Sabaody Archipelago rose like a ghostly mirage on the horizon, its towering mangrove trees shrouded in a low mist. As our ship drew closer, I could make out the dense network of bubbles coating the surface, reflecting shards of sunlight that danced across the entire landscape. The bustling, chaotic energy of the place was unmistakable, with boats and vessels of every kind vying for docking space.
"Welcome to Sabaody," Mirabel murmured from beside me, her gaze sweeping over the island. "The last step before the New World."
I nodded, a quiet resolve settling over me. Sabaody Archipelago was infamous as a crossroads, an intersection where pirates, Marines, and bounty hunters all converged in anticipation of the dangerous stretch ahead. It was no place for carelessness, and I knew better than to think our arrival would go unnoticed.
"We're not exactly the only ones with a reason to stop here," I said, glancing at the docks brimming with activity. "But we're going to need to be smart about this. The Marines won't overlook a stranger on this island, especially given what happened back on the last one."
Mirabel nodded, her gaze sharp as she took in the lively scene below. "So what's the plan?"
I stepped away from the helm and headed below deck, beckoning for her to follow. Once inside the cabin, I pulled out an old trunk, the contents dusty and long forgotten, but full of the basics we needed to stay inconspicuous. A simple, dark cloak and a wide-brimmed hat were among the items I passed to Mirabel, along with a pair of tinted glasses.
"If we want to move through Sabaody without drawing attention, we need to look like we belong… or, at least, like we're not worth anyone's time," I said, tucking my own hat low and adjusting the scarf around my neck.
Mirabel smirked, sliding the glasses on and inspecting herself in a cracked mirror on the wall. "What do you think, mysterious enough?"
"Not bad," I replied with a faint smile. "But stay close and keep your head down. We don't know who's watching, and we can't afford any unnecessary confrontations here."
We disembarked under the cover of the midday crowd, weaving our way through the throngs of people, each cluster a mix of merchants, pirates, and passersby. Sabaody was a maze of twisting paths, each area divided among its famous mangrove trees. Around us, voices filled the air, punctuated by laughter, shouting, and the occasional clamor of traders hawking their wares.
I pulled my hat lower as we navigated the bustling streets, my attention split between the street vendors and the flashes of blue-and-white uniforms among the crowds. Marines patrolled the area, their presence constant but casual, as though they were accustomed to the varied characters wandering the island.
"So where to first?" Mirabel asked quietly, keeping pace beside me.
"We need supplies, and a solid map of Fish-Man Island's entry," I replied. "If we're to make it to the New World without drawing attention, a route through Fish-Man Island is the safest option."
She nodded, her gaze steady. "Right. I'll check with the locals. If anyone knows reliable shops for maps and supplies, it's them."
We turned a corner, heading toward the nearest market district, where merchants crowded around open stalls. As we passed, a sudden flash of familiar blue caught my eye. My steps slowed as I noticed a large board at the end of the street, plastered with rows of weathered posters, some old, some fresh. And on one of the larger, newer posters, I spotted a familiar face.
My own.
I stopped dead, narrowing my eyes as I read the bold print beside my likeness.
[Wanted: Orion Hale. Dead or Alive.]
The words were followed by a bounty that was enough to tighten my chest: 150,000,000 berries.
It wasn't an astronomical figure compared to the infamous pirates who prowled the New World, but it was more than enough to catch the attention of bounty hunters, mercenaries, and opportunists across the Grand Line. And on an island like Sabaody, news of bounties circulated quickly.
Mirabel's gaze followed mine, her lips curving into a faint, rueful smile. "Well, looks like someone's made an impression."
I gritted my teeth, irritation gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. "Not exactly the kind of fame I was after."
But the figure on the poster held my attention. The artist had captured a likeness that was unmistakable, sharp eyes, focused, almost cold, with a glint of determination that seemed to cut through the page. Even dressed as I was now, the accuracy of that portrayal sent a prickle of tension down my spine.
Mirabel nudged me, her voice low. "We should keep moving. You're drawing looks."
She was right. A couple of nearby shoppers had turned their heads, whispering among themselves, glancing between the poster and our direction. I forced myself to look away, guiding Mirabel back into the moving crowd before our faces could be etched into anyone's memory.
As we maneuvered through the crowd, my mind whirred, piecing together the implications of this new target on my back. The bounty was no mere token. I was no longer an anonymous figure in the eyes of the Marines or the government; I was a suspect, a known threat. And though the sum wasn't astronomical, it was enough to mark me as a priority.
"Looks like laying low isn't going to be an option anymore," I muttered as we made our way into the more shaded areas, away from prying eyes.
Mirabel chuckled, a sly glint in her gaze. "Well, if you're going to make enemies, might as well do it in style, right?"
I shot her a smirk. "Apparently, that's the price of quality work."
We continued toward the supply district, where the presence of Marines thinned, allowing us a bit more freedom to plan our next steps. The air was filled with the aroma of spices, herbs, and roasting meats from various stalls. Vendors called out to passersby, selling everything from clothing and tools to rare fish and trinkets.
A few stands displayed nautical charts, some even boasting reliable maps of the waters leading to Fish-Man Island. I gestured for Mirabel to join me at a stall piled high with scrolls and parchment.
The merchant, a portly man with a scruffy beard, looked up, assessing us with a practiced eye. "Looking for something specific, travelers?"
"Maps of the Grand Line," I replied, keeping my tone casual. "Particularly routes to Fish-Man Island."
He nodded knowingly. "Ah, Fish-Man Island, eh? Popular choice these days. You'll want the ones with the red markers, those denote the safest passages." He produced a stack of maps, spreading them out for our inspection.
I leaned over, examining the details, searching for a route that wouldn't involve significant Marine interference. Mirabel hovered nearby, her gaze sharp as she took in the information. She pointed to a line marked in blue along one map's edge.
"That one looks promising," she murmured. "It avoids the heavier currents and seems to bypass the usual patrol zones."
I nodded, satisfied. "We'll take it."
As we completed the transaction and tucked the maps safely into a satchel, a flash of movement caught my eye. Across the way, a pair of Marines were scanning the crowd, their gazes sharp and calculating. My pulse quickened as I realized they were edging closer, likely drawn by the merchant's louder-than-average sales pitch.
"Time to move," I whispered, signaling to Mirabel.
She didn't hesitate, slipping into step beside me as we wove our way back through the crowd, keeping our heads down and our pace steady. Every instinct urged me to stay calm, to avoid anything that might draw attention, but the tension was undeniable. With a bounty of that size, even a fleeting glance could trigger suspicion. It wasn't paranoia; it was caution born from necessity.
Once we were a safe distance from the marketplace, Mirabel let out a soft breath, her eyes glinting with a mixture of relief and something else, a hint of exhilaration.
"Well, that was close," she murmured. "Not exactly the quiet stop we'd hoped for, but we got what we needed."
I gave her a wry look. "You're enjoying this more than you'd admit."
She grinned, unrepentant. "Maybe. But I think you are too, whether you'd admit it or not."
I paused, considering her words. There was a thrill in the challenge, a spark that came with being forced to stay one step ahead of the game. The stakes had changed, and it was clear now that there was no going back to anonymity.
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