The bubble-coated ship continued its solitary, profound dive, a silent, minuscule speck adrift in the colossal, indifferent ocean.
Days had blurred into a strange, timeless continuum in the abyssal gloom. The deep, rhythmic hum of the bubble against the crushing pressure of the water was the ship's constant heartbeat, a reassuring thrum in the profound quiet.
Light, when it appeared, was fleeting - the ethereal glow of bioluminescent creatures, or the distant, shimmering currents that hinted at unseen wonders beyond the bubble.
Inside the cabin, the initial chill had settled into a steady coolness, a constant reminder of the alien world surrounding them.
Robin, still mostly bundled, was intently studying an old nautical chart, tracing lines to an unseen destination.
Guts, ever watchful, out of habit, was meticulously sharpening his now never dull and unbreakable Dragonslayer, the rasp of stone against metal a familiar, almost comforting sound.
Suddenly, a soft, almost embarrassed grumble echoed in the cabin.
Robin's cheeks colored faintly.
Her stomach, after days of rationed supplies, had just made a surprisingly loud, cute sound.
Guts paused his sharpening, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his lips. He glanced at her.
"Heh," was all he uttered, but the sound, for Guts, was practically an uproarious laugh. It was teasing, no doubt about it.
Robin huffed, trying to maintain her dignity.
"It's the cold."
She mumbled, "makes one's metabolism... active."
"Uh-huh."
Guts grunted, setting the Dragonslayer aside. He rose and went to a sturdy, sealed cabinet in the corner of the cabin.
"Whatever you said, kid."
He returned, his arms laden with provisions that seemed to defy the harsh reality of their journey.
A thick, woven picnic mat was unfurled on the cabin floor.
Then, he laid out their treasures: generous portions of expertly dried, smoked meat, strips of sweet, preserved fruit, and, to Robin's delight, a perfectly intact, golden-brown apple pie, clearly something Guts had acquired (or perhaps simply taken) from the surface.
And finally, with a soft clink, he produced a few bottles of strong, dark rum.
"Looks like you're old enough for this now," he said, pushing a bottle towards her, the implied passage of time evident in his casual gesture.
Robin's eyes widened, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips.
"Guts! Rum and apple pie!"
She looked down at the spread, then at the remnants of her voluminous, snowman-like outfit. "And," she added, with a genuine sigh of relief,
"I'm just glad I don't have to eat grass this time."
Guts grunted again, the corners of his lips twitching upward slightly as he began to peel Robin from her layers of blankets, an almost tender, if still gruff, act. Once free, she settled onto the picnic mat, a rare feeling of domesticity blooming in the strange, silent depths.
They ate in comfortable companionship, the rich flavors a welcome break from their journey's monotony.
Robin savored the sweetness of the pie, the tang of the rum a warming presence in her stomach.
As they ate, sharing the quiet space, Robin felt a familiar, subtle thrum at the edges of her perception.
It was faint at first, a Whisperer of the World that had begun to blossom within her since Ohara, a connection to the natural world around her. She paused mid-bite, her fork hovering. The murmurs were becoming clearer, not just the generalized 'feel' of the ocean, but distinct voices.
They were deep, resonant, ancient.
A low, rumbling conversation, like boulders shifting on the seabed, yet perfectly intelligible.
It was the Sea Kings, speaking amongst themselves, their vast, powerful forms moving silently in the unseen waters around their bubble.
Robin stopped eating entirely, her eyes widening.
She tilted her head, listening intently. The words, so mundane yet so profound from these titans of the deep, cut through the quiet.
"...yes, the Red Line will suffer for it..." one rumbled.
"...but two of them? After so long..." another whispered, a mournful, echoing sound.
"...the Prophecy speaks of one, not two, who will command us?..." a third added, its voice ancient and weary.
"...Poseidon... reborn, then reborn again... it defies the currents..."
Robin's breath hitched. Poseidon. The name, spoken by the very rulers of the ocean, sent a jolt of pure curiosity through her.
Unable to contain herself, she ran towards the outside cabin and she leaned towards the invisible giants beyond their bubble, her voice a clear, focused whisper, carrying across the silent water.
"Excuse me!"
She spoke directly to them, a peculiar blend of childlike politeness and scholar's demand, "You just mentioned... Poseidon. What is Poseidon?"
A moment of profound, unnatural silence descended. The rhythmic pulses of the sea monster that carried them seemed to slow. Then, a voice, deeper and more ancient than the others, boomed directly into Robin's mind, a voice that seemed to stretch across millennia.
It belonged to Amon, the oldest of the Sea Kings, a being of immense wisdom and power.
Little one... Amon's voice resonated through her very bones, a profound, knowing sound. Your voice... it is not of our kind, yet it carries the rhythm of the tides... the wisdom of the earth. You are the Whisperer... the one who bridges the worlds.
A pause, pregnant with immense recognition.
And you ask of Poseidon? You do not know... that you yourself are the herald? You are the Bringer of Good News.
Robin gasped, a shiver running down her spine.
The vast, indifferent ocean suddenly felt alive, responsive to her in a way she had never dared to imagine.
