Baltigo, Grand Line
The white shores of Baltigo stretched endlessly beneath a pale, unforgiving sky. Wind howled across the barren landscape, carrying with it grains of sand that whispered against the jagged cliffs like echoes of a restless world. The sea beyond churned violently, its waves crashing against the shore with relentless force—as if even nature itself had begun to stir in response to the chaos unfolding across the globe.
At the edge of it all stood a man. Still. Unmoving. Monkey D. Dragon. His long cloak billowed behind him, snapping sharply in the wind, yet his posture remained firm—anchored like a mountain refusing to yield to the storm. His gaze was fixed upon the horizon, but it was clear… He wasn't looking at the sea. He was looking far beyond it.
The recent events had shaken the world to its core. And even he—the most wanted man alive—was not untouched. He had left the East Blue in haste, abandoning his position without delay. There had been no time for hesitation, no room for second thoughts. The moment the news had reached him, he had returned to Baltigo, entrusting the ongoing refugee operations to his most capable commanders—Livia and Bartholomew Kuma.
Even now, his mind lingered there. On the civilians. On the fallout. Because he knew what came next would be far worse. Beside him stood another figure. Tall. Broad. Unyielding. A man whose very presence carried the weight of a bygone era.
Zephyr, a former Marine admiral. Mentor to countless soldiers. A pillar who had once upheld "justice"… and then abandoned it when he realized what that word truly meant in the hands of the World Government.
Now he stood here. On the side of revolution. In his mechanical arm, he held a folded copy of the World Times. Worn. Handled. Read far too many times. For the past week, that single paper had been his constant companion. Over and over, he had gone through its contents—line by line, word by word—as if repetition might reveal a flaw.
A lie. A crack in its credibility. But there was none. And that…was what disturbed him the most. A man who had once stood at the pinnacle of Marine power… who had witnessed the inner workings of the world government firsthand… had never imagined this. Never even considered it.
The existence of Ancient Weapons alone had already been a truth the world struggled to comprehend. But this—this was something else entirely. Something that shattered the very foundation of reality as they knew it. Zephyr exhaled slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the newspaper before he finally spoke.
"…Dragon." His voice was steady. But beneath it, uncertainty lingered. "Tell me…" He turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward the man beside him. "…is this news credible?" A brief pause. "…Does the World Government truly possess a way to grant immortality?"
Even as the words left his mouth, Zephyr felt their absurdity. Logic rejected them outright. Everything he had learned, everything he had believed in his years of service—screamed that such a notion was impossible. And yet… the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.
Eight centuries. Eight hundred years of unchallenged dominance. Unbroken control. Unshaken authority. No regime lasted that long without something extraordinary behind it. His eyes darkened slightly.
"…Tell me, Dragon…" he continued, his voice lower now, heavier with implication. "The one who sits upon the Empty Throne…" The wind howled louder, as if reacting to the very mention of it. "…do they truly possess the power to grant immortality?"
Silence followed. Because they both understood what that meant. If it was true—then this was no longer just a war of ideals. No longer a revolution against tyranny. It was a battle against something far more terrifying. Something that did not age. Did not weaken. Did not die.
Zephyr let out a long breath, shaking his head slightly as if trying to ground himself. Carefully, almost ritualistically, he folded the newspaper once more and slid it into his inner coat pocket. He had lost count of how many times he had read it. As if repetition might somehow make it less real. It hadn't.
"…If they truly have such power," he said quietly, his gaze returning to the raging sea, "then our revolution…" He trailed off for a moment. "…just became a hell of a lot harder."
The understatement hung heavy in the air. Because if immortality existed—then the enemy they faced…was not bound by time. And no revolution in history had ever been fought against something eternal. Zephyr's eyes shifted back toward Dragon.
Among all the revolutionaries… Among all the minds gathered under this cause— there was only one man he believed might already know the truth.
"…You've been silent since you got here," Zephyr said, his tone sharpening just slightly. "Which means you've already thought this through." A pause. "…So tell me."
