The keel of the Oro Jackson hissed softly against the cloud sea, a sound like a lover's whisper.
One by one the crew descended the gangway and set foot on the bouncy, springy clouds. The sensation was equal parts wonder and absurdity.
Buggy crouched and poked the fluffy "ground." His finger slid straight through, bringing up a pinch of white fluff. "Hey, Shanks, you sure this stuff can hold people?"
Shanks copied Kael Grylls, gave a little hop, and bounced twice on the cloud sea like a child on a giant trampoline. He burst into delighted giggles.
Kozuki Oden went the furthest. He dove headfirst into the clouds, surfaced sputtering, wiped his face, then whooped with laughter. "Ohhh. The sea up here is not salty."
A grave voice drifted over them.
"Guests from the Blue Sea, welcome to Skypiea, the land of the so-called god."
They looked up. An old man with a long white beard was descending astride a speckled, winged steed. The beast's posture was noble, its eyes comically dim. Up close it looked suspiciously like an oversized duck.
"I am Gan Fall, the 'God' of this island." He touched down. His sky steed tucked its wings and waddled after him with very un-godlike dignity.
"God," Buggy yelped, ducking behind Scopper Gaban.
Roger strode forward without a shred of reverence and thrust out his hand. "Yo. Nice to meet you, God. We are pirates. I am Roger. Thanks for the welcome."
Gan Fall blinked at the man's cheerfully fearless manner, then returned the shake with perfect courtesy. "Pirates are rare guests indeed. If you have reached this place, fate has guided you. Come. Allow me to entertain warriors from afar."
Led by Gan Fall, they entered Angel Island.
The architecture was unlike anything below. Round domes were trimmed with decorative white wings. Most residents had small, downy wings on their backs and peered at the wingless Blue Sea folk with shy curiosity.
What truly dazzled the crew were the island's specialties, the Dials.
"Ohhh, what is this?" Buggy snatched a shell from a stall and hollered into it.
"That is a Tone Dial," the vendor said. He pressed the shell's ridge, and Buggy's shout played back perfectly.
"Neat." Shanks grabbed a stranger-looking shell and blew a lungful of air into it.
"That is a Breath Dial." Before the vendor finished, a hard gust blasted out of the shell's mouth and blew Shanks flat on his back, his red hair becoming a nest.
"Pffft, hahahaha." Buggy doubled over, knocked a rack with his elbow, and a nondescript shell popped into his arms and clenched.
Thump.
An invisible wallop hit Buggy square in the gut. His eyes bulged, his body folded like a shrimp, and foam flecked his lips. "Urgh. Wh-what Dial is that."
"Impact Dial," the vendor said kindly. "Use with caution. The recoil is nasty."
Kael examined an Impact Dial of his own, lids lowering as he felt the pulse within. The principle rhymed with his own power, a purer, more condensed cousin of force and wave.
He set it back thoughtfully. Skypiea's craft was steeped in the language of waves.
That night Gan Fall feasted them on skyfish and cloud greens. After the third round of drinks, Roger angled for stories.
"Gan Fall, I have heard rumors of a city of gold somewhere above these clouds."
Gan Fall set down his cup. His face tightened. "So you know the tale. The golden city of Shandora. It exists, or rather it did, until the Giant Jack drove it into the sky. It lies on the upper layer, on Apayado, the Upper Yard. The warriors of Shandia now hold that ground. They were flung up here four hundred years ago and have fought us ever since to reclaim their home."
"City of gold," Buggy's ears pricked. The green tinge the Impact Dial had given him flushed into a greedy red.
Roger's eyes lit as well, not with hunger but with an explorer's pure thrill. "Shandia warriors. Sounds fun. We are going to Apayado."
Gan Fall looked like he wanted to argue. Roger's gaze said argument was useless. With a sigh, the old knight drew them a route to the upper island.
At dawn the Oro Jackson sailed again, climbing the Giant Jack as if it were a stair to the gods. The vine delivered them onto the vast forested mass of Apayado.
The moment their boots hit solid ground, an old, desolate breath rose to meet them. Unknown beasts roared in the canopy. The air stank sweetly of danger.
"Oi. I can hear something," Roger said, halting.
Rayleigh and Kael went still. They did not hear it, not truly. They felt it. That peculiar aura on Roger's skin was resonating with something deep beneath the earth.
"This way." Roger shoved through the brush, long strides eager.
Hours of hacking later, the jungle fell away.
A city swam into view, so grand it stole their breath.
Shattered walls. Ancient temples. Broad processional streets. All of it cast from gold.
In the sun it burned and dreamt at once, as if they had stumbled into the home of a sun god.
"Ri-riches," Buggy's jaw unhinged wide enough to swallow an Impact Dial. Drool gleamed at the corner of his mouth and his pupils spun into twin beli marks.
"Sugoi," Shanks whispered, stunned dumb.
"Ohhh. So this is the City of Gold," Oden bellowed, elated.
At the city's heart stood a bell tower that scraped the sky. Its lines were austere and solemn. The great golden bell hung quiet and patient, asleep for centuries, waiting for a hand to wake it.
"That one," Buggy squeaked. Greed took him by the throat. His body flew apart into whirling pieces and arrowed toward the bell, knives already between his fingers, angling for the bell's lip.
"I will just nick off the tiniest bit. Just a flake."
"Buggy."
Roger's voice was soft. It doused him like a bucket of ice.
He froze in midair and turned. Roger stood with arms folded and that half smile that meant trouble.
"C-captain, I was only testing its, you know, structural integrity."
"This bell is not just gold." Roger's grin flashed white. "When you have your own crew and your own Jolly Roger and you still cannot forget it, come back and claim it with your own hands."
Buggy stalled. He looked from Roger's face to the massive bell and felt his knives slide back into their sheaths. He drifted down, reassembled, and bent his head without a word.
Shanks walked up and patted his shoulder.
Roger left the apprentices to their own thoughts and circled beneath the bell to a square plinth.
A stone slumped there, carved with ancient characters. It did not belong among the gilded splendor. It felt older than gold, older than ruin. It felt eternal.
A Poneglyph.
Oden stepped close, brushed the cold face with his fingers, and began to read in the script of the Kozuki.
"Fish-Man Island. Poseidon. At her command, the world could be drowned beneath the sea."
The Ancient Weapon, Poseidon.
A hush like the deep rolled over them. The idea of a will that could summon the Sea Kings was myth made threat.
"Kuhahahaha." Roger's laugh cracked the quiet. "So that is the shape of it. Interesting."
No greed. No fear. Only the joy of a child who had found a new clue and the expectation of the road ahead.
He turned to Oden, and all the humor left his eyes.
"Oden."
"Oh. Right here," Oden snapped straight.
"Carve this too." Roger pointed to the bare stone beside the Poneglyph and spoke each word like a vow. "In the characters of your house."
"We came here and guided this text to its end. Pirate, Gol D. Roger."
It was not a note so much as a proclamation pitched across time. A challenge and a signpost for the one who would come this far and read this truth.
Oden's breath thickened. He could feel the force inside that sentence, enough to shake an era.
He nodded hard, drew his blade, and used steel for pen, scoring the immortal stone stroke by stroke.
Clink. Clink.
The crisp bite of metal on rock rang through the silent City of Gold like the first turn of history's wheel.
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