After narrowly escaping the clutches of the marines, the crew pushed forward into the heart of the city, leaving Faustina and Lucina behind, their bodies locked in place, statuesque under the weight of Temoshí's overwhelming willpower.
"That little brat… using that rare Forbidden Technique against us…" Lucina muttered under her breath, struggling to breathe in shallow, labored gasps, the cold air biting at her chest. "It's too destructive. Can't move, can hardly breathe." She clenched her fists in frustration, the paralysis making every second feel like an eternity. Despite her inability to move, she managed to turn her head slightly to face Faustina, who was equally immobilized, both of them trapped in the aftermath of the shockwave.
"Once the officers regain consciousness, we'll face off with Hollow and the Phoenix Pirates. But next time we encounter them…" Lucina's gaze hardened as she stared at the wrecked ship in the distance, her brow furrowing with determination. "There won't be any room for negotiations. If things can't be settled the easy way…" Her voice grew colder, her eyes narrowing with icy resolve, "…we'll force it to happen."
As the sun began its slow descent, ushering in the night, Temoshí and the crew found themselves in a narrow street, flanked by smaller buildings, barrels, and stables. At the heart of the area stood a serene fountain, surrounded by a modest park, its tranquility contrasting the tension in the air.
Scanning the desolate streets, Temoshí noticed the eerie silence, broken only by the distant glow of a single house, its interior bathed in light. "So, Hollow's in charge of this island, huh?" Elliott remarked, stepping closer to his captain, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Finding him won't be an easy task, I suppose."
Temoshí shook his head, his focus unshaken. "Hollow's not our priority right now. Our first concern is making sure the others arrived safely, and hopefully, that Aurora's here too. But we need to stay vigilant, there's no telling what we'll encounter next."
As the crew walked through the district, their steps growing heavier with each passing moment, they began to feel the lack of energy around them. The streets, eerily silent and dark, were devoid of life, with only the faintest glow coming from a single house in the distance. It seemed the entire town had already gone to sleep, leaving behind a haunting stillness.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a sharp voice that rang through the streets, cutting through the air with a challenging tone. "Who goes there? I'm not afraid to hunt you down!" The voice was youthful but filled with a certain intensity that immediately drew the crew's attention.
The group froze, their gaze drawn to the source of the voice. Standing in the middle of the street, illuminated by the dim light of a nearby torch, was a woman. She held herself with a stance of quiet authority, her chin raised defiantly as she peered at them from beneath her torchlight. In her right hand, she gripped a staff, resting it casually on her shoulder, while in her left hand, she brandished a weapon—sharp and glinting under the light.
Temoshí took an instinctive step back, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Hey, hey! Calm down! We're not here to hurt you!" he called out, hoping to ease the tension. The woman, eyes narrowing as she appraised the crew, slowly lowered her weapon slightly, though she kept her posture firm, unwilling to fully relax just yet.
The woman stood tall, her presence sharp and unwavering, like a lone sentinel guarding the silence of the night. She had an air of confidence that only someone accustomed to solitude and vigilance could possess. Her features were striking, framed by long, white hair with a hint of pink, styled into a distinctive part. The dim streetlight cast an ethereal glow on her, accentuating the grace and power that emanated from her. Her eyes, though narrowed with suspicion, gleamed with a sharpness that betrayed a keen mind—intelligent, calculating, yet clearly ready for action should the need arise.
Her attire was a blend of tradition and fantasy— a high-collared jacket with intricate designs that gleamed faintly in the moonlight, paired with a long, flowing cape that seemed to ripple with a life of its own. The rich, dark fabric contrasted sharply with her pale features, giving her an almost regal aura. Her posture was impeccable, and she held herself with the kind of authority that suggested she wasn't someone who would be easily intimidated.
Her gaze shifted from one crew member to the next, lingering on Temoshí for a moment longer. She didn't appear overtly hostile, but the air around her was charged with tension. She spoke again, her voice calm, but with an underlying edge, as if measuring every word.
