The minisub's cabin hummed with the low thrum of ancient machinery, a sound that vibrated up through the decking. Marya's fingers flew across the control panel, her raven hair spilling past her shoulders as she worked. Law sat beside her in the co-pilot's seat, his spotted hat tipped low.
Atlas stretched out in one of the passenger seats behind them, his rust-red fur reflective in the instrument panel's amber glow. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and grinned. "It's been a while, boss. Sure you remember how to drive this thing?"
Marya's golden-ringed eyes flicked toward him in the reflection. She smirked. "I think I can manage."
Jannali leaned forward from her seat, her full afro brushing against the overhead. "Where are you off to, mate?"
Marya nodded toward the navigation screen. "Charlie pulled the location from the AI." She glanced back at the group, a devilish grin spreading across her lips. "Let's see if it's right."
Bō-Zak lounged in his seat, his tattered awayo shawl draped over one shoulder, a long wooden pipe smoldering between his teeth. He blew a plume of fragrant smoke toward the ceiling. "This is going to be interesting."
Law's voice cut through the banter. "You mean you don't know?"
Marya shrugged. "I know the destination. The path? That's what we're finding out."
Kaburo sat stiffly in his seat, his dark gray kimono top showing the old scars across his arms. His long dark hair hung in a low ponytail. "How long will it take us?"
Jannali looked over her shoulder. "Bloody hell, mate, you don't know?"
Atlas grinned at Kaburo. "You might want to strap in. The first time's always a little rough."
Kaburo's brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Marya announced, "GO!" She slammed her palm down on a big red button. The Bubble Porter's collapse hit like a thunderclap in a coffin. One moment, the minisub's cabin hummed with the familiar thrum of ancient machinery—the next, the world outside the observation window fractured into a kaleidoscope of emerald shadows and silver water. With a resonant thrum that built to a keening whine. Blue-white light blazed through the ring conduits etched into the deck. The world outside the observation window dissolved into a smear of color and sound—
—
Marya's fingers danced across the control panel, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders as she banked the submarine into a gentle rise. The pressure gauges spun, dials clicking in rapid succession.
"Breaching the surface," she announced, her voice carrying the same calm she'd inherited from her father—that particular stillness before a blade found its mark.
The Minisub broke through the water's skin like a seabird surfacing from a dive. Water streamed off the observation window in sheets, revealing a world that made Jannali shoot up from her seat so fast her headscarf nearly slipped. The observation window cleared, revealing a wall of green and brown—mangroves stretching in every direction.
Kaburo groaned, pressing a hand to his temple.
Atlas twisted in his seat. "Put your head between your knees. It helps with the spinning."
Kaburo complied, muttering something under his breath.
"That's a bloody mob of mangroves," the Three-Eye woman cursed, pressing her face against the glass. Her afro flattened against the transparent pane as she squinted. "Bloody hell, mate. You've brought us to a dead-end."
Atlas stretched behind her, his rust-red fur catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. "Is this the place, boss? Because I've seen prettier swamps, and I once got lost in Zou's lower levels for three days."
Marya's golden-ringed eyes scanned the view screen. The mangrove labyrinth stretched before them—an endless tangle of salt-tolerant roots clawing up from black mud, their gnarled fingers reaching toward a sky choked with humidity. The channels between them twisted like serpentine veins, narrow enough that the Minisub's compact hull scraped against submerged roots with each careful turn.
"I don't know," she admitted, the words carrying no defeat—only curiosity. "Charlie pulled the coordinates from the AI. We're in the right general area, but the exact entrance..."
She glanced back at Jannali. "Hear anything on the wind?"
The huntress tilted her head, her third eye hidden beneath its customary scarf. She closed her two visible eyes, listening. The only sounds filtering through the submarine's hull were the rhythmic drip of water from the mangroves, the distant croak of something large and unseen, and the whisper of leaves that seemed to carry no voices at all.
"Nah, mate," Jannali finally said, opening her eyes with a grimace. "Deaf as a post. Whatever's out there, it's not talking."
Law's voice was calm. "What is it you're looking for?"
Marya glanced at him. "The 'Choros-Anemos.'"
Law's eyebrow arched. "Why are you looking for it?"
"It's supposed to show us the way to the last two relics."
"I see." Law nodded slowly.
Atlas cracked his knuckles. "What's the play, boss?"
Marya pressed a sequence of buttons. The Minisub's engines hummed to life. "Let's take a look around."
