Kael Duneshade crumpled to his knees, the cursed relic slipping from his grip as his eyes—once molten gold—faded to dull amber. Around him, the battlefield stilled. The sandstorm that had raged for days parted like a curtain, revealing a sight none had dared to hope for.
Where Ra-Harakht had raged, the sky split open, not with fire, but with light. A cascade of cool, crystalline radiance poured down, washing the dunes in hues of aquamarine and pearl. The ground trembled, not in fury, but in rebirth—a symphony of shifting sand that parted to reveal what centuries had buried.
The oasis.
It emerged as if painted by a divine hand: a sprawling paradise of mirror-still lakes, their waters so pure they seemed to drink the sky. Date palms swayed in a breeze fragrant with jasmine and wet earth, their fronds glistening as though kissed by dew. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—sapphire lilies, amber lotuses—their petals unfurling to greet the sun. At the oasis's heart stood an ancient stone archway, its surface carved with glyphs that predated Poneglyphs, telling stories of a time when desert and ocean were one.
Sprawled before them was vast and impossibly pristine—a mirror of liquid cobalt ringed by date palms and emerald grasses. Waterfalls cascaded from nowhere into crystalline pools, their music a balm after the screams of battle. The air smelled of rain and blooming jasmine, so clean it burned their lungs. Even the sun seemed softer here, its light refracted through a canopy of shimmering mist. The sand beneath their feet turned to soft, cool grass. Even the heat of Alabasta's sun seemed to bow here, leaving only a gentle warmth.
Vivi sank to her knees, her hands trembling as they skimmed the water's surface. "It's real," she breathed. "The legends… the Mother Flame's sanctuary…"
Pell stood beside her, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion but his eyes alight. "Princess, this changes everything. The kingdom's droughts… they could end."
Charlie scrambled to his satchel, fumbling for ink and parchment. "The hydrological impossibility—self-sustaining aquifers, flora inconsistent with desert biomes—this shouldn't exist!"
"Yet here it is," Yazen, silver-beard fluttering, murmured. He traced a glyph on a nearby stone—one that hadn't been there moments ago. "The ancients called it Uat-Ur—the Sea of Stars. But the texts said it was lost to the sand…"
"Hidden," Charlie corrected, adjusting his cracked glasses. "By celestial alignment. The Consortium's calculations suggested—"
"The what?" Yazen snapped, turning on him. Before Charlie could backtrack, hoofbeats thundered across the oasis.
Captain Rasheed and his royal guard burst through the palm grove, their camels skidding to a halt. The soldiers gaped at the oasis, at their princess ankle-deep in sacred waters, and at the strangers clutching weapons stained with golden ichor.
"Princess Vivi! Lord Pell!" Rasheed dismounted, his scimitar half-drawn. "You were to remain at the palace under guard! What—" His eyes locked on Marya and Vaughn. The duo stood apart, Marya's twin relic daggers—Celestial Devastation and Celestial Decree—still glowing faintly in her hands. "Who are these outsiders? What have you done?"
The guards fanned out, blades aimed. Vaughn shifted Light Cleaver's grip, but Vivi stepped between them, her voice ringing with royal command. "Stand. Down."
Rasheed froze. "Your Highness, these relics—their weapons—they reek of forbidden—"
Vivi raised her hand, her gaze steady and calm. "Captain Rasheed, lower your weapon. These people are not our enemies. They have fought alongside us, risked their lives to uncover truths lost to time, and defended this oasis from destruction."
Rasheed hesitated, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "But, Your Highness, their presence here, those blades—"
"Are a testament to their dedication and the knowledge they bring. Without them, we might never have found the Sea of Stars, and the droughts would continue to plague our lands," Vivi continued, her voice unwavering. "They are our friends and allies. They can be trusted."
Yazen rounded on Charlie. "You spoke of a 'Consortium.' What is this? Some World Government ploy?"
"N-No! We're researchers! Preservationists!" Charlie stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.
"Preservationists who keep secrets from the very kingdom they 'preserve'?" Yazen's voice rose. "This oasis is Alabasta's heritage! Not some… some cult's!"
The standoff shattered as Pell's knees buckled. He caught himself on a palm trunk, but Marya and Vaughn fell in unison, their bodies finally succumbing to the conflict's toll. The celestial blades clattered to the ground, their light dimming.
