[Episode] Pirates Clash at Torino Kingdom!

Quest Description:

The orange-yellow color of the numerous infernos glinted off of the teen’s welding goggles. His shorts were singed and the pungent odor of smoldering hair and bodies wafted through the smoky air. Hearing raucous roars of laughter towards the center square of the rubble-laden Third, he broke into a furious pace. At some point, he tripped and got a face full of sooty ash. He merely shook himself and kept on with his frenzied run.

Rubble. Fire. Blood. He was well acquainted with their personalities. Hopeless. Destructive. Dripping with the guilt of the past.

The young man halted and allowed himself to wheeze through his snot and tears. He stumbled the rest of the way to the square. The vicious mirth continued to echo through the carnage around him, and he followed it. There was nowhere else to go.

And he saw it. The center square, in all of its terrifying sadism. A parade of fifty men and women, varying in appearance, all with the distinct taste of death accompanying them. His eyes drifted to what the jeerers were positioned on, and the hell around him faded to nothing. Amidst the dancing crowd were hundreds of bodies, most accumulated in a perverse dogpile in the middle of the throng.

There was his workmate, who he’d known for as long as he lived on the island. The barkeep’s skull was crushed underneath an absolute whale of a man’s foot whilst the teen watched. There was Mister and Missus Athies–oh, how they were like grandparents to him. His neighbors, his other craft specialists, the owner of his favorite diner. The entire inventing Third, laid to waste.

“Hey, loons, lookie here! It’s the gremlin!” It was the skull crusher. He had been spotted.

The teen jumped and warily backed away. All fifty of the demented souls turned and looked directly at his soot-stained face, the glee of serial murderers in their gazes.

“Thirteen years, men! Thirteen!” The outsized brute barked out a harsh laugh. “But we found you! And take a lookie at what else we found, kid!”

He delved one heavy hand into the mass of corpses and drug out one particularly dilapidated body. But the young man wouldn’t mistake it for anything, or rather anyone, else. And even if he didn’t register who the carcass belonged to at first glance, all the confirmation was found in…

"The coat," the teen breathed. "That’s his…no! No! Father! Dad! DAEDALUS!"

The half hundred men present guffawed at the boy’s excruciating pain. “This is what you get! You’re useless, understand! Even your best efforts didn’t keep us down! A pirate’s spirit doesn’t sink with his ship, Ickarus!”

More laughter.

His everything.

Gone. In the amount of time it’d take to draw up a new blueprint.

These men stole everything.

Their laughter swam inside of his head, pounding a great roar into his mind. The motto that these same men had nailed into his memory as a child floated to the forefront of his headspace.

Take advantage, take control, kill.

"You…stole my life from me," Ickarus said, low and irate. "I’m going to take your everything."

Before any of the fifty-strong force could as much as chuckle at this seemingly delirious child’s ramblings, Ickarus launched off. Wax flooded over his legs and his hands seized a chunk of shrapnel from the floor.

The lard started to laugh once more at the puny child. He brought his fist up and met Ickarus’s wax-inforced leg. Ickarus let himself cartwheel forward using the momentum from the collision, the blade in his hands making him into a human saw. With all the self-righteousness he could muster, he roared and drove the shrapnel into the pudgy face, harder, deeper, make the fat bastard feel pain-

Ickarus gasped for air. A rich dark purple-blue sky littered with stars loomed above him. Wax drenched his body, and it had pooled around the deck he lay on. He continued to heave big, full breaths of the cool salty breeze.

After a few seconds (minutes? Hours? Ickarus wasn’t sure he wanted to know), he attempted to push himself up. The wax was not very forgiving, effectively gluing him to the deck of Candlelight.

"Get up," he grunted. "Come on, just a night terror, get up, get up...GRAH!"

With an almighty groan he pulled himself free from his waxen prison. Ickarus slowly swiped his bangs off of his brow, continuing to breath heavily. He sat in silence and thought. In regret.

A moment’s more was all Ickarus could take. "Enough of that, now," he said, now more tired than when he had drifted to sleep. "Where am I?"

Using the fairly rudimentary maps and compass he had “borrowed” from Touchport, Ickarus determined that he was barely a few hours’ journey from an island. Torino Kingdom, it seemed.

"‘Also known by some as the “Isle of Treasure,”’" Ickarus read aloud from another book he had permanently loaned from Pline Peaks. "Wah-yayaya, seems like somewhere a pirate should be. Maybe I can finally find myself that navigator…"

He looked up from the yellow parchment, setting his grey eyes on the curved horizon. As much as he hated to admit it, he was…lonely. But there were more important things to him than curing his loneliness. Now was no time to back down; for now, he didn’t need friends. Only someone to get him where he was heading.

Somehow Iapix had found his way into Ickarus’s head again. Quiet this time, but Ickarus could practically feel his adoptive brother’s breath on the wind…

"What did I say? Enough of this!" Ickarus said, annoyed. He spurred himself back into checking the stars, fixing the angle of his steering accordingly. Ickarus toyed with Candlestick for a while, only to look up and see a gaping hole in his sail.

Sighing, Ickarus got back up and scaled the mast, sewing kit in tow. Hours of stitching, dropping his pin, stitching, running out of thread, stitching, dropping his pin, and finally he hung off the wooden cross of the mast by his legs.

"Wah-yayayayaya! Job well done!" he praised himself. Sighing contentedly, he opened his eyes to view the world upside-down. Ickarus found himself staring directly at an island perhaps twenty-five hundred meters away.

"Oh, what’s this? It’s land, wah-yayayayayaya! Land ho! Land ho!" Ickarus continued to laugh and speak of the land to no one. He clambered onto the bow and took a seat, eagerly spectating as the distance between Candlelight and Torino Kingdom shrunk.

“Oof-”

As it turns out, rocks that are both damp and mossed wind up slick—astoundingly so.

Ickarus struggled to pull himself upright for what he reckoned was at least an eternity. Maybe more. Finally, he lurched to his feet, swung his arms in a tempestuous manner to stay balanced, and froze.

“Wah-yayayayaya, it’ll take a bit more than some stones to keep me down!” Ickarus cried. “Now, to tie her up.”

Stumbling across the stony shore (and he did not fall again, thank you very much), he found a firmly set rock not far offshore. He wrapped the length of rope he carried about the small boulder, finishing off the job with a sound knot.

Ickarus straightened and swiped his bangs across his waxy forehead—seriously, he needed that haircut badly—whilst observing the wild jungle a short walk before him.

A tropical climate, it would seem, he thought mildly. These palm trees are super impressive, actually! We never had any like this on Therma Current…

Meandering forward, he took in the magnificent sight of the elephantine tree set in the center of Torino Kingdom. Ickarus had to crane his neck to the point of discomfort to view it all: A miracle of nature, the tree stretched to the point where Ickarus didn’t doubt that clouds could touch the tallest point of it. Gargantuan branches broke off of the main trunk and flourished into gorgeous displays of foliage. If he squinted, Ickarus could make out several large strangely-colored plants flowering off of the tree.