The wind howled. The sea roared. The world itself seemed to hold its breath. "What are we really up against?"
Dragon did not answer. The wind howled louder than before across Baltigo's barren shore, his cloak snapping sharply behind him, yet he remained still—silent, unmoving. Not out of defiance. But because… he did not have all the answers. For a man who had built an entire revolution upon uncovering the truths of the world, that silence was rare. And dangerous. Zephyr's gaze lingered on him, narrowing slightly.
"…So you knew?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more probing. Dragon exhaled slowly.
"I suspected," he said at last. His voice was calm—but there was a weight behind it that hadn't been there before. "I've been aware of the existence of the so-called 'Great One' since the early days… back when we were nothing more than scattered freedom fighters." His eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "From the very beginning, I knew… that one day, we would have to face them."
The wind seemed to still for a brief moment. "But immortality…" Dragon continued, his tone hardening slightly, "that is new. Even to me." That admission alone carried gravity. "To think that the Five Elders…" he went on, his eyes narrowing faintly, "are not bound by succession… not rulers chosen or replaced…" A pause. "…but entities that simply do not die."
The implication settled heavily between them. "This complicates everything."
Dragon's gaze shifted slightly, the faintest flicker of unease passing through his otherwise composed expression. "Especially with the Poneglyph script now exposed." Zephyr folded his arms, his mechanical limb letting out a faint whirr.
"…Isn't that to our advantage?" he countered. "We've spent years trying to decipher those stones. This single translation has pushed our research forward by decades." His eyes sharpened. "If whoever is behind this continues releasing more…we could unlock the secrets of the Ancient Kingdom entirely."
There was hope in that thought. A powerful weapon to fight against the world government. A path forward. But Dragon shook his head. Slowly. Deliberately.
"No…" The word was quiet. But absolute. "You're looking at what's been revealed..." His gaze darkened. "I'm looking at why it was revealed."
Zephyr fell silent. "Have you asked yourself that question?" Dragon continued, his voice dropping slightly. "Why now…?" The wind picked up again, carrying grains of sand between them. "This isn't just information being leaked." His eyes hardened. "This is a declaration." The words landed like a quiet thunderclap.
"And if my suspicions and deductions are correct…" Dragon added, "then the ones behind it…" A brief pause. "…are the Donquixote pirates." Zephyr didn't react with shock. Only a slow nod.
"I'm not surprised," he admitted. "They control the largest information network in the world—one that rivals even the World Government." His brow furrowed. "But that only raises another question…"
"…why now?"
Dragon's silence returned for a moment. And this time—it was heavier. Because that question…
He did not have the answer. "That," Dragon said finally, "is what concerns me." His voice was quieter now. More uncertain than Zephyr had ever heard it.
"For years, I've tried to track the true force behind the World Times. I've deployed some of our best officers… resources… entire networks…" His jaw tightened slightly. "And yet—nothing." Not a trace. Not a whisper. "They've remained completely beyond our reach."
A rare thing. For Dragon. "And now…" he continued, "they've chosen to step into the open."
Not subtly. Not cautiously. But with a move bold enough to shake the entire world.
"If I can deduce their involvement…" Dragon said, his gaze sharpening, "then it's only a matter of time before the World Government does the same." Zephyr's expression darkened. Because that would mean— War. Not hidden like until now. Not indirect power moves. But inevitable chaos.
"Neither Donquixote Doflamingo… nor Rosinante…" Dragon continued slowly, choosing his words carefully, "are the type to make a move like this without cause." That much, he was certain of. "They are calculated…Patient…Dangerously so, especially Rosinante."
His eyes narrowed further. "For them to abandon all pretense… to strike at the very authority of the World Government…" A pause. "…something has happened."
Something significant. Something they did not know. And that… was the most dangerous part. "Whatever it is…" Dragon said quietly, "it was enough to force their hand."
Enough to push them into a position where there was no retreat. No negotiation. No turning back. Zephyr exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the raging sea.
