Months had passed since the Roger Pirates escaped Sabaody. The sea had been both cruel and kind — endless storms, fleeting calm, and laughter that refused to die even in the face of death.
They had found shelter in the skyless nights, fought sickness with stubborn will, and after much searching, found a doctor who stayed — Crocus, the quiet man with the kind eyes and a mind sharp as a scalpel. Under his care, Roger's condition had steadied, though the cough still came and went like the tide.
The Oro Jackson cut through the New World like a blade of sunlight. The waves roared against its hull, but the laughter of its crew drowned out even the sea itself. They had charted islands no one dared to name, crossed tempests that would break lesser men — and now, at last, their log pose pointed to one final destination.
Lodestar Island.
The final island of the world. Or so the legends claimed.
Roger stood at the bow, eyes fixed on the horizon, where lightning forked across a bruised sky. "This is it," he said, a smile tugging at his lips. "The end of the Grand Line."
Rayleigh crossed his arms, squinting ahead. "You're saying we're close to the last island?"
Roger nodded. "Lodestar. The island where all log poses point — the supposed end of the world."
The crew erupted in cheers. Buggy leapt onto the railing, shouting, "We made it! The final island!" before nearly toppling over.
Rayleigh caught him by the collar. "You'll die before you even see it if you're not careful."
Shanks and Buggy shouted beside him — one full of wonder, the other pale with seasickness. Rayleigh smiled faintly, leaning on the rail. "He's been waiting for this moment since the day we left Loguetown."
Crocus adjusted his glasses beside him, the steady physician even as excitement rippled through the crew. "Just don't let him jump overboard before we land."
Ada stood near the mainmast, silent, her golden eyes fixed on the distant horizon where a faint silhouette began to emerge — dark cliffs rising from a sea of mist.
"It doesn't feel right," she murmured.
Gaban tilted his head. "You mean the island?"
She nodded. "Every island we've reached felt alive. This one feels… hollow."
The crew fell quiet as the Oro Jackson neared the shore. The air itself seemed to still — heavy, old, expectant.
When they finally dropped anchor, the sound echoed strangely, as if swallowed by something unseen.
When they made landfall, the sand beneath their boots was dark, almost metallic. A low hum lingered in the air, faint but rhythmic, like a heart beating beneath the ground.
Roger stepped onto the black sand first, his boots crunching against the stone. "So this is it. The end of the world…"
Rayleigh crouched beside a half-buried rock, brushing off the sand. "Strange. There's nothing here — no ruins, no markings, nothing."
Gaban frowned, scanning the barren horizon. "Maybe we're the first."
Rayleigh followed close behind, scanning the strange landscape. There were no ruins, no signs of civilization — only towering cliffs and a single, jagged spire reaching toward the clouds.
"No markings," Gaban said, running his hand across the stone. "Not even weathering. It's like this place was never touched."
Ada's brow furrowed. She could feel it again — that faint, almost inaudible hum beneath the ground. But unlike the Poneglyphs she'd sensed before, this one felt… empty.
"Something was here," she said softly. "But it's gone now."
Roger knelt, pressing his palm against the cold earth. His smile had faded into something unreadable. "Gone?"
Ada nodded. "The sea remembers what it's lost. Whatever this island once was — it isn't anymore."
Ada knelt beside Roger, her hand resting on the ground. Her eyes unfocused slightly, as if listening to something far away.
"There's something here," she murmured. "Not ruins — something deeper. Like a whisper buried under the stone."
Roger froze, turning toward her sharply. "You hear it too?"
She met his gaze, and for a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Rayleigh looked between them, confused. "What are you two talking about?"
Ada's voice was quiet, measured. "In Alabasta, I heard them for the first time — the stones. They spoke without words, like a heartbeat from the past. I didn't understand it then, but… now, I know."
Roger's eyes gleamed, wild and bright. "So you can hear it too."
The crew glanced at each other, uncertain.
"Hear what?" Shanks asked, scratching his head.
