The infirmary hummed with a new kind of energy, the gentle light glinting off Marya's leather jacket as she and Bianca entered. The air still carried the clean, herbal scent of advanced medicine, but now it was mixed with the electric charge of a looming decision.
Galit pushed himself up on his medical bed, his hand gingerly probing his ribs where only minutes before a web of cracks had shown on the holographic display. He found only smooth, whole skin and fading soreness. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
Halia floated closer. "I would advise further rest. Your somatic tissue has been regenerated, but systemic fatigue remains."
"Who are you?" Galit asked, not for the first time, his emerald eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and deep confusion as he took in her aquatic, luminous form.
Aurélie, leaning against a console with her arms crossed, answered before Halia could. "That is the ship's interactive holographic interface. A guide. A teacher." She gestured with her chin toward the stocky, amber figure and the beaming, tentacled doctor. "They all are."
Galit's gaze swept the room, landing on Telchines's sturdy glow and Dr. Octavious's cheerful, quivering form. "Are there… more of you?"
Telchines grunted. "No. Our core functions are operational training, systems maintenance protocol, and archival record-keeping. We are sufficient."
From beside Aurélie, Charlie let out a dreamy, shuddering sigh. "Record keeping…" he whispered, as if the words were a sacred prayer.
Bianca clapped her hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the awe. "Alright! Like, okay! We don't, like, have a lot of time for a gawk-fest." She planted her boots firmly on the floor, her stained overalls a patchwork of grit and hope. "Like, we have to, like, make decisions and learn, like, a lot of stuff, like, really fast."
Atlas groaned, a rich, rumbling sound from deep in his lynx chest, as he levered himself off his bed. He stretched, his muscles coiling and releasing with a newfound ease that made his ears twitch in surprise. "Feels like I slept for a week," he grumbled, though a flicker of his old, competitive fire was already returning to his blue eyes.
Jannali swung her legs over the side of her bed, rolling her shoulders with a satisfying pop. "Righto, then. No point dilly-dallying. What's the news, mate?"
All eyes turned to Bianca. She took a deep breath, her speech momentarily losing its 'likes' under the weight of the report. "I can, like, get this thing moving. But, like, I'm going to have to cannibalize both our subs to do it. This vessel, like, needs a major overhaul and a whole team of engineers, but, like, I can at least get us limping." She turned to Telchines. "List all the damaged systems that are, like, repairable with our current… borrowed resources. And, like, list all the systems that are, like, completely inoperative."
Telchines's eyes glowed brighter. A stream of crystalline glyphs and schematics projected into the air above him. "Primary propulsion: Damaged, but bypassable. Secondary gravitic drive: Inoperative. Teleportation grid: Catastrophic failure. Primary life support: Operational at ten percent efficiency. Hull integrity: Ninety-seven percent. Singularity core containment: Stable but underpowered. Weapon systems: Ninety-eight percent inoperative due to power drain and missing harmonic crystals…"
The list went on, a litany of ancient glory and modern ruin. Bianca listened, her head cocked, her fingers twitching as if already pulling wires and swapping parts. When Telchines finished, she gave a sharp nod, pinching her chin between her thumb and forefinger.
Aurélie's voice was quiet but carried. "What is it?"
Bianca looked at the assembled group—the wounded warriors now healed, the wide-eyed scholar, the stoic swordswoman, the anxious musician, the determined chef. "I think I can, like, nurse one jump out of her. Like, one big surge to breach the surface and, like, get us into open water. But after that…" She shrugged, the gesture eloquent. "The power draw will , like, be massive. It could, like, destabilize the temporary patches. We could all , like, die if we do this. Like, for real die. Not just 'oops' die."
A thick, heavy silence descended upon the infirmary. The hopeful hum of the ship now sounded like a countdown. Eyes shifted, gauging reactions. Vesta clutched her guitar, Mikasi, a little tighter. Eliane chewed her lip. Charlie had the corner of his khaki shirt stuffed in his mouth, chewing absently on the fabric.
Marya broke the silence. Her voice was calm, a rock in the swirling tension. "Everyone in my group is good with the risk."
Her golden eyes swept over Galit, who gave a firm nod; Atlas, who smirked as if daring the universe to try; Jannali, who shrugged and said, "Fair dinkum. Better than rotting in a pit"; Eliane, who stood a little straighter; and Vesta, who managed a shaky but determined thumbs-up. In the force-field cylinder, Jelly had fallen asleep, a contented bubble floating from his lips with a soft bloop.
