PART 3: CRESCENT ARCHIPELAGO

GOLDEN BAY

One year and a half later...

"Cleo, we're here!" Echo called from the control-slash-tinkering room.

A couple of maneuvers later, and he'd successfully docked the submarine between the walls of a steep cliff's alcove. It was a lucky find, one that would keep their vessel out of sights from Silver Guard's marine headquarters.

Bare feet padded the sub's hallway only to pause at the room's threshold. Far from her usual attire (fur), the squirming nine years old wore a pastel blue blouse with marguerite prints and beige shorts, but the illusion of normalcy was thwarted by the large ears twitching between her thick high braids, and the fluffy tail curled around her waist.

Reaching for his drink, Echo hid an indulgent smile behind the rim of his chipped cup. What could he say? It was progress.

"You look beautiful, but you'd look even better with your shoes on," he said, nodding at the pair of flip-flops pocking out of her pockets. Standing up, he dropped his teacup inside the world's tinniest sink and grinned. "And that pout."

Echo's laughter muted Cleo's affronted hiss, and, unable to help himself, he added, "the toe piece goes between your—"

A bright orange shoe missed his head by a meter. It sailed all the way across the room where it clattered against a pile of over-read fairytales before it landed with a plaintive thud on the steel-cold floor. Echo doubled over in mirth. Her aim was... It was abysmal, so much so he'd once taken her to a doctor with the naïve belief (hope) that she just needed glasses. (She didn't.)

Once he'd regained his composure, his gaze ran over the cluttered room and lingered on his EMP prototype. It was his greatest invention to date—over a decade in the making if you counted all the years he daydreamt about it—but at last he'd assembled it, and soon he'd put it to test. His pulse quickened at the thought, shoulders tensing in apprehension—

He forced a deep exhale. Now wasn't the time to fret over this, not when he was chasing a fragile lead on the abductions plaguing these waters. All traces of his lingering mirth evaporated.

"I'll be right back," he mumbled, and headed towards his quarters.

It was a messy affair, one made all the messier by the families' pleas going ignored by the local marine. Echo'd seen it all before—the abuse, the corruption—yet there was something peculiar about the authorities' inaction. They weren't lazy for laziness' sake, nor were they dismissive out of disinterest. If he were a jaded person (which, yeah...) he'd say the officers on Silver Guard were muzzled or involved. Whichever the case, it hinted at worrying ramifications.

As soon as he entered his room, Echo's eyes zeroed in on the long dress splayed across his bed. It was tailored by a ray of sunshine who'd harbored an unhealthy relationship with glitters and needles (and prosthetics of all things). The man had gushed about white and gold. Echo'd wanted it as dark as the thought of wearing it. They'd settled on terracotta.

On top laid a wig of dark brown curls, so itchy he routinely contemplated offering it to the sea (not that he'd dare; It was a gift so crappy she'd get offended) but with the authorities on the look-out for a dark-skinned man with wolf (cat!) like goggles and a fennec companion, cross-dressing was his best option. Loath as he was to admit it, Sunshine'd been right: he was slender enough to sell the look.

Hefting a heavy sigh, Echo traded his comfy over-sized shirt and cargo pants for the flowy dress before he reluctantly dropped his goggles on his pillow and slid on a pair of strappy sandals. Still, his gloves and bracelet were a grounding comfort, both accessories partially hidden under the soft sun-patterned lace brushing his knuckles. Last, he tightened a heavy belt around his hips and clipped a leather pouch filled to the brim with coins to it. It was his latest creation: an inconspicuous harness complete with over twenty-five meters of thin but sturdy cable concealed as a fashionable buckle belt.

Confident in his disguise, Echo returned to the tinkering room where Cleo erupted in a fit of belly-clutching laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, wait 'til you're older. We'll see who's laughing then."

Cleo sniffed and crossed her index fingers in front of her chest. 'Never'.

"Oh-ho, talking big princess. Want to bet?" Echo asked with a cheshire grin.

A wide-eyed Cleo vigorously shook her head no before she caught herself and pressed her lips together.

Her pride was still bruised from that last loss, huh? Echo chuckled privately. It had been fun while it lasted, her forfeits doing wonders to coax her out of her furry shell.

"Ready?"

Cleo nodded, and after one last security check, they left the safe confines of the Diving Swan.

*

Three Whitebeard-mustache-shaped islands made up the crescent archipelago, a high-end touristic spot near the middle of Grand line. They formed a triangle, missing just shy of fifty meters for their rocky tips to touch. And rocky they were, the apex of each island housing inward-curved cliffs that loomed over foggy stone banks.

