The warm, resin-scented air hung thick over the submarine's deck as Marya crouched beside the dazed mermaid. Fia shrank back slightly as the others approached, her magnificent tail curling defensively, scales catching the dappled sunlight like scattered gemstones. Her ocean-blue eyes, flecked with gold, darted nervously between the towering woman in the leather jacket, the crackling lynx-Mink, the unnervingly long-necked stranger, and the wobbling blue blob.
"Easy," Marya said, her voice a low rasp that cut through the gentle lap of waves against the hull. It wasn't warm, but it lacked its usual sharp edge. "Nobody's gonna hurt you. Name's Marya. What's yours?"
Before Fia could answer, Jelly Squish bounced forward with a cheerful "Bloop!", his gelatinous form jiggling mere inches from her face. "New fish friend! Shiny scales! Pretty!"
A startled giggle, light and musical as bubbles rising, escaped Fia's lips. The sound seemed to surprise her as much as it did the others. She blinked at Jelly, then cautiously met Marya's golden gaze. "F-Fia," she murmured, her voice soft as sea foam brushing sand. "My name is Fia."
"Nice to meet you, Fia," Marya stated simply. She gestured with a tilt of her head. "The walking lightning rod is Atlas Acuta. The tall one sketching everything on his rock is Galit Varuna. And the enthusiastic puddle is Jelly Squish." She paused, surveying the bizarre group crowded onto the small deck – the stoic swordsman, the sparking Mink, the coiled Urdhva scholar, the giggling jellyfish, and now a shipwrecked mermaid. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. "This motley crew is… well. We're heading to Sabaody."
Fia's eyes widened, hope flaring like sunlight through deep water. "Sabaody? So am I!" She pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, her tail fin giving an excited little flap that splashed seawater onto Atlas's boots. "I am looking for my family!"
He jumped back with a startled "Hey! Watch the voltage!" as blue sparks danced across his fur.
"Looking for?" Atlas asked, shaking the water off his paw, his usual cockiness tempered by curiosity. "Family picnic got swept away?"
The light in Fia's eyes dimmed. Her fingers traced a pattern on her shimmering scales. "Taken," she whispered, the word heavy as an anchor. "They were… taken."
Marya's sigh was a soft hiss of air escaping tight lips. She didn't need the details spelled out. The archipelago's dark underbelly was notorious. "Slavers," she muttered under her breath, the word tasting like rusted metal.
Fia nodded mutely, a single, glistening tear tracing a path down her pearlescent cheek.
Atlas's fur bristled, the static crackle intensifying into an angry buzz. "Scum-sucking bottom-feeders!" he snarled, his ears twitching.
Galit, who had been silently observing, his stylus paused on his volcanic glass slate, finally spoke, his voice measured. "A regrettably common predation upon your people. The archipelago's transient nature facilitates such… disappearances."
Marya studied Fia – the vulnerability, the quiet desperation beneath the shimmering beauty. Another complication. Another weight. Yet, those wide, gold-flecked eyes held an innocence that tugged at something buried deep beneath her pragmatic shell. "You're welcome to come with us," she stated abruptly, cutting through the tension. "Since we're headed the same way." Her gaze, practical and assessing, dropped pointedly to the magnificent, but decidedly aquatic, tail fin draped across her deck. "But… how exactly do you plan on getting around on land?"
Fia's expression shifted from sorrowful to brightly determined in a heartbeat. "Oh! That's easy!" With a soft, rippling sound like silk unfurling underwater, the vibrant coral-and-orange tail moved. Not a twitch, but a fundamental transformation. Scales seemed to melt and flow, the fan-like flukes dissolving inward. The mass seamlessly divided, reshaping, lengthening, resolving into two perfectly formed, slender legs. The shimmering scales faded, leaving behind smooth, pearlescent skin dusted with those faint, opalescent speckles, now running down her calves. She wiggled her toes experimentally against the cool, wet metal. "See?"
The reaction was immediate.
