The celebration had finally wound down into a low, rhythmic hum of snoring pirates and the gentle creaking of the Empress's hull. The deck was littered with empty sake jars and the occasional sleeping commander, but the air felt lighter than it had in a year. Ace led Maye toward her cabin, his hand still anchored to hers. At the door, he stopped, the flickering lanterns casting long, warm shadows across his freckled face. He looked at her, not as a ghost or a project to be fixed, but as the woman he had nearly lost to the void. He stepped in close, wrapping his arms around her in a slow, protective embrace. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of sea salt that finally felt right again. "Get some rest, Maye," he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw sincerity. "The sea is wide, but you're never lost as long as you're with me." Maye froze. Those words didn't just hit her ears; they struck a chord deep in the center of her soul, vibrating through the ruby pendant. A sharp, electric jolt sparked behind her eyes, but she simply nodded, her heart racing as she stepped into the cabin. Sleep didn't come softly. It claimed her like a tidal wave. In the darkness of her mind, the Fog began to burn away, incinerated by a memory so vivid it felt like she was breathing it.
She saw a younger Ace, his face covered in soot, standing on a cliff side as the sun set over the East Blue. She felt the weight of a sake cup in her hand. She heard the clinking of porcelain and the laughter of three boys. Then, the scene shifted, she was on a massive deck, looking up at a man so tall he blotted out the sun. He was reaching down, his hand the size of her entire torso, offering her a place to belong. "A daughter of the sea belongs to the waves," the giant rumbled, his white moustache curling into a smile. "Welcome to the family, Maye."
Maye's eyes snapped open. She bolted upright in bed, her chest heaving as if she had just surfaced from a deep dive. Sweat soaked her hair, and her pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs. The images were jagged and bright, too many to process, but one thing was certain: the "ordinary girl" from the mountain was officially dead. She couldn't stay in the cramped cabin. The walls felt like they were closing in on the ghost of the girl she used to be. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, Maye slipped out into the dim hallway. The ship was quiet, the only sound the distant lapping of waves against the wood. She began to walk, her feet moving by instinct toward the main galley, but she stopped dead in the center of the corridor. Hanging against the dark oak wall was a massive, hand-painted portrait. It was framed in gold that had been dulled by sea air, but the man inside was more vibrant than life. Edward Newgate. He was depicted sitting in his great chair, his bisento leaning against his shoulder, looking out with a gaze that held both the ferocity of a storm and the warmth of a hearth. Maye's knees felt weak. She stepped closer, her trembling fingers reaching out to touch the painted hem of his white coat. The ruby pendant on her chest began to hum, a low, mournful vibration that resonated with the ache in her heart. "Pops..." she whispered. The word felt like a prayer she had forgotten she knew. A silent tear escaped, trailing down her cheek and landing on the floorboards. As it hit, a soft, phantom rumble echoed in the back of her mind, not a memory, but a presence. It was the same voice that had whispered on the wind at Dawn Island. "Grieve if you must, little anchor," the ghost-voice echoed, filled with a mountainous affection. "But remember... a Newgate never sails backward. Look at the boy waiting for you on the deck. That is your horizon now." Maye stood there for a long time, staring up at the man who had been her world. She didn't have all the pieces back yet the war was still a blur of fire and pain but the hole in her soul was finally starting to fill with the weight of her own history. She turned away from the portrait, her eyes clearing. She wasn't just Maye of Mt. Colubo anymore. She was the woman who had lived a thousand lives in the shadow of a legend, and she was done being afraid of the dark.