The air in the medical chamber was thick with the scent of dried herbs, pungent antiseptics, and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. A fire crackled in a large hearth, casting dancing shadows that made the jars of pickled specimens on the shelves seem to twitch. Galit and Riggs carefully laid the unconscious Atlas on a wide, sturdy bed, then stepped back, giving the doctors space.
Dr. Kureha and Natalie immediately fell into a synchronized, wordless rhythm. Kureha's aged hands, surprisingly steady, palpated the Mink's neck and chest while Natalie checked his pupils and the IV line, their low, technical murmurs creating a bubble of focused calm in the tense room.
Marya observed from her post near the door, her arms crossed over the Heart Pirates insignia on her chest. Her golden eyes were watchful, missing no detail of the examination, but her body was angled toward the greater threat. Vista and Haruta stood like sentinels on the other side of the doorway, their postures relaxed but their eyes—sharp and unblinking—locked onto her. It was a silent duel of wills, a promise of violence postponed.
The heavy silence was suddenly broken by a soft plink, followed by a wobbly "B-bloop?" Chessa, who had been cradling the frozen Jelly like a glassy melon, giggled as a droplet of water slid down his side. Slowly, the rigid sphere began to soften, his azure form regaining its characteristic wobble. Within moments, he was fully thawed, bouncing with happy, damp energy. He chirped and began a wobbly orbit around Chessa, who laughed and darted away. The two of them erupted into a bizarre, silent game of tag, a blur of blue gelatin and patchwork parka zipping between the legs of the bed and around the serious adults, their rules known only to them. Eventually, they spun out into the hallway, their playful noises fading away.
Dalton, who had been observing the tense standoff with a king's weary demeanor, finally broke the silence between the two factions. His deep voice was calm, measured. "Is it true?" he asked Marya.
She didn't look at him, her gaze still fixed on the Whitebeard commanders. A single, questioning brow arched.
Dalton gestured slightly with his chin toward Vista and Haruta. "What they say. Did you take something of value from Fishman Island?"
Marya's expression remained one of profound uninterest. She finally turned her head, her golden eyes meeting his for a brief, dismissive moment before returning to watch the doctors. "Yes," she stated, the word flat and simple. "I did."
"Why?" Dalton pressed, his tone not accusatory, but seeking understanding.
"The reasons are my own," she replied, her voice offering no room for further inquiry.
Dalton opened his mouth to ask another question, but Marya cut him off, her tone final. "This island does not offer anything of value to me other than healing my associate. Once he is able to travel, we will be departing."
Vista's voice, calm but iron-hard, interjected from the doorway. "You won't be going anywhere."
Marya ignored him completely, as if he hadn't spoken. Instead, she addressed the back of Dr. Kureha's head. "Doctor. An update, if you please."
Kureha didn't turn from her work, instead asking a question of her own. "How's your old man doing?" She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp eyes crinkling. "You appear to have grown quite a bit since the last I saw you. Filled out nicely."
Marya's eyes narrowed, her guarded mask slipping for a fraction of a second into genuine confusion. She had no memory of this woman. "I don't know what you're implying."
Kureha chuckled, a dry, rasping sound as she walked across the room to retrieve a jar of vibrant green paste from a high shelf. "As I suspected," she mused, mostly to herself. "You don't remember."
Marya's brow furrowed. She took a slow, controlled breath, the pieces of a puzzle she never knew existed suddenly hovering just out of reach. The moment of vulnerability passed as quickly as it came. Her expression smoothed back into stoic resolve. She turned and gripped the cold iron of the door handle.
It was then that Kureha delivered her diagnosis, her tone shifting back to business. "Your friend has a rare toxin. It appears to have mutated. In its original form, a Mink of his constitution would have shaken it off with a week of rest and plenty of fluids. This version is more… tenacious. He is treatable, but it will take a few days of specific antidotes and monitored rest."
Marya gave a single, sharp nod of acknowledgment. Then, she pulled the door open.
The action was a starting pistol. Galit immediately fell into step behind her. Vista and Haruta pushed off from the doorframe, their hands going to their sword hilts, ready to follow.
"No confrontations in the castle!" Kureha's voice barked after them, cutting through the building tension. "I just had the floors polished!"
But the warning was lost to the wind. Marya strode into the dim hallway, the two Whitebeard commanders and her own first mate following close behind, a storm of unresolved conflict moving into the echoing stone corridors of the castle, leaving the room of healing behind for an arena of their own making.
The heavy oak door swung shut behind them, sealing them in the castle's dim, drafty hallway. The only light came from flickering sconces that cast long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, making the ancient tapestries seem to shift and bellow. The howl of the blizzard outside was a constant, muffled roar, a reminder that the world beyond these walls had turned to a furious white chaos.
