The small submarine cut through the twilight waters of the Genroshi Territory like a sleek, metal needle. Inside the cramped cockpit, the hum of the engine was a constant companion. Galit Varuna, his long neck bent in a focused 'S-curve', danced his fingers across the holographic piloting interface with a fluid grace, his emerald eyes flicking between readouts. In the co-pilot's seat, Dracule Marya Zaleska sat with her characteristic stillness, a statue of calm amid the low-grade chaos. Her golden-ringed eyes were fixed on the main viewer, one hand resting on the obsidian hilt of Nisshoku leaning against the console. Her leather jacket, bearing the faded pink emblem of the Heart Pirates, creaked softly as she shifted.
The third occupant was a blur of perpetual motion. Jelly, a living sphere of cheerful energy, ricocheted between the port and starboard bulkheads with soft thwumps, chirping happily with each rebound. "Wheee! Are we there yet? Is it time for a sneaky-sneak?" she trilled, bouncing off the ceiling directly between the two pilots.
"If by 'there' you mean 'crashing into the seafloor,' you're accelerating the schedule," Galit remarked dryly, without looking up from his console. A slight smirk touched Marya's lips as she watched the little sphere careen away.
With a chime, the main viewer flickered and resolved into the image of Bianca Yvonne Clark. Her waist-length black hair was attempting to escape a bun skewered by two pencils, and a smudge of engine grease decorated one cheek. Behind her, the grand, metallic architecture of the Dreadnought Thalassa's bridge was visible
"Hey! So, we're, like, at the rendezvous point," Bianca said, gesturing with a wrench she'd forgotten she was holding. A multi-tool holster shaped like a corset was strapped over a floral dress stained with what looked like nut butter. "For when you're, like, ready to bolt for Kamaten."
Galit gave a sharp nod, his eyes still tracking their course. "We'll signal once we have our people and are en route. No sooner."
"Like, cool! I should, like, have way more of the secondary systems humming by then. The, like, integration platforms are being fussy, but, like, Telchines is yelling at them. Hopefully we won't have to, like, make a crazy dash or anything." Her rapid speech was punctuated by the wild, expressive gestures of her free hand.
A distant crash of metal echoed from her end of the connection. Bianca's head snapped around, her magnifying goggles sliding down to her eyes. "Are you, like, serious right now?"
A serene, melodic voice filtered through Bianca's comm. "The young master's current activity is not a wise choice," said Halia, the holographic AI. Her form wasn't visible, but her tone was one of gentle, maternal admonishment.
A flash of golden light was followed by a yelp. "Ouch!"
"A visit to the medical bay may be prudent," Halia suggested.
Bianca groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically before turning back to the screen. "Like, next time? You, like, take the kid with you."
A genuine, if small, smile broke through Marya's stoic expression. "We shouldn't be long. Just keep him from taking the ship apart from the inside."
"I'll, like, try to—Sanza, no! That's not a—ugh." Bianca's agreement was cut short as a mop of unruly red hair and heavy Gallagher eyebrows popped into frame behind her. Sanza Kaplan Figarland, an eight-year-old bundle of celestial arrogance and spectral tiger powers, waved a hand dripping with something shimmering.
"Big Sis! Look! I'm helping with the photon coalescence!"
The screen cut to black with a final sound of Bianca's exasperated sigh.
Galit and Marya exchanged a look—his amused, hers quietly entertained. "He's like a storm in a bottle," Galit muttered.
"A very entitled, talkative storm," Marya replied, her gaze returning forward.
"Arriving at Agashima in five," Galit announced. The viewer repopulated, this time with an external feed. The island that resolved out of the perpetual mist of the Genroshi sea was a monument of heavy, solemn beauty.
Agashima rose from the water not with jagged peaks, but with great, sunken plateaus like the shoulders of slumbering giants. The highest ridges glowed with a dull, rusty orange, veins of raw iron ore exposed to the elements. Lower valleys were drowned in gloomy, beautiful "Iron Swamps," where trees, having drunk deeply from metal-silted waters for centuries, stood as permanent, ruddy statues with leaves of tarnished copper. The air on the scanner was thick with moisture carrying the scent of wet pine, cooled forge-slag, and the deep, mineral tang of hot stone from geothermal vents far below.
But it was the architecture that commanded attention. Gothic spires of dark iron, scaled for beings seventy feet tall, pierced the mist. Flying buttresses of riveted steel arced between buildings like frozen bolts of lightning. And everywhere, there were statues. Lifelike, monumental bronze casts of a singular, formidable figure—a massive buccaneer with a stern brow and broad shoulders—stood sentinel on every cliff, every plaza, every bridge pylon.
"That is… certainly a sight," Galit breathed, his tactical mind instinctively cataloging vantage points and defensive positions.
"The statues definitely make a statement," Marya commented, her voice low. She noted the way they were placed, their sightlines covering all approaches. It wasn't just art; it was a warning, a claim, and a psychological gambit all in one. You are always being watched here.
"Scanning… the life-sign readings are clustered in the main settlement in the central valley," Galit said, zooming the display. A colossal, winding river—the Moselle Moat—encircled the capital like a moat guarding a fortress of industry. Across it spanned the Iron-Web Bridge, a breathtaking construction of braided iron cables as thick as ancient trees. "The river. That's our best ingress point. We can hide the sub beneath the bridge's shadow. The acoustic profile will be a mess there."
Marya leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she traced the path on the screen. "Under the bridge, then? Directly into the belly of the beast."
Galit nodded once. "Affirmative. The primary holding cells, if they're following standard punitive architecture, would be near the central forge complex for easy… repurposing of labor." He didn't elaborate, and Marya didn't need him to. "As long as they're not stashed in the mountain foundries, we should find them quickly."
As the submarine slid silently into the shadow of the colossal bridge, the world outside the viewport darkened. The scale was utterly inhuman. Each iron cable above them was a highway unto itself, crusted with salt and age. The river water, heavy with metallic silt, flowed with a sluggish, whispering sound against the hull, like a river of grinding gears.
Marya stood, the movement fluid and silent. She could feel the immense, quiet weight of Agashima pressing down, a land where time was literally sacrificed to keep a monstrous secret, the Hitotsume, asleep. The air inside the sub tasted of recycled oxygen and anticipation.
"Ready?" Galit asked, powering down the primary drives. The silence that followed was filled only by Jelly's excited, barely-contained vibrating.
Marya's hand rested on Nisshoku. Somewhere in the iron city above, her friends were waiting. She gave a single, sharp nod, her golden eyes reflecting the gloomy light from the screen.
"Let's go bring them home."
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