The Alabasta desert breathed its scorching breath over the ruins of an ancient temple, half-buried beneath dunes that glittered like molten bronze under the midday sun. The archaeologist team—their skin blistered by the unrelenting heat—crowded around a newly unearthed chamber. Sand cascaded from the stone doorway as they pried it open, revealing a vault adorned with hieroglyphs that twisted like serpents.
"Over here!" called Dr. Lysandra Vorne, the Consortium's lead historian, her voice muffled by the linen wrappings shielding her face. She knelt beside a half-buried archway, its carvings depicting a woman with solar flares for hair cradling a flame. "These glyphs—they're pre-Poneglyphic. Older than Alabasta's monarchy."
Kael Duneshade wore a turquoise headscarf and a smile as warm as the oasis springs. He'd been their guide, translator, and bridge to the kingdom's buried secrets. Kael crouched beside her, tracing the sun-worn stone. His fingers lingered on the woman's face. "The Sun Deity's Mother… My grandmother told stories about her. They called her 'The First Flame'—a power that could birth or burn civilizations." As Dr. Vorne continued, the soft hum of a whisper drew Kael's attention. Standing, he became entranced, his body moving on its own.
He knelt beside the newly uncovered altar, his calloused fingers brushing dust from a relic half-buried in the shadows—a crescent amulet, its surface etched with constellations long scrubbed from the world's maps that pulsed like dormant embers—at its center a shard of amber oscillated, trapped light swirling like a miniature sun. Kael recoiled. "This… this isn't right. That amber—it's not stone. It's alive."
Dr. Vorne, an archeologist team member, ignored him as she prattled on about the chamber. "According to the library's oldest scrolls, a compass exists pointing to the Mother Flame—a relic said to hold the Sun Deity's primordial fire. With it, one could reignite the world… or reduce it to cinder."
Around him, the other archaeologists murmured in awe, their voices echoing off the walls. Dr. Lira, a team member, adjusted her cracked spectacles. "Fascinating… These symbols predate even the Poneglyphs," she said, her tone trembling with scholarly hunger. Kael didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the object in front of him. The amulet's glow seeped into his veins, warm and venomous, and for a moment, he swore it recognized him.
Then the whispers began. "Kael… child of sand and sorrow."
He flinched, but the voice coiled deeper, a serpent in his skull. Memories surged—his mother's laughter stifled by Baroque Works' smoke, Revolutionary comrades falling to Crocodile's machinations, the hollow victory of Alabasta's liberation. The relic's pull sharpened, its light now blinding.
The moment Kael touched the compass, the chamber screamed. Blinding light erupted, fusing the relic to his palm. His Revolutionary Army tattoo blackened, veins of amber spreading up his arm. Kael's eyes ignited, pupils dissolving into twin suns.
"You hunger for purpose. I shall give you a crown." Suddenly, his body wasn't his own.
The first kill was Dr. Lira. Her gasp died as Kael's palm—radiant with the relic's flaxen fire—crushed her throat. Chaos erupted. Consortium guardians, disguised as unassuming scholars, shed their robes to reveal sleek, modular weapons: a whip-sword crackling with electricity, a gauntlet spraying acid mist, and a rifle firing crystalline shards. They moved with lethal precision, their gear humming like tuned engines.
But the relic's power was older.
Kael danced through their strikes, his movements fluid and inhuman. He shattered the whip-sword with a touch, its wielder collapsing into ash. The acid mist parted around him, repelled by an unseen shield. A guardian lunged, her crystal rifle aimed at his heart; the relic's fire lanced out, reducing her to a silhouette of smoke.
"Royal blood… the key," the voice hissed, sweet and corrosive. "Find the Mother Flame. Claim the oasis where stars drown in sand."
The massacre was methodical. Scholars dissolved mid-scream, their research scattered like ash. A junior archaeologist, Taro, scrambled for the exit, only for Kael to hurl his power like a spear. It bent Taro's spine, pinning him to the wall. The relic pulsed, burning his body to a husk before disappearing.
When the last guardian fell, Kael stood amid smoldering ruins, the amulet fused to his chest. The Consortium's bodies dissolved—their pact with secrecy binding even in death—leaving no trace but scorch marks and the metallic tang of regret.
Alone, Kael shuddered. The relic's flame coursed through him, both agony and ecstasy. Royal blood. Nefertari's line. Vivi. The thought clawed at his resolve, but the whispers drowned it out, twisting his grief into a weapon.
Above, through a crack in the chamber roof, the stars began to shift.
*****
The Alabasta coast shimmered under the midday sun, waves lapping at the jagged rocks of a hidden cove. Marya leaped from the Consortium submarine's hatch first, her boots sinking into the sand as she scanned the shoreline. Behind her, Vaughn adjusted his dreads, hefting Light Bringer over one shoulder. Charlie clambered out last, nearly tripping over his own satchel full of scrolls and excavation tools.
