The chamber beneath Xochitlán Plaza was a crypt of whispers and dust, its walls lined with shelves of cracked pottery, frayed codices, and stone tablets etched in the angular script of the ancients. Tepec stood at the head of a weathered obsidian table, the Primordial Current thrumming faintly beneath his feet like the heartbeat of a slumbering titan. Around him, the Ground Dwellers' artisans gathered—Xochi with her hands stained from ink and clay, Ixtli gripping the hilt of his blade restlessly, and a dozen others whose faces were maps of ash and worry.
"The metal beast in the lake is no accident," Tepec began, his voice echoing in the hollow space. "The Current brought it here. The prophecy stirs."
Xochi unrolled a brittle scroll, its edges crumbling. "The frescoes in Templo del Sol y Luna foretold this. 'Shadows from beyond the waves shall pierce the serpent's heart.' The outsiders… they are the shadows." She traced a glyph of a sinking ship encircled by serpents. "But the texts are unclear—do they bring salvation, or do they feed the serpent?"
"Salvation?" Ixtli scoffed, his voice sharp as flint. "Their vessel reeks of the sea's anger. It's a blight on Lago de la Serpiente. The sea monster will not sleep if we let them linger."
A murmur rippled through the room. One artisan, a wiry man named Cuauhtli, slammed his palm on the table. "The Sky Riders will slaughter them—and us—if we interfere! Aerion's birds already circle like vultures!"
"Aerion fears what he cannot control," Tepec said calmly, though his knuckles whitened around his staff. "But the Current's song has changed. It guides us. The submerged ruins beneath the lake hold relics—tools that could restore our strength. The outsiders' vessel… perhaps it is the key to reclaiming them."
Xochi's eyes widened. "The ruins are forbidden. To disturb them is to wake the sea monster"
"And to do nothing is to let Tlalocan crumble!" Tepec's voice rose, cutting through the tension. "The Sky Riders hoard the skies, but the depths belong to us. The Primordial Current flows through those ruins. If we can harness it…"
The room fell silent save for the drip of water seeping through the ceiling. Somewhere above, the distant shriek of a Sky Rider's bird pierced the air, a reminder of their watchers.
"The outsiders seek to repair their vessel," Tepec continued, softer now. "They will need parts. Parts that lie in the ruins. If we aid them, they may aid us in turn."
Ixtli's grip tightened on his blade. "You would trust strangers over our own traditions?"
"I trust the Current," Tepec said, his gaze steely. "And the Current screams."
Xochi unclasped a leather-bound tome, its pages filled with sketches of gears and pipes salvaged from the island's golden age. "The mechanisms in the ruins… they match the descriptions here. If we can retrieve them, we might mend their ship—and our own."
Cuauhtli shook his head. "This is madness. The monster will drown us all!"
"Then we move swiftly," Tepec said, rising. "Before the Sky Riders strike. Before the god stirs. The outsiders are a storm—but storms can be ridden."
The artisans exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of centuries pressing upon them. Finally, Xochi nodded. "The Reliquary holds maps of the ruins. We can navigate the tunnels… if the Current allows."
"Prepare the diving bells," Tepec ordered. "And ready the sacred oils. The beast may slumber, but the depths have eyes."
As the artisans dispersed, Tepec lingered, his hand brushing the carved serpent on the table—a symbol of Tlalocan's duality. Destroyer and savior. The outsiders' arrival was no accident. The Current had chosen this moment, this clash of metal and myth.
Above, the birds screamed. Below, the sea monster groaned.
The Ground Dwellers moved in a silent procession through the ashen wastes of Xochitlán, their cloaks billowing like shadows against the pale gray terrain. The air tasted of sulfur and old stone, and every footstep stirred up plumes of volcanic dust that clung to their leather boots and the hems of their woven tunics. Ahead loomed Lago de la Serpiente, its waters black and brooding under a sky choked with ash. The Polar Tang's hulking silhouette jutted from the shallows near Ixtabay's Gate, its metal hull glinting faintly—a scar on the sacred lake's skin.
Ixtli led the group, his broad shoulders squared beneath a cuirass of lacquered obsidian, its surface etched with serpents devouring their own tails. At his hip hung a macuahuitl, its jagged volcanic glass teeth whispering of ancient battles. The warriors behind him clutched spears tipped with shards of Vulcan's Forge, their edges still faintly smoldering. The artisans followed, laden with bronze diving bells, coiled ropes, and clay jars of sacred oil—offerings to appease the depths.
