Like a bleached rib cage unearthed from the deep, the stone arch loomed ahead; its carvings appeared to twist and crawl whenever they caught the narrow beam of Charlie's headlamp. The beam cut through the darkness in a narrow cone, illuminating carved spirals and angular glyphs that marched across the arch's surface in ordered rows. Dust motes danced in the light, stirred by air currents that had no business moving through a sealed cave.
Charlie Leonard Wooley knelt before the arch, his pith helmet casting a shadow across the open textbook at his feet. The book's pages were yellowed, its binding cracked, filled with diagrams of symbols and handwritten annotations in ink that had faded to brown. His leather satchel lay open beside him, spilling scrolls and ink bottles across the stone floor. His round wire-framed glasses caught the light as his head swiveled from the textbook to the arch and back again.
His voice echoed off the cavern walls, a low mutter that bounced and returned in fragments.
"Interesting..." He scratched something into his notebook, the nib of his pen scratching against the paper. "God of Justice... Eye of Shinimu... Dial of Truth..."
He paused, pushed his glasses up his nose, and squinted at a particularly complex glyph near the arch's keystone. The symbol was a spiral within a spiral, its lines intersecting at angles that shifted when he looked away.
"Ahem! The root here is unmistakable." He spoke to no one, his voice carrying the particular cadence of a lecturer addressing an empty hall. "The call corresponds to the nineteenth Key, though the syntax has been... modified. Fascinating. Truly fascinating."
He did not hear the footsteps behind him.
---
Jannali Bandler stood before the arch, her brown eyes fixed on the symbols with an intensity that drained the color from her face. Her hoop earrings hung still, swaying in spite of there being no breeze, and her headscarf was wrapped tight around her forehead, concealing the third eye that pulsed beneath the fabric. She did not blink. She did not breathe.
The whispers came from everywhere and nowhere.
They slipped through the cracks in the stone, rode the dust motes in the air, coiled around her ankles like smoke from a dying fire. She could not understand the words—not with her ears—but her third eye heard them clearly, translating the ancient tongue into images and emotions and memories that were not her own.
Her lips parted.
"Ois g ror pambt de Aemeth."
The words fell from her mouth like stones dropping into still water. They were not English. They were not any language she had ever spoken. But they were hers now, borrowed from the whispers, pressed into her throat by a will that was not entirely her own.
"Babalon unph ar cahisa, g qaa de lundoh."
Charlie's pen stopped moving. His head tilted, his ear turning toward the sound. He did not look up.
"Micma! Ol l noco de vau, mian de hami."
The air grew heavier. The dust motes stopped dancing and hung suspended, frozen in the beam of Charlie's headlamp.
"Sobam de zirdo, gah de nonci gohed."
Jannali's hand rose. Her fingers stretched toward the arch, reaching for something only she could see. Her eyes had gone glassy, the pupils dilated, the irises swallowed by darkness. Her third eye burned beneath the headscarf, sending waves of heat across her forehead.
"Fafeni vo-ma-fe, goho Iad: 'Tox de zorge, sa de mica-olz.'"
The chant built in intensity, each word layering on the last, creating a resonance that vibrated in Charlie's chest. He finally looked up.
"Christeos dial, p amozori de Shinner."
Jannali stood beside him.
Charlie blinked. His head swiveled toward her, his glasses magnifying his eyes, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition to academic delight.
"Ah! Ms. Jannali! You are interested in the arch as well."
He nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, completely oblivious to the trance that held her, to the glassy emptiness in her eyes, to the hand that still reached toward the stone.
"Your knowledge of the original lingual translation is truly impressive." He gestured toward the arch with his pen, ink spattering across his notebook. "But your pronunciation seems to be somewhat inaccurate. The aspirates are too soft, and the glottal stops—well, never mind. I am not as proficient as you, but the rough English translation is—"
He cleared his throat. Ahem!
"'Stay your step before the High Throne of Truth. I am the harlot's cry and the virgin's breath; I am the foundation of your kingdom's ruin. Behold! I am the servant of the Will, yet I sleep in the hearts of the unrefined. Whosoever I am, I am the spirit that you have forever sought, but feared to find. To the intent of the poisoned soul, the God says: 'His be the silence and the strength of lead.' Let the Dial turn, or remain the memory of a Seeker.'"
Charlie tapped his pen against his notebook, his brow furrowed.
"It appears to be a riddle. The syntax is deliberately obscure, almost as if the original author intended to confuse anyone who—"
Jannali slid her hand across the stone.
Her fingers traced the spirals, following the grooves worn smooth by centuries of touch. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, pressing against her consciousness like hands against a door. Her third eye burned.
Charlie followed her hand with his eyes, his expression shifting from confusion to excitement.
"Well done, Ms. Jannali! I must admit, it would have taken me some time to discover the dial. The craftsmanship is remarkable—the stone has been cut to appear seamless, but your tactile perception is quite—"
Jannali's fingers found the dial.
It was small, no larger than a coin, hidden in the eye of a carved serpent. The stone was warm to the touch, warmer than the surrounding rock, and it turned with a soft click that echoed through the cavern.
She turned it to 4.
Click.
She turned it to 2.
Click.
She turned it to 6.
Click.
Charlie's eyes widened. His voice carried a nervous edge that had not been there moments before.
