Four days later.
Today was the day of Choosing Ritual. Almost all the dryads gathered at the base of the Heartwood Spire, the ancestral tree of the dryad people.
Close to the tree trunk, more then ten young female dryad were standing in line, waiting for the nine tribe leaders to start the Choosing Ritual.
"Listen," one of the leader, Makira, said, "This ritual is to choose the next Mother Root."
The leader briefed the young dryads on the Mother Root tasks—navigating the whole Arboria island, so that it can move location, and avoiding detection from World Government and pirates.
He then said, "Now, I will call one by one of you to go through the Choosing Ritual. If there is a reaction from the tree, then you will be the next Mother Root."
A hush fell over the assembled dryads, the leaves of the great Spire trembling slightly in the sudden silence.
"First," the leader proclaimed, his voice echoing in the natural amphitheater of the tree base, "Saria."
A young dryad with hair like spun-gold leaves stepped forward nervously.
"Place your palm on the bark." Makira said.
She walked toward the Heartwood Spire and placed her palms flat against the ancient, gnarled bark. All the nine leaders then acted in unison, chanting some ancient lyrical, while holding their staff over the young dryad.
The onlookers held their breath. They waited. A minute passed. However, the tree remained dormant. Saria's shoulders slumped, and she stepped back, her disappointment evident but accepted.
"Next, Leafra."
Another girl stepped up. She pressed her hands to the bark, closed her eyes, and whispered an ancient prayer. Similar to Saria, the nine leaders also chanted for her.
Then, a small collective sigh went through the crowd when nothing happened.
One by one, the young dryads attempted the ritual, each one hoping to feel the surge of the Mother Root's consciousness, each one ultimately disappointed as the Heartwood gave no sign. The line dwindled.
Finally, only one young dryad remained: Solen.
The clearing fell into a quiet hush as all eyes turned to her.
Solen was different from the others. She had a voice unlike any other—a voice that carried the breath of spring itself. When she sang, flowers bloomed even in dry soil, and vines twirled with joy in rhythm to her melodies. It was seen as a rare gift by her people, a sign of something deeper. Some whispered she was born with a piece of the island's soul nestled in her voice.
"Solen," the leader, Makira, called out gently, his tone lined with a mix of reverence and hesitation.
With quiet steps, Solen walked forward, her feet barely making a sound on the living wood path. She approached the base of the towering Heartwood Spire—its ancient trunk wide and firm, textured with centuries of memory. Reaching out, she placed her palm upon its surface.
Unlike the others before her, Solen did not tremble. There was no hesitation in her movement. Only a quiet, sincere curiosity and calm respect flowed from her.
And then, she felt it.
It wasn't a jolt or a flash. It was something deeper—a slow, rising warmth that began in her fingertips and traveled steadily up her arms, through her chest, and into the very center of her being. Her breath caught softly. This was no ordinary tree. What stirred inside was ancient, rooted in layers of time older than any story. She could feel it watching, listening… awakening.
The very soul of the island—the Heartwood—was responding to her.
A soft, gentle glow began to shimmer beneath her hands. Green light pulsed softly from the bark, and the light slowly crept upward, spiraling along the trunk, illuminating the ancient veins of the tree. The canopy above responded, its leaves lighting up in a cascade of bioluminescent waves, as if the forest itself was exhaling.
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered dryads.
Then, before their stunned eyes, the bark near Solen shifted and moved. A branch extended from the Spire—graceful and smooth. It reached toward her, curling gently around her head. The wood reshaped itself into an elegant, natural crown, blooming faintly with tiny white flowers. It rested softly upon her brow.
Makira's eyes widened in awe, and he instinctively dropped into a bow, pressing his palm to the ground. Others followed, kneeling with reverence.
"The Spire has chosen," Makira announced, his voice thick with emotion. "All hail, the next Mother Root: Solen—"
Before he could finish, a sound like rushing wind swept through the air.
Two more branches burst forth from the Heartwood, extending with unnatural speed and purpose. Gasps erupted across the clearing as the branches reached far beyond Solen—twisting gently through the crowd and curving in opposite directions.
One reached the small, wide-eyed Chloris.
The other reached the bewildered Zoan dryad user—Cora.
The branches gently coiled around the two and pulled them forward, lifting them softly off the ground and setting them beside Solen at the base of the Spire. Before either could react, the wood molded again—forming two more crowns, different in shape but equally beautiful—and placed them gently upon their heads.
An overwhelming silence fell.
Eyes widened. Mouths fell open.
"This… This can't be," one of the younger leaders stammered, rising halfway to his feet. "The tree is choosing more than one?"
"It has never happened before!" a tribe elder whispered, almost breathless.
"Three Mother Roots? That's…" another trailed off, unable to even finish.
Makira stood frozen, trying to process what he had just witnessed. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. Then he slowly turned his gaze upward, toward the glowing tree. There was no more movement. The branches had stilled. The light now simply glowed faintly, peacefully.
He exhaled and stepped forward, lifting both hands.
"…All hail the three new Mother Roots," he declared at last, voice clear and filled with wonder.
Though still stunned, the dryads obeyed. One by one, they lowered their heads, bending their knees in reverent bows toward the three newly appointed Mother Roots. The forest, once still, now whispered with awe.
