The Wind Granma drifted like a silent leviathan at the threshold of the Calm Belt. Here, the world's pulse slowed to a stagnant hum. The sky was a mirrored sheet of leaden gray, and the water was so still it looked like polished obsidian. There were no currents to guide the hull, no winds to snap the sails—only the heavy, suffocating silence of a sea that belonged to the monsters of the deep.
For the survivors of the Hachinosu slaughter, this stillness was a double-edged sword. It provided a reprieve from the pursuit of the Navy's remaining fleets, but it also forced a confrontation with the ghosts they had carried away from the "Pirate Island."
The Awakening of the Fist
Deep within the bowels of the flagship, in a medical bay that smelled of antiseptic, scorched iron, and old sea salt, a legend began to stir.
Monkey D. Garp didn't wake up with a poetic gasp or a startle. He simply opened one eye, squinting at the dim lanterns overhead. His body was a map of white bandages and surgical staples. The wound in his chest—the one delivered by Shiryu's invisible blade—was a dull, throbbing reminder of his mortality. His legendary muscles, usually taut like steel cables, felt like leaden weights.
He let out a long, rattling breath that turned into a groan.
"If I'm dead," Garp grumbled, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together, "the afterlife is remarkably boring. Where are the giant roasted birds? Where is the sake?"
"You're not dead, Garp. Though for a few hours, the surgeons were taking bets on whether your stubbornness or your heart would give out first."
Garp shifted his head, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his neck. Standing in the corner, his silhouette framed by the golden light of a flickering lamp, was Sengoku the Buddha. The former Fleet Admiral looked as though he had aged ten years in a single afternoon. His afro was a mess, his cape was stained with soot, and his eyes carried a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion.
"Sengoku," Garp grunted, trying to sit up. He failed, collapsing back into the pillows with a huff. "You look terrible. You should retire. Oh, wait... you already did."
Sengoku didn't smile. He stepped forward, pulling a small, crumpled bag from his pocket. He reached in, pulled out a singular, salted rice cracker, and held it out. Garp's hand, trembling slightly, snatched it and shoved it into his mouth. The crunch echoed in the quiet room.
"It's stale," Garp muttered, his jaw working rhythmically. "And I need at least fifty more. And tea. And meat. Why is there no meat in this flying circus of a ship?"
"You're on a Revolutionary vessel, Garp," Sengoku said, pulling up a stool. "They prioritize medicine and ammunition over your gluttony. We are lucky to be here at all."
Garp stopped chewing. The memory of the black shadows, the three-headed silhouette of Teach, and the face of his grandson flooded back. "The kid... Luffy. Is he...?"
"He's fine. He's on the deck right now, eating enough to bankrupt Dragon's entire movement," Sengoku replied. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "But we are not fine, Garp. The things we saw... the truth about God Valley that Teach screamed at the world... the Marineford execution... it's all coming out. The lie is dead."
Garp looked at the ceiling. "The lie was always a rotting corpse, Sengoku. We just kept spraying perfume on it and calling it 'Justice.'"
The Choice of the Old Guard
For an hour, the two veterans sat in silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic crunch of the remaining rice crackers. They were the last of an era—men who had built the world's order on the bones of their own compromises.
"Dragon wants us to stay," Sengoku finally said, gesturing to the steel walls of the Wind Granma. "He thinks the 'Hero of the Marines' and the 'Buddha' joining the Revolution would be the final nail in the World Government's coffin. He's offering us a place in the new world."
Garp let out a dry, hacking laugh. "A Revolutionary? Me? I can't even follow a grocery list, let alone a political manifesto. Besides, I'm a Marine. I've been a Marine since I was a snot-nosed kid with a dream of punching every bad guy in the face."
"And yet, the 'bad guys' are the ones giving us our paychecks," Sengoku countered.
Garp turned his gaze to his old friend. "That's why we're going back, isn't it?"
Sengoku nodded slowly. "We cannot stay here. If we stay, we are just fugitives. If we go back—if we walk into the Holy Land and demand an audience with the Elders—we are witnesses. We carry the weight of forty years of secrets. They can try to execute us, but they cannot erase us without proving everything Teach said was true."
"It's a suicide mission," Garp noted, a faint, predatory grin appearing on his face. "I love it. I want to see the looks on those old farts' faces when I walk into the room without an escort."
"We go to protect the youngsters who still believe in the uniform," Sengoku said, his eyes hardening. "Koby, Helmeppo, the ones who think Justice means protecting the weak, not the thrones. We go back to reclaim the word 'Marine' from the Vultures."
The Parting of the Ways
Outside, on the main deck, the mist was beginning to lift. The Revolutionary ship had lowered a repurposed Marine cruiser—a mid-sized vessel they had captured months prior—into the water. It was small, but it was fast, and it bore the insignia of the Navy, though the "Justice" on the sails had been faded by sun and salt.
Garp was helped onto the deck by a group of his most loyal subordinates, including a teary-eyed Koby. The young Captain tried to hide his sobbing, but his shoulders were shaking.
