Elijah walked away from the cove with his hands in his pockets and his mind somewhere else entirely.
The morning sun beat down on his shoulders. Seabirds called overhead. Waves crashed against the rocky shore in that eternal rhythm that should have been soothing. He didn't hear any of it.
He kept looking at his right hand.
The one that had held hers.
His palm still tingled with the memory of her energy. Hot. Furious. A bonfire contained in human skin, ready to burn down everything it touched. He'd siphoned countless people over the years. Pirates. Marines. Thugs who thought they could take advantage of a lone traveler. Their energy always tasted the same. Fear. Desperation. Hunger.
Law tasted like war.
A storm in a bottle, he thought, rubbing his thumb across his palm. And someone broke the glass a long time ago.
His feet carried him inland without conscious direction. The main port fell away behind him, replaced by dirt roads and overgrown trails. His mind kept replaying that moment when he'd mentioned someone hurting her.
Whoever had wounded Law, they'd done it deep.
Troublesome.
And that made her worth pursuing.
His wandering took him past farms and fishing shacks. Past a group of kids chasing a dog through muddy streets. Past an old woman hanging laundry who gave him a suspicious glare and clutched her sheets tighter.
The sound reached him before he understood what he was hearing.
Metal on metal. A rhythmic clanging that spoke of someone working hard on something stubborn. Then a hiss of steam, sharp and sudden, followed by a string of curses so creative that Elijah actually stopped walking to appreciate them.
"You WORTHLESS pile of GARBAGE! I gave you PREMIUM charcoal! The GOOD stuff! And this is how you repay me?!"
CLANG. CLANG. CRASH.
"SHOW SOME GRATITUDE, YOU UNGRATEFUL RUST BUCKET!"
Elijah's grin returned in full force.
That sounded like exactly the kind of trouble worth investigating.
He followed the noise through a gap in a wooden fence, past a sign that read "WOLF'S WORKSHOP - TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT, SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN" and into what could only be described as an explosion in a junkyard.
Scrap metal covered every surface. Half-finished contraptions hung from the ceiling on chains. Blueprints papered the walls so thick they formed a second layer of insulation. A workbench in the corner groaned under the weight of gears and springs and things Elijah couldn't identify. The floor was a minefield of tools, discarded prototypes, and what appeared to be a taxidermied seagull wearing goggles.
In the middle of this chaos stood an old man in the loudest aloha shirt Elijah had ever seen. Orange flowers on a green background. Red sun visor perched on his head. White hair slicked back from a weathered face twisted into an expression of pure fury.
He was currently kicking something.
The something appeared to be a combination of a toaster and a cannon. Steam shot from its sides in irregular bursts. It made a sound like a dying whale every time the old man's foot connected with its metal casing.
"Having trouble there, old man?"
"Piss off." The old man didn't even look up. "I'm in the middle of a scientific breakthrough."
He kicked the machine again. It responded by shooting a piece of toast directly into his face.
Elijah watched the toast slide slowly down the old man's nose and plop onto the ground.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment.
"That," Elijah finally managed, "was the single greatest thing I've ever witnessed."
"I said PISS OFF!"
The old man hurled a wrench at Elijah's head. He dodged it easily, still grinning like a lunatic.
"What even is that thing supposed to do?"
"It's a tactical breakfast deployment system!" The old man jabbed a finger at the smoking contraption. "For soldiers in the field! Hot meals delivered at high velocity! It's GENIUS!"
"It just shot toast at your face."
"THAT WAS A MINOR CALIBRATION ISSUE!"
Elijah's grin widened. He liked this guy already.
Then his brain caught up with his ears, and something clicked into place. The name on the sign. The location on the island. The discount that Law had mentioned.
"Wait a second." His eyes narrowed. "You're Wolf, aren't you?"
The old man paused mid-reach for another wrench. "Who's asking?"
"The girl at the inn said if I used your name, I'd get a discount." Elijah's grin turned sour. "They charged me DOUBLE."
Silence.
Then Wolf threw his head back and laughed.