Atlas choked on air, his fur standing completely on end, emitting a shower of harmless blue sparks. "Whoa! Did your tail just—?!"
Galit's stylus clattered onto his slate, his long neck snapping forward like a released spring, emerald eyes wide with intense scientific fascination. "Remarkable! Instantaneous morphological adaptation! The cellular restructuring must be—"
Jelly bounced straight up into the air with an ecstatic "BLOOP-SPLAT!" landing beside Fia's new feet. "Feet! Wobbly like me?"
Marya simply stared. Her stoic mask remained, but one dark eyebrow arched high towards her hairline. A slow, genuine smirk spread across her face, the kind usually reserved for particularly nonsensical battle tactics or Bepo's earnest flailing. "Well," she drawled, the smirk deepening. "That was… unexpected. And handy."
Galit finally recovered enough to retrieve his stylus, scribbling furiously. "Exceedingly handy. And biologically fascinating. The energy expenditure alone…"
Marya shook her head, the smirk lingering as she straightened up, the Heart Pirates insignia stark on her leather jacket. "Alright, handy-feet. Can you stand?" She offered Fia a hand. It wasn't a gentle gesture, more like a solid anchor being thrown. Fia grasped it, her grip surprisingly firm despite her delicate appearance, and allowed Marya to pull her upright onto her new legs. She wobbled slightly, unused to the solid deck beneath bare soles.
"You good?" Marya asked, releasing her hand once Fia seemed steady.
Fia nodded, taking a tentative step. "A little shaky. But I'll manage! Thank you, Marya."
Marya gave a curt nod. "Don't mention it. And try not to trip over Jelly." She turned towards the conning tower hatch. "Come on inside. You look like you tangled with a whirlpool. I've got some spare clothes that might fit. Less… shimmer." She gestured vaguely at Fia's iridescent wrap. "Denim shorts, a shirt. Footwear might be tricky, but we'll figure it out. Can't have you wandering Sabaody looking like you just won a beauty pageant at Fishman Island. Draws the wrong kind of attention." Her tone was practical, almost brusque, but the offer was clear. The deck, now crowded with an even more improbable crew, seemed to hum with the promise of tangled roots, desperate searches, and the ever-present danger lurking beneath Sabaody's bubble-strewn beauty. Adventure, Marya thought with another internal sigh, was getting decidedly crowded.
The submarine slid into the shadowed embrace of a colossal mangrove root at Grove 33, its smooth bark thick with emerald moss and clusters of barnacles like rough grey pearls. Sunlight filtered down in dusty shafts, illuminating the quiet water lapping against the hidden inlet Marya had navigated them towards. The air hung heavy with the sweet, sticky scent of tree resin and damp earth, punctuated by the distant pop-pop-pop of bubbles bursting somewhere in the canopy high above.
Marya secured the mooring lines with quick, practiced tugs, the worn leather of her jacket creaking softly. From an inner pocket, she retrieved two items: a small, folded piece of paper that pulsed with a faint, living warmth – a Vivre Card – and a sealed letter bearing a wax insignia resembling a stylized ax and mountain. She held them up, the Vivre Card twitching slightly towards the dense tangle of roots inland.
Atlas, perched on the sub's railing and sniffing the resinous air, tilted his head. "Whatcha got there, Swordswoman? Treasure map?"
"Better," Marya stated, her voice a low rasp. "Directions. This," she tapped the Vivre Card, "will lead us to a ship coater. Essential if we intend to dive deep." She slid the items back into her pocket.
Fia, now clad in borrowed denim shorts and a slightly oversized casual shirt tucked in, her pearlescent legs surprisingly steady on the dock's worn planks, brightened. "A ship coater? Then you are going to Fishman Island?" Hope shimmered in her ocean-blue eyes.
Marya's golden gaze met Fia's, calm and unreadable. "Yes. Looking for something." Her answer was deliberately vague, a wall thrown up by habit.
