Polar's powerful gait slowed to a heavy, panting halt, his great chest heaving like a bellows. Steam rose in thick clouds from his fur, frosting the air around him. They had stopped before a massive, ancient structure: a stone archway framing the beginning of a steep cable railway that stretched up the mountainside, disappearing into the low-hanging clouds. A large, open-sided cable car, weathered by decades of snow and wind, waited on the platform.
"We're here!" Chessa announced, hopping down from the sled with practiced ease. She immediately began unbuckling the complex harness from Polar.
Galit, his keen eyes scanning the precarious-looking ascent, was the first to voice the question. "Where exactly is 'here'?"
"This is the Drum Castle Ropeway," Chessa explained, her small fingers working deftly at a stubborn clasp. "We'll take the Trani the rest of the way up."
Marya was the first to step off the sled, her boots sinking into the fresh powder. She walked over to Polar, her usual guarded expression softening. She buried her hand once more in the incredibly thick, warm fur of his neck. "What will he do?" she asked, her voice carrying a genuine note of concern.
Chessa finished with the last buckle and gave Polar an affectionate shove. "Don't worry, he can take care of himself. He'll come when I call for him. Won't you, boy?"
Polar responded with a deep, affirming bark and a vigorous shake that sent a shower of melted snow flying. As Riggs, Galit, and Natalie carefully maneuvered the stretcher bearing Atlas onto the waiting cable car, Polar turned and, with one last bark over his shoulder, bounded off into the thick evergreen forest, his grey and white form vanishing between the trees.
"See you soon!" Chessa called after him, waving. "Don't get into too much trouble!" Another distant bark echoed back through the silent woods.
From the depths of Marya's coat pocket, a muffled, wobbly voice sighed, "…y …uzzy….riend."
Riggs stood outside the cable car, staring up at the dauntingly steep cable, then down at the peculiar mechanism attached to it—a set of pedals and a seat, like a bizarre airborne bicycle. He scratched his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. "How does this thing work?"
Chessa pointed at the bike seat. "Someone has to ride it and pedal us up."
Riggs cocked his head, a look of dawning comprehension mixed with utter disbelief on his face. "This thing?" he asked, walking over and giving the pedal an experimental poke with his foot.
"Yup!" Chessa said, already stepping onto the Trani's platform.
With a shrug that was pure bravado, Riggs swung his leg over the seat. "Okay," he declared, settling his feet on the pedals and gripping the handles. "I think I can do this. It's just like a really, really tall bike."
Marya and Chessa stepped onto the car, and with a grunt of effort, Riggs began to pedal. The mechanism engaged with a loud, protesting clunk , and the Trani lurched forward before beginning a slow, steady, grinding ascent up the cable.
As they rose, the world fell away beneath them, revealing a breathtaking panorama of Drum Island. The air grew thinner and colder, and the sounds of the forest faded into a profound, windy silence.
Galit, his analytical mind always working, gazed out at the bizarre, cylindrical mountains that surrounded them. "The geology here is… unique," he commented. "Their shape is unnatural."
Natalie, holding Atlas's IV bag steady, nodded. "It's a byproduct of the soil composition. They're closer to petrified trees than they are to actual mountains."
Marya, who had been quietly observing the distinct, flat-topped peaks, raised a brow. "Trees?" she said, her curiosity piqued. "They look like they might have been cut."
Galit turned his sharp gaze on her. "You actually believe they are trees?"
A faint, knowing smirk touched Marya's lips. "Believe it or not, I have seen trees bigger than these. But this… this looks like it was part of a massive forest once upon a time." Her golden eyes scanned the horizon, seeing not rock, but the ghost of an impossible woodland. She looked to Natalie. "You said this island has unique properties."
Natalie nodded, falling into the comfortable rhythm of academic explanation. "Yes. There are incredibly high concentrations of pyrobloin here. The element facilitates the growth of unique flora, fungi, and fauna. It's truly remarkable, considering the harsh climate."
Marya's brow furrowed. "Pyrobloin," she muttered, the word tasting familiar and significant.
Galit's head tilted. "Isn't that the mineral found in sea prism stone? And in the island clouds of the Sky Islands?"
"The very same," Natalie confirmed. "There are large deposits of it throughout the island's crust."
Galit's emerald eyes narrowed in thought. "How would such a rare element be so concentrated in one place?"
Natalie shrugged. "No one really knows. It's one of the island's great mysteries. But it could explain the… otherworldly qualities of some of its native species."