"…And they're not even using force," he muttered. Dragon nodded faintly.
"No." A faint, grim understanding settled in his expression. "They're using something far more effective…information." The wind howled louder. "Piece by piece… they're feeding the world just enough truth to ignite it." Dragon's gaze sharpened. "They're not attacking the World Government directly…"
"…they're turning the world against it." A dangerous strategy. Because unlike armies, ambition could not be controlled. The kingdoms. The monarchs. The pirates. All of them were already circling. Waiting. Watching. Like predators eyeing a wounded giant.
"The world government may be a behemoth…" Dragon said quietly. "But even a behemoth…" His eyes darkened. "…will fall… if enough rabid dogs start tearing at it."
Silence followed. Heavy. Uncertain. Because for the first time—even Dragon, the man who stood at the forefront of revolution… Was in the dark.
And whatever had pushed the Donquixote family to make this move was something powerful enough… To shake even him.
"So what now…?" Zephyr's voice cut through the roaring wind, heavier now, edged with urgency. "We can't afford to sit in the dark—not when the entire world is shifting beneath our feet." He turned slightly toward Dragon, his mechanical arm letting out a faint hum as it adjusted.
"And if you truly believe the Donquixote brothers are behind this…" he continued, his tone sharpening, "then perhaps the simplest path is the best one." A pause. "We ask them directly." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm certain… with our connection to Rosinante, we could—"
Dragon shook his head. A small movement. But absolute. "No." The answer came instantly. Firm. Final. Zephyr frowned slightly, but before he could press further, Dragon spoke again.
"You know as well as I do… that won't work." His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, but his mind was already several steps ahead. "Rosinante may have once stood among us in the Marines," Dragon continued, "and yes—you were his instructor, even if only for a brief time."
A faint pause.
"But that connection alone won't open doors anymore." His voice grew colder. "Not now." Zephyr's expression hardened slightly. Because he understood what Dragon meant. Things had changed. Drastically.
"The Donquixote territories…" Dragon went on, his tone lowering, "have sealed themselves completely." Now, his gaze shifted—just slightly. "Trade routes have been shut down. Shipments halted. Communications cut." Each word carried weight. "Even vessels with official permits have been denied entry."
Zephyr's eyes narrowed. Because that was unprecedented. The Donquixote family wasn't just another pirate faction. They were the backbone of the world's black market. Weapons. Resources. Influence. They controlled more than two-thirds of the global arms trade.
If they stopped moving, the world felt it. And it already had. "The entire business network has frozen," Dragon said quietly. "Not slowed. Not disrupted…but stopped in its entirety."
A brief silence followed. Even the Revolutionaries had been affected. Their long-standing connection to Rosinante had allowed them access—discounted arms, discreet transactions, a rare advantage in a world built on scarcity. But now—nothing. For an entire week. No ships. No signals. No contact.
"It's as if…" Zephyr muttered, his voice trailing slightly as he searched for the right words. Dragon finished it. "…as if they're in mourning."
The wind howled louder. A requiem. Unseen. Unheard. But deeply felt. Zephyr's jaw tightened. Because that kind of silence… Didn't come without cause.
"You're right, Zephyr-sensei," Dragon said at last, turning slightly toward him. "We are in the dark." A rare admission. "And this is not a situation where we can afford to remain blind for long." His eyes sharpened, the full weight of his authority settling in. "Especially now."
Zephyr said nothing. He didn't need to. He already knew what was coming. "Our position is shifting," Dragon continued. "In just the past week, eight nations have approached us." A pause.
"Eight." The number alone was staggering. "Each requesting support from the revolutionaries." His expression darkened. "But we don't know their true intentions." Not yet. "And in times like this…" Dragon added, "intentions matter more than alliances."
Because desperation and ambition could turn kings into tyrants. And allies into liabilities. "The world is entering a new era," he said quietly. "An era of unprecedented war."
