"Hard to starboard…" I ordered calmly, my gaze fixed on the horizon. "It seems an old friend has come to greet us. The giants of Elbaf have sent us a welcoming party."
The elderly helmsman gave a single, knowing nod before pulling the great wheel. Under his steady hands, the Leviathan responded with effortless grace. The colossus of steel and wood swiveled, its massive frame cutting through the waves as though the ocean itself bent to its will.
We had crossed the bizarre mists more than a day ago, and the looming shadows of Elbaf drew ever closer. With my observation haki, I had already felt it—the familiar presence aboard the giant vessel now gliding toward us.
And then, out of the haze, their ship emerged. It was a sight to behold—monumental in size, its carved timbers speaking of centuries of craftsmanship. Yet even so, next to the Leviathan, it seemed… diminished.
Our ship towered above theirs, its armored hull gleaming with cruel intent, its sides bristling with railguns like the teeth of some abyssal beast. Where the giant ship carried the pride of Elbaf, the Leviathan carried something far more menacing—power refined into perfection.
The giants stood along their decks, their gazes fixed upward, awe written across their faces. Many could not help but admire the railguns and cannon arrays, whispering amongst themselves. By comparison, their own vessel—though grand—seemed stripped bare, humbled in the shadow of the sea's true behemoth.
And there, standing firm at the helm of the giant ship, was none other than Jaguar D. Saul. His massive frame was unmistakable, even across the waves, his broad grin as warm as ever despite the scars of time.
It wasn't long before Leviathan aligned with their course, slipping seamlessly into the safe passage through these treacherous waters. But before we had even completed the maneuver, the giants began leaping across the gap, their thunderous landings shaking the deck as they boarded in droves.
They weren't here to admire the ship. No—most of them came for her.
"Uncle Saul…!" Dora's voice cracked, caught somewhere between laughter and tears.
The wild troublemaker I had grown used to was gone in that instant. In her place was a girl reunited with her family, her roots calling out to her after so many years.
"Dereshishishishi!" Saul's booming laugh carried across the deck like rolling thunder. "So the little troublemaker has finally remembered her way back home. Did you not promise us, eh? That you would visit often?"
He tried to scold her, but the mirth in his tone betrayed him. His words were heavy with affection, the same warmth I remembered from so many years ago. Dora, towering now—nearly as tall as Loki himself—looked small again in their eyes.
The other giants swarmed her, voices booming as they showered her with greetings, laughter, and playful reproach. Some ruffled her hair despite her towering height; others clasped her shoulders with hands the size of boulders. It was as though the years had melted away, and she was once again the child they had left in my care.
And as Dora was enveloped by her kin, Saul's steps carried him toward us. Each footfall reverberated through the Leviathan's deck, but when he finally stood before me, his massive shadow felt anything but threatening.
"Rosinante-kun…" His deep voice softened, like the sea at dusk. "How many years has it been?"
I tilted my head back to meet his gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Close to six, I suppose," I answered, memories stirring of the gentle giant I had once called friend.
"Dereshishishishi!" His laughter rumbled again, and the old familiar sound drew a warmth to my chest I hadn't expected. "You've grown taller, Rosinante-kun. Last time, you were not nearly so tall. Hah… the years change much."
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Perhaps. But you… you haven't changed at all, Saul."
And in that moment—amidst the cheers of giants, the laughter of Dora, and the steady hum of the Leviathan beneath our feet—it felt less like the meeting of titans and more like the quiet return of friends long separated by the tide of fate.
Soon enough, the Leviathan had transformed into something more akin to a floating mead hall than a warship. For two days yet we still had to sail before reaching Elbaf, and in that time the giants were given a taste of true Donquixote hospitality.
If there were two things that earned the respect of a giant, it was strength and strong drink. The Leviathan lacked neither.
"Rosinante-kun," Saul said, looking flustered as he held a massive cask like a mug in his hands.
"You shouldn't have… You don't understand the giants' love for mead. I'm afraid your hold won't survive until we even see Elbaf."
His embarrassment was genuine. For most men, the thought of giants descending upon their liquor stores would've been a nightmare. But giants weren't "most men." To them, friendship was sacred. If they considered you kin, they trusted you with their very lives. And Saul had long considered me such. Seeing him indulge freely was enough to give the rest of his companions permission to drink as if the world itself would end tomorrow.
