The grand halls of Ryugu Palace shimmered beneath the glow of countless coral lanterns, their soft light dancing over pillars of carved marble and seashell-inlaid floors. The cavernous chamber at the heart of the palace—prepared for the celebration of Princess Shirahoshi’s birth—was alive with gentle music and murmured blessings from the gathered fishmen.

Rows of warriors, nobles, and citizens lined the vast corridor leading to the ceremonial chamber, each waiting patiently for their turn to approach the newborn princess who rested peacefully in a crib of pearlescent coral. Then, without warning, the palace shuddered.

A low tremor rolled through the marble beneath their feet as heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the corridor. Conversations halted. Music stilled. Even the drifting bubbles in the water-filled air seemed to hesitate. The gathered fishmen instinctively parted as a massive silhouette approached, ignoring the patiently formed line as though it were nothing more than seaweed in his path.

No one protested. No one even dared to breathe too loudly.

For the towering figure who moved past them—bisento resting casually on his shoulder, a white mustache curving like a crescent blade beneath his grin—was none other than Edward Newgate, known across the seas and feared by the world as Whitebeard. Behind him marched the commanders and officers of the Whitebeard Pirates, their very presence radiating authority. The flag of that same crew—a mark of sanctuary—flew over Fishman Island, protecting it from greedy predators and ambitious invaders.

The chamber rumbled again as Whitebeard’s steps drew closer. Soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, eyes flicking toward the entrance in nervous anticipation. Yet amidst the tension, one man alone seemed completely unruffled.

King Neptune.

He stood tall beside the princess’s crib, his lionlike features softening into a knowing smile. Long before the doors even opened, he recognized the deep, rolling laugh that carried into the chamber.

"Gurararara...! Neptune, you didn’t invite me on such an auspicious occasion... You truly wound me, old friend."

Whitebeard’s booming voice filled the room like a tide rushing in, full of mirth despite his mock complaint. His laughter shook the coral chandeliers, yet not a hint of real sorrow touched his tone—only the playful jab of a man accustomed to barging into the lives of those he cared for.

The guards immediately stepped aside. The nobles bowed. The palace attendants froze in awe.

And Neptune—massive though he was—stepped forward with open arms, his booming voice rising to meet Whitebeard’s.

"Whitebeard! My brother of the seas, you honor us beyond measure with your presence... Jamon!"

Whitebeard finally crossed the threshold, the chamber seeming to shrink around his colossal frame. His commanders fanned out behind him with respectful nods, though some couldn’t help but grin at the speechless awe of the fishmen around them.

Neptune clasped Whitebeard’s forearm with the strength of a warrior and the warmth of an old friend reunited. The joy radiating from him was unmistakable—whatever surprise he felt at this unannounced arrival was eclipsed entirely by gratitude.

Whitebeard’s grin widened as he glanced toward the tiny crib. "So this is the little guppy causing such a celebration, eh?"

Neptune chuckled, pride swelling in his chest. "Aye... my daughter, Shirahoshi. The whole island has gathered to bless her."

Whitebeard’s eyes—the eyes that had witnessed eras rise and fall, that had stared down countless foes and storms—softened as he looked upon the tiny mermaid princess.

"Good... good." His voice rumbled like a distant quake, yet carried a warmth that could calm the sea itself. "She has the makings of a true queen. One day, the whole ocean will bow to her shadow..."

Gasps rippled through the chamber at his words. To the fishmen, Whitebeard’s declarations were not thrown lightly. And though he was no prophet—not attuned to the world’s song like Roger had been, nor sensitive to the flow of fate as Rosinante was—Whitebeard’s instincts were legendary. When he called someone special, the world listened.

He felt something in Shirahoshi, faint but undeniable. A presence. A resonance. As though the newborn’s heartbeat hummed softly in tune with the world itself.

Whitebeard slowly handed his bisento to Jozu, who accepted the massive weapon with a grunt. The titanic pirate then crouched, his vast silhouette lowering like a mountain bowing to a flower. For a moment, even the palace guards forgot to breathe.

With hands large enough to crumble boulders, Whitebeard reached into the coral crib. And he lifted the child as though she were the most fragile treasure in all the seas.

