The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
The Delmar house lay in shadow, the single lantern on the table burning low.
Their mother had cried herself to sleep in her chair, rosary clutched tight between her hands.
Their father sat rigid by the window, his eyes lost somewhere in the horizon, his Marine blade propped against the wall beside him.
But Darius did not sleep.
He stood by the doorway, his hands wrapped in bandages from where his fists had broken against wood and stone earlier that evening.
His eyes burned with restless fire, his chest heaving with every breath as though the walls themselves were strangling him.
He glanced once more at his parents. At his mother's pale, tear-streaked face.
At his father's rigid back, the posture of a soldier who had spent a lifetime bowing his head before authority.
Then his gaze fell to the bounty sheet lying on the table.
Magnus's ink-stained eyes stared back, wild and unyielding, the caption beneath them shouting his crime to the world.
The Butcher of Impel Down.
A curse to some, but to Darius… a reminder.
A symbol of defiance.
"Little brother," he whispered under his breath, "maybe you were right all along. Maybe the world does need to burn."
Quietly, he slipped away into the night.
---
The barracks were silent, the guards long since drunk on cheap rum.
Darius knew the routines; he had lived among Marines all his life.
He moved like a shadow between buildings, his steps silent on the stone.
He reached the armory, the smell of oiled steel thick in the air.
His fingers brushed over racks of blades, pistols and tools of men sworn to defend justice, but blind to the corruption above them.
He selected a long spear of blackened steel, its shaft reinforced with iron rings.
Its weight felt right in his hands, heavy enough to anchor his rage, sharp enough to cut through chains.
Strapping it across his back, he moved to the supplies.
Dried meats, water skins, a compass, rope.
He stuffed them into a satchel with practiced efficiency.
Every step he took, every item he packed, hardened his resolve.
When he finally stepped outside, the sea wind hit his face, sharp and biting.
He turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, where the Holy Land lay like a jewel built on bones.
"I'm coming for you Mira ," he swore, voice low but unwavering. "And if I have to tear down the Celestial Dragons themselves to free you… then so be it."
For a long moment, he stood there, the island behind him heavy with the weight of duty and family.
His path was set and it led straight into the jaws of the world's most untouchable monsters.
The lantern light from his home flickered faintly in the distance. Inside, his parents still sat in the silence of despair, unaware their son had already chosen rebellion.
Unaware that another Delmar was about to join the storm.