Their speculative conversation was cut short as the Trani gave a final, shuddering clunk and came to a halt. Chessa hopped off. "We're here!"
On the bicycle seat, Riggs slumped forward, his chest heaving, sweat freezing on his forehead despite the cold. He panted, attempting to catch his breath. "Next time…," he wheezed, "…someone else… gets a turn…"
They had arrived at the top of the world. Before them, carved into the very peak of the mountain, stood the imposing, dark stone edifice of Drum Castle, its spires piercing the low-hanging clouds. The air was thin and sharp, and the silence was absolute, broken only by the mournful sigh of the wind and Riggs's ragged breathing. Their destination, and the answers they sought, lay behind its ancient doors.
The silence at the summit was a physical presence, thick and heavy, broken only by the weary rasp of Riggs's breathing and the mournful wind whipping around the stone spires of Drum Castle. The structure itself was a brutalist extension of the mountain peak, all sharp angles and dark, weather-beaten rock that seemed to absorb the weak sunlight. With coordinated effort, they unloaded Atlas from the Trani, the stretcher poles groaning under his weight as they carried him toward the massive, iron-banded doors.
Galit was the first to try the handle. It refused to budge. He put his shoulder to the weathered wood, but it was like pushing against the mountain itself.
Chessa peered at the imposing entrance. "Huh. Locked tight. Looks like she isn't here."
Marya's golden eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration breaking through her calm facade. A low curse, barely a whisper, was stolen by the wind. Time was a luxury they did not have.
Natalie checked the IV bag, her expression grim. "We're going to need to change this soon. It's our last one."
"I know," Marya said, her voice tight. Her gaze swept over their shivering group and the unconscious Mink. "We can't wait out here. It's too cold."
"What do you suggest we—" Natalie began, but her question died in her throat.
Before her eyes, Marya's form dissolved. She didn't fade or blur; she simply unraveled into a stream of pale, grey mist that slipped through the infinitesimal gap between the double doors with a soft, sighing sound. It was a disconcerting, silent magic.
On the other side, in the cavernous, dark lobby of the castle, the mist coalesced back into Marya's solid form. The air inside was still and frigid, smelling of old dust, dried herbs, and stone. She took a step toward the heavy locking bar, her boots silent on the flagstones.
Then, it hit her.
A pain, sharp and absolute, lanced through her chest as if an invisible hand had reached inside her and clenched her heart. A strangled gasp escaped her lips. Her knees buckled, hitting the cold stone with a jarring crack. She doubled over, one hand clawing at her sternum, the other splaying out to keep herself from collapsing entirely. Warm blood, thick and metallic-tasting, trickled from her nose, splattering darkly on the dusty floor.
"You defy." The words weren't heard; they were felt, a corrosive pressure inside her skull.
Wheezing, she forced the words out through gritted teeth, her voice a raw scrape. "Killing me… won't get you what you want!" Another wave of agony stole her breath, making her vision swim. She gasped, fighting for air against the unseen assault.
Outside, Natalie heard the thump and the ragged gasp. "Marya!" she yelled, pounding a fist on the solid door. "Marya, what's happening? Answer me!"
Galit's hand went to the hilt of his whip, his eyes scanning the empty battlements, while Riggs looked on in confused alarm.
Inside, on her knees, Marya growled, the sound full of defiance and pain. "Fine," she grunted, the word dripping with venom. "If that's how you want to do this."
She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the fire in her chest. She forced her will inward, gathering it not as a weapon to be projected outward, but as a shield. She focused on the core of her being, on the strength that was hers alone, and let it surge through her veins in a wave of pure, defiant energy. A pulse of invisible force—Conqueror's Haki, turned inward—rippled through the room, not to dominate others, but to violently reassert her own dominion over her body.
The crushing pressure in her chest shattered.
She slumped forward, coughing, drawing in great, ragged gults of the cold, dusty air. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself to her feet. Using the back of her glove, she wiped the blood from her nose and upper lip, her hand trembling only slightly. She took a steadying breath, her expression smoothing back into its familiar, stoic mask. She walked to the door, slid the heavy iron bar back with a grating screech, and pulled it open.
Natalie stood there, her fist still raised, her face a mask of panic. "What happened? Are you—"
"It's nothing," Marya interrupted, her voice flat, though a little hoarse. She stepped aside to let them enter. "Bring him in."
They carried Atlas into the vast lobby, laying the stretcher down carefully. As they did, Marya's sharp eyes caught the few dark specks of her blood on the grey stone floor. Casually, as if adjusting her stance, she dragged the sole of her boot over them, scuffing the evidence into the dust.