"The Voice of All Things," Roger said softly. "The world itself speaking to those who can listen."
Ada stood, brushing the sand from her gloves. "It's faint here. Like an echo that's lost its source. This island used to mean something… but it's gone now."
Roger frowned, staring at the ground beneath them. "Gone?"
Buggy kicked a rock nearby. "What do you mean 'gone'? We came all this way for nothing?!"
Shanks frowned. "It's not nothing. Look around — doesn't this feel strange to you?"
Ada nodded. "Whatever it once was — whatever truth it held — it was taken away. Moved."
Roger's grin faded into something more serious. "Moved… you think there's another island? Beyond even this?"
Ada's gaze drifted toward the horizon, the faint wind tugging at her hair. "I don't think. I know. The sea doesn't lie."
Roger rose slowly, gazing across the island. "So this… is where the log ends."
Rayleigh stepped closer. "We've circled the world. Every compass points here. And yet…"
Roger chuckled softly, the sound hollow against the silence. "And yet the answers aren't here."
Crocus stepped forward, arms folded. "If that's true, then Lodestar isn't the end at all."
"No," Roger said, his voice rising with excitement. "It's a signpost. The last stop before the real end."
Rayleigh's brow furrowed. "You're suggesting there's another island beyond this one — one not marked on any log."
Roger turned toward the horizon, eyes burning with new fire. "If the world's end has no answers… then maybe the answers aren't meant to be found by maps."
Ada crossed her arms, her voice low. "You're thinking of the Poneglyphs."
Roger grinned, the spark of madness and wonder lighting his face again. "Aye. The stones that speak. You and I can hear them, can't we?"
She met his gaze. "You want to follow their voices."
Roger nodded. "The world's history isn't written in ink — it's carved in whispers."
Rayleigh sighed but smiled all the same. "I suppose we're not done after all."
Roger's grin returned, wide and wild. "Exactly! The world hid it. But those stones — those voices — they're calling us there."
Ada glanced at him, her tone softer now. "Then we'll need to listen carefully. The next island… it's not just hidden by currents or storms. It's hidden by history."
Buggy shivered. "Great. Hidden history. My favorite kind of death."
Shanks elbowed him. "You're just scared of ghosts."
"Of course I'm scared of ghosts! You should be too!"
The crew's laughter rippled through the island, echoing strangely against the cliffs.
Roger stepped forward, looking out at the endless horizon, his hands on his hips. "The world thought it could bury its truths. But we'll find them — every last one!"
Rayleigh smirked. "You sound more like an archaeologist than a pirate."
Roger laughed, loud and untamed. "Maybe that's what it takes to find the greatest treasure in the world!"
Ada's gaze softened as she watched him — the same fire she'd seen in his eyes years ago, now burning hotter than ever.
She murmured, "The world's end isn't here… it's waiting for those who can still hear its voice."
Roger turned to her, his grin unwavering. "Then we'll follow it — you and I. Until the sea itself runs out of breath."
He then looked out toward the horizon, eyes gleaming. "The true final island… it's still out there. Waiting for us."
Ada's gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Then we keep going."
Roger turned, his coat billowing in the wind. "Aye. We set sail once more — to follow the voice of the world itself!"
The crew erupted in cheers. Shanks whooped, Buggy groaned, and Rayleigh simply shook his head with fond exasperation.
As the Oro Jackson lifted anchor and turned toward the unknown, Ada lingered a moment longer on the shore, eyes tracing the cliffs.
The hum beneath her feet faded — like a heartbeat going silent.
She whispered, almost to herself, "Lodestar… you weren't the end. You were just the door."
And as she stepped back aboard, the sea roared again — wild, alive, calling them forward into the storm that would one day make them legends.
The final journey had only just begun.
As the Oro Jackson sailed away from Lodestar, the island faded into mist behind them — silent, still, and forgotten.
But the voices Ada had heard didn't fade.
They whispered faintly through the wind and waves — calling, guiding, daring them onward.
And for the first time, Roger and Ada knew that their true journey was just beginning.