Her nascent ability was far more ancient, far more significant than she could have ever conceived.
This was no mere skill; this was destiny, whispered by the kings of the deep.
Amon's ancient voice softened, imbued with a hint of sorrow.
We regret, Bringer of Good News, that we cannot accompany you on your journey. Our tides are bound. We, the Sea Kings, have already chosen a master, and our loyalty to the True King is absolute. The unspoken weight of prophecy and ancient pacts hung in the dark water. But fear not. From this moment forth, the sea is your friend. No creature of the deep will knowingly harm you or your vessel.
Then, a command, clear and resonant, echoed through the oceanic depths, directed not just to Robin, but to the very currents and creatures of the world.
My offspring, Gargar, Amon's voice boomed, you shall accompany the Bringer of Good News on her passage. Her journey is sacred.
A ripple, immense and powerful, went through the unseen water, and Robin felt the subtle shift as the surrounding Sea Kings began to depart, their colossal forms retreating into the inky blackness.
Their final thought resonated with her, a collective, reverent acknowledgment: It is an honor to meet you, The Bringer of Good News.
And then, they were gone, leaving only the silent, pressing darkness and the familiar hum of their ship.
Suddenly, a truly colossal shadow loomed outside their bubble.
It was Gargar.
He was immense, easily dwarfing their already sizable ship.
His form was that of a monstrous great white shark, but from his back and sides sprouted thick, powerful kraken-like tentacles, writhing with a life of their own.
Despite his terrifying appearance, his massive shark's mouth stretched into what, to Robin's newly attuned perception, felt like a ridiculously super cheerful grin.
He nudged the bubble gently, his tentacles swaying like eager limbs.
Outside the cabin, Guts, who had been watching Robin's strange interaction with growing intensity, tensed. He hadn't heard the voices, but he saw the colossal shape of the creature, and its approaching presence.
His instincts screamed threat, even though his Brand remained stubbornly silent, a strange anomaly in his usual warning sensor.
Without a second thought, Guts's hand instinctively went to the hilt of the Dragonslayer.
"Hide in the cabin, Robin!"
He commanded, his voice a low growl, already stepping forward, ready to face the titanic beast despite the confining bubble.
Robin, however, simply smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened her features.
She waved a hand at the massive, cheerful creature outside.
"It's alright, Guts," she said, her voice light with a newfound wonder. "He's a friend. His name is Gargar."
Gargar, with his massive, tentacled form, took up position behind their bubble-coated ship.
The colossal shark-kraken acted as an effortless, living current, pushing them through the deep with incredible speed.
The hum of the bubble intensified slightly, a gentle purr against the immense force.
Robin, now fully out of her blankets, watched, fascinated, as the blackness of the abyss slowly began to yield to a faint, ethereal glow on the horizon.
The glow grew, blossoming from a distant pinpoint of light into a vast, iridescent dome that seemed to encompass an entire city.
As they drew closer, the details resolved with breathtaking clarity.
"Fish-Man Island."
Robin whispered, her voice filled with a reverence born of anticipation and amazement.
It was a sight unlike anything she had ever seen. Encased within a gigantic, shimmering air bubble that filtered the deep-sea currents, lay a vibrant, fantastical metropolis.
Intricate, towering buildings, crafted from luminous coral and mother-of-pearl, spiraled upwards, their spires piercing the bubble's ceiling.
Gleaming fish-scales adorned rooftops, catching and refracting the soft, internal light that seemed to emanate from the very structures themselves.
Massive, living coral reefs, painted in every conceivable shade of the rainbow, pulsed with gentle light, forming natural pathways and gardens.
Schools of iridescent fish, vibrant and diverse, swam in glittering clouds through crystal-clear waterways that flowed like rivers between the districts.
Bioluminescent plants swayed gently, casting soft, shifting patterns of light across the streets and buildings.
It was an underwater paradise, a civilization thriving in defiance of the crushing ocean, a testament to ingenuity and beauty.
As Gargar nudged their ship closer to one of the island's many access points - a massive, spiraling current that led into the main bubble - the surrounding Fish-Men and Merfolk, who had been going about their daily lives, suddenly became aware of the colossal, tentacled presence accompanying the small, foreign ship.
Fear rippled through them like a shockwave.
Mermaids, their tails flicking in panic, darted away.
Fish-Men, their powerful forms momentarily frozen, scattered in every direction, their faces contorted in expressions of pure fright.
Their casual conversations were replaced by shouts of alarm and desperate fleeing. The vibrant, bustling underwater city abruptly turned into a chaotic flurry of terrified movement, all because of the massive, cheerful, and utterly oblivious Gargar.
Guts, watching the widespread panic, grunted.
He glanced at Robin, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his eyes, a dry comment unsaid.
Robin simply sighed, a small, wry smile touching her lips. Even as she was awestruck by the beauty of Fish-Man Island, she couldn't help but feel a pang of awkwardness for their new, enthusiastic companion.
The ship, pulled by Gargar, slid smoothly into the entrance current, carried directly into the heart of the wondrous, yet currently terrified, Fish-Man Island.