The trek to the ropeway was a quiet one, the crunch of snow underfoot the only sound between them. As they approached the base station, King Dalton's sharp eyes caught sight of the sled first. He gestured toward it, his expression shifting from thoughtful to mildly concerned. "That's Chessa's sled," he noted, his deep voice cutting through the cold air. "It appears someone is waiting for us up there."
Dr. Kureha followed his gaze, her own eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not expecting a delivery today," she mused, a rare note of curiosity in her raspy tone. "Might be something important. We best not keep them waiting."
Haruta, ever inquisitive, looked between the two locals. "Who does the sled belong to?"
"One of our local children," Dalton explained, his tone softening with a hint of paternal sadness. "An orphan. Her parents passed under the rule of the previous king. She earns her keep by transporting goods and giving tours to the few tourists we get."
Vista, his hand resting comfortably near his sword hilts, surveyed the steep cable leading up into the clouds. "Is this… part of the tour?" he asked, a hint of dry humor in his voice.
Kureha let out a sharp, cackling laugh. "No, boy, this is how we get up there!" She strode to the platform and gave a thick, woven rope a firm tug. A distant bell clanged somewhere high above, and after a moment, the Trani began its grinding, clunking descent. They loaded onto the open-sided car, and with a shared effort, began the arduous pedal up the mountain, the world dropping away beneath them in a silent, snowy expanse.
Inside the castle's grand lobby, the air was still and frigid. Natalie finished swapping the IV bag for Atlas, her movements swift and sure. "This is the last one," she announced, her voice tense. "Hopefully this Dr. Kureha will get here soon."
Marya was reclined against the cold stone wall, her eyes closed. The massive hilt of Eternal Eclipse served as an unyielding pillow beneath her head. Her face was a mask of calm, but a faint, tired line between her brows betrayed her lack of true rest.
Galit sat nearby, his posture alert, his observant eyes tracking Chessa as the girl giggled, utterly enchanted by Jelly's happy, bouncing antics. The wobbly blue being was performing a jiggly dance, much to her delight.
Riggs, meanwhile, was peering up the cavernous room's central feature: a massive, spiraling staircase that vanished into the shadows of the upper floors. "Where do you think this goes?" he asked the room at large, his voice echoing slightly.
Natalie saw her chance. She moved closer to Marya, who didn't open her eyes.
"Marya."
The golden eyes slid open, fixing on Natalie with a weary patience.
"You should come back with us," Natalie said, her voice low and earnest. "I'm confident your return would be welcomed. Whatever… whatever happened, we can fix it."
Marya sighed, a soft, exhausted sound. "I am not doing that."
Natalie's frustration bubbled over. "Whatever it is you have going on, I am sure we can help you! You don't have to do it alone!"
"I know you have good intentions," Marya replied, her voice flat and final. "And you are sincere. But this is not something any of you can help me with."
Natalie opened her mouth to fire another question, but Galit interrupted, his voice calm but pointed. "How do you know each other?"
Riggs piped up, eager to explain. "We're friends! But—"
"A lot happened," Marya cut him off, her tone leaving no room for elaboration. "And I left. And now I am here."
Galit's emerald eyes studied her. "Are you associates with the Heart Pirates as well?" he asked, gesturing subtly to the insignia Marya's winter trench coat.
Marya was about to give a non-committal reply when Natalie snapped, the words bursting from her. "Pirates! You mean to tell me you're a pirate now?"
Riggs's face lit up with pure, unadulterated excitement. "You're a pirate? That is awesome!" Natalie tried to silence him with a scorching glare, but he was oblivious. "What's it like? Have you found any treasure? Been in any battles? Oh! Are you on a wanted poster?"
Marya groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No, Riggs. My dad is a Warlord, remember? I'm sure he is…" She trailed off, a complicated thought passing behind her eyes.
But Natalie wasn't listening. She jumped to her feet, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Tears welled in her eyes, making them shine with a hurt and betrayal that was years in the making. "How could you be a pirate?" Her voice cracked. "You know what they are… what they have done!" She sniffled, wiping angrily at a tear tracing a path down her cheek.
Marya furrowed her brow, a flicker of irritation breaking through her stoicism. "Not all pirates are out to hurt people. They are labeled pirates for simply disagreeing with the World Government."
"How can you say that?" Natalie's voice rose to a near-shriek, echoing in the vast hall. "When you know… you know what my family has been through! You know what happened on Dressrosa! And now they are under the rule of a Warlord!"
Marya's eyes narrowed. She pushed herself away from the wall, rising to her full height to look the emotional doctor directly in the eye. Her voice was low, but it carried a sharp, cutting edge. "I know you and your family have suffered. But that is not how everyone operates."
Outside, the Trani ground to a halt. Vista, Haruta, Dalton, and Kureha stepped off onto the summit. Dalton's eyes immediately fell on the fresh tracks leading from the cable car to the castle entrance. "It appears they found a way inside."
