BREACHING MESSAGE – CYCLE 1.2
This fragment slipped through while I was charting the main Astral Sea.
If you notice the updates here have gone quiet, leave a mark in the comments and tug the breach open again—I usually already have the next chapter coiled in my notes, waiting for a stable worldline.
— Cueljuris
Back to you're badly written work
Scene 1: The Western Port – Rion's Reckoning
The night had not been kind to Solara Island. I could feel it even before I opened my eyes—the oppressive weight of an unseen sun pressing down on the western coast, like the island itself was holding its breath, waiting. My chambers, high above the port, were silent but for the frantic rustle of my advisors' footsteps echoing through the corridors. They had insisted on an emergency council at midnight, warning that an armada approached, and their words carried a sharp edge of panic.
I should have known. Rion Silvers, the king, the supposed protector of this land, had never been trusted by those who mattered. My father's legacy, my brother Rayleigh's caution—they were smothered by my own ambition, my own arrogance. And now, staring at the reports on my desk, I felt the first real sting of regret.
The first messengers had arrived hours ago, CP agents whose eyes reflected the horrors they had witnessed. They were precise, unflinching, but their reports carried the tremor of fear. Rocks' fleet was near. Not a routine scouting—no, this was personal. One of their commanders, Black Sun, had been sighted making landfall across the New World, moving with purpose, his shadow stretching farther than any mere pirate could.
I listened as advisors debated, their words slicing through the night air. "We cannot flee," one urged. "If we abandon the channel, the world government will see our guilt, and Solara Island will be nothing but a name on a ledger."
Another, more corrupt, whispered that retreat was our only hope, that even a shred of life could be bargained with bribes and gold. Their argument was venomous, coated in flattery and fear, but beneath it was desperation.
Hours passed like a slow tide, debates turning into heated shouts. By the time dawn broke, my stomach churned with more than hunger. It was dread. From my perch, I watched the first light touch the eastern horizon, painting the sea gold—but the west remained dark, boiling with anticipation.
Then the reports came. From the western ports: a figure walking across the sea, a presence so unnatural it made even seasoned guards stumble. Crow. Black Sun. The rumors, the whispers of his past, all coalesced in a form that defied nature. A golden, three-legged crow blazing across the waves, flanked by twin dragons of black and silver fire, their bodies writhing and clashing in a violent ballet of shadow and light.
Heat radiated from him, tangible, pressing against my chest as though the sun itself had descended onto the water. My advisors stumbled backward, some collapsing to their knees, faces pale. The sea roared in response, waves slamming against the docks as if frightened by the monstrosity approaching.
I clutched the telescope, forcing myself to look. His eyes—glass over, almost serene, yet burning with the weight of years, of pain, of vengeance. I recognized them instantly. The dark skin and white hair…a lineage I had spent years studying, attempting to piece together the ancient race that had produced such a being. All the fragments of knowledge, all the reports, converged now into a living nightmare, striding directly toward me.
From the eastern ports came a new sight—ships, Crow's fleet spreading like a dark halo across the horizon. Escape routes cut off. LinLin's flag spotted on a distant ship, but it was Crow who demanded attention. The sheer audacity of his approach, the perfection of his tactics, left me frozen.
And then, the first sound broke my paralysis—voices, shouting from below. The CP agents, realizing the threat, moved to engage. But before they could, two figures dropped from the air behind Crow, moving with lethal precision. Katakuri and Smoothie, blocking the agents' path, their presence confirming what I had already suspected: Crow was no mere pirate; he was a storm.
He did not strike immediately. He approached, steps measured, aura shimmering like molten gold across the water. My mind raced. Everything I had done to secure my throne, to protect this island, felt futile. And yet I had to speak, to bargain, to stall against the inevitable.
"You…you've come," I stammered, voice shaking despite my crown. "Why…why target me?"
Crow's voice was calm, measured, yet each word resonated like a drumbeat through my chest. "You know exactly who I am, don't you, Rion? Or have you buried your sins so deeply that even the memory of your father's blood cannot reach you?"