“Woah,” he exhaled. “Wah-yayaya! Didn’t peg myself as much of a ‘nature enjoyer.’ But this tree…it’s huge!”

After possibly half a second of contemplation, he added, “And I’m getting to the top of it.”

With no more reason to dally, Ickarus changed his pace from a lazy meander to a purposeful trot. Climbing up slick rocks for half an hour was less than ideal, but Ickarus decided that if he wanted to climb that mile-high titan of a tree then this should be nothing to complain about.

As Ickarus ascended, he felt the moss underfoot gradually get firmer until the substance was dry and grass-like beneath his feet. The ground leveled out and Ickarus bent over and breathed a few deep breaths before trudging forward.

Hmm, no sign of life, other than the plants and that one weird lizard from earlier, Ickarus thought. But what kind of a place called ‘kingdom’ doesn’t have people?

Finally feeling soil instead of stone, he sighed in relief. He despised shoes, but the way the rocks felt against his bare feet didn’t feel great (even if the worse edges were cushioned by moss). He took one last glance at the exterior of the dense jungle before delving into the greenery himself.

Ickarus’s home island, Therma Current, did not have much room for wooded forests due to its industrial nature. The few the island did house, Ickarus tried to avoid; he didn’t love the constant feeling that something was stalking him the small number of times he decided to enter the woods. Unfortunately, the sensation he felt whilst swiftly shuffling through the jungle was twenty times worse.

Ickarus heard a shuffling sound next to his foot and opted to quicken his already hasty pace.

He could’ve sworn a shadow just moved over there! He started to really pump his legs.

The small amount of sunlight permissed to pass through the heavy foliage above was blocked off for a split second. Ickarus’s face flipped upwards with unholy speed. Unable to detect anything, he decided on yet another speed boost.

“C’mon, c’mon, there has to be somebody to help me out here!” he gasped in between swallowing air. “No way absolutely no one lives-oomph!”

In his mad rambling to himself regarding his helplessness, Ickarus completely and totally forgot to check where he was running. As a result, he now lay floored, back-down, vision swimming as an extremely large something entered his field of vision.

“What the actual…” Ickarus rubbed his eyes. A feathered head three times the length of Ickarus’s entire body stared down at the man who had just ran into it. The waxman froze as the bird’s squinted eyes looked closer upon him. When the avian prodded Ickarus with its beak, Ickarus broke his silence. “GAHHHHH! GIMME OUTTA HERE!”

“GOA! GOA!” the bird shouted back in surprise. Ickarus took his chance and shot wax in the fowl’s general direction. He clambered up and ditched, streaking past dozens of trees and nearly tripping himself fifteen times.

Finally taking a breather, Ickarus skidded to a stop, hugging his coat closer to himself. “Wah-ya…wah-yaya…Really, really big bird. Really big bird.”

He registered a powerful flapping of wings approaching him. Before Ickarus could do as much as release his coat, the bird landed with an almighty THUD before him. It glared at the waxman none too kindly.

“GOOOOOAAAAA?!” it cawed, furiously gesturing towards its head’s plumage. It was now sticky and hard in various spots, granting the feathers the same waxen look that Ickarus’s hair did.

Ickarus took a moment to gather his panicking thoughts before speaking to the bird. “Look, Pigeon, I’m sorry, but you’re…you’re massive! And you just crept over me without any announcement.” He pointed an accusatory finger at it. “If anything, it’s your fault!”

The bird didn’t like that. It bristled, angrily clicking its beak at Ickarus.

“Hey, uh, would you mind if I…y’know, left?” Ickarus asked the avian, suddenly nervous. Not willing to wait for an answer, he yelled, “Doru Doru no…Wax Footing!”

Wet wax slicked over his feet, granting Ickarus the ability to almost slide across the ground.

No way it catches up with me now, he thought, crossing hundreds of paces with ease. I’m as good as—oh, you’re not serious!

Though he could not hear the heavy footfalls or wing flaps of the animal yet, its cry of “GOA! GOA!” was not easy to miss. Worse, it was growing closer.

“Come on, Pigeon! Get lost!” Ickarus shouted over his shoulder. “Sorry about the wax! Mean it!” He could hear the combination of wings and claws in pursuit. It would be on him in no time. There wasn’t much time to act now, lest he wished to get bum-rushed by a bird.

Deciding to test out a new technique, Ickarus slowed up his run until he could practically feel the monster’s breath on his neck. Ickarus kicked off the ground swiftly, landing soundly on the tired-eyed fowl’s broad back. He coated his right hand with a loose layer of wax.

“GOA?!” the bird cawed, thoroughly infuriated at this human’s tenacity. Ickarus only laughed, already envisioning his victory.

“Wah-yayayayaya! Doru Doru no…” He slammed his hand down on the bird’s back and forced the loose wax to harden on the bird’s feathers. “Salon Treatment!”

With as much force as he could, Ickarus seized one corner of the hardened wax pad and tore it off as fast as he could. A storm of feathers surged up with a nasty riiiiiiip sound, revealing a small section of bare, extremely irritated bird skin.

“GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAA!” it yelped in pain. Ickarus nearly laughed again before seeing a tear form in the bird’s half-shut eye. The avian plopped down on its feathery behind, causing its aggressor to roll off of its back.

Ickarus, in spite of his self-justification, felt bad watching the bird cry. “Aw, come on, Pigeon, don’t-don’t cry! I’m, uh, sorry. I have some special bandages that might help!” At this it snorted and glared teary-eyed at the waxman. “You…probably don’t want my help. That’s fine. Yeah, I’ll just get out of your feathers.”

He backed up a few steps when he was poked in the back by a twig. Ickarus turned to push the branch away and found himself staring at, not a twig, but an extremely sharp spear. Pointed at him.

Ickarus’s eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, landing flat on his butt. Two more spears similar to the one threatening him emerged from behind other surrounding trees. Then the owners of these weapons revealed themselves.

If Ickarus didn’t perceive his life to be in peril, he might’ve laughed. The people corralling him were darkly tanned with buns in various styles perched atop their heads. They wore grassy skirts and stood in threatening stances towards Ickarus. The hilarity came from the fact that these seeming tribesmen were extraordinarily short and fat.

“You hurt tha Masukeredomo Goayu Bird.” one of the three spoke in a slightly primitive but definitely threatening tone. “No ‘ne hurts tha Masukeredomo Goayu Birds. Or else they face tha wraff ov tha Torino Kingdom.”

Ickarus didn’t like where this was going.

The chafing was nearly unbearable even without being harshly shoved by three Torino Tribesmen and one giant bird. What made the sensation worse was knowing that he could break himself out of the grass-made rope at any moment, but Ickarus didn’t think he had a choice. If the only way to speak to any humans was to get tied down and shoved through a jungle, so be it.

Of course, this didn’t stop him from endeavoring for the primitive spear-wielders to change their minds about this whole “crime-against-the-tribe” deal he seemed to have gotten himself into. “Listen, I didn’t know not to touch the bird! I just got here a few hours ago, and nothing in my guidebook said anything about tribe-bird relations.”

