The sea was still.
A low wind curled around the Tempest Wing as it slid across the glassy water, sails loose, hull quiet. Morning sunlight cut through pale clouds. No gulls. No sails. Just blue in every direction.
Kira stood at the edge of the bow, her eyes narrowed, arms crossed.
They were close now.
Jaku Island.
It didn't show up on regular maps. Just a name passed in whispers between smugglers and rogue traders. A former marine outpost turned black market haven. Neutral, hidden, dangerous — and exactly the kind of place she needed.
A place where no one would ask questions. And no one would recognize her. Yet.
Perfect.
Sayida leaned over the port rail, squinting into the horizon. "Land. Port's built into the cliffs."
Kira didn't move. "Tuck the flag. No symbols. No name."
Sayida nodded and pulled the sails half down. The Tempest Wing eased into a slower drift, moving along the coast like a lazy merchant vessel.
No one paid attention to the small ships.
And that's what Kira needed to be.
For now.
They docked in silence.
No customs. No guards. Just a long, curved platform built into volcanic rock, ringed by tattered sails and creaking cranes. Cargo moved freely. People moved quickly. No one greeted them. No one watched.
But Kira felt the eyes.
Not directly. Not yet.
Just pressure.
She liked that.
It meant they were smart here.
They left the ship locked and tethered, Sayida carrying a small case of barter goods, Kira with her staff strapped to her back and gloves fastened tight.
She didn't spark.
Didn't hum.
Didn't need to.
She walked like a shadow among louder, larger men. No one bumped into her. No one called out. Her presence felt thin, but unshakable — a weight on the edge of the senses.
They entered the lower market through an archway shaped like a broken marine emblem. Inside, the stalls were packed tight: weapon sellers, rare item brokers, smuggled maps, scrap dials, counterfeit bounties.
Kira glanced over the goods without stopping. No questions. No deals.
Just watching.
Sayida did the talking when needed. Quiet bartering, fast trades. They exchanged one of Kira's sky gold ingots for two maps, a sealed weather logbook, and something far more useful — a small Sky Dial marked with a black crescent.
An impact dial. Half-charged. Damaged, but usable.
Kira ran her fingers over the shell's cracked edge.
A relic from home.
She tucked it into her belt.
They found a room above a tea house — dusty, but clean. Lock on the door. Narrow window. Safe enough.
Kira sat cross-legged on the floor as Sayida spread the new maps out across the low table.
"This one's weeks old," Sayida murmured. "Smuggling lane shifts. Marine patrols pulled from the northeast."
Kira tapped one corner. "This route?"
Sayida nodded. "Quiet. Open. Leads toward Bandoa Reef — known for scavengers. If we loop south from there, we avoid most of the Grand Line traffic."
Kira smiled slightly.
"Good. We'll keep quiet until we're ready."
Sayida tilted her head. "Ready for what?"
Kira met her eyes.
"To stop hiding."
That night, Kira walked the docks alone.
She left her staff behind, dressed simply, hood low. Just another nameless drifter in a sea of mercenaries.
But her eyes didn't stop moving.
She mapped every warehouse. Noted gang symbols, shipping times, boat sizes, faces. She listened to the language of crime — the coded insults, the exchanges of favors, the thinly veiled threats.
This place was a hive.
But it was organized.
And that made it predictable.
In a dark stall tucked between two plank bridges, she found what she'd been searching for — an arms merchant with taste.
No cheap swords or rusted pistols here. Just quiet, clean tools.
Including a long, flexible pole with metal ends.
Kira lifted it carefully.
It was light. Reinforced steel core.
Not Enel's staff. But close.
A new one.
She tested the grip.
The balance was good.
She paid without haggling.
The merchant didn't ask why.
He knew better.
Back in the room, Sayida was adjusting a rough cipher board — working on decoding pirate symbols she'd overheard.
"You trust these sellers?" she asked without looking up.
Kira set the staff down beside the bed.
"No. That's why I don't rely on them."
Sayida grinned. "I like that."
The next morning brought whispers.
Two ships had been raided during the night. Their crews survived, but cargo was missing. No deaths. No noise.
Kira's ears perked when she heard it in passing.
She said nothing.
Just filed the names of the ships away.
Later, she stood at the window and watched as a crew of young pirates loaded stolen crates into their hold, laughing too loud.
She memorized the symbol on their sails.
She'd remember them.
Not for revenge.
For future use.
They left Jaku Island the following night.
The Tempest Wing sailed quietly out of harbor, sails furled, lanterns dimmed.
No one followed.
No one remembered them.
But Kira remembered everything.
As they reached open water, Sayida looked back at the cliffs.
"You sure we got what we needed?"
Kira adjusted her gloves.
"For now."
Sayida leaned on the rail beside her. "It's like you're always watching three moves ahead."
"I am."
"Doesn't that get tiring?"
Kira paused.
Then, softly:
"No. It keeps me alive."
The sea opened wide again before them.
Wind at their backs.
Power in their silence.
And a future stretching out, sharp and endless.
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