Kureha smirked. "Resourceful."
As they approached the great doors, which stood slightly ajar, the sound of raised voices—one tearful and furious, another cold and sharp—filtered out into the silent air.
Vista and Haruta's hands instinctively went to the hilts of their swords, their bodies tensing for a potential threat.
"Relax," Kureha ordered, her voice a low rasp. "Let's see what we're dealing with."
Inside, Marya's head snapped up. Her argument with Natalie forgotten, her entire body went still. Her golden eyes, fixed on the main door, widened a fraction. She lifted a hand, a swift, silencing gesture that cut Natalie's next words off mid-sob.
Galit was on his feet in an instant, a coiled spring of readiness.
In one fluid motion, Marya's hand dropped and gripped the worn hilt of Eternal Eclipse, the obsidian blade whispering as it cleared its sheath a few inches, devouring the light around it.
The grand door swung open with a groan.
Framed in the doorway, backlit by the harsh white light of the snowy peak, stood the figures of Vista, Haruta, King Dalton, and Dr. Kureha. The tension in the castle lobby snapped taut, a live wire humming with unspoken threats and ancient history, all held in the balance of a single, frozen moment.
*****
The violent ballet on the scarred plains of Kuraigana reached a fever pitch. Aurélie was a silver blur, Anathema a humming black streak that parried and disabled with terrifying grace. Kuro moved with lethal economy, his seastone claws leaving numbing scratches on furry limbs. Souta's ink wolves harried the flanks while Ember's explosions sent humandrills stumbling into precise, disabling strikes.
From behind their crumbling wall, Bianca and Charlie watched, hearts thundering. "Like, they're actually holding them off!" Bianca whispered, a sliver of hope in her voice.
Charlie adjusted his pith helmet nervously. "Ahem! Their combat efficacy is remarkable, but the numerical disadvantage is—"
He was cut off. A change swept through the battlefield, swift and absolute. The humandrills, mid-swing or mid-roar, suddenly froze. Their sharp, intelligent eyes darted to the northern ridge. A collective, low whimper replaced their aggressive snarls. As one, they broke away from the fight, dropping their weapons and scrambling over the ruins, vanishing into the misty gloom with terrified haste. In seconds, the field was empty save for the panting newcomers and the eerie silence that rushed back in.
Bianca and Charlie peeked out from behind their cover. "Like, what just happened?" Bianca breathed. "Is it... over?"
"Is it safe now?" Charlie called out, his voice echoing in the sudden quiet.
Aurélie and Kuro did not relax. Their bodies remained coiled springs. Kuro's claws were still extended, his eyes scanning the high ground. "He is coming," Kuro stated, his voice low and grim.
Aurélie slowly sheathed Anathema, but her hand stayed locked on the hilt, her knuckles white. Her compound eyes were fixed on the ridge line, her entire being focused with an intensity that made the air around her crackle.
Then, they appeared. Two figures atop a broken archway that spanned the path ahead. One was a silhouette of a man, draped in a fine shirt and slacks, a crucifix blade larger than most men resting on his back, the gemmed hilt towering over his shoulder. His eyes, gold and piercing as a hawk's, swept over the scene, missing nothing. Beside him, a young woman in a gothic lolita dress floated cross-legged, a smirk playing on her lips as she surveyed the disheveled group.
Dracule Mihawk and Perona had arrived.
Kuro adjusted his spectacles, a minute gesture to cover his calculation of the new, overwhelming variable. But Aurélie did not look away. Her steel-gray eyes locked with Mihawk's golden gaze.
For several heartbeats, the world narrowed to that silent challenge. The mist seemed to still. The very light dimmed. And in that space, their minds, sharpened by Observation Haki, clashed as scenarios played out in the still, tense silence in which only they could experience.
Scenario One: Aurélie moves first, a silver flash, Anathema aimed not to kill but to disarm, to prove a point. Mihawk doesn't even move Yoru from his shoulder. His free hand snaps up, two fingers extended. He meets her blade's edge with his fingertips, and the shockwave that erupts doesn't just stop her charge; it sends Anathema screaming from her grasp, her wrist numbed, her body flung backward to crash against the petrified stump of a tree. Defeat.
Scenario Two: She tries speed and her unique Haki, flowing around him, her blade seeking to disrupt his resonance. He merely turns, the motion lazy, Yoru still sheathed. His gaze tracks her perfectly. As she strikes, he exhales, a puff of air that carries the weight of a mountain. It slams into her chest, not bruising flesh but crushing spirit, driving her to her knees, gasping, her techniques rendered meaningless against such absolute, casual power. Defeat.
Scenario Three: She calls her swarm, a locust storm to obscure his vision. In the vision, the insects part around him like water around a stone. A single, precise swing of Yoru, still in its sheath, creates a vacuum that sucks every last locust from the air and dashes them against the cliffs, leaving her standing alone and exposed. Defeat.
