The mighty Whitebeard Pirates were divided into fourteen divisions, spread across three ships.
The Moby Dick, the flagship, carried the captain along with the first four divisions. The other two ships usually sailed two or three days away on a leisurely route.
Although Newgate himself could not physically be present on the other vessels, they carried the same flags and embroidered emblems on their sails. No one in the New World could doubt they belonged to the Emperor's fleet.
For a long time, the crew had little to fear from rival pirates.
The mere mention of Father—as the younger pirates called him—was enough to discourage even the boldest challengers.
Edward suspected nothing that evening when he attempted to contact the Moby Junior, which carried the tenth through fourteenth divisions.
But when the following morning still brought no reply, concern began to creep in.
The third ship, the Emperor, had stopped earlier at a port for minor repairs. They had reported seeing the Junior pass by two days earlier, even firing a salute in greeting.
Since then, however, both ships had lost sight of her.
Newgate sent Marco, whose Devil Fruit allowed him to travel quickly, and waited for news with a patience that masked his growing unease.
Perhaps, he reasoned, the Junior had simply run aground due to a navigational error.
Or maybe they had encountered a Navy vessel.
Those meetings usually ended with nothing more than a few exchanged cannon shots and a show of strength rather than an actual battle.
Still, even in such a case, someone among the four hundred pirates aboard should have answered the captain's call.
When noon arrived without any message from Marco, Whitebeard began pacing across the deck, scanning the horizon for the burning blue shape of the Phoenix.
Even Marco—the captain of the first division and Edward's right hand—was no longer responding.
That was when Newgate's patience began to wear thin.
He didn't notice how heavily his steps struck the deck.
The ship itself began to rock with each step.
The atmosphere aboard the Moby Dick grew thick and tense.
Pirates spoke more quietly.
Cards were played in near silence.
Even their breathing seemed subdued.
Rida watched all of this with growing unease.
Above them, the clear sky slowly gathered into a single amaranth-colored cloud.
The waves themselves seemed to respond to the captain's steps, rising and crashing harder against the hull as if the ocean were echoing his anger.
She knew Edward possessed a Devil Fruit capable of shaking the very earth.
But seeing its effect on the ocean itself made her wish she were safely back on Bethesda.
The comfort she had felt earlier vanished instantly.
Especially since Lerena refused to leave her father's side, occasionally babbling cheerfully in his direction.
Rida found the behavior terribly inappropriate.
The child clearly didn't understand the seriousness of the situation.
If one of the Emperor's ships had disappeared, it could mean only one thing.
Someone had attacked them.
Below deck, nearly two divisions worked busily preparing storage space for the next cargo shipment.
They kept themselves occupied as long as they could.
The third division—where Thatch served and where nearly twenty percent of the members were cooks—struggled in the galley preparing a far more modest meal than usual.
A grand dinner would have clashed badly with the captain's mood.
Yet to Rida's surprise, Thatch alone sat casually on the gunwale, spitting grape seeds into the sea while kicking his feet lazily over the water.
"Hey, Thatch…"
"Don't come near me with that little demon," he complained without turning around. "I don't want her."
Rida approached anyway.
Lerena grabbed a nearby halyard and began cooing happily, staring at the ocean and pretending the pirate didn't exist.
"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Rida remarked, noticing the wide grin on Thatch's face between bites of grapes.
He laughed and shrugged.
"Wouldn't you?"
Rida glanced at Edward standing at the stern and muttered quietly,
"This isn't the time for jokes. Aren't you worried something might have happened?"
"Marco flew over there," Thatch replied. "What could possibly go wrong? They probably just got drunk."
He tossed another grape into his mouth.
"Honestly, I'm kind of glad. If the old man gets angry, someone's getting hurt. And it'll probably be Marco. Damn Phoenix."
"This concerns the entire crew!" Rida protested.
"Come on," Thatch snorted. "This is the Emperor's crew. Whitebeard—the demon of the seas, the strongest man alive." He leaned back lazily. "You really think someone would be stupid enough to attack his ship?"
"To your stations!"
Edward's voice thundered across the deck.
The captain himself strode quickly toward the helm.
"Turn! Course southeast!"
For a moment the crew erupted into chaos, repeating the orders loudly as if they hadn't heard them the first time.
But within seconds everything began to move with perfect coordination.
Some pirates rushed to the ropes.
Others to the sails.
With enormous effort the massive Moby Dick turned starboard against the waves, the rigging creaking under the strain of the wind-filled sails.
At the bow stood Edward Newgate in his white captain's coat, resting his massive bisento across one shoulder.
"Take the child," Thatch ordered suddenly, jumping down from the railing.
His voice had completely lost its earlier humor.
Rida instinctively clutched Lerena closer.
"If old man's preparing to fight," he added grimly, "it's better she doesn't see it."
Then he ran toward the bow.
"Pops?"
"It's Marco," Whitebeard replied calmly, even as the Moby Dick lurched dangerously while changing course. "The Junior ran aground. The crew's been decimated." His voice hardened. "And Marco was attacked. By Kaido's crew."
"Kaido?" Thatch frowned. "Who the hell is Kaido?"
Whitebeard's eyes darkened.
"It doesn't matter anymore, son."