The world before him was a masterpiece painted in blue. A tranquil, endless sea stretched to a horizon that bled seamlessly into the deep, magnificent sapphire of the sky. Here, where the heavens met the water, there was no edge, only infinity. A gentle sea breeze, tasting of salt and distant lands, ghosted past him, lifting the black-as-ink strands of hair that fell across his cheeks. His long hair, a stark banner against the endless blue, cascaded down his back, unbound.
He had eyes the color of polished obsidian, holding a stillness that mirrored the great, silent lakes of the world—a depth that seemed to draw in the light and give nothing back but a profound, unsettling calm. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of peace, closing his eyes to better savor the wind's caress and the faint, clean scent of the ocean. It was a perfect, fragile moment.
And it was a lie.
The serenity shattered against the rocks of his mind, and his brow furrowed. This quiet life, this idyllic peace, was nothing more than borrowed time. A clock was ticking somewhere in the heart of the world, and he could feel each second vibrate through the soles of his feet. Soon, the sky would burn, and the sea would boil.
His name was Riven, and he did not belong here. A month. It had taken a full month of waking in a cold sweat, of staring at hands that were not his own, to even begin to accept his new reality. He was now an orphan, the forgotten son of a historian on an island that the world would soon try to forget.
This island was Ohara.
To the great powers of the world, it was an insignificant dot in the West Blue. But to those who sought truth, it was a holy land. Ohara was home to the Tree of Knowledge, the largest and most complete library in the world, a living cathedral of history tended by the finest archaeologists and scholars the age had ever known.
Yes, Riven had been ripped from his world and thrown into the story of One Piece. And Ohara, the sacred ground of archaeology, was the home of Nico Robin—a place already standing in the shadow of its own grave. As a devotee of the epic in his past life, he knew. The countdown had already begun. The arrival of a giant, washed ashore on the far side of the island three days ago, was the tolling of the bell. The Buster Call was no longer a question of if, but when. And the answer was soon.
"Riven! Riven! Guess who!"
The sudden warmth of small hands covering his eyes was a stark contrast to the cold dread coiling in his gut. They were soft, cool, and smelled faintly of wildflowers and old paper. A scent unique to her.
A genuine smile touched his lips, a rare and precious thing these days. "Robin," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "Who else could it be?" He gently took hold of her small wrists, her skin impossibly delicate, and lowered her hands. He turned, his gaze meeting hers.
Before him stood the girl who would one day become the 'Devil Child', a lone survivor haunted by the ashes of her world. But now, she was just Robin. Eight years old, the same as him, with wide, curious eyes and a shy smile that held none of the sorrow that was to come. Their lives were tragically similar—orphans in all but name. Robin's mother, Nico Olvia, had sailed away when she was a toddler, a ghost on the seas. Riven, on the other hand, had no memory of his parents at all, only the phantom ache of a life he'd lived before.
"Hey! Let go of my hands, Riven!" Robin's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a stark contrast to her usual quiet composure. She looked away, a hint of a pout on her lips.
He didn't let go. Instead, a playful, teasing light entered his dark eyes. It felt good to pretend, just for a second, that they were only children. That the world wasn't about to end. "Oh? Little Robin, are you already old enough to be shy?" he chuckled.
"I am not!" she retorted, though the blush deepened. She pulled her hands free, then straightened her dress, adopting the posture of a serious scholar. The quick shift was so quintessentially herthat Riven's heart ached.
"Riven! Let's go see the giant today!" she said, quickly changing the subject, her eyes bright with excitement.
"The giant… you mean Saul?" The name felt heavy on his tongue, a piece of a prophecy he wished he could forget.
"Mhm! Mhm!" Robin nodded eagerly, her dark hair bouncing. It was clear how much she enjoyed their time with the massive man they'd found.
But for Riven, the mention of the giant was like a phantom limb's ache. It brought the future rushing back in, cold and sharp. He, the transmigrator, the unwilling oracle, knew Saul was no ordinary giant. He wasn't just a friendly castaway.
Jaguar D. Saul, a Vice Admiral of the World Government's Navy. He was the man whose mission was to lead the fleet charged with capturing the very scholars of Ohara who were now sheltering him—including Robin's own mother, Olvia. Riven knew the story by heart. He knew that Saul, moved by Olvia's conviction, had a change of heart. He had freed her, an act of defiance that marked him for death and led him here, broken and bleeding, to the shores of Ohara.
He remembered the day clearly. Not long after Riven's own bewildering arrival in this world, Robin had found him. A giant, wounded and unconscious, half-swallowed by the surf. While she had seen a person in need, Riven had seen a living, breathing omen of destruction. He had helped her, of course. They had tended to Saul's wounds together, bringing him food and water from the village. But for Riven, every act of kindness felt like a betrayal. He was helping the man whose presence guaranteed the annihilation of everyone he had come to know.
Now, as Robin beamed, her face full of innocent excitement to visit their new friend, Riven could only force a smile. He was walking beside a girl he cherished, a girl whose future he knew would be forged in fire and loss. And they were walking toward the man who was the first domino in a chain reaction that would burn her entire world to the ground.
The weight of that knowledge was a crushing, silent burden. And he had to carry it alone.