The transition from the silent, color-bleached horror of the dimensional rift to the brutal laws of physics was a nauseating, gut-wrenching affair. One moment, there was the screaming silence of non-space; the next, a violent lurch as gravity reasserted its dominion with vengeful force.
Their stomachs tried to climb into their throats as the submarine plummeted, falling a solid fifty feet through open air with the grace of a brick. Charlie's shriek of "What is happening? Are we—?" was cut off by a world-ending CRASH as the vessel slammed into the water. The impact threw them against their harnesses, the sound of straining metal and groaning hull plates echoing through the cabin like a death rattle. For a long, disoriented moment, they simply sat in dazed silence, the submarine bobbing violently in the swells, water sloshing against the viewports.
Aurélie was the first to move, her fingers, steady despite the jarring landing, dancing across the console. "Systems check. Structural integrity holding."
Bianca, looking a little green, shook her head as if to clear it and joined in, slapping at buttons. "Like, trying to get a location lock. Everything's all… spinny."
Charlie, clutching his chest, gasped, "Well? Are we… intact? Are we home?"
Bianca glanced over her shoulder, her expression strained. "Like, keep your shorts on, Charlie! We are, like, trying to figure out which patch of blue we're bobbing in!"
Kuro, who had been observing the familiar pull of gravity with a profound sense of relief, cut through the chatter, his voice dry. "The more pertinent question: are we in the Blue Sea?"
Aurélie didn't look up from her screen, a faint, triumphant smirk touching her lips. "Yes."
Without another word, Kuro unbuckled his harness and stood, methodically beginning to unseal the cumbersome pressure suit.
"What are you—?" Charlie began, his eyes wide.
Kuro looked back at him, already shrugging the heavy suit from his shoulders. "I am going to see for myself." The simple, direct action was infectious. Ember, a spark of desperate hope in her eyes, scrambled to follow, followed a moment later by a flustered Charlie, all of them shedding their bulky Typhon Cluster survival gear like molting insects.
Bianca looked at Aurélie. "Like… well."
Aurélie finally looked up from her console, her head cocked. "We are not in the Floridian Triangle."
"Like, yeah," Bianca sighed, standing and stretching. "But at least we're, like, on the right planet. That's a plus, right?"
Aurélie offered a rare, weary sigh in response and followed the others through the inner hatch and up onto the conning tower.
The first thing that hit them was the smell—a complex bouquet of salt, blooming tropical flowers, and the distinct, sulfurous breath of geothermal vents. The air was warm and heavy with humidity, a stark, welcome contrast to the recycled, metallic-tanged atmosphere of the Cluster.
Aurélie paused on the deck, her sharp eyes taking in the scene just a second after everyone else. Charlie, Kuro, and Ember were standing rigid, their hands slowly rising into the air. The color had drained from Charlie's face.
"It appears," Charlie whispered, his voice trembling as he glanced back at her, "we have landed in the middle of a Marine base."
Aurélie's head swiveled, her mind automatically counting threats. They were floating in the center of a vast, circular harbor, its sheer walls forged of dark, volcanic basalt. The water itself was a stunning, deep azure, but the picturesque view was marred by the dozen cannon ports staring at them from the fortified walls, and the three sleek Marine warships that had already maneuvered to block the harbor's entrance. The buildings climbing the crater walls were a bizarre mix of reinforced concrete bunkers disguised with fake thatched roofs and cheerful pastel paints. High above, nestled into the rock face, was a command center that looked like it had been carved from the volcano itself.
A voice, magnified by a Den Den Mushi, boomed across the water, shattering the tropical calm. "Surrender! This is Marine Base G-88, 'The Iron Pearl'! Stand down and prepare to be boarded!"
Aurélie's sigh was a soft, defeated sound. "Options for a swift—"
Bianca cut her off, her hands also creeping upward. "Like, not right now! The core needs, like, at least an hour to cool down before we can even think about another jump. And I'm, like, one hundred percent sure this place is fortified with sonic buoys and seastone nets. So, like… yeah."