Ahead of them, Chessa's giggles echoed off the high ceiling as she darted after Jelly, who had morphed into a perfect, bouncy blue sphere, ricocheting off the walls and floor with happy bloops. The sound was a stark, cheerful contrast to the thick tension that had followed Marya and her unwanted entourage into the corridor.
Back in the medical room, Natalie's voice, sharp with exasperation, sliced through the air. "Riggs!"
Riggs jolted, nearly knocking over the ancient, cobweb-draped suit of armor he'd been poking at. "Wha—?"
"Keep an eye on her!" Natalie commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Dr. Kureha let out a dry, rasping chuckle from where she was mixing a potent-smelling antidote. "Good luck with that one, girl."
"Now!" Natalie shrieked.
Riggs, looking utterly bewildered but conditioned to obey loud instructions, scrambled for the door and scurried out into the hall, joining the strange procession.
They stood for a moment in an uneasy cluster, the group now consisting of Marya, Galit, Vista, Haruta, Dalton, and a confused Riggs bringing up the rear. The wind slammed against the castle's thick walls with a sound like a distant giant pounding its fists.
"The storm has a fierce intensity tonight," Dalton commented, his deep voice a rumble beneath the wind's shriek. "It will likely last through the night."
Haruta's eyes never left Marya, a sly grin on his face. "Hear that? No place to go. Nowhere to run." His tone was teasing, prodding.
Marya's golden eyes shifted to him, a flicker of annoyance in their depths, before she looked away, dismissing him.
Vista nodded in agreement with his comrade, his hand resting comfortably on his sword's pommel. "The resemblance to your father is astonishing," he remarked, his voice carrying a note of genuine, if wary, appreciation. "It's in the stance. The way you hold that sword. Unmistakable."
Their observations were cut short by a tremendous CRASH from further down the hall, followed immediately by the sound of metal pieces skittering across the flagstones.
Dr. Kureha's voice bellowed from behind the closed medical door. "You better not be breaking anything expensive out there!"
Peering down the corridor, they saw the source of the noise. Chessa and Jelly stood over a heap of polished steel that had, moments before, been a complete suit of armor. Chessa was giggling uncontrollably while Jelly, having shapeshifted several wobbly arms, was attempting and failing to lift the heavy breastplate. It slipped from his gelatinous grasp with another loud clang.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Marya's lips at the absurd scene. But as her eyes scanned the pile of disassembled armor, her smirk vanished. Her gaze sharpened, zeroing in on a small, intricate symbol etched into the stone wall near the floor, previously hidden behind the suit's stand. It was mostly obscured by dust and shadow, but its form was distinct: a serpent, coiled in a perfect circle, its tail in its mouth, encircling a larger circle surrounded by eight smaller, perfectly spaced orbs.
Her casual posture straightened. Without a word, she strode past the giggling girl and the struggling jellyfish, her focus absolute.
Galit was immediately at her side, his voice a low murmur. "What is it?"
She didn't answer, her entire being fixed on the symbol. She knelt, ignoring the cold of the stone seeping through her trousers, and brushed away a century's worth of dust with her gloved fingers, revealing the carving in greater detail.
The others followed, their previous standoff momentarily forgotten in the face of her intense curiosity. Vista and Haruta exchanged a silent, weighted look as they drew closer, their experienced eyes recognizing the mark as something significant, though its meaning eluded them. Riggs fumbled along behind the entire group, trying to see what had captured everyone's attention.
The howling wind seemed to fade into the background, the only sound now the soft scrape of Marya's glove on stone and the faint, wobbly breathing of a confused Jelly. In the flickering torchlight, the enigmatic symbol seemed to pulse with a silent, ancient history, its discovery a sudden, unexpected anchor in the storm of conflict. The flickering torchlight seemed to bend toward the revealed symbol, making the coiled serpent and its eight attendant orbs seem to writhe with a life of their own. Jelly's soft, wobbly breathing was the only other sound in the tense silence.
Dalton was the first to break the spell, his deep voice hushed with awe. "Do you recognize this symbol?"
Marya didn't look up, her fingers tracing the grooves of the carving. "I have seen it before," she confirmed, her voice low and thoughtful. She finally lifted her gaze to the king. "Is this a common symbol here?"
Dalton shook his head, his brow furrowed. "Its original meaning has been lost through the ages. But it is a common motif in our oldest art and architecture, especially within this castle. It's a part of our history, though we've forgotten the language it speaks."
Galit, his sharp eyes taking in the symbol and the surrounding stonework, asked, "How old is this castle?"
