The folded papers crinkled softly as Alcaster spread them across his desk, the sound barely audible even in the silence of his bedroom. After weeks of observation, planning, and careful information gathering, he had finally assembled what he needed—detailed maps of the slave quarters, guard rotation schedules, and the most critical component: a potential escape route utilizing the massive elevator cables that connected Mary Geoise to the world below.
In neat, precise handwriting that belied his five-year-old hands, Alcaster had documented everything. The cramped barracks where slaves were housed when not serving, organized by function and ownership. The patrol patterns of the guards, with noted weaknesses in coverage during shift changes. The maintenance access points to the elevator mechanism—supposedly secure, but vulnerable if one knew exactly where to look.
His most recent excursion had confirmed his suspicions about the elevator system. While heavily guarded at the boarding platforms, the massive machinery and cables themselves received far less attention. The World Government's arrogance worked in his favor—who would dare attempt to scale thousands of feet of cable, either up to Mary Geoise or down to the world below? The very idea seemed suicidal.
But for someone with the strength and determination of Fisher Tiger, it might just be possible.
Alcaster carefully refolded the papers and slid them into a hidden pocket he'd sewn into his elaborate robes. Today was the day he would make first contact with the fishman—a moment he'd been preparing for since recognizing him weeks ago.
The excuse was already prepared, the groundwork laid through casual comments to his parents about his interest in "exotic fighting styles" observed during training sessions. Now he needed only to execute the plan with the perfect balance of Celestial Dragon arrogance and hidden purpose.
With a final check of his appearance in the mirror—the practiced expression of bored entitlement that all World Nobles seemed to perfect by adolescence—Alcaster left his room and headed toward the slave administration offices.
"Young master Reed, what an unexpected pleasure," simpered the slave administrator, a thin man named Castor who managed the Reed family's "human resources." His smile never reached his eyes, which remained calculating even as he bowed deeply. "How may I serve you today?"
Alcaster adopted the imperious tone he'd been practicing. "I require a slave for personal entertainment. The fishman captured last year—Tiger, I believe he's called."
Castor's eyebrows rose slightly. "The fishman? He's assigned to construction and heavy labor, young master. Perhaps something more suitable for your entertainment? We have several talented musicians, storytellers—"
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Alcaster cut him off coldly, channeling the dismissive cruelty he'd observed in other Celestial Dragons. "The fishman. Immediately."
The administrator paled slightly. "Of course, young master. My apologies for the presumption." He bowed again, lower this time, and hurried to a large ledger. "Fisher Tiger is currently assigned to foundation work for the new western pavilion. I'll have him brought to your residence immediately."
"No," Alcaster said. "I'll collect him myself. Have a guard escort me."
This deviation from normal procedure caused visible confusion on Castor's face. Celestial Dragons rarely went to collect slaves personally, preferring to have them delivered like packages.
"As you wish, young master," he finally replied, clearly deciding that questioning a World Noble's whims, even an unusually young one, wasn't worth the risk. "Shall I inform your parents of this... arrangement?"
"My father is aware of my interest in diverse combat techniques," Alcaster replied smoothly, not quite a lie. "The fishman will be serving as a demonstrator of fishman karate."
Understanding seemed to dawn on the administrator's face. "Ah, I see. For your combat studies." He made a note in his ledger. "For how long will you require Fisher Tiger's services?"
"Indefinitely," Alcaster stated. "I'll inform you when I'm finished with him."
With the bureaucratic requirements satisfied, Alcaster followed a summoned guard through the winding paths of Mary Geoise toward the western construction site. His heart beat faster with each step, though he kept his expression neutral. This meeting, if it went well, would be the first concrete action in his long-term plans—a small but crucial step toward changing this world.
The construction site was a hive of activity, with dozens of slaves working under the watchful eyes of overseers. Massive marble blocks were being hauled into place for what would eventually become yet another monument to Celestial Dragon excess—a pavilion dedicated solely to viewing sunsets, if Alcaster's information was correct.
Fisher Tiger wasn't difficult to spot. Standing well over nine feet tall, his distinctive red-orange skin and imposing build set him apart even among the other forced laborers. He was single-handedly moving a block that would have required several human slaves to budge, his powerful muscles straining under the weight but his face showing no sign of effort.
