The grand house settled around them with the quiet hum of wealth and order. After directing the staff to show the others to their rooms, Kanthar and Pilvi turned their attention to their granddaughter. As Vesta made to bound after her friends, Pilvi's voice, cool and clear, stopped her.
"Vesta, after you've washed, please join us in the parlor."
Vesta's shoulders tensed, but she managed a sheepish nod before scurrying after the group.
Upstairs, a different kind of chaos ensued. Eliane gasped and awed at the spacious rooms, which were adorned with woven tapestries depicting the history of the Daedalans and furnished with cloud-wood so polished it gleamed. When offered her own room, the young Lunarian shook her head vigorously. "Can I stay with Jannali?" she asked, her voice small. The request was accommodated with a quiet efficiency that spoke of a staff used to unusual guests, a futon laid out neatly beside Jannali's larger bed.
Vesta was the first to descend, her damp hair smelling of floral soap, the ever-present guitar, Mikasi, slung across her back. She paused at the parlor entrance, her hand hovering on the carved doorframe. The room beyond was a sanctuary of quiet luxury, filled with deep, comfortable chairs and the soft glow of Dial-lamps.
"Don't doddle, dear. Come in and sit," Pilvi's voice floated from within, devoid of its earlier public warmth.
Vesta took a deep, fortifying breath. "I got this," she whispered to herself, a mantra against the rising tide of familial expectation. She walked in, her steps too loud on the ornate rug, and went straight to the couch, perching on the edge opposite her grandparents.
Pilvi set her delicate porcelain teacake down with a soft clink. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, landed on the guitar. "I see you still have… that."
Vesta's hand instinctively went to Mikasi's neck, her touch protective. "Oh, Mikasi! I don't go anywhere without her." Her enthusiasm was a brittle shield.
A sigh, heavy with disappointment, escaped Pilvi. Kanthar, a solid, silent figure in his high-backed chair, finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "It is good to see you are well. Considering we have not heard from you. We were concerned we would never see you again."
Vesta's gaze dropped to her lap, a flush of guilt creeping up her neck.
"Vesta," Pilvi's tone sharpened, becoming a blade. "Look at us."
Vesta's head snapped up, her eyes wide and fixed on them.
Pilvi took a visible breath, composing herself, though a fine tremor was visible in the hand that smoothed her robe. "Do you have any idea what you put us through?" The question was quiet, which made it all the more devastating. "The way you left… you didn't even leave a note." Her voice hitched. She fought for control, her lips pressing into a thin line, but a single, traitorous tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. Kanthar reached out, placing a large, calloused hand over hers on the armrest. Pilvi grasped a linen tissue from a side table, dabbing at her eyes with jerky, furious motions.
Vesta swallowed, her throat tight. She forced the words out, her own voice trembling with forced bravery. "I am sorry, Grandmother. But I have to follow my dream. I have to go to the Blue Sea!"
"With those people!" Pilvi snapped, her composure shattering. "They look like pirates! And the tall, lazy one—he…" She glanced at Kanthar, her expression pleading and furious. "Say something! Maybe you can get through to her!"
Kanthar's hand squeezed his wife's shoulder. He took a long, calming breath, his stern gaze softening as it settled on Vesta. "Vesta," he began, his voice gentler now, layered with a pain that was decades old. "We love you very much. When your parents left for Birka… we never thought it would be the last time we would all be together. The last time our family would be whole." Pilvi muffled a sob into her tissue. "When they were taken from us," Kanthar continued, the words heavy as stone, "we were devastated. Our biggest fear… is that we would lose you, too."
Vesta's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her, replaced by the crushing weight of their grief. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But what am I supposed to do?"
"You can sing anywhere!" Pilvi interjected, her voice raw. "Sing here!"
The words were a physical blow. Vesta felt a jolt through her whole body. "But…."
"But what?" Pilvi's impatience was a shield for her own heartbreak.
Vesta looked them both in the eyes, her own glistening with unshed tears, but her resolve hardening within them. "But that is not my dream. I have to go to the Blue Sea! I promise I will come back, but I have to do this!"
Frustrated beyond words, Pilvi stood and turned away. "This is all your fault!" she accused, pointing a trembling finger at Kanthar. "You always spoiled her!"
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Kanthar's lips before he sighed. "Well," he said, drawing a death glare from his wife. He paused, choosing his words with the care of an architect designing a load-bearing wall. "Since we can't change your mind… promise you will at least keep in touch."
Vesta's face transformed. The tension shattered as she launched herself from the couch, rushing to her grandfather and throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Grandfather! I promise! I promise!" she cried, jumping up and down in her excitement.
Kanthar struggled to maintain his dignity, his arms awkwardly encircling her as she bounced. "This time," he grunted, "try not sneaking out. Let us give you a proper send-off."
The sound of voices and footsteps in the hall made Vesta jump back, her joy overflowing. "I have to tell them!" she exclaimed, and without another word, she rushed for the door, leaving her grandparents in the sudden quiet.
