Shanks approaches the cylinder.
His boots click against the stone floor—slow, deliberate, each step a countdown. The auction house stands empty now, the crowd fled, the auctioneer a trembling heap somewhere behind the stage. Only the group remains—Marya, Jannali, Eliane, Aurélie, Luffy, Law, and Beckman—watching from the shadows.
Shanks stops before the cylinder.
Uta floats inside—red and white hair drifting like seaweed, eyes closed, face peaceful. The fluid cradles her in a glass-bound sleep, shimmering with the hush of years held still. The symbols on the glass pulse with a slow, sickly green glow.
Shanks raises his hand.
His palm presses against the glass.
The surface is cold—unnaturally cold, the cold of something that has been kept in stasis for too long. His fingers spread against the curved surface, and for a moment—just a moment—he can feel her. Not physically. Something deeper. Something that transcends the glass and the fluid and the years of separation.
He mutters, "Uta."
The word hangs in the air.
Then—
Shanks winces.
His hand flies to his head. His fingers dig into his temples. His face contorts with pain—not physical, but something worse. Something that tears at the fabric of memory.
---
He is on Elegia.
The island is silent. Too silent. The concert goers lie scattered across the ground—hundreds of them, their bodies crumpled like discarded dolls. The stage stands empty. The speakers crackle with static. The air tastes of ash and something else—something wrong.
Shanks stands at the center of it all, his cloak billowing in a wind that carries no warmth.
"Find the underground facility!" he orders. His voice cracks through the silence like a whip. "Now!"
The Red Hair Pirates scatter. Their footsteps echo across the island—urgent, desperate.
Hongo calls out, "But what about—"
Shanks cuts him off. "Uta first. Then the people."
Hongo hesitates. His face—usually jovial, usually ready with a joke—is grim. He nods reluctantly.
"Understood."
They search. They tear through buildings. They overturn stones. They call out names that echo across empty streets.
And then—
King Gordon appears.
He steps from the shadows of a collapsed building, his arms stretched wide, his face split with a smile that does not reach his eyes.
"Shanks! It is so good of you to return!"
Shanks' eyes narrow. His hand drifts to Griffon's hilt. Something is wrong. Something has been wrong since they arrived. But he cannot place it. He cannot name it.
King Gordon continues, his voice smooth as oil. "You must stop Uta. She is—"
"Beckman calls out from a distance: "We found it!"
Shanks looks to King Gordon. His voice is clipped. "Sorry. We will have to catch up later."
King Gordon stands shocked. His eyes widen. His mouth opens. His expression—for just a moment—cracks.
"Stop! You must not—"
But Shanks is already gone.
---
Shanks arrives at the facility.
It is buried beneath the island—a labyrinth of corridors and chambers carved from ancient stone. The walls are lined with technology that predates the Void Century. The air hums with a frequency that makes his teeth ache.
Beckman waits at the entrance. Yasopp stands beside him, his face pale.
Beckman places a hand on Shanks' shoulder. He looks him in the eyes—steady, grave.
"It is just like the kids said."
Yasopp adds, "Hongo is already inside. But..."
Shanks glares. "But what?"
Yasopp hesitates. His voice is quiet. "You may need to brace yourself."
A voice calls out from behind them—King Gordon, still pursuing, still desperate.
"NO! You must not—"
Shanks pushes past Yasopp and Beckman.
He steps into the facility.
And freezes.
The chamber stretches before him—vast, cathedral-like, its ceiling lost in shadow. Hundreds of cylinders line the walls. Each one glows with a sickly green light. Each one contains a body.
Uta.
Dozens of Uta's. Hundreds. Floating in stasis, eyes closed, faces peaceful. And interspersed among them—King Gordons. Dozens of King Gordons. Hundreds.
Shanks' breath catches. His heart stops. His mind—for one terrible moment—goes blank.
Beckman places a hand on his shoulder.
Shanks growls, "What is this, Beck? How long?"
He looks up at Beckman. His eyes are gilt-stricken. His voice cracks.
"Did we do this? Did we leave her here to..."
Their heads snap around.
King Gordon calls out from the entrance—no, not King Gordon. A King Gordon. One of many. His voice is desperate. His arms are stretched wide.
"You must stop—"
He gasps.
He stammers backward.
Griffon's edge slices through him.
The King Gordon does not fall. He dissipates. His particles float away like ash on the wind. Like he was never there at all.
---
Shanks' voice booms through the facility.
"WHERE IS UTA!"
The facility quakes.
A deafening roar echoes across the island—a sound that shakes the stone, that rattles the cylinders, that makes the very air vibrate with terror. It is the sound of something ancient. Something angry. Something that has been waiting.
Yasopp asks, "What the hell is that?"
Building Snake calls from the entrance. "Chief! You better get out here!"
Shanks, Beckman, and Yasopp rush to the entrance.
The sky is wrong.
