The morning frost on the lower basin had turned to gray slush by the time the wooden hammers began to fall.
Down in the wreckage of the northern pens, shattered pine timber lay half-buried in mud and frozen dung. Prince Loki stood ankle-deep in the slush, his gold-braided coat long stripped away to reveal a plain linen tunic stained with grease and soot. His bare hands, bound in stiff bandages, throbbed with a dull, rhythmic heat every time he heaved a splintered beam out of the mire.
Hiyori sat on an overturned oak barrel ten paces away, swinging her legs over the mud as she chewed on a dried plum. Beside her, Gerd was unpacking jars of crushed salve and clean linen, her broad forehead creased in quiet concentration as she organized her temporary clinic.
Loki dumped a heavy beam onto the scrap pile with an earth-shaking thud. He wiped a streak of soot across his forehead with the back of his forearm, his jaw set in a sharp, proud line as he looked down at the child.
"I am working," Loki grunted, his voice rumbling like grinding millstones. "You do not need to watch me like a jailer, little human."
Hiyori swallowed her plum pit and looked up at him with unblinking brown eyes. "You're doing it wrong. The corner post is crooked."
Loki's brow twitched. He planted his fists on his hips, his massive chest expanding as his old instincts flared. "I am the Prince of Elbaf! I am building it back stronger than the ancient hearth! And besides... I never intended for those beasts to stampede toward the lower village! I was bringing them to show the vanguard! If the human had not cut the mammoth's legs, no one would have been—"
"If Ida had been under the mammoth's foot," Hiyori said, her voice small, clear, and utterly devoid of fear, "would you still be telling us what you intended?"
Loki froze.
The proud posture in his shoulders broke. His jaw worked silently for three full seconds, the defense dying in his throat before it could form into words. He looked from the child's calm face down to the mud-stained bandages wrapping his own hands, then toward the ruined pens where two young giants were nursing a calf with a broken leg.
He swallowed hard, his thick neck flushing a dark, dull red. He looked directly at Gerd, then at Hiyori, his voice dropping an octave into something raspy and unpracticed.
"I... was foolish," Loki said, the words coming out awkward and heavy, as if his tongue were made of lead. "I brought danger to the hearth because I wanted to be seen. I destroyed your clinic, Gerd. I harmed our kin. I am... sorry."
Gerd stopped sorting her glass jars. She looked at the prince for a long moment, nodding once, simple and quiet, before returning to her work.
From the shadow of a half-erected barn wall, Ida stepped into the light. She carried a massive, steam-blackened wooden ladle in her right hand, her apron dusted with flour and dried blood.
"A start," Ida said flatly. "Now here is the rest of your sentence, Prince."
Loki straightened up, trying to rebuild an inch of his royal stature. "Sentence?"
"You will rebuild every post and fence in these pens with your own hands," Ida declared, pointing the wooden ladle at his chest. "You will muck the stables every morning before the sun clears the high peak. You will haul Gerd's medicinal crates from the harbor without a cart, and you will do it all without attendants, without guards, and without pulling rank on a single civilian."
Loki's eyes went wide. "That is tyranny! I am the blood of Harald! I am to lead the warriors into—"
Ida raised the wooden ladle two inches.
Loki flinched, his shoulders instantly dropping into a defensive hunch as he held up two bandaged hands. "I accept! I accept the terms!"
Hiyori let out a tiny, muffled snort behind her hand.
Near the perimeter fence, Giovanni stood leaning against a stone post, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His eyes watching the prince haul another log into the mud.
Loki noticed him. The giant dropped the log, spat into the slush, and marched over to the fence line until he loomed 62 meters above the human.
"You think this makes you greater than me?" Loki demanded, wiping sweat from his chin.
Giovanni looked up at the giant, his eyes dull with exhaustion. "You're still talking, Loki. The timber's still in the mud."
Loki glared down at him, his fists clenching tight enough to stretch his blood-stained linen wraps. "I will rebuild this valley. And when I am done, I will cross the sea and defeat you. I will defeat that swordsman. I will stand above every monster that ever looked down on Elbaf!"
Giovanni spat into the slush and turned toward the ridge. "Go lift the log."
Higher up the ridge, where the wind cleared the smoke of the lower village, Scopper Gaban sat on a flat granite slab, a carved wooden pipe blowing thin blue rings into the freezing air.
Giovanni walked up the stone steps, his boots heavy against the frost. He stopped beside the old pirate.
"You're walking stiff, kid," Gaban said without turning around, taking a slow drag from his pipe. "Mihawk left a mark that'll take a month of salt water to clear."
"It's closed," Giovanni replied flatly.
Gaban chuckled, a low, gravelly sound in his chest. "Drawing the Hawk's blood was impressive. Half the swordsmen in the Grand Line would trade their teeth to claim they opened Hawkeye's skin."
Giovanni remained silent, his gaze fixed on the distant ship.
"But that wasn't your best work down there," Gaban continued, lowering his pipe and looking sideways at the young pirate. "Taking a cut to protect a giant who was trying to kill you... choosing wounded civilians over finishing a duel. That was the first time I've seen your crown stay cold."
Giovanni glanced at the old man. "My crown?"
"Your father's blood," Gaban said softly, his eyes narrowing against the bright snow. "Norwell D. Renji was a storm, Giovanni. Met him at God Valley. When he got angry, the sea boiled, and everyone around him burned. Allies, enemies, ships, it didn't matter. His power always leaked through the cracks when his temper blew. Down in that valley... you held the vessel tight. You didn't let the heat waste itself."
Before Giovanni could answer, soft footsteps sounded on the crusted snow behind them.
Kozuki Toki walked up the path, her hair pinned back against the alpine wind, a thick woolen shawl wrapped over her kimono. She stopped beside Giovanni, looking at the fresh linen wrapping his shoulder.
"Elder Jarul wanted to set a plate for you." Toki said softly. "Hiyori told him you wouldn't eat giant portioning anyway."
Giovanni let out a dry, quiet breath. "We aren't staying."
Giovanni turned his back to the high peaks of Elbaf and walked down toward the water.
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