Kuro, his hands raised in a gesture of perfect, calm surrender, finished the thought. "We will have to escape later."
Ember swallowed hard, her fingers twitching. "Um… what if I—"
"Like, chill, Ember," Bianca hissed, cutting her off with a sharp look. "Just try to, like, think happy thoughts. No fireworks."
Aurélie gave a sharp nod of agreement. "We do not need to advertise our Devil Fruit powers." Her gaze then fell on Kuro, whose expression was unnerving. He wasn't fearful or even tense. A small, almost imperceptible smile was playing on his lips. "Why are you smiling?" Aurélie asked, her voice low.
Kuro cocked his head, his eyes scanning the familiar uniforms of the Marines now aiming rifles at them from nearby decks. The cracked lenses of his glasses hid the calculating gleam in his eyes. "It's just… refreshing," he said quietly, "to be dealing with an enemy I understand. Cannons, bureaucracy, predictable aggression. It's almost nostalgic."
Aurélie's storm-grey eyes narrowed. "You forget," she murmured, the words meant for him alone as the first Marine boarding party zoomed toward them on a launch. "You are a pirate."
On the volcanic walls, Mimic-Macaws perched on steel-reinforced vines, perfectly replicating the sound of rifle bolts being chambered, adding a layer of surreal auditory menace to the scene. The Iron Pearl had them in its grip, and for now, all they could do was surrender and hope their masks—both as simple castaways and as hidden agents—would hold.
*****
The jungle breathed. It was the first, overwhelming sensation that settled over the crew as they left the carved stone of Vintana Cove behind. The air itself was a warm, wet blanket, heavy with the scent of damp earth, blooming night-flowers, and the faint, sweet decay of fallen baobab fruit. Above them, the canopy of the Sky-Piercer Baobabs formed an almost solid ceiling, great leaves the size of ship's sails stitching together to block out the sky, leaving the forest floor in a perpetual, twilit gloom. The world was illuminated by a soft, pervasive radiance from the glow-moss that clung to every surface, casting everything in a dreamlike, green-tinged haze.
Jelly Squish was in heaven. He bounced along the path—a path that was more a suggestion of less-dense foliage—his gelatinous body jiggling with every hop. A large, iridescent beetle buzzed past his face. With a sound like a wet plorp, Jelly's head stretched out, his mouth widening into a cavernous maw, and swallowed the insect whole. He landed with a satisfied wobble. "Bloop! Spicy!" he giggled, immediately looking for the next buzzing target.
"Status, Jannali?" Galit's voice cut through the humid air for what felt like the hundredth time. His long neck swiveled constantly, his emerald eyes analyzing every shifting shadow and peculiar root formation. "Any change in the magnetic currents? Humidity shift indicating a water source? Unusual animal calls?"
Jannali, who was bent over examining the soft, black earth, let out a low growl. "For the last time, you great plonker, I'm a tracker, not a weather vane! The only unusual animal call I'm hearing is your voice! Now give it a rest before I use your neck for a jump rope." She pointed a frustrated, knuckled fist at a clear set of footprints in the mud. "See? Small. Humanoid. Two feet. We're on the right track."
Atlas, hefting the three crates of rum as if they were filled with feathers, nonetheless seized the opportunity to gripe. "You know, Noodle Neck, these crates have handles. Your spindly arms could manage one. Or are you saving all your strength for asking obvious questions?"
"My 'spindly arms' are busy charting our course through this green hell," Galit retorted, not looking back. "Your job is to carry the bribes. Try not to break them."
A little way behind, Eliane darted off the path every few steps, her small hands plucking strange, fragrant herbs and pocketing oddly shaped fruits. "Ooh, this one's peppery!" she'd exclaim, or "This fungus has a wonderful umami scent!"
"Little chef, stop lollygagging!" Jannali called over her shoulder, her patience thinning. "This isn't a gourmet foraging trip! We're trying to find mythical dwarves, not season a stew!"
