Miguel yanked himself out of that lead-heavy memory like a drowning man breaking the surface. First came a grayish darkness before his vision was slowly reeled back to reality by the faint yellow glow of the ceiling light.
"…Phew." He exhaled, palm pressed to his chest, hearing his heartbeat pounding like a drum inside a steel box.
The air carried a scent both familiar and strange: old engine oil, salt frost, damp metal—this was the smell of the Capitano. The submarine was traveling along the ocean floor, the surrounding seawater compressing all sound into a deep, low hum, like the breathing of some sleeping leviathan.
In this environment, time lost its boundaries. No sunlight, no tides, no wind—only pipes and instruments ticking away, reminding you that you were still alive, still moving.
Miguel stared at the cabin wall for two seconds, a bizarre thought surfacing: if he were left here long enough, he might actually forget what "tomorrow" meant.
Just as he was about to rise, the old-fashioned intercom on the wall suddenly rang out sharply, like a needle stabbing into slumbering steel.
He froze, then grabbed the receiver.
"Hello?"
Giovanni's ever-theatrical voice came from the other end, as if even seawater couldn't stop him from taking a bow.
"Hey there, young warrior, had a good sleep?"
Miguel frowned. "I wasn't sleeping—"
"Oh? Even better then. It means you're wide awake—perfect condition for a formal discussion about the 'future.' Come to the command room. Now."
"Can't you talk like a normal person?" Miguel muttered as he hung up the receiver.
No sooner had he put it down than he heard the steady mechanical rhythm from the corridor—the deep parts of the submarine still ticking along at their measured pace, reminding him not to dawdle.
The command room door opened to a wash of warm yellow light and the dim glow of instruments. With all its aged, densely packed gauges, switches, and brass pipes, the place looked like a monster's chest cavity, ready to belch steam at any moment.
Fais had already arrived.
He stood beside the control panel, holding a rolled-up navigation log like he was examining some obscure tome in a library. Hearing footsteps, he didn't even look up.
"You're finally here. I thought you'd gotten lost."
"Do I look like Arran to you?" Miguel snorted. "This ship's not that big."
"It's big," Fais corrected. "You just don't have a sense of scale."
Miguel was about to retort when Giovanni made his grand entrance from the other side of the bridge—complete with an exaggerated arm gesture like he expected a spotlight to follow him.
"Gentlemen, now that everyone's here—"
Fais cut him off coldly, "Spare us the opening act. We're not your audience."
Giovanni didn't seem the least bit offended. If anything, he looked more excited. "Then let's skip straight to the climax!" He spread his arms. "As Captain Spavento, I formally invite you both to join the Capitano and embark on an adventure with us."
Miguel's eyes lit up. "Adventure? I'm in."
Fais's eyebrows nearly hit his forehead. "That was… fast."
"Why not?" Miguel shrugged. "Better than eating crab every day on a deserted island."
Fais turned to him, gritting his teeth. "You're so damn—"
"Hold on, hold on." Giovanni raised both hands like a show host calming the crowd. "I haven't even mentioned the reward yet. As compensation, I will use all of Capitano's resources to help you find a way back to your original world."
This time, Fais didn't immediately counter. He stared at Giovanni, as if trying to determine whether the man was serious or just playing another role.
"How exactly do you plan to help?" Fais asked bluntly. "We don't even know if the 'White Crow World' is a fully developed planet. What makes you think you can send us back?"
Giovanni smiled—less exaggerated this time, like he had pushed the mask up just a little.
"I don't promise," he said. "I offer a possibility—and a path to reach it."
Miguel chimed in, "Sounds pretty reasonable to me."
Fais glared at him. "Shut up."
Giovanni continued, "And that path just so happens to intersect with a rather large problem. You asked how I know—so let me tell you: this world is being sealed off."
"Sealed off?" Miguel blinked. "By who? Leviathan?"
Giovanni shook his head and raised a finger, like introducing the villain of the next act:
"The Empire."
Fais's gaze sharpened. "The Empire?"
"A new power that emerged over a century ago," Giovanni said. "They've been expanding across the White Crow World like a tidal wave. And worse—'refugees' like you two are showing up more frequently."
Miguel instinctively looked at Fais. "Did you hear that? More and more. We're not an exception."
But Fais wasn't swept up by Miguel's excitement. His mind remained razor-sharp. "More refugees doesn't necessarily mean the Empire is to blame. Do you have proof?"
Instead of answering directly, Giovanni posed a seemingly unrelated question:
"Fais, you believe you're 'unrelated' to the Empire, right?"
Fais's face was expressionless. "As far as I can tell, there's no direct link. We're looking for the 'Anchor of Elsewhere,' not meddling in local politics."
"Very rational." Giovanni nodded, like grading a scholar. "But you've overlooked one thing: once a power starts sealing off an entire world, it's no longer 'local politics.'"
Miguel frowned. "When you say sealing off… what exactly do you mean?"
Giovanni looked at him, and his tone suddenly softened in an unsettling way.