The princess—no larger than a pumpkin—fit entirely into his hand, her tiny tail shimmering like moonlit waves, her soft curls floating in the wind. Whitebeard cradled her with a tenderness so at odds with his monstrous strength that several fishmen felt their throats tighten.

The world called him a demon... a destroyer... a legend of war.

But here, in the quiet glow of Ryugu Palace, he looked every bit the gentle father he was to his sons. Neptune watched, his chest swelling with gratitude.

Whitebeard let out a soft exhale. "Delicate little thing, aren’t you...? Gurarara... a far cry from the rowdy brats on my ship."

Shirahoshi blinked up at him, her hands reaching instinctively toward the towering man. The palace attendants nearly fainted as the world’s strongest pirate smiled.

"Sorry, my friend," Whitebeard said without looking away from the child, "I’ve just returned from battle. I’ve nothing extravagant on me to give her..." His free hand curled into a fist—not of frustration, but humility. "But I hope you will accept these small tokens from me and my sons."

He turned his head slightly. "Marco."

Marco stepped forward at once, offering a nod. Several Whitebeard Pirates came behind him, each carrying a massive chest bound in iron and sealed with the mark of the Whitebeard crew. One after another, they set the chests down with deep thuds that echoed through the chamber.

When they opened the lids, the chamber was bathed in radiant gold. Jewels shimmered like captured starlight. Coral-crowned tiaras gleamed. Piles of coins and rare pearls overflowed, reflecting in the wide eyes of every fishman present.

And then came the final offering. A smaller chest, handled with reverence and caution, was placed gently before Neptune. When its lid was lifted, a fruit with a swirling pattern lay inside—mesmerizing and dangerous.

A Devil Fruit.

Even those who recoiled knew its worth. A priceless treasure, capable of bargaining for an entire armory or feeding half the island for a season. Whitebeard spoke softly, still cradling Shirahoshi. "I know you fishmen have little use for such things. But even if you never eat it... it may serve you should the tides ever turn against you."

Despite the jewels, despite the Devil Fruit, everyone in that chamber knew the greatest gift Whitebeard brought was him—his protection, his acknowledgment, and his affection for the child of his old friend.

Whitebeard let Shirahoshi curl her tiny fingers around the tip of his thumb for a moment longer, his expression softening in a way few ever witnessed. Then, with utmost care, he lowered his hand back toward the coral crib. The palace seemed to hold its breath as the world’s strongest man returned the fragile newborn princess to her bed of polished shells and silken seaweed.

Shirahoshi gave a small, bubbly coo, her tail giving a faint flutter as she settled into the cradle. Whitebeard lingered for a heartbeat, his enormous shadow cast protectively over her, before rising to his full, towering height. The chamber expanded again the moment he straightened, as though the palace walls themselves dared not confine him.

His gaze shifted to Queen Otohime.

The gentle queen—radiating a soft, warm glow even in her exhaustion—bowed her head in gratitude. Her hands folded calmly before her, though the faint tremor in her fingers betrayed how recent her labor had been.

"Otohime," Whitebeard rumbled, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine concern, "how’s your health? This little guppy didn’t give you too much trouble, did she? Gurararara!"

A ripple of laughter passed through the room, easing the tension. Otohime’s smile brightened, her eyes shimmering with kindness.

"You honor me with your concern, Lord Newgate," she said softly. "Though Shirahoshi surprised us all with her strength, I am well. Truly." Her gaze slid lovingly to the crib, her voice barely above a whisper. "It is a mother’s blessing to bring new life into the world."

Whitebeard’s grin softened. "Hmph. Just don’t push yourself too hard. The seas can’t afford to lose a queen like you."

Behind him, the Whitebeard commanders exchanged glances—some touched, some surprised. It wasn’t often their old man spoke so gently to anyone. Neptune stepped forward then, his voice booming with the strength of a king and the joy of an old friend reunited.

"Whitebeard! Today is a day of celebration, and your presence has honored it beyond compare. I will not let this chance pass us by." He turned to the guards. "Prepare the grand banquet hall! A feast worthy of my brother and his sons!"