As the celestial blades' glow faded, an uneasy quiet settled over the oasis. The weight of the recent turmoil hung heavily in the air, pressing down on every soul present. Vivi's gaze swept across the scene, her heart aching for her new friends who had given so much.
Before she could issue another command, the telltale beat of approaching footsteps echoed through the clearing. The sound grew louder, more determined, until Karoo burst through the palms, his exuberant honks shattering the tension. His arrival was swiftly followed by Chaka and a contingent of soldiers, each one a steadfast guardian of the royal line. Karoo barreled into the clearing, wings flapping wildly as he honked with joy.
"Princess Vivi!" Chaka barked with relieved reproach. "You vanished from the palace without a guard—do you have any idea the risk—" He froze mid-sentence, dark eyes widening as they fell on Pell's crumpled form. "Pell?" The name cracked like a whip.
Chaka's lip twitched, a low growl of frustration building in his throat—not at her, but at the sight of his fallen comrade. He knelt beside Pell, assessing the damage with a soldier's care. "He needs the palace physicians. Now."
"And the others?" Vivi pressed, gesturing to Marya and Vaughn.
"They'll be tended to," Chaka relented, snapping orders to his men. Four soldiers hurried forward, lifting Pell onto a stretcher. Karoo nudged Vivi's side affectionately, his beak clacking softly as she scratched his neck. "I missed you too, Karoo," she murmured.
Chaka's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the oasis more closely, the lush greenery and tranquil waters a stark contrast to the surrounding desert. "What is this place?" he demanded, turning to Vivi with suspicious awe. "I've never seen it marked on any maps."
Vivi took a deep breath, her gaze solemn as she met Chaka's questioning eyes. "This oasis is one of Alabasta's hidden treasures, lost to time and nearly forgotten by all but a few," she explained. "It holds immense historical and cultural significance for our kingdom. It must be protected at all costs."
Chaka nodded in understanding, yet his jaw flexed. "We will guard it with our lives, Princess. No harm will come to this place under our watch." Urgency still edged his words. "Your father is rallying the council. The people need to see you—to know their princess is safe."
Vivi hesitated, her eyes lingering on the Oasis, "Go ahead," she said finally. "I'll follow once I know this place is secure."
"No," Chaka insisted, blocking her path. "Every moment you're here, the palace is vulnerable. The Baroque Works may be defeated, but shadows linger." His voice dropped. "Trust us to guard what you've built." Chaka's gaze swept over the Oasis, lips pursed and brow wrinkled as he assessed. "Rasheed," he called firmly. "Your unit will escort us back to the palace with the wounded."
Rasheed stepped forward, saluting crisply. "Yes, sir."
With a nod, Chaka pivoted to the remaining soldiers. "The rest of you, stay here. Fortify the Oasis and guard it with your lives. This place is sacred—do not let anyone breach its sanctity."
The soldiers responded with a unified, resolute nod, their faces set with a soldiers' fortitude. As they began to secure the area, Chaka turned back to Vivi, his shoulders softening slightly. "We must go, Princess. Time is of the essence."
Vivi glanced around, her heart heavy with sorrowful gratitude. "Thank you, Chaka," she whispered, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling within her.
Chaka offered a brief, reassuring smile before signaling Rasheed's unit to move. The soldiers formed a protective circle around the princess, Pell, and the other wounded. Karoo honked softly as Vivi mounted, and they began their journey back to the palace.
It was a blur of golden sands and the setting sun. Chaka marched ahead, his posture rigid, while Karoo trotted along with Vivi, his presence relieving her weary body. Behind them, Rasheed's unit formed an honor guard as the two scholars continued their passionate debates.
Yazen, gesturing backward, "That oasis is not a coincidence. It emerged because we severed the deity's hold. The texts are clear—divine retribution often leaves gifts in its wake. This is the kingdom's birthright." His historian's robes were dusty, but his tone carried the weight of royal archives.
Charlie, snorting, adjusting his cracked spectacles, "Birthright? You think a magical spring just happens to bubble up because we stabbed a glowing relic? That 'gift' was there long before the sun deity cursed this sandpit. Your 'texts' are propaganda scrubbed clean by a hundred royal scribes."
Vivi, cutting in, weary, "Save your breath. Arguing won't heal their wounds." She nodded to Marya, who coughed weakly.
Yazen, ignoring her, stepped closer to Charlie, "You dismiss centuries of recorded history as propaganda? What do you have, then? Scraps from back-alley tomb raiders?" His gaze narrowed. Charlie's evasiveness about his origins had gnawed at him.
