Ace was dead. The image played in his head again. Flames. Screams. The smell of blood. A back collapsing. Taiga opened his eyes. Rock. Hard. Black. Volcanic. Waves crashing. Salt in the air. The sky was gray. Clouds hung heavy. (Where is this...) He tried to sit up. His body felt wrong. Light. His arms were thin. Taiga stared at his hands. Hands from when he was sixteen. Not the scarred, hardened hands he'd used until nineteen. Still soft. Still childlike. Burn scars ran from his left arm across his chest. Only those matched the memory of that day. His head caught up slowly. "[whispers]...I'm back," His voice was young. He clenched his trembling hands. Not a dream. The rock's cold was real. The salt spray was real. A stormy night. Flames went wild. A vortex formed. When he came to, he was here. The Grand Line. The first half of the greatest sea route—nicknamed "Paradise." Red Line and Grand Line split the world into four seas. East Blue. West Blue. North Blue. South Blue. Beyond that boundary lay a dangerous sea. Navy and pirates and revolutionaries clashing. Devil Fruit users walking around like it was nothing. And now Taiga was thrown into it alone. With a sixteen-year-old body. No Log Pose. "[serious]...I have no choice," His voice fell into the empty reef. --- He didn't know the island's name. Eight kilometers in diameter. Volcanic rock. Few trees. A little beach. No sign of people. His stomach was empty. Water first, Taiga decided. He started moving. Nineteen-year-old memories. Sixteen-year-old body. He felt his leg strength failing as he climbed the steep slope. His breath came hard. Pathetically fast. He was gasping. "Haa, haa...seriously?" Near the peak, water seeped from a crack in the rock. Spring water. Taiga cupped it in his hands and drank. Cold. Clean. His throat had been burning with thirst, but he hadn't noticed until now. I'm alive, he thought. Strange feeling. For two years after Ace died, living hadn't felt like it meant anything. But now he wanted to live. Wanted to drink water and actually live. That's how badly he wanted Ace back. He returned to the coast. Gathered seaweed trapped between rocks. Chased fish in tide pools. Lost them several times. Caught one on the fourth try. Ate it raw. Tasted awful. But he ate it. Evening came. He leaned against a rock and looked up at the sky. He remembered Ace. The day the three of them exchanged cups when they were young. Ace and Luffy and Taiga. Three sworn brothers. They didn't have sake, so they used barley tea. Ace said, "Now we're real brothers." Luffy shouted, "Of course we are!" Taiga laughed. A stupid memory. But he'd never forget it. The day Ace waved from Whitebeard's ship. How Ace, as captain of the second division, had said, "I'll protect you both no matter what." And at Marineford—how Ace was engulfed in flames and fell. Taiga closed his eyes. That image wouldn't fade. Too vivid. (I'll stop it. This time, I'll stop it.) He went down to the beach. Picked up a piece of driftwood. Started writing on the sand. A timeline. He had to record it before the memory faded. "Banaro Island duel—approximately 2.5 years from now." "Marineford Summit War—approximately 3 years from now." Ace would clash with Blackbeard—Marshall D. Teach—at Banaro Island. Ace would lose there. Get captured. Handed over to the Navy. Then public execution at Marineford. He knew it all. Knew everything. But—knowing and stopping were completely different. Taiga drove the branch into the sand. Impossible alone. Absolutely impossible. To get between Ace and Blackbeard at Banaro Island, he'd need either the strength to stop Ace or his trust, or both. The Marineford Summit War was even worse. He had allies. People who could fight. People who could sail. People who knew the underworld. "[serious]First, a ship and a crew," Speaking it aloud made it feel a little more real. --- Three days passed. Taiga explored the island. Secured food. Mapped the terrain. Volcanic rock meant few flat places. Several caves. Good for shelter from rain. On the fourth day, he found a larger cave. He went deep inside. Dark. Taiga lit a small flame in his left hand—Kagero flames. Not a Devil Fruit ability. He didn't know the origin. But it had always been inside him. Only his flames. In normal times, he wrapped them around his fists and feet for combat. Orange. Flickering. The wall, lit by that flame, had markings. Taiga stopped. Ancient script, maybe. Unfamiliar symbols lined up. And among them—a shape like flames. A wavering shape. The same unstable flicker as Kagero flames. "[surprised]...why?" His voice was swallowed by the cave. Why was this shape here? Who carved it? When? Why? No answers. The cave said nothing. Taiga stared at the wall for a while, but left without understanding. That night, leaning against rock and watching the sky, Ace's image came again. This time it was vivid. Flames. A falling back. Luffy's screams. Blood. "—!" Flames burst from his left arm. Out of control. When emotion broke, the flames went wild. That was the scariest thing about Kagero flames. Normally just wrapped around his fists, but strong loss or anger triggered a rampage. A fifty-meter radius burned. And Taiga's own body burned too. The scars on his left