Marya's gaze then settled on Aurélie. "It's your sub's engine core that'll become the new primary regulator. The call is yours."
Aurélie stood perfectly still, her silver hair framing a face of carved alabaster. Her eyes, steel-gray, moved from Charlie—now muttering historical precedents for technological suicide into his shirt—to Bianca, who stood with her hands on her hips, a portrait of scruffy, confident readiness. The weight of her team, of the mission that had shifted from capture to collaboration, settled on her shoulders. After a long, breath-held moment, she gave a single, sharp nod. "We have a vested interest in seeing this through. We proceed."
Charlie spat out his shirt, his face lighting up. "The historical imperative alone justifies—!"
Marya cut him off with a raised hand, her focus already shifting to the next problem. "Okay. Halia. You're a training hologram."
Halia inclined her head. "I am."
"Think you can show us how to drive this thing?"
A smile touched Halia's luminous lips. "That is well within my operational parameters."
"Good." Marya's mind was already moving, deploying assets. "Galit, Jannali, Atlas—meet me on the command deck. We're getting a crash course in pre-Void Century naval operation." She looked at the trio. "Try not to break anything we can't afford to lose."
Aurélie stepped forward. "I will join you as well. A second perspective on the controls may be useful."
Marya acknowledged her with a nod. She then turned to Bianca. "Do you need assistance, or will we just get in your way?"
Bianca shook her head, strands of black hair escaping her bun. "I'll, like, need help hauling the big bits from the subs. But, like, after that? Stay away. I don't want, like, too many cooks—or clumsy warriors—near the open heart of a singularity. It's…like, messy."
"Understood."
Eliane's voice, bright and hopeful, piped up. "What can I do?"
Marya looked at Halia. "You have a galley? A kitchen?"
Halia's smile widened. "The primary nourishment preparation chamber is fully stocked with preserved cultural staples and a functional synthesis array. I can show you the way."
Eliane was beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her earlier fear replaced by culinary excitement. Marya couldn't help the small, genuine curl at the corner of her mouth. "Take Jelly and Vesta with you." Her eyes flicked to the corner where Ember sat, her sketchbook closed, watching everything with quiet, lucid eyes. "Her too. Keep them occupied."
Eliane clapped her hands together. "Of course! I'll whip up something that'll stick to your ribs! Maybe I can figure out that synthesis array!"
Charlie puffed out his chest. "I shall provide expert assistance on the command deck! My understanding of archaic control glyphs may prove critical!"
"Fine," Marya said, already heading for the door. "Everyone heard Bianca. We have nine hours of life support and a deadline. Let's get moving!"
The infirmary erupted into purposeful chaos. Atlas helped a still-wobbly Jannali to her feet. Galit was already striding after Marya and Aurélie, his lean frame coiled with renewed energy. Charlie scrambled after them, already pestering Halia with questions about hydrodynamic principles. Bianca grabbed a dazed-but-willing Telchines, already rattling off a list of tools she needed. Dr. Octavious, with a happy sigh, began dematerializing, calling out, "Do mind the atmospheric seals, dear girl! And try not to ingest any volatile hydro-plasma!"
Eliane approached the force field cylinder. With a nod from Halia, it winked out. Jelly floated in mid-air, snoring, until he gently plopped onto the floor. "Bloop? Soup time?" he mumbled, waking up.
"Soup time," Eliane confirmed, taking his wobbly hand. "Vesta, Ember, come on! We're cooking in a legend!"
Vesta hefted Mikasi, her rainbow hair seeming to blaze with enthusiasm. "I'll compose an 'Ode to Upward Mobility'!"
Ember stood, tucking her sketchbook under her arm. She gave a small, rare smile and followed, leaving the sterile infirmary behind for the promise of a kitchen, the one place where chaos always resulted in something good.
The race was on. In the belly of the ancient Dreadnought Thalassa, two dozen hearts beat in sudden, synchronized urgency, facing down the deep and the dark with nothing but grit, genius, and the ghostly guidance of a world that refused to be forgotten.
Ten hours later….
The command deck of the Dreadnought Thalassa was a symphony of controlled panic. The soft, ambient light illuminated faces etched with concentration. Halia floated at the center, a serene conductor before an orchestra of the bewildered.
"Alright, this crystal here controls the lateral ballast adjustment," Halia explained, her voice a melodic guide. "Think of it as the ship's sense of balance."
Jannali, her fingers hovering over the indicated panel, raised her other hand. "Yeah, nah, hold up. What exactly is lateral ballast when you're in a submarine? Isn't it all just… wet?"
