The sea stretched endlessly beneath a sky of deep blue, where scattered clouds danced to the rhythm of the ocean winds. The waves, massive and unpredictable, rose and crashed with a deafening roar, only to surrender once more to the vast watery abyss. And amid this immensity, solitary and enigmatic, a coffin defied the laws of physics, resisting the ocean currents as it floated with an eerie serenity.
It was a colossal coffin—at least twice the size of an ordinary one—carved from a material as black as a starless night. Its surface was adorned with intricate gold and silver details that shimmered under the sunlight as if they possessed a life of their own. But what drew the most attention was the symbol engraved on its lid—a radiant sun encircled by a perfect pentagram, its lines so precise they seemed carved by divine hands.
Suddenly, as if answering an invisible call, the symbol glowed with an amber light, pulsing like a hidden heart. The sea, as if acknowledging its significance, carried the coffin away, each wave pushing it farther and farther beyond the reach of those who considered themselves the true rulers of the world. The Grand Line, with its mysteries and dangers, swallowed the artifact, taking it far from the Red Mountain—the towering Red Line, which divided the seas and served as a throne for the gods who dwelled in Mary Geoise.
Pangea Castle, Mary Geoise.
The Chamber of Flowers was shrouded in eternal gloom, where even the boldest light seemed to fear intruding. Columns of black marble supported a ceiling so high it vanished into the darkness, and the air carried the weight of centuries of unquestioned secrets. At the center of this oppressive silence, a slender figure sat upon a throne adorned with gilded bones—Imu, the hidden ruler of the world.
Their almond-shaped eyes, sharp as blades, glowed with crimson irises that seemed to reflect the fire of a thousand battles. Around each pupil, a thin ring pulsed faintly, as though containing an ancient and uncontrollable power. In their hands, they tightly gripped the saber Ace, the legendary blade that had once belonged to the King of the Pirates, Gol D. Roger. The sword, now a macabre trophy, trembled slightly, as if still holding the restless spirit of its former owner.
The Den Den Mushi before them twisted into an expression of terror, relaying the hesitant voice of Jaygarcia Saturn, one of the Five Elders.
"Imu-sama... There has been an incident in Bondola. The elevator collapsed, and the coffin... it fell into the sea."
The silence that followed was sharper than any scream. The air seemed to solidify, and even the sound of breathing vanished. Then, when Imu finally spoke, their voice was no longer human—it was a grotesque distortion, as if a thousand whispers merged into a single tone brimming with fury.
"Are you telling me… you lost that coffin?"
On the other end of the line, the Gorosei trembled. They, who ruled the World Government with an iron fist, who dictated the fate of entire nations, now felt the crushing weight of Imu's Haki radiating through the Den Den Mushi. Topman Warcury, normally unshakable, swallowed hard before responding:
"Yes, Imu-sama. The currents are strong in that region… and with the chaos of the accident—"
"USELESS!"
Imu's roar thundered like a storm, and the very castle seemed to shake. Their Supreme King's Haki erupted like a tempest, crushing the mental resistance of the Gorosei, who dropped to their knees—even from a distance, the pressure was unbearable.
"THAT WAS MINE! HE IS MINE!"
Their voice was now a mix of possession and obsession, as if the mere thought of losing the coffin was an unforgivable blasphemy.
After a moment, Imu calmed down.
"Send everyone after that coffin. I want every government agent hunting it down."
Days Later, warships patrolled the waters near the Red Line, scouring every wave, every reef, every shadow on the seabed. The Navy had been mobilized, Cipher Pol agents deployed—even secret operatives under direct orders from the Celestial Dragons had joined the search. But the coffin seemed to have vanished without a trace, as if the ocean itself had swallowed it whole to protect it.
In Mary Geoise, Imu sat upon their throne, crimson eyes fixed on the invisible horizon beyond the castle walls. Their fingers tightened around Ace's saber, and for the first time in centuries, something close to despair began to gnaw at their mind.
"Curse you... curse all of you..."
The coffin was lost. And with it, something not even the Five Elders fully understood. Something Imu would never allow to fall into the wrong hands.
The black coffin, abandoned to the ocean's whimsical currents, continued its solitary journey. The treacherous and unpredictable waters of the Grand Line carried it beyond known territories, through the Calm Belt—a dead zone where winds refused to blow and ancient sea monsters lurked beneath the mirrored surface. There, where ordinary ships languished adrift, the coffin glided as if guided by an unseen force, indifferent to the world's rules.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, until finally, the currents deposited it in the crystal-clear waters of one of the four seas—East Blue, the weakest of them all. Gentle waves nudged it toward a paradise island, where white sands and tall palm trees swayed under an eternally sunny sky. The coffin washed ashore, half-submerged in salty foam, half-baked under the sun's heat—like a macabre treasure forgotten by time.
And there it stayed.
The fishermen of the island, upon spotting it, crossed themselves and went on their way, muttering superstitious words. Curious children would approach, only to be pulled back by the elders, who sensed something wrong about that object. Even the animals avoided the place—the crabs scuttled around it, the birds refused to land on it. The coffin remained untouched, wrapped in a silence that seemed to swallow even the sound of the sea.
