Somewhere in the vast expanse of the New World, an island loomed ominously on the horizon like a slumbering beast beneath the twilight sky.
A lone ship bobbed gently at its dock, its sails catching the breeze with the flutter of a familiar Jolly Roger.
The Jolly Roger of the Whitebeard Pirates still fluttered there, but no longer with the proud, commanding presence it once carried. Instead, it swayed with a melancholic tremor, as though mourning the weight of a legacy scarred by tragedy and time.
Much had transpired since the Summit War. The death of their captain had left a void too vast to fill, fracturing the crew's unity. The crew that had once stood together as brothers were now riddled with silent tensions and lingering grief. Harsh words had been exchanged during Whitebeard's funeral, too bitter to be taken back. Their bonds, once forged through fire and unbreakable camaraderie, had begun to splinter beneath the weight of unspoken blame and festering sorrow. One by one, some had turned their backs, choosing to walk their own paths rather than remain amidst the ruins of what once was.
But for those who stayed… one thing bound them still.
Vengeance.
Marco, despite his reluctance, had stepped forward as their leader. His flame had always been a healing one, never meant to command destruction. And yet he accepted the mantle, because someone had to. Under his guidance, they stalked the seas like restless ghosts, searching for the traitor who had torn their family apart.
Teach. That cursed name. The man they had once considered a brother had turned into a plague that infested the sea. He survived the wrath of the Nine Tailed Fox. Not only survived, but thrived. He struck at their islands, destroyed their allies, and stole the Devil Fruits of the fallen with a voracious greed that left trails of corpses in his wake.
Every story of his cruelty, every whispered rumor of his growing strength, stoked the raw fury that lay simmering in their chests.
They could not let it stand. They refused to let it stand.
Marco gave the order they had all been waiting for. And the remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates followed. They followed not out of bloodlust or madness, but because their resolve was absolute. If they were destined to fall, then they would fall with their pride blazing, fighting for the memory of their captain and their brothers. Accepting Oyaji's death had been a torment unlike any other. Living under Teach's shadow, however, was something none of them could bear.
The island served as a temporary refuge. A campfire flickered at the center of a lonely clearing, its flames dancing and crackling as though trying to chase away the suffocating gloom. The night was alive with the soft crash of waves against the rocks, and the sky blossomed with constellations that flickered like countless distant lanterns. Beneath that cosmic tapestry, the survivors allowed themselves a rare moment of stillness.
Away from the others, deep within the forest's embrace, Ace sat beneath the twisted silhouette of an old tree. Shadows spilled across his face, their shapes shifting like the turmoil inside his chest. He hugged his knees, his posture small and strained, so unlike the fiery and confident young man he had once been.
He had been wrestling with the same tormenting thought for weeks: should he call his sister? Should he reach out to Naru?
Part of him desperately wanted to. She was brilliant, strong, and someone he trusted with his life. She would know what to do. She always did.
But how could he drag her into this nightmare? The war that tore the world apart had started because of him.
This new conflict, this bitter quest for revenge, was a chain reaction born from his mistakes. His arrogance had led him to chase Teach alone. His stubbornness had blinded him. His failure had been the catalyst for everything that followed. Their family fractured. Their dreams buried. Their pride tarnished.
And Teach… that wretched man… still lived.
Still laughed.
Still thrived.
A violent surge of fury erupted from within Ace. His fists clenched so tightly that flames burst from his skin, devouring the air with their scorching heat. The inferno cast a bright, wavering glow upon his face, revealing an expression twisted by rage, grief, and overwhelming guilt. Animals fled, startled by the sudden wave of heat, and the forest fell silent as if nature itself feared to disturb him.
But the fire vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a cold emptiness where the heat once raged.
Footsteps crunched through the foliage.
Ace looked up to see Marco approaching. The older man wore his usual unreadable expression, yet his presence carried a soothing weight. Marco did not need words to comfort someone. His quiet strength spoke volumes on its own. Without fuss, he lowered himself to the ground beside Ace, leaning his back against the same tree.
"What is troubling you, yoi?" Marco asked, his tone gentle, though laced with a seriousness that never quite left him nowadays.
"Nothing," Ace muttered.
Marco raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah, I call bullshit on that."
Ace buried his face further into his knees, refusing to meet his eyes. Marco sighed softly, watching the trembling lines of the younger man's shoulders. For a moment, Ace looked painfully young, like the lost child he once had been rather than the warrior the world knew him as.
"Are you truly not going to call Kitsune?" Marco asked.
Ace hesitated, then muttered, "I don't want to worry her."
Marco let out a dry chuckle. "If we somehow live through this, she is going to throw both of us into the ocean and let us sink. You know that, right?"
A small, reluctant laugh escaped Ace. He let his head drop back against the tree, staring upward through the leaves. "She is going to kill me for not contacting her sooner. It has been weeks."
"You know how she gets," Marco said with a half-smile.
Silence drifted between them until Ace quietly asked, "Is it difficult?"
Marco blinked. "Hmm?"
"Leading us," Ace said. "Is it… hard?"
Marco inhaled slowly, the question lingering in the space between them. He stared at the ground, collecting his thoughts, and for a full minute he remained silent. Ace began to regret asking, guilt twisting in his stomach.
Before he could apologize, Marco finally spoke.
"It is," Marco admitted, his voice low. "I have been sailing with Oyaji for decades. When he left this crew in my care… I didn't think I could do it. I never once imagined myself as a captain, yoi."
Suddenly, Marco laughed.
Ace could only stare at him with a dead expression.
"Turns out I was right," Marco said through his laughter. "Look at me now. Guiding us straight toward certain doom. What a masterpiece of leadership, yoi."
Marco's laughter grew louder, almost hysterical, until tears formed at the corners of his eyes. They spilled down his cheeks, shimmering in the moonlight. But even as he cried, his face did not display grief in its purest form.
He simply looked… tired. Broken. A man who felt like a joke, as though every decision he made was a punchline delivered by fate.
"Marco…" Ace murmured, his voice trembling with sympathy and guilt.
Marco swiped his sleeve over his eyes and gave a dismissive wave. "I am fine, yoi."
A gentle quiet fell over them.
"You are a great captain, Marco," Ace said softly, every word sincere and heavy with emotion.
Marco did not answer. His eyes drifted upward, drawn to the glowing moon hanging like a pale lantern in the heavens. Its cold light shimmered in his gaze, reflecting a type of sorrow that no amount of words could soothe.
The two men remained there in silence, side by side beneath the boundless sky. The moment felt fragile, like a delicate truce carved from the storm within their hearts.
Then the peace shattered.
A deafening explosion tore through the night, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The shockwave rippled through the trees, scattering leaves and sending birds screeching into the sky. Both men shot to their feet, instincts flaring.
"What in the world was that?!" Ace shouted, already turning toward the flashing light.
The distant forest glowed with an eerie shimmer of red and orange, twisting shadows across the trees. Columns of thick black smoke spiraled upward, tainting the night sky like a grim omen.
Shouts erupted from the direction of their camp, panicked voices rising over the crackle of flames.
"That is very bad, yoi," Marco said, his tone grim and sharpened with authority. His usual calm hardened into something fierce and vigilant.
Without wasting another breath, the two men sprinted toward the source of the chaos, their steps pounding against the earth as they plunged headfirst into whatever awaited them.