The sun hung low over the horizon, casting long golden rays across the forest canopy. The Walker estate sat silent, cradled between cliffs and sea, ancient trees whispering to each other in languages only the wind remembered.
Allen stood barefoot in the grass, blinking slowly at a butterfly resting on his open palm. Its wings, vibrant with blues and golds, trembled in hesitation — as if sensing something greater in the boy than nature could explain.
Then it flew away.
Not because he moved.
But because the boy's presence shifted.
Behind him, Serena stood quietly, arms crossed, her long black hair caught in the breeze like threads of shadow and light. She didn't interrupt him. Didn't even speak.
Allen had barely said more than a few words in the last day.
But every word he had said felt… sacred.
"Heaven will kneel first."
The phrase still echoed in her mind.
She hadn't told Hades yet.
She didn't know how.
Allen turned slowly, eyes locking with hers. Still glowing faintly — silvery blue with that unnatural gold flicker near the pupils. Not just intelligent. Not just reincarnated.
Marked.
He raised a small hand and pointed toward the cliffs.
"Mama… it's waiting again."
Serena's breath caught.
He hadn't dreamed of the fruit since the awakening.
Until now.
Far away, in Marineford…
The war room was silent.
The Five Elders sat around the obsidian table, scrolls and black Den Den Mushis before them.
An Admiral paced slowly in the corner — not speaking, not questioning, just listening.
"Confirmed?" asked the one with the long beard and crescent scar.
"Yes," came the voice from the transponder. "It wasn't adult Haki. It was... raw. Unfiltered. Too pure. That's what broke the sensors."
Another Elder tapped his knuckles against the table.
"Location?"
"The Calm Belt. Near Sector 0-12. A civilian island."
A moment of silence.
Then the elder with the sword muttered:
"It's starting again."
The Admiral frowned. "What is?"
None of them answered him.
One simply pulled out a worn parchment. An ancient record, older than the World Government itself.
Carved in celestial script:
"Twelve wings. Crownless flame. A child born of ash and heaven. The one the sea will kneel to."
The elder with the monocle whispered:
"A Walker."
Back on the island, Hades stood in the training field, shirtless, breathing deep.
His body, sculpted with old scars and muscle forged by war, moved through a sword kata slow and deadly. Every slash tore through the air like thunder wrapped in silk.
He could feel it too.
The island had shifted.
The world had noticed.
He looked up as Serena approached.
"He's speaking again," she said.
Hades didn't stop moving.
"Did he say anything new?"
Serena hesitated. Then:
"He said… 'It's waiting again.'"
That made him pause.
He lowered the blade.
"He's drawn to it," he said. "The fruit… or whatever lives inside it."
"He shouldn't be," Serena whispered. "He's just a child."
"No." Hades turned to her. "He's a child twice born. Whatever's inside that boy… it's not waiting for permission. It's waking up on its own."
That night, Allen dreamt again.
But this time, it wasn't the wings or the fruit.
It was a place.
A battlefield of corpses and black fire. Broken flags. Screaming skies. Mountains torn in half by unknown forces.
And in the center of it all…
A version of himself.
Older. Taller. Covered in blood.
Twelve golden wings unfurled behind his back — but six were blackened, oozing with wrath.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't crying.
He was judging.
Allen reached out to touch the vision.
And the older version turned to face him.
"When they break your peace, you will break their world."
Allen gasped and woke up.
Serena was by his side instantly.
His eyes were wide.
"Mama," he whispered. "I saw the end."
Her heart froze.
"The end of what, habibi?"
He looked up at her.
"The end of the world."
Outside the house, the winds shifted.
Somewhere in the underworld, bounty printers began working overtime.
And in the sea below the cliff…
The earth cracked again.
The fruit was rising.
Soon, the boy would touch it.
And everything would change.