The silence of Kuraigana was a living thing, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant, lonely cry of some unseen carrion bird. Dracule Mihawk, the Greatest Swordsman in the World, knelt amidst a row tomato plants, a simple watering can in his hand. His movements were economical, almost ritualistic. Beside him, the ghost-girl Perona knelt, yanking up weeds with more enthusiasm than skill, her pigtails bobbing.
"These stupid things have more roots than a Hollow has complaints," she grumbled, tossing a fistful of vines over her shoulder.
Mihawk's hands stilled. He didn't tense; it was more a sudden, absolute cessation of movement, like a predator catching a scent on the wind. His head tilted a fraction, his hawk-like eyes narrowing as he gazed toward the island's lone, rocky cove.
Perona noticed the change instantly. "What? What is it?" she asked, her voice losing its whine, becoming sharp.
Slowly, Mihawk rose to his full height, setting the watering can down with a quiet finality. The air around him seemed to grow colder, sharper. "It appears," he said, his voice a low rumble that barely disturbed the oppressive quiet, "we have company."
Inside the sleek, drifting submarine, Aurélie's voice was calm, cutting through the nervous energy. "We have arrived. Prepare to disembark."
Ember clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We're here! We're here! Yay! New place to play!" Her glee was a stark, unsettling contrast to the tension tightening the shoulders of everyone else.
Bianca, clutching a toolkit like a security blanket, attempted to break the mood. "So, like, maybe he isn't home? Maybe he's out... sword fighting... somewhere else? World's biggest swordsman must have, like, a super busy social calendar, right?"
Aurélie stood from the pilot's seat, her silver hair swaying. "There is no point in avoiding the inevitable." She walked past the nervous group with the unflappable grace of a queen navigating a crowded court. "We will dock the sub, ascertain if the necessary components can be sourced locally, and, if not, make the call. That is the objective." She reached the hatch and began turning the heavy locking wheel.
Charlie and Bianca exchanged a wide-eyed look. Bianca just shrugged, a gesture of helpless resignation.
Kuro sighed, adjusting his spectacles. The gold chain glinted in the dim light. "A direct approach. How... bold. This may not end favorably."
Aurélie ignored him. With a hiss of equalizing pressure, the hatch swung open. Gray, misty light flooded the cabin, carrying with it the damp, mineral scent of the island. Ember didn't wait, squeezing past Aurélie and hopping down onto the damp, dark sand with a gleeful skip.
One by one, they filed out, their footsteps unnaturally loud in the consuming silence. The cove was small, surrounded by jagged black cliffs that seemed to claw at the perpetually overcast sky. The water was dark and still.
But it was the landscape beyond the beach that stole their breath. The island was a study in monochrome despair. The ground was hard-baked clay, cracked and barren. What trees remained were skeletal, twisted things, their branches like gnarled fingers against the gloom. A thick, low-hanging mist drifted through the ruins of a colossal castle that dominated the highest swirling peak, its broken towers piercing the clouds. The air hummed with a faint, metallic tang, the aftermath of some unimaginable violence that had scoured the land centuries ago.
Bianca hugged herself, her usual chatter subdued. "Like... I know Marya said this place was super gloomy, but like... I had no idea. It's like a party for sad ghosts got cancelled."
Charlie pushed his spectacles up his nose, his academic curiosity piqued despite his fear. "Ahem! The geological and botanical evidence suggests a singular, catastrophic event. The vitrification of this rockface, the specific pattern of arboreal decay... it speaks of a power both immense and terribly focused."
Aurélie ignored their commentary, her compound eyes taking in every shadow, every potential threat as she began walking toward a narrow path that led up from the cove. Ember skipped along behind her, humming a tuneless nursery rhyme.
Souta moved past the stunned Bianca and Charlie, his footsteps silent on the grim soil. "Don't get left behind," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried a clear warning.
They followed, a mismatched group of six stepping into the Gothic gloom of Kuraigana Island, utterly unaware that from the heights of his castle, two pairs of eyes—one gold and piercing, the other large and curious—were already watching their every move. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the first, inevitable clash of steel.
*****
The small, solemn parade wound its way through the quiet backstreets of Shelton, a stark contrast to the cheerful main thoroughfare. Galit and Riggs bore the weight of the stretcher, their breath pluming in the frigid air, while Natalie walked beside them, holding the IV bag aloft with a practiced, steady hand. The clear fluid within seemed to catch the weak winter light, a tiny lifeline against the vast white silence. Marya walked slightly ahead, her black coat a moving shadow, her golden eyes constantly scanning their route.
The crunch of snow under their boots was the only sound for a long moment, broken by Natalie's exasperated sigh. "Where exactly are we going?" she asked, her voice tight with a mixture of professional concern and personal frustration.
"Almost there!" Chessa chirped from the front, skipping effortlessly through the deep powder that the others labored through. Her cheerful tone only seemed to amplify Natalie's anxiety.
Natalie shot a look at Marya, her sharp blue eyes narrowed. "You realize a child is guiding us to a renowned physician on a potentially lethal mountain climb."
