The hatch swings open.
Shanks looks in. His gaze sweeps across the bridge—taking in the crew, the displays, the chaos of a vessel preparing for departure—before settling on Marya.
"You ready?"
Marya nods. She glances at Galit, her expression softening—just slightly, just for a moment.
"See you in a few."
Galit nods. His neck uncoils slightly, and something that might be a smile flickers across his features.
"Don't keep us waiting too long, Captain."
Marya turns. Her eyes sweep across the crew one last time—Atlas, Jelly, Vesta, Bianca, Charlie, Sanza, Bō-Zak.
She doesn't say goodbye. She doesn't need to as the others follow her out.
She just walks toward the hatch, her boots clicking against the obsidian deck plates, and the others follow.
---
The mini-subs detach from the Dreadnought Thalassa with a soft hiss of pressurized air. Bubbles cascade past the viewports in silvery streams, and the water rushes in—cold, dark, alive with the pressure of the deep. The small vessels sink beneath the surface, their engines humming with the steady pulse of Void Century technology, and the light from Thalassa's singularity core fades above them like a dying star.
Inside the lead sub, Marya sits at the controls.
Her hands move with practiced ease—adjusting the trim, checking the displays, guiding the vessel through the darkening depths. The holographic screens flicker with data: water pressure, current speed, the faint ping of the Pluton's beacon somewhere to starboard. Her golden-ringed eyes scan each readout, cataloging, calculating, preparing for whatever waits ahead.
Behind her, the passenger cabin is... chaotic.
Luffy has his face pressed against the viewport, each breath blooming across the reinforced glass. His straw hat sits askew, and his eyes—wide, star-bright, impossibly alive—search the dark beyond as though the deep has opened its hidden world just for him.
"SO COOL!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the sub's curved walls. "Look at all the fish! Wait—are those fish? They're so weird looking! Hey, Marya, what are those things with the glowy bits? Are they edible? Can we catch one? CAN WE EAT ONE?!"
Marya doesn't turn. When she answers, her voice holds the weary patience of someone long since resigned to the chaos behind her.
"No."
Luffy's face falls. "But—"
"No."
Law sits across from Luffy, legs crossed, Kikoku resting against his shoulder. His spotted hat shadows his tattooed features, but his dark, weary eyes remain fixed on the Pirate King, carrying the fatigue earned through too many hours spent within reach of chaos given flesh.
"I regret everything," Law mutters.
Shanks occupies the co-pilot's seat beside Marya. His single hand rests on the console, not touching the controls—just... resting there. His expression remains composed, but something flickers behind his eyes. Something that looks almost like grief.
Marya glances at him. Her voice is quiet, meant only for him.
"You okay?"
Shanks blinks. The question pulls him back from wherever his mind has wandered. He turns to her, and for a moment—just a moment—his composure cracks.
"I should be asking you that."
Marya's lips quirk. "I'm always okay."
Shanks huffs—a sound that might be a laugh or might be something sadder. "Liar."
Marya doesn't deny it. She just turns back to the controls, her hands steady, her expression unreadable.
Behind them, Luffy has discovered the snack compartment.
"MEAT!"
Law's eye twitches. "That's emergency rations, Straw Hat. Not—"
Luffy has already torn open a vacuum-sealed packet. The smell of preserved meat fills the cabin—salty, smoky, faintly chemical.
"Mmmph!" Luffy says around a mouthful. "This is good!"
Law pinches the bridge of his nose. "I hate you."
"Love you too, Torao!"
Shanks—despite everything—laughs.
It's a small sound. Quiet. Almost surprised. But it's real, and it fills the cabin with something that feels almost like warmth.
Marya glances at him again. This time, she doesn't say anything.
She doesn't need to.
---
Inside the second mini-sub, Aurélie Nakano Takeko sits at the controls.
Her silver hair spills over her shoulders, moonlight against the severe black of her attire. Steel-gray eyes hold the holographic displays with a battle-honed focus, sharpened across decades spent steering through the impossible. Anathema rests at her hip, her hand tightening now and then around the hilt, as though the blade murmurs secrets meant for her alone.
Behind her, the passenger cabin is... less chaotic.
Jannali Bandler occupies one of the seats, her afro bouncing gently with the sub's movement, her headscarf—gold and crimson—adjusted perfectly. Her eyes are closed, and her brow furrows with concentration as she listens—to the water, to the currents, to the voices that only she can hear.
"Bloody noisy down here," she mutters. "All these fish yapping about their day. One of them is complaining about a rock. A rock. Can you believe it?"
Eliane Anđel bounces in her seat, her silver ponytail draped down the center of her back. Wonder brightens her blue eyes as they roam the sub's interior, lingering on holographic displays, humming engines, and the miniature singularity core glowing faintly at its heart.
