when one looks back to their childhood, one remembers the vivid springs of laughter, climbing trees and reaching out for the stars, and making flower crowns in fields of flowers. but when [name] looked back at her youth, it was void of those colorfu...
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chapter 60. the wasteland
[ wait for me! ]
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in the quiet heart of mariejois, beneath the weight of its ancient marble and suffocating shadows, a room of silence sat buried in stillness.
the chamber was vast, round, and cold. towering columns lined the stone walls like sentinels, and between them, five seats formed a perfect circle, five relics of power, each one occupied by a man older than kingdoms, eyes like time itself carved into flesh.
they sat in rigid silence, gazes all fixed on the small transponder snail that rested on the table between them. the dim lighting flickered slightly, and the snail's eyelids blinked slowly as it adjusted to the room's tension, its tiny mouth shifting as it waited for someone—anyone—to speak.
the elder with the long, white beard leaned forward first, and marks spoke.
"end," he said, his voice ancient and authoritative, the word alone echoing faintly in the chamber. "report. has red ribbon [name]... been secured yet?"
nusjiro narrowed his eyes slightly, adding with cold precision, "has the espada completed the extraction from fishman island?"
end's voice soon came.
"...oh, not quite yet."
the five elders stilled in unison.
on the other side of the line, end smiled, though none of them could see it.
"we're still actually... on our way to fishman island," end added, voice lilting with unsettling calm and playful courtesy. "the currents beneath this part of the sea are rather strong, you see. they don't yield easily, even to us."
"you're behind schedule," warcury said, tone low and absolute. "delay is failure."
"ah, and i do so hate failure," end replied lightly, unfazed. "but i assure you, red ribbon [name] will be in our grasp very soon. it's only a matter of time... and tide."
"do not disappoint us."
"heh...perish the thought."
the line clicked dead with an almost delicate finality, the transponder snail's eyelids drooping closed in silence as the call was severed.
far, far from mariejois, deep beneath the ocean, far beyond the light of the surface, inside the twisted tower of tartarus, the portal pulsed.
green sea foam hissed around its swirling edge, flickering with eerie light as end stepped back through it.
