Eliane's consciousness returned like a swimmer breaching a deep, dark pool. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes, and a strange, metallic taste coated her tongue. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them open. Blurred shapes swam in her vision—gleaming silver surfaces, soft glowing lights. A face resolved above her. A boy with a wild mop of red hair and eyebrows like fuzzy caterpillars peered down, his expression one of intense scrutiny.
"I think she is waking up," the boy announced to the room.
Eliane rubbed her face with hands that felt too small, too weak. The last thing she remembered was… fire. Wings. A crushing fatigue. She pushed herself up on the medical bed, the world tilting for a moment. "Who are…" she started, her voice a dry croak.
The boy beamed, a flash of white teeth, and pointed a thumb at his own chest. "I am Sanza Kaplan Figarland, Scion of House Figarland, and future Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights. You are aboard the vessel of my big sister."
Before she could process this, another shape entered her view. A portly, translucent octopus with spectacles hovered closer. Dr. Octavious wiggled a cluster of his tool-tipped tentacles over her, a scanner in one emitting a soft wave of light. He let out a series of concerned, quaky beeps and whistles, as if speaking a language of malfunctioning machinery.
Eliane blinked, pushing the disorientation aside. "Where is Jannali? Where is…?"
A soft shimmer of light and a gentle wave of cool air signaled a new presence. Halia materialized at the foot of the bed, her flowing form and kind, whirlpool eyes a sudden point of calm. "Oh, good. You are awake. There is no time for full reorientation. Your assistance is needed on the command bridge."
Eliane's gaze darted past Halia, landing on the room's other occupant. A tall, slender ogre in a stark white coat stood at a wall console, his back to her. He ran a gloved finger along a panel, his head tilted as if listening to the ship's hum. Something about the way he stood—too still, too intent—made her skin prickle. "Who…"
"The medical specialist from Agashima," Halia interjected, her tone leaving no room for questions. "I will inform the engineer you are en route." Her form dissolved into wisps of light.
Sanza snapped to a posture of eager readiness. "Come on! I can show you the way!"
Eliane swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor. A wave of lightheadedness passed, but she clenched her jaw. "I know the way," she said, her voice firmer.
Sanza, undeterred by her brush-off, fell into step beside her as she strode out of the med bay and into the curved, organic hallway of the ancient submarine. The air here was different—warm, carrying the scent of hot oil, old books, and something like a coming storm. "So, what is your title? Your name?" Sanza asked, trying to match her pace.
"Eliane."
"A fine name! Classical! As I was saying, my ascension to the Holy Knights is a foregone conclusion, though my current custodians underestimate my strategic capacity. This vessel, for instance, is a testament to the kind of power I will command. Do you have a tactical specialty, Eliane? Big Sis values useful subordinates."
Eliane narrowed her eyes, increasing her pace. The kid talked like a tiny, arrogant admiral. She focused on the thrum of the ship through the deck plates, letting it ground her. She felt a faint, familiar heat in her core—a banked Lunarian flame, subdued but present.
The bridge was a wide chamber of sweeping arches and crystalline panels that showed the terrifying blackness of the deep sea. Bianca Yvonne Clark was half-buried under an open panel, a frustrated snarl on her face as she wrestled with a twitching, spider-like automaton whose legs kicked in a faulty rhythm.
"Like, come on, you archaic junkheap, just reroute the secondary coupling!" Bianca growled, her hair escaping its bun in chaotic strands. Sanza's ramblings announced their presence. "Like, cool, you are like awake," Bianca said without looking up, her voice strained.
Eliane moved to a vacant chair, its frame gowning from the floor itself. "Where is everyone? How did I get here?"
Bianca shocked the automaton with a tool; it shuddered and lay still. "Like, a lot has, like, happened. But, like, the short version is Marya and Jannali went to, like, get everyone. We are, like, waiting for them. It's, like, a whole thing." She wiped her forehead, leaving a new grease smear.
Sanza slid into the chair next to Eliane with a little hop. "You know my big sister too, then."
Eliane looked at him, her confusion a tangible thing. "Your what?"
"This is her vessel," Sanza proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "It is very impressive, is it not? The hydrodynamic design alone suggests—"
The console in front of Bianca crackled to life, cutting him off. A voice, thin with static and thick with panic, burst into the room.
"Ahem! Dreadnought Thalassa, come in Dreadnought Thalassa! Are you there? This is Charlie! Do you copy?"
Bianca cursed, a sharp, heartfelt word. She lunged for the panel, slapping the comm switch. "Like, yeah! We copy! Like, go!"
Charlie's voice came through in a rushed, breathless stream. "Thank the gods! Plan B is a go! I repeat, Plan B is active! Send the fireworks! Now!"
Bianca froze for a heartbeat, her eyes wide. "Like, really? Is it like… are they clear? Is Marya—"
"There is no time!" Charlie's voice was a sharp, desperate crackle. "The window is now! Send the fireworks, or this is all for nothing! Do it!"
The raw urgency in his voice was a cold splash of water. Bianca's face hardened. All hesitation burned away, replaced by a focused intensity. "Like, copy. Loud and clear. Fireworks in, like, ten."
Halia materialized beside the main navigation sphere, her hands moving through the holographic controls. "I have the vessel. Coordinates for optimal firing solution are locked. Brace for course adjustment."
