The winds howled over Impel Down as if mourning the fate of those trapped within. The massive underwater prison stood like a fortress of dread in the middle of the sea, surrounded by treacherous currents and guarded by monstrosities bred to kill. It was a place few entered, and fewer left.
Deep within its bowels, on Level 6—the eternal hell reserved for the most dangerous criminals—Portgas D. Ace sat shackled in sea prism cuffs. His fire was gone, both literally and emotionally. His usually defiant spirit was dimmed by exhaustion and the weight of what lay ahead.
He stared at the stone floor, ignoring the mocking laughter and growls of other inmates in nearby cells. Thoughts of his crew, of Luffy, of Whitebeard, and most painfully—of his father—tormented him.
But buried beneath those thoughts, like a fading ember, was a memory he hadn't allowed himself to recall in years.
Flashback: Dawn Island
A young Ace ran barefoot through the woods, blood trickling from a scrape on his cheek. Behind him, a teenage Arkan chased after him, a bamboo staff in hand.
"Stop running, idiot! That bear would've eaten you alive if I wasn't there!"
"I didn't need your help!" Ace snapped back, panting. "I can take care of myself!"
Arkan finally caught up and grabbed Ace by the collar. "You think throwing punches is all it takes to survive in this world?"
Ace pushed him away. "You're not my dad!"
That line stung more than any weapon. Arkan's expression darkened, but he said nothing. He simply turned and walked away.
Later that night, Ace found a blanket draped over him while he slept by the campfire. He never opened his eyes… but he knew who it was.
Present.
Ace leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. "Arkan... are you still out there?"
The skies above the Grand Line roared with black clouds as Arkan soared atop his mythical mount, wind battering his cloak. His eyes remained focused ahead—each second bringing him closer to the eye of the storm.
He descended upon an isolated island port to refuel and gather intelligence. As he dismounted, the civilians scattered in fear, sensing his overwhelming Haki. But one man approached him without hesitation.
"You smell like Roger," said the old barkeep, standing firm.
Arkan didn't speak. He simply lowered his hood.
The man's eyes widened. "You… you're real. We heard stories—of a shadow watching over the seas. But no one believed…"
"I need information," Arkan said. "What are the latest movements of the World Government?"
The barkeep handed him a folded newspaper. The headline read: "Execution of Portgas D. Ace Set—Marineford Prepares for War."
Underneath, a sketch of Ace in chains.
Arkan's fists trembled as he read.
Back at Marineford, the platform was being constructed, towering above the plaza. Marines marched like clockwork, cannons were aligned, and the sea walls were raised.
Sengoku stood with the three admirals as final preparations were discussed. The air was tense. They knew this battle would be remembered for centuries.
But Sengoku's mind wandered elsewhere.
He stared at the horizon, muttering to himself: "Where are you, Arkan?"
In the sky above Sabaody Archipelago, a lone News Coo delivered a red-lettered report to Silvers Rayleigh. The moment he read it, his face turned grim.
He folded the paper slowly and whispered, "So… the world has forced your hand."
Elsewhere, a Revolution Army agent arrived breathless before Dragon.
"He's moving."
Dragon didn't need to ask who. He nodded.
"Then the world's balance has already begun to shift."
Arkan returned to his cavern one last time. He lit the fire and knelt before his father's old cloak—Roger's original captain's coat. Faded, torn, but sacred.
He wrapped it around himself.
It was time.
Before departing, he inscribed a symbol on the cavern wall—a burning phoenix encircled by a wave. The mark of the legacy he would leave.
Aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard suddenly looked up from his seat. The sea had changed. It was almost imperceptible, but his instincts—sharpened by decades—sensed it.
"He's coming," he said aloud.
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Whitebeard grinned. "The brother. The one the world forgot."
In the prison cell, Ace blinked.
He felt it.
A ripple.
Something—or someone—was calling to him.
His heartbeat quickened, a warmth returning to his chest.
He whispered, as if speaking to a memory:
"You never left me… did you?"
From the skies above, a comet-like flame shot across the clouds, faster than any ship, louder than any storm. Its light illuminated the dark seas.
The flame had returned.
And with it, the world would never be the same.