The words hung heavy. Unavoidable. Inevitable. "And in such a world…" Dragon's gaze locked onto Zephyr's. "We cannot afford to stand against the Donquixote family."
Not now. Not when the balance was already so fragile. Which meant they needed answers. Immediately. Dragon took a slow step forward, the wind catching his cloak once more.
"So I want you…" he said, his voice steady, commanding, "…to go to Dressrosa." Zephyr's eyes narrowed slightly. "Personally" A brief silence followed. "Try to understand what's happening after meeting with Rosinante," Dragon continued. "Find the cause behind this shift… and, if possible, re-establish contact with Doflamingo." His tone softened—just slightly.
"You may be the only one from among the revolutionaries who can enter Dressrosa safely right now." That wasn't an exaggeration. It was fact. "Other than my old man…" Dragon added quietly, almost as an afterthought.
A faint smirk flickered across Zephyr's face at that. Garp. Of course. But that wasn't an option. Which left— Him.
"Rosinante…" Dragon said slowly, "values bonds." Even brief ones. Even fragile ones. "He respected you back then, and I am sure he does even now. " Not as a superior. Not as a commander. But as something else. A marine who had truly stood for justice. A man who had, however briefly, shaped him.
"And that might be enough." Dragon's gaze hardened once more. "Because with me…" he admitted plainly, "there is no such guarantee." A pause. "Our connection is… negligible at best."
And if things had truly spiraled out of control, Rosinante wouldn't hesitate. He would attack with the intent to kill. Even Dragon himself was not confident in facing a truly hostile Rosinante, a man much younger than himself who currently carried the highest bounty in the world, surpassing even his own by a considerable margin. That much was certain.
"But you…" Dragon said, his voice steady, resolute, "might still be able to reach him." The wind howled. The sea roared. And the weight of the mission settled heavily between them. Because this wasn't just reconnaissance. This wasn't diplomacy. This was stepping into the heart of something unknown. Something volatile. Something that had already shaken the world.
"…Dressrosa, huh," Zephyr muttered, exhaling slowly. A faint tension settled into his stance. But there was no hesitation. Because he understood. If they didn't act now, they might never get another chance. And whatever storm the Donquixote family had unleashed… was only just beginning.
****
Far beyond the well-charted routes of the Grand Line, where the seas fractured into a labyrinth of currents and shifting tides, lay a vast archipelago—an expanse so wide that it seemed less like a nation and more like a scattered constellation upon the ocean.
Hundreds of islands. Some no larger than a fishing village. Others lush with dense forests, jagged cliffs, and hidden coves where fleets could vanish without a trace. Together, they formed the sovereign nation of Coralune.
At its heart lay twelve grand islands—vast, fortified, and interconnected by carefully maintained sea routes. These were the pillars of the nation, each housing a major city, a naval stronghold, or a center of governance. From these twelve, authority radiated outward, binding the smaller islands into a unified whole.
For over four centuries, Coralune had stood as one of the World Government's most celebrated allies. A model nation. A shining example. To the outside world, it was everything an affiliated kingdom was meant to be—prosperous, disciplined, and unwavering in its loyalty. Trade flourished across its waters. Its people lived under strict yet stable governance. Its fleets patrolled tirelessly, ensuring order across its vast domain.
But what truly set Coralune apart—was its strength. Despite lacking the ancient lineage of kingdoms that traced their origins back a millennium, Coralune had built something formidable. An army. A force that could rival even the oldest of nations. At full mobilization, it could field nearly a million soldiers—trained, equipped, and fiercely loyal.
In a world where power dictated survival… That alone made it a giant. And yet— Today, beneath the surface of that carefully crafted image… Something far darker stirred. Deep beneath the royal palace of the central island—hidden beneath layers of stone, guarded corridors, and secrets buried for generations—a chamber lay in shadow.
The air was heavy. Still. Dim lanterns flickered along the walls, their light barely enough to illuminate the figures seated within. Eight of them. Monarchs. Kings and rulers from across the seas of Grand Line. Each one cloaked in darkness, their faces partially obscured, their identities veiled not by masks but by intent.