Kanthar watched her go, a low chuckle escaping him. He then turned to Pilvi, who was steadfastly wiping the tears from her cheeks.
"You are the reason she acts like this," Pilvi said, her voice thick but losing its edge.
Kanthar walked to her, placing a firm, comforting hand on her shoulder. "You are right, of course."
"We may never see her again," Pilvi whispered, the fear laid bare.
Kanthar sighed, the sound full of a weary, profound love. "I know. She is a light in this world, Pilvi. And if we try to hide her away, if we do not let her shine… then we will be the ones who suffer. It is time to let the songbird spread her wings."
Pilvi turned, looking up at him, her eyes swimming with tears she no longer fought. "It's not fair."
He drew her into an embrace, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "I know," he murmured into her silver hair. "But at least this way, we can still be a part of her life."
She sniffled, her body relaxing against his. "I hate it when you make a point."
A genuine, warm chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I know."
The Lavana dining hall was a cavern of polished cloud-wood and soft light, but the scene unfolding around the long table was anything but serene. Vesta, freed from the earlier tension, was beaming, giggling at something Eliane whispered. The source of most of the chaos, however, was at the other end of the table.
"Jelly, you wobbly drongo, that's the third salt cellar you've tried to absorb!" Jannali scolded, snatching the small ceramic pot from the gelatinous blue blob.
Atlas, supposedly helping, simply pilfered a roasted cloud-root from the platter Jannali was trying to defend. "I'm creating a diversion," he stated, popping the vegetable into his mouth.
"You're a bludger, is what you are! You're supposed to be helpin' me, not scavengin'!" Jannali shot back.
This led to a miniature standoff where Jelly, intrigued by the conflict, morphed into a wobbly replica of Atlas, brandishing a jiggly, fake breadstick. Atlas, in turn, bared his fangs in a playful growl, making the jelly-copy flinch and quiver.
Kanthar and Pilvi watched these interactions from the head of the table, their postures rigid, their brows furrowed in a mixture of judgment and profound confusion. It was like watching a nature documentary on particularly unruly fauna.
Pilvi, seeking a semblance of order, shifted her attention to the one guest who was eating with quiet focus. "Sir," she began, her tone cutting through the minor scuffle. "If I am not mistaken, are you not one of the Marine Admirals?"
Aokiji paused, a forkful of seasoned cloud-barley halfway to his mouth. "Why yes, ma'am, I was. But I am not anymore. Let's just say I'm retired." He resumed eating.
Pilvi was profoundly unimpressed. "Tell me, sir, what brings you to Lumenara?"
Aokiji glanced up, his expression bland. "Just catching a ride."
Pilvi's head cocked, her entire face a question mark. Kanthar, seeing this line of inquiry going nowhere, turned his stern gaze to Marya. "Young lady, you have reclined your sword against the table. Do you always—"
"Her sword is like Mikasi!" Vesta interjected cheerfully, saving Marya from having to answer. "It goes everywhere with her!" Her attention was immediately recaptured as Jelly made a lunge for her bread roll. "Hey! That's mine!"
Galit, sensing a need to steer the conversation toward their actual goals, smoothly cut in. "Perhaps you could offer more insight about the Labyrinth? Or tell us where we might find more information about it."
Kanthar raised a skeptical eyebrow. "The Labyrinth is a tool for spiritual enlightenment." His eyes scanned the motley crew—the bread-hoarding jellyfish, the bickering Mink, the retired admiral, and the stoic swordswoman. "I find your inquiry to be…" He paused, searching for the word. "…unexpected."
Marya smirked, taking a slow sip of her wine. "We are deeply spiritual. The whole point of this quest is enlightenment."
Across the table, Aokiji tried not to choke on his water, a muffled cough escaping him.
Atlas patted him on the back with more force than necessary. "You alright there, Frosty?"
Kanthar stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing as he examined Marya more closely. "Young lady, may I ask what your full name is?"
Marya paused, her glass hovering. A soft curse was audible only to those with the sharpest hearing. The table fell quiet, all eyes turning to her with knowing smirks. Vesta, however, just looked confused. "Full name?"
Jelly chose that moment to bounce past, snatching the entire breadbasket. Eliane giggled while Jannali cursed inventively at his retreating form.
Marya sighed, setting her glass down. "Sir, I appreciate your hospitality. Let's not—"
"You resemble a young lady I knew once," Kanthar interrupted, his voice thoughtful. "Elisabeta Vaccaria."
Marya jolted, swallowing hard before forcing a thin smile. "She was my mother."
Kanthar's own smile was faint but genuine. "I see the resemblance. She was here, same as you, investigating the Labyrinth. She had a young man with her at the time. I think he is a Warlord or some such now."
Marya's eyes narrowed. "Dracule Mihawk."
Vesta shot to her feet, her hands slamming on the table with a crack that made the china rattle. "YOU KNEW DRACULE MIHAWK AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!"
Pilvi, cutting into her food with serene focus, didn't even look up. "Sit down, Vesta. We have met many people in our lives."
