The sea stretched calm and silver beneath the rising sun.
But Kira wasn't looking at the horizon. She was staring at the sails of the ship just beyond the reef.
A small sloop. Loud. Gaudy. Black-and-yellow flag flapping crookedly in the breeze.
She remembered that sail.
The laughing crew that loaded stolen crates at Jaku.
Sayida crouched beside her on the cliff above, squinting through a scope. "Same guys?"
"Same flag. Same idiots." Kira's voice was flat.
They'd left port a day before her. Not careful. Not quiet. And now, they'd anchored near a lonely rock shelf to rest — or to show off. Kira wasn't sure which.
Didn't matter.
They were soft.
And soft targets didn't last long around her.
Kira tapped her fingers along her new staff — the steel-core weapon hummed faintly in response, conducting her power with ease. She had tested it over the past two days: shock bursts, current channels, controlled arcs.
It moved like an extension of her arm now.
Time to see what it could really do.
They took the raft around the cliff, low and slow, paddling into the shadow of sea rocks.
Sayida didn't need instructions.
She knew the look in Kira's eyes by now.
The two women approached the sloop from behind, cloaked in silence.
The ship was barely guarded — one man asleep against a barrel, another singing to himself up front.
No discipline.
No instinct.
No chance.
Kira climbed aboard first.
She moved like a ripple through still water.
No footsteps. No noise.
She didn't hesitate.
Her staff snapped forward, sparking.
One arc.
One body down.
The second pirate didn't have time to scream.
Sayida followed, blade drawn, securing the deck.
Kira descended into the hold.
Three more pirates — eating, laughing, one sharpening a blade.
She stepped into the lantern light.
They looked up, confused.
She didn't speak.
She raised her staff.
Lightning danced down the metal shaft.
And hell broke loose.
The sloop rocked as the last pirate collapsed, twitching, eyes wide with terror. Kira's face didn't change. Her body still buzzed faintly, hair swaying from residual current.
Sayida came down the stairs slowly.
"It's done?"
Kira nodded.
She stepped over the fallen bodies and checked the crates.
Two were sealed with black wax — a symbol she didn't recognize.
She opened them.
Inside: long-range signal flares, forged marine papers and a Den Den Mushi.
Not a baby one.
A tuned communicator.
Kira narrowed her eyes.
Who were these idiots working for?
Back on the deck, Sayida coiled the stolen rope and lit a fire beneath the empty barrels.
"We sinking it?"
Kira stood at the stern, watching the smoke curl into the sky.
"No."
Sayida blinked. "No?"
Kira stepped toward the ship's flagpole and tore the flag down.
She tossed it into the fire.
Then she reached into her coat, pulled out a small blue feather, and dropped it onto the flames.
It didn't burn.
It sparked.
A pulse of soft lightning rippled up the mast as the fire flared — then settled.
"They'll find this ship," Kira said. "Empty. Burnt. Echoing with fear."
Sayida stared at her.
"You want them to start guessing."
"I want them to start wondering," Kira said. "Who's out here cleaning the filth."
They left the sloop adrift, sails torn, symbols scorched, gear stripped.
The Tempest Wing took off again before midday.
New food in the hold.
New dials in the toolkit.
And a Den Den Mushi now wrapped in thick cloth, hidden in Sayida's chest locker.
That night, Kira stood at the bow as a quiet rain rolled in.
Sayida joined her, wrapped in a blanket.
"You think they'll start talking?" she asked.
Kira didn't answer at first.
Then she raised a hand and traced a slow arc of static through the rain.
The droplets hissed on her skin, but she didn't flinch.
"They won't talk."
Sayida looked confused.
"They'll whisper," Kira continued. "And they'll wonder if the lightning will come for them next."
Sayida watched her in silence.
Then said quietly, "Good."
Far away, on a passing smuggler ship, a frightened crew found the ruined sloop the next morning.
The men spoke in hushed tones.
No bodies. No blood.
Only the sound of faint static still lingering in the sails.
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