The throne room of Alubarna Palace hummed with uneasy silence, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sandstone floors. King Cobra stood at the head of a marble table, his weathered hands gripping a scroll detailing the destruction of Hasa'ir. The air smelled of ink and anxiety, the faint scent of jasmine from the courtyard gardens doing little to soothe the tension.
"Entire families… gone," murmured General Hakim, his voice gravelly with disbelief. A map of the decimated town lay unfurled before them, its streets marked in charcoal ash. "Survivors claim it was light that burned everything—not fire, not cannon fire. Something… unnatural."
Vivi looked over her father's shoulder, her brow furrowed beneath the weight of her crownless headscarf. "Like Crocodile's sandstorms?" Her voice wavered, not with fear, but resolve. The memory of Baroque Works' betrayal still haunted the palace walls.
"Worse," said Rasheed, a Captain in the royal guard. His scarred knuckles tightened around his scimitar's hilt. "Witnesses described a man at the center of the chaos. Ragged, screaming—Alabastan, by their account. But his eyes…" He hesitated. "They said they glowed like molten gold."
King Cobra's gaze drifted to the arched windows, where the desert stretched beyond the city, vast and untamed. The same desert that had birthed heroes and monsters alike. "A man does not wield such power without a source. This is no bandit raid." His voice, though steady, carried the weight of a kingdom still healing. "We must act before panic spreads."
Vivi placed a hand on the map, her finger tracing the route from Hasa'ir to the Valley of Kings. "Let me lead the investigation. The people trust me. And after everything we've survived, they deserve answers from their own blood."
The throne room's air thickened as Vivi's plea hung between the marble pillars, her finger still pressed to the map tracing Hasa'ir's ashes to the Valley of Kings. Before King Cobra could respond, a familiar voice rang out—deep, theatrical, yet trembling with urgency.
"Ma…. Ma…. Ma…Your Majesty! Princess!" Igaram strode forward, his flamboyant lilac coat sweeping behind him like a battle standard. His light-curled hair quivered as he bowed deeply, though his tone carried none of its usual flourish. "With the greatest respect, this humble servant must protest!"
Vivi turned, her eyes narrowing. "Igaram—"
He straightened, clasping his hands in a gesture halfway between supplication and resolve. "Princess, your courage is beyond question. You stood against Baroque Works, sailed with pirates, and saved this kingdom. But this…" He gestured to the reports of Hasa'ir's glassed ruins. "…is not a mission for the crown's heir. Captain Rasheed is seasoned, battle-hardened—Alabasta's shield, not its jewel!"
Captain Rasheed, a mountain of muscle and scars, shifted uneasily but nodded. "The tracker Karim found remnants of something in the sand. No artifact, no warlord—just madness. We need soldiers, not symbols."
Igaram's voice softened, his theatrics melting into raw sincerity. "Princess, when Crocodile held your throat in his hand, I swore I would never let harm find you again. If this darkness is half what we faced under him…" He hesitated, memories of when they infiltrated Baroque Works flashing through his thoughts "…then let Captain Rasheed bear its weight. You must remain Alabasta's light."
"The people are too valuable to abandon!" Vivi's voice sharpened, her fist hitting the table. The council flinched. "I fought beside pirates to save this kingdom. I won't cower in the palace while it burns again!" Vivi's fists clenched. "The people need to see their leaders fighting for them, not hiding!"
"And they will! Ma…. Ma…. Ma…." Igaram countered, his voice rising. "But a princess's duty is to inspire hope, not chase shadows. Let the Captain hunt this demon. Let us protect you, as you protected us."
King Cobra's gaze settled on her, steady and sorrowful. "You've given enough, Vivi. More than any princess should." He unrolled the scroll further, revealing witness accounts of golden flames and a figure screaming in two voices. "This isn't a battle for hearts. It's a hunt. And hunts require steel, not speeches."
Vivi's resolve wavered. She recognized the look in her father's eyes. "Then let me go with Rasheed's unit. I can help—"
"No." The king's tone brooked no argument. "Your duty is here. Alabasta needs its princess alive."