Scenario Four: She risks the full transformation, becoming the monstrous locust, launching a sonic shriek meant to shatter stone. He meets it with a look. His Conqueror's Haki, a physical force of pure will, hits her sonic wave and overwhelms it completely. The feedback slams into her, breaking her concentration, forcing her back into her human form, disoriented and vulnerable. Defeat.
Scenario Five: She does nothing. She stands her ground, ready. He finally moves. It is not a step; it is an arrival. He is simply in front of her, Yoru's tip resting gently against her throat. She never saw him draw it. The cold of the black blade is the final, absolute truth. Defeat.
The five futures, each more hopeless than the last, flashed through their linked awareness in less than a second. Aurélie's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in her cheek. The sheer, insurmountable gap in their power was a yawning chasm. This was not a fight; it was a conclusion waiting to happen. Slowly, with visible effort, she forced her hand to unclench from Anathema's hilt and drop to her side.
High on the ridge, Mihawk uncrossed his arms, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips.
"Wise choice," Kuro murmured from beside Aurélie, his own claws retracting with a soft click.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Mihawk's voice, when it finally came, was a dry, low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very ground, carrying an amused contempt that was more unnerving than any shout.
"You appear to be lost."
The silence after Mihawk's pronouncement was heavier than the island's mist. It was Ember who broke it, her voice a petulant whine that cut through the tension like a shard of glass. "Aww, where'd all the fuzzy playmates go? We were having so much fun!" She pouted, kicking a pebble that skittered across the hard-baked clay.
Perona, still floating mid-air, wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Fun? Those gross, hairy things? They're not cute enough to be any fun! Zero out of ten for adorableness!"
Aurélie and Kuro, their combat readiness slowly ebbing, exchanged a rare, mirrored look of sheer bewilderment at the bizarre exchange.
Encouraged by the break in the deadly atmosphere, Charlie and Bianca cautiously emerged from behind their rubble cover. Charlie cleared his throat, the sound absurdly loud. "Ahem! Your assessment is, ah, accurate, sir. We are currently displaced from our intended trajectory due to a navigational mishap and are in dire need of specific assets to reestablish our course and effect repairs upon our vessel." He gave a stiff, nervous bow.
Perona cocked her head, her large eyes blinking slowly. "...What did you just say?"
Bianca stepped forward, wiping grease-stained hands on her overalls. "Like, yes. We are so, so lost. And our sub is, like, super broken. We need parts."
Mihawk's golden eyes, like twin suns in his stern face, slowly scanned the group. They passed over the frantic scholar, the greasy engineer, the silent man with shifting tattoos, the unsettlingly cheerful pyromaniac, and then settled on the two who had faced his gaze. Recognition, cold and calculating, dawned in their depths. The Silent Swarm of the Consortium. The Captain of the Black Cat Pirates. An interesting, and dangerous, confluence on his shores.
Before he could speak, Ember's short attention span expired. "Boring talk!" she announced, and with a gleeful giggle, she turned and sprinted off toward a cluster of jagged rock formations, her pink hair a fading spot of color in the gloom.
"Hey! Where does she think she's going?" Perona demanded, hands on her hips.
Bianca sighed, a sound of profound weariness. "Like, no one ever really knows. But, uh, is there anything over there she can, like, blow up? Because that is kinda her whole thing."
Mihawk's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. The air grew colder. "Perona," he said, his voice a low command. "Retrieve her."
Perona huffed, floating a few inches higher. "Ugh! Stop bossing me around! I'm not your—"
KA-BOOM!
A thunderous explosion ripped through the quiet, followed by a familiar, echoing cascade of manic giggles. A plume of dust and smoke bloomed from behind the rocks Ember had vanished behind.
Bianca winced. "See? Told you."
Perona stared at the rising smoke, then back at the group. Bianca just shrugged. "It's, like, what she does."
With an exasperated groan that was mostly for show, Perona shot off after the source of the chaos, her ghostly form zipping through the air. "Hey! Explody-chan! You can't just go around blowing up the scenery!"
Left with the scowling Mihawk, Bianca found a sliver of courage. She took a hesitant step forward, ignoring the warning tension radiating from Aurélie and Kuro. "So, uh," she began, her voice small. "While we're, like, here… have you seen or heard from Marya? She's, like, my best friend. And we're looking for her. And we heard she was, like, headed to Fishman Island but…" She trailed off, the words drying up under Mihawk's intense, unmoving gaze.
He simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, becoming oppressive. Just as Bianca was about to wilt under the pressure, Mihawk turned away. He began walking back toward his castle without another word, his broad back presented to them.
The group stood frozen, confused by the abrupt dismissal.
Then, his voice drifted back to them, carried on the thick air as if the island itself were speaking, dry and laced with a dark amusement. "You might find what you need in the castle. Do not touch the wine."
He vanished into the mist, leaving them alone on the scarred plain, an invitation that felt more like a threat hanging in the air. The path to the castle gates now lay open, a maw leading into the heart of the world's greatest swordsman's domain.