The birth of the Pirate King hit the world like a storm, heaving the age up to a crest it had never known.
A few days later the familiar prow split the morning mist and settled on the line of the sea.
"It's the captain. They're back." Shanks saw it first. He dropped his wooden sword and sprinted for the harbor.
"Hey. Wait up, red-haired idiot." Buggy pelted after him, terrified to be a step late.
Kael followed at an easy pace.
He watched the Oro Jackson ease alongside, watched those familiar faces come clear. The weariness in them was veiled by a light beyond words, the glow of people who had reached the far shore of a dream.
The port erupted. Townsfolk poured out to see the legendary ship make berth.
The gangplank thumped down and a wave of voices came spilling ashore.
"Kael. You bastard, you missed something you would not believe." Scopper Gaban's booming laugh hit first as he hauled Kael into a rib-cracking hug.
"Hahaha. You two brats over your fevers yet."
"Where's the captain. Where's Captain Roger."
They crowded Kael and the two rascals, talking over each other, excitement snapping like flags.
Roger came last. He took one look at the bright-eyed Shanks and Buggy and nodded with a smile.
The deck's clamor bled into the quay's jubilation. Crewmen showed off odd shells from Laugh Tale, pointed out their own faces in the paper, downed rum in toasts one after another.
Kael did not push into the scrum. He leaned on a cargo crate and simply looked.
Past the ring of celebration he saw a quieter corner.
At some point Roger had come down and now stood at the end of the pier, gazing out to sea.
Shanks found him and ran over.
The boy was clearly asking in a rush. Roger answered with patience.
The noise around them seemed walled off by something unseen.
Kael did not hear what they said. He did not reach for his power to hear it. That was not his road to tread.
All he saw was Shanks' shoulders begin to shake, and then that boy who never stopped saying he would surpass the captain flung himself into Roger's arms and sobbed.
Roger smiled and patted his back, that hand which had once gripped the world now full of a father's gentleness.
No one in the crowd noticed. They were drunk on the joy of having conquered the Grand Line.
Kael could only let out a quiet sigh.
…
"Ku ha ha ha. Look at these clowns, making me sound so grand." Roger held a wrinkled newspaper and laughed until tears pricked. "'The pirate who possesses the wealth of the world, Gold Roger.' I like the ring of that."
"Yeah, now every brat alive wants to sail out and pick a fight with us." A crewman, face ruddy with drink, waved his bottle. "The World Government must be tearing its hair out."
"The Navy will have moved already. Garp is probably grinding his teeth and cursing us," Rayleigh said, polishing his blade against the mast with unhurried strokes.
Good humor soaked the deck.
"Only, there's one thing they printed wrong." Roger tapped the big block of type that read Gold Roger.
"It is Gol D. Roger. Ku ha ha ha."
"As expected." Rayleigh nudged his glasses, lenses catching the lamplight. "The World Government is really set on erasing the D from your name."
They had reached the end and read the truth. They knew better than ever what weight that single letter carried.
Roger let the paper go and the sea wind took it.
His gaze traveled over the faces of those who had staked life beside his. From Rayleigh, to Gaban, to Oden, to every crewmate, and last to Kael and the two who had just rejoined them.
"Thinking back," Roger said, voice softer than any had ever heard from him, "the whole road feels like a miracle. A man long pronounced a dead man walking still managed to come this far. I am… more grateful than I can say."
Silence fell across the deck.
The crew looked at each other, wrong-footed by the uncharacteristic gravity.
"Hey, what are you talking about," Gaban blurted, suddenly awkward, flapping a hand. "Don't get all proper on us, you idiot captain."
"Yeah. You're giving me gooseflesh."
"Say something like that out of nowhere and it must be the booze talking, moron."
"Hahahaha. The captain saying thank you. Will the sun rise in the west tomorrow."
Their rough, guileless racket was their way of answering.
Roger lifted his head and looked at his rowdy family. The old smile opened again on his face, only with something else folded into it.
The last thread of sunset slipped into the sea and painted sky and water in royal red-gold.
The shadow of the Oro Jackson ran long, the afterimage of a glorious age.
The wind stilled. The noise went with it.
As if all felt it at once, they grew quiet together and turned to their captain.
Roger stood straight and tugged his coat into place.
He drew a breath. His voice carried to every corner of the deck and struck clean at every heart.
"The Roger Pirates"
"are disbanded."