—
The next few hours dissolved into a monotony of green and brown. The Minisub drifted through the mangrove channels, her hull occasionally scraping against submerged roots. The air inside grew thick with humidity.
Bō-Zak blew another plume of smoke. "Are you sure this is the correct mangrove island?"
Jannali cursed. "Bloody hell, we're not here to fuck spiders."
Marya sighed, leaning back in her seat.
Law's eyes narrowed. "Could there be something under the island?"
Marya shook her head. "No. The sonar would've picked up something. It's just mud and roots."
Atlas stretched. "What did the glyph say again?"
Marya reached into her leather jacket—the Heart Pirates insignia catching the instrument panel's glow—and withdrew her mother's notebook. The worn leather binding cracked as she opened it to a marked page. She read aloud, her voice steady:
"Amidst the tides of Kano,
When the Moon turns full and the High Tide swells,
The Sea grows bitter where the Giant dwells!
When the Red Crabs march on the saltwater floor,
Look for the mountain that opens its door!
Ride the bitter green wave straight into the throat,
Or wait 'til Low Tide and watch the Isle float!
Only then will the Phantom Isle of Heh be revealed.
Prove yourselves worthy and the eternal pose will break its seal."
Silence descended on the cabin, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the creak of roots scraping against the hull.
Jannali groaned. "Bloody hell. We're stuck waiting till nightfall."
Kaburo's voice cut through the cabin. "That appears to be a relevant detail."
Marya's eyes narrowed at him—that sharp, appraising look she'd inherited from her father.
Law's lips twitched toward something resembling a smirk. "The moon. High tide. Red crabs." He ticked each off on his fingers. "It's a checklist, not a riddle."
Atlas intertwined his fingers behind his head, stretching his lynx-like frame across his seat. "Looks like it's going to be a little while." His blue eyes glinted with mischief. "Someone should've packed snacks."
Marya tucked the notebook back into her jacket and rose from the pilot's seat. "I'm going to get some air." She moved toward the hatch, her combat boots clicking against the petrified wood decking.
—
She climbed up through the hatch, her combat boots clicking against the metal. Bō-Zak was on his feet immediately. The mangrove air hit Marya like a wet blanket—warm, thick, and heavy with the scent of salt and decay. She breathed deep anyway, rolling her shoulders to loosen muscles that had cramped during the Bubble Porter transit. The transition always left her feeling slightly compressed, like her bones had been folded into a smaller space and were only now remembering their proper shape.
Bō-Zak was on his feet before she'd taken two steps. "Mind if I join you? The smoke's getting thick in here. Might be nice to taste some fresh air—provided the mangroves haven't soured it."
Jannali snorted. "You just want to flirt with the only woman on board who hasn't threatened to kill you."
Bō-Zak pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I flirt with everyone equally. It's a spiritual practice.
"Your spirit needs practice," Atlas muttered.
Marya climbed onto the Minisub's upper hull. Bō-Zak settled beside her on the curved hull, lighting his pipe with a practiced flick of his wrist. The flame caught, illuminating his gold-flecked eyes for just a moment before disappearing behind smoke.
The mangroves rose around them like the skeleton of a drowned cathedral. Roots plunged into the black water like fingers searching for something they'd lost centuries ago. Tiny crabs skittered across the exposed mud banks, their shells the color of dried blood.
"You don't seem worried," Bō-Zak observed.
"Why should I be?"
"Because you're hunting something that might not exist."
Marya said nothing, eyes scanned the mangrove horizon. The sun had begun its descent, painting the water in shades of amber and rust. The shadows between the roots grew longer, darker.
"Not judging," he added. "Just saying."
Below the surface, something shifted.
—
"Oi!" Atlas's head popped through the hatch. "Law says there's something weird on the sonar. You two should see this."
Marya slid down the hull. Bō-Zak followed.
Inside, Jannali hovered over the sonar screen. Kaburo stood with his arms crossed. Law sat in the pilot's chair.
"Look," Law said, pointing at the display.
The screen showed their position at the center of the mangrove maze. But directly beneath them, at a depth the sonar insisted was impossible, a massive shape blotted out the return signal. It pulsed with a rhythmic expansion and contraction.
Jannali's hand pressed to her headscarf. "That's no rock formation."
Marya pushed forward, golden eyes tracking the reading. "What's the depth?"
"Forty meters," Law replied. "But the floor should be at sixty. Something's distorting the signal."
Atlas's nub lashed. "Something big. Something alive."
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