"You sure this is the right cove, Charlie?" Vaughn asked, squinting at the empty beach. "Sub's here, but no sign of the team. Not even a footprint."
Charlie adjusted his glasses, already launching into a lecture. "Ah, but the tidal patterns in this region are notoriously unpredictable! Sand shifts by the hour—it's why Alabasta's coastline was a nightmare for invaders. Did you know that during the War of the Dunes, King Cobra's forces used the tides to trap—"
"Thanks for the history lesson," Marya cut in, her tone cool with distraction. She flicked a raven-black strand of hair from her face, the kogatana around her neck glinting. "If the sub's abandoned, they went inland. To the dig site."
Vaughn smirked. "In a rush, Marya." He reaches for the hatch of the abandoned submarine. "We check the sub. Properly."
The submarine's interior was a tomb of silent tech: holographic maps frozen mid-glitch, half-drunk cups of coffee gone stale, and a single thawb robe crumpled in a corner. No blood. No struggle. Just absence.
"Fascinating," Charlie muttered, crouching to examine a glyph-etched tablet left on the table. "This dialect is pre-Void Century! It mentions a 'flame that births dawn'—could tie to the Sun Deity myths!"
Marya hovered near the exit, her arms crossed as her back rested against the wall. "They didn't leave willingly. Guardians don't abandon their gear." Her mist-mist powers prickled under her skin, restless as Charlie rambled on.
Marya's fingers traced the edge of her kogatana, her mind drifting to the mist within her. It simmered beneath the surface, ever-present, ever-waiting, like a predator poised to strike. She remembered vividly the last time she'd lost control: the suffocating fog, the chaos, the blackout. The power that could bend to her will one moment and break free the next.
Shanks' words echoed in her mind, a steady mantra she clung to in moments of doubt: "Don't let it define who you are. Become stronger, and use it for good." He had seen something in her, something beyond the mist. But what if she failed? What if the mist took over again?
Her mist-mist powers tingle, putting her on edge as if sensing her unease. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. She had to stay in control. For the team, for the mission, and herself. She pushed off the wall, determination hardening her gaze.
Vaughn sighed, leaning against the bulkhead. "Alright, brother. Get your kicks now. Once we hit the desert, it's survival mode. And no detours to pet ancient rocks."
Charlie straightened, indignant. "Petrified limestone is a critical source of—"
Vaughn finally stood, striding for the door. "Nothing here but ghosts and old coffee. Let's head out."
Marya was already moving, eager to feel the open air again. "I'll take point," she said, her tone brooking no argument. Charlie tucked the tablet into his satchel, still muttering about its significance as they exited.
The oppressive stillness of the submarine gave way to the sound of their boots crunching on the sand, the ever-present wind whistling through the dunes. Vaughn cast a last look at the sub, then turned his focus to the mission ahead.
"Let's move," Marya commanded, already striding toward the dunes.
Vaughn and Charlie exchanged glances, both sensing an undercurrent in her voice. Vaughn's smirk faded, replaced by a shadow of concern. He had witnessed her power unleashed, an unstoppable force of nature. The memory of that day, the mist power taking possession of her, destroying everything in its path, lingered at the edges of his mind. He knew what was at stake now.
Charlie, on the other hand, hadn't been there. He didn't see the raw, untamed fury of her abilities. "Marya?" he ventured cautiously, noting the tension in her stance, the way her mist seemed to pulse erratically. "Is everything alright?"
Vaughn's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon and then settling back on Marya. "We need to keep our heads clear. And remember, Marya," his tone softened slightly, "you're not alone."
Marya nodded, though her jaw remained tight. "Let's move," she said, her voice steady but with an edge that spoke volumes.
The desert heat clamped down like a vise as they trekked inland. Charlie, despite his complaints, kept up a steady stream of trivia. "—and after Crocodile's defeat, the Nefertari family restored the kingdom's aquifers! Princess Vivi's speech at the Rainbase ruins was pivotal—some say the Straw Hats left a token here, a symbol of—"
"Charlie," Vaughn groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're worse than Harper after three mimosas."
Marya smirked faintly. "Your fiancé is a menace with a blow dryer."
"Hey, Harper's a visionary," Vaughn shot back, though his grin softened. "Says he's gonna give me 'warrior locs' next time. Gold beads and everything."
Charlie cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem. As I was saying—the dig site should be near the Valley of the Kings. If the team found what I think they did, we're looking at a discovery that could rewrite the Grand Line's history!"
"Or get us killed," Marya muttered.