"That's quite alright, Saul," I replied with booming laughter. "It's meant to be drunk! If your friends can empty the hold, I'll be grateful. My own crew have grown far too spoiled on luxury lately—they've forgotten we're pirates."
That brought a roar of laughter from the giants as more barrels were rolled onto the deck. The Leviathan's crew looked fit to weep, dragging out cask after cask of rare vintages and quality liquor. I could see it in their eyes—they wanted to duel the giants then and there for emptying the treasure trove of spirits. But orders were orders. With me standing on the deck, none dared cross me. And so the drinks flowed, and the giants were only too happy to make sure not a single drop went to waste.
"Oye, Dora!" a giant bellowed mid-gulp, foam dripping down his beard. "Aren't you going to taste some of this? This brew could rival the fire-mead of Elbaf—maybe even better!"
Dora, sulking amidst her towering brethren, had only a goblet of fruit juice before her. She turned her head, eyes sliding to where Saul and I sat with our own barrels, clearly tempted. She reached for a cask—
BOOM!
It shattered, spilling golden liquor across the deck in a frothy tide.
Without even turning, I spoke, voice light with amusement. "If any of you let her drink, I'll have no choice but to destroy every barrel on this ship."
Laughter erupted, though Dora's face twisted into a comical scowl directed squarely at my back. The giants, however, wasted no time shoving every intact barrel safely out of her reach. They weren't about to waste precious mead just so a teenager—giant or not—could sneak a sip.
"Dereshishishishi…" Saul chuckled, watching the exchange. "She listens to you. The only other person I've ever seen her heed is Ida-san. Even King Harald can't make her bow her head."
His voice carried a warmth, but soon his eyes wandered—scanning the deck, searching for someone I knew all too well.
"She didn't come along this time, Saul," I said gently before he even asked. "This voyage was last-minute. Robin is… following her own curiosity, as always. She'll reach Elbaf sooner or later, I'm sure. You'll see her again—unless you'd prefer to sail all the way back to the first half of the Grand Line. I could even tell you where she is now, if you're so eager."
Saul sighed, a wistful sound. "Aaah… How much I'd like to sail again. But I can't—not with the World Government believing me dead. And even if I tried, there's no subtlety in a giant at sea."
He said it with a smile, but I caught the flicker of sadness behind his mirth. His gaze lingered on me again, heavier now.
"What about Olivia-san?" he asked quietly. "And Lily…? Do you know where they are? Are they safe?"
The laughter of giants still rolled across the deck, but for us, time seemed to slow. Saul's question wasn't casual. Six years had passed, yet the gentle giant still carried the weight of that family in his heart. No blood ties bound him—only kindness shared and the memory of two little girls who once kept him company on a lonely island.
I drew a long breath, staring into the amber depths of my drink. "I'm afraid… Olivia-san is no longer part of this world."
The barrel in Saul's hand cracked under the sudden strain of his grip. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak, but the words never came.
I continued, softer. "But Lily… Lily is alive. Safe, for now. She serves under one of the Shichibukai. Made a deal with a devil, perhaps… But you needn't worry, Saul. If she's ever in true danger, I'll keep my promise. I'll protect her. Olivia-san entrusted me with that much—and I intend to honor it."
"Serving under a Shichibukai…?" Saul's voice rumbled low, the warmth it usually carried darkened with disapproval. His massive brows furrowed, and for a fleeting moment, the aura of the former Marine radiated off him like a stormcloud. "Those filthy pirates… You can't seriously believe she'll be safe under the wing of scum like that. She's only a child, Rosinante."
I couldn't help the wry smile tugging at my lips. Once a Marine, always a Marine. No matter how much Saul had suffered, no matter how far he had distanced himself from their banner, the ideals of moral justice were branded into his very soul. And for him, the Shichibukai were the worst kind of filth—double-dealing snakes, draped in the World Government's banner, pretending at legitimacy while wallowing in piracy.
I tilted my head, watching the giant's sudden flare of anger with a quiet amusement. "Have you forgotten, Saul?" I asked gently. "I'm a pirate too."
