The passage of time on the Sabaody Archipelago was usually measured in the bursting of bubbles, the arrival of rookies, or the shifting tides of the lawless zones. But inside the small room above Shakky's Rip-off Bar, time had been measured in sweat, blood, and the slow forging of a boy into a man.
The room was quiet, filled with the morning light filtering through the windows. A young man slept in the bed.
"Asty! Wake up! Breakfast is ready!"
The voice drifted up from the floor below.
On the bed, the young man groaned. He scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing back a mess of hair, and sat up. The sheet fell to his waist.
He stood and walked to the cracked mirror in the corner. He stretched, his back popping, the muscles in his torso shifting like steel cables under his bronze skin.
Aster D. Rocks was eighteen years old.
He stood at six feet and seven inch, a lean, powerful figure that radiated a quiet, dangerous intensity. His hair was still the same black, but the single, thick streak of brilliant white at his right temple had grown out, framing a face that was no longer round or soft.
It was a hard face. Handsome, but marred by violence. Three thin, white scar lines ran diagonally across his face. A permanent reminder of his past.
He turned slightly, looking at his right shoulder. There, a jagged scar tissue sat. The place where Roger's pirate sword had cut him. The place where he had failed to hold onto his brother.
Fourteen years, Flamey's voice rumbled in his mind. The spirit sounded older, too. Deeper. Less like a screeching teakettle and more like a furnace that had been burning for an eternity. Fourteen years of hiding.
"That's right," Aster whispered.
It's happening in two weeks, Flamey reminded him, a flicker of dark anticipation in his mental tone. The so-called 'Pirate King' dies in two weeks. The world will turn upside down.
"I know."
Aster looked past his reflection to the corner of the room. There, resting against the wall, was Crimson Abyss. It was waiting. It had been waiting just as long as he had.
He turned away from the mirror and put on a simple black shirt as he walked downstairs.
The bar was closed, the 'Closed' sign flipped on the door. At the counter, Shakky was already plating food. She looked exactly as she had the day he met her.
When she saw him, her eyes softened into pure warmth.
"There he is," she said, smiling. "Sit. Eat. You're going to need it."
She practically shoved him into a chair and placed a mountain of food in front of him. It was enough to feed three men.
Aster smiled. It was a small, genuine expression that softened the harsh lines of his scars. He picked up his fork and began to eat.
As he chewed, he looked around the bar. This place... it had been his sanctuary. For fourteen years, Rayleigh and Shakky had hidden him, just to be sure. They had fed him, clothed him, and taught him how to be a human being, not just a weapon of vengeance.
They weren't his parents. Nothing could replace Xebec and Eris. But they were family. They were the people who had held him when the nightmares of Teach's death woke him up screaming. They were the ones who had bandaged his hands after Rayleigh's brutal training sessions. They had taken the ultimate risk, and they had never once complained.
He loved them. He respected them more than anyone alive.
The back door opened, letting in a gust of humid air. Silvers Rayleigh walked in. The Dark King had aged. His hair was fully white now, his beard a silver mane. But his power was undiminished. He walked with the easy, relaxed gait of a man who feared nothing under the sun.
He stopped by Aster's chair and placed a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder.
"You ready, kid?"
Shakky froze. The coffeepot in her hand hovered over a mug. She slowly set it down. The smile slipped from her face, replaced by a look of sudden realization.
Today.
It was today.
She looked at Aster. He wasn't the broken four-year-old they had pulled from the jungle anymore. He was a man. A warrior. And he was leaving.
"Oh," she whispered. "Is it... is it already time?"
Aster stopped eating. He stood up and turned to her. He saw the sheen of tears in her dark eyes, the way her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her cigarette pack.
He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
"I'll be fine, Shakky," he said, his voice gentle. "You and Rayleigh... you made sure of that."
Shakky buried her face in his chest for a second, composing herself. When she pulled back, there were tears on her cheeks, but she was smiling again. A brave, sad smile.
"You better be," she said, patting his cheek. "If you get caught by some low-level Marine, I'll hunt you down in the afterlife and scold you myself."
Rayleigh chuckled, though his eyes were serious. "Go on, Aster. Go say your goodbyes to them. I'll get the boat ready at the shore."
"And I'll pack the rest of the food," Shakky added, turning back to the counter to hide her face. "I know how much you eat. It's unnatural."
Aster nodded. "Thank you."
He walked out the back door, into the small, enclosed garden behind the bar.