Charlie, laughing bitterly, "Recorded by who? Kings who rewrite wars into 'peacekeeping missions'? That oasis isn't a reward—it's a warning. Structures like that don't just appear. They're built. And buried. For a reason." His mind flashed to encrypted tablets in the library's vaults, detailing civilizations erased for defying gods.
Pell, groaning from his stretcher, "Gods' sake… both of you… shut up…" Vaughn grunted in agreement.
Yazen, lowering his voice, accusatory, "You've known something all along. Who funds your digs? Who tells you what to hide?"
Charlie, pausing, meeting Yazen's stare, "You want the truth? Your precious palace archives are a nursery rhyme. The real history's written in blood under our feet. That oasis? It's a tomb. And whatever's inside? It'll make the sun deity look like a campfire story."
A tense silence fell. Vivi glanced back, her expression unreadable. The palace gates loomed closer, their gold-leafed edges glinting like a challenge.
Yazen, softly, almost to himself, "The kingdom needs hope. Not… more secrets."
Charlie, sighing, relenting slightly, "Hope's what gets people killed, historian. But fine. When we reach the palace, you'll see. Your royals will spin that oasis into a triumph. And you'll believe them."
Their eyes locked—a historian bound to crowns, an archaeologist bound to shadows. The wounded groaned again, a reminder of the cost of truth.
Vivi, noting their pause, said flatly, "Done? Good. Move. Before the sand decides to argue, too."
Three days of desert winds had scoured the palace walls, leaving the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and unresolved tension. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns over the unconscious forms of Marya and Vaughn. Charlie sat between their beds, his nose buried in a weathered tome from the palace archives—The Chronicles of Alabasta's Oases: Myths and Omissions. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned a page.
Marya, stirring, voice hoarse, "...Charlie?"
Charlie snapping the book shut, "You're awake! Don't—don't try to sit up yet. The palace physicians said your ribs were…" He trailed off, adjusting his spectacles.
Vaughn, groaning, bandages crisscrossing his chest, "Where… are we guarded?"
Charlie, lowering his voice, "Outside the door. Two of Cobra's elites. I've… managed to dodge their questions. Vivi's vouched for us, but…" He hesitated, guilt flashing behind his lenses. "They'll want answers soon. About the oasis. About us."
Before Vaughn could reply, the doors burst open.
Vivi, breathless, eyes bright, "You're awake! Thank the sands—!"
Igaram, looming behind her, voice booming, "Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, please! These strangers are precisely why caution is—!"
Vivi, cutting him off, sharply, "They saved my life, Igaram. Our lives."
Igaram straightened his powdered wig, its curls trembling with indignation. His red nose twitched as he glared at Charlie, who shrank back instinctively. Vaughn, however, met his gaze unflinching, rasping, "Princess. We need an audience with your father. Alone."
Igaram, spluttering, pushing out his chest, "Out of the question! His Majesty cannot entertain—!"
Vivi, stepping forward, steel in her tone, "I decide who my father sees, Igaram."
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. Then Vaughn reached into his bandages, withdrawing a sealed parchment. The wax emblem—a crescent moon cradling a flame—made Vivi freeze.
Vivi whispered, "This seal… it's from the Codex of the First Kings. How…?"
Vaughn, exhaling, "Your ancestors entrusted it to our organization. We are not here to cause trouble. We are… curators. Of sorts." Charlie winced at the word curators as if it were a curse and Marya coughed weakly.
Igaram, narrowing his eyes, "Ma~ma~ma~! A pretty seal proves nothing! This could be a Baroque Works trick—!"
Vivi, snatching the letter, resolute, "No. This emblem hasn't been used in centuries. Even I only recognize it from… from Mother's lessons." Her voice wavered, then hardened. "I'll take this to Father. Now."
Igaram, blocking her path, desperate, "Princess, think! If these vagabonds endanger you again, I—!"
Vivi, softly, placing a hand on his arm, "Igaram. You've guarded me since I could walk. Trust me now."
The chamber fell silent. Even the guards outside seemed to lean closer. Finally, Igaram stepped aside, his powdered wig sagging like a deflated soufflé. He muttered, "Ma~ma~ma~… Very well. But I accompany you. And they—" He jabbed a finger at Charlie, who flinched. "—stay here."