Vesta's furious brow was furrowed as her head swiveled to Marya, who was now scowling at her over the rim of her wine glass. Vesta stared, the pieces finally, irrevocably, clicking into place. Her eyes widened to saucers. She whispered, "No way." Her finger shot out, pointing accusingly at Marya. "You! You are Dracule Mihawk's daughter!"
A wave of chuckles traveled around the table. Atlas mumbled around a mouthful of food, "Took you long enough, songbird."
Vesta freaked out, letting out a high-pitched squeal that probably startled the owls in the garden. "OH MY GOD! What is it like? Is his sword really that big? Does he sleep in a coffin? Does he—"
"Vesta," Pilvi mock-scolded, her tone dangerously sweet. "Sit down. And finish your food."
"But Grandmother!"
Pilvi merely raised her eyebrows, a challenge in her gaze. Vesta deflated, sliding back into her chair, but her eyes remained fixed on Marya with a whole new, star-struck intensity.
Eliane leaned over to Jannali, whispering, "What's the big deal?"
Jannali whispered back, "I'll tell you later, kid. It's a whole thing."
Kanthar, ignoring the fallout, continued calmly with Marya. "I am glad to see they finally got together."
Marya smirked, shaking her head as she took another, longer sip of wine. The path to enlightenment, it seemed, was paved with awkward family dinners and shocking revelations.
The quiet clink of cutlery and the lingering shock of Marya's revealed lineage hung in the air, thick as the aroma of roasted cloud-boar and herbs. It was Galit who broke the silence, clearing his throat with a sharp, tactical sound that cut through the atmosphere.
"About the Labyrinth," he said, drawing all eyes back to him.
Kanthar, having taken a slow sip of his wine, studied the group over the rim of his glass. "Do you intend to attempt to traverse it?"
Marya leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the stem of her own glass. "We do. I'm curious to see how 'enlightened' this particular group can become."
As if on cue, a blue blur sailed over the center of the table in a triumphant arc, a pilfered cupcake held aloft in a wobbly hand. Jelly landed with a soft splat on the other side, immediately beginning to vibrate with sugary excitement.
Kanthar watched the gelatinous spectacle, a dry, unexpected chuckle escaping him. He gestured with his chin toward Jelly. "You are just like them."
A wry smirk touched Marya's lips. "I get that all the time."
Seeming to decide that their motives, however chaotic, were genuine, Kanthar set his glass down and steepled his fingers. "The Temple of the Luminous Path is the heart of our city. It is not merely a structure; it is a belief made manifest in cloud-stone and light. Within it lies the Great Labyrinth." His voice took on the resonant tone of a master craftsman explaining his life's work. "The walls are infused with Seastone, not as a barrier, but as a purifier. Its frequency creates a… heaviness in the air, a trial for those who rely on external powers. The path itself is a living thing, its corridors shifting, presenting puzzles of light and reflection that test one's intellect and spirit."
He went on, his description painting a vivid picture of the defenses. "Then there are the automata. The Gargoyle Sentinels are the wardens of stone. They patrol fixed routes, their bodies reinforced with Seastone composite. A single touch can feel like drowning to a Devil Fruit user. They are slow to wake, but relentless."
Pilvi, observing the crew's reactions, added a sharper detail. "And the Gorgon Watchers. They do not move from their chambers. Their gaze is a Lens Dial that captures your image, and a Flash Dial of immense power turns that image to solid, opaque cloud-stone. They only activate for those with hostile intent. A pure seeker may pass unharmed." Her eyes lingered on each of them, as if assessing the purity of their spirits.
"For those who think they are ready," Kanthar concluded, "there is a display in the Temple's antechamber. Models, diagrams. It is meant to dissuade the foolish and prepare the determined."
A thoughtful silence settled for a moment before Kanthar's gaze returned to Marya. "Your parents attempted the Path."
He smirked, a rare crack in his stern facade. "More accurately, your mother attempted, and your father followed so she wouldn't get herself killed."
Marya's smirk mirrored his. "Sounds like them."
Vesta, who had been vibrating with barely contained excitement, burst out, "Did they make it all the way through?"
Pilvi allowed a small, genuine grin. "They did."
Marya pressed her lips together, her gaze turning inward. "I wonder what they were looking for?" she mused, more to herself than anyone.
Galit, hearing her, tilted his head. "The same as you?"
Marya shook her head slowly. "Don't think so." Her eyes shifted almost imperceptibly toward the cursed sword, Eternal Eclipse, leaning against her chair. "I wonder…"
Atlas, noticing the subtle shift in her expression through a mouthful of food, swallowed noisily. "What is it?"
"Just remembering something Pedro said," Marya replied, her voice distant.
Atlas waved a dismissive hand, reaching for another roll. "I wouldn't overthink what he says. The old cat's always spoutin' something profound."
Marya nodded, but the faraway look in her golden eyes remained as she took another sip of wine, the ghosts of her parents' journey and the words of the old mink weaving together in the silent spaces of her mind. The Labyrinth was no longer just a means to an end; it was becoming a conversation with the past.
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