A single ship cruised smoothly across the vast, unpredictable sea of the New World. The ocean behind it told a story—wrecked pirate ships drifted aimlessly, their sails torn and hulls shattered.
Some floated upside down, others were frozen mid-destruction. Towering tidal waves had been stopped in motion, frozen solid in jagged, ice-like sculptures. The carnage left no doubt: someone had foolishly attempted to ambush this vessel.
That ship was none other than the Silent Orca, and those attackers had learned too late who they were dealing with.
On board, the ship's captain, Monkey D. Zino, stood near the railing, holding a Den Den Mushi in his hand. The snail let out its signature ring.
"Puru puru puru puru…"
Click.
The call connected. The snail's face morphed slightly as a familiar voice came through.
"Hello, Zino." It was Robin on the other end.
Zino relaxed slightly. "Where are you guys?"
"We're still here in Mermaid Island," Robin replied calmly. "We've been held up. Some of the local fishmen are causing trouble, and we've had to get involved."
Zino frowned. "Trouble? What kind of trouble? Do you need me to come over?"
Robin's tone remained even. "I think we can manage it for now. Zoro and the others are with us. Just wait for our arrival in the New World. We'll catch up once we're done handling things here."
Zino paused. Her confidence was reassuring, but still…
"…Alright," he said slowly. "I'll wait for you guys."
Click.
The call ended, but Zino's thoughts didn't. His mind began spinning with possibilities. What sort of threat were they dealing with down there? Internal conflicts? Outside attacks? Some hidden enemy lurking in the shadows?
"Should I go there to help them?" he muttered under his breath.
Standing nearby, Alvida gave him a side glance. "You should just wait. Zoro and the rest are with them, right? Let them handle it. This kind of situation is how people grow stronger. If you always jump in to help, you'll only hold them back."
Zino glanced at her. He thought for a moment, then gave a small nod. "You're right. Let's wait for them."
At that moment, Chloris spoke up, her eyes bright with hope. "Captain, now that we've entered the New World, can we… check on my homeland?"
Zino turned to face her. "Where is your homeland located?"
From the side, her twin brother Moris stepped in, carrying a rolled-up map and a peculiar-looking log pose. "We've got the map and a log pose to get to Arboria, our homeland."
Nami stepped over, reaching out to take both the map and the log. She unrolled the old parchment carefully, studying the drawn routes and landmarks. "This map… it's very old."
"That map was left by our father," Chloris said softly, her expression turning bittersweet. "It's one of the few things we still have to remember him by."
The paper was worn at the edges, with faded ink and handwritten notes. The log pose was just as unusual. Unlike standard models, it had a wooden casing with fine carvings, and the compass needle inside was crafted from an exotic type of wood. Strange letters—dryad script—lined the base of the dial.
Nami tilted it and squinted. "I've never seen a log like this. The writing… I can't read it. But the needle is active. It's pointing in a clear direction."
"Does it lead to your homeland?" she asked, glancing at Chloris.
Chloris nodded. "Yes. This is how we can find our way back."
Stev, standing nearby, scratched his head. "If you had that log, why didn't you use it before? Why not sail home earlier?"
"We're not experienced sailors," Moris explained. "And we didn't have a crew. Besides… we were captured and taken to Sabaody Archipelago. To go back here, we need to pass the only route on the Redline and Grandline intersection. But we couldn't pass through that route. It was heavily guarded by the Marines."
Stev looked awkward. "Ah… my bad. I didn't know. Sorry."
"It's okay," Chloris smiled softly. "We just want to go home."
Zino, watching the exchange, gave a nod.
"Let's follow the direction of the log," he said, his gaze fixed ahead. "We're heading to Arboria."
With the captain giving the word, Nami stepped up and began navigating the Silent Orca based on the strange wooden log pose. The unique compass remained steady, pointing deep into the unknown.
Unlike the chaos they had faced earlier, their current journey was relatively smooth. There were no pirate ships trying to ambush them this time. Perhaps the trail of frozen wreckage they had left behind earlier served as a warning.
Only the occasional Sea King tried its luck, rising from the depths in an attempt to attack the ship. However, Zino made quick work of them. With a calm expression, he froze or knocked them out with a wave of his hand, and then kept their carcasses into his storage.
Bad weather didn't last long either. Storm clouds would begin to form, winds would rise—and Zino would calmly raise a hand, manipulating the air element like second nature. Strong gusts blew the dark clouds away, and the sea turned calm once more.
His control over the air element had reached a logia level, and it showed. Sailing was no longer a struggle. It was smooth. Peaceful, even.
After several hours of steady travel, the ship crossed into the Calm Belt. The sea turned eerily still. Not a single wave broke. No wind blew. The sky above was a pale dome of blue and white.
Yet, Arboria remained out of sight.
Nami, who had been watching the log intently, frowned and turned to Chloris and Moris.
"Are you sure your homeland is around here?" she asked. "The log is still pointing straight ahead, but we've already sailed into the Calm Belt."
Chloris shook her head. "Our homeland isn't always in one place."
"What do you mean?" asked Kruz, raising a brow. "Are you saying your island can… float like a ship?"
"You can say so," Chloris replied, nodding slightly after a moment's thought.