Marya cut her eyes at the doctor, her expression cool and unreadable. "You are not obligated to accompany us. Feel free to return to your… rotation."
Natalie scoffed, her grip tightening on the IV bag. "I am not letting you off that easy. I have questions you are going to answer."
From his position at the front of the stretcher, Galit watched their interaction, his long neck tilted in quiet observation, his emerald eyes missing nothing.
Marya was about to offer a retort when Chessa, who had skipped further ahead, suddenly spun around, her arms spread wide. "We're here!"
They had arrived at a small, run-down cottage tucked away from the main lane. Its roof was heavy with snow, and a sturdy overhang sheltered a massive, beautifully crafted sled. Natalie's gaze swept over the modest, solitary dwelling. Her physician's mind, always assessing, noted the lack of smoke from the chimney, the single set of small footprints leading to the door.
"Chessa," Natalie began, her voice softening with a dawning, horrible suspicion. "Are your parents home?"
Chessa didn't even break her stride as she scurried to pull the sled out. "Nope!" she said, her voice bright and matter-of-fact. "The old king killed them for being doctors and helping people without permission."
The statement landed like a physical blow in the cold air. Natalie froze, her face draining of color. She stared at the girl, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening finality. "An orphan," she muttered to herself, a whisper of pained realization. "Living on her own."
Marya, her own guarded expression momentarily unreadable, moved to the sled and opened a small door on its side, creating a space for them to slide Atlas onto the long, cushioned bench within.
Chessa, seemingly oblivious to the weight her words had carried, moved a few paces away, put two fingers to her lips, and let out a piercing, melodic whistle that echoed against the silent peaks.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a distant barking answered. It grew louder, accompanied by the thunderous sound of something very large and very fast approaching. A plume of snow erupted from behind a drift, and a massive husky, the size of a large draft horse, came bounding into view. His coat was a thick, magnificent explosion of grey and white fur, his eyes bright blue slits of joy, his tongue lolling out as he charged straight for Chessa.
With a happy yelp, the giant dog launched himself, planting his large paws on Chessa's shoulders and knocking her gently into the soft snow, covering her face in enthusiastic, slobbery licks while she giggled uncontrollably.
"I missed you too, Polar! But I was only gone for a few hours!" she laughed, trying to push his massive head away. Polar answered with a deep, happy 'woof!' that seemed to vibrate through the ground.
"Marya, don't!" Natalie cautioned, her medical instincts flaring. "It could be—"
But Marya didn't hear her. The sight of the enormous, fluffy animal had completely short-circuited her usual stoic composure. A transformation came over her. The guarded sharpness in her golden eyes melted away, replaced by a wide, genuine wonder. A soft, almost girlish smile touched her lips, something Natalie had never seen before.
"Is this Polar?" Marya asked, her voice several octaves higher than usual, filled with a warmth that was entirely foreign to it.
Chessa, still half-buried in happy dog, giggled. "Yes!"
Polar, hearing his name, turned his massive head. He gave a joyful bark, his tail wagging like a frantic metronome, and bounded over to Marya with the same earth-shaking enthusiasm.
Instead of recoiling, Marya stood in the snow as he reached her. He licked a stripe from her chin to her forehead, and instead of wiping it away, she buried her face in the incredibly soft fur of his neck, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. "Oh, you're so cute!" she cooed, her voice muffled by his fur.
From inside her coat pocket, a muffled, wobbly voice chimed in. "New.. .uffy… 'riend."
Marya looked over Polar's shoulder at Chessa, her face alight with a pure, unguarded joy. "He is so cute!"
Chessa stood, brushing the snow from her patchwork parka. "He likes you."
Natalie could only stare, her medical warnings dying in her throat, replaced by sheer, utter bewilderment at the sight of the formidable Dracule Marya Zaleska cuddling a giant dog.
"We better get going," Natalie called out, her voice a little strained.
"Okay!" Chessa chirped. "Come on, boy, let me hook you up." With practiced ease, she guided the excited Polar to the front of the sled and began securing him into a heavy-duty harness.
Once everyone was settled in the sled—Atlas secured on the bench, the others finding handholds on the sides—Chessa took her position at the rear. She looked back at her passengers, her winter-sky eyes sparkling. "Hang on tight! Polar is super fast!"
Natalie opened her mouth, likely to ask for a more detailed safety briefing, but Chessa didn't wait. She leaned forward, gripped the handles, and called out, "MUSH! MUSH!"
The words were still hanging in the air when Polar leaped forward. The force was immense, a sudden, gut-lurching surge of power that snatched Natalie's unspoken words right from her throat and sent the sled flying across the snow, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of white powder and the sound of Marya's delighted, uncharacteristic laughter.
The world became a blur of white and evergreen. Natalie's screech was torn away by the wind as Polar's powerful legs pistoned, launching the sled over a snowdrift with a stomach-dropping lurch. They landed with a jarring thump that rattled teeth, then immediately swerved, the runners carving a spray of powder as Chessa leaned hard to avoid an ancient, gnarled pine. The sled tilted onto one runner for a heart-stopping second before crashing back down, bouncing over hidden roots and rocks with a violence that made Natalie white-knuckle the handhold, her face pale.