The council murmured approval. King Cobra's gaze drifted to Vivi's scarred wrist—the hidden "X" marking her as both princess and pirate. "Igaram speaks harsh truths," the king said finally. "Captain Rasheed will lead the investigation. You will remain here, Vivi. Alive." Vivi's nails dug into her palms, the Straw Hats' laughter echoing in her memory. Luffy would've charged in any way. But she wasn't a pirate. She was heir to a throne, and thrones came with chains.
As the council dispersed, Igaram knelt before her, his flamboyance replaced by reverence. "You are Alabasta's heart, Princess. Ma….. Ma….. Ma…. Hearts cannot risk shattering."
Vivi said nothing, but her eyes burned with unyielding resolve. She felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her chest as she watched the council disperse. The weight of duty pressed heavily on her shoulders, a burden she had willingly carried but now seemed to grow with every passing moment. Her resolve was tested, torn between her love for her people and the instinct to protect them by standing on the front lines.
Memories of the Straw Hats' camaraderie danced in her mind, contrasting sharply with the solemnity of her royal responsibilities. The laughter and fierce loyalty of her pirate friends had taught her the value of fighting alongside those she cherished. Yet here, in the grand halls of Alabasta, she was bound by the chains of her lineage, relegated to a figurehead when her heart yearned to be a warrior.
Her father's sorrowful gaze and Igaram's earnest plea resonated with her deeply, reminding her of the sacrifices they had all made. But the thought of remaining idle, a mere symbol of hope, gnawed at her soul. The hidden "X" on her wrist, a haunting reminder of her dual identity, burned with an unspoken promise—one she had made to her friends and herself.
Conflicted and restless, Vivi ventured to the palace's highest balcony, seeking solace in the desert's vast expanse. The wind's whisper seemed to echo her inner turmoil, a silent companion to her unyielding resolve. At dusk, she stood and watched Rasheed's unit assembled below. Camels snorted, their saddlebags laden with supplies and weapons forged in Nanohana's finest smithies. Karim, the royal tracker, held up a shard of obsidian recovered from Hasa'ir—its surface etched with the same spiraling glyph Kael's relic bore.
Vivi leaned against the balcony's sandstone rail, the desert wind tussling her loose strands of hair. Below, Captain Rasheed's unit vanished into dusk, their torches flickering like dying stars. "They'll miss things," she muttered to the wind. "Secrets don't surrender to soldiers."
A shadow shifted beside her—Pell, his broad frame silhouetted against the moonlit dunes. The Falcon of Alabasta folded his arms, his robes billowing and his voice a low rumble. "Nor do they yield to those who doubt their own worth, Princess."
Vivi didn't turn. "You think I'm doubting myself?"
"I think you've spent too long measuring your strength against swords and sandstorms." His gaze drifted to the scar on her wrist, hidden beneath her sleeve. "The Straw Hats taught you to fight like a pirate. But a ruler's strength lies in patience. In seeing what others cannot."
Before Vivi could reply, a reedy voice piped up behind them. "Precisely! Though I'd argue my strength lies in deciphering what others will not."
The royal historian, Dr. Yazen, shuffled onto the balcony, his arms laden with scrolls and a teetering brass astrolabe. His spectacles gleamed in the moonlight, magnifying eyes that sparkled with the manic curiosity of a man who'd spent decades buried in dust and dead languages.
Pell raised an eyebrow. "Doctor. Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Sleep? When the stars themselves are practically screaming?" Yazen thrust a crumbling parchment at Vivi. It depicted a figure cloaked in flame, surrounded by glyphs of spiraling constellations. "This was recovered from the royal archives—an account from the Age of Pyres. Note the motif: a guardian bound to a 'Mother Flame,' driven mad by its whispers. Sound familiar?"
Vivi's breath caught. Glowing eyes. The melted stone of Hasa'ir. "You think this… guardian is connected to the attack?"