Although the archipelago counted three islands, Golden Bay was the only one to welcome a daily flow of visitors. The isle was named after the vines covering its shore like a field of mean-spirited brambles, golden lianas lashing out at boats, sea creatures, and floating wood alike. The living whips weren't deterred by anything, not even the imposing sea-train playing shuttle between the neighboring kingdom and the luxurious resort.

"Weird plant, isn't it?" Echo said as an enraptured Cleo kept her gaze glued to the surreal spectacle of vines coiling around a departing train. "They won't let anyone in, but if you pull through, they refuse to let you go..."

Cleo looked at him, her dark brown eyes sparkling in amusement as she cocked a brow. His own crunched in confusion until realization hit.

Oh. Twin roses bloomed across his cheeks, their petals darkening in answer to Cleo's cackles. Thankfully, the kid had the attention span of a squirrel and the exotic aromas floating around a small spice shop captured her wayward attention.

*

Only a handful of hours had passed since they'd scaled Golden Bay's cliff, yet it felt like days.

Echo was tired, the over-use of observation haki and abundance of parasitic emotions a greater strain than anticipated. Over-confidence got him every time. Or was it masochism? A lack of self-preservation? Maybe his memory was failing him, a couple of weeks at sea enough to forget his aversion to crowds...

His hands were shaking, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as if they were back in Khafa's desert and not strolling through Golden Bay's uptown area.

There was no in-between to his observation haki, only an on and off switch he wanted nothing more than to shut down. But he couldn't, not until he found a clue. Unfortunately, despite having toured half the island, he had yet to feel any dissonance among the resort's visitors. Golden Bay's temporary inhabitants were as content as they looked, none of the royals, bourgeois and other noble wannabes' feelings betraying even a hint of ulterior motives. Same went for the isle's many salesmen whose genuine smiles reflected their deep pleasure at their customers' generous expenses. The only people who didn't look like they were about to shit rainbows were the marine officers patrolling the area, but the worst he'd sensed from them was jealousy, boredom and contempt.

Not a single person he'd come across had shown hints of ugly deeds or dark intent. Then again, as his peers had proved time and time again, bad people knew no shame, and the more they felt entitled to their actions, the less likely their wrongs were to bleed through their emotions.

It's only the first day, Echo reminded himself when he spotted an empty bench. He sat down with a groan, stiff muscles singing against the backrest. From the corner of his eyes, he kept vigil over Cleo and couldn't summon the energy to call her back when she inevitably scaled the plaza's layered fountain.

Any other day, the passerby's affront would have birthed a chuckle, but today was an off day, one of those where everything felt like too much and not even his daughter's antics could pull him back from the edge. The over-flow of parasitic emotions had numbed his own.

Echo massaged his throbbing temples, circular motions slowly easing the pressure, but his relief was short-lived for not ten seconds later a loudspeaker blasted over the area.

"Are you ashamed of your wrinkles? Are you tired of covering your scars? Has an unfortunate incident blemished your once perfect skin?" The white den den mushi roared from the top of an upscale establishment. "With our rejuvenating elixirs, age will be a distant memory!"

The speaker's voice carried over the plaza, full of cheer and promises that lured visitors in like a treasure did pirates.

Echo snorted and stared in bewilderment at the mass of gullible people pilling in front of the store.

"Come and test our miracle products: the elixir of youth, our best-selling oil will smooth your skin for only 250.000.000 berries a vial!" Echo choked. "And in promotion today, our scar-remover and burn-eraser vials can be bought in bundle for 200.000.000 berries. Don't miss out on this golden deal!"

If this was a scam, it was a good one, for richly clad nobles stepped in with heavy purses and walked out a few minutes later, free of coin yet exuding the pleased aura of berries well-spent.

Echo snorted only to find that, in his tired state, his mind had strayed into dangerous waters. Memories of opulent dinners and never-ending conversations resurfaced against his will, all of them testimonies of his uncle's obsession. The man would have bought the entire store. Better yet, he'd have taken it as his divine due and enslaved the miracle-worker behind it. Actually, the simple fact that he hadn't confirmed Echo's scam theory. Benjamin was obnubilated by youth, had been so since his booming laughter had carved twin creases around his mouth. The mere whisper of a "cure"—as if age itself was the world's ultimate disease—sent him in a frenzied chase. He needed to find it, needed to possess it, needed to consuming it... He wanted, and so he took.