Fia stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the wood. "Maybe… maybe I can help you find it? I know the island, the currents…"
A faint smirk touched Marya's lips, a rare crack in her stoicism. "Maybe. But first," she nodded towards the Vivre Card's direction, "we need to find this Reighley person. Supposedly the best coater around."
"Reighley!" Jelly Squish bounced excitedly on the dock, his gelatinous form jiggling like blue sea foam. "Bloop! Remember Elbaph? Big rocks! Loud laughs! Colon with the funny hat!" His starry eyes sparkled. "Scopper Gabon said! Said Reighley puts the shiny bubbles on! Best bubbles!"
Galit, who had been silently observing the grove's structure – sketching the root formations and noting the faint, almost imperceptible hum emanating from the giant tree itself on his volcanic glass slate – turned his sharp emerald gaze towards Fia. His long neck held its characteristic loose S-curve. "And your family, Fia?" he asked, his tone analytical yet lacking its usual sharp edge. "Do you have any leads? Any place within the Archipelago they might have been taken?"
Fia's hopeful expression crumpled. Her head dropped, coral-pink hair falling forward to hide her face. She shook it slowly, a single tear splashing onto the weathered wood between her bare toes. "No," she whispered, the word thick with despair. "Just… gone. Vanished near the groves."
Marya, who had been scanning the towering mangrove trunks nearby, noted the large, carved number '33' on the nearest one. "Remember the number," she instructed, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Grove 33. Easy to get turned around in this root-maze." She pushed off from the sub, her tall boots thudding firmly on the dock.
Galit looked from the distraught mermaid back towards the dense path the Vivre Card indicated. His stylus paused. "Perhaps," he offered, the words sounding slightly stiff but earnest, "while we search for this ship coater… we might also find traces of those who took your kin. The Archipelago thrives on movement. Someone may have seen something."
Fia looked up, a fragile spark rekindling in her gold-flecked eyes. Marya simply adjusted the collar of her leather jacket, the Heart insignia stark against the black. "The Vivre Card points that way," she said, nodding inland where the mangrove roots formed a shadowed tunnel carpeted with luminous fungi. "Stay sharp. Sabaody's beauty hides more thorns than a sea urchin. And try not to wander off, Jelly."
"Bloop! Stick together!" Jelly chirped, morphing one hand into a cartoonish mitten to give a wobbly salute. Atlas cracked his knuckles, blue sparks dancing briefly. "Lead on, Swordswoman. Let's find this bubble-blower and maybe crack some slaver skulls along the way." The unlikely group – the guarded swordsman, the sparking Mink, the coiled scholar, the hopeful mermaid, and the bouncing jellyfish – stepped off the dock and into the dappled, resin-scented shadows of Grove 33, the living card in Marya's pocket pulling them deeper into the archipelago's tangled heart. The quest for answers, coating, and family had officially begun, surrounded by the ever-present, dreamlike pop of ascending bubbles.
The air in the Grove 33 grew thicker as they ventured deeper, the sweet resin scent now layered with the tang of saltwater decay and something sharper—unwashed bodies and cheap liquor. Sunlight struggled through the dense canopy, casting long, twisted shadows that seemed to writhe across the gnarled roots underfoot. Bubbles drifted lazily upward, some bursting with soft pops that did little to mask the distant sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glass.
Atlas sniffed the air, his fur prickling with static. "Smells like a barfight fermenting in a seaweed barrel. You know this place, Swordswoman? Been here before?" He dodged a low-hanging vine thick with rubbery leaves.
Marya navigated the root-tangled path with economical steps, her boots crunching on dried husks of giant mangrove seeds. Her golden eyes scanned the shifting shadows. "Yes. With my father. Briefly with the Hearts." She paused, watching Jelly bounce perilously close to a murky puddle reflecting the green-filtered light. "Long story. Point is—" She stopped, turning to survey the group: Atlas crackling with restless energy, Galit coiled like a watchful sea snake, Fia shrinking into her borrowed shirt, and Jelly wobbling with starry-eyed oblivion. A sigh escaped her. "Just… try to be inconspicuous. Blend in." Her gaze lingered on Galit's teal Riptide Cloak, Atlas's sparking fur, Jelly's shimmering azure form, and Fia's pearlescent skin. A dry, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. "Actually, scratch that. Just try not to get into trouble."