"As old as the Drum Rockies themselves," Dalton replied, his tone reverent. "It has always been here, occupied by the ruling class of the island, whoever they may be."
Marya's golden eyes narrowed. Her gaze swept the floor around the symbol, noting a faint, almost imperceptible shift in the dust patterns, a slight depression on the stone floor before the wall. It was the ghost of a path, walked by no one for a very long time. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Without a word of warning, she pressed her palm firmly against the center of the serpentine circle.
"What are you doing?" Haruta's question was sharp, laced with alarm, but it was too late.
A deep, grinding rumble echoed through the hallway, a sound of stone moving against stone that had not been heard in generations. An entire section of the wall, seams previously invisible, shuddered. Then, with a gritty sigh, it lifted an inch and slid sideways, retreating into the thickness of the wall to reveal a yawning, black corridor that exhaled a breath of air so ancient and cold it made the blizzard outside feel warm.
The group stood in stunned silence, their personal conflicts utterly forgotten in the face of the revelation.
Dalton stared, his jaw slack with disbelief. "How did you…? In all my years in this castle, no one has ever…"
Marya finally turned from the dark entrance, a faint, almost imperceptible shrug lifting her shoulders. "I grew up in castles," she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Most are riddled with secret passageways. For spies, for escapes, for servants to move unseen. They are usually marked. This," she said, gesturing to the hidden door, "appears to be the exception."
Galit stepped closer, peering into the impenetrable blackness. "Where do you think it goes?"
"Servants' passages are typically narrow, utilitarian. This…" Marya's voice trailed off as she took a decisive step over the threshold.
The moment her boot touched the hidden corridor's floor, the darkness vanished. A soft, pearlescent glow bloomed from the ceiling, illuminating a wide, descending staircase carved from the same mountain rock. Set into the ceiling at regular intervals were smooth, milky-white orbs that emitted a steady, cool light.
Haruta let out a low whistle, his tactical mind immediately cataloging the technology. "Well, I'll be. Those are Sky Island light dials."
Dalton turned to him, his shock compounding. "How do you know that?"
"We've been there," Haruta replied casually, as if discussing a trip to the next island over. "They use special shells there—dials—that can trap and contain all sorts of things. Light, sound, wind, even impact. This is their work, no doubt about it."
The revelation hung in the air, more startling than the hidden door itself. Ancient Drum Island architecture, combined with technology from the sky-born islands—a combination that spoke of a history far more complex and interconnected than any of them, even the king, had ever imagined. The dark passage was no longer just a hidden route; it was a gateway to a forgotten past.
The descent was a journey into the mountain's silent heart. The staircase, hewn from living rock, spiraled downward, illuminated by the gentle, unwavering glow of the light dials set into the ceiling. The air grew colder and carried the scent of old stone and something else—dry, ancient pollen and the faint, metallic whisper of old, old machinery. It was the smell of a place untouched by time.
They emerged onto a wide, circular platform. Before them stretched a vast, dark chamber, its far end lost in shadow. The platform itself was the only solid ground; between it and the continuation of the path on the other side was a twenty-foot gap, a sheer drop into blackness.
Chessa, buzzing with excitement, and Jelly, wobbling with curiosity, immediately tried to dart past the adults toward the edge. Marya's arm shot out with practiced speed. Her hand closed around the scruff of Chessa's parka, and her other hand snagged Jelly mid-bounce, her fingers sinking into his yielding form.
"Hey!" Chessa protested, her feet kicking air.
"Bloop?" Jelly queried, confused.
Dalton stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What is it?"
Marya's golden eyes were fixed on the seemingly empty space before them. "Security measure," she stated, her voice echoing softly in the vast chamber.
Haruta, his impatience palpable, scoffed. "How could you possibly know that? It's just a gap."
Without looking at him, Marya placed her two captives gently but firmly back on the stone floor. She pointed to the wall beside the platform's edge. Carved into the stone in elegant, flowing script was an inscription, its language ancient and forgotten by most.
Vista, his swordsman's eyes missing little, leaned closer. "How can you read that?"
From the back of the group, Riggs's voice piped up, filled with a tone of obviousness that bordered on insult. "She was always studying her mom's work and stuff." He said it as if this explained everything to the entire world.
The group turned almost in unison to look at the lanky blond, then their gazes swiveled back to Marya, their expressions shifting from suspicion to dawning, recontextualized understanding.
Riggs shrugged under their collective stare. "She was an archaeologist."
The revelation hung in the air. They were no longer just looking at Mihawk's shadow or a wanted fugitive. They were looking at a scholar, a reader of dead languages, a keeper of lost histories.
