Yamato moved like a force of nature wearing a kimono.
Even with Sea Prism Stone cuffs dragging at her wrists, her speed was something else entirely — the kind of pace that made Ornn's legs feel like they belonged to a different, slower species. For roughly the first half of their escape through the exhaust network he was running. For the second half he was being carried by momentum and the firm grip on his arm.
She navigated the ductwork like she'd memorized it years ago. Every junction, every turn, every narrow squeeze where the pipe dropped a foot and made him duck — she moved through all of it without hesitation. Her mace found the exhaust grate at the far end and pushed the iron panel aside with a single firm prod, and then they were through, scrambling out into open air.
The beach behind the factory was deserted. Black sand, pale moonlight, the ocean spread wide and dark beyond the shoreline. The smell of salt and coal smoke mixed in the air.
Yamato landed cleanly and immediately turned to him.
"Tell me. How do we open the handcuffs?"
Ornn opened his mouth to answer.
His stomach answered first.
A long, declarative growl that stated its case to the entire beach without apology.
He closed his mouth.
From Yamato's direction came an identical sound, slightly higher in pitch, equally emphatic.
They looked at each other.
Yamato's mask was still on. He couldn't see her expression. He didn't need to.
"Food first," Ornn said. "Then handcuffs."
"There's nothing to eat on this island." She said it plainly, without self-pity — just a fact she'd lived with for long enough that it had stopped being worth complaining about. "If there were, I wouldn't have—" She stopped. "It doesn't matter."
"The ocean has fish."
"I can't go in the water."
"You won't need to." He was already walking toward the shoreline. "I'll bring something to the surface. You handle whatever comes up angry about it."
She considered this for about two seconds, then followed.
At the water's edge, Ornn crouched and stared at his hands.
He thought about the afternoon. The forge. The anger that had risen with the hammer. The gold that had pushed through his knuckles like something that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Come on. One more time.
He breathed slowly. Let the memory of warmth come back — not the pain, not the exhaustion, just the sensation of the First Fire recognizing itself.
Something stirred. Low and deep, like an ember that hadn't fully gone out.
Then, with a sound like a muffled detonation, the horns came. They curved up from his skull in a single smooth arc, dark and solid, and the golden magma began welling from his palms — slower than before, more controlled, a steady pour rather than an eruption.
He lowered both hands to the waterline and let it drip.
The effect was immediate. Steam rose in thin columns where magma met water. The temperature along the shallows climbed fast enough that the change was visible — fish schooling away from the warmth, then breaking the surface in confused, silvery flashes as the comfortable cold they'd been resting in became something unwelcoming.
Yamato leaned forward, arms out, ready to grab—
The sea beast came up without warning.
It was enormous. It had the kind of eyes that suggested it had never lost a fight and was confused about why someone had started one. It cleared the surface in a single surge, spotted Ornn as the obvious culprit, and opened a mouth that could have comfortably swallowed a rowboat.
Yamato was already in the air.
She came down on it like a verdict. Ice-blue energy blazed along the length of her mace — the distinctive cold light of her Haki, crackling and brilliant against the dark — and when it connected, the shockwave arrived before the mace did. The sea beast's body caved inward along one entire flank before the weapon even made contact. Its eyes went white. The impact sent it spinning sideways through the air, forty meters if it was one, before it carved a long furrow into the black sand and came to rest.
The beach was quiet again.
Ornn stared at the crater. Then at Yamato. Then at the crater.
She hit it so hard it flew before she touched it, he thought. Classic.
Yamato had already vaulted to the fish's side. She pulled off her mask with one hand — and underneath it she was young and bright-eyed and grinning wide enough to swallow the moon — and pressed her face against the sea beast's flank with a laugh that bounced off the cliffside behind them.
"It's huge! We won't go hungry for days!"
Ornn watched her laughing in the moonlight, cheek against a sea monster, absolutely delighted with herself, and felt something in his chest do something unexpected.
The contrast, he thought. The absolute contrast.
They built a fire above the tideline. The sea beast turned out to be excellent — firm white flesh, practically no bitterness, the kind of thing that needed no seasoning to feel like a reward.
They ate until the idea of being hungry again felt theoretical.
"I haven't eaten this much in—" Yamato pressed both hands to her stomach. "A long time."
"Likewise."
The fire crackled between them. Between bites they'd introduced themselves properly — names, circumstances, the honest minimum. He was Ornn, formerly of the forging division, currently of no particular allegiance. She was Yamato, formerly imprisoned on this island, currently of the same. The formality of it was slightly absurd given what they'd already shared, but it mattered anyway. Names said aloud made things real.
The wariness from the corridor had softened into something more like cautious comfort.
"You still haven't told me," Yamato said, setting down a bone. "The handcuffs."
Ornn glanced at the Sea Prism Stone around her wrists. Then lifted his foot and let the firelight catch the shackles around his own ankles.
"I can't guarantee results," he said. "But what I'm thinking is more reliable than lava." He shook the ankle shackle. "Try mine first. If it works on iron restraints, the same principle applies to yours."
"Stop being mysterious. What's the method?"
He told her.
Yamato was quiet for a moment. Then: "Where would I find something like that? On this island?"
"Queen has a research facility somewhere on Onigashima. It's the most likely place." Ornn watched the fire. "The question is access."
Yamato's expression shifted — something between scheming and cheerful. She hoisted the mace onto her shoulder with the casual ease of someone picking up a walking stick.
"Queen's been assigned to the Prisoner Mine at Udon. Kaido sent him there because he kept sneaking off to the Flower Capital to chase hostesses." A pause. "He barely sets foot on Onigashima once a month. It's mostly his subordinates running the facility."
"So getting in would mean going through them."
"Getting in would mean sending them flying," she corrected, with a tone that suggested she considered this a reasonable Tuesday. "If they get in the way, I'll knock them out and search the place myself. Shouldn't take long."
Ornn nodded slowly. Then, carefully:
"About that. The knocking out part." He chose his next words with some care. "If during any of this, you happen to encounter any Animal-Class Devil Fruit users who are — to put it plainly — cruel, dangerous, and generally not missed—"
"You want me to bring them to you?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
Yamato waved a hand. "Trivial. Consider it done."
She said it so easily. No hesitation, no follow-up question about why he needed them or what he intended to do.
Ornn looked at her across the fire — this strange, lonely girl who'd spent years haunting her own home, eating almost nothing, reading a dead man's logbook and refusing to let hope go entirely cold.
She had no idea yet what she was agreeing to help build.
He'd tell her eventually.
For now, the fire was warm, the fish was good, and somewhere on this island there was a research facility with exactly what he needed.
Things were looking up.