The shortest Torino glanced askew at him. “The Tribe’ll choose to make ya stay er letchew go. We hunters are onlee ‘sponsible for gatherin’ food and stoppin’ harm frum comin’ to the Masukeredomo Goayu Birds.”

Ickarus surrendered his attempts to get released and huffed. Silence fell for several minutes only broken by Ickarus’s “oomph”s as he stumbled or was poked by the spears.

These spears weren’t just shoddily forged poles of steel, Ickarus had observed. He spotted numerous cuts on the spear, seemingly designed to break the spear into sections. Near each of these grooves was some sort of explosive, if the sulphuric scent he associated with gunpowder was to be trusted. His curiosity got the best of him.

“If you don’t mind me making a little small talk,” he said, gaining the attention of the three, “the way your spears are made interests me. What’s their function, other than piercing? And what’s with the explosives on them?”

This time, the Torino who had threatened Ickarus when they found him spoke up. “I don’ think we should tell you. What if you use tha informashon ‘gainst us?”

Ickarus shrugged. “I’m an inventor, from Therma Current. Just curious as to how it works. See, look inside of my coat and grab that metal baton.”

The third Torino glanced at the other two and stepped forward, searching Ickarus’s inside coat pockets. The stubby hand emerged with Candlestick.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Ickarus said, smiling. “Now press that button.”

The first Torino glared at Ickarus. “Tha’s an explosiff, isn’ it?” he growled. “Stop tryna get free, boy, it won’t-ay, what are you two doing?”

Torino three had pressed the button, and Candlestick expanded to its full length. Shortie and Three (that’s what he’ll call them, at least until he knows their actual names) gawked at the metal pole before looking amazed at Ickarus.

“Wah-yayayaya, cool, isn’t it? I call it Candlestick,” Ickarus said, grinning the whole way. “If you push on both ends, it’ll collapse again.”

They did so, and Candlestick assumed its shorter form again. Even the stern tribesman looked impressed whilst Shortie and Three continued to expand and retract the baton.

The stern tribesman looked back to Ickarus, apprehensive but less so than a few minutes prior. “Why’dya need to know how our spears work if you’ve got tha technology to make sommat like that?”

“So I can improve it, of course,” Ickarus stated matter-of-factly.

Glancing at Shortie and Three one more time, Stern sighed and relented. “They’re rocket powered,” he stated, uncovering a small button that his thumb was over. “Tha button powers tha rocket, and the spearhead launches towards tha target.”

Ickarus’s jaw dropped. “That…is AWESOME! Wah-yayayayayaya!” he howled as Three slid Candlestick back into Ickarus’s coat pocket. “How much gunpowder is in each compartment? How far does the head fly? How hard are they to replace? What are they made of?”

Slightly blindsighted but amused, Stern tried to keep up with the amount of questions Ickarus threw at him. Three and Shortie interjected when they could, and Pigeon just looked down confused at the four who were now animatedly talking as if they were friends catching up with each other.

“Goa!” it squawked downwards, reminding the tribesmen that this foreigner was their enemy, not their friend.

Instead of turning them against each other again, Ickarus just grinned up at the bird. “I’ve got something for that nasty wax job I gave the bird,” he said, though he did have the decency to look semi-guilty. “They’re in the pocket next to Candlestick; I call them Nourishing Bandages!”

Three fished a roll of herb-smelling bandages out and gave them to Stern, who only laughed. “Boy, do you really call these bandages?”

Ickarus, slightly miffed, replied, “Well, yeah. They wrap around and stay pretty well, and they continually work to heal the wound instead of just covering it.”

“Well, sure, all bandages should do tha’,” Shortie snorted. “When we ge’ to the village we’ll show ya wha’ real bandages are.”

“Won’t we be busy, you know, putting me on trial?” Ickarus replied, curiosity piqued despite his wounded pride.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Stern replied dismissively. “Wha’ever your verdict is you’ll stay here for a bit, right?”

Ickarus cocked his head at the logic, which checked out. “Huh. I suppose so, wah-yayayayaya!” he laughed after a pause.

“Speak’n ov, boss,” Three said, “village’s onlee uh coupl’ minuts out.”

“Alright,” Stern replied. “Ge’ ready, boy. You’re going on trial.”

------

Despite the fact that he was surrounded by a dozen tribesmen bearing rocket spears (including Stern, Shortie, and Three), not to mention the twenty Neptunian-sized birds perched in the trees around the village square, Ickarus was relaxed. Thrilled, even. He had convinced the tribesmen to let him take off the rope when he was surrounded by him. Ickarus didn’t reckon anything would feel as good as the blood rushing back to his fingers while he rubbed his raw wrists.

“Dearetht Torinoth and Torinethes, we are gathered here to witneth and perthcribe a thentence to thith foreigner’th crime of harming Kliormo the Mathukeredomo Goayu Bird.” The old Torino sitting on a wooden stool glared down at Ickarus as he began to describe Ickarus’s crime. “Thith boy tore a large patch of featherth off of Kliormo’th back.”

The crowd gathered outside of the spear-wielding tribesmen gasped. Ickarus almost rolled his eyes. You would’ve thought I killed Pigeon, the way they’re hollering, he thought restlessly.

The wizened judge upon the stool smiled at this reaction from the crowd. “Long ago, we and the Mathukeredomo Goayu Birdth had a lengthy feud. According to Torino legend, a mathked raccoon fell from the heaventh and thettled the battle. Thince then, the Torino Kingdom and Mathukeredomo Goayu Birdth have lived for the benefit of the other.”

Ickarus absorbed all this information while keeping a poker face. Who knew if it might be useful in the future?

“Becauthe of thith mutual agreement, the Torinoth thaw it fit to punithh thothe who dare bring harm to the majethtic avians as they would their own tribe.” In righteous anger, the fat judge pointed a shaking finger at Ickarus. “Your crime of thtripping Kliormo of hith gloriouth plumage ith egregiouth!”

Ickarus tried not to laugh at this man’s lisp.

“However, I recognize that you are a foreigner unaquainted with our wayth,” the judge continued. “Therefore, I have reduced your thentence, and ath with all Torino trialth, the Tribe will decide your fate!”

Both Ickarus and the judge stared intensely in the other’s eyes. The judge opened his mouth and proclaimed: “You are thentenced to three yearth of tree duty! You will climb the great tree in the center of the island and retrieve any productth the Torino Kingdom requireth. All in favor?”

Ickarus’s eyes bugged out of his head and he sputtered, “Is that not a bit harsh? I have my own dream, my own goal to pursue!”

The Torino population only glared at Ickarus, with the exception of Stern, Shortie, and Three, who just looked pitifully at him. The waxman watched in bewilderment as almost the entire crowd raised their hands. The birds are that big of a deal here?!

The judge looked smugly down at Ickarus’s shocked expression. “Then it ith decided. I pronounce-”

“Hold the vote, hold the vote!” A deep, slow, and gravelly voice broke the judge’s speech. Ickarus immediately noted the lack of primitive or even informal accent. He spun to the source of the voice and looked the newcomer up and down.