arm and chest were proof. The moment Ace died, emotion exploded. Flames couldn't be controlled. That rampage probably created the time vortex. "[angry]Calm down...!" He told himself. Gripped the rock. Cold. Hard. He focused on that sensation here and now. The flames slowly receded. Burn marks remained on his left arm. The rock wall was slightly blackened. Taiga exhaled long. (Can't let emotion break. Flames are a weapon and a bomb.) He knew. But every time Ace's image came, it got harder. He looked up at the sky. Beautiful stars. Waves in steady rhythm. Taiga listened to that sound for a while. Did nothing. Just listened. It helped. A little. --- Two weeks passed. A small boat's wreckage washed ashore. Destroyed in a storm, probably. Planks and rope scattered. Some usable parts. Taiga spent three days rebuilding the boat. Not perfect. Water seeped through gaps. But it moved. That was enough. Before setting out, Taiga checked the beach timeline again. The stick-written words were half-erased by waves, but still readable. "Banaro Island duel—approximately 2.5 years from now." Two and a half years. Long and short at once. No Log Pose. On the Grand Line, without a Log Pose, you couldn't even find direction. But Taiga had future memories. Carabina Port Town—on the Log Pose route through the first half of the Grand Line. Population twelve thousand. The rough direction was southeast. He'd navigate by stars. That was all he had. (I need a crew.) Taiga repeated it in his head again. People who could fight. People who could sail. People who knew the underworld. One person couldn't change anything. These two weeks had driven that home. "[serious]Let's go," His voice fell on the empty beach. He pushed the boat into the waves. --- The first few hours were calm. Rowing. Rhythmic. With the waves. Clear sky. Stars visible. Taiga checked their position and headed southeast. But past midnight, clouds increased. The wind changed. Waves grew higher. "[scared]This is bad...," Elgrim Strait. Between Porto Neira and Carabina. Ocean currents ran abnormally violent there. Thirty kilometers wide. Even skilled navigators took half a day to cross. Taiga's repaired small boat was being swallowed. Waves battered the boat. Water poured through gaps. Rowing couldn't fight the current. A whirlpool appeared to the right. Getting caught in that meant death. "[scared]Damn...!" Fear gripped his chest. In that moment—his left arm grew hot. Flames came out. Not a rampage. But uncontrolled. Above the stormy sea, flames flickered orange for just an instant. --- Carabina Port Town. In a small building facing the harbor, Reina Veraru spread an old sea chart. Eyes too calm for seventeen years old. Silver-white long hair tied back. Sun-darkened skin with a single thin scar crossing her cheek. Height 165 centimeters. Slender, but hardened by navigator's work. Today too, white shirt sleeves rolled up, pen marking the chart. The Elgrim Strait map. Rock positions. Whirlpool points. Safe passage routes. Reina had memorized all of it. Had to. Three years ago, she lost her brother in this strait. (Belo, I won't let anyone else die in the strait where you died.) That's why she kept working as a pilot. Barossa Company—the weapons merchant network controlling the underworld of the first half of the Grand Line—was involved in accidents here, Reina was certain. But no proof yet. No crew. So for now, she earned money and waited. Evening came. She stopped at the inn "Wave Sound Pavilion." Meals included, five thousand Beli. A bit high for Reina, but she loved the fish soup the proprietress Pola made. She sat at the counter. One sip of soup. Warm. An old sailor's voice from the next table. "...There's a man who knows the future, they say." "Where's that?" "Porto Neira. Barossa Company's selling the information." Reina's hand stopped. Porto Neira. Barossa Company's headquarters. A name she hated. A man who knew the future—she didn't understand what that meant. But if Barossa Company was moving, something was there. Something big. She finished the soup and went outside. The harbor wind was cold. She looked toward the strait. A storm was coming tonight. Reina could feel it. The smell of the tide had changed. The wind direction had changed. (If there's a ship already out there, that's bad.) Her pilot work had ended at evening. But Reina launched a small boat. Habit. Check the strait before storms. Someone might need help. Since Reina couldn't save her brother, this was all she could do now. When she swept the telescope across the water, she saw it. A small boat capsizing in the whirlpool. And—flames. In the storm, orange light flickered for just an instant. Flames. Someone was producing flames. In this storm. In this sea. Reina lowered the telescope. Blue eyes fixed on the center of the strait. (Someone's producing flames in a storm like that.) One deep breath. She turned the wheel. Toward the center of the storm. Waves were high. Wind was strong. Reina didn't care. She moved forward. The current, the rocks, the whirlpool positions of Elgrim Strait—all in her head. She'd spent more time in this strait than anyone. Not fearless. But she had no choice to turn back. The orange flames flickered once more in the storm.