I tried to glance at the soldiers, my advisors, anyone who could intervene—but they were paralyzed, faces drained of color. The heat from his aura pressed in, the smell of scorched salt on the air, the image of the three beasts writhing above the waves…unreal.
The CP agents lunged.
And then the world shifted. Katakuri and Smoothie intercepted with brutal grace, forcing the attackers back with minimal effort, their presence stabilizing the chaos. The sound of clashing metal and the hiss of energy seemed distant, muffled by the overwhelming presence of Crow's aura.
He stepped closer. "A king who is self-serving is a king, yes—but also the worst kind. Willing to sacrifice everything for his own comfort, for his own greed." His eyes, glassed over but unrelenting, swept across the port. "The children, the innocents…your people…do you think they have a chance under your rule?"
I could feel my pulse in my ears, the rising panic clawing through me. I opened my mouth to beg, to offer gold, bribes, anything…but Crow's aura flared. A wave of oppressive heat struck, forcing me to my knees, my body trembling as though the sun itself had chosen to punish me.
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of his presence crush everything I thought I knew. Then he spoke again, softer, almost intimate. "Do you remember the lab, Rion? The children?"
Memories I had long tried to suppress surfaced, searing into my mind like molten iron. The lab, the screams, the helpless faces…my hands clenched. Crow's aura shimmered, his inner beasts—a golden crow and the twin dragons—locked in a silent battle of dominance, reflecting his internal debate for all to see.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the gold dragon of light—the silver dragon—prevailed, its dominance radiating outward. I could feel the clarity it brought, yet the lingering shadow of the other beasts left me unsteady. Crow's power was immense, and his morality…a line I dared not cross.
At that moment, Garrick's presence made itself known. The leader of the Silvers clan, calm, precise, signaling through subtle gestures. He moved among the king's guards and advisors without a word, commanding their attention, organizing them, but never directly challenging Crow.
A final call rang across the den den, and a familiar voice, older, wiser, filled the air. Rayleigh. "Make sure his nephew is safe," he said, tone resigned but steady. "That is all you need to do."
Crow's eyes did not leave mine as he acknowledged the message. His aura remained, a living storm, the golden crow and dragons locked in eternal struggle. The port, the island, even the sea itself seemed to tremble under his presence. And I, Rion Silvers, king of Solara, could do nothing but watch, knowing the reckoning had come, and I was powerless to stop it.
⸻
Scene 2: The Confrontation at the Port – CP Agents and Garrick
The sun rose fully over Solara Island, but it brought no warmth, no comfort. Only the oppressive weight of Crow's presence, stretching across the western port like molten chains binding every living thing. From my vantage atop the central tower, I could see the waves churn unnaturally, as if the ocean itself sought to flee the shadow of that golden figure.
I barely had time to breathe before the CP agents moved. They surged forward with precision, weapons drawn, a squad trained to recognize the moment a "shadow" became a target. But this time, the shadow was flesh and fire, an amalgam of wrath and strategy, and they were ill-prepared.
Katakuri and Smoothie dropped from the air in unison, intercepting the agents with lethal grace. Each move was deliberate, almost ceremonial, forcing the attackers back without leaving room for hesitation. Their presence confirmed a truth I had not dared face: Crow was beyond conventional reckoning.
And yet, he did not strike. Not immediately. His gaze, glassed over, locked on me.
"You have bled this island dry, Rion," he said, voice steady, almost serene despite the aura of devastation radiating around him. "You thought your crown could protect the children, the people—but your greed, your ambition…all of it is a liability. And now, I am here to correct what was broken before you even realized it."
I could barely move. Each word seemed to press into my chest, my ribs tightening as if the very air was complicit in my punishment. The CP agents, sensing hesitation, tried again, advancing with the singular purpose of fulfilling their orders. The moment they did, Crow's aura flared.
