The breeze was heavy with the scent of salt and citrus as the ship glided smoothly over peaceful waters. The New World, so harsh and untrammeled, had provided them with an exceptionally quiet day. It was as if it was symbolic — a lull between storms.
Solian stood at the prow of the ship, his arms resting lightly along the railing. Before them, familiar cliffs lifted the city out of a mist, and sunlight shone down upon the city in golden rays, reflecting from the marble towers, the houses with red-tiled roofs, the waterfalls which poured down its cliffs like liquid crystal.
It had been a long journey back — in miles, to be sure, but in all that they'd experienced. The struggle against Elric. The brute force Itachi had unleashed. The Storm-Storm Fruit, waiting for its master. And most of all, the quiet shift in mood. That feeling that the world itself had perceived.
Behind him, the crew remained quiet. There was no celebration, no cheers. Just a collective sense of awareness. Things had changed.
Vance broke the silence first. "Doesn't feel real sometimes."
Solian turned. "What doesn't?"
"This." Vance gestured at the city ahead. "We've been hunted, exiled, almost drowned, fought through fire and blood… and now we're coming home. As rulers."
Kael gave a soft chuckle. "Not bad for a bunch of outcasts."
Solian remained silent. His gaze was returned to Dressrosa's beaches. Home. Yes. But the weight of it… he felt that now.
The piers had been cleared in anticipation of their return. Marine soldiers, now under Solian's leadership, stood in formal attire, saluting with discipline. Civilians filled the plaza behind the barriers, cheering and waving as flower petals floated down from balconies and rooftops.
As Solian stepped off the ship, his boots thudded against the stone with a firm finality.
No longer a visitor.
No longer a rescuer.
He was king.
The march into the capital was slower than expected. People yelled blessings and thanks. Children tossed flowers at the feet of the crew. Storekeepers closed early just to bow from their doorways. It wasn't a parade, but it was like one — not one of triumph, but of hope. A city finally able to breathe freely after decades of oppressive tyranny.
The Flower Palace, once a monument to Doflamingo's decadence and violence, was transformed in Solian's vision. The tacky hues and flashy decorations were replaced. In their stead, the halls were elegant but warm — wooden-paneled, glass mosaic-lit, and painted with pictures of the sun bursting through clouds.
And at its heart, the throne room — serene, bright, and guarded by something other than soldiers. It was guarded by faith.
Solian did not move towards the throne. He faced his men. "War room. Now."
At the center of the war room was a massive round table made of sea prism oak — a wood as rare as it was symbolic. On the table, between maps, sealed letters, and bounty posters, stood a single item.
The Storm-Storm Fruit.
Its flesh curled in wavy spirals, colors dancing between indigo and ash-gray. It hung suspended, a living thing seeming to pulse with energy contained by threads alone.
The crew gathered around in silence. Even Kael, always prepared with a quip, was silent.
Itachi stepped forward.
He had not spoken much since the war, his demeanor reserved but imposing. His Sharingan eyes, which had turned red with chakra, now turned black again, though still as heavy as ever — as if he sensed more than the rest of us.
He placed his hand on the fruit.
"I've researched it," Milo whispered. "The Storm-Storm Fruit — classified as a Logia, but it's… strange. It doesn't just generate weather. It embodies chaos within order — lightning, gale winds, pressurized storms. It's… volatile."
Itachi didn't hesitate. He bit into the fruit. The taste was vile, bitter and sharp, but he chewed slowly and swallowed.
And then the room changed.
Wind swirled around his feet, though windows remained closed. His cloak fluttered. Lights dimmed their light by half as static filled the air thick and hairs tingled their arms.
He opened his eyes slowly.
For half a heartbeat, they flashed.
And it vanished.
He breathed slowly in. "It suits me."
That night, the crew again — not at war, but with sense — was assembled.
Solian stood before a large tapestry on the wall. It displayed the World Map, etched with borders that changed like waves in history. He tapped several regions as he spoke.
"You've seen what Elric's crew was capable of," he began. "But they're just a piece of the puzzle. The world isn't divided by good or evil. It's controlled by power."
He nodded toward the middle of the map — the Red Line, where Mariejois sat.
"The World Government. The most powerful on the planet. They have the Marines in their pocket, legislate, and erase history when it suits them. At the center is the council of Celestial Dragons, born nobles, not brutes."
He traveled east. "The Marines — under their flag. Three Admirals commanding, each more lethal than most pirates can dream. Kizaru, with light. Akainu, with magma. Fujitora, gravity. Some would pray for justice. Others follow orders."
He crossed four gigantic territories. "And then there's the Yonko — sea emperors. Four pirates powerful enough to balance the world.".
Milo chimed in, holding notes. "Big Mom controls Totto Land. Kaido rules the Beast Pirates in Wano. Shanks, the most mysterious, holds the most territory with the least bloodshed. And then… Whitebeard. Still alive. Still the strongest man in the world."
Solian nodded. "There's a fragile balance between all of them. We've started to tip it."
Vance leaned back, arms crossed. "And what about the Revolutionaries?"
"They play in the dark," Solian answered. "Led by Dragon, the world's most coveted man. They don't hate pirates, but they hate the World Government worse."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "And what's our role in this?"
Solian stared out into the window. "We're not pawns on their board. Not yet. But to win at our own, we need to understand every piece of the board."
Later, atop the palace's stormwatch tower, alone was Itachi. The city below twinkled with lanterns, the laughter of the streets like music drifting up. Dressrosa was quiet.
Quiet was brief.
He lifted his hand.
A whirlwind of wind wrapped around his wrist. Lightning danced between his fingertips. He wasn't learning the fruit. He was harmonizing with it — refining it. Calming its chaos.
Storms, to others, were disasters.
To him, they were instruments.
Solian joined him silently, standing beside him without a word.
They watched the sky together.
"You've changed," Solian said after a long pause.
"I've remembered," Itachi replied. "What it's like to fight for something… that still has a chance."
Morning broke with soft breezes and open horizons. But beyond Dressrosa, the New World simmered. Bounty notices were updated. Rumors spread. A new force had been born — a king with a demon-eyed fighter who masterminded the storm itself.
And the world… had begun to hear.