The words slipped out with a smile, and I saw his massive shoulders ease, the storm he had let loose pulled back under control.
"Ah… forgive me, Rosinante-kun," Saul sighed, scratching the back of his neck like a chastised child, though his voice still carried that weight of conviction. "Old habits die hard, I suppose. But you—" He hesitated, as though the words carried more danger than any weapon. "You're not like most pirates."
The silence stretched a moment before he waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. No point souring our drink with talk of ideology. I've come to accept something, over the years… Everyone has their own justice. Doesn't matter if you're Marine, pirate, or a helpless soul just trying to survive. Justice shifts with the person who speaks it. Each carries their own version… and each clings to it."
His tone had softened, weighted by the years of pain and reflection, but when his eyes turned back to me, they carried a quiet plea.
"Rosinante-kun," Saul said carefully, "would it be possible… for you to take Lily under your wing, as you did Robin? If she were cared for by you, sheltered under the Donquixote name… I could rest assured she was safe. At least then, I would know she wasn't walking the path alone."
The request hit me harder than I let show. My chest tightened, and for a long moment I said nothing. Finally, I released a sigh, the kind that carried with it more years than my body had seen.
"Saul…" My voice was low. "You know as well as I do that Lily still blames me. For Ohara. For what happened that day. She thinks I stood idle while the scholars burned… while her world crumbled. She has carried that anger all these years. And if I extended my hand now, she would slap it away—not because she doesn't need it, but because resentment blinds her. Even if I wanted to take her under my wing, she would never accept it. Not from me."
The ghosts of Ohara drifted through my mind—the smoke, the screams, the rain of fire that swallowed knowledge and innocence alike. Even I could feel the resentment that still lingered, sharp and poisonous, like an open wound that time refused to close.
Across from me, Saul let out a long, mournful breath, his massive frame sagging as though burdened by memories too heavy to carry. He knew. He had seen it in her even back then—the way Lily's grief had twisted into blame, how she had chosen the wrong figure to direct her fury at.
And yet, Saul's gaze was steady, warm with conviction.
"The scholars of Ohara," he said softly, "would never have resented you, Rosinante-kun. Not a one of them. They would have thanked you—for carrying their will forward, for preserving their legacy. You bear the weight of their knowledge, their voices. That is not failure."
For a moment, his words hung between us, a balm against the fire of old wounds. But the ache remained, deep and gnawing. The giant said nothing for a long moment. Then his great shoulders eased, and the tightness in his jaw gave way to the faintest of smiles—grief and relief mingled together.
And so, amidst the roaring laughter of giants, the clinking of barrels, and the golden flood of mead, there lay a quiet corner of the Leviathan's deck—where two old friends shared a truth that weighed heavier than any cask of liquor.
The laughter of giants thundered around us, barrels cracked, and waves slapped against Leviathan's hull, but here—between Saul and me—there was only silence. I let the liquor do its work, numbing the edges of grief. The warmth of it seeped into the bones, dulling the ache of memory.
Saul, for his part, seemed to bury the weight of Olivia and Lily deep within his heart, if only for now. He tilted his massive head back, drained the last of his cask, and then turned those keen eyes on me. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before, but edged with something firmer—an undercurrent of steel beneath the warmth.
"I doubt it was Dora who was eager to return," he rumbled. "Not after sneaking away as a stowaway, defying Ida-san, and earning the wrath of half of Elbaf. No… She wouldn't choose to set foot here so soon." His gaze narrowed slightly, sharp despite the jovial air around us. "So tell me, Rosinante… what brings you here? One of the most dangerous pirates alive, sailing straight for my homeland. And this, mind you—" his voice dropped heavier "—right after your little meeting with Whitebeard himself."
The words hung in the salt-heavy air like cannon smoke after a broadside. I wasn't surprised by the question, nor by the fact that he already knew. Saul wasn't just some wandering giant—he'd been personally dispatched by King Harald to escort us. And if Harald had sent Saul, it meant he wanted to measure my intentions for himself.
Besides, I knew the world well enough to expect it. Secrets didn't last long these days, not when the World Times spread news across every corner of the seas. And what news could burn brighter than this? Two pirates with bounties over five billion—Rosinante and Whitebeard—meeting face-to-face.
