The storm over Baltigo had not yet broken, but the sky churned like a warning.
Thunder rumbled faintly across the horizon as the Revolution's stronghold prepared for another long night of coded messages, maps, and quiet rebellion.
Inside the command hall, the lanterns burned low. Only a handful of officers remained awake — filing reports, murmuring strategies, and tracing the red lines that stretched across the world's maps.
At the center table stood Dragon.
He was still as stone, his cloak draped loosely around him, the hood casting a shadow over his sharp eyes. He had not moved for some time — simply staring at the map of the seas, his gloved hand resting on the edge of the parchment.
The faint flicker of lightning lit the side of his face, tracing the tattoo like a mark of destiny.
Ivankov's voice broke the silence, flamboyant but unusually cautious.
"Oi, Dragon~ you've been starin' at that map for hours, honey. Even I can tell somethin's twistin' in that head of yours."
Dragon didn't look up. "Just thinking."
"Mm-hm~," Ivankov drawled, tapping a painted nail against the table. "Every time you say that, you disappear for weeks. Where'd you go last time, anyway? Some sayin' you met a ghost~."
Dragon's gaze remained fixed on the map, but the faintest flicker of a smile crossed his lips. "Maybe I did."
Ivankov leaned in, smirking. "You're terrible at lyin', darling."
The silence that followed was tense, yet strangely calm — the kind that comes before a truth no one is ready to name.
Finally, Dragon spoke, voice low and measured. "I'll be gone again. For a while."
That made Ivankov blink. "Gone? Again? Honey, you just came back from vanishing into thin air! What could be so important that even you need to leave the fight?"
Dragon finally looked up, eyes sharp but not cold. "You'll manage in my absence. I trust you."
Ivankov crossed their arms, still wearing that half-grin, though their eyes searched his expression for something more. "You trust me, sure~ but this ain't like you, sugar. You're actin' like a man who found somethin' worth keepin'."
Dragon's eyes narrowed faintly — not in anger, but in warning. "Some things don't concern the army."
Ivankov froze for a beat, then raised both hands dramatically. "Alright, alright~ I get it. Secret business~ hush-hush. You've got that look that says 'ask again and die,' hm?"
Dragon turned away from the table, the heavy fabric of his cloak whispering across the stone floor.
Outside, a gust of wind swept through the open hall, scattering papers like fallen leaves.
He stopped at the doorway.
"Ivankov," he said quietly.
The Newkama paused mid-sashay. "Mm?"
Dragon's tone softened — just slightly. "If anything happens to me, keep the army moving. The world won't wait."
Ivankov tilted their head, a rare seriousness slipping through the paint and bravado. "You're plannin' somethin' dangerous, aren't ya?"
Dragon didn't answer directly. Instead, he said, "The tides are changing. What we do next will decide everything."
He stepped out into the wind, the stormlight glinting off his hair as he lifted his hood.
Ivankov called out, voice carrying a strange mix of humor and worry.
"Oi, sugar! Don't go gettin' yourself killed before the Revolution even starts~!"
Dragon stopped, half-turned, and gave a faint smile — the kind that carried more weight than words.
"I don't plan on dying," he said. "Not yet."
And then he was gone — swallowed by the rain and the storm, leaving only the echo of his footsteps behind.
Ivankov stood in the doorway for a long time after, watching the darkness where he'd vanished.
Their painted lips curved into a soft, knowing smirk.
"Whatever you're hidin', darling," they murmured, "it must be somethin' worth fightin' for~."
————————-
The island lay deep within the New World's shadowed reaches — nameless, unmarked, forgotten by maps and men.
Waves rolled against its cliffs with a slow, rhythmic pulse, like the steady heartbeat of something ancient.
Above it, the moon hung pale and heavy.
And beneath that light, in a weather-worn house of stone and timber, Ada sat by the open window — silent, waiting.
The sea breeze tugged gently at her hair, black strands catching the glow of moonlight. Her hand rested unconsciously over her abdomen, where new life quietly stirred.
She hadn't told anyone. Not Mihawk, not Bullet, not a soul from her crew.