"Stop that, Koby!" Garp barked, though there was no heat in it. "I'm not dying yet. I have to live long enough to see you become an Admiral so I can make fun of your paperwork."
Dragon stood at the gangplank, his green cloak billowing in a stray breeze. He looked at Sengoku, the man who had hunted him for decades.
"You're walking into a trap, Sengoku," Dragon said. "Imu will not negotiate. The Five Elders will not repent. They will try to turn you into a cautionary tale."
Sengoku stepped onto the smaller ship, looking back at the man who had become the world's greatest rebel.
"Then let it be a loud tale, Dragon," Sengoku replied. "We go to face the Elders. Not as their dogs, but as the witnesses of their crimes. We will force them to look into the mirror of God Valley. Don't die before the world turns over. If you fall now, all of this—all of Garp's blood and my shame—will have been for nothing."
The two ships began to drift apart. Garp sat on a bench on the deck of the cruiser, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, watching the Wind Granma shrink into the mist. He didn't look back at Luffy. He couldn't. Not yet.
The Father and the Sun
On the bow of the Wind Granma, two silhouettes stood against the gray horizon. One was broad and wild, his hair a mane of black against a straw hat. The other was tall and shadowed, a tattoo etched like a curse or a promise across his face.
Monkey D. Dragon and Monkey D. Luffy. The Storm and the Sun.
They hadn't spoken much since the battle ended. There was an unspoken understanding between them—a recognition of the "D" that bypassed the need for father-son sentimentality. They were two forces of nature that had briefly collided to save a common point of light.
"You've gotten strong, Luffy," Dragon said, his eyes fixed on the distant line where the sky met the sea. "The way you handled the lightning... it wasn't just power. It was imagination. You've unlocked the true nature of that fruit."
Luffy leaned against the railing, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood. "It's just me being me. I didn't even know it was a 'God' fruit until that weird lady in the egg-head island told me. I just like being free."
Dragon turned to him. The wind picked up, swirling around his feet. "Freedom is a heavy thing to carry, son. The world is about to become a very dark place. Teach didn't just escape; he left with a plan. He's going after something that can bury the entire world in shadow."
Luffy looked at his father, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I know. I felt it. He smells like... like a hole that never fills up. He's not going to stop until everything is gone."
Dragon reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small, weather-worn piece of paper. It was a Vivre Card, singed at the edges but pointing firmly toward the Northeast. He took Luffy's hand and pressed the paper into his palm.
"What's this?" Luffy asked, tilting his head.
"A guide to the future," Dragon said. "Go to Elbaf, Luffy. The land of the giants isn't just a fortress of warriors. It is the last sanctuary of the lost knowledge. When the scholars of Ohara saw their island burning, they didn't just give up. They threw their books into the lake, and the giants... they saved them. They fished the history of the world out of the water and took it to their shores."
Luffy's eyes widened. "The books? Robin's books?"
"The last of them," Dragon confirmed. "There is a man there—a giant with skin like a burnt landscape. He is the guardian of that library. You will need what is written in those pages to understand why the 'D' exists, and how to stop what Teach is trying to wake up."
Dragon placed a hand on Luffy's shoulder. It was the first time he had ever touched his son with such deliberate intent. The air crackled with a faint, static charge.
"The Marines will be distracted by Garp and Sengoku," Dragon continued. "The World Government is terrified of the 'Great Cleansing.' Use that distraction. Sail to Elbaf. Gain the strength of the giants and the wisdom of the dead. Because when the sunken grave rises... the Sun will be the only thing left to keep us warm."
Luffy gripped the Vivre Card, a wide, determined grin breaking across his face. "Got it! Elbaf, huh? I've wanted to go there since I met Brogy and Dorry! They have huge meat and huge swords!"
Dragon let out a rare, soft chuckle. "Yes. They do. Go now, Luffy. Your crew is waiting."
The Three Paths
As the Thousand Sunny prepared to detach from the Revolutionary fleet, the three ships formed a triangle on the still water.
The Marine Cruiser: Carrying Garp and Sengoku toward the heart of the Beast—Mary Geoise—to ignite a fire of truth within the Navy.
The Wind Granma: Carrying Dragon and the Revolutionaries back to their hidden bases to prepare for the global uprising.
The Thousand Sunny: Carrying the future Pirate King toward the ancient shores of Elbaf to unlock the final secrets of the Void Century.
Luffy stood on the figurehead of the Sunny, waving his hat wildly at the receding ships.
"OI! GRANDPA! DON'T GET KILLED BY THOSE OLD GUYS!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
From the distance, a faint, muffled bark of "SHUT UP, YOU BRAT!" echoed across the water.
Luffy turned back to his crew. Zoro was already at the mast, Nami was checking the logs, and Robin was standing near the rail, her eyes shimmering with a hope she hadn't felt since the buster call on Ohara.
"Alright, everyone!" Luffy roared, pointing his fist toward the Northeast. "Next stop... the land of the Giants! To Elbaf!"
The Sunny's Coup de Burst roared to life, a gout of air shattering the silence of the Calm Belt. The ship soared over the glassy water, leaving the ghosts of Hachinosu behind and racing toward the dawn of the final war.
To be continued...