Kira left before dawn.
The clouds beneath her feet were cold. Mist clung to the air like breath that hadn't settled yet. No light had touched the island, no sounds stirred in the forest. Just the steady rhythm of her own footfalls on the cloudstone.
She didn't waste time. She didn't stretch. She didn't eat. The climb to the Skyvine ridge would take most of the morning, and she intended to be back before the afternoon sun could bring others into the forest.
Her pack was stripped to essentials: rope, a scoop tool, two water shells, a knife, and a folded cloth. Just in case. But deep down, she knew today would be different.
This wasn't a hope.
It was math.
Process of elimination. The upper ridge was the last unchecked zone that matched every requirement she'd mapped. The terrain was unstable, the soil untouched, the elevation natural. No one came this far without a reason. Most couldn't even climb it without help.
And that was exactly why she'd saved it for last.
The climb scratched her arms. A branch tore a hole in her sleeve. She ignored it. Her gloves were frayed, her boots slipped on smooth vines, but her grip held. Her legs burned by the halfway point.
She didn't care.
Pain wasn't a factor.
Risk of exposure was.
The earlier she got it, the fewer chances someone else had to see her with it.
She reached the top just as the first line of orange touched the clouds in the east.
The trees here grew crooked, ancient, and close together. The air was damp. Nothing moved — not even birds. It was quiet in a way that made her teeth clench. She scanned her marked spot, where she had stopped yesterday, and returned to it quickly.
She crouched.
She moved slowly, clearing away branches and curled vines. Her scoop tool sank into the dirt. She dug with care — no wild motions, no panic. Just patience.
Three circles dug.
Then she saw it.
Tucked between two thick roots, where the soil dipped just slightly, sat an object she didn't need to double-check.
Round.
Pale blue.
Marked with spirals.
She didn't waste time confirming.
She picked it up.
Bit down.
The taste was awful.
Rotten sugar. Metallic rind. Spoiled oil.
Her jaw tightened. She didn't gag.
One bite. Chew. Swallow.
It slid down rough.
She exhaled once through her nose.
Done.
The world didn't change.
There was no rush of power. No sparks. No strange sounds or pressure.
Good.
She hadn't expected any.
Kira sat back and stared at the roots.
Quiet.
Unmoving.
Exactly the way it should be.
She picked up what remained of the fruit and wrapped it in cloth. She tied it tightly and wedged it between two rocks behind her. If someone stumbled across this place, they wouldn't recognize it for what it was.
She wouldn't need the rest.
One bite was enough.
That was all it ever took.
She stood.
Checked her hands. Still steady.
Stomach didn't hurt. No cramps. No dizziness.
No effects — yet.
But they would come.
Not here. Not in this place.
She had to be smart.
She began the climb back down. Slower now. No need to rush. Her hands slipped twice. She adjusted her grip. A small cut opened on her knuckle, but it barely bled.
When she hit level ground again, the sun was already higher.
Clouds stretched thin above the tree canopy.
She didn't look back.
She turned east and made for her shelter.
Back at the shack, she secured the door with rope and wedged a wooden board into place behind it. Her tools were where she left them. The floor was cold. The room smelled faintly of ash and old paper.
She dropped her pack, rolled her shoulders, and sat cross-legged in the center of the room.
She checked her pulse.
Normal.
She opened and closed her hands.
Still hers.
The silence didn't bother her.
This was the way she worked.
No panic. No celebration.
She had power now. She didn't need to see it to know it.
She just needed to train it.
But not here.
Not with old wood around her, not this close to Angel Island.
Even if no one was watching, she wouldn't take the risk.
The canyons beyond the east forest — quiet, empty, no one ever passed through — that's where she'd go.
There, she could experiment.
Not here. Never here.
She spent the next few hours prepping.
She checked the knife strapped to her belt, coiled fresh rope, refilled her water shells. The rest of the day passed in silence. She made no notes. Didn't bother journaling.
Everything she'd done, every move she'd made since arriving, had led to this.
And she didn't forget steps.
By sunset, she sat on the roof of her shelter, cloak wrapped around her, watching the sky shift from pale gold to deep violet.
She thought of Enel.
How he'd terrorized the island in canon. How he'd used this fruit to rule like a god.
And now?
He was nothing.
Just a name she hadn't heard since arriving.
She had beaten him here.
And he would never know.
She allowed herself one thought that night — not a fantasy, but a plan.
She would train in secret.
She would learn limits, learn range, learn control.
And when she had it — full control — she would build from there.
One ally at a time. Not friends. Not followers.
Assets.
Crewmates with purpose.
But first came isolation.
Mastery.
Until then, she was alone.
And she liked it that way.
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