"Keep your eyes on the gate," Ixtli barked, his voice cutting through the nervous murmurs. "The carvings there—see how the serpents coil? They guard the threshold. Step with respect, and the Current will spare you."
A young diver, Nenetl, faltered, her gaze darting to the lake's dark surface. "What if the beast wakes? The elders say its hunger swallowed entire cities—"
"Then we feed it caution," Ixtli snapped, though his tone softened as he turned to face the group. "You think fear is new to Tlalocan? Our ancestors built temples on the bones of eruptions. We are ash, and ash endures."
Xochi stepped forward, her hands cradling a small stone effigy of Tlaloc, its hollow eyes weeping streaks of oxidized copper. "Remember the Reliquary," she said, her voice steady. "The tools we seek—your great-grandfathers forged them in the fires of this very lake. They are not lost. They are waiting." She pressed the effigy into Nenetl's trembling hands. "The Current flows through you. Let it guide your breaths."
Tepec emerged last, his staff striking the ground with a resonant thud. The warriors parted, bowing their heads as he raised a gourd of oily, iridescent liquid—the Blood of Tlaloc, pressed from the roots of petrified trees. "The lake is the god's throat," he intoned, dribbling the oil onto the earth. It hissed where it struck, sending up tendrils of perfumed smoke. "Drink its shadows, and the beast will spare those who honor its slumber."
The group knelt as Tepec painted their foreheads with ash and oil, his fingers tracing the spiral sigil of the Primordial Current. "You carry the weight of Tlalocan's breath," he murmured. "Return with its heartbeat."
Rising, the Ground Dwellers turned toward the lake. The Tang's shadow stretched toward them like a bridge, its presence blasphemous yet magnetic. Above, Cielo's Children circled, their shrieks muffled by distance.
"Move," Ixtli growled. "Before the Sky Riders realize what we've stolen."
As they waded into the shallows, the water lapping at their ankles like a cold, hungry tongue, Nenetl gripped the effigy tighter. The lake's surface rippled—not from wind, but from something far below. A tremor, a sigh.
The Current was listening.
The water of Lago de la Serpiente clung to the Ground Dwellers like a spectral hand as they waded deeper, the cold seeping into their bones. Nenetl's breath hitched as the lake's surface trembled again, the ripple spreading outward in concentric rings—a silent warning from the depths. Above, the shrieks of Cielo's Children crescendoed.
"Sky Riders!" someone hissed.
Ixtli spun, his macuahuitl raised, just as shadows blotted the ash-gray sky. The giant birds descended like falling comets, their talons splayed and beaks agape. But before they could strike, a figure materialized atop the Polar Tang's battered hull—a woman with raven hair, her arms marked with veins darker than midnight. Beside her stood a man in a spotted hat, his amber eyes sharp as flint.
"Marya," Law muttered, gripping his nodachi.
Marya's lips curled. She flung her arms wide, and mist erupted from her skin—a silver-gray tempest that swallowed the Tang and the lake's surface whole. The birds screeched, their dive faltering as the fog blinded them. One clipped the water with a thunderous splash, sending up a geyser that drenched the Ground Dwellers.
Nenetl stumbled back, clutching the effigy of Tlaloc. "She's—she's a demon!"
"No," Xochi breathed, her scholar's eyes alight. "She's… breathing the Current."
The mist coiled around the Tang, twisting into serpentine shapes that mirrored the carvings on Ixtabay's Gate. For a moment, the Ground Dwellers froze, caught between awe and terror. Even Ixtli hesitated, his warrior's instincts warring with superstition.
"Focus!" he roared, splashing forward to shove a gawking diver. "The outsiders are distracting the birds—move!"
The group surged toward the Tang, their resolve hardened by Ixtli's command. As they neared, the mist thinned just enough to reveal Marya perched on the sub's rail, her smirk visible even through the haze. Law stood beside her, his nodachi gleaming.
"Visitors," Marya drawled, hopping down to meet them.
Ixtli bristled, his macuahuitl twitching. "We are here to salvage your wreck," he growled, jerking his chin at the Tang. "Before the beast wakes and drags us all to the abyss."
Law stepped forward, his voice edged with cold pragmatism. "You know how to fix this?"
Xochi shouldered past Ixtli, clutching her relic-stuffed satchel. "We know where to find the parts you need. But the ruins are guarded. By tradition. By… things."
Marya snorted. "Tradition's overrated."
"Says the woman who is a fog bank," Law muttered.