The soldiers saluted at once, their earlier fear washed away by excitement. Word spread quickly—echoing through the palace corridors and into the wider city that the Whitebeard Pirates were to be guests of honor.

At the same time, the long line of fishmen waiting to bless the princess resumed its slow procession. Warriors, merchants, and nobles stepped forward one by one, each offering prayers, tokens, and gentle songs to the newborn. The soft hum of their voices filled the chamber once more, weaving together into a warm, reverent melody.

Whitebeard watched the scene with crossed arms and a quiet pride. His commanders stood behind him—Marco, Jozu, Thatch, and others—observing the reverence the fishmen held for their royal family. Neptune clapped Whitebeard on the arm—a gesture that would have crushed a lesser man.

"Come, old friend," the king said warmly. "Eat, drink, and celebrate with us. The seas seldom grant us a day as blessed as this one."

Whitebeard threw his head back, his booming laugh echoing off the marble pillars.

"GURARARARA! Then let us feast, Neptune! For today, a queen is born!"

By late evening, the steady flow of fishmen coming to offer blessings finally tapered off. Soft hymns had given way to tired murmurs, and the chamber’s once-roaring festivity had settled into a warm stillness. Through all those hours, Whitebeard remained—a silent sentinel beside Shirahoshi’s crib. The commanders, too, displayed a calm restraint unusual for pirates of their renown. Their recent battle on Water 7 lingered heavily on their minds, and though their spirits were tempered, their loyalty to their captain kept them sharp.

Whitebeard’s reason for stopping here was more than just celebration. He had come to ensure that the World Government—still smarting from the humiliation he’d dealt them—did not vent their wounded pride on Fishman Island. The island was, after all, the Yonko territory nearest the Government’s reach... and Whitebeard knew better than anyone how vindictive those men could be.

Just as Whitebeard turned to retire for the night— The world shook. A deep, jarring tremor tore through the stone beneath their feet. Chandeliers rattled. The crib shivered. The coral pillars groaned under the pressure.

Even Whitebeard staggered a step. The entire palace—no, the entire island—quaked.

"Wh-what was that?" several guards blurted, panic rising.

Marco spun toward the entrance, wings flaring instinctively. "What’s going on...?" His brow furrowed. His Observation Haki stretched outward, but it hit a wall of nothingness—an oppressive void beyond his reach. "I can’t sense anything outside the island!"

But Whitebeard straightened, face darkening. He could sense something. His Haki reached far—beyond the palace, beyond the coral towers, beyond even the vast spherical barrier that encased Fishman Island like a protective womb.

And what he sensed made even the World’s Strongest Man fall silent. Outside the massive barrier—crafted to shield the island from collapse under the crushing weight of the sea—chaos reigned.

The water outside churned into an apocalyptic storm, currents spiraling like whirlpools being torn apart. Shadows—colossal, ancient, terrifying—moved across the murky abyssal dark.

"BOOOOM...!"

The barrier thundered violently, cracks of shockwave light rippling across its surface. From the outside, the spherical shield of Fishman Island flickered with strain as a dozen shapes circled it.

Not ordinary Sea Kings. Not even the giant ones that patrolled the deep trenches. These were Emperor Sea Kings. The primordial titans of the abyss.

Each one was the length of a mountain ridge, their serpent bodies coiling through the black water like living continents. Their eyes glowed like ancient stars—eyes that had not gazed upon the upper seas in centuries. Their roars distorted the ocean, sending tsunamis of pressure crashing into the barrier.

And they were not gathered. They were attacking.

"BOOOOM! BOOOOM!"

Their massive bodies slammed against the shimmering shield. The impact shook the island’s foundation. Coral towers cracked. The seabed trembled. Homes rattled dangerously in the distant districts. The sight was awe-inspiring... and horrifying.

These were the creatures the Ark of Noah had been built for—a ship the size of a floating city, meant to be drawn by these leviathans alone. They were protectors of legend... gods of the deep.

But tonight?