It was a magnificent sound. Deep and wheezing and full of genuine joy. His whole body shook with it. Tears streamed down his weathered cheeks. He slapped his knee so hard the sound echoed off the metal walls.
"HA! Serves you RIGHT, you cheapskate brat!" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Using a stranger's name to get a handout? The innkeeper knows anyone who ACTUALLY knows me knows I'd never send them there for a discount. It's my 'annoying tourist' tax!"
Elijah stared at him.
Then he started laughing too.
"Fair point." He shook his head, still chuckling. "I walked right into that one."
"Damn right you did." Wolf picked up his fallen wrench, his expression shifting from murderous fury to something closer to grudging amusement. "So. A broke, smart-mouthed kid washed up on my island. What's your story? Sailor? Fisherman? Running from the law?"
Elijah puffed out his chest. "You're looking at the next King of the Pirates."
Wolf studied Elijah with eyes far sharper than his ridiculous outfit suggested.
"But don't worry." Elijah winked. "I don't steal from cool people. And anyone who can scam me out of my last Beri is definitely cool."
"King of the Pirates, huh?" Wolf grunted. He turned back to his workbench and started fiddling with something that looked like a mechanical crab. "Big dreams for a kid with empty pockets."
"Dreams are free. It's the execution that costs."
Another grunt. Wolf's hands moved over his creation without looking, decades of muscle memory guiding his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was casual.
Too casual.
"So. Law. She's something, isn't she?"
Elijah's cocky mask slipped.
He looked away from Wolf, his gaze drifting toward the workshop's single window. Beyond it, the sea sparkled in the morning light. Endless blue stretching to the horizon. A promise of adventure. A call that never stopped singing in his blood.
"She's a storm in a bottle."
The words came out quieter than he intended.
"I'm surprised she's still here. A woman with that much fire in her belly should have set sail years ago. The sea should have called her home by now." He turned back to Wolf, and something serious lived in his expression. "What's holding her back?"
Wolf's hands stilled on the mechanical crab.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Just stood there with his back to Elijah, his shoulders hunched under that ridiculous shirt.
"Everyone's got their own anchor, kid. Hers is just heavier than most."
Elijah waited. Wolf returned to his work, but his movements were slower now. More deliberate.
"If you want to know her reasons, you'll have to ask her yourself." He didn't look up. "It's not my story to tell."
"Well then." Elijah pushed off from the doorframe, his grin returning. "Where can I find her? I feel like we left our conversation unfinished."
Wolf waved a dismissive hand toward the main town. Grease stained his fingers black.
"She's probably at her shift by now. In Pleasure Town."
Elijah's brain froze.
The words echoed in his skull.
Pleasure Town.
PLEASURE TOWN.
"Pleasure Town, huh?" He looked down at his own hands, remembering how Law's energy had felt flowing into his palm. How her body had pressed against that palm tree. The curve of her hips in those spotted shorts. "I didn't know she was THAT kind of girl."
He gave an impressed whistle.
"I mean, she definitely has the body for it. Those legs? That waist? And the way she fills out that bikini top is practically criminal. No wonder she's so good with her hands. All that practice must really pay off when she's working the customers at—"
CLANG.
"She's a WAITRESS, you DEGENERATE!"
Wolf stood over him, brandishing the wrench like a weapon of righteous fury. His face had gone purple with rage. Steam practically shot from his ears.
"Pleasure Town is the NAME of the TAVERN! It's where she works for MONEY to buy MEDICINE and SUPPLIES! And if I EVER hear you talk about that girl's body again, I will shove this wrench so far up your—"
"Okay! OKAY!" Elijah held up his hands in surrender. "I get it! I'm sorry! Waitress! She's a waitress! Very respectable profession!"
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT IS! Get OUT of my workshop!" Wolf jabbed the wrench toward the door. "And if you bother that girl, I'll hear about it! This island has EYES, boy! NOTHING happens here that I don't know about!"
Elijah scrambled to his feet. He backed toward the exit, hands still raised.
"Pleasure Town. Got it. Very family-friendly town. Absolutely no degenerate thoughts whatsoever."
"OUT!"
