Lyra sat curled on the slanted roof of the Baratie, the moonlight casting a cold silver glow across her trembling form.
She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to make herself smaller, tighter, as if she could shrink away from the memories.
The looks on their faces,the fear in their eyes,it played again and again in her mind like a cruel, broken record.
Tears slid freely down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away.
(•Emotional distress detected. Initiating stabilization protocols. •)
Great Sage's voice murmured softly in her mind, steady and calm as always.
(• You are not alone, Lyra. You protected them. You are not a monster. •)
Lyra squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her nails digging into her sleeves.
"You're just a voice in my head," she snapped, her voice cracking. "You don't know anything! You don't understand!"
The words rang out harshly against the empty sky.
For a moment, there was only silence, the wind tugging at her hair like invisible fingers.
Then, just as calmly as before, Great Sage answered:
(• You are not a monster. •)
Lyra's chest hitched painfully.
The anger drained from her all at once, leaving behind only exhaustion and a crushing wave of guilt.
"I..." she whispered, her voice breaking, "Thank you..."
Her words were small, shaky, barely more than a breath.
(• Remember what I told you, Lyra.Im always here for you. •)
Lyra wiped at her wet face with the sleeve of her torn blouse, sniffling quietly.
The silence stretched between them, heavy but no longer suffocating.
Then she heard heavy, deliberate huffing behind her.
Lyra blinked and turned, just in time to see Zeff
clambering up onto the roof with a grunt.
The old chef settled himself beside her, letting out a long breath as he sat down stiffly.
After a moment's hesitation, Zeff reached out and gave Lyra a rough, clumsy pat on the head.
Lyra flinched slightly, then puffed her cheeks in a tiny pout.
"I'm not a kid..." she muttered grumpily.
Still, despite her words, she leaned into the touch without thinking, letting herself rest for just a moment.
Zeff snorted, ruffling her hair more aggressively now just to be a menace.
"Good job." he said gruffly.
Lyra let out a hiccupping breath, half a sob, half a small giggle.
Above them, the moon glowed warmer, gentler.
From around the corner came a clumsy clatter of footsteps.
Lyra looked up just in time to see a parade of injured, bandaged chefs approaching in a loose, awkward huddle.
They paused at a respectful distance, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
One, a tall and lanky young man, stepped forward and bowed his head deeply.
"We—we wanted to apologize," he blurted. "We're really sorry for everything, Miss Lyra!"
The rest quickly followed, bowing low in clumsy unison.
Unfortunately, with half of them still wrapped up like overcooked mummies, the motion immediately backfired; one tripped over another's bandaged foot, someone else lost balance, and within seconds they collapsed into a spectacular pile of groaning bodies.
It was like watching a slow, tragic avalanche made entirely of idiots.
Lyra blinked.
Then a bubbling laugh burst from her chest, bright and sudden and real.
She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her palms, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
The chefs, still tangled in a heap, peeked up nervously, and when they saw her laughing, their faces lit up.
A few started chuckling, then full-on laughing too, helpless in their ridiculousness.
Even Zeff let out a gruff snort of amusement, crossing his arms with a shake of his head.
Still giggling, Lyra sat up straighter, hands on her hips.
"Hmph!" she huffed, sticking her nose up dramatically. "How could a fairy queen cry over something like that?! I wasn't upset at all!"
She wiped at the last stubborn tear, trying, and failing, to look dignified.
There was a brief pause as the chefs exchanged wary glances ,the kind of look that said Did she just say fairy queen? , but wisely, not a single one dared to question it aloud.
Instead, they nodded solemnly, silently agreeing to humor whatever magical nonsense this tiny menace declared.
The chefs grinned at her sheepishly from the ground, still tangled together like overgrown children.
One of them, a young man with a gauze-wrapped head, smiled a little sadly.
"If only Jacob were here," he said softly. "He would've made a joke about us looking like dumplings."
The laughter quieted, a bittersweet silence falling over them.