A movement flickered in the periphery. From a distant ridge, a large group of giant rabbit-like creatures with powerful hind legs and sharp, intelligent eyes paused their foraging. Their long ears swiveled in unison toward the sound of the rushing sled. As one, they turned, their noses twitching. A spark of territorial challenge lit their eyes, and with a series of high-pitched chitters, they gave chase, a flowing, hopping tide of white fur.
Chessa glanced back, a wild grin splitting her face. "Ooh, lapahn ! Come on, boy!" she yelled over the roaring wind. "Let's show 'em who's the fastest on this mountain!"
Polar let out a deep, enthusiastic bark that was more felt than heard and surged forward, his muscles coiling and releasing with renewed intensity. The landscape began to streak past even faster.
"This doesn't seem very safe!" Natalie cried out, her voice thin against the gale.
Galit, his long neck coiled to absorb the shocks, raised a brow. His voice was calm, almost amused. "We are in a bit of a hurry, miss. And the child appears to be… well practiced."
Natalie attempted another protest, but it died in her throat as the pack of lapahn closed the distance with astonishing speed. They flowed alongside the sled, a seething, silent escort of bouncing white bodies and glittering black eyes, keeping pace effortlessly for a hundred yards before, as if bored, they peeled away and vanished back into the forest.
"What… what were those?" Natalie asked, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Those are lapahn !" Chessa called back, her voice cheerful despite the near-miss. "They can be real territorial. You don't wanna get stuck out here with 'em when they're all grouped up. Best just to keep it moving, right, boy?" Polar offered another agreeing bark, his pace never faltering.
They burst into a wide clearing where a small herd of shaggy, antlered deer were grazing on lichen. At the sight of the thundering sled and the giant dog, the deer scattered, leaping away with impossible grace, their hooves kicking up puffs of snow. The sled flew across the open expanse, a moment of relative peace before plunging back into the thick woods, where it began a rollercoaster ride through the foothills, swooping down into shallow ravines and shooting up the other side.
Marya, her initial delight at the ride settling into a focused calm, kept her eyes on the passing wilderness. Her gaze, sharp and observant, caught on an oddity in the distance. Near the tree line of a neighboring slope stood a large, dark shape. It was silhouetted against the snow, vaguely humanoid but crowned with a massive, intricate set of antlers. It was perfectly still, watching them.
As Marya's eyes locked onto it, the figure seemed to… shimmer. Its form wavered, the antlers dissolving for a split second into something else—a tangle of bare branches, perhaps—before the shape turned and melted into the forest shadows with an unnatural speed.
Just a trick of the light, Marya thought, a faint frown on her lips. The mountain was full of strange things. Dismissing it, she settled back into the rhythm of the sled. The constant, thunderous motion, the cold air whipping past, and the residual warmth from burying her face in Polar's fur began to lull her. The adrenaline faded, and a deep weariness, held at bay by sheer will, crept over her. Her eyes grew heavy, the lashes fluttering against her cheeks. Against her will, she began to doze off.
The world of snow and sound vanished.
She was standing in a place of absolute silence and profound dark. Before her hung a sphere, and within that sphere was a void—a shifting, living darkness that was not empty but full. It was a seething mass of countless eyes, all lidless and unblinking, all fixed on her.
"You deviate from the path." The voice was not a sound but a pressure, a vibration that shook the very fabric of this non-space. It boomed from the sphere, which pulsed with a sickly light with every syllable.
Marya turned slowly, her golden eyes wide. "The path?" she asked, her own voice small and confused in the immense silence.
The void within the sphere seemed to convulse, pressing against its confines. "Do not play the fool. This is a deviation."
A spark of her familiar defiance ignited. "This is necessary!" she snapped, her confusion hardening into resolve. "He is needed and can be—"
"Find another!" the voice interrupted, a wave of psychic force slamming into her, though she stood her ground.
"No!" Marya's retort was sharp, final.
The void pressed harder against the sphere, the countless eyes narrowing in unison. "The Death Surgeon's constraints will not hold forever. Keep to the task."
Marya glared at the abomination, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "This is the task! A mink must give willingly and—"
"My patience is limited!" the voice roared, the sphere shuddering violently. "Remember the terms!"
Marya drew a breath to shout back, to fight—but her eyes snapped open.
The world rushed back in a roar of wind, the smell of pine and dog, and the bone-jarring rattle of the sled. A warm, thick trickle ran from her nostril over her lip. She raised a gloved hand and wiped it away, her fingers coming away stained crimson.
Natalie, who had been watching the unconscious Atlas, glanced over and her eyes went wide with professional alarm. "Marya! You're bleeding!"
Marya looked at the red smudge on her black glove, her expression returning to its default state of stoic calm, though a shadow lingered deep in her eyes. "It's nothing," she said, her voice flat. She turned her face back into the stinging wind, letting the cold freeze the evidence away, her mind echoing with the sound of a voice that was not a voice, and the weight of terms she could not forget.