The next morning, the horizon was different.
Where before there had only been the endless blue of the Grand Line, now jagged cliffs loomed in the distance — rising abruptly from the sea like the teeth of some ancient, sleeping beast.
Mist curled around their bases, swirling in strange, hypnotic patterns.
Our ship sailed closer, and the true scale of it became apparent: the cliffs formed a natural fortress around a massive bay, their craggy faces dotted with caves and waterfalls that spilled from unseen heights.
At the heart of it all, half-submerged in the water, lay the ruins of a once-great city.
Stone spires jutted from the waves, weathered and broken. Giant statues — cracked and worn but still majestic — stared blankly toward the open sea.
It was a graveyard of grandeur.
And it called to us.
Vargan whistled low from the helm. "Now that's a sight."
Riku stood beside me, swords at his hips, posture tense. "Feels... off."
He was right.
There was something about this place — a heaviness in the air, as if the sea itself mourned whatever civilization had been swallowed here.
I grinned, feeling the familiar surge of excitement stir in my chest.
"Let's go ashore."
We anchored near a crumbled stone pier and took a small rowboat in.
As we drifted closer, we could see strange markings carved into the surviving pillars. Symbols unlike anything I had ever seen — spirals within spirals, jagged lines that seemed almost to move when you weren't looking directly at them.
Vargan ran a hand over one as we docked, frowning. "Feels... old."
"Older than anything I've ever heard about in the Grand Line," Riku said, voice low.
I stepped onto the broken stones, the ground crunching underfoot.
The city smelled of salt, stone, and something older — like deep earth and forgotten time.
We moved carefully through the ruins, weapons ready.
It didn't take long before we realized we weren't alone.
The first sign was the sound — a low, rhythmic drumming that seemed to rise up from the water itself.
Then, movement — shadows darting between the fallen spires, too fast to catch.
Finally, a figure stepped into view.
He was tall and lean, clad in tattered remnants of armor that might once have gleamed gold. His hair was wild and seaweed-colored, his skin pale from years out of sunlight.
In each hand, he wielded a curved sword — wickedly sharp, their edges glinting even in the dim light.
He looked at us with fierce, wary eyes.
"You should not be here," he said, voice hoarse from disuse.
I stepped forward, hands raised peacefully — but ready to shift at a moment's notice.
"We're just explorers," I said. "We mean no harm."
The man laughed — a hollow, bitter sound.
"No harm?" he echoed. "You bring warships to sacred ground. You walk on graves."
He lifted his swords into a ready stance.
"I am Kaelen. Last of the Tideguard. Protector of the Kingdom Beneath the Waves."
He bared his teeth.
"And you are trespassers."
Without another word, he attacked.
He moved like liquid steel — swift, flowing from one strike to the next with deadly grace.
I barely managed to block the first slash, the force of it rattling my bones.
Kaelen pressed the attack, twin blades whirling in a dance of death.
Riku met him in a clash of steel, his own twin swords crossing to parry a vicious overhead strike. Sparks flew.
For a moment, it was two masters of dual swordsmanship locked in a deadly rhythm — feint, block, counter, strike.
Vargan tried to intervene, but Kaelen was too fast, slipping between attacks like water through fingers.
I shifted partially, lightning crackling along my limbs, and joined the fight.
It became a brutal three-way dance across the ruins.
Kaelen's style was mesmerizing — a forgotten art honed over decades, perhaps centuries. Every move flowed into the next, each slash precise enough to split hairs.
But he wasn't invincible.
And we had something he didn't.
Teamwork.
Riku and I fell into an unspoken rhythm.
I drew Kaelen's attention with surges of lightning and close-quarters blows, forcing him to block or dodge. Every time he did, Riku struck — a flickering blur of twin blades aimed at his flanks.
Kaelen parried and twisted and countered, but slowly, steadily, we began to push him back.
Vargan, seeing an opening, roared and hurled a massive chunk of broken stone.
Kaelen slashed it apart midair — but the distraction cost him.
Riku's blade nicked his side. My lightning-charged punch slammed into his shoulder, sending him staggering.
He dropped to one knee, breathing hard, swords trembling in his hands.
But he didn't surrender.
Not yet.
"I am... the last," Kaelen rasped, rising slowly. "I must protect them."
"Protect who?" I asked, lowering my fists.
He gestured around — to the ruins, to the broken statues.
"My people," he said, voice cracking. "My kingdom."
Silence fell.
I saw then — the sorrow in his eyes. The weight he carried. The loneliness.
He wasn't our enemy.
He was a relic. A guardian with no one left to guard.
I stepped forward carefully.
"You don't have to do it alone anymore," I said. "Join us."
Kaelen stared at me, stunned.
"You have strength," I continued. "Honor. We could use someone like you."
Riku sheathed one of his swords, nodding respectfully.
Vargan just grinned. "You're tough. I like tough."
For a long moment, Kaelen said nothing.
Then — slowly — he lowered his blades.
"I have nothing left here," he said quietly. "Perhaps... it is time."
I held out a hand.
He looked at it, as if it were a miracle.
Then — with a weary smile — he clasped my forearm.
A warrior's grip.
An oath.
Kaelen Tideguard joined our crew that day.
Not as a subordinate, but as a brother-in-arms.
A right hand to match Riku's left.
And as we explored the sunken city together — uncovering treasures, ancient relics, and strange, half-drowned secrets — it became clear:
Our crew was becoming something more.
Not just a band of misfits.
But a force.
A family.
Later, as we sat around a fire built atop the ruins, Kaelen told us stories.
Of the Kingdom Beneath the Waves — once a mighty civilization of scholars and warriors, brought low by pride and betrayal.
Of the great storms that swallowed the city.
Of the Sea Kings that now guarded its deepest treasures.
And of a weapon — an artifact of terrible power — said to lie hidden in the heart of the ruins.
A weapon many would kill to possess.
A weapon the Marines — and worse — might already be seeking.
I looked at my crew — Riku, sharpening his swords by firelight; Vargan, gnawing on a hunk of salted meat; Kaelen, staring pensively into the flames.
We weren't ready for a war.
Not yet.
But we were getting there.
Day by day.
Battle by battle.
Bond by bond.
And whatever challenges the Grand Line threw at us next...
We would meet them.
Together.