The sun rose slow over the Calm Belt, painting the sea gold. Waves barely moved — the waters were too still, too dead. Yet, in the middle of that quiet, an island of smoke and cinder sat like a scar on the ocean.
That island was called Shirohama. It wasn't on any map. No one lived there except fishermen, families, and a few traders who drifted off course. The World Government didn't care for small islands that didn't pay tribute. But someone did.
A boy stood at the edge of a burnt dock, watching the tide lap weakly against the shore. His name was Rai D. Kaen, seventeen, barefoot, his black hair streaked with red dust. His right eye gleamed amber, like a coal refusing to die.
The whole village behind him was gone—burned to ash.
He didn't cry. Not anymore.
"...They didn't even leave the boats," Rai muttered. His voice was dry. The dock creaked under his weight. Half the boards were scorched, the rest half-sunk. The only sound left on Shirohama was the wind and the echo of what had happened the night before.
Marines had come.
Not pirates — Marines.
They said they were "searching for a weapon." They found nothing. But when the island elder refused to let them dig up the graves behind the shrine, the leader gave the order. Cannons fired. Houses burned. Screams followed.
Rai had survived by hiding under the cliffs, clutching a rusted sword that wasn't even his.
He still remembered the officer's voice, deep and cold:
> "Orders from above. The boy with the dragon mark — eliminate him."
He looked down at his chest. Through the torn fabric, faint scales glowed along his skin like faint embers — a mark that had appeared years ago after a fever that nearly killed him. His mother said it was a curse. His father said it was destiny.
Now they were both gone.
Rai clenched his fists until the skin split. "You want a curse?" he said, voice shaking. "I'll give you one."
He turned toward the remains of his home — the cracked shrine, the broken roof tiles, the burned trees. Among the rubble, something shimmered faintly. He walked over, kicking aside the ash.
It was a fruit.
Oval, scaled, and dark red — almost metallic. It didn't look like anything he'd ever seen. The pattern on its skin resembled dragon scales. A faint heat radiated from it.
He crouched, frowning. "What the hell is this doing here?"
When he picked it up, the fruit pulsed. His hands trembled. A sharp pain shot through his palm, like it bit him back. Without thinking, Rai's instincts took over. He bit into it.
The taste was horrible.
Bitter, sharp — like burnt oil and saltwater mixed.
He gagged, forcing it down. "Gods—what is this?!" He dropped it, coughing hard. Then suddenly, heat flooded through his veins. He gasped. His chest burned. His blood felt like fire and steam. His vision blurred.
And then, everything exploded.
A burst of red flame erupted around him, blowing the ash away. His skin glowed faintly gold under the light, but his shadow… his shadow stretched wings.
When the fire cleared, Rai stood panting, trembling, eyes glowing bright. The scales on his chest burned brighter than before, and smoke curled from his fingertips.
"What... was that?" he whispered. He raised his hand — a spark flickered between his fingers, then burst into a tiny flame. It didn't burn him. It obeyed him.
"The hell..." He grinned slightly, wild and uncertain. "So that's what you wanted to kill me for."
He didn't know it yet, but he had eaten the Ryū Ryū no Mi, Model: Infernal Dragon — one of the rarest Mythical Zoan fruits. Its power could turn a man into a dragon of flame and sea — the same being that, according to legends, once defied the World Government itself.
The Marines would come back. He knew that. The Government didn't leave witnesses. And now he had something even worse — power.
He looked out to sea again, the sunlight glinting off the endless calm. "Fine," he said. "If the world wants to burn, I'll be the one to light it."
He turned toward the old shipyard, what was left of it. Three wrecked boats, half-burned, one missing a mast. He started walking.
---
By sunset, he had rebuilt enough to make one float. The sail was stitched from curtains. The flag was blank, white, and torn. He tied the ropes tight, wiping soot from his face.
"Dad," he muttered under his breath, "you always said freedom's out there. I guess I'll find it myself."
He pushed the small boat into the tide. The waves rocked it gently. He jumped aboard, grabbed a piece of driftwood, and started paddling. The island faded behind him, just a shadow now — a grave.
As he drifted into the open sea, the horizon burned orange, and his chest mark glowed faintly again. He didn't notice the seagull landing on the sail's tip, watching him.
He didn't know it yet, but word of Shirohama's destruction had already reached Marine Headquarters.
---
Marine Headquarters – New Marineford
A tall man in a crimson coat walked through the corridor, his boots echoing. The air around him was heavy — people moved aside without speaking. He stopped in front of a report table where a younger officer saluted him nervously.
"Fleet Admiral Sakazuki," the officer said. "We've received news. Shirohama Island—destroyed. Our unit reports... total loss."
Sakazuki's eyes narrowed. "Loss?"
"Yes, sir. Fire and explosion. No survivors confirmed, except… possibly one civilian."
"Name?"
The officer hesitated. "Rai D. Kaen, sir."
The Fleet Admiral's gaze hardened. The mention of that middle initial — D — was enough. He crushed the cigar between his teeth. "Another one with the Will of D, huh?" he muttered. "They never stay quiet for long."
He turned toward the window, watching the sun vanish into the ocean.
"Send Cipher Pol. Find him. If he's alive, burn the rest."
---
At Sea – The Drift
The night had come, and Rai's small boat floated aimlessly. He leaned back, staring at the stars. His stomach growled. He laughed a little — the first laugh since yesterday.
"Guess this is what freedom tastes like. Bitter as hell."
He looked at the stars — the same ones his father told stories about. Pirate stars, he used to call them. The constellations that guided those who refused to bow.
"Dad," he whispered, "I'll see it all. The Blues, the Grand Line, the world they say doesn't exist."
A faint rumble of thunder rolled in the distance.
Rai closed his eyes, hand resting over the dragon mark on his chest. "And if the World Government tries to stop me…"
He grinned, teeth flashing under moonlight.
"…then I'll burn the world back to freedom."
The sea answered with silence — and somewhere beneath the calm surface, something stirred. A shadow — massive, serpentine — moved quietly under his boat, as if drawn by the power he carried.