As Vivi swept out, Igaram trailed her like a storm cloud. Charlie slumped into his chair and said shakily, "What if the king doesn't believe the seal? What if—"
Vaughn, closing his eyes, weary but firm, "Then we vanish. As we always have."
Marya chuckled, though it turned into a wince, "Relax, Charlie. You've got the look of a man who's never burned a library ledger. They'll believe you."
Outside, the guards shifted, their shadows stretching long under the Alabasta sun—a silent reminder that in a kingdom of sand, secrets rarely stayed buried.
For two days, the Consortium's trio languished in a gilded infirmary, its marble walls both sanctuary and cage. Guards clad in Cobra's crest stood sentinel outside, their spears glinting through the crack in the door. Time pooled like spilled ink: slow, staining.
Vivi came at dawn and dusk, slipping past the guards with trays of fig-stuffed bread and pots of mint tea. Her visits were a study in contrasts—princess and conspirator, her laughter too bright for the room's heaviness.
Marya, on the first night, picking at her bandages, "What's the point of a palace if the pillows are this lumpy?"
Vivi, smirking, tossing her a silk cushion, "Complaining already? You've been here six hours."
Charlie, muttering into a scroll, "Six hours and fourteen minutes. Not that anyone's counting."
By the second day, routines formed like cracks in drought-hardened earth. Marya taught Vivi how to throw a dagger using date pits as targets. "Aim for Igaram's wig," she'd whisper, grinning. Charlie, emboldened by sleep deprivation, rambled about Alabasta's botched irrigation records—only to freeze mid-sentence when Vivi leaned in, rapt.
Vivi, teasing, tapping his spectacles, "You're worse than Yazen. At least he pretends to be boring."
Charlie, flustered, "I—it's methodical! And—and your archives mixed up Queen Lisan's reign with her cat's!"
Vaughn watched silently, his sharp face softening at the edges. When Marya laughed—a full, unguarded sound—he'd close his eyes, as if storing the echo. He asked Vivi, on the second dusk, "You're risking much. Why?"
Vivi, plucking a date pit from the wall, "Same reason you are. Some secrets aren't meant to rot." The moment hung, fragile, until Marya lobbed a pillow at Vaughn's head.
On the third morning, the summons came. The guards' armor clanked like a death knell as the throne room's grand arches loomed ahead, and Vivi—no longer just a visitor, but a ally—stepped into the light beside them, relics and recklessness in her wake.
The throne room's grand arches echoed with the faint drip of water clocks, their rhythmic ticks measuring the weight of history. King Cobra sat atop the dais, his green robes pooling around him like desert moss. Sunlight glinted off the purple coat draped over his shoulders, its threads worn thin by years of rule. Beside him, Vivi stood straight-backed, her hands clasped—a princess no longer playing at diplomacy but commanding it.
Igaram hovered at the chamber's edge, powdered wig askew, muttering "Ma~ma~ma~" under his breath like a disgruntled aria. Pell, bandages peeking beneath his sleeves, leaned against a pillar, exchanging a curt nod with Vaughn as the Consortium members entered. When Vaughn passed him, Pell clasped his forearm—a warrior's salute, brief but charged with unspoken respect.
Cobra, eyes sharp, voice gravelly, "So. The Consortium." He held the letter aloft, its crescent-and-flame seal cracked. "My ancestors whispered of your order. Guardians of truths too dangerous for sunlight."
Vaughn, bowing shallowly, hand pressed to his healing ribs, "We preserve. We do not interfere. But Alabasta… your kingdom sits atop a crossroads of buried histories. We ask only to observe. In secret."
Marya, smirking, "And maybe dust off your archives. No offense, but your scribes have no subtlety."
Charlie fidgeted beside her, clutching a satchel of scrolls. His spectacles slid down his nose as he stammered, "W-we'd, uh, share knowledge too! Discreetly! No revolutions, no… no fuss!"
Cobra's gaze lingered on Vivi, whose chin lifted imperceptibly. A silent conversation passed between them—father and daughter, king and heir. Finally, he chuckled, a warm rumble that startled even Igaram.
Leaning back Cobra smirked, "A secret library. Fitting, for a land built on sand and shadows." He rose, wincing slightly at the ache in his joints, and descended the dais. "You have my blessing. But—" In a sudden motion, he swung his arm in a practiced arc, delivering a thwack to Charlie's head with the edge of his palm—the infamous King Chop. Grinning, he rested his palm on Charlie's shoulder. "Harm my people, and I'll bury your Consortium deeper than Pluton."