Beside her, Galit was hunched over a panoramic holographic map that displayed the trench, the city, and the crushing darkness above. The map wasn't static; it flowed with real-time current patterns and depth readings in a script no one but Charlie could partially decipher. "I just want to verify," Galit said, his brow furrowed, "this swirling blue line here. That's a thermocline boundary, not a solid rock formation, right? The perception is critical."
Atlas, manning a station covered in glowing, pulsating glyphs, growled at his screen. "This gauge is spiking a red symbol that looks like a melting snowflake. What does that mean? Is the snowflake good? Is melting bad? This is infuriating."
Aurélie, her posture perfect even in crisis, studied a different console. A schematic of the colossal vessel was displayed, with various sections highlighted in different colors. "These forward energy emitters are showing as enabled, but dormant," she noted, her finger tracing a line. "But these rear acoustic projectors are outlined in this fractured red. Damaged?"
Marya stood at the central command pillar, her eyes scanning a complex, multi-layered hologram that appeared to show the ship's internal energy pathways, all leading to a grotesquely tangled, dark knot labeled in archaic script. "The teleportation grid is a complete write-off," she muttered, more to herself than anyone. "It looks like a bird's nest made of lightning."
Charlie, buzzing between stations, was in heaven. "The glyph for 'gravitic stability' is derived from an early proto-form of the Skypiean word for 'falling'! It's a negative affirmation! The genius! Ahem! Halia, does the tertiary regulator use a closed-loop system or an open-ended harmonic?"
Halia's patient smile was beginning to look strained. "Perhaps one crisis at a time, scholar."
Far below in the galley—a space so vast Eliane felt she could have fit her entire family's hidden community kitchen inside it ten times over—a different kind of struggle was underway. The room was all smooth curves and strange, organic-looking appliances. Eliane stood at a synthesis array, holding a spoonful of a substance that was technically "nutritional paste, flavor variant: hearty stew."
She tasted it. Her face scrunched up in an expression of pure, unadulterated betrayal. "Ugh! It's like salty chalk and sad memories!" She spat it into a sink that vaporized the waste with a soft hiss. "This synthesized stuff is terrible. We have real supplies on the sub—proper flour, spices, dried meats. Let's go get them."
Jelly bounced beside her. "Me try! Me try!"
Eliane, without hesitation, handed him the entire bowl of grey paste. "Knock yourself out."
Jelly's form elongated into a makeshift mouth, and he swallowed the paste in one gulp. He solidified, quivered for a second, then let out a small, confused bloop. A tiny, grey, perfect bubble drifted from his head.
Ember, who was sitting at a long table sketching the strange kitchen, looked up, her lucid gaze curious. "Does it always… do that?"
Eliane waved a hand, already marching towards the door. "He'll eat anything. It's fine. Vesta, you want to help bring it all in? Might as well move everything we can."
Vesta, who had been gently strumming Mikasi for inspiration, stopped. The guitar shifted from a gentle melody to a determined, marching rhythm. "A logistical op! I'll compose a 'Ballad of the Relocated Rutabaga'!"
The heart of the ship, the engine room, was a war zone. Bianca was buried up to her shoulders in an open console, her voice muffled by machinery and the constant, deep-throated hum of the straining singularity core. Scattered around her like the discarded carapaces of giant metal insects were parts ripped from both submarines: wiring harnesses, regulator modules, chunks of crystal housing.
Telchines loomed over her, his amber arms crossed, radiating disapproval. "You are bypassing three separate safety protocols. The harmonic resonance will be off by point-zero-zero-three cycles. It will cause cumulative fatigue in the crystal lattice."
Bianca wriggled out, her face smeared with a new combination of grease and sparkling dust. "Yeah, I like know! But this," she said, holding up a jury-rigged connector woven from copper and seastone filaments, "is like way more efficient for the power surge we need! Your safety protocols were written for a fully-staffed engineering corps, not one girl with a wrench and a dream!"
"It is inelegant. It is brutish."
"So like stop stressing! When we can get, like, more of those pretty, perfect crystals, I'll swap them out! Promise!" She dove back into the console. A moment later, she went very still. A memory surfaced: Marya's offhand comment about her father's island, a place shrouded in mist and strange minerals. She smirked, a wild idea taking root, and shook her head before returning to her frantic work.
The ship-wide comms crackled. Marya's voice, calm but edged with titanium, filled the room. "Bianca. Status."
Bianca scrambled out, lunging for the wall panel. She hit the button. "Like, okay. It's… shaky. But it's, like, do or die. Like, literally. Life support's only got, like, fifteen minutes of buffer left. Maybe."