To the world, she was still the Emperor of the Sea, a name whispered with both awe and dread.
But here, tonight, she was something else entirely — a woman torn between destiny and desire.
The den-den mushi on her table blinked once, its sleepy eyes half-lidded.
Then it rang.
A voice — low, calm, and unmistakable — came through the static.
"…It's me."
Ada didn't even flinch. Her fingers brushed the shell of the snail, and for a moment, neither spoke.
Then she smiled — faint, wistful.
"You always call when the wind changes."
Dragon's voice carried that same calm gravity, but there was something softer in it now.
"I told you I would find you again."
"You always do," she replied, eyes drifting toward the dark horizon. "But not without reason. What happened?"
A pause.
Then. "I'm coming."
The den-den mushi clicked off.
Ada exhaled slowly, her heartbeat quickening despite herself. She set the snail down and rose to her feet, her long coat brushing the wooden floor as she crossed the room.
Outside, the sea was restless — waves crashing harder, foam glittering like fractured starlight.
She could sense it, even before she saw it: a ripple in the air, a disturbance in the flow of life that only Haki could feel.
He was close.
Ada stepped outside, barefoot on the cool earth.
The scent of rain lingered faintly in the wind. She tilted her head back, eyes narrowing as she scanned the distant line of clouds.
"Dragon…" she murmured. "You always come when the world starts to shift."
She thought back to the last time she'd seen him — two years ago, beneath another storm.
Their paths had crossed too many times since — secret meetings across seas, fleeting hours spent in quiet conversation.
Each time, their words had grown softer, their silences longer.
She remembered the night they'd stopped talking altogether — when words no longer felt necessary.
The memory made her chest tighten. Not with regret — but with something heavier. Something alive.
She turned toward the small mirror resting on her desk. Her reflection stared back — composed, but weary.
The faintest curve of her stomach had begun to show, just enough to catch her attention if she looked too long.
Her hand hovered over it once more.
A strange mixture of strength and fear flickered across her face.
Strength — because she was Nyx D. Ada the woman who split seas and defied gods.
Fear — because for the first time, she was carrying something she couldn't protect with just power alone.
A flash of lightning broke the horizon.
Thunder followed — distant, but drawing nearer.
She looked out toward the sea again.
He was coming.
For a moment, her hardened mask slipped.
The cold, commanding Emperor of the Sea was gone — and in her place stood a woman whose heart still remembered what it was to love, and to wait.
Minutes later, the storm broke.
Wind howled through the cliffs, and rain began to fall in sheets that hissed against the sand.
In the flashes of lightning, she could see it — a small ship cutting through the waves, flying no flag, bearing no name.
Her lips parted slightly.
So he came alone.
She stepped forward, rain soaking through her coat, her hair clinging to her face.
The waves rose higher now, crashing against the rocks as if to welcome or challenge him.
When the figure finally appeared through the storm, cloaked and silent, she didn't need to see his face to know.
He moved with the same quiet certainty as the wind — steady, patient, unyielding.
Ada's voice carried softly through the storm.
"You never were one for subtle entrances."
Dragon stopped a few paces away, rain dripping from his hood. For a long moment, neither of them spoke — the sound of thunder filling the silence between them.
Then, finally, he looked up.
Their eyes met — two storms colliding in silence.
She studied him — the faint weariness beneath his calm, the way the rain clung to his shoulders, the quiet intensity in his gaze.
He hadn't changed much.
But his presence still filled the world around him like a tide that refused to recede.
Ada's voice softened. "You came."
Dragon nodded once. "I had to."
Lightning flashed behind them, painting the cliffs white for an instant.
Ada took a slow breath, her hand still resting over her stomach.
She didn't speak — not yet.
There were words waiting to be said, truths that couldn't be hidden much longer.
But for that brief moment, she let the silence linger — heavy, familiar, and strangely comforting.
Two people who had defied fate, standing once again on the edge of the storm.
And for the first time in a long time, Ada allowed herself to whisper — barely audible beneath the wind:
"You're late."
Dragon's lips curved faintly, just enough for her to see it through the rain.
"Then let's not waste any more time."