Starlight cracked across a calm West Blue while the battered dinghy Ash called Leaf‑Boat coasted northwest. The patched sail sighed; the boy on the gunwale moved like a drifting shadow. Spectre D. Ash—white hair hidden by a wide straw hat—practised slow footwork: heel‑tap, cross‑step, pivot, breathe. Salt spray cooled the burn scar on his back.
Codex Whisper
Shadow‑step reps 37 / 200
Observation pulse active 10‑m ping every 3 s
CP‑6 cutter pursuing — ETA 6 h at present course
Ash eyed the orange speck on the horizon and smiled thin. "Can't outrun steel with wood; I'll outrun with wits."
The hollow staff beside him—really Skeyth in disguise—vibrated softly. "Let the hunter chase echoes."
He tightened a rope, killed the lantern, and began setting his first decoy.
Two firefly jars drifted from a cork float like lost cargo. Ash, clinging beneath his dinghy, watched the grey CP‑6 cutter approach the lights. Marines hauled the jars aboard, found nothing, and cursed. While they searched, tide carried Leaf‑Boat a quarter‑mile in the opposite direction.
Codex Update
Pursuit ETA recalculated 18 h (grid‑search)
Shadow‑step reps +22 (under‑water breath control)
Ash hauled himself aboard, shivering but pleased. "First ledger entry, Father," he whispered to night waves.
Forty‑five hours after Ilusia, the sea turned bilious green near reefs that ringed Gallows Cay. Broken masts protruded like grave markers. Shanty docks stitched from wreck timber hugged black basalt cliffs. Flags of the pirate confederacy Rusted Chain fluttered on rotting poles.
A spear‑tattooed teen charged 2,000 Berries to tie up the dinghy. Ash paid from his 85‑K purse.
The main drag reeked of rot‑rum and sizzling kraken strips. Vendors hawked petrified starfish and stolen Navy boots. A drunk stevedore pointed Ash toward "Gear's Butchery—east cliff, follow the screaming."
Ash donned glasses, shoulders hunched, White Scholar persona engaged, and climbed the basalt path.
A weather‑beaten plank read GEARLESS REPAIRS—NO QUESTIONS. Inside, camphor stung the air. Pirates groaned on makeshift cots while an elderly surgeon in crimson gloves stitched a shattered leg.
His name—rumour said—was Doctor Gear, a back‑alley legend. Ash waited until the stitch tied off, then spoke.
"Excuse me, sir. I carry an O'Haran remedy for powder burns—a gift for five minutes' talk."
He produced a small scroll.
The surgeon's watery eyes widened. He waved Ash to a back room cluttered with glass jars and bone saws. "O'Hara script—I thought the Navy burned it all." He unrolled the parchment with reverent hands.
Ash studied the man's creased face. "You knew my father—Spectre D. Grim."
Gear's scalpel clattered. "Grim's boy? Gods, you're the spitting image of him—minus the beard." The old man exhaled. "Grim saved my life in New World crossfire. I set his bones more times than I can count. He spoke of a Veil Armory, of ghosts bound to steel."
Ash's pulse quickened. "Ghosts?"
"His words. A 'remnant of the past' that would awaken for Spectre blood. Grim never found the key." Gear coughed. "He feared the World Government more than death. He said if they learned the remnant still breathed, they'd scorch the skies."
Before Ash could ask more, a silver‑haired girl burst through the curtain. "Father, the chloroform's out—oh." She froze, eyeing Ash.
Doctor Gear smiled. "Ash, meet my daughter, Mira Gearless. Sharpest hands in West Blue."
Mira, fifteen, wore a leather medic coat flecked with gore. A brass monocle HUD flicked data across her iris. "Another stray?" she grumbled, but her gaze softened at Ash's scar peeking above collar.
Footsteps thundered outside—marines.
Lapis and eight armed marines kicked the door. "Spectre D. Ash—surrender!"
Pirate patients scattered. Doctor Gear swore. Mira snatched a pneumatic dart‑gun.
Ash slid glasses away—persona shift. Skeyth segments clicked to twin blades. "Clinic is neutral ground," he warned.
"Law trumps neutrality," Lapis barked and fired. The bullet shattered a hanging lantern; oil flames leapt.