"So," she said, her voice steady, "not here to hurt me, eh? What exactly is it you're looking for in this ghost town?" She studied them with quiet curiosity, her posture shifting ever so slightly, as though she were ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The air around her seemed to crackle with latent power, and the weight of her presence was undeniable.
"I..." Temoshí hesitated, glancing between his friends before returning his gaze to the woman. "We actually don't know. We just stumbled into this... district," he explained, trailing off as Kyora smoothly stepped forward, gently pushing him aside as she took the lead.
"Sorry if we startled you," she said, offering a warm smile and placing her hand over her heart. "I'm Kyora, and these fools are my friends." She made sure her tone was light and reassuring, aiming to show the woman they meant no harm. "We're just looking for some of our friends. They arrived here a few days ago, probably. Have you seen them?"
The woman, still maintaining her stance, appeared more guarded, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Were they allies? Enemies? Or just another band of travelers?
"I think I've seen them," she said after a pause. "A few nights ago, some unusual visitors came through. They had this massive pirate ship, unlike anything I've seen around here. There was a man with blonde hair, and... let's just say, his behavior was a bit inappropriate, even toward me."
The crew exchanged quick glances, and it didn't take long for them to figure out exactly who she meant.
"That's them!" Temoshí exclaimed, his excitement palpable. "Please, tell us where they are! We've been looking for them everywhere!"
But before he could take a step forward, the woman extended her staff, halting him in his tracks. "Hold on there, buddy," she said, her voice steady but firm. "I'm not just handing over their whereabouts to anyone. I don't know if I can trust you yet."
As the conversation unfolded, a second set of footsteps echoed through the quiet street. A tall figure emerged, his presence commanding yet serene. He had bright red eyes, blonde hair, and wore a long white coat that swayed gracefully with his movement.
"No need for all the commotion, Celeste," the man spoke with a voice both calm and authoritative. "I'm certain these travelers speak the truth. I am Damien, the head of our family's reign. And you must be the Phoenix Pirates." His gaze swept over the crew with a measured warmth. "Please, come with me. Your companions have been awaiting your arrival."
With a graceful gesture, Damien motioned toward the entrance of a nearby dwelling, and the crew, now brimming with anticipation at the prospect of reuniting with their long-missing friends, followed him without hesitation.
Celeste led the way, with Damien walking just ahead of the group as they navigated the corridor of the household. The warmth of the space contrasted with the cool night air outside. As they moved, Damien glanced over his shoulder, his calm, peaceful demeanor unwavering.
"One of your friends mentioned your arrival at Sanctum Islands," Damien remarked, his voice measured and gentle. "I heard it wasn't exactly smooth sailing, to say the least. I hope, despite the setbacks, your time there has proven worthwhile." His smile was natural, exuding an air of quiet confidence.
Temoshí, a bit caught off guard, scratched the back of his head, his usual relaxed demeanor betraying a hint of embarrassment. "I wonder who they could be talking about," he muttered with a chuckle, his eyes momentarily meeting Kyora's. She was glaring at him, clearly annoyed with his casual attitude. Her unspoken reprimand was palpable, and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned away from her, his face flushed with sweat.
Phoebe, always the one to ask questions when things seemed unclear, opened her mouth to speak, but Damien anticipated her inquiry and swiftly answered before she could finish.
"I'm sure you're wondering if we are affiliated with the Marines, or perhaps some kind of secret agents," Damien said, his voice soft but firm. He paused, his gaze steady, and the group noticed the subtle shift in his tone. "But no, that's not the case. You have nothing to fear from us. We are simply a noble family, sworn to protect our people, though perhaps not quite as royal as you might think. Hollow—" he said the name with a palpable hint of disdain, "—is the one who seized the throne from us. He usurped power and put our prince under a terrible curse."