As Alcaster approached with his escort, the nearest overseer noticed and hurried over, bowing deeply.
"Young master Reed, what an honor! How may we serve you?"
"I'm here for that one," Alcaster said, pointing directly at Fisher Tiger. "The fishman."
The overseer looked surprised but quickly recovered. "Of course, young master. Tiger! Front and center, now!"
Fisher Tiger carefully set down the marble block and approached, his face an impassive mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts. Up close, he was even more impressive—a mountain of controlled strength, his eyes sharp and intelligent despite the dehumanizing explosive collar around his neck.
He bowed stiffly, the minimum required to avoid punishment.
"This one will accompany me to the Reed residence," Alcaster announced. "He's been reassigned for my personal use."
The overseer nodded quickly. "As you wish, young master. Tiger, you will obey the young master in all things, understood?"
Fisher Tiger's eyes flicked briefly to Alcaster, a flash of something—suspicion, curiosity, perhaps both—crossing his features before he nodded once.
"You," Alcaster addressed his guard, "return to your duties. I can handle this slave myself."
The guard hesitated. "Young master, protocol suggests—"
"Are you questioning me?" Alcaster interrupted, infusing his childish voice with as much cold authority as he could muster.
"No, young master! Not at all!" The guard bowed deeply. "I'll escort you to the main path and then return to my post."
This was acceptable—Alcaster had no desire to be seen entering the Reed compound alone with Fisher Tiger. Questions might be raised that he wasn't prepared to answer yet.
As they walked, Alcaster could feel the fishman's eyes on him occasionally, studying him with barely concealed curiosity. Neither spoke—Fisher Tiger out of caution, Alcaster because they were still in public view.
Only when they had been escorted to the main path and the guard had departed did Alcaster allow himself a single glance upward at his towering companion.
"We'll talk when we reach my quarters," he said quietly, pitching his voice so only the fishman could hear. "Until then, act normally."
If Fisher Tiger was surprised by this unusual instruction, he gave no sign beyond a nearly imperceptible nod.
The Reed family compound was relatively quiet when they arrived. Alcaster led Fisher Tiger through the ornate hallways, past slaves who pressed themselves against walls in deference and fear, eyes fixed firmly on the floor as the young Celestial Dragon and his imposing fishman companion passed.
Finally, they reached Alcaster's personal quarters—a suite of rooms excessive for a child, but standard for a World Noble of any age. Alcaster dismissed his personal attendants with instructions not to disturb him, citing his desire to learn fishman karate without distractions.
When the door closed behind the last servant, Alcaster activated the sound dampening system built into the walls—ostensibly to prevent Celestial Dragons from being disturbed by outside noise, but equally effective at preventing eavesdropping.
Only then did he turn to face Fisher Tiger, who stood rigidly in the center of the room, clearly unsure what to expect from this peculiar child.
"Please, sit if you'd like," Alcaster said, his voice suddenly devoid of the imperious tone he'd used in public. "No one can hear us in here."
The fishman's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What game is this, little noble?"
"No game," Alcaster replied seriously. "What I'm about to do would get me killed if discovered, so I'd appreciate if you'd hear me out before making judgments."
Without waiting for a response, Alcaster reached into his robes and withdrew the folded papers he'd prepared. He spread them on the low table in the center of the room, revealing his meticulously drawn maps and notes.
"These are the slave quarters, guard rotations, and patrol schedules," Alcaster explained calmly. "And this—" he pointed to a detailed diagram of the elevator system, "—is what I believe to be a viable escape route. The cable maintenance tunnels are poorly guarded, and the cables themselves could be climbed by someone with sufficient strength."
Fisher Tiger's expression transformed from suspicion to shock, then quickly back to guarded caution. "Why would a Celestial Dragon child show me escape routes?" His deep voice rumbled with barely contained emotion—confusion, anger, hope all warring for dominance.
Alcaster took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth—where he would have to reveal enough to gain trust without exposing too much.