In the corner, beneath the shade of a large root, were three stone markers. There were no bodies beneath them. The bodies of his parents and brother were lost to the destruction of God Valley. But this was where they lived in his memory.
He knelt in the grass and traced the names carved into the stone.
Rocks D. Xebec. Rocks D. Eris. Rocks D. Teach.
"Hey," Aster said softly. "It's been a while."
The wind rustled the leaves.
"It's time," he told them. "Fourteen years. Rayleigh says I'm ready. Flamey says I'm ready. I think... I think I am, too."
He looked at the marker for his father.
"I read the book, Dad. Every page. A thousand times. I know what the world is. I know what you wanted to do. I'm not going to do it your way... but I'm going to finish it. I'm going to break the cage."
He looked at the marker for his mother.
"I remembered the First Law, Mom. 'Survive.' I did. I lived. And... I found joy. I found people who love me. You were right. The world is cruel, but it's not empty."
He looked at the smallest marker. The one for Teach.
His hand clenched into a fist on his thigh. The old, familiar burning knot in his chest tightened, but it didn't consume him. He controlled it now.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm still sorry. I will always be sorry. But I won't let it be for nothing."
He stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees. He looked at the three stones one last time. His golden eyes, usually so guarded, burned with a promise.
"When I'm done," he said, "the world won't just remember the name 'Rocks' as a monster. They'll know who we really were. And they will know my name."
"Aster D. Rocks."
He bowed, a deep, respectful bow to the dead. "Goodbye."
He turned and walked back into the house. He went upstairs, grabbed his heavy, travel-worn coat, and swung Crimson Abyss onto his back. The axe settled there with a familiar weight, the magnetic clip on the harness snapping into place.
He walked out the front door.
Rayleigh and Shakky were waiting at the shoreline, a few hundred yards from the bar. A small boat bobbed in the water. It was a single-masted sloop, fast and maneuverable, painted a dark, matte black. It was stocked with supplies, water, and log poses.
Rayleigh stood by the prow, his arms crossed. He looked at Aster, assessing him one last time. He saw the stance, the Haki that hummed just beneath the skin, the clarity in the eyes. He saw the finished product of fourteen years of hellish training.
"You remember the chart?" Rayleigh asked.
"Loguetown first," Aster said. "To see that bastards end."
"Right," Rayleigh nodded. He looked away, towards the sea. "He's going to die in two weeks, Aster. Roger. He turned himself in."
"I know."
"Make sure his death is not peaceful," Rayleigh said quietly.
"Don't worry," Aster said. "I got just the thing to say."
Rayleigh smirked. "Fair enough."
Aster then turned to Shakky.
She was standing there, holding a final bag of oranges. She looked like she was holding it together by a thread.
"Here," she said, thrusting the bag at him. "Scurvy is a rookie mistake. Don't make it."
Aster took the bag. He set it in the boat. Then he turned back and wrapped her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.
She broke.
The tough, ex-Empress sobbed into his shoulder. "Be safe," she choked out. "Please, just... be safe. Don't be reckless like your father. Don't be a hero. Just... come back to visit."
"I will," Aster promised. "I'm your son, aren't I?"
She squeezed him so hard he thought his ribs might crack. "Yes. Yes, you are."
She let him go, stepping back, wiping her eyes furiously. "Go. Before I tie you down."
Aster stepped into the boat and untied the rope. He looked at Rayleigh.
The Dark King didn't hug him. He just extended a fist.
Aster bumped it with his own.
"Give 'em hell, kid," Rayleigh said, his glasses glinting.
"I'll give them worse," Aster replied.
He pushed off. The small boat drifted out into the current. Aster unfurled the sail.
He didn't look back until he was well out of the cove. When he finally turned, two small figures were standing on the shoreline, watching him. A man in a long coat and a woman waving a handkerchief.
They stayed there until his boat was nothing but a speck on the horizon.
Back on the shore, Shakky finally lowered her hand. She leaned into Rayleigh, her face wet with tears.
"Will he be okay, Ray?" she whispered. "The Marines... the Admirals... the Monsters out there..."
Rayleigh put his arm around her. He watched the horizon, where the black sail had just vanished, and thought of the boy who could cut a Sea King in half at four years old. He thought of the young man who had mastered all three forms of Haki. He thought of the ancient, terrifying entity living in the boy's soul.
"Will he be okay?" Rayleigh scoffed gently. "Shakky... he's our son. He's Xebec's blood. He's Eris's heart."
He turned to walk back to the bar.
"The seas," Rayleigh said, with absolute certainty, "won't know what hit them."