The man was a Torino, but held himself in a way that set him apart. Despite his fatty build, there was definite muscle that was covered by the round appearance. He wore the traditional grass skirt and Torino bun. His hair and beard were wild and bunched up, grey streaks running through it. Most prominent about his appearance was a large scar carved into his lower left stomach.

The judge bristled. “Tiphyth,” he said, “your vote maketh no difference. There ith a clear majority here.”

The Torino Tiphys only smiled a weathered smile back at the judge. “I am just not sure if the way you are treating this man fairly in your judgement,” he said, just as rocky as before. “Kid-what’s your name?”

“Ickarus,” Ickarus replied instantly. If this guy was gonna get him out of this jam, Ickarus would give him almost any information he wanted.

“Ah, Ickarus. A good name for a seafarer. Gives me the impression of…hm,” Tiphys lost himself in thought for a moment before finishing his thought. “The impression of someone with dreams as high as the sky.”

Ickarus’s stumbled back, heartrate racing. There’s no way. I’ve never met him before. Just…just a coincidence. Has to be.

Tiphys only raised a bushy eyebrow in response to Ickarus’s bizarre response. “Anyhow, is it not a bit harsh to condemn Ickarus—who had no foreknowledge of our ways—to three years locked to this island?” he posed. “I am sure he was only frightened of Kliormo’s rather large person.”

Muttering was breaking out in the crowd. Ickarus felt his heart lift and turned his attention back to the judge. Based on the judge’s reaction, this was not the first time Tiphys had pulled a stunt like this.

“Thith ith the Torino way, Tiphyth,” the judge growled. “Though you are not one to value our thtandardth.”

“Brrrrrrhuhuhuh!” Tiphys rumbled, and Ickarus recognized that he was laughing. “It is not my fault my heart lies at sea. Speaking of hearts set on the ocean…”

Tiphys glanced at Ickarus before nodding to himself and addressing the crowd as a whole. “Smell the air, fellow tribesmen. Can’t you feel it?” Tiphys closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. “The sea. This man—Ickarus—belongs on the sea. And the sense of self-conduct, the thirst I see in his eyes…This man is a pirate.”

The Torinos all looked back to Ickarus, some in fear and some in wonder. Ickarus looked at Tiphys’s relaxed face. How did he come to all of those conclusions just from observing him?

“And, because he is a pirate, tribesmen, he will not settle for something that is not his way,” Tiphys said. “And I have the distinct impression that Ickarus is more than capable of securing his passage off of the island.”

Tiphys eyed the judge. “I offer an alternative sentence: I escort Ickarus as well as the Masukeredomo Goayu Bird to my home outside of the village. I will educate Ickarus in Torino culture, and he will also treat Kliormo’s wound.” Not giving the judge a chance to respond, Tiphys regarded the gathering once more. “All those in favor?”

Hesitantly, the first hand rose. It belonged to Three. Shortie and Stern raised their hands next, and then Ickarus watched in awe as the crowd who had wanted to condemn him to forced labor for three years switched sides in a matter of minutes. Before long, nearly all hands were raised.

Tiphys smiled at the judge yet again. “Can we consider the trial adjourned?”

The judge growled before shooing Ickarus, Kliormo, and Tiphys off.

Ickarus didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. Tiphys looked at the waxman curiously, then jerked his head in an indication to follow. Ickarus scampered behind, followed by Kliormo.

They walked in silence for several paces before Ickarus remembered something. “Uh…Tiphys, mister, sir?”

He raised his eyebrow at the address. “Just Tiphys. Or better, Nauplius. I always preferred my first name.”

“Right…” Ickarus said. “Well, you said you were a seafarer, right?”

“Brrrrrrrrhuhuhuhuh!” Nauplius laughed. “I believe I mentioned that once or twice, yes.”

“Would you happen to be a navigator?”

“Interesting you should ask. Yes, I did learn that profession during my time at sea.”

Ickarus held his breath and asked the question. “Why don’t you join my crew?”

Kliormo’s baggy eyes were fixated upon the obnoxious pirate before him, enough venom in its gaze to kill a Neptunian. Ickarus glared right back at the bird with an animalistic snarl. They stared the other down until Ickarus spoke into the tense silence.

“Look, Pigeon, neither of us want to be here right now,” Ickarus said, gesturing around. “So play nice.”

“GOA! Goa, goa, goa!” Kliormo’s plumage quaked in mirth, his laughter saying, You want me to play nice, hypocrite?

Ickarus sighed in indignation and annoyance. He thought back to his previous exchange with the Torino Nauplius and rolled his eyes.

Nauplius quaked to a stop and dumbly stared at Ickarus. Ickarus’s cheeks warmed uncomfortably when Nauplius’s rumbling laughter began once more.

“Child,” Nauplius said after having exhausted his humor, “the only thing you have proven to me thus far is that you are ill-mannered and unable to escape the clutches of a few measly Torinos. Neither of those features are particularly attractive to me for someone I would follow as captain.”

“I could’ve easily escaped!” Ickarus said, outraged.

“Oh?” Nauplius said, raising an eyebrow. “And how would you? Our huntsmen were equipped with Torino rocket spears, and your arms were bound behind your back until you were fully surrounded at the trial. Only a skilled pirate could manage that.”

Ickarus nearly retorted to cite his Devil Fruit as an advantage, but held his tongue. No need to expose all of his secrets so early. “Then what could I do to convince you to join me?”

Nauplius set about moving forward again. “A good first step would be thanking me for saving your hide from years of servitude. I will not appreciate a captain who does not appreciate his crew.”

Easy enough, Ickarus thought. “Okay, thanks. Appreciate it. What else?”

The Torino snorted at this obviously empty proclamation of gratitude. “The second would be to learn to accept the consequences of your actions maturely and efficiently. A captain who refuses to acknowledge his failures for the purpose of striving to correct them is not worthy of the title of captain, and will not last for a week on the Grand Line.”

Ickarus cocked his head. “So…if I ever get my arse handed to me, I just need to learn from it?”

“That is one aspect of the idea, yes,” Nauplius responded. “For now, however, this step can be realized by giving your all into what the Tribe decided as your punishment. Including healing Kliormo.”

The bird squawked and Ickarus glared at it. Kliormo lunged to stab Ickarus with its beak, but Ickarus hopped out of the way nimbly. “Okay, so I just have to study culture and help alleviate the sores on this guy’s back. Got it. Anything else?”

“The last is to prove to me that you are stronger than what you have demonstrated thus far,” Nauplius said, side-eyeing Ickarus to watch his reaction to his words. “I have been under several captains during my excursions on the sea, but the weakest ones never survived long.”

“And how would I prove that to you? Beating you in a fight?”

“Brrruhuhuh! No, that would hardly be fair,” Nauplius rumbled. “I am years out of practice in hand-to-hand, and you are a brawler. I could never hope to win against the likes of you close-quarters. We shall see if an opportunity to prove yourself arises, Ickarus…”

And with that, the trio strode up to a hut fastened to a boulder bordering the coast, and Nauplius let himself and the waxman in. The sun slowly set as Ickarus began his first lesson with the Torino.

