By the third sunrise, the island was unrecognizable — trees splintered, the earth scarred, and both crews battered but standing.
For the first time since the storm began, the sea was quiet. No more cannon fire. No more shouting. Only the low hum of waves licking the torn shore, and the heavy breathing of men who had given everything.
The island looked as if it had survived a god's wrath—craters, burning trees, and deep fissures running across the sand where Haki had split the world apart.
Roger stood in the center of it all, battered and bruised, but still smiling that unbreakable smile. His cape was torn, his chest streaked with blood and dust.
Whitebeard faced him, naginata planted into the ground for balance, the tide washing over his boots. The great pirate's laughter echoed faintly, a deep, exhausted rumble.
Between them lay silence thick with respect.
Whitebeard and Roger sat facing each other on the shore, weapons stabbed into the ground between them. Both were grinning like children who'd just found a new game.
Rayleigh and Marco nursed bruises nearby, while Gaban and Oden shared sake, laughing through the pain.
Ada stood off to the side, cleaning her gun, the crimson morning light glinting off the barrel.
Roger was the first to speak, his voice hoarse but steady.
"Newgate… there's something I want to show you."
Whitebeard raised an eyebrow. "After three days of trying to kill each other, now you want to talk?"
Roger laughed softly. "That's exactly why. There's no one else alive who'd understand."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn sheet of paper—a Poneglyph rubbing, marked with ancient glyphs. The symbols gleamed faintly under the light.
Oden stepped forward, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Those symbols… that's the ancient script! I can read them!"
Roger looked towards Oden. "Oden," he said, voice steady but warm. "Can you really read the Poneglyphs?"
Oden looked up, surprised. "You… you know about them?"
Roger nodded. "We saw one. A red stone. Deep in Elbaf. And there are others. Four, to be exact."
He knelt, spreading several rubbings across the broken ground. Lines of strange characters connected in rough patterns. He traced his finger across them, eyes gleaming with a feverish joy.
"There are four of these stones," Roger said. "Four that lead to the greatest treasure in the world. When you line them up… they point to a single, hidden island. One that the world doesn't even know exists."
Whitebeard crossed his arms, his gaze wary. "And you think this island holds treasure?"
Roger looked up at him, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Treasure? Maybe. Or something far greater."
He leaned forward, eyes blazing with excitement. "They lead somewhere — a hidden island that connects them all. If someone could piece them together, they'd find it."
Whitebeard frowned. "Find what?"
Roger smiled faintly, eyes distant — full of wonder. "The end of the world."
He looked back at Oden, that familiar spark of madness in his eyes. "I want to reach it. I want to see what lies beyond. If we do… we'll be the greatest pirate crew in history."
Whitebeard chuckled, shaking his head. "You're still chasing nonsense, Roger."
"Maybe," Roger said, his tone softening. "But there's something waiting there. Something the world isn't ready for."
He paused then, his expression shifting. The laughter faded. The grin softened.
And then—he spoke his dream.
The words hung in the air, unheard by the waves, unseen by history. Only those standing there would ever know what he said.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then Roger's grin softened. "That's my dream…"
His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
The others couldn't hear — only Oden, Ada, and Whitebeard caught fragments of it.
Their eyes widened — first in disbelief, then in something deeper.
And then they smiled.
Whitebeard blinked once, then barked out a deep, rolling laugh that echoed across the island. "GURARARARARA! You fool… You actually mean it."
Oden's eyes widened in disbelief, his face lighting with pure, childlike wonder.
Rayleigh turned away, smiling faintly. Ada's breath caught—she hadn't expected Roger's dream to sound so impossible, so beautifully foolish. It was the kind of dream only a man like him could have.
For a moment, even she wanted to believe it.
Roger laughed too, head thrown back. "I know, I know—it's stupid. But when I think about it, I can't stop laughing."
Ada looked down, hiding her smile. "You really are hopeless."
Whitebeard smirked, crossing his massive arms. "You've lost it, Roger. Completely."
"Maybe." Roger turned toward him again, expression suddenly serious. "That's why I'm here. I need Oden."
The laughter died instantly.
The entire shore went still.
Whitebeard's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"
Roger inhaled deeply, then stepped forward and—to everyone's shock—he bowed.
Gol D. Roger, bending the knee before his greatest rival.
Ada's eyes widened. Even Whitebeard froze, staring down at him as if unsure what he was seeing.
"Please," Roger said. "Just for one year. Let Oden sail with me. I need him to read the stones, to reach the final island."
From below, Gaban shouted in disbelief, "Captain! Stop that already!"
Rayleigh's voice followed, low and stunned. "Roger… you…"
Shanks' jaw dropped. Buggy's scream was half-choked disbelief.