I could feel it in my bones—the energy spilling outward, a golden three-legged crow battling twin dragons of black and silver fire. The air ignited, waves recoiling from the shore, the heat so intense it singed the fabric of my ceremonial robes. And yet, through all this, Crow's internal struggle was on display: the silver dragon gaining dominance, asserting control over the chaotic, bloody twin beasts.
Katakuri and Smoothie, riding just behind him on the flagship, intercepted the agents mid-lunge. The clash of energy and steel reverberated across the port, but I understood—this was not a full battle. Crow's entranced state, his inner debate, was projecting outward. Even now, the fight unfolded within his aura, not fully in the physical world.
Garrick, calm and composed, moved among my guards and advisors, signaling subtle gestures—warnings to be careful, indications of movement, but never openly challenging Crow. His presence was an anchor, a reminder that even in this chaos, the island had a protector of its own. I envied him for it, though a deep sense of shame gnawed at my chest.
Crow's eyes, still glassed over, drifted briefly as if noticing Garrick's silent signals. He did not flinch, did not break character—but his attention was divided, the inner battle still raging. I watched the golden crow and dragons, twisted in bloody conflict, as if the very essence of Crow's vengeance and restraint were fighting for dominance.
The CP squad leader finally gave the order. A sharp command, voice cutting through the roar of waves and flames. "Engage! If it's the shadow elder, neutralize—now!"
Even as the agents advanced, Garrick ignored them. His clan, his warriors loyal to the Silvers family, followed his lead without question. They did not intervene against Crow; they acted to maintain the island, the civilians, the infrastructure. Their allegiance was clear: the island came before any crown, before any government mandate.
Crow's voice cut through the chaos again, calm, deliberate. "You may try. But I am not here to play. Stand down if you value life…or face the consequences of your choices."
I understood fully then. This was no mere confrontation. Crow was testing, measuring, forcing judgment through presence alone. His aura was a battlefield, his internal struggle projected like a war across the sea, and we—all of us—were spectators.
Garrick finally spoke, quietly, for my ears and Crow's alone, his gestures and stance commanding attention without breaking the tension. "Remember, he is not yours to kill. Control the island, maintain order. The rest…let him decide."
Crow's gaze briefly flicked toward Garrick, acknowledging the unspoken agreement. Then he returned to me. His aura shifted again, the silver dragon asserting full control, radiating not only power but calculated restraint.
I fell to my knees, the weight of inevitability pressing down. My advisors whispered, trembling. My guards, trained and loyal, faltered, unsure whether to move or pray. Crow's arrival had altered everything: the golden crow, the twin dragons, the aura of judgment—it was a force of nature, not a man.
A den den call rang sharply. The image of Rayleigh appeared, calm, measured, watching us all. "Ensure his nephew is protected," he said plainly. "Nothing else matters."
Crow nodded once, acknowledging the message, but his eyes never left mine. The golden crow stretched its wings across the water, the twin dragons circling, locked in eternal combat within him. And I—Rion Silvers, king of Solara, betrayer of my own family—could only watch, powerless to intervene, knowing that the reckoning had begun, and the island itself was the prize.
⸻
Scene 3: Crow, Smoothie, and Darain Vale – Observing the Island and Departing Pirates
The northern tower overlooked the western port, still smoldering from Crow's arrival. Steam rose from the sea where his steps had burned paths across the waves, and the lingering echoes of the twin dragons' battle shimmered faintly, like fire trapped in the air. Smoothie stood silently beside him, but this time, Darain Vale was present as well, his imposing form a shadow behind Crow's own.
Vale's gaze swept the departing ships. These were the men who had chosen darkness for themselves—pirates whose choices had left them marked by cruelty and bloodlust. Vale didn't need to be told which ones were dangerous; he could sense it in their posture, their hesitation, and the way the wind seemed to recoil from them.
Crow didn't speak immediately. His eyes, still shimmering from the silver dragon's dominance in his aura, scanned the fleet. He allowed Vale to take note of the first phase of his judgment:
• Pirates with active bounties would be handed to Bori and traded in for currency to restore Solara's fragile economy.