“Well,” Ickarus sighed, “Nauplius said I have to ‘accept the consequences of my actions.’ I guess putting up with you is what he meant.”

Kliormo just stared menacingly at Ickarus. The white-haired man only rolled his eyes and slowly set to work crafting the medicine that Nauplius had instructed him in. According to the old navigator, the art of health and treatment had been a pivotal portion of Torino culture spanning all the way back through traceable history. As such, it was essential that Ickarus learn the ins and outs of the medicine himself. And what better way to do so than caring for a harmed animal?

Even if the harmed animal in question was extraordinarily hostile towards the waxman.

“So just mix these with this…” Ickarus held up a bright yellow-capped fungus as he grinded some sort of grain with an extract to make a paste. He then tore the cap off of the fungus and dumped it on top of the paste, continuing to press it into the mush.

Not long after, Ickarus was left with a yellowy-brown paste. “Wah-yayayayaya, Just the color Nauplius described!”

He then eyed Kliormo once again (who was still shooting bullets with his lazy eyes), and, with Nauplius’s advice in mind, Ickarus spoke. “Pigeon, will you please let me put this stuff on your wound? I…I’m sorry for attacking you. It was-” Ickarus had to grit his teeth, “-It was my fault for the chase and everything.”

Kliormo lowered his head to be at eye level with the waxman, proceeding to glower at Ickarus’s humiliated face. Eventually, with a satisfied “Goa,” The bird allowed Ickarus to gently apply the paste.

------

I see too much of my young self in that boy, Nauplius thought, half-amused and half-grim whilst he spectated the bird and Ickarus get along, at long last. His thoughts wandered and his mind turned back the clock, allowing Nauplius to recall memories from a life lived long ago.

Running away from Torino Island the first chance he got, thirsty for the salty spray of the sea. Bouncing from the Marines to pirate crews to everything in between, desperate for one more gulp of ocean air. Firing cannons and learning to navigate.

Nauplius smiled. “A life well lived,” he mused to no one.

He glanced out the window and felt the usual breeze of nostalgia hit his face. He did a double take. There, outside the window, was an imposing pirate ship proudly waving a Jolly Roger displaying a skull with blood running down from its eye sockets, which were pierced by swords.

Hefting himself up, Nauplius briskly opened his door and stood on the precipice of the boulder. Kliormo raised his head curiously and Ickarus looked over his shoulder, saying, “Nauplius? Everything alright?”

“Hopefully,” the Torino grunted. “A pirate ship is on the horizon. I will see what business they have.”

Whilst their conversation ensued, the behemoth of a ship grew closer to the shore. Nauplius raised his deep tones to hopefully reach the vessel’s hull. “Hello, visitors to Torino Kingdom. Do you mind if I request your reason for docking?”

Ickarus, wiping excess paste onto his coat, swaggered up next to Nauplius. What neither the pirate nor the Torino expected was the uproar of laughter echoing back at them from the approaching ship. A response was soon heard back.

“I be Captain Marse o’ the Warbender Pirates! This is the island known as the Isle of Treasure, is it not?” Ickarus wasn’t sure if he could describe Captain Marse as a man. Marse was easily nine feet tall and shredded beyond what Ickarus could ever explain with one heck of an underbite.

“To some, yes. What is your business, Captain Marse?” Nauplius rumbled.

More howls of mirth. “Is it not obvious, Torino? We be searching for treasure, and we will take it! However we need to!”

By the sound of the war cry raised on the gargantuan craft, Ickarus could only guess at how many men the Warbender Pirates had at their disposal.

“Unfortunately, that name for the island is a myth!” Nauplius yelled back. “No more than One Piece.”

Ickarus raised an eyebrow at the mention of “One Piece.” He made a mental note to ask Nauplius about it later, after the Warbenders were gone.

“Unfortunately for you, Torino, we on the Warbender Pirate Crew believe in One Piece! Hoard Marsh, Gray, and all!” Marse crowed. “So we will be investigating this treasure on your island.”

“Conflict is not necessary, Marse,” Nauplius growled, not fond of how this was escalating. Though perhaps he should have expected it; a pirate crew called the Warbender Pirates would only be out for blood, and the treasure was a nice bonus.

“Oh, but it is!” Marse cried gleefully. “Now, we dislike unfair fights, so we be giving your island one hour to prepare for war!”

Nauplius’s eyes narrowed. The bloodshed would not be necessary, but Nauplius had met enough low-lifes to understand not everyone had a moral compass. Before he could respond with more peace negotiations, however, he saw a glob of translucent liquid launched from his side with impressive accuracy onto Marse’s face. Then Ickarus began shouting.

“Hey! The people of this island didn’t do jack squat to you!” Ickarus yelled. “There’s no stupid treasure here! Only people like you stupid enough to believe a myth! So scram!”

If the Torino had less self control he would’ve strangled the boy. “Idiot,” he hissed. “We may have been able to bring this to a peaceful conclusion. Now there is no chance of that. And why didn’t you tell me you had the powers of the Devil?”

“Wasn’t important,” Ickarus said, still angered by Marse. The Warbenders were raucously laughing once more. “I’m gonna thrash him to hell and back.”

“You had better, boy,” Nauplius growled. “Keep a lookout on them while I take Kliormo and alert the Tribe.”

Ickarus heard the Torino’s footsteps and Kliormo’s powerful flapping fade away, never taking his vision off of the vessel before him.

“This is how I will prove myself to you, Nauplius,” Ickarus whispered to himself, carefully observing as bloodied weapons and feral grins spread throughout the opposing force.

The sun had reached its climax in its arc, pressing down perfectly on top of Ickarus’s white hair. A glint of yellow and white flashed off of his welding goggles whilst he turned his head to glance at the beaten path to the village, hearing heavy footfalls echoing from it.

Nauplius was the first to emerge, face stony with a cannon on one shoulder and a firmly woven sack of cannonballs in the other hand. Behind him, Stern, Shortie, and Three led what seemed to be the collective military force of the Torinos. Each one gripped a rocket spear with white knuckles, clearly nervous about fighting a fully armed and well-trained crew of bloodthirsty pirates.

“Have they moved, Ickarus?” Nauplius thundered.

Ickarus turned his grey eyes back on the sea. “Nothing. They all have got weapons of some sort. Saw Marse with a battle-axe the size of my chest, wah-yayayayaya!”

The Torino force didn’t find this information to be quite as humorous as Ickarus did. Several of them cowered, and one’s anxiety caused his arms to shake so hard that his spear slipped out of his meaty hands.

The metal weapon clattered with the sound of a hollow metal pipe upon the earthen floor. The offending Torino stooped with haste, swiping his hand over his weapon. Ickarus’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Get down!” he roared. The army, already jumpy, positively quaked the ground as they dropped. The weapon so carelessly snatched up by the skittish warrior activated, launching a spearhead at a speed fast enough to decapitate.

Nauplius groaned, eyes tracking the metal. An unfortunate Warbender looked up at the wrong time, removing his head from his shoulders. “Clutz! That would have ended in you walking the plank, had we been a crew such as theirs!”