The Alabasta desert swallowed them whole—a sea of shifting beige and scorching silence. By midday, the sun hung like a molten coin, baking the air into a shimmering haze. Marya marched ahead as sweat snaked down her neck, but the real heat came from within: the Mist-Mist Fruit's power writhed under her skin, tendrils of vapor curling unconsciously from her fingertips.
"Don't let it define you," Shanks' voice echoed in her memory, warm and gravelly. "A blade's only as sharp as the hand that holds it." She clenched her fist, forcing the mist to dissolve.
Behind her, Vaughn trudged with Light Bringer propped against his shoulder, his dreads now dusted with sand. Charlie, red-faced and panting, lagged at the rear, clutching a canteen like a holy relic. "Remind me again why we couldn't borrow a camel?" he wheezed.
Vaughn grunted before cracking a grin. "Camels bite."
The dunes shifted as the sun dipped, painting the sky in bruised purples. They set camp in the lee of a sandstone outcrop, its shadow stretching like a dagger. Vaughn scavenged scrub brush for a fire while Charlie unfurled a map covered in frantic annotations. Marya perched atop a rock, sharpening Eternal Night with methodical strokes. The rasp of steel echoed Shanks' lessons: Control the chaos. Don't let it control you.
But then the sand moved.
A ripple surged beneath them—fast, predatory. Marya's mist flared instinctively, her body dissolving just as a colossal sand scorpion erupted from the ground. Its pincers snapped where she'd stood, tail arcing high, venom glistening on a barbed stinger.
"Blinding Light special delivery!" Vaughn roared, hefting Light Bringer. The axe's twin blades ignited with a chemical glow, bathing the scorpion in an eerie light. Charlie scrambled backward, shouting, "Aim for the joints! Their exoskeleton weakens at the—"
The scorpion lunged. Vaughn sidestepped, cleaving a pincer clean off. Acidic ichor sizzled on the sand. Marya rematerialized mid-air, mist coiling around her legs as she drove Eternal Night into the creature's thorax. It screeched, thrashing, but she twisted the blade and the beast collapsed.
Charlie let out a shaky laugh. "Fascinating! Did you see the mandible structure? Pure pre-Calamity era!"
Vaughn wiped ichor from his face. "You're welcome, brother."
Night fell, brittle and cold. The fire crackled, casting jagged shadows. Marya sat apart, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the mist seep from her palms again. It slithered toward the flames, hungry and formless.
"You're not a demon, kid," Shanks once said after finding her vomiting post-sparring. "Power's just a tool. Even the foggiest morning burns off if you wait for the sun."
"Marya." Vaughn tossed her a canteen. "Drink. You're doing that brooding thing."
She caught it, hesitating. "If I lose control… if the mist takes—"
"You won't," Charlie interjected, adjusting his cracked glasses. "Statistically, Devil Fruit possession cases are almost entirely linked to emotional volatility. Stay calm, stay focused. Simple!"
Vaughn snorted. "Says the guy who licked a 900-year-old tomb."
"For science!"
Marya's lips twitched—almost a smile. She focused on the canteen's weight, the fire's crackle, the stars wheeling overhead. The mist receded, inch by inch.
The Alabasta desert night was a tapestry of cold stars and whispering sands. Marya sat cross-legged by the campfire, its flames clawing at the dark. Shadows danced across her face, sharpening the hollows under her eyes. She stared into the embers, but all she saw was the infirmary.
Natalie's voice, shrill as a scalpel, her eyes burning red like a demon: "You nearly gutted Jax! And Riggs—his sword arm's in a cast for weeks! What were you thinking? And you didn't even come to me for medical treatment!"
Marya had said nothing. What could she say? She didn't remember the rampage
A log cracked in the fire, and Marya flinched. Celeste's words echoed in her thoughts. Her eyes—wide, accusing—had said enough. "I saw you," Celeste had whispered, fingers pressed together like a prayer. "You weren't… you."
Jax's bandaged side rose and fell. He'd defended her, even after she'd sliced them through. "Mistakes happen," he'd muttered, avoiding her gaze. "We move forward." But his crush had curdled into something brittle, a glass statue she'd shattered.
Riggs was worse. His broken arm hung in a sling, his usual swagger reduced to a wince. "Guess I'm not Mihawk material yet, huh?" he'd joked, but his laugh was sandpaper.
Vaughn stirred in his bedroll, his dreads spilling over Light Bringer beside him. He'd been the one to tackle her mid-lunge, Shanks' crimson aura smothering her mist. "You fight like your old man," Shanks had told her after, his tone unreadable. "But rage without control is just a storm—it destroys everything, even you."
The fire popped again. Marya's mist curled at her fingertips, silvery and treacherous. She clenched her hands, Eternal Night's hilt digging into her palm.
