Jack stepped onto the ruined shore first.
Robin followed immediately, small hands fisted in the back of his coat, knuckles white. She had not let go since the Pearl touched land. Jack did not comment on it. He adjusted his stride so she wouldn't stumble.
Gibbs, Pintel, and Ragetti followed, quieter than usual.
The island smelled wrong.
Burned wood. Wet stone. Something metallic beneath it all.
They saw bodies.
Not many—most had been reduced to shapes beneath rubble. A hand protruding from collapsed stone. A scholar's coat half-buried in ash. Someone who had tried to run and failed.
Robin pressed her face into Jack's coat.
Jack felt her shaking.
He did not look away.
They walked deeper, toward where the Tree of Knowledge had once stood.
Or where it should have stood.
Now there was only a crater of splintered stone and blackened earth. Charred roots jutted from the ground like broken ribs. The heart of Ohara—its pride, its history—had been erased so thoroughly it felt intentional beyond necessity.
Robin stepped forward slowly.
She stared.
Then her knees buckled.
Jack caught her before she hit the ground.
"They're gone," she whispered, voice hollow. "Everyone… everything…"
Her hands clenched in his coat, fingers digging in. Tears spilled freely now, hot and unstoppable.
"I'll make them pay," she said suddenly, the words sharp and small at the same time. "I swear it. I'll make the World Government pay."
Jack said nothing.
He did not tell her revenge was wrong. He did not tell her it would consume her. He had made his own bargains on that road.
Behind them, Ragetti had wandered off, stepping carefully through rubble, poking at half-buried debris with a stick like a child unsure whether something was dead or sleeping.
Then he ran back.
"Captain," he said urgently, breathless. "There's a lake."
Jack turned. "A lake?"
"With books," Ragetti added, eyes wide. "Lots of books."
Robin froze.
"What?" she whispered.
They followed Ragetti at a near run.
The lake lay beyond the ruins, calm and dark, its surface disturbed only by ripples of wind. At first glance it looked ordinary.
Then Pintel dove in.
He resurfaced moments later, sputtering. "THERE ARE BOOKS EVERYWHERE."
Ragetti followed, emerging with a thick tome clutched to his chest. He waded over and handed it to Robin.
She took it with trembling hands.
The cover was soaked. Warped. But intact.
She ran her fingers across it as if touching a living thing.
"They threw them in the lake," she said, voice breaking again—but this time with something else mixed in. "The scholars… they threw the books into the lake so they wouldn't burn."
Tears fell onto the pages.
"They saved them," she whispered. "There's still hope."
Jack watched her closely.
Then he turned to Gibbs. "Carry as many as you can. All of them."
Gibbs blinked. "All… the books?"
"Yes."
"That's—Captain, do you know how many—"
"All of them," Jack repeated.
Gibbs hesitated. "And you?"
Jack sat down on a rock near the lake, pulled out a bottle of rum, and took a swig. "I'll drink. And watch the kid."
Gibbs snorted despite himself. "Figures."
As Pintel and Ragetti began hauling waterlogged books to shore, Gibbs paused. "Captain… what are we even supposed to do with these?"
Jack didn't answer immediately. What were they supposed to do with them?
Robin looked up. "We have to preserve them," she said quietly. "This is centuries of knowledge. If it's lost… then Ohara really is gone."
Jack met her gaze.
Then he nodded. "Then we preserve them." Though he didn't know how to. Robin will figure it out, she's smart.
Then he straightened up. He felt something. A presence.
The air shifted.
Gibbs moved instantly, stepping in front of Robin.
Jack rose, Wado Ichimonji sliding free of its sheath with a soft, dangerous sound.
A man stepped out from behind the ruins.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Long dark hair stirring faintly in the wind. His face was calm.
"So the rumors were true," he said quietly.
Jack's eyes narrowed.
Ragetti froze mid-haul. Pintel straightened, water dripping off his clothes.
The man's gaze settled on Robin.
Then on the books.
Then on the pirates.
"I am not here to fight," he said.
Pintel raised a hand. "Then… who are you?"
The man met his eyes. "My name is Monkey D. Dragon."
Jack leaned sideways toward Gibbs and whispered, "And that is…?"
Gibbs swallowed. "Former Marine. Son of Monkey D. Garp. Leader of the Freedom Fighters."
Jack blinked. "That sounds inconvenient."
Dragon allowed himself the faintest smile.
"I did not believe the newspapers," Dragon continued, eyes returning to the ruins. "I wanted to see Ohara with my own eyes."
His gaze shifted to Robin.
"I did not expect to find the last survivor."
Robin stiffened.
Dragon's thoughts turned inward.
I sensed others on the island, he reflected. Pirates. I came ready to strike them down and take the child away. But…
He watched how Robin clung to Jack's coat. How the older man shielded her. How the others handled the books with care instead of greed.
These pirates are not her captors.
Dragon stepped closer to the lake, eyes drawn to the waterlogged tomes.
Gibbs noticed. "The head scholar—Clover—ordered them thrown into the lake," he said. "To save them from the fire."
Dragon closed his eyes briefly.
A final prayer for Clover.
He opened them again. "What will you do with the books?"
Jack shrugged. "I was hoping you'd tell me."
Dragon considered.
The Freedom Fighters were still small. Scattered. Growing. Knowledge like this could shape the future—help them understand the world and the regime they meant to topple.
Better with them than rotting here.
Better with them than in the hands of the World Government.
Before he could answer—
He felt it.
Another presence. Sharper. Colder. Brilliant.
Dragon turned.
His eyes widened.
From the far end of the ruins, a man emerged—hair wild, eyes sharp behind strange lenses, posture relaxed in a way that suggested he understood things far beyond this island.
Dragon exhaled slowly.
"…So you came too," he murmured.
The man smiled faintly.
It was Vegapunk.