"Not just connected—resurrected." Yazen tapped the astrolabe. "The stars above Alabasta are aligning as they did millennia ago. Whatever buried power the ancients feared… it's stirring."
Pell's jaw tightened, accentuating the purple lines down his cheeks. "Can it be stopped?"
"By swords? Unlikely." Yazen adjusted his spectacles. "But knowledge? Ah, that is a weapon even kings underestimate." He turned to Vivi, suddenly solemn. "Your father forbids your blade, Princess. But your mind? That, he cannot chain."
The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of smoke from the desert. Vivi traced the parchment's faded guardian. As Yazen's words sank in, her mind swirled with emotions. The weight of her lineage pressed heavily upon her shoulders, intertwining pride with a deep sense of responsibility.
Fear flickered at the edges of her thoughts, yet it was tempered by a burgeoning determination. The idea of awakening a guardian, a being of immense power, both thrilled and terrified her. She could feel the echoes of her ancestors' decisions reverberating through time, their fears and hopes mingling with her own.
The gravity of the situation settled in her chest like a stone. The prospect of immense power was alluring, but the potential consequences loomed large. Could she bear the burden of such a choice? Would she be able to control the guardian, or would it consume her as it had those before her? The questions gnawed at her, leaving her heart pounding in her chest.
Yet, amidst the uncertainty, a spark of determination ignited. The memory of Hasa'ir and the devastation it wrought surged forward, crystalizing her resolve. If there was a chance—any chance—to protect her people and her homeland without defying her father's orders, she had to consider it. Her fingers tightened around the parchment, as if drawing strength from the ancient ink.
As she looked up at Yazen, his fervor reflected in her own eyes, she realized her path was not just about strength or power but also about wisdom and courage. The scent of smoke from the desert whispered of impending danger, but it also carried a promise—a promise of a future she could help secure.
"What do you need?" she asked.
Yazen grinned, his spectacles catching the moonlight like twin blades. "A partner with royal blood." He unfurled another scroll, its edges brittle with age, revealing an ink-washed illustration of a towering figure cloaked in solar flames—a guardian crowned with Alabasta's crest. "This is Ra-Harakht, the Sun's Vigil. According to texts predating the Void Century, it was bound to protect the Nefeltari line… until it was sealed away for being 'too destructive.'"
Vivi's breath hitched. "Sealed by whom?"
"By ancestors who feared its power," Yazen said, waving a dismissive hand. "But imagine, Princess—a guardian that could shield Alabasta from any threat. Wars, droughts, even the World Government's meddling. All it requires is a descendant of Queen Lily to awaken it."
Pell straightened his back, his shoulders tense, his voice a growl. "And how many texts mention the cost of awakening it, Doctor?"
Yazen's smile tightened. "Legends speak of trials, yes. But trials are mere metaphors for courage! With Princess Vivi's lineage and my scholarship, we could rewrite history—secure history." He turned to Vivi, eyes blazing with curated fervor. "You've seen the reports. Hasa'ir was just the beginning. Whatever lurks in the desert won't heed Captain Rasheed's swords. But this…" He jabbed a finger at the guardian's image. "…this could save your people. Without defying your father's orders."
Vivi's fingers tightened on the parchment. The guardian's eyes, hollow and hungry, seemed to stare back. "How?"
"A simple ritual. A drop of your blood on the altar in the Temple of Dawn—a site forgotten." Yazen leaned closer, his voice honeyed. "You'd be no soldier, no rebel. Just a scholar… like me."
Pell's hand fell to his sword. "The Temple of Dawn collapsed centuries ago. It's a tomb."
"A tomb full of answers," Yazen snapped. "Or would you let fear bury Alabasta's future?"
Vivi closed her eyes. The scent of smoke grew sharper—Hasa'ir's ghosts haunting the wind. Luffy wouldn't hesitate. He'd charge toward the fire. But she wasn't Luffy. She was a princess with a scholar's chance to fight smarter.