Bringing up the rear, Marya moved with a silent, predatory grace that was at odds with the chaos around her. Her golden eyes were half-lidded, her breathing slow. She was stretching out with her Haki, feeling for the presence of minds in the tangled green. She could feel them—small, bright, mischievous sparks flickering at the very edge of her perception, like fireflies in a fog. But every time she tried to focus on one, it would vanish, only to reappear behind them, or to the side, laughing soundlessly.
And through it all, Vesta provided the soundtrack. She strummed Mikasi, which has shifted into a lute weaving a meandering, nonsensical tune.
🎵
"Oh, the jungle is deep and the trees are so tall,
The big fuzzy man is about to have a great fall…
The lady with the scarf is losing her mind,
And the little blue guy is eating the rind…"
🎵
It was, Marya thought with a faint, weary smirk, an annoyingly accurate ballad of their situation.
For a situation it was. Jannali's initial confidence had curdled into sheer, unadulterated frustration. The small, clear footprints were a taunt. They would follow them meticulously, pushing through thick curtains of vines, only to break into a small clearing and find their own footprints from ten minutes prior staring back at them. Another time, the tracks led them straight into a wall of thorns so sharp they shredded the hem of Jannali's skort.
"This is impossible!" Jannali finally erupted, throwing her hands up in the air. "It's not natural! The ground's not moving, the stars aren't out to navigate by… it's like the whole island is a spinning top and we're the idiots stuck on the rim!" She kicked a loose root. "I swear we're caught in some kind of… of Devil Fruit loop! A temporal-spatial paradox designed to send us completely 'round the twist!"
"Maybe they're just better at this than you are," Atlas suggested, a provoking grin on his face.
"You want to carry these crates and try, fur-ball? Be my guest!"
"Everyone, stop." Marya's voice was quiet, but it cut through the bickering. She stood still, her head cocked. "They're watching us. They're listening to every word. Arguing is just giving them a better show."
The truth of it settled over them. The jungle seemed to press in closer, the chirping melodies in the leaves now sounding suspiciously like giggles.
With a grunt of finality, Atlas carefully set the crates of rum down in a relatively dry, mossy patch. "Right. That's it. We're going in circles, the tracker's about to have a conniption, and the musician is composing our obituary. We're making camp here. Now. Before one of you does something we'll all regret."
There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the drip of water and Jelly's stomach gurgling as he digested a particularly large moth. Reluctantly, one by one, they agreed. The jungle had won this round. As the deep, artificial twilight began to deepen into a truly dark night, the crew began the weary task of setting up a makeshift camp, the mysterious Kalanoro and their elusive resin feeling further away than ever.
The campfire, a defiant orange eye in the vast, breathing darkness of the jungle, popped and crackled, pushing back against the oppressive gloom. The glow-moss seemed to retreat from its heat, leaving the crew in a flickering island of light surrounded by a wall of whispering black. The air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke and the sweet smell of sliced fruit that Eliane had foraged.
Vesta sat on a fallen log, Mikasi having smoothly shifted into the form of a lute in her hands. She strummed a jaunty, mocking tune, her voice a melodic whisper that danced with the firelight.
🎵
"Oh, the trackers are lost and the footprints are lies,
The navigator's got worry in his eyes!
They walked in a circle, a comical feat,
And now they're all resting their tired, tired feet!"
🎵
Jelly, a blur of blue in the firelight, continued his one-creature bug-hunting festival. He launched himself after a particularly large, buzzing beetle, his body elongating like stretching taffy. With a triumphant slorp, he swallowed it. A second later, his whole form shuddered violently. A pained "Gack!" escaped him as the beetle, apparently armed with formidable mandibles, began fighting back from the inside. Jelly bounced around, sputtering and shaking, trying to forcibly eject his angry dinner.
"Serves you right, you wobbly gannet!" Jannali called from where she was sharpening a stick with her knife. "Maybe you'll learn to check if your food is wearing armor first!"
Eliane giggled, her hands a blur as she deftly sliced a strange, star-shaped fruit, arranging the pieces on a broad leaf. "It's ready!" she announced, her voice cheerful.