Tot Musica stands towering over the island—a monstrous entity of shadow and sound, its form twisting, its eyes burning. It is not flesh. It is not bone. It is music given form. It is hatred given voice.
And running past them—running toward the chaos, running toward the monster, running toward something—is Uta.
She clutches a basket to her chest. Her hair streams behind her. Her face is set with determination.
Yasopp asks, "Is that—"
Shanks' vision blurs.
The world twists.
The memory fractures.
---
"SHANKS!"
His vision clears.
He is back in the auction house. The cylinder stands before him, Uta floating inside. Marya is shaking him—her hands on his shoulders, her golden-ringed eyes burning with urgency.
"Shanks!"
He shakes his head. His voice is hoarse. "What?"
Beckman tells him, "You spaced out. Like you were in a trance."
Shanks nods slowly. His mind is still reeling. The memory—the facility, the cylinders, the King Gordons—clings to him like cobwebs.
"I saw what happened."
He looks at Marya. His voice has settled into an eerie calm—the stillness that follows when horror finally finds its name.
"Tot Musica manipulated our memories. Made us forget about the facility when we found it."
He looks at Uta—still floating, still sleeping, still preserved.
Then back to Beckman.
"She is still there. We left her there. Again."
He shakes his head. His jaw clenches.
"But how..."
Marya looks to Jannali.
Jannali stands beside the cylinder, her hand pressed against the glass, her eyes glazed over. Her third eye glows with a faint, pulsing light. She mutters something—words that no one can understand, sounds that exist between languages.
Shanks blinks. "She was able to—"
Eliane replies, her voice quiet. "She is always doing stuff like that."
Shanks looks to Beckman. His voice is hard. "We have to go back."
Marya rolls her eyes. "Finally!"
---
Everyone turns when Luffy speaks.
"Shanks."
Luffy stands apart from the group, his straw hat pulled low, his eyes fixed on Uta. His voice is quiet—quieter than anyone has heard it.
"Is it true? She is still on that island?"
Beckman answers. "Yeah, kid."
Everyone's head snaps around.
Jannali calls out, "Got her!"
Shanks blinks. "What?"
Marya tells him, "Step back. We may be able to talk to her. But you need to get out of the way."
Shanks' brow furrows. Confusion. Disbelief. He does not move.
Marya gestures—sharp, urgent. "Move."
Shanks steps aside.
Law steps up. His fingers splay. His voice is steady.
"ROOM!"
Bubbles surge through the cylinder—blue, translucent, humming with the energy of the Ope Ope no Mi.
Jannali steps back slowly, her voice tense. "Careful, mate. Or I might lose her."
Law nods.
There is a hissing sound.
Uta appears—floating outside the cylinder, levitating in the air. Her body is limp. Her hair drifts around her head. Her eyes remain closed.
Eliane asks, "Is she awake now?"
Jannali tells her, "Quiet, love. This takes a lot of concentration."
Uta's eyes snap open.
They are not her eyes.
The left eye is a red cross—sharp, angular, burning with malice. The right eye is blacked out—empty, endless, a void that swallows light.
Tot Musica grins.
It grins with Uta's face.
"I will never let you have her! She is mine. Forever!"
Sweat beads on Jannali's brow. Her hands tremble. Her third eye pulses with desperate effort.
Law's eyes flash. His wrist turns.
"Scalpel."
Uta's body convulses.
A small, dark orb—no larger than a marble—is pulled from her chest. It hovers in the air, pulsing with the same sickly green glow as the cylinder.
Uta gasps.
Her eyes—her real eyes, her blue eyes—fly open. Her head turns. She scans the group on the stage. Her voice is hoarse, confused.
"Luffy? Marya?"
Luffy rushes forward. "Uta!"
Uta continues to look. Her eyes land on Shanks. Then Beckman. A tear forms—silver, glinting in the amber light.
"Shanks. Beckman?"
She is still levitating. Her head swivels. Her voice cracks.
"Where..."
Jannali curses. "Bloody hell. That inner mongrel is trying to grab the reins."
Law nods. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek. "Make it quick. I don't think we can keep it out of her for much longer."
Shanks looks at Uta. His expression is pleading—the expression of a father who has spent years believing his daughter was dead, who has just discovered she is alive, who is watching her slip away again.
"Hang on, Uta! We are coming for you! We are—"
Uta blinks.
Her expression turns deviant.
Her eyes return to Tot Musica's—the red cross, the black void.
"This is one of many. I will not let you have her back."
Law curses. "DAMMIT!"
The black orb pops.
His Room shatters.
Law and Jannali stumble backward—thrown off balance, gasping, spent.
Uta falls to the floor in a heap.
Shanks and Luffy rush to her.
Luffy yells, "UTA!"
Uta looks up. Her hand reaches out. Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Shanks..."
Shanks reaches for her.
His fingers brush her hand.
And she disappears.
A trail of floating ash. A whisper of sound. A memory already fading.
Gone.