Tonight they were maddened. Frenzied. Their howls carried a strange, unnatural despair that vibrated even Whitebeard’s bones. Their thrashing tails tore trenches into the seabed. Their jaws, large enough to swallow islands whole, snapped against the barrier like thunderclaps.

Marco’s eyes widened as he stared into the dark waters through the window.

"What in the world... drives creatures like that into a frenzy!?"

Another quake. Another blinding flash of pressure across the barrier. Screams erupted in the distance as Fishman Island began to panic. Guards rushed through the halls. Mothers clutched their children. Warriors drew weapons despite knowing weapons meant nothing against gods.

Neptune stumbled into the chamber, fear and disbelief etched on his face.

"The... the Emperor Sea Kings—!! They’re trying to break the barrier!"

The palace shook violently. Shirahoshi stirred in her crib. A silent dread settled over Whitebeard as he stared up toward the shaking ceiling. Something was calling those beasts. Something ancient. Something powerful.

And something very, very close. Whitebeard clenched his jaw.

"Gurararara..." His voice was low, deadly serious. "So that’s how it is, huh...? Neptune. Protect your queen and your daughter. This isn’t natural."

He slammed the end of his bisento to the floor, the stone cracking beneath it.

"Whatever’s coming... it’s big."

The world’s strongest man lifted his weapon. And outside, the Emperor Sea Kings roared again—

"BOOOOOOOOOOM!"

—shaking Fishman Island to its core.

The situation outside the barrier had escalated far beyond what anyone on Fishman Island could have imagined. The cracks spiderwebbing across the dome were faint, but they were enough to strike terror into every soul who understood the crushing reality of the deep sea. A collapse here would not simply drown the kingdom—it would crush it beneath tens of thousands of meters of unforgiving pressure.

It didn’t take long for the Whitebeard Pirates to gather beneath the trembling barrier. The commanders stood close to their captain, their expressions tense, their bodies poised. Above them, the lights of the coral lanterns flickered from the ceaseless pounding outside, casting jittering shadows across their faces.

The sight of the Emperor Sea Kings thrashing against the barrier was unlike anything they had seen before. These weren’t just monsters—they were forces of nature, moving continents with their tails, reshaping abyssal trenches with a flick of their immense bodies. Watching them throw themselves against the barrier with reckless abandon was like watching mountains slam into glass.

Even Whitebeard couldn’t ignore the danger.

"Pops... maybe we should leave." A strained voice broke the tension.

Teach. He stepped forward, not trembling, but calculating. His eyes darted between the cracking barrier and the panicked fishmen rushing through the city below. "If—if the barrier collapses... so many of us will be buried under the sea. We have too many Devil Fruit users, and even the ones who don’t have Devil Fruit abilities—they’ll be crushed instantly at this depth!"

The commanders turned sharply toward him. Teach wasn’t wrong. It was a logical evaluation—the kind Teach always made when cornered. Cowardice wrapped in reason, because fishman still have a chance at survival if the barrier comes down, but what about them...? Especially their ability users. But for Teach to speak now, and speak so urgently, told the others everything they needed to know.

He was afraid.

Marco’s jaw clenched. Rosinante’s warning rang in his mind yet again—Watch that one. Watch the crewmate who never made waves but never left the background. Watch the man who laughed with everyone yet kept pieces of himself tucked away like secrets beneath the earth.

Marco had been observing Teach carefully ever since that warning, and the more he watched, the more he felt something off. Something subtle yet sinister. And Teach speaking now, in this moment of absolute crisis, only deepened Marco’s suspicions.

"Teach... shut up." Marco snapped, wings bursting from his back in a flare of blue fire. "You think Pops needs your advice? You think running is even an option? Have you forgotten whose flag it is that flies above Fishman Island...?"

Teach’s eyes flashed with something dark—but only for a heartbeat. Then his face smoothed, innocent once more.

"Marco, I’m just saying we should—"

"That’s enough. I will not let this island fall as long as I breathe...!" Whitebeard’s voice cut through their bickering like a tidal wave.

All eyes snapped back to him. Whitebeard stared upward, his immense neck craning slightly as he looked at the trembling barrier. His expression was hard—stone-like—but beneath that surface, a storm brewed.