Elijah walked away from the cove with his hands in his pockets and his mind somewhere else entirely.
The morning sun beat down on his shoulders. Seabirds called overhead. Waves crashed against the rocky shore in that eternal rhythm that should have been soothing. He didn't hear any of it.
He kept looking at his right hand.
The one that had held hers.
His palm still tingled with the memory of her energy. Hot. Furious. A bonfire contained in human skin, ready to burn down everything it touched. He'd siphoned countless people over the years. Pirates. Marines. Thugs who thought they could take advantage of a lone traveler. Their energy always tasted the same. Fear. Desperation. Hunger.
Law tasted like war.
A storm in a bottle, he thought, rubbing his thumb across his palm. And someone broke the glass a long time ago.
His feet carried him inland without conscious direction. The main port fell away behind him, replaced by dirt roads and overgrown trails. His mind kept replaying that moment when he'd mentioned someone hurting her.
Whoever had wounded Law, they'd done it deep.
Troublesome.
And that made her worth pursuing.
His wandering took him past farms and fishing shacks. Past a group of kids chasing a dog through muddy streets. Past an old woman hanging laundry who gave him a suspicious glare and clutched her sheets tighter.
The sound reached him before he understood what he was hearing.
Metal on metal. A rhythmic clanging that spoke of someone working hard on something stubborn. Then a hiss of steam, sharp and sudden, followed by a string of curses so creative that Elijah actually stopped walking to appreciate them.
"You WORTHLESS pile of GARBAGE! I gave you PREMIUM charcoal! The GOOD stuff! And this is how you repay me?!"
CLANG. CLANG. CRASH.
"SHOW SOME GRATITUDE, YOU UNGRATEFUL RUST BUCKET!"
Elijah's grin returned in full force.
That sounded like exactly the kind of trouble worth investigating.
He followed the noise through a gap in a wooden fence, past a sign that read "WOLF'S WORKSHOP - TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT, SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN" and into what could only be described as an explosion in a junkyard.
Scrap metal covered every surface. Half-finished contraptions hung from the ceiling on chains. Blueprints papered the walls so thick they formed a second layer of insulation. A workbench in the corner groaned under the weight of gears and springs and things Elijah couldn't identify. The floor was a minefield of tools, discarded prototypes, and what appeared to be a taxidermied seagull wearing goggles.
In the middle of this chaos stood an old man in the loudest aloha shirt Elijah had ever seen. Orange flowers on a green background. Red sun visor perched on his head. White hair slicked back from a weathered face twisted into an expression of pure fury.
He was currently kicking something.
The something appeared to be a combination of a toaster and a cannon. Steam shot from its sides in irregular bursts. It made a sound like a dying whale every time the old man's foot connected with its metal casing.
"Having trouble there, old man?"
"Piss off." The old man didn't even look up. "I'm in the middle of a scientific breakthrough."
He kicked the machine again. It responded by shooting a piece of toast directly into his face.
Elijah watched the toast slide slowly down the old man's nose and plop onto the ground.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment.
"That," Elijah finally managed, "was the single greatest thing I've ever witnessed."
"I said PISS OFF!"
The old man hurled a wrench at Elijah's head. He dodged it easily, still grinning like a lunatic.
"What even is that thing supposed to do?"
"It's a tactical breakfast deployment system!" The old man jabbed a finger at the smoking contraption. "For soldiers in the field! Hot meals delivered at high velocity! It's GENIUS!"
"It just shot toast at your face."
"THAT WAS A MINOR CALIBRATION ISSUE!"
Elijah's grin widened. He liked this guy already.
Then his brain caught up with his ears, and something clicked into place. The name on the sign. The location on the island. The discount that Law had mentioned.
"Wait a second." His eyes narrowed. "You're Wolf, aren't you?"
The old man paused mid-reach for another wrench. "Who's asking?"
"The girl at the inn said if I used your name, I'd get a discount." Elijah's grin turned sour. "They charged me DOUBLE."
Silence.
Then Wolf threw his head back and laughed.