"Because I'm not what I appear to be," he said carefully. "And neither is this world. The Celestial Dragons, the World Government—they're built on lies and cruelty. I may wear these robes and bear this name, but I don't share their values."
Fisher Tiger's eyes narrowed to slits. "Pretty words from a child. What proof do I have that this isn't some cruel trap? Your kind are known for their... creative entertainments."
"A fair question." Alcaster met the fishman's gaze steadily. "But I don't have any way to prove that I'm not lying. And even if I did, you wouldn't believe it."
The fishman's eyes widened at this blatant statement—self knowledge from a Celestial Dragon, that was a first.
"If so, then what do you want me to do if I escape?" Fisher Tiger asked with his eyes narrowing, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I want to bring change," Alcaster replied. "Helping you escape—not just for your freedom, but because I believe you can make a difference in this world."
Fisher Tiger was silent for a long moment, his eyes never leaving Alcaster's face, searching for any sign of deception.
"You're an unusual child," he finally said. "Your eyes... they don't match your age. They're older. Determined." He sighed, gesturing towards the papers on the table. "This plan—it shows thought, preparation. No child should be capable of this."
"I'm not a normal child," Alcaster acknowledged simply.
"Clearly." Fisher Tiger's massive frame relaxed slightly as he made a decision. "Let's say I believe you—or at least, I'm willing to listen. What exactly are you proposing?"
Alcaster didn't allow himself to smile, though relief flooded through him. This was the opening he needed.
"First, I need your help. I've requested you officially as an instructor in fishman karate. That gives us cover to meet regularly without suspicion. In reality, I do want to learn from you—not just fighting techniques, but about your people, your culture. Knowledge that's been deliberately hidden from the surface world."
"And in exchange?" Fisher Tiger raised an eyebrow.
"I'll refine these escape plans with your input. Provide information about the slave quarters, guard changes, security updates. When the time is right—whether that's months or a year from now—you'll have everything you need to make your escape."
The fishman considered this for several long moments, his expression unreadable. "You realize that if I escape, I won't just disappear quietly into the night."
It was an implicit question—did Alcaster understand the full implications of what might follow? Fisher Tiger's raid on Mary Geoise, the liberation of countless slaves, the chaos and retribution that would ensue.
"I'm counting on it," Alcaster replied softly, holding the fishman's gaze with an intensity that transcended his physical age.
Something shifted in Fisher Tiger's expression then—a recognition, perhaps, of the weight behind Alcaster's words.
"What are you?" he asked, the question layered with meaning beyond its simple wording.
"Someone who wants to change this world," Alcaster answered honestly. "Will you—bet on me?"
The fishman's lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "A Celestial Dragon asking a slave to bet on him. The world is stranger than I thought." He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "I'll play along with your 'lessons' for now. But know this—if I sense any deception, any trap, I won't hesitate to act, consequences be damned."
"I understand," Alcaster nodded solemnly.
"Then we have an arrangement... young master." The title was spoken without its usual venomous undertone when slaves addressed their owners, replaced with a subtle mockery that acknowledged their shared secret.
"We should establish a routine," Alcaster said, smoothly transitioning to practical matters. "You'll come here three times a week for 'training sessions.' I've already arranged for my combat instructor, Cipher Phoros, to train me on alternate days."
Fisher Tiger's expression darkened slightly. "Cipher Phoros? The CP0 agent?"
"Former CP0," Alcaster corrected. "But yes. He's dangerous and observant. We'll need to be especially careful around him."
"Indeed." The fishman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "This game you're playing is more perilous than you may realize, child. CP0 agents don't truly retire—they merely serve in different capacities."
"I know," Alcaster said, with enough gravity that Fisher Tiger studied him with renewed curiosity. "But his instruction is valuable, and maintaining my cover requires that I behave as an ambitious young Celestial Dragon might."
Fisher Tiger nodded slowly. "So I teach you fishman karate to maintain our cover, while we exchange information and refine escape plans. A risky arrangement, but not without potential." He gestured to the papers on the table. "Your work is impressive, but there are flaws—details about the lower levels and security measures you couldn't know."
"Which is exactly why I need your perspective," Alcaster acknowledged. "We should start with actual training, though. If anyone questions us, there should be real progress to demonstrate."