"No one knows what the Empire really is," he said. "No one knows if their citizens are human, monsters—or both. But what we do know is this: their territory is expanding. Trade routes are vanishing. Ports have gone silent. Commerce is drying up."
Fais's voice was like a blade: "That's still just expansion. You called it sealing."
Giovanni smiled faintly. "Calling it sealing off is already putting it gently."
He tapped the nautical map on the console with a crisp click.
"When you try to sail somewhere, but the sea route is suddenly off-limits… when every detour is 'erased'… when cries for help go unanswered—then it's not expansion anymore. It's caging the world."
A moment of silence fell over the command room. The submarine's low hum rose like it came from the earth's core, adding weight to every word.
Miguel licked his lips, forcing a joke out through clenched nerves. "So… you want us to break the cage?"
Giovanni immediately lit up, theatrical again. "If possible, I'd love to stage a play called The Warrior Breaks the Cage."
Fais deadpanned, "Don't."
"Fair enough." Giovanni shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe me just yet. But here's the practical consequence: if you want to find the 'Anchor of Elsewhere'—assuming it exists—then in the face of the Empire's threat, even the journey itself will be hell."
Fais responded coldly, "That's just your speculation."
"Yes," Giovanni admitted easily, "which is why I want to show you the most direct evidence."
Miguel perked up. "Where?"
Giovanni pointed ahead. "Akrias."
Fais's eyes narrowed. "The three-island archipelago?"
"That's right."
Miguel froze. "Wait—Akrias?"
He leaned forward sharply, as if trying to eat the map with his eyes. "Captain, didn't you say we boarded near the Angras Sea? The Akrias I know is at least a thousand kilometers from there. Don't tell me this sub can go over 100 knots?"
Giovanni blinked, smiling like a magician revealing a trick. "I wish I could say, 'Yes, because I lit the divine fire.'"
Fais jumped in, "So no?"
"Of course not," Giovanni spread his hands. "This world has something at its 'bottom'—a kind of ultra-fast ocean current."
Miguel frowned. "You're calling that an ocean current?"
"The first mate calls it the 'Abyss Conveyor Belt.'" Giovanni looked very sincere. "Once you cut into that phase, the sea pushes you forward like it wants to eject you."
Fais's eyes gleamed—an academic kind of excitement that made Miguel want to shove him back down.
"'Phase'?" Fais pressed. "Caused by what? Gravitational anomalies? Undeveloped tectonics of the White Crow planet? Or some—"
Giovanni raised a hand in mock surrender. "Fais, asking a fisherman to explain the thermodynamics of a typhoon is just cruel."
Miguel burst out laughing. "You finally said something human."
Fais scoffed. "Shut up."
Still chuckling, Giovanni turned toward the porthole. "Anyway—principles aside, what matters is this: we've arrived."
"Arrived?" Miguel leaned in.
Outside the porthole, there was only the black of the deep sea—a curtain with no end. But as the submarine slowly adjusted its course, unnatural shapes began to emerge.
First a line.
Then another.
Then whole clusters of massive, iron anchor chains—far too large to be man-made—rising from the depths like the ribs of some titanic beast, following an invisible path. The chains were studded with rivets and oxidized nodes, exuding a grim, industrial force. It was hard to tell if they'd been built—or grown.
Miguel's grin faded. "...What is that?"
Fais's throat moved. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Chains."
Giovanni's voice was soft, as if announcing the result:
"The Empire's hand."
Miguel froze, then spun around like he'd just realized something. "Wait—you meant literal sealing?"
Giovanni gave him a "finally, you get it" look.
"Calling it 'sealing' is euphemistic," he repeated. "Because it sounds like policy, like announcements, like lines on paper."
He pointed to the shadows of steel outside the porthole.
"But true sealing is when they wrap their hands around the world's throat."
Silence reigned again in the command room.
Then Miguel did something very Miguel—he took a deep breath, like swallowing his fear, and forced the mood back toward levity.
"All right," he said. "Now this 'adventure' is starting to sound interesting."
Fais turned to glare at him. "Is 'interesting' your standard for survival now?"
Miguel grinned. "What else? I'm not going to use 'boring' as a benchmark."
Giovanni looked between the two of them, then clapped his hands like a show host, grinning radiantly.
"Excellent! That's what I like about you two—one's in charge of reckless, the other's in charge of insults."
Fais corrected flatly, "I'm in charge of thinking."
Giovanni nodded solemnly. "Of course, of course. Then you'll think about how to stay alive, and our young warrior here will make the story exciting."
Miguel raised his chin. "Now that I like."
Fais sighed, as if already predicting countless future moments of "I told you so."
Giovanni, meanwhile, was unbothered. He rested a hand on the console, his voice regaining that dazzling theatrical tone:
"Well then, gentlemen—welcome to the edge of Akrias. Before the next act begins, please fasten your seatbelts. The stage beneath the sea doesn't wait for anyone who's a beat too slow."