Ickarus was watching Marse turn red and scream. “Oh, so ye wanna play dirty, you filthy tubs of lard? We were gonna go easy, but you drew first blood! On your head be it!”

Cannonfire broke the air’s tension, shattering the silence into a thousand little pieces. The Torinos all flinched and backed away, but Ickarus launched himself in front of them. A wax wall erected itself from the ground and the waxman grit his teeth, preparing for impact.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

The first three iron spheres met wax, and fractures broke out across the wall like a bad case of acne on a pubescent teen. Ickarus wasn’t too fond of those years.

“Get back! Nauplius, get them back!” Ickarus shouted over the din. “I can’t hold this wall forever, even more so if you want me to fight!”

Nauplius took the command, rumbling orders to the Torinos. Ickarus pushed harder with his wax, continually replacing the devastated barrier. He placed his hands against the wall and felt his bones rattle with the impact of the cannonballs.

The shots drifted closer. Clogging the cannons before the Warbenders disembarked was key. An idea planted in Ickarus’s head.

Shoving his goggles down to his eyes, he created his candle helmet. “Nauplius! I’m gonna clog the cannons! Keep the force out of sight!”

Without waiting for a response, Ickarus stalled for a few moments more for the current round of cannons to fire. When the final BOOM’s echoed and distant sounds of reloading reached Ickarus’s ears, he liquified the wax and pushed as hard he could on it. The wall disappeared into hundreds of skull-sized balls that streaked towards the imposing vessel.

“It’s a hit!” Ickarus cried, gleefully watching whilst the Warbenders’ cannoneers struggled with the wax-clogged cannons. The side of the ship facing the shore was now covered in off-white liquid that was swiftly hardening.

“GRAAAAH!” Ickarus heard Marse scream again. “It’s no matter, men! Disembark and launch the offensive! Find the treasure and take it for ourselves! I will take the Devil Fruit user!”

Ah. I get the captain. Charming, Ickarus thought drily. What seemed to be at least two hundred men jumped ship and began paddling to the shore. “Nauplius! They’re coming!”

“Aye, Ickarus!” the seafaring Torino said, approaching the waxman with the Torino forces. “Ready, men!”

Ickarus scanned the dampened Warbenders climbing the rocks, unable to locate Marse. A massive shadow fell over the waxman, and Ickarus immediately looked up in disbelief and shock.

“STUPID CHILD!” Marse shouted above, a battle-axe and sword crossed above his head. “You will die before the God of War!”

“Doru doru no Wax Footing!” Ickarus yelped, skidding backwards. The nine foot behemoth demolished the earth on which Ickarus stood not seconds before.

Marse stood to his full height in front of Ickarus. Looking down on him, Marse growled, “Yur outta yur league, rookie. I check the bounties. One point five million is nothing compared to my fifty.”

“I have a bounty?” Ickarus said, confused. “Wah-yayayaya! That’s hilarious!”

Slashes from Marse’s mismatched weapons silenced Ickarus’s mirth. “You be a miserable excuse for a pirate. Who doesn’t check their own bounty?”

“Someone who has better things to worry about,” Ickarus grunted, landing hard from his dodge.

Marse laughed at this. “On the sea, bounties and power are the only things to consider. Anything else is irrelevant.”

Ickarus dashed under the Warbender Captain’s legs, swinging upwards with his wax-inforced leg. “Doru doru no Featherfoot Punt!”

Marse rotated and intercepted the kick with a swing of his axe. The wax succumbed to the axe much too quick and Ickarus’s eyes widened as he felt his fibula grind against the metal blade.

Unrelenting, Marse picked up the wounded waxman and threw him up. A giant fist lunged forward and caught Ickarus in the stomach whilst he fell, and Ickarus spewed blood from his mouth. His helmet crumbled, meeting with the ground numerous times as Ickarus bounced across the landscape.

He spat blood and glared at Marse, attempting to ignore the screaming pain in his right leg. “I’m not giving up until I die or win.”

“And why is that, young fool?” Marse said, twenty feet from his injured prey. “Why do ye insist on fighting that which ye cannot beat?”

Ickarus glanced at the carnage of war around him. Nauplius fired his cannon with incredible speed, strength, and accuracy while his fellow warriors met the crowd on the shore. “Because if I don’t win, what good of a captain am I?”

Marse laughed. “Admirable answer. Face your death, Waxhead.”

Ickarus was too busy considering alternative strategies to correct the Warbender on his epithet, reconstructing his helmet as he thought. Marse was not on Ickarus’s time, however. He dashed forward, giant legs pumping.

He’s probably not expecting long range, Ickarus thought, deciding on a technique. “Doru doru no Fist Surge!”

A stream of wax launched off of the waxman’s fist and met Marse’s unexpecting face. The force of the punch drove Marse back and Ickarus ditched, diving into the dense jungle.

Ickarus clambered over stray logs and ducked beneath low-hanging vines. He heard dozens of trees fall behind him, no doubt being decimated by the bloodlusted captain.

“Waxhead! Face me, coward!” Marse roared, keeping his eyes on Ickarus’s candle helmet. Marse lost his prey for a split second and could not locate the man again. Ickarus dove from the tree he hid in, and Marse flicked his head up in time for a metal rod to crash into his nose. “GRAAAAAAAH!”

Marse swiped at the pest, meeting the opposing pirate’s midriff and breaking at least three ribs. Ickarus was flung back and folded around a tree before Marse’s sword met his chest.

A powerful swipe sliced the skin open, and it was all Ickarus could do to not throw up. “Wax Body!” Ickarus cried, shielding his neck from the battle-axe blow that met it milliseconds later. Using the momentum from the strike, Ickarus released the block of wax that had protected his neck and slid across the forest before running once more.

Ickarus could hardly breathe right. Blood drenched his torso and coat, his leg felt ready to snap, and something inside of him was being poked in an uncomfortable fashion. Medicine, Ickarus’s primal thoughts focused on what he knew would help him. The tree in the center of the island. Nauplius said they picked all their medicinal herbs off of it. Got…got to get there.

Marse was bearing down upon the weakened pirate, unable to land a blow but gaining speed and distance fast. Ickarus looked back to see the snarling beast hardly ten feet away from him and decided on a course of action.

“Doru doru no Sculpture Army!” the waxman said, shoving the waxy sweat off of his body and forming a dozen false Ickaruses (Ickari? He didn’t know and didn’t have time to decide). All of the wax statues attacked Marse, slowing him down as he sliced through them.

Ickarus applied Wax Footing once more and skirted off in the direction of the tree, putting as much distance between himself and Marse as he could. He sealed off his major wounds with a firm coating of wax, which staunched the bleeding for the near future. Near future will have to do, Ickarus thought grimly.

Hearing Marse’s roars from not far behind, Ickarus sent out another few sculptures and dashed the short distance left to the tree. After what felt like an eternity or more, Ickarus met the base of the tree. Stairs were haphazardly whittled or fastened to the tree.