"Agreed." Fisher Tiger rose to his full height, towering over the child. "Then let's begin our first 'lesson,' young master." He added the last with a subtle emphasis that transformed the term of subservience into something closer to camaraderie.
For the next hour, Fisher Tiger introduced Alcaster to the basic stances and principles of fishman karate, a style developed underwater but adaptable to land combat. Despite the pretense, both took the training seriously—Alcaster because every fighting technique could prove valuable, Fisher Tiger because he seemed to find genuine satisfaction in teaching rather than serving.
As they trained, they spoke in low voices about the realities of Mary Geoise from a slave's perspective—blind spots in security, routines that could be exploited, which guards were less attentive or more cruel than others. Alcaster absorbed every detail, mentally updating his plans.
When their session concluded, Alcaster escorted Fisher Tiger to the door. "Same time, three days from now," he instructed, loud enough for the waiting attendant to hear. Then, much quieter: "Watch for any changes in guard rotations."
The fishman bowed with the appropriate deference for public view. "As you wish, young master."
As Fisher Tiger was led away by a guard summoned to return him to the slave quarters, Alcaster allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The first piece was in place—a connection to the man who would one day shake the foundations of Mary Geoise itself.
Now he just had to ensure they both survived long enough to see that day arrive.
"Your interest in the fishman is unusual," Cipher Phoros observed two days later, during their regular training session. The former CP0 agent's tone was casual, but his eyes remained sharp as he corrected Alcaster's stance.
"Left foot forward, weight centered," he instructed, before returning to his query. "Most young nobles find fishmen repulsive rather than intriguing."
Alcaster adjusted his position as directed, using the moment to compose his response. He had been expecting this question—Phoros was too observant not to have noticed his new arrangement with Fisher Tiger.
"Most nobles lack curiosity," he replied, executing the sequence of movements Phoros had demonstrated. "Fishman karate is unique—developed underwater but effective on land. It seems efficient to learn from its source."
Phoros circled him slowly, assessing his form with clinical precision. "True. Their fighting style is impressive, particularly their usage of water manipulation." He paused, watching as Alcaster completed the sequence. "But that doesn't fully explain your choice of instructor. Fisher Tiger is known to be... resistant to authority."
The implied question hung in the air between them. Why choose a potentially dangerous slave when there were safer options available?
"The best knowledge often comes from the most difficult sources," Alcaster scoffed, meeting Phoros's gaze directly. "And resistance suggests strength of character. I prefer learning from those with spirit rather than those already broken."
Something flickered in the former agent's eyes—surprise, perhaps, or approval. "An unconventional perspective for one of your station."
"The Reed family has always valued substance over convention," Alcaster countered smoothly, repeating a phrase he'd heard his father use.
Phoros seemed to accept this explanation, though Alcaster suspected the subject wasn't closed permanently. "Show me what you've learned from the fishman so far."
For the next several minutes, Alcaster demonstrated the basic forms Fisher Tiger had taught him, aware that Phoros was evaluating not just his technique but the quality of his instruction.
"Interesting," the agent finally commented. "Your fishman teaches well. These foundations are solid." He tilted his head slightly. "Though I notice he's teaching you a modified version of the style—adapted for your human physiology."
This observation confirmed what Alcaster already suspected—Phoros had extensive knowledge of fishman karate, likely from combat encounters or intelligence briefings during his CP0 career.
"He mentioned that certain techniques require underwater conditions or fishman strength," Alcaster acknowledged. "We're focusing on principles I can actually use."
"Pragmatic," Phoros nodded approvingly. "But don't neglect your core training. Fishman karate offers unique perspectives, but the Six Powers techniques will serve you better in the long term."
"I intend to integrate both," Alcaster assured him. "Different systems provide different advantages."
The remainder of their session focused on Tekkai—Iron Body—the Rokushiki technique that allowed users to harden their muscles against attack. Though Alcaster was far too young to properly execute the technique, Phoros had begun teaching him the foundational muscle control exercises that would eventually enable its development.
As Alcaster tensed and released specific muscle groups under Phoros's direction, he considered the delicate balance he was now maintaining—training with a former CP0 agent who served the World Government while simultaneously plotting with a slave who would one day strike against that same government.