Natalie looked around the grand, if neglected, hall. "This is much better," she said, her professional demeanor reasserting itself as she assessed the shelter. "Riggs, close the door."
As Riggs heaved the great doors shut, sealing out the wind, Jelly wiggled out from the collar of Marya's coat. "Bloo-oop," he chirped softly, his starry eyes wide as he took in the enormous, shadowy room.
Chessa, seemingly oblivious to the recent tension, nodded with authority. "It should be alright for us to wait here until she comes back," she announced, as if she owned the place. The castle, ancient and silent, seemed to swallow her words, holding its secrets close. For now, they were safe from the cold, but the strange, oppressive weight of the mountain peak lingered in the air.
*****
The path through Kuraigana was less a road and more a suggestion through fields of shattered rock and petrified tree stumps. The air hung heavy and still, thick with the smell of damp earth and old iron. The colossal, imposing castle loomed ever larger ahead, its regal spires like accusatory fingers pointing at the gray sky.
Bianca shuffled her feet, the gravel crunching loudly in the silence. "So," she whispered, her voice seeming too loud, "like, do we actually know where we're going? Or are we just, like, following the spooky forest vibe?"
Charlie, clutching his satchel to his chest like a shield, adjusted his pith helmet. "Ahem! Based on the state of the landscape, it is plausible that any remaining structures of note would be centrally located. However, the primary challenge lies in the methodology of locating specific components amidst what is likely widespread ruination."
Souta, walking a few paces ahead, didn't turn around. His low murmur cut through Charlie's verbose analysis. "We're moving toward the castle."
Bianca and Charlie both stared at his back. "The... the castle?" Charlie squeaked. "But how can you be—"
"It's the tallest structure still standing," Souta interrupted, his tone flat. "You can see it on the horizon. It's the only logical destination."
Charlie blinked, looking from Souta to Aurélie's unwavering back as she led the group. "Ahem! Miss Nakano! Is that... wise? Shouldn't we assume that is precisely where the island's... ah... proprietor would reside?"
Aurélie didn't answer. She stopped walking so abruptly that Bianca nearly bumped into her. Every line of Aurélie's body went taut. Her hand snapped to the blade at her hip, her fingers curling around the hilt of Anathema. The black blade seemed to hum in anticipation, a low, thirsty vibration that they felt more than heard.
The entire group froze, the tension snapping into place like a drawn bowstring.
"Like, what is it?" Bianca whispered, her eyes wide behind her goggles.
Kuro's hands were already moving, his leather gloves hiding the soft shnick of his retractable Cat Claw blades sliding out. "Something is coming," he said, his voice devoid of its usual bored affectation, replaced by a cold readiness.
Ember jumped up and down, clapping her hands. "Play time! Play time! Josiah says it's hide and seek with pointy things!"
Souta's shadow seemed to deepen around him. The intricate tattoos on his arms writhed, liquid ink flowing off his skin to form the shapes of two sleek, predatory wolves that paced silently at his sides, their forms shimmering with potential energy.
Aurélie's head turned slightly, her compound eyes now fully visible, giving her a terrifying, insectoid gaze. Her voice was a sharp, clear command. "You two," she said, meaning Bianca and Charlie. "Find cover. Now." With a soft, ringing sound, she drew Anathema. The blade didn't gleam; it seemed to swallow the weak light. "This is about to get messy."
They didn't have to wait long. From behind crumbling walls and within the shadows of dead trees, figures emerged. They were simian, but stood upright on powerful legs, their bodies covered in thick, coarse fur. But it was their eyes that were most disturbing—sharp, intelligent, and burning with a fierce, combative light. And in their hands, they held weapons. Not crude clubs, but swords, axes, and spears, held with a disturbing, practiced ease. A low, collective growl rumbled through the clearing as a full troop of Humandrills surrounded them, cutting off any retreat.
Ember was the first to move. "Tag! You're it!" she shrieked with glee, her Helltide slingshot rifle already in hand. A sparkler round shot out and detonated at the feet of the largest humandrill with a deafening KA-FLASH and a burst of blinding light. The creature roared in surprise and pain, stumbling back.
The ambush erupted into chaos.
Aurélie became a whirlwind of silver and black. Anathema moved in her hands, a blur that parried a sword strike from one humandrill while the flat of the blade smashed into the face of another with a sickening crunch. She moved with an elegant, brutal economy, each motion designed to disable, not kill, her feminine Haki subtly disrupting the aggressive, masculine fighting spirit of the beasts, making their attacks clumsy and unbalanced.