Ash pivoted, deflecting lead with blade spine. Mira nailed Lapis's thigh with a paralytic dart; he staggered. Two marines rushed; Ash ducked under a rifle butt, rapped a jaw with flat edge, swept leg. A third fired—bullet grazed Ash's arm; pain flared.
Doctor Gear flung iodine jar; glass burst in flaming doorway, buying moment. Mira slashed a saline bag; water doused flames.
Ten seconds later four marines lay groaning; two fled. Lapis crawled for exit. Ash planted scythe tip near his hand.
"Tell HQ: the boy you hunt sells cures, not corpses. Shoot again—you'll need them."
Mira added, "I have stronger toxins left."
Lapis paled and limped out.
Codex Pop‑Up
Public witnesses 31
Marines injured 4
Bounty projection +5 M
Underworld rumor seed: "Reaper & Gearless Angel"
Ash sheathed blades. Mira's monocle scanned his bleeding arm. "Seven‑millimeter graze. Sit." She cleaned wound with expert speed.
"Your father mentioned a remnant—something bound to my bloodline," Ash said through clenched teeth.
Mira tightened bandage. "My father fixes bodies; I fix futures. You need an extra pair of hands."
Doctor Gear nodded, packing a medical satchel. "Go with him, Mira. Clinics burn; knowledge sails." He pressed a folded map into Ash's palm. "Mark of the remnant."
Map showed Flevance Ruins → Glacier Catacombs in North Blue.
Outside, sirens wailed—CP‑6 cutter signalling incoming Navy sloop.
Mira and Ash dashed to Leaf‑Boat. Mira unfolded portable outriggers—hinged timbers from her pack—bolting them to gunwales; dinghy became trimaran. She stowed two crates of tonics and a roll of surgical tools.
Marines fired warning shots; Skeyth deflected sparks. Mira lobbed a smoke capsule; docks vanished under grey cloud. Lines cast off; sail caught a sea‑breeze; they slipped past reef shadows.
Doctor Gear watched from cliff, hand over heart.
Moonlight gilded waves. Mira inspected Ash's burn scar. "Magma?"
"Admiral Sakazuki," Ash said. He relayed O'Hara's fall; Mira listened, jaw tight.
"You choose war against that?"
"I choose truth. War chose me."
Mira handed a small vial. "Pain duller—non‑addictive. Take two drops." Ash obeyed; relief cooled nerves.
They shared jerky. Mira revealed she'd refused her father's organ‑grafting ambitions; she leaked files to pirates' families. CP‑6 branded her complicit; bounty 4 M. She laughed bitterly. "Killing someone's cheaper than healing."
Ash unrolled map. "This symbol—Spectre crest. Glacier Catacombs may hold the remnant. I don't know what form it takes—only that Skeyth senses it."
"Not armour ghost then. Unknown relic," Mira mused. She tapped Codex lens. "I'll design pulse drills to triangulate resonance."
Ash smiled—a rare, genuine curve. "Welcome aboard, Clockwork Angel."
Codex Day‑Log — Crew +1
Voyage Log 002
Crew Add Mira Gearless — status provisional
Funds 83,050 B
Supplies med‑herbs (low), tonics (med), rope
Threat CP‑6 cutter trailing (medium)
Bounty Forecast Spectre +5 M pending
Haki Drill shadow‑steps 59 / 200 – plus Mira breath monitoring
Mira leaned over shoulder. "Still provisional?"
"Codex updates after trust markers. Survive two battles, it engraves your name."
Mira tightened sail sheet. "Then let's earn my engraving."
Leaf‑Boat skipped across moon‑silvered water—one scholar with demon eyes steering, one medic calibrating wind, pursued by distant lantern of a frustrated CP‑6 cutter.
Behind, Gallows Cay buzzed with rumours: a white‑haired child had cut marines, the Gearless clinic vanished, and a new courier sigil—a quill through a skull—was painted on a harbour post, promising letters delivered for a price.
Ash closed eyes, feeling Skeyth hum and unknown horizons pull. Ahead waited the ghost of a forgotten guardian, the frozen kingdom of Flevance, and the first real steps toward reviving a dead family's hidden army.