"Don't let it define you," Shanks' voice echoed, softer now. "Use it for good."
A sand-fox yipped in the distance. Marya stood abruptly, her shadow stretching monstrously across the dunes. The Mist-Mist Fruit hummed in her veins, tempting her to dissolve, to flee.
But then—
"Can't sleep either?" Vaughn's voice. He sat up, rubbing his face. "Guilt's a lousy bedmate."
Marya didn't turn. "They trusted me. I failed."
"Nah. You're just human." He tossed her a canteen. "Even Mihawk bleeds."
She caught it, the water bitter-cold. "Celeste won't look at me."
"Give her time. She's gotta process that her hero's… complicated." Vaughn smirked. "Besides, Riggs'll milk that broken arm. Silver linings."
A choked laugh escaped her. The mist receded, just a little. Somewhere, Shanks' laugh seemed to ride the wind. Not a storm. A shield. By dawn, the desert had erased the scorpion's carcass. They pressed onward, the excavation site still a day away.
"Use it for good," Shanks' voice murmured on the wind.
She breathed in, and the mist followed—not a storm, but a shield.
*****
The sun hung low over Alubarna's sandstone towers, casting long shadows across the palace courtyard. Princess Vivi stood at a marble balustrade, her fingers tracing the edge of a scroll detailing the day's itinerary. Beside her, a harried royal aide shuffled through papers, his voice a steady hum.
"—supplies have been delivered to the orphanage: rice, medicine, toys crafted by the carpenters' guild. The children are expecting you after midday prayers, Your Highness. Oh, and Koza's rebels offered to escort the caravan, but I told them the Royal Guard has it handled."
Vivi nodded absently, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the desert met the sky. The air smelled of jasmine and dust, a familiar comfort. "Thank you, Rafiq. But tell Koza's men they're welcome to join us. This isn't just the crown's duty—it's Alabasta's."
The aide hesitated, then bowed. "As you wish."
As he retreated, Vivi's hand slipped into her pocket, brushing the faded "X" scar on her wrist—the Straw Hats' mark, hidden beneath her silk sleeve. The memory of Luffy's grin flashed in her mind. "We'll always be your friend!" She wondered if they'd approve of the orphanage's new mural, a vibrant mess of camels, sea kings, and a grinning pirate ship that the artists had added… enthusiastically.
The orphanage stood at the edge of the city, a once-crumbling structure now alive with laughter and fresh paint. As Vivi's carriage approached, a swarm of children burst through the doors, their shouts ringing like temple bells.
She stepped down, her aqua hair tousled by the wind, and knelt to meet them. A boy named Tamir—no older than six, with a scar peeking from his collar where Baroque Works' agents had struck—thrust a drawing into her hands. "Look! I drew you fighting the sand crocodile!" The image was all teeth and swirls, Vivi's likeness a stick figure with a crown.
It's perfect," she said, grinning. "Though I think you'd have beaten Crocodile faster.
The head caretaker, an elderly woman named Safiya, emerged, her arms full of linens. "They've been asking about you all week. Little Laila even tried to smuggle a kitten into the dorms, said you'd let her keep it."
Vivi laughed, but her chest tightened. She recognized these children—sons and daughters of rebels, of guards, of merchants caught in crossfires. Orphans of a war she hadn't stopped in time.
In the courtyard, Vivi sat cross-legged on a rug, a gaggle of children clambering to braid her hair with wildflowers. A girl named Laila, her eyes wide beneath a fringe of black curls, whispered, "My mama said you sailed with pirates. Real ones!"
"I did," Vivi said, her voice soft. "They were… loud. And messy. But they taught me that family isn't just blood. It's the people you fight for."
"Are they coming back?"
Vivi paused, her throat tight. "Not for a while. But they're always here." She tapped Laila's chest, then her own.
Nearby, Safiya watched, her smile bittersweet. "You've given them hope, Princess. After so much darkness, they need it."
Vivi's fingers curled around her scarred wrist. "Hope's the one thing Alabasta never lost."
Vivi's carriage rolled back toward the palace as dusk painted the desert. Through the window, she spotted a faded Baroque Works poster plastered on a wall, half-torn. Gone, but not forgotten.
Her aide cleared his throat. "The council expects your report on the new irrigation project tonight. And King Cobra requested—"
"Tell Father I'll join him shortly," Vivi interrupted, her voice steady. She leaned back, closing her eyes. The children's laughter still echoed in her ears, mingling with the phantom cheers of a crew she missed like a limb.
Luffy would've eaten all the snacks. Zoro would've gotten lost in the courtyard. Nami would've haggled with the merchants for extra supplies. But they weren't here. This was her fight now—not with swords or storms, but with scrolls and speeches and scars that healed slower than bones.