Charlie, rubbing his skull, wide-eyed, "Y-yes, sir! I mean—Your Majesty! I mean—"
Vivi, hiding her laugh behind her hand, "He means 'thank you,' Father."
Igaram spluttered, "Ma~ma~ma~! Your Majesty, this is highly irregular! What if the World Government—"
Cobra, waving him off, "Let them tax our trade routes. They'll never notice a few more scholars in the stacks." His tone softened as he turned to Vaughn. "Your predecessors aided Alabasta once before. During the Void Century, yes?"
Vaughn, tensed, "…We do not speak of that era."
Marya, bluntly replied, "Burn our letters if you're caught. Deny everything. Standard procedure."
After a beat of silence, Cobra nodded, the ghost of a king who'd gambled his throne to save his people. "Go. Send your historians. But know this—" He placed a hand on Vivi's shoulder, pride etching his weathered face. "My daughter will decide what truths Alabasta inherits. Not you."
As the Consortium turned to leave, Vivi caught Charlie's sleeve. "Next time, knock before you raid our vaults. And… thank you. For trusting us."
Charlie, cheeks flushed, "Uh. Yeah. No problem. Just… don't tell Yazen? Royal historians hate competition."
Igaram, watching them go, tugging his wig straight, "Ma~ma~ma~! This will end in camel dung and cannon fire, mark my words!"
Cobra, clapping him on the back, eyes crinkling, "Probably. But since when has Alabasta shied from a storm?"
Cobra's words hung in the air like the aftershock of thunder, the throne room's tapestries rippling as if the desert itself agreed. Before Igaram could muster another "Ma~ma~ma~!", Vivi herded the Consortium toward the courtyard, her steps brisk with purpose. The palace corridors blurred—servants scattering, sunlight fracturing through lattice windows—until the scent of hay and duck feathers hit them like a wall.
Igaram, flapping his arms, wig quivering, "Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, this is madness! Letting armed strangers ride royal ducks to the shore? What if they steal them? What if—"
Pell, striding up beside him, arms crossed over his chest, "I'll escort them. The skies are clear." His hawk-like gaze met Vaughn's, a silent pact between warriors.
Vivi, ignored Igaram, tossing Marya a pair of sheathed, cloth-wrapped blades, "These belong to you now."
The daggers hissed as the cloth fell away, and she unsheathed them, their edges shimmering with molten gold and glacial blue. Igaram yelped when a nearby guard reached for one—his glove instantly frostbitten.
Marya, grinning wildly, snatching them mid-air, "Oh, you shouldn't have—" The blades hummed, harmonizing like twin tuning forks. She twirled them, carving arcs of fire and frost in the air. "Aww, they like me!"
Igaram, turning crimson, "Ma~ma~ma~! Those are national treasures!"
Vivi, smirking, "They're hers. The relics chose it. It would be a waste for them to sit in the royal treasury unused." Marya sheathed the daggers with a flourish, fastening them, one on each hip.
Yazen emerged from the shadows, his historian's robes flapping like an indignant crow. He jabbed a finger at Charlie, who was nervously eyeing the duck squad. "You! You still haven't explained the third inscription in the oasis ruins! Running away won't save you from academic integrity!"
Charlie, clutching his satchel, backpedaling, "It—it wasn't Third! It was a coffee stain! And you misdated the entire Sun Dynasty by a century!"
Yazen, sputtering, "Preposterous! My sources are impeccable!"
Charlie, blurting, "Your 'sources' were written by a drunk scribe who thought camels were mythical!"
A beat later Yazen snorted, chuckling grudgingly. He thrust a scroll into Charlie's hands. "Next time, bring better evidence. And… try not to die. The Consortium's terrible note-taking will haunt history."
Charlie, grinning shyly, "Keep your ink wet, old man."
The desert heat shimmered over the palace courtyard, but Marya's energy cut through it like a sandstorm. She bounded toward the spot-billed duck squad, her bandaged arm flailing with reckless joy as the relics at her hips—Celestial Decree and Celestial Devastation—hummed in harmony with her excitement. Four spot-billed ducks preened and shuffled, their feathers gleaming like polished bronze. Karoo, the troop captain, stood at attention, his posture regal despite the blue-and-white chullo. Beside him, Cowboy lounged lazily, sunglasses reflecting the dunes, while Bourbon Jr. hiccupped softly, a bottle swinging from his neck. Kentauros, sporting a dented Roman helmet and a smoldering cigar, glared at everyone like the desert itself had insulted his ancestors.