Moris chimed in to explain. "Our homeland—Arboria—isn't like a regular island. It's a massive landmass supported by ancient giant tree roots that reach all the way down to the ocean floor. These roots can be controlled by our Root Mother."
"Root Mother?" Zino repeated, intrigued.
Moris continued. "She's a high priestess among the dryads. She's not the leader of our people, but she's the one who controls the roots beneath the island. With her ability, she can command the roots to shift and move the entire island, relocating it when needed to be."
"So that's how your island avoids detection?" Zino said, impressed.
Chloris nodded. "Yes. The Root Mother moves the island to stay away from pirates and the World Government. It's been like that for generations."
Kruz let out a low whistle. "An island that can move on its own... That's insane."
Stev grinned. "Pretty awesome if you ask me."
Alvida narrowed her eyes. "Then how did you two end up kidnapped? If the island is always hidden, how did someone even find it?"
Chloris' expression turned somber. "That was when everything went wrong. The Root Mother was sick. She was growing old, and her health had begun to fail. During that time, she wasn't able to control the roots properly."
"At the same time," Moris added, "a few groups in our village wanted to explore outside the Calm Belt—to gather resources, trade, maybe even see the world. So the island was moved closer to outer seas, just for a while."
Chloris looked down. "But that was when a group of slave traders spotted the island. They attacked one of the villages—our village—and captured many of us before anyone could react."
A heavy silence fell on the deck. The crew listened without interrupting. Even though the wind was calm and the sea was still, the weight of the story made it feel like a storm had passed through.
Zino closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
"Then we'll bring you home. And if those slavers show up again, we'll make sure they regret it."
Chloris and Moris both nodded, feeling a bit down from remembering the story.
The ship continues to sail forward.
...
Arboria – Land of the Dryads
Arboria is not just an island; it is a living, breathing testament to the harmony between nature and civilization. Here, nature doesn't simply exist—it is the architecture, the defense, the culture, and even the very identity of its inhabitants.
From the moment one steps onto the island, the sheer scale of its flora is overwhelming. Towering trees—many even larger than those found on the Sabaody Archipelago—rise like green skyscrapers, their canopies stretching high above, blotting out the sky in a gentle, emerald twilight. Each tree could rival a mountain in height.
The dryads, the guardians and citizens of this mystical land, live in perfect symbiosis with their environment. Their homes are carved carefully within these massive trees, each dwelling shaped with delicate care so as not to harm the host plant.
For those who choose to live closer to the shore, their homes are woven from controlled growth—branches bent and coaxed into structures that are alive, growing, and self-repairing. These settlements are smaller but no less beautiful, often nestled beside crystal-clear lagoons or meadows filled with fragrant, shifting blossoms.
Sunlight filters through three layers of canopy, casting the entire land in a soft, green glow. Even during daytime, the light has a twilight hue, and at night, bioluminescent plants and glowing fungi bloom across the forest floor. These provide natural illumination, guiding the resident with soft, organic light. Flowers hum faintly, and vines curl or retract in response to movement, as if the island itself watches and responds to those who walk upon it.
The flora and fauna of Arboria are unique. Plants here are intelligent—sentient in a subtle, quiet way. Vines uncurl to form bridges. Roots part to create clear paths. Trees shift slightly to provide shelter from storms. Massive waterfalls cascade from unseen heights, collecting into deep rivers that wind throughout the island. Rare fruits and herbs grow in abundance, many of which possess healing or magical properties known only to the dryads.
At the heart of the island, there stands the most sacred place of all—the Heartwood Spire. This enormous, ancient tree towers above all others, its bark etched with the passage of centuries. It is said to be the original source of life on Arboria, the first tree from which all others grew. It is here, within a great hollowed section of the trunk, that the spiritual leader of the dryads resides: the Root Mother, the high priestess and navigator of the island itself.
However, all is not well in Arboria.
Though the island looks serene—peaceful in its natural grandeur—a quiet sorrow has settled among its people. Just a few days ago, the Root Mother passed away, her long life finally reaching its end. Her absence has left a void not only in leadership, but also in spirit. The plants grow a little slower. The air feels a little heavier. The dryads mourn her, as if the island itself grieves with them.
Despite their sadness, duty remains. A new Root Mother must be chosen, and soon. Without a high priestess to guide the island's movements and commune with the ancient roots, Arboria becomes vulnerable—not just to outsiders, but to imbalance within its own ecosystem.
Deep within the Heartwood Spire, nestled within the great trunk, lies a structure unlike any other—a circular hall, grown rather than built, its ceiling formed by intertwining branches and glowing moss. This is the Council Hall, the place where the leaders of the nine dryad tribes gather in times of crisis or transition.
Today, the hall is filled with quiet tension.
Nine dryads, each representing a different tribe of Arboria, sit around a large circular table made of living wood. Their appearances are as varied as the forests they protect—some with bark-like skin, others with leafy hair or flower-petal robes. Though they are united by race and tradition, each carries the burden of grief and the weight of expectation.
A dryad elder, with a beard of trailing vines and eyes like polished amber, finally broke the silence.
"Let us begin the meeting," he said softly, his voice like wind rustling through leaves.
The others straightened. The time had come to decide the future of Arboria.