In the distance, Zino and his crew stood at the edge of the gathering, their eyes fixed on the glowing Heartwood Spire. They had watched the Choosing Ritual unfold with growing astonishment, but the latest turn of events had left them completely speechless.
None of them had expected Chloris to be chosen.
Even more shocking was the tree's selection of Cora—their ship, who had only recently gained her dryad form through a Devil Fruit.
"A dryad Zoan ability is… valid?" Stev asked, blinking in disbelief. "I thought only pure-blooded dryads could be chosen."
"Unbelievable," Binko muttered, scratching his head. "This might be the first time in history. I mean, she was a ship a few days ago."
Zino's arms were crossed, his eyes still fixed on the three glowing figures near the base of the Heartwood. He was shocked too, but there was something else in his expression—pride. His crew had just been acknowledged by the most sacred force on this island. That meant power. Influence. Recognition.
So, the tree has acknowledged them… That means my crew holds weight even in Arboria, he thought. A corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. Perhaps it's time I plant my flag here too.
Beside him, Kaya frowned slightly. "If they've been chosen… will they be forced to stay?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Does this mean we're leaving them behind?"
Zino didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Chloris, her expression unreadable as she stood beside Solen and Cora. Then he turned to look at Cora—so new to her form, and yet already chosen by this ancient force.
"...Let's wait until the ritual ends," he said finally. "We'll see what happens after that."
The ceremony continued, now more solemn than ever. The nine tribe leaders encircled the three chosen ones, their voices rising in a lyrical, harmonic chant that seemed to resonate with the very roots of the earth.
The Heartwood responded.
Its massive branches shimmered with soft green light, and that light slowly descended, wrapping around Solen, Chloris, and Cora like flowing rivers of energy. Their feet rose slightly from the ground as the glow seeped into their bodies. For a moment, they looked like beings from another realm—more spirit than flesh.
The chanting continued for nearly an hour, a sacred rhythm carrying through the air.
Then, slowly, the light began to fade. The floating girls gently descended back to the earth, now holding green, translucent spheres in their palms—each orb pulsing faintly, alive with natural energy. They were the symbol of their title. The living proof that they had been chosen.
It was done.
The ritual had ended.
The gathered dryads began to bow once more before dispersing, their faces filled with awe and hushed excitement. The leaders carefully guided the three new Mother Roots toward the spiral staircase that wrapped around the Heartwood Spire, climbing upward into its sacred depths.
Zino and the rest of the Orcas watched in silence as their crewmates were led away by the dryad elders.
No one said a word. They stood there for a long moment, unmoving.
Then, slowly and without another word, they turned and began to walk away from the Heartwood clearing. The glow of the ancient tree faded behind them, and the hum of the ritual was replaced by the quiet crunch of their boots on the mossy ground.
"So… what now?" Stev asked at last, breaking the silence. "Do we sail without them?"
Binko raised a brow. "Did you forget something important? Our ship was one of the ones chosen. How are we supposed to sail anywhere without a ship?"
"Oh… right." Stev scratched the back of his head. "Well… Captain still has a bunch of ships in his system storage, right? We could just use one of them. Like the Ardent Gale. Or maybe one of those warships he collected in Sabaody before we left."
Binko blinked. "That's… actually not a bad idea." He sounded surprised by his own agreement.
Zino, who had been walking in silence at the front, finally stopped. His eyes were focused ahead, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Now that Silent Orca—no, Cora—had gained a humanoid form, she could no longer function as a traditional ship. She had become something more. Someone.
Using her again as a vessel didn't feel right.
After a long pause, Zino spoke, his voice low but firm. "No… We're not going to use any of those ship."
Everyone looked at him.
"We'll build a new one," Zino said. "From scratch. The hardest, and strongest warship in the world."
Binko raised a brow. "A warship? You serious?"
Zino turned to face Binko and Hibari. "You two. I want you to design it. Help me create something this world has never seen before."
Hibari blinked, caught off guard. "Captain… a warship of that scale isn't something we can just sketch out. It would need rare materials. Strong wood. Reinforcements. We're talking months—maybe more."
"Don't worry about the materials or the costs," Zino replied. "Just focus on the design. I'll handle the rest."
Hibari looked at Binko, then back at Zino, before slowly nodding. "As you wish, Captain."
"Oh, and one more thing," Zino added. "Base the design on Silent Orca's original form. Something that still reminds us of her… but bigger. Stronger. Use creatures from the whale family as inspiration."
Binko blinked. "Whales? Like… sea beasts?"
"Anything that rules the sea," Zino said. "We want this ship to look like it belongs there. A beast among ships."
"That'll require some research," Hibari said, already mentally drafting ideas. "We need to study the structure of different sea kings and their shapes. If we want this to be a blend of biology and engineering, we'll have to make it seamless."
"I know you can handle it," Zino said with a nod. "I'm trusting you both."
With that, he turned and walked off toward the denser parts of the island. Without hesitation, Crocodile fell into step behind him, his coat billowing slightly as he moved.
"Where are they going?" Nami asked, frowning as she watched the two vanish between the trees.
"Probably to start gathering materials," Stev guessed. "Or maybe something else entirely. Who knows with those two?"
The rest of the crew exchanged glances. There was nothing else to do now but return to their temporary housing on the outskirts of the dryad village.