• The others, morally corrupt but without political threat, would undergo time-bound labor to re-enter society responsibly.
• Those who stayed under Crow's rules were free to eventually build a life, perhaps even a family, once his fleet disbanded under Rocks.
"Most people don't see it," Crow murmured, his voice heavy with intent. "Even pirates have lines. Innocent people don't need monsters—but anyone crossing into our world…that's different."
Smoothie's arms were crossed, her gaze slicing toward the horizon. "And the ones who stayed?"
Crow's glance flicked briefly to Vale, who stood like a living sentinel behind him. Vale's presence was an unspoken reinforcement: strength disciplined by loyalty. Crow smiled faintly. "They'll see better things. A chance to live with purpose. To build, protect, and learn responsibility. Not everyone deserves mercy—but not everyone deserves death either."
Vale's voice cut through the tension, low and resonant. "And those who would test the limits?"
Crow's eyes never wavered. "Bori and Garrick handle that. The rest? They'll learn order, or they won't survive the lessons."
Smoothie's shoulders relaxed slightly, though her instincts remained sharp. She noticed Vale's eyes following every departing ship, noting every movement, every sign of hesitation. He wasn't just a bodyguard—he was an extension of Crow's judgment, the enforcer of the rules, the hand that turned philosophy into action.
A subtle aura shimmered past the horizon. Smoothie tensed instinctively. "You feel that?"
Crow's lips quirked faintly. "That's Bori. Waiting. Watching. Always."
Vale added nothing but gave a slight nod, acknowledging both Crow's words and the reality: the island was defended on multiple layers, visible and unseen.
Crow finally turned, meeting Smoothie's gaze. "Neither of us are saints," he said quietly. "Even pirates have lines. What we do here, what I allow—it's order, not cruelty. But the world outside doesn't get the same courtesy."
Smoothie's eyes flicked to Vale, seeing the silent support, the strength behind Crow's decisions, the tangible enforcement of his philosophy. "And the ones leaving? The ones who would tear apart everything if allowed back?"
Crow's voice hardened, but his calm carried authority. "They're already accounted for. Some traded, some disciplined, none forgotten. This island…is my domain. My rules. My judgment. And Vale here ensures that those rules are obeyed."
Vale's nod was slight, almost imperceptible, but it radiated assurance. Crow's aura still lingered, massive, oppressive, yet controlled. Smoothie followed his gaze, realizing that the island itself was the stage of his judgment—every ship leaving, every pirate's choice, a part of the balance Crow maintained.
She finally asked, hesitant but testing, "And us?"
Crow didn't answer directly. He let the tension speak for him, leaving it unsaid, a challenge for Smoothie to understand the unspoken layers of loyalty, discipline, and morality. Vale shifted slightly, reminding her silently that every choice here carried weight.
The sun rose higher, but its rays were dwarfed by the aura hovering over the island. Crow's words, Vale's presence, and the disciplined observation of departing pirates made one thing clear: the island was no longer a landmass—it was a living judgment, and only those who aligned with Crow's vision would survive its heat.
⸻
Scene: Tsuru's Shadow Briefing
The room was dark except for the dim glow of lanterns that barely illuminated the faces of the assembled officers. Maps of the New World, annotated with red marks, sketches of fleet formations, and intelligence reports littered the long table. Tsuru stood at the head, her posture unyielding, her sharp eyes sweeping over every person present. Sengoku, Kong, and Admiral Xer were seated at the front, the only ones fully aware of the context and stakes. No one spoke; the air was thick with tension, as though the island itself held its breath.
"This is not a routine briefing," Tsuru began, her voice calm but with an edge that made the officers sit straighter. "What you're about to hear is classified beyond any standard level. The individual we are observing has already demonstrated the ability to reshape the balance of power in the New World. He is not merely a pirate or a commander—he is a tactical mind capable of outplaying the very forces we rely on to maintain order."