Marya, squealing, skidding to a halt in front of Bourbon Jr. "WHY ARE THEY HERE? WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE?!" She pressed her cheek to his, scrubbing her hands through Bourbon Jr.'s feathers. The duck hiccupped, his bottle swinging as he leaned into the pets.
Vivi, laughing, adjusting Karoo's blue-and-white chullo, "They're the Royal Duck Squadron! They escort honored guests across the desert. Fastest in Alabasta—and the best judges of character."
Marya, swiveling to Cowboy, who lounged like a sunbathing bandit, "LOOK AT THIS ONE! HE'S GOT GLASSES!" Cowboy blinked lazily, unbothered as Marya mussed his hat. "AND THIS GRUMPY ONE—!" She lunged at Kentauros, who snapped his cigar-clenched beak inches from her fingers.
Kentauros, "QUAAAAACK!" Translation: "Try it and lose a hand."
Vivi, warningly, "He's… particular about personal space."
Undeterred, Marya tossed her head back and cackled, vaulting onto Bourbon Jr.'s saddle. "I love them. Can we keep them? Please? The Consortium needs ducks. Historic ducks!"
Vaughn, leaning against Cowboy, a faint smile breaking his stoicism, "There she is." His voice was low, relieved. The shadows under his eyes lightened as he watched Marya bully Kentauros into accepting a pat.
Charlie, edging away from the ducks, clutching his satchel, "They're… uh… very… toothy." Kentauros fixed him with a beady glare, puffing smoke. "A-and why does that one have a helmet?!"
Vivi, helping Charlie onto Kentauros, who honked impatiently, "Kentauros thinks he's a war veteran. Don't mention the Battle of Sandbird Pass—he'll lecture you for hours."
Marya, gasping, starry-eyed, "THEY HAVE BATTLE STORIES?!" She whipped out a dagger, tracing a fiery line in the sand. "I'll fight with you, Kentauros! We'll storm the dunes! Burn the—ack!"
Vaughn, yanking her back by the collar, "No burning dunes."
Igaram, lurking by the palace gates, wringing his hands, "Ma~ma~ma~! Princess, this is not protocol! Ducks are for diplomats, not… not curator lunatics!"
Pell, landing gracefully beside him, folding his wings, "Relax, Igaram. They're in good hands." He nodded to Vaughn. "Mostly."
Kentauros, muffled, around the cigar, "Quaaaaaack!" Translation: "Hold the reins, idiot."
Charlie squeaking, "Why is he so angry?!"
Marya, laughing, "He's just passionate!"
As the group mounted, Marya peppered Vivi with questions mid-ride, her voice carrying across the dunes. "Do they have bedtimes? Do they eat scorpions? Can they dance?!"
Vivi, grinning, "Ask them yourself. But fair warning—Bourbon Jr. does sing when he's drunk."
Vivi mounted Karoo, who honked a commanding quack as the others clambered onto their ducks. Vaughn swung onto Cowboy with ease, Bourbon Jr. wobbling sleepily under Marya's cackling glee. Charlie, however, clung to Kentauros' neck as the duck snapped at his ankles, cigar smoke billowing. Karoo honked again—a captain's farewell—as the dunes swallowed the sound, leaving only the echoes of laughter and the promise of uncharted tides ahead.
Charlie, white-knuckling Kentauros reins as the duck lurched forward, "Why is it bumpy? Why is everything in Alabasta trying to kill me?!"
Marya, standing on Bourbon Jr.'s saddle, arms wide, "BECAUSE IT'S FUN, BOOKBOY!"
The daggers at her hips flared—gold and blue light painting the sand—as the ducks charged into the desert, honking what might have been a battle hymn. Overhead, Pell's wings beat a steady rhythm, a silent promise that even in a land of secrets, some joys were simple.
Pell soared, his wings casting a fleeting shadow as the group surged into the desert. Charlie bounced wildly, sand kicking up around him, while the others rode with the grace of born outlaws. Vivi glanced back, her smile bittersweet, as the palace shrank behind them.
Igaram, shouting after them, tearful, "Ma~ma~ma~! If Bourbon Jr. comes back hungover, I'll bill the Consortium!"