"Uh, Ms. Jannali. Perhaps we should take a moment and examine—"
---
The deck of the Beast Pirates ship groaned under Bianca's boots as she climbed the steps from the bowels of the vessel. The wood was soft in places, rotted by salt and neglect, and she stepped carefully, avoiding the patches where the planks had been replaced with mismatched timber. The smell of old blood and older fear clung to the walls, impossible to scrub away.
She emerged into the grey light, her magnifying goggles pushed up on her forehead, her waist-length black hair escaping its messy bun in curling strands. A pencil had materialized behind her ear at some point, and a smudge of grease marked her cheek. Her overalls were stained with something dark and sticky, and her floral blowse peeked through the open front.
Galit Varuna stepped out of the captain's cabin, his long neck curved in that loose S-shape, his emerald-green eyes scanning the deck. His tactical slate was tucked under his arm, and his fingers still held the fish-bone stylus, which he tapped against his thigh in a restless rhythm.
They met at the railing.
Bianca sighed. The sound came from deep in her chest, heavy with the weight of frustration.
"So, like, it is looking like this ship is like on its last like leg." She gestured vaguely at the deck, at the patched hull, at the frayed ropes that held the sails in place. "I mean, like, the hull is like patched, but like, this ship has like seen some serious battles or something, because like, the patchwork looks like it was like on the fly."
Galit nodded, his emerald eyes tracking the damage. "It appears they barely escaped the conflict in Wano. The captain's log mentioned they had taken damage during their escape. They came here to hide and for repairs."
Bianca flicked her wrist, the gesture dismissive and exasperated. "So, like, yeah, but like, some of the damage is like so bad they should just like get a new ship or whatever."
The rumble started low, a vibration that traveled through the deck and up through their boots. It built in intensity, shaking the cavern walls, rattling the stalactites that hung from the ceiling like stone teeth.
A crack split the rock above.
Bianca looked up. Her eyes widened.
A stalactite broke free, plunging toward the water with a splash that sent ripples across the surface. Another followed, crashing onto the dock near the Navy captives, sending them scrambling against their restraints. Captain Onyx shrieked, pressing herself against the stone wall, her dark blue eyes wide with terror.
Galit and Bianca exchanged a look.
"Like, what the hell?" Bianca's voice was thin, stretched tight.
Galit's eyes narrowed. His long neck coiled, then extended, his head swiveling toward the passage that led to the arch.
"Charlie."
Bianca groaned. "Like, yeah."
They rushed down the plank, their boots pounding against the wood. Behind them, Captain Onyx strained against her ropes, her voice carrying across the dock.
"What was that? What are you doing? What is going on?" She yanked at her restraints, the fibers biting into her wrists. "You can't just leave us here!"
Galit did not look back. Bianca did not answer.
---
They rounded the turn and found the arch.
Charlie stood before it, his satchel slung over his shoulder, his textbook tucked under his arm, his pith helmet slightly askew. His glasses were fogged, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. Beside him, Jannali stood with her hand still pressed against the dial, her eyes glassy, her lips moving in silent repetition of the chant.
Bianca called out, her voice sharp and accusing.
"Like, what the hell?"
Charlie turned, his expression brightening. "Ah, Bianca! Care to join us? We are about to explore this chamber. The inscription suggests there is a hidden passage beyond the arch, and Ms. Jannali has already discovered the mechanism to—"
"Like, no!"
Charlie shrugged, the motion causing his satchel to swing against his hip. "Well, I will be sure to update you on what we find."
He turned back to the arch, his attention already fixed on the dial, on the symbols, on the mystery that waited beyond the stone.
Galit shook his head. His long neck coiled, then extended, his emerald eyes tracking Jannali's trance-like state.
"We cannot let them go alone."
Bianca rolled her eyes. Her hands gestured wildly, encompassing the dock, the Navy captives, the Dreadnought Thalassa.
"Like, yeah, I know, but like—" She gestured again, the motion sharp and frustrated. "Like, what about them?"
Galit glanced over his shoulder. The Dreadnought Thalassa sat in the water, its hull dark, its lights dim. The Navy captives were still bound, still shouting, still ignored.
"The submarine is locked down. It will be here when we get back." He turned back to the arch, his jaw set. "We had better go before they get too far ahead. Who knows what they will find?"
Bianca's shoulders dropped. Her hands fell to her sides. Her voice carried the particular weight of someone who had accepted the inevitable.
"Like, yeah."
She followed Galit as he rushed toward the arch, her boots splashing through shallow puddles, her magnifying goggles bouncing against her forehead. The passage narrowed, the walls pressing close, and the light from Charlie's headlamp grew brighter as they approached.
Jannali stood at the threshold, her hand still pressed against the dial, her eyes still glassy, her lips still moving. Charlie stood beside her, his notebook open, his pen scratching.
The arch loomed above them, ancient and patient, its symbols glowing faintly in the dim light.
Galit reached them just as Jannali took a step forward.
"Wait," he said. "We do not know what is in there."
Charlie looked up, his expression impatient. "That is the point of exploration, Lieutenant. One cannot discover the unknown by remaining in the known."
Bianca grabbed Jannali's arm. "Like, seriously, you cannot just—"
Jannali did not respond. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness beyond the arch, on the whispers that called to her, on the voice that only she could hear.
She took another step.
The darkness swallowed her.
Charlie followed, his satchel swinging, his pen still in his hand.
Galit and Bianca exchanged a look—frustration, resignation, and something that might have been the first stirring of curiosity.
Then they followed too.
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