's aim snapped upward.
Then he recognized the wiry figure, Skid, the old man, his face slick with sweat, clutching Medaka tightly as he hauled her out of the fight.
Link, unaware of her sudden disappearance, blitzed forward in a blur-
WHOOSH!
THUD!
-Appearing in front of a pirate and driving his fist deep into the man's gut.
The pirate's breath exploded out in a wheeze before he crumpled.
BANG!
Jethro fired into the crowd, scattering the nearest attackers.
Trusting Medaka's safety to the old man, he kept his focus on the enemies still pressing in.
The battle swirled and clashed for several moments before a shout rang from above-
Link's head snapped toward the sound.
"Link!" Jethro called, eyes sharp.
Link turned toward his father.
"I'll leave these pirates to you!" Jethro said matter of factly, like it was already decided.
"Yes! Leave them to me, Daddy!" Link's chest surged with pride at the trust in his dad's voice.
'It feels good to be trusted, especially by someone you trust in return.' Link thought, grinning as he squared up against the remaining pirates.
Jethro gave a single nod.
Then, without hesitation, he bent down, hooked an arm under a fallen pirate, and hurled the body upward.
Using a living pirate's head as a springboard, he leapt after it, kicked off the airborne corpse mid flight and vaulted higher still, landing on the upper platform.
Link's eyes sparkled like stars as he watched, punching a pirate so hard the man spun before collapsing.
'He's so cool.'
Jethro landed lightly, knees bent, eyes sweeping across the upper dock.
There, near the open water.
Medaka stood with her Naginata clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.
Behind her, a pink, sticky foam pulsed and quivered like a living thing.
The shape inside was unmistakable.
Skid.
The old man was wrapped tight, only a faint twitch betraying that he was still alive.
And in front of her-
The creature looked like a nightmare from the deep: a hulking plesiosaur with a humped back, four massive flippers and a long serpentine neck that swayed with predator's patience.
Its jaws alone could swallow a man whole.
A plated kabuto helmet sat atop its head, the Ganzack Pirates' Jolly Roger gleaming in black paint, adorned with cruel crab claws for decoration.
Seated astride the beast's neck was its master.
Crab-like armor covered his back, the shell spreading into massive clawed shoulder gauntlets.
A blood red shirt clung to him beneath the armor, blue trousers tucked into tall boots and a deep blue cape snapping in the sea wind.
Purple hair was bound into a high ponytail, a short beard the same shade framing his mouth.
Two red rings circled his eyes like war paint and an X-shaped scar marked his left temple.
His black pirate hat bore his jolly roger proudly.
Ganzack himself.
"Ganzack!" Medaka shouted, lunging forward, her Naginata aimed for his chest. "You'll pay for this!"
Ganzack's laughter rolled like thunder over the waves.
"Little girl, you think that stick in your hands can touch me? You should be back in your father's shadow, crying." His voice turned sharp.
"Now, I'll teach you your place."
The crab armor's legs sprang open with a hiss, the tips locking toward her.
With a wet fshhhk, the same pink foam that had trapped Skid blasted toward her.
Jethro moved before the spray reached her. In an instant, he was between them, one arm sweeping her back.
"Ah!" she yelped, stumbling as her feet skidded on the planks.
Jethro ignore her.
A sword flashed into his right hand, appearing from nowhere, its pale, icy-blue blade catching the sun in a glare that burned the eyes.
The weapon wasn't quite a katana, its line was straight, the steel drawn with an almost unnerving precision, shorter than a full-length blade yet longer than his shotgun.
The hilt shone a golden blond, the same shade as his eyes.
An eastern dragon was carved into the steel itself, its sinuous body coiling the length of the blade.
No matter which way it turned, the dragon's fierce eyes seemed to meet the onlooker's, daring them to step closer.
The smug god's gift had come with the laziest explanation "As you become stronger, the sword becomes sharper and sturdier."
That was all.
No mention of its ability to vanish into hidden space and return to his hand anywhere, anytime.
Jethro had found that out the hard way, on his own.
The pink foam met the blade and shredded into wet ribbons, falling harmlessly to the dock.
In his left hand, a single-handed double-barrel shotgun appeared, the golden-blond metal gleaming like captured sunlight, icy-blue handle matching his hair.
BANG.
The shot roared across the short distance.
Ganzack's reflexes saved his life but not his pride, the pellets grazed his cheek, leaving a bright slash of blood.
The pirate lord touched his face, smearing red across his fingers.
Slowly, he brought the blood to his lips, licking it away.
"Who… are you?" Ganzack's voice dropped, more curious than enraged.
His eyes flicked between the blade and the shotgun.
And for the first time in a long while, the sea wind between them carried not just salt and foam… but the faint, dangerous scent of a true threat.