The silence in the cavern was profound, broken only by the drip of water and the low, hungry hum of the Iron Scripture's idling engine. The unraveled bone gate had left a gaping passage into deeper darkness, but all attention remained fixed on Ben. The air, thick with the ozone of spent energy and ancient decay, now crackled with a new, more dangerous charge: avarice.
Vallaha Vincinzo was the first to speak, his cultured voice slicing through the stillness. "It seems the legends understated the requirements. It does not seek a worthy captain. It seeks a specific key." His gaze on Ben was no longer one of passing curiosity, but of intense, proprietary calculation. "Mr. Rookiepasta. It appears you have been sitting on the greatest treasure of all, and did not even know it."
Ben's father stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of his son. His hand rested on the cutlass at his hip, a gesture of pure instinct. "The boy is my son. His talents are Rookiepasta talents. They concern no one else."
Goyo Eminex let out a grating laugh that echoed off the cavern walls. "Rookiepasta talents? Do not insult us, sea-scum! I have known your line for three generations. They were thieves and brawlers, not... witch-blood." His eyes, small and piercing in his bearded face, scanned Ben with a new, unsettling interest. "This is something older. Something from before the great freeze. The boy is a relic."
The word relic hung in the air, reducing Ben from a person to a thing, a tool to be used. He felt a cold dread seep into his bones, far colder than the tomb's chill.
"Enough posturing," Vincinzo said, his smooth tone returning, though it now held an edge of impatience. "The gate is open. The key has proven its function. The question is, who holds the key?" He made a subtle gesture. On the decks of the Iron Scripture, crossbowmen subtly shifted their stance, their weapons not aimed at the gate, but at the jolly boat.
Mr. Rookiepasta's crew, a handful of men in the small boat, tensed, their hands drifting to their own weapons. The standoff had turned lethal, and they were hopelessly outnumbered.
It was then that a new light filled the cavern. A clean, white beam from above, piercing the darkness like a spear. They looked up. High above, somehow anchored in the immense space, was the Sea Dart. Yūe Cleoda stood at its railing, a bullhorn in her hand. Her voice, amplified and devoid of any emotion, rang out with absolute authority.
"By the authority of the Guardians of the Sea and Admiral Google, this site is now under protectorate mandate. Cease all hostilities. The individual known as Ben Rookiepasta is to be taken into protective custody for his own safety and for the stabilization of this unstable geological anomaly."
"Protective custody?" Vincinzo sneered, looking up at the Guardian ship. "You mean you wish to possess the key for yourself, little girl. Do not hide your greed behind a badge."
"The Guardians seek to understand and contain, not to exploit," Yūe Cleoda retorted, though a flicker of irritation crossed her features. "His ability is a variable that threatens the balance. It must be studied."
"Studied? Or dissected?" Mr. Rookiepasta shouted back. "I know your 'protective custody'. You'll lock him in a glass box on your floating fortress until he's of no more use!"
Ben stood frozen, a pawn surrounded by kings and queens, each arguing over who had the right to claim him. Pirate, Viking, Guardian—they all saw him as an object. The key. The relic. The variable. The hollow ache in his chest tightened into a knot of panic and anger. The wind's favor stirred again, not a gentle hum but a frantic flutter, like a caged bird beating against its bars.
He looked at the open passage ahead. It led away from them, into the heart of the darkness. Away from the crossbows, the arguments, the greed.
He didn't think. He just pushed.
This time, it was not a single step. It was a burst. He didn't run; he flowed. He became a blur of motion, leaping from the jolly boat onto a nearby jagged rock, then again, a series of impossible, weightless bounds across the treacherous stalagmites that dotted the water. He was moving toward the open passage, a path only he could navigate with such speed and grace.
"Ben! Stop!" his father roared.
"Seize him!" Vincinzo commanded.
A crossbow bolt whizzed past Ben's ear, embedding itself in the rock behind him. Another shattered a stalagmite he had just left. He didn't look back. The world narrowed to the next leap, the next handhold. The power inside him was a screaming torrent now, equal parts terror and exhilaration. He was using it not as a pirate's trick, but as an escape. For the first time, he was using it for himself.
He reached the mouth of the passage and plunged into the darkness without a backward glance. The shouts and commands from the cavern became muffled, then faded away entirely, replaced by the sound of his own ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart.
He was alone. Inside the Leviathan's Tomb.
The passage was narrower here, the pulsating green veins in the walls providing the only light. The air was even colder, and the sense of age was overwhelming. He slowed to a walk, his chest heaving. He had escaped them, for now. But he had jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. What lay ahead was unknown, and what lay behind was a host of powerful enemies who now knew, without a doubt, what he was.
A soft sound made him freeze. It wasn't a drip of water or a scuttle in the rocks. It was a voice. A dry, rasping whisper that seemed to come from the walls themselves.
"The key has entered the lock..." it whispered. "But is the lock ready for the key?"
Ben spun around, but there was nothing there. Only the eerie, glowing tunnel.
"The Heart does not grant invincibility, little one," the voice continued, a note of ancient amusement in its tone. "It reveals truth. The truth of the ocean. The truth of yourself. Are you prepared to see it?"
"Who are you?" Ben whispered, his voice trembling.
The only answer was a low, grinding sound from deep within the tomb. The path ahead was still open, but he now understood the trial was not merely physical. The Leviathan's Tomb was testing his mind, his spirit. And it was just beginning.
Outside, in the cavern, chaos had erupted. The moment Ben vanished, the temporary alliance shattered. Vincinzo's ships opened fire on the Sea Dart, forcing it to retreat to a defensive position. Eminex, seeing the distraction, ordered his longship to charge through the passage after Ben. Mr. Rookiepasta, desperate and enraged, drove his jolly boat forward through the crossfire, a man possessed.
The hunt for the Heart had become a hunt for the key. And the key was now deep inside the cage, racing toward a truth he might not be ready to face.