“WAXHEAD! STOP THERE AND ACCEPT YOUR DEATH!” Marse was a mere thirty meters off. Ickarus coated each step with wet wax as he climbed.

Green mushroom, giant yellow flower, purple onion? Ickarus listed the items he saw on the tree as he went. Marse was gaining still, despite the small, slick stairs.

They were a quarter of the way up from the base of the monstrous tree when Ickarus seized his first piece of vegetation. Four of those weird brown leaves…

He thought he grabbed four, anyway. Kind of hard to count with a murderous demon on his heels. Ickarus could already feel the effects of his wax wound sealant wearing off, and the pain in his leg was reaching astronomical levels. His chest ached and something felt torn inside of him. He kept running.

Two fruits off of this plant.

Pollen off of the big orange flower.

Tree sap. He spotted the last ingredient he needed. A bucket was set underneath a tree tapper (no doubt left for the Torinos to quickly gather) and Ickarus grabbed it. Ickarus almost dashed off to the next flight of stairs before realizing…there was no next flight.

He was three-quarters the way up the tree and Marse was seconds from reaching the final flight. Ickarus wracked his brain as to why the stairs didn’t extend to the top of the tree. Nauplius told me that everything the Torinos use to make medicine comes from this thing. He said…the Masukeredomo Goayu Birds lived on the final fourth.

Cultural practices begone. Ickarus launched globs of wax upwards, creating shaky hand- and foot-holds. He hopped up and latched on, scampering up the unstable wax and trying his hardest to mix together his medicine with whatever hand he could use.

“I see you, you pitiful excuse! If you want to go to the top, then we will go to the top! You will feel failure today!” Marse had reached the final platform. Ickarus gripped the tree firmly as he felt the quake of Marse’s mighty weapons piercing the tree

For every pace up Ickarus made, Marse made two. He would lunge himself up with one handle and stab the tree with the other blade, scaling the tree more quickly than Ickarus could hope to. Even without his medicine he would be screwed.

Ickarus finished mixing the medicine and downed it, slopping what he couldn’t swallow with one gulp over his body. Nauplius had called it a stimulant for energy and health. Ickarus felt his body awaken whilst the medicine slid down his throat and put renewed efforts into climbing.

“GRAAAAAAAH!” Marse launched himself further than before this time, leveling himself with Ickarus. “There ye are, boy!”

The waxman jumped off of his current footholds, but not before Marse’s axe collided with Ickarus’s left arm. Ickarus felt pain unlike he had ever experienced before as the weapon sliced through skin, muscle, and bone.

He couldn’t give up. Not now. What good was he if he couldn’t win? But all he could do was run. Yet he didn’t stop scaling upwards.

With a final push, Ickarus landed in the branches situated underneath the deep foliage that made up the top of the tree. Making a final move, he drug himself up through the leaves and onto the top.

“Wow,” Ickarus coughed, blood leaking out of his mouth and nose. “It’s gorgeous up here. Would be a lot better if I wasn’t on the verge of death, but it is what it is.”

With that, the wax helmet slid off of Ickarus’s head and tumbled hundreds of meters to the forest below. Ickarus felt his body fall backwards and collapse onto the thick treetop.

His vision swam. Blood leaked out from underneath his wound sealants and his arm hung uselessly by his side. Ickarus let out a shuddering breath and waited for Marse.

The treetop shook, and Marse laughed at the broken boy. “Out of yur league, Waxhead-”

“Featherfoot,” Ickarus grunted. “If you’re gonna kill me, at least call me by the epithet I want.”

“As if ye have a choice here,” Marse scoffed. “War isn’t kind, Waxhead. It doesn’t care what we want.”

Ickarus felt blood leak into his lungs. He choked and coughed when breathing. Even if he somehow defeated Marse here, nothing would save him now. Nothing short of a miracle.

Even so, Ickarus couldn’t give up. Even if he had to die, he was going to prove himself to Nauplius. Stubbornly, he mumbled, “Doru doru no…Hot Drench.”

A spurt of warm wax left Ickarus’s bloodied hand and splattered onto Marse’s arm. Marse laughed again. “Cute party trick.” So much for proving myself…

Ickarus saw the axe above his head. His thoughts flew through his life, reminding him of his journey, of his loss, of his mission. No…No! It’s not over! I’m not letting it be over!

He flung himself up, spewing blood, and kicked Marse with all the willpower he could muster. The Warbender Captain stumbled back in shock and pain. “Ye can still stand? Yur dead. Ye should be dead.”

“As it turns out,” Ickarus huffed, “I’m not.”

Help was a necessity. But who? No one could get to him in time, plus Nauplius assumed Ickarus had it covered. The only one who could get to him now was…Pigeon.

Finally swallowing the shards left of his shattered pride, Ickarus shouted in desperation, “KLIORMOOOOOO! I NEED HELP! PLEASE! PL-ARCk-guh-”

Ickarus’s body went limp and he looked down. A length of steel had appeared, forcing itself out of his midriff under his left ribs. Sticky, hot blood soaked the sword. Every time he blinked, it was harder for him to open his eyes again.

“It’s over, Waxhead. I win,” Marse whispered in his ear. “Good riddance, ye poor excuse for a pirate.”

Marse dipped the blade downwards and Ickarus slid down the steel, sent tumbling down the tree. Ickarus could only close his eyes and die now.

Upon landing, the first thing he noticed was that his nose was broken on impact. The ground felt extraordinarily soft and he had the impression that he was gliding through the air. Am…I dead? Ickarus thought.

“GOA!” A squawk in his ear let him know that he was not, in fact, dead just yet.

Ickarus’s eyes flew open, the grey irises lighting up with a small joy. “Pigeon! You…you came to get me.”

A chorus of “Goa”s echoed around Kliormo and Ickarus, and the waxman gazed around him astonished at the sheer amount of the massive birds surrounding the two.

They all swooped upwards, fixing their tired eyes on the treetop where Marse stood seemingly victorious. Amazed, Ickarus spectated from above with Kliormo whilst the Masukeredomo Goayu Birds dove on the self-proclaimed God of War. Marse stumbled, finding it impossible to defend his massive body from the even larger birds.

Ickarus watched Marse make a hasty step on an unstable branch. Ickarus’s final sight was Marse careening off of the mountainous tree to his death before the waxman fell into unconsciousness.

Nauplius Tiphys sighed. The carnage of war will never be pretty. Kliormo had returned with his birds after only a short period of fighting hand-to-hand with the Warbender Pirates. If not for the Masukeredomo Goayu Birds, Nauplius was not of the opinion that Torino Kingdom would have won this battle.

If nothing else, it served as one heck of a workout. Nauplius had never fired that many cannonballs that quickly since his journeys with his final pirate crew.

Nauplius turned his thoughts to the outcome of the fight between Ickarus and Marse. He had only been able to catch a glimpse of the kid racing into the jungle wounded. The Torino continued to survey the damage while considering the waxman’s proposition to him.