"CAPTAIN! You're bowing?!" Buggy shrieked.
Behind Whitebeard, his commanders murmured in disbelief. Marco's jaw dropped. Jozu blinked, unable to speak.
"Oi! Stop that, it's embarrassing!" Oden roared, torn between pride and panic. "You don't need to bow for me!"
Whitebeard's hand tightened around the shaft of his naginata. The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly under his strength.
"You dare…" His voice was deep, low, rumbling like distant thunder. "…ask me to give up my brother?"
Roger didn't lift his head. The ocean wind howled past them, carrying the weight of that question into the horizon.
For a long moment, no one dared to breathe.
Ada stepped forward slightly, eyes glinting with something between awe and sorrow.
She had seen kings, conquerors, monsters—but never this.
Not even Rocks D. Xebec, in all his madness, would have bowed to another man.
And yet Roger did—without hesitation, without shame.
That's why he's different, she thought. That's why he'll find what Rocks never could.
Roger didn't lift his head. "I'll take care of him. I swear it. When the year ends, I'll return him to you alive. You have my word."
The wind howled through the silence, carrying the smell of the sea.
Ada watched from the edge of the clearing, her chest heavy. She had seen men kneel before Rocks out of fear. But Roger… Roger bowed out of respect. Out of love for the sea and its mysteries.
"Whitebeard," he said firmly, "please. Lend me Oden for one year. Just one. I need him to read the Poneglyphs — to reach that final island."
Roger didn't move. His head stayed bowed. "Please."
Whitebeard stared at him — at the man who had never bowed to anyone. Slowly, his expression softened into something between amusement and sadness.
Finally, Whitebeard sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "You always were a stubborn fool, Roger."
Roger lifted his head, smiling. "That's what makes me charming."
The tension cracked. Laughter rippled faintly across the wreckage.
Whitebeard shook his head, glancing at Oden. "It's your choice, Oden. I won't chain you."
Oden looked between them, heart pounding. "Then… I'll go."
Whitebeard grunted, clearly unhappy but not surprised. "Hmph. I knew you would."
Oden smiled — bright, unshakable. "I'll come back, I promise. But there's something about Roger… something that feels like fate."
Whitebeard stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "…You've got that same fire in your eyes that I once had."
He looked at Roger and smirked. "Fine. One year. But if he doesn't come back—"
Roger grinned. "Then you can chase me to the ends of the sea."
Whitebeard's booming laughter echoed across the waves. "GURARARARARA! You're damn right I will!"
Roger laughed, clapping his hands. "Then it's settled!"
Ada exhaled softly, eyes on the rising sun. "Another page in history turns."
—————-
By afternoon, the ships were being repaired. The fighting was over. The air still carried the echoes of battle, but the men laughed together now—Roger's crew and Whitebeard's side by side, trading food and stories as if they hadn't tried to kill each other hours before.
Ada sat on a fallen mast near the shore, reloading her gun. The sea breeze tugged gently at her hair.
"Never thought I'd see you smile," Rayleigh said, walking up beside her.
"I wasn't."
He chuckled. "You were. A little."
Ada's eyes softened as she looked out at the horizon. "He's going to reach that island, isn't he?"
Rayleigh followed her gaze. Roger stood in the distance, laughing with Shanks and Oden, his voice full of life despite the blood and bruises.
"He will," Rayleigh said quietly. "Even if it kills him."
Ada didn't reply. She simply holstered her weapon and stood, brushing off the dust.
"Then I'll make sure he gets there," she said, more to herself than to him.
Rayleigh smiled faintly. "That's what I thought you'd say."
—————
The next morning.
The battlefield was gone, washed clean by the tide.
The smell of salt and smoke still hung in the air, but laughter now drifted where cannon fire once thundered.
The Oro Jackson bobbed gently beside the Moby Dick, its patched sails fluttering in the breeze.
Men from both crews crossed the gangplanks, hauling crates and barrels between ships.
But this time—
they weren't trading blows.
They were trading treasure.
"Oi! Careful with that chest!" Shanks shouted, nearly tripping over a golden crown rolling across the deck.
Buggy dove after it immediately. "Treasure! Mine—uh, I mean, for the great Whitebeard Pirates!"
The Whitebeard crew roared with laughter as chests of gold, pearls, and ancient coins clinked and thudded onto their deck.
Rayleigh closed another crate, smirking. "Roger's really unloading the whole haul. Didn't think I'd see the day."
Roger crossed his arms, grinning wide. "Can't be helped, Rayleigh! I'm borrowing Oden. It's only fair I pay the rent!"
His laughter rolled across the sea—bright, careless, impossible not to follow.