They sat around a large oval table carved from black stone, its surface smooth, cold, and untouched by ornamentation. No guards. No attendants. No witnesses. Only silence. And ambition. These were not rulers gathered in unity. Nor in loyalty.
They had not come to reaffirm their allegiance to the World Government. No— they had come for something else entirely. For centuries, each of them had ruled their respective kingdoms under the banner of the World Government. They had upheld its laws. Paid its tributes. Played their roles in maintaining the fragile balance of the world.
And in return— they had received protection. Stability. Power. But beneath that obedience… there had always been something more. A quiet, festering desire. Ambition. The kind that rulers were born with. The kind that never truly faded. Yet for all their power… None had dared act. Because the cost had always outweighed the reward.
To challenge the World Government was to invite annihilation. And for centuries— that had been enough to keep them in line. Until now. A single piece of paper had changed everything. The World Times. Its revelations had shattered the illusion. Exposed the unthinkable.
The secret the World Government had guarded for eight hundred years—the source of eternal life. Or at least… The undeniable proof that it existed. The room seemed to grow colder as the weight of that truth settled over them. No one spoke at first. Because no one needed to.
They all understood why they were here.
Because for the first time in history, the reward…was greater than the risk. One of the figures leaned forward slightly, the faint glint of their eyes catching the lantern light.
"…Immortality." The word was spoken softly. But it echoed through the chamber like a decree. Another shifted in their seat. "For centuries, we have knelt," a second voice said, low and measured. "Served. Obeyed." A faint scoff followed. "And for what?"
Silence. Then—a third voice, colder. "They hoard it." The implication was clear. The World Government. The ones who ruled from above. The so-called gods.
"They choose who lives forever…" the voice continued, "and who is left to rot." A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. Because every one of them had thought it. Felt it. Why them… and not us? A fourth figure leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"The question is not merely whether it is true…" one of them said slowly, his voice measured, each word chosen with care. A pause followed. Heavy. Deliberate.
"The real question is…" His tone dropped, the faint flicker of lanternlight catching the sharp edge of his gaze. "…how we can be absolutely certain." Silence tightened around the table. Because certainty was the difference between ambition… and annihilation.
"Make no mistake," he continued, leaning forward slightly, fingers pressing against the cold stone surface of the table, "the moment we take that first true step… there is no return." His eyes swept across the other seven figures in the room, lingering just long enough to make each of them feel the weight of his words.
"No retreat. No absolution. No forgiveness." A faint scoff escaped him, though there was no humor in it. "And whether you care to admit it or not…" His voice hardened. "…we have already crossed that threshold."
No one refuted him. Because it was true. This meeting—this very gathering—was treason. Against the very order that had sustained their thrones for centuries. The man's gaze shifted then, slowly, deliberately… Toward the head of the table.
"To proceed any further," he said, quieter now, but far more dangerous, "I require certainty." A brief pause. "I need to know that this… so-called immortality…" His eyes narrowed. "…is not a myth."
The air seemed to grow heavier. All attention followed his gaze. Toward the man seated at the head of the oval table. The one who had summoned them. The King of Coralune. Unlike the others, he did not shift. Did not speak.
He sat in stillness, his form cloaked in shadow, his presence commanding without effort. The dim light revealed little—only the faint outline of his posture, relaxed… almost too relaxed for a man presiding over such a dangerous gathering.
But that calm—that composure—was precisely what made him unsettling. Another voice broke the silence, sharper this time. "And is that not the very reason we are here?" a second monarch interjected, his tone edged with impatience. "You claimed to possess proof."
His gaze, too, locked onto the figure at the head. "Something that would validate the rumors." A third leaned forward, voice low but pressing. "Something that would justify this… risk."
Now all seven sets of eyes were fixed upon him. The room seemed to close in. The flickering lanterns cast long, wavering shadows that danced across the walls like silent witnesses to the conspiracy unfolding within.