"Neptune," Whitebeard growled, "do you know anything about this? Has something like this ever happened before? Why would the ancient Sea Kings—your guardians—attack Fishman Island?"

Neptune stood beside him, sweat beading down his brow. His trident trembled in his hand, the weight of his fear visible even in his towering form.

"I... I do not know... Jamon," Neptune confessed, voice cracking. "In all our history, never—never—have the Emperor Sea Kings shown aggression. They stay in the deepest trenches of the abyss. Their duty is to protect the island, not destroy it."

His voice faltered. "This madness... I can’t explain it."

Screams echoed from the city below as cracks in the barrier spread wider. Mothers gathered their children. Warriors scrambled into defensive lines that meant nothing against beings of such scale. The entire island throbbed with panic. And something inside Whitebeard snapped.

If the protectors of Fishman Island had gone mad, then someone—or something—had forced them into this frenzy. And if the island fell, it would not be while he still drew breath. Whitebeard inhaled. The very world around him shifted.

Marco, standing closest to Whitebeard, felt it first—the oppressive weight in the air, like the ocean itself bowed in reverence. The other commanders felt it too, stepping back instinctively.

Neptune froze. Every fishman warrior stopped mid-step. Even Teach’s smirk vanished. The seas went quiet.

Then— B O O O O O O O O M .

Whitebeard unleashed his Conqueror’s Haki. It shot upward like an invisible pillar, a shockwave of raw will that tore through the surrounding sea. The palace shook. The coral reefs vibrated. Entire schools of fish fainted instantly.

His haki slammed into the Emperor Sea Kings. The titanic monsters—creatures older than most kingdoms—flinched. Their colossal bodies recoiled, some by instinct, others by momentary clarity ripping through their frenzy. Their eyes widened, ancient and primal memories resurfacing.

The memory of a king. A king whose will was unyielding. A king who stood above all beneath the sea’s endless sky. A king they recognized. Most people imagined Conqueror’s Haki simply knocked out the weak. But when a man like Whitebeard—the Strongest Man in the World—unleashed it?

Even gods trembled. The thousand smaller Sea Kings surrounding Fishman Island screeched in terror, their bodies recoiling as though their very instincts screamed at them to flee. They scattered, fleeing to the outer edges of the abyss, creating a ring of empty ocean around Fishman Island.

The pressure on the barrier eased for the first time since the attack began.

Vista gasped. "He actually made them stop—just with haki...!"

Jozu stared upward in awe. "Those things are bigger than islands... and pops he’s—"

But Whitebeard wasn’t done. His Haoshoku haki flared again, spiraling out in a shockwave that warped the water itself. The smaller Sea Kings fled even farther, vanishing like startled minnows before a shark. The Emperor Sea Kings ceased their assault, massive bodies petrified by the sheer will of one man. Their minds began to clear, their breaths slowed, their movements loosened—

For a moment... A fraction of a heartbeat... The world froze.

Then—

KRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR—

A distortion rippled through the water. A soundless screech—one that carried not through the ear, but through the bones and soul. Whitebeard’s eyes widened. Thousands of fishmen who were running around a moment ago fell to their knees, clutching their heads. Even Neptune staggered backward, teeth grinding.

The Sea Kings convulsed. Their pupils dilated. Their bodies stiffened. And their eyes...

Those ancient, intelligent eyes...turned red once more. It was as if some unseen command—something primal, ancient, and horrific—had seized their minds once more. Their earlier calm shattered instantly, their bodies twisting back into a frenzy even stronger than before.

The Emperor Sea Kings threw themselves back at the barrier, roaring with pain and madness. The smaller Sea Kings—those who had fled moments ago—jerked mid-swim, turned violently, and charged back toward Fishman Island like a possessed swarm.

Marco shouted, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?"

Whitebeard tightened his grip on his bisento.

"That... wasn’t natural," he growled. "Someone or something...is calling them."

A third impact cracked the barrier. Shirahoshi, asleep deep inside the palace, began to cry. And outside, the abyss screamed. Something ancient had awakened. And it wanted Fishman Island to fall.