Above them, nestled in the crook of a massive baobab branch, Atlas lounged like a great cat, chewing lazily on a long stem of grass. The firelight caught the glint of his sapphire eyes. "This reminds me of Zou," he mused, his voice a low rumble. "The deep forests of Rightflank. Everything feels alive and watching you."
On the very edge of the firelight, where the shadows began to writhe, Galit stood with his arms crossed, his back to the group. His long neck was taut, his posture rigid with frustration. He scowled into the jungle as if he could intimidate the very trees into revealing their secrets.
Jannali glanced over at him, sighing. "Oy, mate. Your brain's gonna tie itself in a knot worse than your neck. Come take a break and eat. Scowling at the jungle isn't going to make them appear; it'll just give them a good laugh."
Galit spun around, his patience clearly at its end. "We have been outmaneuvered by what we are told are drunken dwarves! There is a logical solution here, and I—" His tirade cut off abruptly, his sharp eyes narrowing. They landed on the stack of crates beside Atlas's resting tree. His brow furrowed. "Wait a moment," he said, his voice losing its heat and turning cold. "Weren't there three?"
Everyone looked up from their tasks. Eliane paused, a slice of fruit halfway to her mouth. Jannali stopped sharpening her stick. Atlas peered down from his branch, his ears twitching. "Three what, Noodle Neck? What are you on about?"
"Three crates, fur-ball!" Galit snapped, pointing a knuckled fist at the stack. "There were three crates of rum!"
Atlas dropped gracefully from the branch, landing silently beside the two remaining wooden boxes. He looked at them, then his head swiveled, scanning the perimeter of the camp. The mossy patch where he'd placed the third crate was empty. "Well, I'll be," he muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. "The little scamps have got some nerve."
Vesta, sensing a dramatic turn, dramatically swept her fingers across Mikasi's strings.
🎵
"The mystery continues, a curious plight!
The three crates of rum are now two in the night!
What clever little thieves, what a cunning deed!
What, oh what, is the solution we need!?"
🎵
The entire crew turned as one to fix her with a unified, utterly unamused stare. Vesta, completely oblivious, beamed at having provided a fitting soundtrack and launched into the next verse.
Jannali was already on her feet. "Should we look for it?" she asked, striding over to the crates. She knelt, her expert eyes scanning the soft earth. She traced a pattern in the moss, her fingers following a depression that didn't look like a footprint. Then she cursed, vividly and creatively. "You have got to be kidding me."
Galit was at her side in an instant. "What is it?"
Jannali looked up, her expression a mixture of outrage and grudging admiration. "They were here. Right here. The little buggers took it." She pointed to a series of faint, almost circular impressions in the moss. "And look at that. The prints... they're backwards. Heels where the toes should be. No wonder we couldn't track the blighters."
"That's it!" Galit declared, his body coiling with renewed energy. "They couldn't have gone far with a full crate. We follow, now! Atlas, with me! Jannali, you take point!"
The three of them moved as a unit, poised to charge into the dark, a wave of impulsive frustration ready to be unleashed.
"Stop."
The word was quiet, but it froze them in their tracks. Marya was now standing. She had been sitting apart, running a whetstone along the obsidian length of Eternal Eclipse, the rhythmic shhhink-shhhink a counterpoint to the camp's chaos. The black void veins on her arms seemed to pulse in the firelight. She sheathed the monstrous sword with a soft click.
They turned to look at her. Galit's frustration boiled over. "We can't just sit here! We've been walking in circles for hours and haven't made any progress! What do you suggest? Waiting for them to come back for the other two?!"
A slow, knowing smirk touched Marya's lips. It was the expression of someone who had been playing a different game the entire time. "I think," she said, her voice laced with a quiet confidence, "I have an idea."
Vesta, unable to contain herself, strummed a loud, triumphant chord.
🎵
"The plot thickens, the boss speaks!
A clever plan for the nimble and meek!
What scheme does she hold behind those golden eyes?
A surprise! A surprise!"
🎵
Everyone, including Marya, shook their heads in unison, but for the first time that night, the gesture was accompanied by a collective, weary smile. The jungle hadn't won just yet.
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