Three vessels cut across the gray sea in a wedge formation, an ominous swell about to break into devastation. The Pluton leads at point, her dark hull parting the water like a blade drawn across silk. The Red Force rides to starboard, crimson sails snapping in the salt wind. The Dreadnought Thalassa holds to port, her obsidian plating gleaming beneath clouds stacked in bruised layers. Three iron omens shouldering the sea. One purpose.
Vesta Lavana plants her boots on the bow of the Pluton, Mikasi clutched in both hands. Her rainbow hair whips around her face. Her violet eyes refuse to blink. The living wood hums warm against her palms, its strings trembling with a song not yet played. Mikasi knows what is coming. Mikasi is ready.
Behind her: Charlie, pith helmet tilted against the wind, satchel clutched to his chest. Bianca, draped over the railing, picking at a cuticle, her grease-stained overalls flapping. Aurélie, silver hair streaming, palm resting on Anathema's hilt. Limejuice, twirling his staff in lazy circles. Building Snake and Yasopp flank the group, eyes scanning the gray.
Yasopp shoulders his rifle. The scope finds nothing but water and cloud. His breath fogs the lens.
Limejuice asks, "See anything yet?"
Charlie clears his throat—that familiar theatrical rasp rolling across the deck like a curtain rising before an unwanted lecture. "We are still a good distance away from Elegia."
Limejuice and Building Snake share a chuckle. Building Snake replies, "Yeah, kid. We know."
Aurélie shifts her weight. Her steel-gray eyes cut to Vesta. "Are we close enough for you to—"
Vesta tears her gaze from the horizon. A glance at Aurélie, brief and sharp, then back to the sea. "We got this! That demon king won't be able to beat Mikasi."
Mikasi wiggles in her grip. Agreement. Anticipation. Something alive.
Bianca leans harder on the railing and picks at her cuticle. "That's, like, cool and all, but don't, like, overdo it too early or anything. We, like, need as, like, much time as, like, possible, and if you, like, get tired, like, too soon or whatever—"
Vesta glares at the horizon. The words slide past her like water off glass. "Uta is coming with us!"
Bianca exhales through her nose, her patience escaping in a thin stream—the last breath of a warning spoken too many times.
Building Snake settles a hand on Vesta's shoulder. Firm. Grounding. "Well said. This time, she is coming home with us."
Charlie clears his throat again. "Remember to monitor the transponder snail for our signal."
Yasopp announces, "I SEE IT!"
Every head turns.
Yasopp looks over his shoulder. "We are almost there."
-----
Shanks stands at the bow, his single hand wrapped around Griffon's hilt. His gaze bores into the horizon, into the dark shape clawing its way out of the sea like a memory refusing to stay buried. His long black cloak whips around his legs.
Beckman stands beside him, a cigarette glowing orange between his fingers. He pulls, holds, and releases a plume into the wind. "I didn't think we would ever see this place again."
Shanks nods. His voice drops low, scraped raw. "This will be the last time, Beck. We are bringing our girl home."
Beckman nods. He pulls on the cigarette.
Law leans against the railing, arms folded, Kikoku propped against his shoulder, his spotted hat casting his face into shadow. Beside him, Sanza perches on the rail, short legs swinging, heels thumping against the hull. His heavy eyebrows gather like storm clouds over eyes bright with questions, each one already reaching for the next.
"Did someone scribble on your knuckles with a permanent marker? It says 'D-E-A-T-H.' Aren't you a surgeon? Aren't surgeons supposed to help people? Why have 'D-E-A-T-H' on your knuckles like that?"
Law's eyes slide toward Sanza. Flat. Unimpressed. "They aren't marker, kid. They're part of my Devil Fruit. When you slice open bodies and play with souls in a Room, the marks stay on you. It's the cost of the power."
Sanza tilts his head. "Wait, so slicing people up leaves ghost-dirt permanently smeared all over your skin? That's gross! My White Tiger fruit slapped awesome glow-stripes across my fur, but yours just makes you look like a muddy alley bum who sleeps behind dumpsters. And check out that lame plus-sign scribble on your knuckles—what, did your freak-magic run out of juice halfway through?"
Law's jaw flexes. His tone sharpens to a blade's edge. "No. It's just how the marks formed."
Sanza wrinkles his nose. "And what about the big heart mark on your chest? Is that another creepy side effect of your power, or a cheat sheet for when you forget where the heart actually goes inside a body?"
Law snaps, "It's a tribute to someone important. And it's none of your business."
Sanza scratches his head. "And why do you have tribal swirls on your shoulders? Did the fruit get caught in a bush when it was making those?"
Law scoffs. "If you don't stop talking, I'm going to use Room to amputate your vocal cords."
The door slams open.
Hongo strides onto the deck, medical bag swinging. He drops to one knee, flips the latch, and rummages. Glass clinks. Metal scrapes. He checks, rechecks, and checks again.
Beckman looks over. "Forget something?"
Hongo shakes his head. "Just making sure we have everything we need."
Bepo stands near the mainmast, a schematic spread open in his paws. Jannali leans over his shoulder, afro bouncing as she points at something on the page.
"Ya know where you're headed off to, mate?"
Bepo nods. "I think so. That is the facility. The trick will be once we get inside."
Jannali nods. "Righto. The controls are a bit full-on, and it's easy to get properly turned around."
Eliane bounces on the balls of her feet, silver ponytail swinging, hope scattering blue sparks through her eyes. "Don't worry, Mr. Bear. Once we find the real Uta, we can leave!"
Jannali nods. "It may be a proper slog, love."
Eliane tilts her head. "You think so? I bet we win this time."
Her arm sweeps out in a grand, theatrical gesture that takes in the ships, the sea, the sky. "Look at all the people we have helping this time!"
-----
On the bridge of the Dreadnought Thalassa, Marya occupies the captain's chair, raven hair spilling over her shoulders, golden-ringed eyes fixed on the forward viewport. Galit sits at the pilot's station, his impossibly long neck coiled into a loose S-curve, emerald eyes sweeping the displays.
Halia materializes above the central dais. Her form shimmers, fragments of gold and silver and ancient light knitting themselves into something almost human.
"The island of Elegia is coming into range."
Marya nods. Galit confirms, "Affirmative."
His fingers dance across the console. The controls lock with a series of soft clicks. The autopilot engages.
Elegia appears on the view screen.
Marya leans forward, her brow furrowed. "The island's water level hasn't receded. It's the same as before."
Halia nods. "That is affirmative. This is a floating landmass with an inorganic anchor. The island's buoyancy allowed it to stay afloat without any receding shorelines."
Marya rests her chin on a bent elbow. "Interesting."
Halia continues, "Shall I signal for Vesta to initiate?"
Marya stands and slings Nisshoku over her shoulder. The cursed blade pulses against her back, a slow, steady heartbeat. "Yes. The ship is yours, Halia. Take good care of her."
Halia nods. "Of course, Captain."
Galit and Marya exit the bridge.