Lyra's smile softened.
She looked out at the moonlit sea, then back at the broken, bandaged family standing before her.
"My dream," she said, voice carrying gently, "is to become the greatest musician in existence."
She stood slowly, the sea breeze tugging at her hair.
"So let me honor them," she said warmly, "Let me send them off with a song."
Lyra summoned a glowing piano, vines curling around it along with pink flowers like a dream shaped into reality, the chefs and Zeff standing behind her watched in awe as the night air cool against their battered skin.
She closed her eyes, letting the memories settle. When she opened them again, her gaze was steady, filled with warmth, a smile adorning her face.
Her fingers touched the keys and the first notes of Ode to Joy spilled into the air.
At first, it was soft, almost tender, like the sea whispering secrets to the shore, but with every passing second, the music grew.
Lyra's hands moved faster, her fingers a blur of graceful energy, the magic of the song wrapping around everyone like a warm embrace.
The battered chefs felt it first, a sudden lightness, an aching joy pulled from the very core of their hearts.
Visions shimmered around them — not ghosts, but perfect illusions of their happiest memories.
Zeff's breath hitched.
Before him, clear as day, he saw a younger Sanji, grinning that cheeky, gap-toothed grin as he stirred a bowl twice his size, his face smudged with flour.
Behind the boy, the familiar, laughing faces of the fallen chefs clapped him on the back, ruffled his hair, sharing drinks and jokes like they had all the time in the world.
The old man stared, feeling something tight snap loose in his chest, sinking deeper into the memory, the sound of laughter and clinking mugs wrapping around him.
All around, the surviving chefs saw the same.
Jacob, the loudmouthed prankster, slinging an arm around a buddy's shoulders, the grumpy sous-chef howling with laughter at some ridiculous joke, others raising mugs high or waving from a table brimming with food and life.
It wasn't real, but for now, it was enough.
Lyra's fingers flew even faster, the music swelling higher, lifting them closer to those precious moments they thought lost, carrying the rooftop higher and higher until it felt like the stars themselves were singing along.
As the final triumphant chords rang out, the illusions sank deeper, the chefs raising their mugs high in farewell or waving goodbye with wide, laughing smiles, before the images slowly faded like mist into the bruised night sky.
The rooftop returned, the battered chefs stood blinking under the open stars, raw and teary-eyed, but smiling.
A heartbeat passed.
Then one of the chefs whooped, clapping his hands wildly, another joined in, then another, until the rooftop exploded into cheers and laughter.
Someone yelled, "To the fairy queen!"
Before Lyra could react, two burly chefs, bandages and all, lifted her clean off the ground.
"WAIT, I'm fragile!" Lyra yelped, kicking her legs wildly, "You can't just toss a fairy queen around like a sack of flour!"
They didn't listen.
They tossed her gently into the air, catching her with loud, gleeful shouts each time.
Even Zeff barked a rough laugh, crossing his arms with a shake of his head.
"Put me down!" Lyra wailed dramatically as they tossed her one last time, "I demand royal treatment!"
Finally, the exhausted chefs gave up, setting her down carefully.
"Fine, fine," one said, wiping a tear from his eye, "But your punishment for making us cry... eating. You still haven't tasted Zeff's cooking!"
Another grinned wickedly, elbowing his friend. "That's right! It's a crime to eat at the Baratie and not taste the old man's food!"
Zeff snorted, crossing his arms.
"Tch, guess I'll have to cook for a brat who thinks she's royalty."
Lyra placed her hands imperiously on her hips, chin lifted high.
"As your queen," she declared proudly, "I accept your tribute."
The rooftop shook with laughter again, the night carrying their joy out across the waves like music carried by the wind — not mourning the dead, but celebrating the living
Authors notes
I promised to write three chapters however after refinishing the last one I felt like I needed to write another couldn't leave it on a sad note so you got four.Got any spare power stones by the way id appreciate it I'm tryna get into the top 200 ranking list at some point gotta have aspirations right?