Join a crew…Nauplius had been so sure his sea-bound days were over. But then that man—the legendary Captain Gray—declared a “Revival Dawn” of pirates. The itch refused to go away, and Nauplius denied himself the privilege of scratching it. However, now the opportunity had come to him. This prideful upstart whose first words to the Torino were to ask for something for his benefit.

Nauplius Tiphys sighed again. It all hinges on the outcome of the battle between the two captains. If Ickarus was dead, there wasn’t much point in debating with himself, after all.

“GOA! GOA!” Kliormo cawed. The other Masukeredomo Goayu Birds craned their necks to look at their fellow, and he motioned towards the tree. All the birds nodded and took off, bursts of wind exploding from under their mighty wings.

The Torino smiled as he watched the birds go to rest at their home. They deserved it, after all.

What he was not expecting was the mangled body of Ickarus on Kliormo’s back fifteen minutes later.

------

Ickarus Helion should not be alive. He knew that for sure.

Yet here he was, body stiff and laid out delicately on Nauplius’s bed. Ickarus moved his right arm and fingers experimentally. Other than an ache because of prolonged stillness, it felt fine. He found that he could not move his left arm or right leg.

The door opened suddenly, the burning morning sunlight causing Ickarus to flinch.

“Ah,” Nauplius’s deep voice said. “Welcome back, Ickarus. I did not know whether you would survive or not for the past twelve hours. It seems as if my worries were for naught.”

“Nauplius.” Ickarus’s voice was nasty, equivalent to the noise of a ship grating against shallow rocks. “I didn’t win.”

Nauplius cocked an eyebrow. “Hmm? Then why are we here? I was not under the impression that Marse would leave his opposition alive following a battle such as ours.”

Ickarus thought back to the memories before he fell unconscious on Kliormo’s back. “It was Pigeon and his friends. They killed Marse. I almost died.”

“Brrrrruhuhuhuh!” the Torino rumbled. “Almost died is an understatement, Ickarus. You are alive because of some miracle that goes beyond our medical understanding.”

Ickarus sat silently for a moment, realizing how close he had actually been to meeting the Reaper himself. “I didn’t prove myself.”

Nauplius glanced over at the unmoving young man. “You were willing to fight Marse to begin with. No matter what reasoning you had behind your decision to battle the captain, you proved yourself from the moment you told me that you were going to…ah…‘thrash him to hell and back.’”

Ickarus flushed and Nauplius let out his rocky laugh again. After a short moment in silence, Nauplius finished his business in the hut and opened the door again. “Rest well, Ickarus.”

Ickarus was barely able to choke out a “Thanks, Nauplius.”

The last time anyone had cared for him to this degree was when his father was still alive.

------

I can’t believe “Isle of Treasure” was referencing their wealth of knowledge, Ickarus thought, laughing and shaking his head. Under one arm he tightly gripped a heavy set of medicinal books (a gift from the Torinos’ extensive library), as well as a map of the South Blue more detailed than the one he had from Pline Peaks.

By all accounts, moving should be out of the question. Then again, so should being alive right now. Besides, Ickarus didn’t reckon he had time to waste. Getting back onto the sea was the top priority.

Candlelight came into view, still tightly bound to the boulder where Ickarus had left it. He grinned with anticipation and relief. “Wah-yayayayaya! Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

He jumped towards his ship, his injury leaving his mind. Upon landing on the deck, his knees buckled and books spilled out of his arms. He grunted and picked himself up, leg throbbing uncomfortably.

“And what do you think you are doing, Ickarus? I thought I told you to rest.”

Ickarus looked back towards the shore, smiling as he saw the navigator Torino. “Wah-yayaya! Came to see me off?”

Nauplius snorted. “No. I came to drag you back to my hut and force you to heal.”

“Hmm,” Ickarus considered. “How about no? I’ve got places I need to go.”

“Can those places not wait?” Nauplius countered. “You could be wagering your well-being for what, a few days’ time? Is your goal that important?”

The image of a mangled body wrapped in a bull pelt coat plagued the waxman’s mind. “Yes, Nauplius. More important to me than anyone will ever understand.”

Ickarus took a deep breath, calming himself. “But…thank you. A lot. Even though I…failed, you still helped me.”

“Of course I did,” the Torino smiled. “What man would I be if I didn’t?”

“Dunno,” Ickarus said, at a loss for words for one of the only times in his life. A silence stretched between the two. Waves crashed against the mossy rocks that Ickarus had stumbled upon just two days ago.

Breaking the silence, Nauplius trekked towards Candlelight, and the waxman then noticed the cannon over the navigator’s shoulder similar to how he had carried it the previous day. “I don’t need a cannon, Nauplius. Wah-yayayayayaya!”

“Did I ask if you needed a cannon?” he huffed, clambering onto the small vessel. “This is for myself.”

“For…” Ickarus’s jaw dropped. “What? Are-are you gonna be my navigator?”

Nauplius rumbled out another rocky laugh. “Brrrrruhuhuh! That is the idea, yes. I think you have proven yourself to me. Besides, I have been positively aching for the breeze of freedom only a pirate can experience.”

Ickarus continued to stare agape, salty ocean wind blowing against his back. “B-But I didn’t beat Marse! I almost died! I-”

“One,” the Torino interrupted, raising a finger. “You sincerely thanked me, twice. Once in my hut and once right here. Two, you helped care for Kliormo and swallowed your pride to ask for help, learning from your mistakes and accepting the consequences of your actions. Three, you demonstrated courage and strength in luring Marse away from the battle and ultimately aiding in his downfall, even if you nearly perished as a result.”

The waxhead couldn’t trust himself to speak. Nauplius bowed towards Ickarus and made his request. “Ickarus, if you would have me on your ship, I will serve as your navigator.”

Ickarus shook himself, shouting, “Of course, Nauplius! Wah-yayayayayaya!”

Nauplius rose and grinned rambunctiously up at his new captain. Ickarus only laughed once again. The two dashed around Candlelight, preparing to set sail once more. After what seemed like no time at all, Ickarus stood atop the stone which bound his ship to the island.

“Nauplius?” Ickarus asked, uncertainty seeping into his tone, “Are you sure you want to leave with me? What about the other Torinos?”

The navigator only gently smiled. “I would not leave if I was not sure. I told them my intentions before I left town. We are all set to go, Captain. Trust me.”

Caught off guard by the title, Ickarus laughed. “Wah-yayayayayaya! Captain, huh? That’ll take some getting used to.”

“Perhaps,” Nauplius said. “In the meantime…”

The Torino swiftly seized Ickarus by the neck of his coat, lifted the waxman, and stomped him back to the ship and down to the living quarters. Ickarus struggled to get free, beyond confused. He felt his body get thrown forward before bouncing off of his bed.

“Will you please just stay in bed this time? I will set us out for the next island.”

Ickarus smiled and allowed himself to relax, placing his functional arm behind his head and closing his eyes. He drifted to sleep, hearing the footfalls of his navigator as they put out to sea. He thought he could hear Pigeon's obnoxious caws before he succumbed to his weariness.

And thus, Ickarus’s stint at Torino Kingdom concluded, and with it he gained his first crewmate.

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