Each instructor offered valuable knowledge, each relationship provided necessary cover for his true intentions, and each interaction carried its own dangers of discovery.
But that complexity was unavoidable. To change this world from within, he would need to walk multiple paths simultaneously, maintaining identities and relationships that should be contradictory.
"Your focus has improved," Phoros noted as they concluded the session. "But your mind still wanders occasionally. True mastery requires total presence."
"I'll work on that," Alcaster promised, bowing slightly to his instructor.
"See that you do." Phoros studied him for a moment longer than usual. "Your potential is considerable. It would be a waste to see it compromised by... distractions."
The warning was subtle but clear. Whatever Phoros suspected about Alcaster's arrangement with Fisher Tiger, he was advising caution.
"I understand, Cipher Phoros," Alcaster replied solemnly. "Focus remains my priority."
As the former agent departed, Alcaster allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. Both of his instructors were now providing warnings—Fisher Tiger about the dangers of CP0, Phoros about "distractions" that might compromise his development.
Both were right, in their way. And both represented risks he had to accept if he wanted to move forward with his plans.
Three days from now, Fisher Tiger would return for their second official session. In the meantime, Alcaster would continue refining his plans, gathering information, and building his strength through his secret night training.
The path forward was dangerous but clear—maintain his cover as an eccentric but promising young Celestial Dragon while secretly laying the groundwork for changes that would one day shake this corrupt world to its core.
Starting with helping a certain fishman escape and return to set Mary Geoise ablaze with liberation.
The weeks that followed established a rhythm. Three days with Phoros, focusing on the foundations of Rokushiki techniques. Three days with Fisher Tiger, officially learning fishman karate while secretly exchanging information and refining escape plans. One day of rest, though Alcaster typically used it for his own private training and planning.
During their third session, Fisher Tiger had grown comfortable enough to ask the question that had clearly been troubling him.
"Why?" he had asked simply, after correcting Alcaster's execution of a water-manipulation technique. "Why would a Celestial Dragon child, born into absolute privilege, risk everything to help slaves?"
Alcaster had considered his answer carefully. "Because I have memories and knowledge that I shouldn't," he'd finally replied. "I know what this world could be without the cruelty of the Celestial Dragons and the corruption of the World Government. And I can't ignore that knowledge, even if acting on it puts me in danger."
Fisher Tiger had studied him with those penetrating eyes that seemed to see more than most. "You speak of memories as if they're not your own."
"They weren't," Alcaster had admitted, deciding to trust the fishman with a partial truth. "Not originally. I wasn't always... this." He had gestured to his small body.
Understanding had dawned on Fisher Tiger's face. "Reincarnation? Or something stranger?" When Alcaster didn't immediately answer, the fishman had nodded slowly. "Some mysteries are better left unexplained, perhaps. Your actions speak clearly enough."
That conversation had marked a turning point in their relationship—a deeper trust established through shared vulnerability. Fisher Tiger began sharing more about fishman culture, about the discrimination his people faced, about his dreams of a world where all races could live in equality.
In return, Alcaster revealed more of his long-term vision—a world free from the Celestial Dragons' tyranny, where knowledge of the Void Century was accessible to all, where no race or nation lived under another's boot.
During one such conversation, Fisher Tiger had sketched a simple emblem on a scrap of paper—a stylized sun with rays extending outward.
"In fishman culture, the sun represents freedom," he had explained quietly. "We live in the depths, but we still look up toward the light."
Alcaster had studied the symbol, understanding its significance. "When you escape... you'll take others with you, won't you?"
Fisher Tiger's eyes had grown distant. "I'll come back for as many as possible. And someday, perhaps, we'll form a crew united not by species or birth, but by the pursuit of freedom. A crew marked by the sun."
"The Sun Pirates," Alcaster had said softly.
Fisher Tiger had smiled—a rare, genuine expression. "Perhaps. Though that's a story yet to be written."
"Ambitious dreams for one who's been enslaved so long," Alcaster had noted with admiration.
"As are yours, for one so small," Fisher Tiger had countered with a smile, though without mockery.