Kuro was a study in cold calculation. He didn't waste movement, his body flowing between opponents. His seastone-tipped Cat Claws were a flickering danger, not aiming to kill but to cripple—slashing tendons, disarming hands, moving with a speed that left afterimages. He was a strategist dismantling an opposing army piece by piece.
Souta's ink wolves leaped into the fray, tangling with the humandrills, their semi-solid forms absorbing blows and biting back with sharp, dark teeth. Souta himself moved through the fight like a ghost, his own retractable blades coated in a sedative ink, delivering precise, debilitating jabs to exposed necks and limbs.
Ember cackled, using explosions to herd the creatures into the paths of the others, turning the fight into her own deranged game.
From behind a half-toppled wall, Bianca and Charlie watched the violent ballet, their hearts hammering. The air filled with the clash of steel, bestial roars, explosive reports, and the unsettlingly joyful sound of Ember's laughter. Kuraigana Island, it seemed, had its own very specific, and very lethal, welcome committee.
*****
The crisp, salt-tinged air of the Shelton harbor was a stark contrast to the thin, frozen breath of the high peaks. Two ships, their sails bearing the iconic mark of the Whitebeard Pirates, sat moored at the main dock, their presence a quiet but undeniable event for the isolated island. Down the gangplank of the larger vessel descended two figures: Vista, the master swordsman, his impressive mustache twitching as he took in the snowy vista, and Haruta, the clever strategist, his keen eyes already scanning the town with tactical interest.
Waiting for them on the dock were two of Drum Island's most prominent figures. Dr. Kureha, looking not a day over a spry one hundred and forty, stood with her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. Beside her, the much larger and more solemn form of Dalton, the island's king, offered a respectful nod.
"Welcome to Drum Island," Kureha's voice crackled with energy that defied her years. "It's been a while. This lump of seriousness is our king, Dalton."
Vista offered a gracious bow, his hand resting on the pommel of one of his swords. "A pleasure. I am Vista, Fifth Division Commander. This is Haruta, our Thirteenth Division Commander. Thank you for your assistance."
Haruta gave a quick, cheerful wave. "Yeah, thanks for not shooting at us on sight! We appreciate it."
Dalton's brow was furrowed, his expression grave. "It is our duty to offer aid," he rumbled, his voice deep and steady. "But the news you bring is... quite disturbing. To hear that an individual of such notorious infamy has intentions of visiting our shores is a serious concern."
Dr. Kureha let out a loud, cackling laugh that echoed across the water. "Is that so?" she mused, already turning to walk toward the town, her boots making firm prints in the snow. "I wonder how much she's grown since the last time I saw her."
The reaction was instantaneous and unified. Vista, Haruta, and Dalton all stopped dead in their tracks, turning to stare at the retreating back of the elderly doctor. Their faces were a perfect canvas of shock.
Haruta was the first to find his voice, his usual composure broken. "Wait—you know her?"
Kureha paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "A long time ago. Her father brought her to me. She was in a bad way, practically knocking on death's door." She tapped her temple. "She probably doesn't remember a bit of it."
Vista, his hand still on his sword, took a step forward, his curiosity overriding his decorum. "Why wouldn't she remember?"
"It's how the psyche operates, swordsman," Kureha explained, her tone shifting to one of clinical, almost bored, expertise. "When something too traumatic occurs, something a person—especially a child—can't handle, the mind shoves it into a dark corner. Forces it out of memory so the weight of it doesn't become crippling. A survival mechanism, messy but effective."
Haruta's eyes were wide with a mixture of horror and fascination. "What happened to her?"
A slow, knowing smile spread across Kureha's wrinkled face. She wagged a finger at him. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, young man. That's a sacred rule. If the family wants you to know, they'll be the ones to tell you." She let her gaze sweep over their three utterly frustrated expressions—Dalton's concerned confusion, Vista's intense curiosity, and Haruta's desperate need for the rest of the story. She chuckled, a low, raspy sound of pure amusement. "Oh, the looks on your faces! Priceless."
She clapped her hands together, the sound sharp in the cold air. "Now then! Enough about ancient history. You mentioned needing supplies. Let's see what we can scrounge up for you. Dalton, stop looking so gloomy and make yourself useful!" And with that, she strode off toward the town, leaving the three powerful men standing on the dock, united in their bewilderment and haunted by the fragments of a story they couldn't quite grasp.