Nearby, Whitebeard's men stared in disbelief as the treasure kept piling up.
"Pops Roger really gave us this much?" Marco muttered, blinking at the glittering heap.
"Even food!" Thatch said, pointing to barrels of preserved meat, bread, and fruit. "He's got enough rations here to feed a fleet!"
Ada watched quietly from the railing, arms folded. The morning light painted the water gold beneath her boots.
Roger's generosity was boundless, reckless—but sincere.
"Leave them with enough to sail for months," Roger said. "And the rest—consider it thanks for not killing us."
But then, as the crates of food were rolled over, something in his expression shifted. His gaze hardened.
"Oi!"
The command boomed across both ships like thunder.
Everyone froze.
"Take the food back," Whitebeard barked. His voice rumbled deep enough to shake the mast. "I won't have my brother's family starving because of me!"
Oden flinched from the Moby Dick's rail. "Shiroki-Chan—!"
Whitebeard turned away sharply, scowling but his tone softer beneath the growl. "You've got a wife and kids now. I'll not be the reason they go hungry."
His men hesitated. Marco frowned. "But Pops—"
"I said give it back!"
The Whitebeard Pirates moved immediately, returning every sack and barrel to the Oro Jackson, muttering in disbelief but obeying their captain's word.
Roger only smiled, shaking his head. "You really don't make it easy to repay a debt, do you?"
Whitebeard grunted. "Keep your food. You'll need it where you're going."
Roger stepped forward, hand resting on Ace's hilt. "Newgate… thank you. For everything."
Whitebeard folded his arms, looking down at him with a small grin. "Don't make me regret it, Roger. Oden better come back in one piece."
Roger laughed. "You'll see him again soon enough."
Behind him, Oden stood proudly, his family waving from the distance. Toki's smile was bittersweet, Momo's laughter faint but bright on the wind.
Ada approached then, her heels clicking softly against the wooden planks.
The sea breeze tugged at her hair as she stopped before Whitebeard.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Whitebeard rumbled, "So, you're still following this fool, huh?"
Ada smiled faintly. "Someone has to make sure he doesn't blow himself up before he finds that island."
Whitebeard's deep chuckle echoed like an old drum. "Gurararara… still the same as back then."
His eyes softened. "You've changed though."
She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"You've learned what it means to protect, not just to conquer." His tone was gentle, respectful. "
Ada's expression grew distant, the shadow of old memories flickering behind his eyes. "Hmph. Maybe. That fool of a captain left us all chasing ghosts."
Whitebear tilted his head, voice quiet. "Some ghosts are worth chasing."
For a brief moment, the two veterans of God Valley stood in silence—their shared past, their scars, their regrets all suspended in the salt air.
Then, Whitebeard extended his massive hand.
Ada hesitated only a heartbeat before taking it. Her fingers disappeared into his palm, his strength steady and grounding.
"Take care of yourself, little vice-captain," Whitebeard said. "You've still got the sea's storm in your eyes."
She smiled. "And you still sound like an old wave trying not to crash."
"Gurararara!" His laughter thundered across the water.
Ada turned to leave, but paused and looked back. "If we don't see each other again—thank you. For letting him go."
Whitebeard's grin softened. "Just make sure he finds whatever he's looking for."
She nodded once. "He will."
——————-
The last ropes were cast off.
The Oro Jackson's sails unfurled with a snap—FWOOOOSH!—catching the rising wind.
Roger turned toward Ada, his expression soft. "Looks like our next voyage just got a lot more interesting."
Ada smiled faintly, the wind catching her hair. "When is it not?"
Roger stood at the bow, cape fluttering, laughter booming across the waves.
"Alright, men! Next stop—the Grand line!"
The crew roared in answer, voices rising with the sea.
On the Moby Dick, the Whitebeard Pirates raised their cups in salute.
Whitebeard watched silently, the faintest smile on his lips. "Go on then, Roger. Show the world what a pirate's freedom really means."
Ada stood at the stern, gazing back as the ship drifted apart from its twin. The space between them grew wider, the wind carrying the echoes of laughter, the scent of salt, the weight of history.
She lifted a hand in farewell.
Across the waves, Whitebeard raised his bisento high, the sunlight flashing along its blade like a promise.
The two veterans held each other's gaze one last time—then turned away.
The Oro Jackson sailed into the horizon, its figurehead gleaming beneath the morning sun.
Behind them, the Moby Dick stood anchored in calm waters, treasure glittering at her feet, and a family watching their brothers depart.
The sea was silent—then the wind whispered through the sails.
BOOOOOOM!
A single cannon fired into the sky, a salute of respect and farewell.
And for a heartbeat, even the ocean seemed to bow.