A whirlwind of emotions churned within Vivi. Doubt clawed at her resolve, yet the weight of her responsibility bore down on her like an unrelenting tide. She felt the tug of her royal duty, the call to protect her people at any cost, warring with a profound unease about the ancient power Yazen sought to awaken. The guardian's eyes, empty yet intense, haunted her thoughts as though pleading for release, yet warning of the dangers it harbored.
The memory of Hasa'ir's devastation, its winds whispering tales of ruin, pressed against her heart. The image of her people suffering, of her homeland scorched by relentless foes, sharpened her focus. She was not a warrior like Luffy, driven by raw courage and swift action. She had to be cunning, to employ the wisdom and strategy befitting a princess.
Her gaze shifted to Pell, his protective stance a testament to his loyalty and unyielding caution. His warnings echoed in her mind, but so did Yazen's fervent promises. The scholar's devotion to ancient texts offered a path, albeit shrouded in uncertainty. Could she trust him? Could she trust herself to make the right choice?
A deep breath steadied her turbulence. Courage was not the absence of fear but the will to act despite it. A princess's duty was to her people, her heritage a beacon guiding her through the shadows of doubt. The decision weighed heavily, but her heart whispered of hope, of a chance to secure Alabasta's future without the sword's edge.
"Show me the temple," she said.
Yazen's grin returned, wider now. "At dawn. Come alone."
As he shuffled away, scrolls clutched to his chest; Pell muttered, "This reeks of Baroque Works' tricks."
"Maybe," Vivi said, watching Yazen disappear into the palace shadows. "But what if it's the only way to protect them?" Above, the stars seemed to pulse—a silent, celestial warning.
*****
The Temple of the Crescent Moon loomed ahead, its sandstone arches half-buried by dunes, the entrance a jagged maw veiled in shadows. Vaughn kicked aside a splintered Consortium banner, its emblem—a closed eye—trampled into the sand. "Stay sharp. This place reeks of wrong."
Charlie adjusted his cracked glasses, already vibrating with scholarly adrenaline. "Fascinating! This temple predates the Poneglyphs! See those carvings? They depict the Trial of Sekhemet, a ritual where Alabasta's queens communed with the sun deity's 'lesser flame' to purify drought-stricken lands. Of course, modern scholars dismiss it as myth, but the symbology here is undeniable—"
Marya brushed past him, Eternal Night unsheathed, her mist-mist powers coiling like serpents around her wrists. "Save the lecture. We're here to find bodies, not bedtime stories."
The interior was a crypt of shattered relics and scorch marks. Archeological equipment lay melted into grotesque sculptures, the air thick with the metallic tang of old blood. Charlie barely noticed, darting to a cracked mural. "Look! The Mother Flame isn't a relic—it's a hierarchy. The sun deity's flame split into three: Purifier, Guardian, and… and Judge. This temple housed the Judge's altar. It's said to…" He trailed off, finally registering the blackened skeletons slumped against the walls.
"Said to what, Charlie?" Vaughn growled, nudging a skull with his boot.
"To… to test the worth of those who sought its power," Charlie whispered. "Those deemed unworthy were… incinerated."
Marya crouched beside a corpse, her blade tip lifting a charred pendant. "These burns aren't from fire. They're etched. Like the sand itself turned against them."
"Preposterous!" Charlie's voice climbed an octave, a defensive ramble bubbling forth. "Sand manipulation requires a Devil Fruit user, but Crocodile's defeat left no—unless—the texts mention 'star-fed flames' that could animate silica at a molecular level! If they discovered such a relic, they might've inadvertently triggered a latent defense system, resulting in—"
"This?" Vaughn gestured to a skeleton fused to the wall, its mouth frozen in a scream. "Your academic pals didn't 'inadvertently' squat. They woke something up, and it butchered them."
Vaughn and Marya exchanged a glance, the weight of recent revelations settling between them. Vaughn's brow furrowed as he recalled their last stop. "Remember what the waitress said?" Vaughn began, his voice low and tense. "She claimed she saw Kael a few nights ago, purchasing supplies. Nobody else in town had seen him or even believed he was there."
