Voices echo down the stone passage, bouncing off the fossilized shell-walls in a jumble of syllables that make Micah wince. The sound hits him like a physical weight—too many voices, too many overlapping frequencies, each one demanding attention. He presses his palm to his temple, forcing his breathing to slow.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The cellist's technique. The one that steadies his hands before performances.
They chatter like gnats, Thye observes. Their plans mean nothing. Only the gate matters. Only the Hitotsume.
Micah doesn't respond. He can't afford to respond.
Hao leads him through the maze of corridors, past arches carved with serpentine bodies, past sconces burning with flame that never seems to flicker. The air carries the salt of the White-White Sea and that older scent—rain on hot stone, the tang of something metallic and ancient.
They round the final corner. Voices swell. The voices.
Hao stops before a door of black wood, its surface polished to a mirror shine. He turns the handle and pushes it open, stepping aside to let Micah enter.
The room beyond is smaller than the main meeting chamber, with a round table at its center and four figures already seated. Low-burning candles cast amber shadows across their faces.
Donquixote Dunnjona Haigo occupies the seat nearest the door, his pale gray eyes catching the flame as he turns to acknowledge Micah's entrance. His hands rest on the silver head of Mephisto, the cane's tip pressing against the stone floor with casual authority.
Donquixote Doflamingo sits across from his cousin, his posture relaxed, his legs crossed at the ankle. The former Warlord wears his trademark smirk, the corners of his mouth curling with practiced amusement. His pink feather coat drapes over the back of his chair, revealing the lean, powerful frame beneath. His sunglasses reflect the candlelight, hiding his eyes.
Alejandro Fuego occupies the seat to Doflamingo's right, his amber eyes narrowed as he studies the exchange. He thrums the table with his finger tip, dah-dah-dah, attempting to asses his options. Determining if Doflamingo can deliver on his claims.
Garrett Hasapis sits to Haigo's left, his hazel eyes fixed on the table's surface, Stinger leaning against his chair. The saber hums with alien sentience, a vibration that only Garrett can feel.
The door emits a low whine as Hao pulls it closed behind him, the sound announcing his departure. The latch clicks into place.
Micah swallows hard, forcing his features into neutrality.
Doflamingo's head turns toward the newcomer, his smile widening into something that shows too many teeth. His sunglasses slide down his nose just enough to reveal the glitter of his eyes.
"So," he drawls, "this is the infamous heir to the Dracule name."
Haigo nods, his expression unreadable. "Micah, please. Join us."
Micah pulls out a chair and sits, his movements rigid. His glare settles on Doflamingo—a warning, a challenge, a question he can't bring himself to ask.
Doflamingo laughs, the sound rolling through the chamber like a wave against stone. "That glare must be hereditary." His head tilts, studying Micah with predatory interest. "You look just like your father for a moment."
Micah's jaw tightens. His fingers curl against the table's edge.
"But only for a moment," Doflamingo adds, his smile softening into something almost genial. "The resemblance fades when you don't scowl."
The chair creaks as Micah leans back, forcing himself to relax muscles he hadn't realized he'd tensed.
Haigo clears his throat, drawing attention back to himself. Both hands remain on his cane, his posture the picture of composed authority. "We were just discussing resources. Doflamingo believes his connections are still amenable and able to acquire what we need."
Micah lifts a brow, skepticism curling his lip. "Considering the state of the world..."
Doflamingo cuts him off, his voice smooth as silk. "That's exactly it." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "The state of the world is chaos. And my line of work thrives in chaos. Now there's no World Government to intervene. The Revolutionary Army has done us all a favor." His smirk returns. "It's a free enterprise."
Alejandro Fuego stirs in his seat, the thermal aura pulsing once. "We were just discussing the cost."
Doflamingo's head turns toward the former CP-0 agent. "Currency's in flux right now. The Berry's lost its value. Raw resources will be the new coin."
Haigo nods slowly. "That's something I'm fluent in. Trade's been my cover for years. I should be able to accommodate you."
Doflamingo laughs, genuine warmth bleeding through the amusement. "I knew you would, cousin."
Haigo's expression softens—almost imperceptibly, but Micah catches it. The corner of his mouth lifts, and something like color rises in his cheeks. An echo of the child who watched his cousins walk away and never understood why he couldn't follow.
Garrett Hasapis speaks up, his voice flat and practical. "What do you need currently?"
Doflamingo's attention shifts to the swordsman, his head tilting slightly. "I need time to get myself reestablished." He gestures vaguely. "And to get my crew back together. I have a connection at Bootleg Island who can assist me. I'll be moving there for the time being."
"Bootleg Island," Alejandro repeats, his tone neutral. "That's a dangerous place to operate."
"Precisely why I'm the one to do it." Doflamingo's grin returns. "Danger's just opportunity wearing a mask."
A chair scrapes against the floor as Micah stands, his legs moving before his brain fully approves the action. His lips press together in a thin line.
"Alejandro," he says, turning to the former CP-0 agent. "Are we still on time to arrive at Kunaishi Shrine by tomorrow morning?"
Alejandro Fuego nods, his amber eyes tracking Micah's movement. "Weather permitting. The storm patterns are shifting, but we should reach the shrine by dawn."
Micah nods once. "I'll leave this to you, then."
Without waiting for a response, he turns for the door. His boots echo against the stone floor—each step a retreat, a withdrawal, a refusal to engage further.
The door closes behind him with a low thud.
In the silence that follows, Doflamingo's head tilts, his sunglasses glinting in the candlelight. His eyes linger on the space Micah vacated, as if assessing something invisible.
"Are you confident he can follow through?" Doflamingo asks, his voice dropping from its performative warmth. "He looks... unsteady."
Haigo's fingers tighten on his cane. "He's demonstrated resilience. His sacrifice will initiate the new world order."
Doflamingo stands, his movements fluid and unhurried. Haigo mirrors him, rising from his seat.
"I hope you're right, cousin."
Haigo nods, his pale gray eyes meeting Doflamingo's hidden gaze. "I'll walk with you."
They move toward the door together, leaving Alejandro and Garrett alone at the table.
The candle flames gutter in their wake.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving Dracule Marya Zaleska a Power Stone! It helps the novel climb the rankings and get more eyes on our story!
Thank you for sailing with us! 🏴☠️ Your support means so much!
Want to see the Dreadnought Thalassa blueprints? Or unlock the true power of Goddess Achlys?
Join the Dracule Marya Zaleska crew on Patreon to get exclusive concept art, deep-dive lore notes, and access to our private Discord community! You make the New World adventure possible.
Become a Crewmate and Unlock the Lore:
https://patreon.com/An1m3N3rd?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Thanks so much for your support and loving this story as much as I do!