Damien's eyes darkened for a moment as he continued. "Since Hollow's rise, we've been forced to maintain a delicate balance. We've tried to shield our people from his influence, keeping them away from his reach. But despite our best efforts, more and more come, day after day, desperately trying to rescue the prince. The problem is, the situation is far from safe. Hollow has surrounded the castle with his soldiers, guarding it with vigilance. Any attempt to get close is met with heavy resistance. So, for now, we remain in the shadows, hoping for the right moment to strike."
He stopped for a brief moment, his expression turning more serious as he glanced ahead, his steps measured and deliberate. "But that's the reality we face, and I believe you'll find that your presence here might just be the catalyst we've been waiting for. However, it's a matter of timing, and right now, discretion is our best ally."
Celeste swiftly reached the door, her fingers curling around the handle before sliding it open with a smooth motion. "Thank you, Celeste," Damien said politely as he led the group inside. As the door opened, Temoshí caught a brief glimpse of an unusual expression on Celeste's face—a mix of contemplation and guardedness. However, he chose to hold his thoughts and remain silent, following the others into the room.
The moment they stepped through, they were greeted by a vast, open dining hall that seemed to stretch endlessly in the soft, flickering candlelight. The room, reminiscent of a grand castle dining hall, had a rich, almost regal ambiance, but with a certain warmth and intimacy that kept it from feeling cold or imposing.
The high, arched ceilings above were adorned with intricate wooden beams, carved with subtle, delicate designs, while large tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of battle and victory, yet showing the clear marks of age and wear. The floor beneath them was polished stone, reflecting the light from the large candelabras hanging overhead, casting soft shadows across the room.
To one side, a long, sturdy wooden table stretched across the space, capable of seating a dozen or more, with intricate carvings along its edges that spoke of craftsmanship passed down through generations. The table was set with fine silverware, though it appeared unused for the time being. The far end of the room featured an ornate fireplace, the hearth crackling with a welcoming fire, offering warmth that contrasted the cold stone walls.
Above them, a grand set of double stairs wound their way upwards to a balcony, leading to a higher level that appeared to be the household's watchtower. The stairs were lined with elegant iron railings, their design echoing the intricate carvings of the beams above, creating a sense of continuity throughout the space.
Despite its grandeur, the room didn't feel overly lavish or overly cold—it had a comforting, lived-in atmosphere. It was a space where both power and hospitality were on display, but tempered by the weight of recent hardships.
"Welcome to Monarch's Parlor, our royal household," Damien announced warmly as he stepped into the expansive room. "Feel free to choose any seat you like, dear guests. There's plenty of room, and I'll fetch your friends shortly." As Damien entered, the crew settled themselves, choosing seats around the long table. Celeste, standing near the door with her arms crossed, maintained a commanding presence, her posture radiating authority and vigilance.
"Stitch, could you kindly bring the others down to the main hall? These visitors have traveled far and haven't seen their friends in some time," Damien asked, his tone gentle yet firm.
Stitch, who had been focused on her needlework, set her tools aside, rising without a word. Her expression was neutral, but there was an underlying tension in her demeanor, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. As she moved, it was impossible not to notice the eye patch that covered her left eye, a detail that piqued Temoshí's curiosity.
Despite her restrained appearance, there was a quiet elegance about the young woman. Her hair, a striking blend of white and red, framed her face beautifully, and her bright blue eyes seemed to carry both strength and mystery. Her outfit was stylish, adorned with unique accessories that hinted at a certain individuality and distinction, though not of royal or noble origin.
"Of course, Damien," she replied calmly, her voice steady, and then ascended the winding staircase. As she walked, Nathaniel observed her closely, though he couldn't quite place what set her apart from the others. She didn't exude the typical air of nobility, yet there was something about her that felt different, though he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Don't mind her," Damien said, his tone softening. "Stitch had a difficult childhood. When we found her as a young girl, we decided to take her in and give her a better life—helping her find a future away from the hardships she endured."
Before Temoshí could ask further about Stitch's past, the sound of footsteps echoed from the staircase, and soon, the others emerged.
To be continued...