"I'd forgotten how cozy these little ones feel!" she squeals. "The hum, the close walls, the whole ocean curled around you—it's like slipping into an old memory. I've missed this."
Aurélie doesn't respond. Her eyes remain fixed on the displays, her hands steady on the controls.
Eliane doesn't seem to notice. She turns to Beckman, who occupies the seat beside her, cigarette between his finger, smoke curing around his head.
"Mr. Beckman! Have you ever been in a submarine before?"
Beckman takes a slow drag from his cigarette. His voice comes weathered and dry, every trace of wonder long since worn smooth by all he has seen.
"No."
Eliane's eyes widen. "Really?! But you're a pirate! You've been everywhere!"
Beckman exhales smoke. "Not everywhere."
Eliane considers this. Then she nods, as if this makes perfect sense.
"That's fair. The ocean is really big. Even bigger than the sky, I think. Jannali said so. She can hear it."
Beckman glances at Jannali. The Three-Eye Tribe woman hasn't moved, her eyes still closed, her lips still moving in silent conversation with things that aren't there.
"She can hear the ocean?"
Eliane nods enthusiastically. "Uh-huh! She can hear everything. The wind. The stones. The fish. One time, she told me a rock was sad because someone had kicked it. I gave it a hug. Jannali said that was weird, but I think the rock appreciated it."
Beckman takes another drag of his cigarette. He doesn't respond.
Eliane doesn't seem to mind. She turns back to the viewport, her face pressing against the glass, her breath fogging the surface.
"Ooh! Look at that fish! It's got teeth! So many teeth! Like Sanza when he's angry!"
Aurélie's voice cuts through the chatter, flat and measured.
"Focus."
Eliane nods. "Okay!"
She continues staring at the fish.
---
The two subs descend through the darkness, their lights cutting through the water like blades. Schools of fish scatter in their wake—silver flashes that vanish into the deep. The pressure increases. The hulls groan.
Inside the lead sub, Marya's hands remain steady on the controls.
Luffy has finished the emergency rations. All of them. The empty packets litter the floor around his seat, and he leans back, his hands resting on his stomach, a satisfied grin on his face.
"That was good."
Law stares at the carnage. His eye twitches.
"That was three weeks' worth of rations."
Luffy shrugs. "I was hungry."
"You're always hungry!"
"Yep!"
Shanks—still in the co-pilot's seat—watches the exchange with something that might be amusement. His hand rests on the console, and his expression has softened—just slightly, just for a moment.
Marya notices.
"You're thinking about her."
It's not a question.
Shanks doesn't deny it. His voice is quiet.
"I'm always thinking about her."
Marya doesn't respond. She just reaches out—her hand finding his, squeezing once, then releasing.
Shanks blinks. He looks at her, and for a moment—just a moment—the Emperor looks young. Vulnerable. Like the man he was before the world broke him.
"Thank you."
Marya nods. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to.
Behind them, Luffy has discovered the sub's emergency flare system.
"Ooh! What does this button do?!"
Law lunges. "DON'T—"
FWOOOSH!
---
Inside the second sub, Jannali's eyes snap open.
"Bloody hell!"
Aurélie's head whips around. "What?"
Jannali points at the viewport, her expression shifting from concentration to alarm.
"Something's coming. Something big."
Aurélie's hand tightens on Anathema's hilt. The cursed blade pulses—a faint crimson glow that flickers across the cabin.
Beckman's rifle is in his hands before anyone sees him move. His expression remains unreadable, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—scan the darkness beyond the viewport.
"Where?"
Jannali closes her eyes again. Her brow furrows.
"Below us. And... to the left? No, right. No—" She opens her eyes, her expression confused. "It's moving. Fast. And it's... singing?"
Eliane tilts her head. "Singing?"
Jannali nods. "Yeah. Like... a lullaby. But creepy. Really creepy."
Aurélie's voice cuts through the tension, flat and commanding.
"Brace yourselves."
The sub lurches.
Something massive moves in the darkness below—a shadow that blots out the faint glow of the deep, a presence that presses against the hull like the weight of the ocean itself. The sub groans. The lights flicker.
Eliane squeaks. "What is that?!"
Aurélie doesn't answer. Her eyes remain fixed on the displays, her hands steady on the controls.
Jannali whispers, her voice barely audible.
"It's a Sea King. But... not like any Sea King I've ever heard."
Beckman takes a slow drag from his cigarette. His voice is quiet as old smoke, untouched by the threat below; death has knocked too often to command his attention.
"Then what is it?"
Jannali swallows. Her voice trembles—just slightly.
"I think... it's old. Really old. And it's been down here for a long time."
The shadow moves again. The sub shudders.
And somewhere in the darkness, something sings.