The government had tried for decades to leash or silence this anonymous information empire of ink and paper, yet still the headlines flew across the seas like gulls on the wind. No cipher pol assassin, no quiet purge, no shadow war had ever been enough to stop the presses. No one, not even the World Government itself, truly knew who sat at the core of the World Times.
And yet… the world kept reading.
Saul's eyes stayed fixed on me, steady and searching, as if trying to pierce through liquor and laughter alike, to drag the truth straight from my soul.
"Well, to be honest, Saul," I began, my tone steady though my heart beat quicker, "I'm here for information. And the kind I seek… might only have survived here, on Elbaf."
That caught his attention. Saul tilted his head, massive brows knitting together, his curiosity piqued.
"What kind of information could Elbaf possibly hold?" he asked, voice resonant yet thoughtful.
"You have access to the accumulated knowledge of Ohara itself—records that span millennia. Is there something even those scholars, who preserved the wisdom of ages, did not safeguard?"
He wasn't wrong to question it. Unlike the world at large, Saul knew the truth: Ohara's knowledge hadn't been completely lost in the flames. The Donquixote family had preserved the archives in their entirety, even painstakingly creating copies over the years and sharing them with Elbaf. That act of generosity alone had earned King Harald's lasting respect, and with it, the goodwill of his people.
But still… I shook my head slowly.
"You should know better than anyone, Saul. Back then, the World Government managed to destroy part of Ohara's records—fragments they deemed too dangerous, too threatening to their empire. Compared to the ocean of knowledge Ohara held, it may not seem like much. But…" I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "…it may well have been the most important of all. The core secrets, passed down from generation to generation by Ohara's greatest minds."
Saul's expression darkened, but he nodded, his silence betraying his understanding.
"I see…" he rumbled after a pause. "Then tell me, Rosinante—what knowledge do you seek? If it's within my grasp, I'll share it. For information is free, and if a fragment of what I know can help you, then I'll give it gladly."
That was Saul—open, earnest, and unflinching.
"Well then," I said, watching his face carefully, "I'm here for knowledge of a particular tribe of ancient giants… the Gallelia. Ever heard of them?"
For the first time, Saul hesitated. His massive hand drifted to his beard, fingers scratching through the thick tangle as his eyes narrowed in thought.
"Gallelia…" he repeated, the name tasting old on his tongue. "That's more a bedtime story than history, Rosinante. Even here, most giants believe they're nothing but myth. But…" His gaze turned distant, recalling half-forgotten tales. "Some stories claim the Gallelia were a tribe unlike any other—giants with an unnatural gift for creation. Anything they touched, they shaped into masterpieces. Some versions even whisper that the Gallelia had a hand in the forging of the Ancient Weapons themselves."
His tone was casual, but the words struck me like thunder. My blood surged hot with adrenaline. The very possibility that the Gallelia's hands had touched those forbidden weapons—those engines of destruction spoken of only in hushed tones—was staggering. If that were true… then whatever we had uncovered frozen within the ice prison wasn't just valuable. It was priceless.
I tried to keep my voice calm as I pressed further. "And do these bedtime stories say… where the Gallelia vanished to?" Saul let out a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the fire of the torches swaying on Leviathan's deck.
"That's the strange part," he admitted. "There are dozens of versions. Some say they exiled themselves, burdened by a sin too great to forgive. Others say they left in pursuit of the greatest creation the world has ever known. Still others claim that the other giant tribes, threatened by the Gallelia's unmatched skill, purged them overnight… erased them from history." He shook his head slowly, a giant weighed down by centuries of rumor. "The truth has been buried under layers of myth, twisted and reshaped with every retelling."
Now he understood. I could see it in the way his gaze lingered on me, sharper, more intent. He realized why I had come all the way here, why I sought Elbaf's ancient memories. Where else in this vast world could one hope to unearth the truth of the giants, if not here? Even Ohara, with all its brilliance, had only scraps compared to the living heritage of Elbaf.
I raised my cup, a thin smile curving my lips as the liquor burned my throat. "Well then, Saul… it seems I've come to the right place."