Tepec emerged from the mist, his staff raised in a gesture of wary truce. "The Primordial Current binds us all, outsiders. Even you." His eyes lingered on Marya's void-marked arms, but he said nothing. "Help us navigate the ruins, and we will mend your ship."
Law's gaze narrowed. "And the price?"
"The Sky Riders will attack at dawn," Tepec said simply. "Stay alive until then."
Above, a bird's cry pierced the fog—closer now, hungrier. Marya's mist wavered.
"Deal," Law said, turning toward the Tang's hatch. "But if you double-cross us, I'll feed you to the birds myself."
Ixtli's hand tightened on his weapon, but Xochi placed a calming palm on his arm. "The Current wills it," she murmured.
As the Ground Dwellers boarded the sub, Nenetl glanced back at the lake. The water rippled again, deeper this time—a slow, deliberate undulation, as if something colossal had smiled.
The beast was watching.
And the mist, it seemed, would not hold forever.
The interior of the Polar Tang hummed with the uneasy energy of two worlds colliding. The Ground Dwellers stood clustered near the hatch, their ash-streaked faces illuminated by the submarine's flickering emergency lights. The air smelled of oil, seawater, and the faint metallic tang of fear. Around them, the Heart Pirates paused their repairs—Shachi dangling from a sparking wire, Penguin elbow-deep in a gutted control panel, Bepo clutching a wrench like a lifeline. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the drip of condensation from the ceiling.
"So… uh," Shachi broke the silence, wiping grease off his cheek. "You guys here to fix the sub or rob us?"
"Shachi," Law snapped, stepping forward with his nodachi slung over his shoulder. His amber eyes locked onto Ixtli, who stood rigid at the front of the Ground Dwellers, his macuahuitl still unsheathed. "Tools down. Now."
Reluctantly, the crew lowered their wrenches and cables. Bepo, ever the peacemaker, shuffled forward with a nervous wave. "H-hi! I'm Bepo! Do you… like soup? We have soup."
Nenetl, clutching Xochi's arm, stared wide-eyed at Bepo's fluffy white form. "A… a talking bear?"
"Mink," Law corrected tersely. "Not a bear."
"But he's fluffy," Nenetl whispered, earning a stifled snort from Penguin.
Xochi stepped forward, her scholar's gaze darting across the Tang's exposed machinery. "Fascinating… these gears—they resemble the mechanisms in our ancestral scrolls! The Primordial Current must have guided their design!" She pulled a crumbling codex from her satchel, comparing its diagrams to the tangles of wiring.
"Yeah, sure, 'guided,'" Marya drawled, leaning against a bulkhead. Her void-marked arms crossed over her chest as she eyed the Ground Dwellers. "More like 'stolen.'"
Ixtli's grip tightened on his weapon. "You mock our traditions, outsider?"
"I mock everything," Marya shot back, her smirk sharp.
Tepec raised a gnarled hand, silencing the tension. "Enough. We are here to mend your vessel, not feud." He turned to Law, his voice low. "Your engines—they require parts from the submerged ruins. Parts our ancestors forged."
Law's gaze narrowed. "And you'll just… hand them over?"
"In exchange for your aid against the Sky Riders," Tepec said simply. "The Current demands balance."
Uni, peeking out from behind Jean Bart's legs, piped up, "Sky Riders? Are they like… sky bandits? With feathers?"
"Worse," Ixtli growled. "They ride those." He jerked his chin toward a porthole, where the shadow of a giant bird briefly blotted the light.
Bepo whimpered, ears flattening. "C-captain, can we please fix the sub before the birds come back?"
As Law and Tepec began debating repair plans, Nenetl inched toward Bepo, curiosity overcoming fear. "Do you… really have soup?"
Bepo's face lit up. "Yes! It's, um… kinda burnt? But I can make more!" He rummaged through a crate, producing a dented pot and a charred ladle. "Want some?"
Nenetl hesitated, then nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
Meanwhile, Xochi had cornered Shachi, her fingers tracing the submarine's rusted pipes. "This alloy—it's similar to the sacred metals in our Reliquary! How did you smelt it? With volcanic heat? Or—"
"Uh… we bought it?" Shachi scratched his head. "From a guy in Sabaody. He had a hat."
Xochi blinked. "A hat?"
"A really big hat."
Outside, the lake groaned—a deep, resonant tremor that rattled the Tang's hull. The Ground Dwellers froze, their eyes widening in unison.
"The beast," Tepec murmured. "It stirs."
