The morning sun over the secluded island of Oykot did not burn with the harsh, sulfurous intensity of a battlefield; it spilled across the landscape like liquid gold, warm and syrupy. The air smelled of blooming jasmine and the clean, rhythmic salt of a sea that had finally made its peace with the shore. Turquoise waves lapped lazily against the white sand, moving with a gentle hum that felt less like a threat and more like a lullaby. Ten years had passed since the sky had died at New Marineford, and the world had moved on in the wake of the giants.
On a wide stretch of private beach, tucked between towering emerald palms and ancient sea-cliffs, the Moby's Will sat at anchor. She was a beautiful sight—her ebony wood polished to a mirror sheen, her red sails furled tight, and her white-moustached figurehead staring out at the horizon with a look of permanent, wooden pride. Below her, the beach was a riot of colour and sound. A massive bonfire had been reduced to glowing embers, the remnants of a celebration that had lasted well into the night. Maye stood at the water's edge, the hem of her soft, white linen dress damp from the spray. Her midnight-brown hair had grown long, reaching her waist, and the single, shimmering streak of silver at her temple caught the light like a strand of moonlight. She looked vibrant, her skin glowing with health, her eyes a clear, stormy blue that reflected the peaceful horizon. On her left hand, a simple silver band caught the sun, etched with the pattern of a rising sun. "Thinking about the tide again, Anchor?" A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a broad, warm chest. Ace smelled of wood smoke and the sea, his skin radiating that constant, comforting heat that had saved her soul a decade ago. He looked every bit the legendary Captain, his face a bit more rugged, his shoulders broader, and a matching silver ring glinting on his finger. "Just thinking about how quiet it is," Maye whispered, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "It's hard to remember when it wasn't." Ace chuckled, a deep, rich sound that vibrated through her. He suddenly gripped her tighter and hoisted her up, twirling her around in a dizzying circle. Maye shrieked with laughter, her white dress billowing around them like a cloud. "Well, it's about to get loud," Ace grinned, his eyes sparking with mischief as he set her back down on the sand. "The crew is already asking about breakfast, and my wife is the only one who can keep Marco from eating all the pineapple." Maye swatted his arm, her heart swelling at the word. *Wife.* It was a title she wore with more pride than 'Sanguine Anchor' or 'Commander.' She stepped in and caught his face in her hands, pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of home and the promise of a thousand more mornings just like this. Their moment of peace was abruptly interrupted by a small, indignant huff from below.
"Hey! No fair!"
They both looked down to see a toddler, no more than three years old, standing with his hands on his tiny hips. He was a miniature mirror of Ace, hair, a dusting of freckles across his nose, and a fierce, stubborn pout that could move mountains. But when he looked up, his eyes were the same deep, stormy blue as Maye's. "I want a twirl too!" the boy declared, his lower lip jutting out. "Oh, is that so, Captain?" Ace laughed, swooping down to snatch the boy up. He hoisted him onto his shoulders, where the toddler immediately began to drum his heels against Ace's chest in excitement. "Me too! Me too!" the boy squealed, reaching down to grab Maye's hand. They collapsed into a fit of laughter, Maye and Ace sandwiching the boy between them in a crushing, tickling embrace. The little boy shrieked with joy, his tiny hands clutching at Ace's hair and Maye's dress, his laughter the brightest sound on the entire island. A few yards away, Marco approached, his hands in his pockets and a rare, genuine smile softening his features. He looked older, his eyes filled with the wisdom of a man who had seen an era end and a new one begin. He stopped a few feet from the family, his gaze lingering on the boy. "Eddie! Come look at this!" Marco called out, his voice warm. "I found a creepy crab over here by the tide pool. It's got a shell shaped like a skull-yoi." The boy's eyes went wide. "A creepy crab?!" "Go on then, Edward," Ace said softly, setting the boy down on the sand. "Go see what your Uncle Marco found." Edward Newgate Portgas didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted across the sand with the same reckless energy his father had possessed at that age, his small feet kicking up plumes of white dust. Ace and Maye watched him go, their fingers interlacing as they stood side-by-side. They watched as Marco knelt down, pointing out the creature in the water, and they watched as the rest of the crew—the family that had fought through hell to stay together—began to gather around the boy, their laughter echoing off the cliffs. "He has the Old Man's spirit," Maye murmured, her heart full. "He has the best of all of us," Ace replied, squeezing her hand. They began to walk together toward the tide pools, the sun climbing higher into the sky, illuminating a world that was no longer haunted by debts or ghosts. The fire was still burning, the anchor was holding fast, and the name of the greatest man they had ever known was being shouted with joy by a child who would never have to know the weight of a war.