It was a magnificent sound. Deep and wheezing and full of genuine joy. His whole body shook with it. Tears streamed down his weathered cheeks. He slapped his knee so hard the sound echoed off the metal walls.
"HA! Serves you RIGHT, you cheapskate brat!" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Using a stranger's name to get a handout? The innkeeper knows anyone who ACTUALLY knows me knows I'd never send them there for a discount. It's my 'annoying tourist' tax!"
Elijah stared at him.
Then he started laughing too.
"Fair point." He shook his head, still chuckling. "I walked right into that one."
"Damn right you did." Wolf picked up his fallen wrench, his expression shifting from murderous fury to something closer to grudging amusement. "So. A broke, smart-mouthed kid washed up on my island. What's your story? Sailor? Fisherman? Running from the law?"
Elijah puffed out his chest. "You're looking at the next King of the Pirates."
Wolf studied Elijah with eyes far sharper than his ridiculous outfit suggested.
"But don't worry." Elijah winked. "I don't steal from cool people. And anyone who can scam me out of my last Beri is definitely cool."
"King of the Pirates, huh?" Wolf grunted. He turned back to his workbench and started fiddling with something that looked like a mechanical crab. "Big dreams for a kid with empty pockets."
"Dreams are free. It's the execution that costs."
Another grunt. Wolf's hands moved over his creation without looking, decades of muscle memory guiding his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was casual.
Too casual.
"So. Law. She's something, isn't she?"
Elijah's cocky mask slipped.
He looked away from Wolf, his gaze drifting toward the workshop's single window. Beyond it, the sea sparkled in the morning light. Endless blue stretching to the horizon. A promise of adventure. A call that never stopped singing in his blood.
"She's a storm in a bottle."
The words came out quieter than he intended.
"I'm surprised she's still here. A woman with that much fire in her belly should have set sail years ago. The sea should have called her home by now." He turned back to Wolf, and something serious lived in his expression. "What's holding her back?"
Wolf's hands stilled on the mechanical crab.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Just stood there with his back to Elijah, his shoulders hunched under that ridiculous shirt.
"Everyone's got their own anchor, kid. Hers is just heavier than most."
Elijah waited. Wolf returned to his work, but his movements were slower now. More deliberate.
"If you want to know her reasons, you'll have to ask her yourself." He didn't look up. "It's not my story to tell."
"Well then." Elijah pushed off from the doorframe, his grin returning. "Where can I find her? I feel like we left our conversation unfinished."
Wolf waved a dismissive hand toward the main town. Grease stained his fingers black.
"She's probably at her shift by now. In Pleasure Town."
Elijah's brain froze.
The words echoed in his skull.
Pleasure Town.
PLEASURE TOWN.
"Pleasure Town, huh?" He looked down at his own hands, remembering how Law's energy had felt flowing into his palm. How her body had pressed against that palm tree. The curve of her hips in those spotted shorts. "I didn't know she was THAT kind of girl."
He gave an impressed whistle.
"I mean, she definitely has the body for it. Those legs? That waist? And the way she fills out that bikini top is practically criminal. No wonder she's so good with her hands. All that practice must really pay off when she's working the customers at—"
CLANG.
"She's a WAITRESS, you DEGENERATE!"
Wolf stood over him, brandishing the wrench like a weapon of righteous fury. His face had gone purple with rage. Steam practically shot from his ears.
"Pleasure Town is the NAME of the TAVERN! It's where she works for MONEY to buy MEDICINE and SUPPLIES! And if I EVER hear you talk about that girl's body again, I will shove this wrench so far up your—"
"Okay! OKAY!" Elijah held up his hands in surrender. "I get it! I'm sorry! Waitress! She's a waitress! Very respectable profession!"
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT IS! Get OUT of my workshop!" Wolf jabbed the wrench toward the door. "And if you bother that girl, I'll hear about it! This island has EYES, boy! NOTHING happens here that I don't know about!"
Elijah scrambled to his feet. He backed toward the exit, hands still raised.
"Pleasure Town. Got it. Very family-friendly town. Absolutely no degenerate thoughts whatsoever."
"OUT!"