"Adventure!" Jelly chirped, morphing his hand into a tiny, wobbly flag.
Marya pinched the bridge of her nose. "Exactly the kind of trouble I mean."
The pulsing Vivre Card in her pocket tugged them relentlessly towards the grove's seedier heart. The paths narrowed, the makeshift buildings clinging to the massive roots growing cruder – weathered wood patched with rusted metal, windows covered in grimy sailcloth. The laughter grew louder, rawer. Fia edged closer to Galit, her knuckles white where she clutched the hem of her oversized shirt. Galit's long neck remained in its loose S-curve, but his sharp emerald eyes darted constantly, missing nothing – the shifty-eyed traders hawking suspiciously glowing vials, the hulking figures with too many visible scars lounging in shadowed doorways, the barred windows of shops displaying unsettlingly empty chains and collars. His stylus moved silently over his slate, sketching sightlines and potential hazards.
Finally, the Vivre Card went still, its pull unwavering. Marya halted. Before them stood a structure that pulsed with garish energy. Flickering neon signs, powered by crackling dials, buzzed and spat, advertising "Lucky Sevens" and "Dragon's Dice." The raucous noise spilled from its open doors – the clatter of chips, the groan of losing gamblers, the sharp bark of dealers, all underscored by the tinny wail of off-key music. Gaudy paint peeled from its facade, revealing layers of older, darker advertisements beneath.
Marya tilted her head back, observing the establishment with a calm that felt like polished obsidian. "Okay then," she murmured, her voice flat. "Reighley's inside that."
Fia froze, her ocean-blue eyes wide with apprehension. She tugged nervously at her denim shorts. "Um… Marya? Are you… are you going in there?"
Marya's hand rested casually on her cocked hip. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "I am. But you," her gaze swept over Fia's fearful face, then to Galit's watchful intensity, "aren't obligated to follow." She gestured subtly towards the grim shops lining the adjacent roots – places with barred windows displaying manacles and shock-collars, their very silence more menacing than the gambling den's noise. "This isn't a place for… hopeful searches."
Galit's stylus stopped. He followed Marya's gesture, his emerald gaze hardening as it took in the stark, brutal purpose of those silent storefronts. He looked down at Fia, her coral-pink hair seeming to lose its vibrancy in the oppressive gloom. "She is correct," Galit stated, his voice retaining its analytical cadence but gaining a layer of firm resolve. He stepped subtly between Fia and the nearest slave shop. "My expertise lies in observation and analysis. Searching for information within this… environment… aligns with my skillset. I will accompany Fia." He met Marya's eyes, a silent understanding passing between them – the scholar recognizing the swordsman's need to proceed unimpeded, Marya acknowledging the unspoken offer to shield the vulnerable.
A flicker of approval, swiftly masked, crossed Marya's face. She gave a curt nod. "Keep your eyes open. And your neck coiled."
Atlas, who'd been sizing up a burly bouncer near the gambling den's entrance, snorted. "Yeah, listen to Blades, Noodle-Neck! Don't get lost down some dark alley!"
Galit's head snapped around, his neck tightening almost imperceptibly. He fixed Atlas with a glare that could etch volcanic glass. "Focus on not getting thrown out of the 'fizzy pond,' Spotty. Or better yet, choke on a fur ball." He didn't wait for a retort, turning back to Fia. "Come. We start there." He pointed his stylus towards a slightly less foreboding stall selling dubious navigation charts, its owner a wizened old man squinting suspiciously. "Information flows where commerce lingers, even here."
Marya watched them move off, Galit's tall frame a protective shadow beside Fia's tentative steps. She then turned back to the garish maw of the gambling den, the noise washing over her like a physical wave. Jelly bounced eagerly beside her. "Shiny lights! Fizzy sounds!"