"Big dreams require long planning," Alcaster had replied.
Now, nearly two months since their first meeting, they had developed a comfortable working relationship that blended actual martial arts instruction with conspiracy.
"Your form has improved significantly," Fisher Tiger noted as Alcaster completed a complex sequence of movements. They were in what had become their regular training space—a converted storage room adjacent to Alcaster's main quarters, providing additional privacy for their conversations.
"Thank you," Alcaster replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "Though I still can't generate enough force for the water techniques to be effective."
"That will come with time and growth," the fishman assured him. "Your understanding of the principles is what matters at this stage."
Fisher Tiger walked to the window, ostensibly stretching but actually checking the position of guards in the garden below—a habit they'd developed to ensure they weren't being observed.
"I've confirmed your information about the cable maintenance tunnels," he said quietly, returning to the center of the room. "There's a service entrance that's checked only twice daily—dawn and dusk. Between those times, it's left unattended."
Alcaster nodded, absorbing this crucial detail. "And the physical demands of the climb?"
"Challenging but feasible," Fisher Tiger replied. "For me, at least. The cables themselves are wrapped in a material that provides reasonable grip, and there are maintenance platforms every five hundred feet or so that could serve as rest points."
"Good." Alcaster moved to the small desk where they kept their planning materials, disguised as training notes. "I've been tracking guard rotation patterns. They've increased security on the main elevator platforms recently, but the maintenance areas remain lightly monitored."
"Typical World Government thinking," Fisher Tiger commented. "They focus on the obvious points of access and neglect the less visible vulnerabilities."
"Their arrogance works in our favor," Alcaster agreed. "They can't imagine anyone would attempt such an escape, so they don't adequately guard against it."
"When do you think?" Fisher Tiger asked, the question they'd been circling for weeks. When would be the optimal time for his escape attempt?
Alcaster considered carefully before answering. "Not yet. We need more information about the lower access points, and you need more time to build your strength after years of..." He hesitated.
"Slavery," Fisher Tiger finished for him, no emotion in his voice. "You can say it, Alcaster. I haven't forgotten what I am in their eyes."
"In their eyes, perhaps. Not in mine." Alcaster looked up at his unlikely friend and ally. "I'd estimate three to four months more. That gives us time to perfect the plan and allows you to continue recovering your full strength."
The fishman nodded slowly. "A reasonable timeline. And it coincides with the seasonal guard rotation that you mentioned—when many of the more experienced guards take leave."
"Exactly." Alcaster rolled up the papers and returned them to their hiding place. "In the meantime, we continue as we have been. Training, planning, waiting for the right moment."
Fisher Tiger studied him for a long moment. "You show remarkable patience for one so young. Most children—even unusual ones—would struggle with such extended timelines."
"I'm not most children," Alcaster replied simply.
"No," Fisher Tiger agreed with the ghost of a smile. "You most certainly are not."
Their session concluded as it always did—with Fisher Tiger being escorted back to the slave quarters by a guard who believed he had spent the past hours teaching fishman karate to an eccentric young Celestial Dragon.
As Alcaster watched him go, he reflected on how much had changed in the months since their first meeting. What had begun as a calculated risk had evolved into something he hadn't fully anticipated—a genuine alliance based on mutual respect and shared goals, despite the vast differences in their positions.
Fisher Tiger, for all his justified hatred of Celestial Dragons, had come to see Alcaster as an individual rather than a symbol of his oppressors. And Alcaster, despite knowing Fisher Tiger primarily through stories and legends in his previous life, had discovered the complex reality of the man behind the mythology—his quiet dignity, his subtle wisdom, his capacity for hope even after years of enslavement.
Together, they were laying the groundwork for events that would eventually reshape this world. Fisher Tiger's escape and subsequent raid on Mary Geoise would become legendary, inspiring countless others to resist the World Government's tyranny. And Alcaster, operating from within the very heart of that corrupt system, would continue the work they had begun—slowly, patiently, inexorably.
For now, though, there was only planning, preparation, and the steadily strengthening bond between a fishman slave and a Celestial Dragon child who refused to accept the world as it was.
Three to four months. Then the first domino would fall.