Until, one night, it moved.
Thud!
A dry knock echoed across the deserted beach, muffled only by the distant roar of the waves. The coffin lid trembled, lifting slightly, as if something inside were pushing with growing strength. The dark wood groaned, the golden details glinting under the moonlight, and then—
A hand emerged from the gap.
Tanned, a perfect sun-kissed hue, the fingers gripped the edge of the coffin—softly, yet trembling. Slowly, with an effort that seemed to cost every fiber of its being, the figure inside the coffin began to rise.
...
An abyss. That was all he could see.
The world was inverted—the sky beneath his feet, the sea above his head. His own perception twisted, as if gravity had rebelled against him. A throbbing pain pulsed in his temples, an unbearable pressure that seemed to come from inside his skull, as though his brain were being crushed by an invisible force.
"I need to flip back... my head's starting to hurt."
Xavier tried to stand, but his body wouldn't respond. His limbs felt like lead, and every movement was a battle against some unseen force holding him down. Amid the shadows dancing in his blurred vision, a figure emerged—a slender silhouette, messy black hair as if it had weathered a storm, and crimson eyes that burned like embers.
Those eyes.
They pierced through him, cutting past flesh and bone straight to his soul. A thin ring encircled each pupil, pulsing with an unnatural glow. The figure pointed a finger at him, lips moving in a whisper Xavier couldn't hear—yet it echoed in his mind like thunder.
"Mazino D. Enryu."
The name hit Xavier like a projectile, piercing his skull and exploding into his consciousness. A sharp pain tore through his mind, followed by a wave of heat that burned through his veins. His eyes—once brown—seared with agony, and when the pain finally subsided, they had transformed.
Red. With a sinister ring around the pupils.
His hair, once chestnut, darkened like spilled ink, growing slightly longer and taking on an ebony hue. Something within him had awakened—something ancient, something that did not belong to this world.
And then, like a final whisper of that vision, the shadow vanished, leaving him alone on the beach, with the sea roaring around him and the open coffin—now empty—like a portal to a past he could not remember.
The island's air seemed to have stilled. The gentle breeze that once rustled the palm leaves was now motionless, as if nature itself was holding its breath. The island's inhabitant, an old fisherman with sun-leathered skin and hands calloused from years of hard labor, stared at the young man with a mix of curiosity and wariness. His narrowed eyes traced the strange figure that had emerged from the black coffin—the lean, pale body, the hair as dark as night, and those eyes... blood-red, with a sinister ring around the pupils that seemed to glow in the fading twilight.
The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing on the shore. The fisherman hesitated before repeating his question, his voice firmer this time, yet still carrying a nearly imperceptible tremor:
"Young man... who are you?"
The stranger stood still for a moment, as if trying to recall something lost in the depths of his mind. His lips parted slightly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was no longer that of an ordinary man—it was deep.
"Mazino..." His calm red eyes stared at the old fisherman. "Mazino D. Enryu."
The name echoed through the air like thunder, carrying a weight that made the old fisherman instinctively step back. The leaves of the nearby trees trembled, though there was no wind, and for a brief moment, the sky above them seemed to darken, as if a fleeting shadow had stretched over the island.
The fisherman swallowed hard, his fingers tightening involuntarily around the handle of his fishing rod. He didn't know who this man was, nor what that name meant—but something in his instincts screamed that this was no ordinary answer.
Baam!
Enryu's body collapsed heavily onto the sand, as if an invisible force had severed the strings holding him up. His crimson eyes shut at once, and his once-steady breath was now barely perceptible. The fall was so abrupt that the white sand swirled up in a small whirlwind around him, sticking to his pale face and jet-black hair.
The old fisherman startled, his eyes widening.
"Damn it! Young man!"
Without a second thought, he rushed toward the lifeless body, his age-stiffened legs moving faster than they had in years. The loose sand made each step difficult, but his instinct to help overpowered the struggle. When he finally reached Enryu, he dropped to his knees beside him, trembling hands pressing against his neck in search of a pulse.
"By all the seas... he's still alive!"
The heartbeat was there, but weak—a distant signal, like a drum muffled by layers of fog. The fisherman looked around desperately for help, but the beach was deserted. The sun was already sinking below the horizon, staining the sky in shades of orange and purple, and soon night would fall completely.
"I can't leave you here..."
With a grunt of effort, he pulled Enryu's arms over his shoulders and, in a slow and painful motion, lifted him into a staggering embrace. The young man was heavier than he looked, his lean body still carrying a surprising density.
"Hold on, kid... or rather, just don't die, for the love of the sea."
Little by little, the fisherman began dragging himself toward the village, each step a battle against the sand and his own exhaustion. The black coffin was left behind, half-buried in the beach, its golden details gleaming faintly under the last rays of sunlight—a silent monument to a secret that now rested on the shoulders of a simple island dweller.
...
You like? Give me Stones! Jahahahahahaha!