"Stay close, Jelly," Marya ordered, her voice low. "And try not to look like… well, you." She adjusted her leather jacket, the Heart insignia stark against the grimy neon glow, and stepped through the doorway, the din swallowing her whole. The scent of stale smoke, spilled rum, cheap perfume, and desperation hit her like a wall. Adventure, she thought, pushing past a groaning man slumped over a dice table, had officially plunged into the belly of the beast.
The transition from Sabaody's oppressive gloom to the gambling den's interior was like diving into a fever dream. Stale smoke hung in visible blue-gray layers, stinging the eyes. The roar was physical—a wall of sound built from rattling dice cups, the clatter of rainbow-shell chips, drunken bellows of triumph, and the wail of a badly tuned snail-horn band in the corner. Waitresses in frayed sequined dresses wove through the chaos like battered moths, trays piled with frothing tankards and greasy fried sea-snake skewers balanced precariously overhead. The air tasted of salt, spilled rum, cheap floral perfume, and the sour tang of desperation.
Atlas wrinkled his muzzle, fur crackling defensively. "Whoa! Where's the fire? Or did someone set the rum barrels alight?" He ducked as a flying peanut shell whizzed past his ear, launched from a raucous card game.
Marya didn't flinch. Her golden eyes swept the room, methodical and calm, cutting through the sensory storm. Her Observation Haki, a subtle thrum beneath her skin, wasn't searching for threats—it was drawn. Like a compass needle finding true north, her awareness snapped towards a corner table bathed in the sickly green glow of a malfunctioning bubble-lamp. There, amidst the swirling chaos, sat an island of unnerving stillness.
An older man, broad-shouldered with short-cropped silver hair and a neatly goatee, hunched over a simple dice game. His worn, open-front shirt revealed a faded scar snaking across powerful shoulder. He held the worn leather dice cup with a relaxed grip, his knuckles like weathered driftwood. He wasn't ignoring the room; he seemed to exist outside its frantic energy. The noisy patrons instinctively gave his table a wider berth, their boisterousness dampening slightly as they passed. The sheer, quiet intensity radiating from him wasn't loud, but to Marya's honed senses, it was a beacon—a deep, calm ocean current cutting through a churning storm. Rayleigh.
"Hey, Blades?" Atlas nudged her arm, nearly getting a static shock from her leather jacket. "Where we headed? Bar looks promising... if you like watered-down swill." He eyed a passing tray of murky ale.
Marya didn't answer. Her gaze remained locked on the silver-haired man. He hadn't looked up. He simply shook the dice cup with a soft, rhythmic shush-shush-shush, his focus entirely on the worn bone dice within, as if they held the secrets of the Grand Line itself. Without a word, she started moving, weaving through the throng with the fluid grace of mist parting around obstacles. Her tall boots navigated sticky patches on the wooden floor and avoided outstretched, drunken legs with unconscious ease.
"Oi! Wait up!" Atlas hissed, dodging a stumbling gambler.
Jelly, trying his best to "not look like Jelly," had flattened himself into a wobbling blue puddle shape, rolling clumsily after Marya like a misplaced beach ball, occasionally letting out a muffled "Bloop?" when someone stepped too close.
They carved a path through the din. A burly pirate covered in barnacle-like growths bellowed over a lost bet. A sharp-dressed dealer with eyes like chips of flint expertly palmed chips. A waitress shrieked as a groping hand strayed too far, dumping a tray of drinks onto a fur-clad giant who roared in outrage. Marya ignored it all, her path unwavering towards the quiet corner, the pulse of Rayleigh's immense, contained presence pulling her forward. Atlas stuck close, his fur sparking nervously now, sensing the shift in Marya's focus. Jelly finally rematerialized upright beside her knee, starry eyes wide as he took in the strangely calm man at the table they were rapidly approaching. The cacophony of the den seemed to recede slightly the closer they got, replaced by the tense, expectant silence radiating from Marya Zaleska as she finally stopped, mere feet from the Dark King's Dice Game.