She gestured to a projection on the table. A series of reports, images, and intercepted logbooks flashed across the surface. Among them was a photograph of a figure known only as Black Sun, the newest commander in Rocks' crew. Pirates whispered about him on Pirate Island—rumors of a man whose mind was as dangerous as his ability to wield destructive power.
"Black Sun," Tsuru said, letting the name linger in the air. "He is not a brute like Kaido, nor is he bent on destruction for the sake of chaos. His threat is his mind. Verified reports indicate that he is not capable of contending with true top-tier figures—Garrick, for instance—but his tactical ingenuity is so refined that even Garrick has permitted him to lead operations without interference."
She paused, letting the weight of the statement settle. "With this island under his control, the Marines and the World Government are forced to respond. This island is more than just territory; it is the only channel into the black market of the New World. Control here dictates the flow of resources, intelligence, and influence across the seas. Lose it, and the Government loses leverage—lose it, and Rocks gains an opening to exploit weaknesses we cannot afford to reveal."
A murmur passed through the officers. Tsuru silenced it with a raised hand.
"That is why the cadets are being deployed," she continued, turning to a different section of the map that detailed a tactical overlay of the island. "The three leaders at the front line are the original admiral cadets—the highest-ranked and most capable of their generation. They are not expected to overpower Black Sun. Their mission is observation, restraint, and rapid decision-making. They must gauge his strategy, probe his limits, and, if necessary, signal for extraction. No hesitation, no retreat unless the mission is objectively compromised. They are our instruments to reveal the mind of a man who could, if pushed, dominate even the most disciplined forces we can muster."
She leaned forward, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "What you must understand is this: we are not merely dealing with a pirate. We are dealing with the clash of two strategic minds capable of unraveling any plan, any deployment we execute. The cadets serve as our eyes, our probes, and the buffer to keep him from fully unleashing his power on the island. And if they fail, they fail for the sake of containing a far greater catastrophe."
Tsuru clicked the projection again. A series of intercepted reports showed Crow's actions on the island—the way he captured those leaving Rocks' fleet, trading in bounties to restore the economy while forcing labor for a limited time. "This is not tyranny," she explained, "nor is it mercy. Crow's morality is selective, disciplined. He does not kill indiscriminately. The civilians are spared; the pirates who slip into evil, those with dark intentions, are removed from the seas. His control of the island is a microcosm of his operational philosophy: decisive, calculated, and ruthless when necessary."
She let the room absorb the information before emphasizing the core threat. "With this island as his base of operations, he can compel the Marines and Government alike to act. He will force them into decisions that expose vulnerabilities. Rocks is watching, and the minute any opening is revealed, it will be exploited. This is not just a test of Crow's strength. This is a test of judgment, restraint, and strategic perception—for him, for us, and for the cadets placed at the forefront of the mission."
Tsuru's gaze hardened as she concluded, "Black Sun is already being spoken of in the New World. Pirate Island has no intelligence infrastructure to verify the full scale of his capabilities, but the whispers alone are enough to validate the threat. And mark my words: the island is the linchpin. What happens here will dictate the response, the casualties, and the larger balance of power for decades to come."
She stepped back, letting the weight of the room settle. "This mission is not about victory in a single battle. It is about surviving the first move of a man whose mind—and by proxy, Rocks' fleet—is capable of dictating the next century. Cadets, officers, strategists—you will execute your roles without hesitation. The island, its people, and the flow of the New World hang in the balance. And above all…" Tsuru's eyes swept the room, lingering on the three cadet leaders, "…you will maintain your cover. Failure is permissible, but exposure is not. Do you understand?"
The room was silent for a heartbeat, then one by one, the officers nodded, the tension tangible in every line of their faces. This was no ordinary mission. This was the prelude to an inevitable clash that would reshape the New World. And at the center of it all, the shadow of Black Sun loomed over the island, unseen but omnipresent.