Galit's voice came over the comm from the command deck. "We have no alarms here."
Bianca wiped her brow with her forearm. "Like, yeah, because I, like, disabled them. It'd be really hard to, like, concentrate with all that beeping and flashing, like, you know?"
Marya cut in, her tone leaving no room for debate. "Okay. Beginning countdown. Someone let the kitchen crew know to buckle up." She took a breath, her gaze sweeping the command deck. She made eye contact with each of them: Aurélie's steady resolve, Galit's focused intensity, Atlas's fierce grin, Jannali's determined smirk, Charlie's terrified excitement. They all nodded back, a silent pact sealed in the glow of alien consoles.
Halia's voice announced, "The primary ascent sequence is initiating. Gravitic compensators are at minimal function. Brace for inertial variance."
Marya placed her palm flat on the central, largest glyph. The console felt warm, almost alive. "Okay. Five… four… three… two… here goes nothing." She slammed her hand down. "ONE!"
The Dreadnought Thalassa did not simply move. It convulsed.
A deep, grinding roar, the sound of mountains being asked to dance, tore through the ship. Every beam, every plate screamed in protest after centuries of stillness. The deck beneath them heaved. The lights dipped violently, throwing the command deck into strobe-lit chaos. Everyone was flung sideways, grabbing consoles, chairs, anything bolted down.
Galit, clinging to his navigation panel, yelled over the cacophony. "Navigation update! We have upward momentum! Clear of the docking cradle!"
Atlas, now sporting a fresh bruise on his forehead from a wayward control lever, shouted. "Power update! Surge is holding! It's ugly, but it's holding!"
Jannali, who had wrapped her legs around her chair, called out, "Life support update! We're in the red! Breathing's about to get optional, mates!"
Outside the viewport, now showing a real-time image of the abyss, a colossal cloud of silt and debris billowed up as the leviathan pulled itself from its stony bed. Ancient Aethelred's spires fell away below them, shrinking into the gloom.
The lights flickered, died for a heart-stopping second, and then glowed back to half-strength. The ship groaned, a living thing in agony, but it was moving.
"We have cleared the city spires!" Galit confirmed, his voice tight.
Marya stabbed the comms. "Bianca! We are clear for the jump!"
The engine room was a vision of apocalyptic industry. Steam and strange, glowing vapors billowed from vents. Bianca was a blur of motion, dancing between consoles, whacking a stuck valve with a sonic wrench, her shouts lost in the roar. She hit her comm. "Like, yeah! Cleared! Like, hurry up before the whole thing comes apart!"
On the command deck, Marya's hand found the next glyph. This one was cold. "Jumping in three… two…" She didn't wait. "ONE!"
There was no sound. The universe simply stuttered. The view outside the portal didn't change so much as it was replaced. One instant, the crushing black of the deep trench. The next, the lighter, blue-hued water of the trench's upper reaches, the entrance a jagged maw of rock visible ahead. The ship shuddered violently, as if offended by the universe's sleight of hand.
Charlie, who had been thrown to the floor, clutched the base of the command chair. "We are going to die! We are going to die and be lost to history and no one will even know to write a footnote!"
"Galit! Navigation!" Marya barked.
"Straight up! No time for finesse! We should breach in twenty seconds!"
Marya didn't hesitate. She gripped a large, wheel-like control and shoved it forward. The nose of the Dreadnought Thalassa, a blade meant for parting abyssal currents, tilted sharply toward the distant, invisible surface.
"Life support!" Marya yelled.
Jannali checked her screen, her face pale. "One minute of O₂ left. Tops."
In the galley, Eliane, Vesta, Ember, and Jelly were a tangled heap against the main counter, having slid across the polished floor. Pots and synthesized food packets rained down around them. Jelly had morphed into a wide, sticky pad, trying unsuccessfully to hold everyone in place.
In the engine room, Bianca braced her boots against the main core housing, her entire body straining as she forced a final, heavy component into its socket. A shower of sparks cascaded over her. "COME ON, YOU GLORIOUS RELIC!" she roared. "FLY!"
Galit's voice was a steady, rapid-fire count in the command deck. "Ten! Nine! Eight!"
Atlas, his eyes glued to the forward view, let out a sharp breath. "I see it."
Everyone looked. Far, far above, a faint, shimmering distortion. Not yet light, but the promise of light.
"Seven! Six! Five!"
The ship was screaming now, every joint protesting the violent ascent.
"Four! Three! Two! One!"