Law's jaw tightened. "Then we move faster." He glanced at Marya. "You're on mist duty. Keep the birds blind."
"Yeah, mist duty," Marya sighed, rolling her shoulders. "What's next, babysitting?"
"If you're lucky," Law deadpanned.
The interior of the Polar Tang buzzed with a cacophony of clanging metal, hissed steam, and the low murmur of voices speaking over one another—a dissonant symphony of desperation and pragmatism. The air hung thick with the acrid tang of burnt wiring and the earthy musk of the Ground Dwellers' ash-dusted cloaks. Flickering emergency lights cast jagged shadows across the cramped space, illuminating the uneasy alliance: Heart Pirates scrambled to clear debris from gutted control panels, while Ground Dwellers huddled around parchment maps spread across the floor, their fingers tracing paths through ink-smudged labyrinths of submerged ruins.
Ixtli stood rigid near the engine bay, his obsidian armor clashing against the Tang's steel walls. Penguin thrust a grease-streaked wrench into his hands, its weight foreign compared to the familiar heft of his macuahuitl. The warrior glared at the tool as though it might bite, his brow furrowed beneath the spiral sigil of ash and oil Tepec had painted there.
"Twist lefty-loosey, righty-tighty," Penguin quipped, wiping his hands on a rag. "Unless it's a reverse thread. Then… good luck!"
Ixtli's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod, bending over a loose valve with the cautious precision of a man defusing a bomb. Nearby, Xochi knelt beside Bepo, her scholar's hands fluttering over a cracked gearbox.
"These bolts—they're identical to the ones in Vulcan's Forge!" she exclaimed, comparing a rusted screw to a sketch in her codex. "See? The hexagonal design… our ancestors believed it channeled the Current's symmetry."
Bepo blinked, his ears twitching. "Uh… we just call them 'hex bolts.' But symmetry sounds nicer!"
At the makeshift command table—a repurposed storage crate littered with seaweed-choked blueprints—Law and Tepec stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their contrasting silhouettes sharp under the swaying lantern light. Law's finger jabbed at a map's coordinates, his voice a blade. "Your 'sacred tunnels' here—are they wide enough for the Tang's hull?"
Tepec's staff tapped the parchment, its carved serpent head glinting. "The Current carved those passages. They will bend… for a price."
A sudden tremor rattled the sub, sending tools clattering to the floor. The lanterns swung wildly, casting grotesque shadows that danced like the petrified figures in Xochitlán Plaza. Nenetl, crouched beside a shuddering pipe, yelped and clutched her Tlaloc effigy tighter.
"The beast," Tepec murmured, his voice swallowed by another groan from the depths. The sound was visceral, a subsonic rumble that vibrated in the crew's molars.
Marya, perched on a railing with Eternal Eclipse across her lap, smirked at the Ground Dwellers' pale faces. "Relax. If the big fish wakes up, I'll just turn it into mist confetti."
"No, you wont," Law snapped, shooting her a warning glare.
The tension broke as Shachi lobbed a ration bar at Uni, who fumbled it into Jean Bart's waiting palm. The helmsman tore into it with a grin. "Thanks for the appetizer, kid."
For a moment, the strange alchemy of shared purpose—and shared dread—softened the edges of distrust. Ixtli grudgingly accepted a canteen from Penguin. Xochi laughed outright when Bepo accidentally glued his paw to a resin patch. Even Law's stoic mask slipped as Tepec pointed out a hidden current route, his finger brushing the map with the reverence of a priest.
But beneath their feet, the Lago de la Serpiente shuddered again, longer this time. The water beyond the portholes seemed to pulse, as though the lake itself were a living lung drawing breath. Far below, in the lightless trenches where the Primordial Current coiled like a serpent, something shifted. A clawed limb, vast as a galley, flexed in the gloom. Stone pillars groaned as they were brushed aside. Ash-clouds billowed from the lakebed, swirling into shapes that resembled grasping hands.
"Did… did the lights just dim?" Uni whispered, staring at the flickering bulbs.
No one answered. The Ground Dwellers had gone still, their eyes wide and unblinking. Tepec's staff trembled faintly in his grip, its serpent carving now angled toward the hull—as if straining to face the depths.
"Captain," Bepo squeaked, his fur bristling. "The pressure sensors—they're spiking!"
Law's gaze met Marya's. For once, her smirk had vanished.
Outside, the water darkened, not with mist, but with something older.
The beast was not smiling anymore.
It was rising.