Over the years, Echo'd seen him test a myriad of cures, ingredients and practices growing more and more far-fetched with desperation. He'd drank the gooey blood of a unicorned hippocam until his tongue turned blue, had bathed in a putrid creature's fluids until the stench infiltrated his pores, and even eaten the unborn chick of the world's last rumored phoenix. There was no line he wouldn't cross. Had crossed. Bill clawed up Echo's throat, tongue shriveling at the memory of tender meat too sweet to be beef yet too bitter to be pork. His uncle's boisterous laughter played back in his mind, mocking and cruel. Despite his best efforts, time had erased the memory of his mother's voice, but even after all these years, he could still play back the sound of Saint Benjamin's sadistic chortle with disturbing accuracy.

Echo forced his shoulders to relax and loosened his grip on the fine cotton of his dress before he turned his attention back on the growing queue.

Saint Benjamin chased an illusion, one shared by many a person on this plaza, but if rich people wanted to throw their berries at the sea, that was their prerogative.

At least here, no one's suffering for it, he thought with a clench of his jaw, only for the brush of a familiar presence against his observation haki to distract him from his musing.

Narrowed eyes swept over the plaza. Each person had a distinctive feel to them, an energy of sorts which reflected their unique pattern of emotions, and in that moment, his spine tingled at the abrasive stroke of self-confidence mixed with a fiery will. His brows knitted in confusion, racing mind drawing a blank, but his body wasn't as quick to forget. He tensed, annoyance creeping up his spine until realization hit.

Sabo... What business did the Revolutionary Army have on Golden Bay? Were they here for the abductions? Echo dispelled the thought. The Revolutionary Army had bigger fish to catch, larger battles to fight. People were suffering, sure, but not nearly enough for them to get involved. Which raised the question, again, of why he could sense one of their top-ranking members in the crowd.

He spotted him a couple of seconds later, signature top hat and long dark jacket traded for a sharp fitting costume and pheasant feathered fedora. His wavy locks, once matted in sweat and darkened by dust, glowed with a healthy shine where they cascaded atop his burn scar while his eyes (what little he could make of them) mirrored the tint of a clear blue sky.

Someone cleans up nice. The thought was propelled straight out of his neglected libido, and with an embarrassed flush, Echo turned his focus back on the revolutionary's actions and not the way his dark blue costume hugged his—

...

...

He looked older. He was older duh, but there was something more, a heaviness to him that hadn't been there before, the weight of his sorrow betrayed by the light drop of his shoulders and the coldness shimmering behind his teal-colored lenses.

His aristocratic outlooks, once laughably out of place in the corner of a dingy bar, had more than one blushing lady mask their hunger behind an ornate hand fan as he strolled through the plaza, so confident in his disguise he dared cut the path of patrolling officers.

Sabo's prowl came to a halt when he bumped into a middle-aged man. He apologized profusely, his deep bow executed to regal perfection, and in one fluid motion, he snatched a small gleaming object out of the noble's pocket.

Huh?

Echo wet his lips, thoughts racing at the sight, but before he could ponder on mister I-didn't-peg-you-for-a-thief's larceny, a commotion by the fountain called for his attention.

Shit! Echo jumped to his feet, all thoughts of the alluring thief forgotten when he barreled through the plaza, uncaring of the faceless bodies he hustled in his hurry to reach his outraged daughter.

She was crouched on all fours, large ears flattened on her head and small fangs barred at a chortling man—A noble if his powdered wig and decorative cane was anything to go by. Tense with apprehension, Echo skirted to halt in front of the hybrid fennec.

"What an interesting specimen. Is it yours?" The man asked.

It? Echo gritted his teeth.

"Half-mink? Or perhaps some type of fox zoan? She's got character, this one," Wig-man said with a hearty chuckle that stressed his laugh-lines. "How much do you want?"

"How much do I want for what?" Echo asked in a frosty voice. His sandal clad feet padded the polished pavement until he stood nose to chest with the grinning fool. "Not knock your teeth out?"

If Echo had conqueror haki, it'd have manifested by now. He wished he did, would have happily traded his observation haki for it, but in this instant, the strength of his glare alone sent the old man cowering behind his three gorillas. Bodyguards. Whatever. Unfortunately, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of a groveling apology for a nearby patrol was closing up on them.

"Hey! What's going on here?"

Echo swore under his breath and clasping his hand around Cleo's clawed one. Then, after one last glare, they merged with the crowd.