The Dreadnought Thalassa, a mountain of ancient metal and desperate hope, punched through the boundary between worlds.
It erupted from the ocean in a cataclysmic explosion of white water. A geyser climbed stories into the air, crashing back down in a thunderous roar that echoed across the empty Calm Belt. The ship, water cascading from its obsidian hull in endless waterfalls, settled into a gentle, massive bob on the suddenly placid surface. Sunlight—real, unfiltered, glorious sunlight—flooded the command deck through the viewport, painting the stunned faces in gold.
Silence. Deep, profound, disbelieving silence.
Charlie slowly peeled himself off the floor. He adjusted his cracked glasses, staring at the blue sky, the calm sea, the sun. A hysterical giggle escaped him. "We… we did it. We are still alive. And… we are here."
Halia's serene voice broke the spell. "This would be the ideal moment to extend the sail-fin system for atmospheric propulsion and solar recharge."
They all crowded to the viewport. Jannali let out a low, reverent whistle. "Stone the crows. Have you ever seen anything like it?"
Before them, the Dreadnought Thalassa was no longer a shadow in the deep. In the sunlight, its hull was a deep, mesmerizing grey-blue, like a whale's skin. The flowing lines of its architecture were clear, beautiful and alien. It was colossal, majestic, a piece of a forgotten world resurrected.
Galit's face broke into a wide, unrestrained beam, all pain and tension gone. "This," he breathed, "was so worth it."
Bianca's exhausted, triumphant voice crackled over the comms. "Marya. Can you, like, come down here?"
"On my way," Marya replied, already moving.
"I will come as well," Aurélie stated, following.
Marya glanced at Galit. "Now that we have daylight, let's see what we're really dealing with. Full system assessment."
Galit nodded, turning back to his console with fresh vigor. "Assessment in progress."
The engine room looked like the aftermath of a battle between a hurricane and a scrap yard. Bianca was half-inside another access panel, only her legs visible. She waved a grimy hand. "Over here. Wanted to, like, show you this."
Marya and Aurélie peered into the open panel. Inside, amidst the breathtakingly complex circuitry, were several empty housings. Lying next to them were a few cracked, dull crystals and one that was completely dark, its internal structure webbed with black lines.
Aurélie leaned closer, her sharp eyes analyzing. "These crystalline matrices… they bear a visual resemblance to the harmonic stones found in the ruins on Kuraigana Island. The geometry is similar, though far more advanced."
Marya looked from the crystals to Bianca's smudged, expectant face. "Okay."
Bianca wriggled out, her excitement palpable. "Well, like, I was thinking. If Kuraigana Island has, like, bits and bobs from old ruins, right? Then maybe… there are, like, other outposts. Other lost locations that were, like, part of the same… whatever-this-was." She gestured wildly at the ship around them. "Places that might, like, have more of these, or other parts. Proper parts. Not, like, my… beautiful, brilliant hack-jobs."
Aurélie's expression was thoughtful. "A sound theory. But you would still require skilled hands to install them. And a guide to these locations."
Bianca nodded rapidly. "Like, true! But, this thing…" She tapped the hull affectionately. "It'll, like, have nav data, right? Star charts from back then? We can, like, cross-reference! We could, like, find islands that were on the map a thousand years ago!"
Marya placed a hand on Bianca's shoulder, cutting through the engineer's enthusiastic torrent. "It's a brilliant plan, Bianca. But…" She let the word hang.
Aurélie finished the thought, her voice carrying the weight of their primary mission. "Opening the Gate of Lethe takes priority. Marya's condition does not allow for a protracted treasure hunt."
Bianca's shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second. Then she flick a greasy rag into the air with a snap. "Alright, fine. But, like, what if we found, like, islands that were, like, on the way? You're, like, sailing to a specific spot, yeah? The Grand Line's, like, a big place. We, like, plot a course that passes near some of these old coordinates. We, like, take a little detour. No big deal."
Marya considered this. The image of the dark, fractured teleportation core flashed in her mind. This ship, for all its power, was wounded. Finding parts wasn't just a luxury for Bianca; it might be the only way to complete their journey. She gave a slow, decisive nod. "That could work. I'll talk with Galit and Halia. We'll see what the old maps have to say."
In the sun-drenched command deck, overlooking a calm sea from the back of a resurrected legend, the quest had just gained a new dimension. They were no longer just fleeing or seeking a cure. They were now curators, scavengers, and explorers of a world that had vanished, sailing its greatest relic into an uncertain future, one salvaged part at a time.
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