The deep hum of the submarine changed pitch. The floor tilted under them. Eliane and Sanza grabbed the arms of their chairs as the world outside the viewports began to move, the cliff face of Cape Wallows sliding away. The massive, glowing smelting rigs filled the central screen, monstrous silhouettes against the toxic orange sky.
"Ordnance is loaded and ready on your mark," Halia intoned, her voice the only calm thing in the room.
Bianca's hand hovered over a large, red-lit button. Her jaw was tight. This was the distraction. This was what Charlie and the others were counting on. This might also be the thing that buried Marya and Jannali under a mountain of angry ogres. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second.
Her finger stabbed down. "Like, mark! Bombs away!"
A deep, visceral THOOM echoed through the hull, a sound felt in the teeth. On the screen, three sleek, dark shapes shot from ports on the Dreadnought's flanks, trailing streams of bubbles. They were impossibly fast, cutting through the black water like knives aimed at the heart of the industry.
"Impact in, ten minutes," Halia announced.
Silence reclaimed the bridge, deeper and heavier than before. It was broken only by the ship's hum and the sound of their own breathing. They could only watch the torpedoes fly, carrying with them the hopes of a rescue and the fear of a catastrophe. The waiting had ended. The consequences were now in motion, racing through the dark water ahead of them.
-----
The silence in the command room was a taut wire, humming with the vibration of the ancient submarine's engines. On the main viewer, three trails of furious bubbles streaked through the black water, heading for the distant, fiery silhouettes of the smelting rigs. The countdown ticked in Bianca's mind, a silent, anxious metronome.
The torpedoes cut through the deep like hungry eels. As they passed a jagged outcropping of rock, their sonar shadows brushed against a smaller, blunter shape hugging the cliff face—a battered submersible, its running lights dark.
Inside that smaller vessel, Jannali Bandler's head snapped up. A primal warning, older than language, shrieked in her blood. Her third eye throbbed under its wrap, not with voices, but with a crushing sense of mass and speed. "Down!" she roared, not understanding the threat, only its direction.
The submersible rocked as the wake of the three torpedoes washed over it, a turbulent gust of displaced water that rattled the hull and sent loose tools clattering. Vesta let out a yelp, her rainbow hair flashing in the dim cabin lights.
A heartbeat later, the console in front of Bianca crackled, a new signal cutting through the operational frequency.
"Dreadnought Thalassa, come in. Dreadnought Thalassa, are you there?" The voice was Galit's, strained but controlled.
Bianca's eyes went from the torpedo tracks to the comm panel. She stabbed the button. "Like, yeah! We copy! Like, come in!"
Jannali's voice exploded over the speaker, sharp with adrenaline and outrage. "What the hell, mate? You trying to shoot us out of the water? I felt those things in my teeth!"
Bianca blinked, her mind connecting the dots—the smaller blip on the tactical scan she'd dismissed as debris. She glanced at Halia, who offered a serene, apologetic ripple of her shoulders. "Collateral proximity was within calculated safe margins," the hologram said.
"Like, sorry about that," Bianca said, wincing. "But, like, Plan B is in play. Charlie called it."
"Has the other team returned?" Galit asked, his voice cutting to the core of the issue.
Bianca's gut twisted. "Like, no. But, like, you should come back. Like, right now. Those presents we sent are gonna, like, impact in less than ten, and you will, like, be caught in the splash. It, like, won't be pretty."
A muffled sound came over the open channel—Vesta's voice, distant and worried. "But what about the others? Marya and… and Ember…"
A beat of heavy silence filled the bridge of the Dreadnought. Eliane, who had been watching the screen with wide eyes, clenched her hands in her lap. Sanza leaned forward, his earlier excitement gone, replaced by a sharp focus.
Galit's voice returned, decisive. "Understood. We return and assess. We can always go back for them."
The logic was sound, cold, and it settled in Bianca's stomach like a stone. "Like, that's a good copy. We can, like, regroup and stuff."
"Understood. Have the med-bay on standby."
From the background of the transmission, another voice growled, thick with pain and irritation. "Shut up, Noodle Neck, I don't need a cot, I need to get back out—" The comms cut out with a burst of static, leaving a vivid image of Atlas Acuta, wounded and furious.
Bianca shook her head, a tired smile touching her lips. "Like, whatever. I am, like, so ready to go."
Halia's form brightened. "I am preparing the medical bay for incoming casualties."
Bianca gave a thumbs-up, her eyes returning to the countdown timer. Five minutes.
Eliane pushed herself out of the command chair, the motion firm. "I will go to the galley. People will be hungry when they come aboard." She announced; feeding people was her domain, her way to help when she couldn't fight.
Sanza jumped to his feet, a spark of purpose returning. "I will assist!"
Eliane cut her eyes at him, a groan escaping her as she marched toward the exit. "Just don't touch the knives."
Sanza scurried after her, already listing his food recommendations and preferences. Their footsteps faded into the corridor, leaving Bianca alone with Halia and the silent, ominous viewer.
Outside, in the eternal dark, the three torpedoes streaked toward their targets, their paths a line drawn between rescue and ruin, between a desperate gamble and a potential grave. The waiting was now a shared, breathless thing, stretched across two vessels and the cold, ticking water between them.
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