Galit broke the new silence, his voice low. "How do we pass it?"
Marya's gaze was already scanning the chamber. "There is probably some sort of code or secret path on the floor. Regardless, though, it means…" she trailed off, her eyes tracing patterns.
Dalton finished her thought, his voice heavy with realization. "…that whatever is down here was meant to stay secret."
Marya's gaze, sharp and analytical, swept from the floor to the ceiling, her breath forming faint plumes in the chamber's frigid air. Beneath her boots, the stone was inlaid with a sprawling mosaic of a three-headed bearded man— its forms intertwined in a dance of ancient symbolism. Each head faced a different direction, its eyes crafted from chips of obsidian that seemed to swallow the soft light emanating from above. The mosaic's tiles, fashioned from polished river stone and faintly iridescent mother-of-pearl, felt smooth yet unnervingly cold underfoot, as if whispering of centuries of isolation.
Above, the ceiling echoed the same motif, with triple visage etched around the edges of the light dials—milky-white orbs that hummed with a low, steady energy, casting a glow that felt both sterile and sacred. The air carried the faint, metallic tang of static electricity, mingling with the musty scent of stone and the ghost of dried herbs, a remnant of rituals long abandoned.
The chamber itself seemed to exhale with history. In the corners, faint carvings depicted offerings—bulk horns adorned with precious stones and daggers laid at the feet of the three-headed god, hinting at a time when this place pulsed with devotion and divination. The walls, though worn by time, showed traces of gold leaf in the deeper grooves, suggesting that this hidden sanctum was once a place of immense significance, perhaps even a temple where priests once sought prophecies using a sacred black horse to guide their fate in battle .
The three heads, symbolizing dominion over heaven, earth, and the underworld, felt eerily aligned with the Island's own mysteriously layered history. The light dials, technology straight from the skies of Skypiea, hummed in unison, their glow highlighting the meticulous craftsmanship of the mosaic, as if the very walls were meant to bridge the earth and the heavens .
Marya's stillness mirrored the chamber's dormant energy, her focus absolute, as though the God's obsidian eyes were probing her own memories, questioning her place in this tapestry of forgotten faiths and hidden truths. The weight of the symbol felt oppressive, yet compelling, a silent testament to a culture that had revered balance—a balance between realms, between healing and hubris, much like the island's own legacy of medical brilliance and historical tragedy.
In the silence, a faint, almost imperceptible vibration thrummed through the floor, as if the mountain itself was stirring, awakened by their intrusion. Somewhere in the shadows, a patch of luminous lichen clung to the stone, its blue-green glow pulsating slowly, like a sleeping heartbeat—a small, unexpected touch of life in this tomb of echoes.
It was Vista who pieced it together, his strategic mind seeing the puzzle. "We must walk a specific path." He pointed upward. "The patterns on the ceiling are a map. They run parallel to the possible paths on the floor. Step on the wrong tile, and…" He left the consequence to the imagination.
Dalton studied the three distinct, interwoven paths suggested by the mosaics. "Which one should we choose?"
Marya let out a soft, exasperated sigh. She had the means to bypass this ancient riddle entirely. "Since I have the ability to get past this without the conjecture…" she murmured.
"It looks like we have three options," Vista stated, analyzing the paths.
But Marya was already moving. She plucked a compliant Jelly from the floor and tucked him securely into her inner coat pocket. She then placed a firm hand on Chessa's shoulder and another on Galit's arm.
"Hey, what are you—?" Galit began, but his question was swallowed as his form dissolved into a swirl of pale grey mist. Chessa and Marya followed, their bodies unraveling into identical streams of vapor. The three misty forms flowed effortlessly across the deadly gap, coalescing back into solidity on the distant platform with the quiet sigh of reforming molecules.
Marya looked back across the chasm at the stunned faces of Vista, Haruta, Dalton, and Riggs. "You have fun trying to figure that out," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the still air.
A slow, impressed smirk spread across Galit's face as he stood beside her on the safe side.
"Whoa, that was so cool!" Riggs blurted out, his eyes wide.
Vista's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Haruta cursed under his breath. "Devil Fruit powers," he spat, the words tasting like a cheap excuse for his own frustration.
"Wait—" Vista began, his voice a command.
But Haruta's pride was stung. "No!" he snapped, cutting off the commander. "I am not letting her out of my sight! Make a choice and deal with what comes!"
"That is reckless," Dalton warned, his kingly demeanor clashing with the pirate's impulsiveness.
Haruta shot him a glare, his hand on his sword. "Only if it doesn't work! If I find my way across, then you know what path to take!"
Before anyone could stop him, Haruta took a bold, deliberate step onto the first tile of the center path.