Marya nodded, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. "She mentioned he looked different, almost haunted. But if he's the lone survivor from this place…" She gestured to the charred remains and the eerie stillness that permeated the temple.
"It means he has the answers," Vaughn finished. "He saw what happened. He survived whatever nightmare was unleashed here."
Charlie, still poring over the cracked mural, looked over. "If Kael did survive, and if he's the one the relic speaks to, then he's the key to understanding the Judge's flame and what it demands."
Marya's gaze hardened. "Then we find him. Before the relic finds another victim." Marya stiffened. Her mist curled toward a narrow stairwell, drawn by an unseen pull. "There's something below. It's… humming."
Vaughn tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes scanning the stairwell's shadowy descent. "Stay sharp. Whatever's down there is bound to be worse than skeletons and burnt corpses."
Charlie's curiosity seemed to outweigh his fear as he adjusted his glasses and peered into the darkness below. "If the relic's power is concentrated down there, we might uncover something invaluable about the Judge and its trials."
Marya, her mist swirling protectively around her, took the lead. "No more speculation. We find Kael, unlock the relic's secrets, and put an end to this nightmare."
They proceeded cautiously down the narrow steps, the air growing colder and more oppressive with each step. The hum Marya had sensed grew louder, echoing off the stone walls and vibrating through the very bones of the temple; it permeated Marya's thoughts, and its frequency seemed to resonate with her very soul. Each step felt heavier, not just from the physical descent but from the mental toll the sound exacted. The hum was more than a noise; it was a presence, insinuating itself into her consciousness, tugging at her emotions and memories.
Marya's began to waver, a sense of unease creeping in. She found herself questioning their purpose here, the risks they were taking, and the true nature of the relic they sought. Flashes of past failures and the faces of those she had lost haunted her. The hum seemed to magnify her fears, amplifying every doubt and regret she had ever felt.
At the bottom, a faint, otherworldly glow illuminated the chamber, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters. "What the hell is that?" Vaughn muttered, eyes wide with a mix of awe and dread.
The relic sat atop a dais—a crescent blade, its edge shimmering like liquid starlight. Glyphs pulsed along its surface, mirroring the scars on Kael's chest from Hasa'ir. Charlie lunged forward, heedless of Vaughn's warning snarl. "Astounding! This isn't just a weapon—it's a key. The Judge's flame required royal blood to ignite, but the academics must've tried bypassing it with—o."
He froze. A weathered journal lay open nearby, its pages filled with frantic scrawl:
Day 7: Kael insists the relic speaks. Says it calls him "kin."
Day 9: He won't eat. Won't sleep. His eyes…
Final Entry: IT WASN'T WORTH IT—
The writing ended in a smear of charcoal.
Marya's mist lashed suddenly, ensnaring her arm. She staggered, Eternal Night clattering to the floor. "It's… it's here. The same voice that possessed me. It's in the blade. In the walls."
Vaughn hauled her back as the relic's hum escalated to a shriek. Glyphs flared crimson, and the chamber trembled, sand swirling into jagged spirals.
Charlie, pale but buzzing, shouted over the din. "The Trial of Sekhemet—it wasn't a metaphor! The Judge doesn't just test individuals; it tests eras. Kael must've been deemed 'unworthy' to wield it, so it… repurposed him!"
A fissure split the dais, revealing a hidden alcove. Inside lay a mural of a hooded figure—kneeling before a flame, his body fracturing into sand.
Marya's mist recoiled. "He's not dead. The relic's using him. Controlling him."
Vaughn spat, hefting Light Bringer. "Then we find the bastard and bury that thing in his chest."
As they fled the collapsing temple, Charlie lingered, snapping sketches of the glyphs. "Wait! This dialect—it mentions a 'convergence.' The Mother Flame's three relics are linked! If Kael has the Judge, and the Royal Family is tied to the Guardian—" A sandstorm howled outside, cutting him off. Somewhere in the dunes, a shadow moved—golden eyes glowing like dying stars.