Marya and Shaka Saði clash blades, their steel screaming against each other. Marya sees an opening—a flicker of hesitation in Shaka's guard—and swings Nisshoku toward the goddess's neck.
But Shaka doesn't move.
She stands frozen, mid-step, her ice-blue eyes blank, her blade suspended in the air.
Marya stops her swing inches from Shaka's throat. She blinks, her brow furrowed. The frost goddess doesn't respond. She doesn't breathe. She's in a trance, her consciousness somewhere else entirely.
Marya turns her head, searching for her companions. She finds them in the distance, surrounded by the wreckage of fallen arrows, Jannali standing in the center with her third eye blazing.
Understanding dawns.
Marya launches forward, snow spraying in her wake, racing toward her crew.
---
Jannali stands in the great hall of Shaka Saði's memory.
The hall is vast and cold, its walls made of ice so ancient it glows with an inner blue light. Frosted pillars rise toward a ceiling lost in shadow, and the floor is covered in a carpet of snow so deep it swallows Jannali's boots.
And in the center of the hall, Shaka Saði kneels.
She holds the body of her father—a giant of a man, his face frozen in death, his chest crushed by a boulder that still pins him to the ground. His blood stains the snow black, and the frost goddess's tears have frozen on her cheeks.
Shaka is alone. Completely, utterly alone. The hall is empty except for her and the corpse of the only person who ever loved her.
Her father's death was violent—a rockslide, a moment of carelessness, the mountain claiming its own. And in that moment, Shaka Saði swore an oath. She armed herself. She marched into the wilderness. She sought blood-vengeance or a settlement, driven by a grief so vast it consumed her.
Jannali watches, her heart heavy. She didn't come here to judge. She came here to understand.
Shaka looks up, her ice-blue eyes blazing with fury. "Who dares intrude on the sacred parts of my mind!" Her voice echoes through the hall. "Show yourself!"
The mindscape shifts.
Now Jannali stands in a different hall—warmer, softer, decorated with flowers and ribbons. Shaka Saði stands beside Orjn Jord, both of them dressed in wedding finery. They're arguing, their voices sharp, their gestures animated.
"I will not live by the sea!" Shaka's voice rings out. "It's damp and loud and it smells like dead things!"
Orjn's beard bristles. "Forsooth, I say unto you, the mountains are cold and barren and full of frozen toes! We will live by the sea, hmph!"
"We will live in the mountains!"
"The sea!"
"Mountains!"
"The sea!"
"—enough!"
Shaka Saði's voice cuts through the memory like a blade. "You will pay for this!" she shouts at the empty air. "Whoever you are, you will pay!"
The mindscape shifts again.
Now Jannali stands on a mountaintop. A giantess—Skaði herself—speaks with a Buccaneer. The Buccaneer is tall and broad-shouldered, his face weathered by centuries, his eyes carrying the weight of an impossible task.
"We only require a portion to stand guard," the Buccaneer says, his voice patient. "Until the New Dawn. When those who are worthy will come and release you from your burden."
Skaði's massive hand rises to her nose. She plucks a single nose hair—thin and pale, almost invisible—and hands it to the Buccaneer.
"This should more than suffice," she says, her voice carrying the weight of a goddess. "When the time has come, the burden will be released and my essence will be returned."
The Buccaneer nods, grinning. "That pact is complete."
"—enough!"
Shaka Saði's voice shatters the memory like glass. Her eyes blaze with cold fury, her hand reaching for a sword that appears in her grip.
Jannali—spear in hand, her third eye blazing—appears before her.
Shaka's voice is ice. "You dare look upon the sacred spaces of my mind?"
Jannali smirks. "I'm not here to listen to rules."
A sword materializes in Shaka's hand, its edge gleaming with frost. "You will pay for your insolence!"
Jannali readies her spear, her grin widening. "I've been bitten by bigger standard-issue mosquitoes than a nose hair."
Shaka charges with a battle cry, her blade leading. The mindscape shimmers—and suddenly, they stand on a beach. Massive waves crash against the shore, their roar filling the air. The sand is black, the sky is grey, and the sea stretches to infinity.
Shaka slides to a stop, her eyes searching for her enemy.
Jannali is gone.
She's standing alone on the shore, the waves closing in around her. The water rises to her ankles, her knees, her waist. She tries to move, to fight, but she's frozen—paralyzed by memories too painful to bear.
Shaka falls to her knees, screaming in agony, her hands covering her ears.
---
The air thunders and cracks as Marya races toward her crew.
Arrows embedded in the ground splinter and spray as she slides to a stop in front of the group encircling Jannali. Her breathing is labored, her body trembling with exhaustion. Snow settles around her, revealing her presence to the others.
Atlas perks up, his ears swiveling. "Boss!"
Marya forces a smile—then coughs, wiping blood from her mouth.
Bō-Zak's eyes narrow. "Where the hell have you been?"
Marya shakes her head, her voice rough. "I'm not sure how to explain it." Her eyes fall on Jannali, still standing in the center of the group, her third eye blazing, her consciousness elsewhere. "What's she doing?"
Kaburo's voice is flat. "Searching for the source of the arrows."
Marya nods, looking over her shoulder toward the ridge. "That must be why she stopped." She can see Shaka's frozen form in the distance. "At least for now."
Atlas's eyes widen. "Who, boss?"
Law appears beside Marya, his hand reaching for hers. "You're pushing yourself too hard." He lifts her arm, examining the black veins that pulse beneath her skin. "It's spreading faster than before."
Marya smirks, her voice carrying a hint of warmth. "I missed you too."
Law's jaw flexes. "This is serious."
"I know." Marya's voice is quiet. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner we get out of here and get our powers back."
Law opens his mouth to argue—but Marya continues, her voice firm. "And that means I'm going to have to push myself."
Before Law can reply, Jannali stumbles backward, her hand flying to her forehead. Atlas catches her, his strong arms steadying her trembling frame.
"Crikey," Jannali curses, her voice strained. "Me head's throbbing. That turned out to be a bit of a mongrel."
Law's voice is sharp. "Did it work?"
Jannali nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, reckon so."
Marya's lips curl into a grin. "It worked. Whatever you did, it stopped her—at least for now. But we better get moving, in case she figures out how to beat it."
Jannali steadies herself, her hand still pressed to her forehead. "Righto. I've popped her in a loop. She should be stuck for a bit."
Law nods, his decision made. "Okay. Let's move."
The group begins to move, their steps hurried but steady. Behind them, Shaka Saði still kneels on the ridge, her hands covering her ears, her screams lost to the wind.
The frozen valley stretches before them—vast, empty, and waiting.
And somewhere beyond it, the Choros-Anemos pulses with ancient purpose.
The test is not over.
But they are closer now.
Much closer.
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