The night sky stretched endlessly over the New World, its stars shimmering like the dying embers of ancient dreams. A chill breeze swept through the foliage of Sabaody Archipelago, rustling the massive mangrove roots that towered over the settlement. Within this complex maze of nature and civilization, secrets stirred like the calm before a tsunami.
Far from the eyes of the World Government, beneath the murmur of bubbling markets and underground auctions, a network of whispers spread like wildfire. Something had shifted—an energy, a presence long thought extinguished, now flickered in the shadows of the sea.
In a hidden cove not marked on any map, Gol D. Arkan stood barefoot atop a jagged cliff, his cloak removed, his chest bare, exposing the blackened scar over his heart—a mark from an ancient battle long forgotten. His breathing was calm, yet the air around him pulsed with energy. The ground beneath his feet trembled slightly, reacting to the sheer force of the Haki radiating from his form.
A massive boulder several meters away shattered into dust without a single touch. The pressure of his training intensified.
Sweat trailed down his chiseled form as he pushed his body and spirit beyond mortal limits. Each strike he delivered to the air echoed like a thunderclap. Armament Haki flowed through his fists like molten steel, while the will of his Conqueror's Haki stretched across the island, making beasts whimper and fall to their knees.
He wasn't training out of vanity or pride—he was sharpening a blade destined to strike only once, but with the weight of the world behind it.
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit office deep within Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admiral Sengoku leaned over a set of newly delivered intelligence files, his jaw tight with unspoken worry. The firelight flickered off his glasses as he flipped through the documents.
"Unconfirmed sightings of a powerful individual near the Red Line... destruction of a pirate crew in the Calm Belt by a single man... mysterious disappearances of agents in the New World," Sengoku murmured.
Beside him, Vice Admiral Tsuru read quietly, her aged eyes narrowing. "All signs point to one thing, Sengoku. He's no ghost."
Sengoku closed the folder and rubbed his temples. "You think it's really him? After all these years?"
"If it's truly Gol D. Arkan... we may be facing a greater threat than Whitebeard himself."
The room fell silent. Even Garp, who usually shrugged off threats with a laugh, stood by the window, arms crossed and gaze unmoving.
"I warned you back then," Garp said gravely. "If he ever chose to come out of hiding, it wouldn't be for glory. It would be for blood."
Back in the shadows of Arkan's island, a den den mushi vibrated softly, its receiver glowing faintly. Arkan approached and lifted it to his ear without a word.
"He's been captured," said a voice on the other end—Shanks.
Arkan's hand tightened around the transponder snail, his jaw clenching. "Ace?"
"Yes. Taken by Blackbeard and delivered to the Marines. They plan to execute him publicly. At Marineford."
A long silence followed. Even the waves seemed to pause.
"Understood," Arkan finally replied, his voice like steel drawn from its sheath.
Shanks hesitated. "If you go now, the world will change. You know that."
"Then let it burn."
The call ended.
That night, sleep never came to Arkan. He sat before a small fire inside his cavern, flames dancing in his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the portrait of Ace as a boy, one hand still resting on the hilt of a blade sheathed in obsidian-black metal—an heirloom from Roger himself.
Memories flooded him—
Flashback: Years Ago
A quiet forest. Young Ace and a slightly older Arkan sparred with wooden swords, sweat and laughter echoing between the trees. Ace's wild swings were full of fire, but unrefined. Arkan blocked easily, smirking.
"You're strong, Ace," Arkan said, lowering his sword. "But strength without control will break you."
Ace huffed. "I don't need control. I just need power!"
Arkan chuckled. "Spoken like our father." He knelt and ruffled Ace's hair. "But remember… control saves lives."
In the distance, Garp's voice bellowed for them to return to training. The moment faded, but its lesson never did.
Present day. Arkan unsheathed the obsidian blade and sliced the air. The sound alone split a boulder in half.
Meanwhile, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard's flagship, tension brewed among the commanders.
Marco stood with his arms crossed as Vista and Jozu argued heatedly about how to approach the upcoming war.
"We need every ally we can get!" Jozu insisted.
"Some won't fight against the Navy, even for Ace," Vista countered.
"There is one who will," Marco said calmly, cutting through the noise.
They turned to him.
"The Hidden Flame."
"You don't mean..." Vista trailed off.
"Gol D. Arkan," Marco confirmed. "If he's alive, and if he still watches over Ace... we may not be alone."
Whitebeard, silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was gravel and thunder. "He carries the blood of Roger. If he steps into this war, the seas will split."
Back at Marineford, preparations were in motion. Soldiers mobilized. Admirals summoned. The world was being drawn to the center of chaos.
Sengoku stood before a war council.
"Should Arkan appear… he is to be neutralized at any cost."
Akainu slammed a fist into his palm. "I'll do it myself. I've waited years to erase the stain of Roger's bloodline."
Kizaru yawned. "If he really is stronger than Whitebeard, we might be in for a fun show..."
Aokiji remained silent, contemplative.
In a secluded bar in the East Blue, Monkey D. Dragon received a coded message from an old ally. He read the letter, eyes widening slightly.
"So… the older brother lives."
Ivankov leaned over. "Are you going to act?"
Dragon shook his head. "No. The world is already on fire. Now we see which way it burns."
Back in his cavern, Arkan donned his cloak and armor. He looked at himself in the mirror—a relic from his father's ship. For the first time in decades, he was no longer a ghost.
He was a storm.
He stepped outside, moonlight washing over him, and extended his hand. A massive bird descended from the sky—a creature of legend, bonded only to him. It screeched in greeting.
He mounted the beast and looked toward the sea.
"I'm coming, Ace."
And with a flash of wings and a roar that echoed across the sea, Arkan vanished into the clouds.