The hall fell into a respectful silence as the elder's voice faded. For a moment, only the soft creaking of the living wood around them could be heard—branches above shifting gently, as if listening to the conversation.
Another elder, a female dryad with glowing green eyes and silver-laced bark along her arms, leaned forward slightly. "We all know why we're here," she said. "The Root Mother has returned to the earth. Her spirit now nourishes the Heartwood Spire. We must now decide who will guide Arboria forward."
"But who among us is worthy?" said another, a younger leader whose hair was a tangle of blooming flowers. "The title of Root Mother is not one to be taken lightly. She must be able to hear the voice of the Great Root. She must be able to move the island if needed, to protect our people."
"Let the Heartwood choose," A bearded elder chimed in. "When the time is right, the Heartwood Spire will respond to the one it deems worthy."
"And until that happens?" a more skeptical dryad asked. "Do we wait in silence, unguarded and drifting? The world beyond Arboria is dangerous. Pirates roam freely in the New World. And now that the Root Mother is gone, the veil that once shielded us from the outside may begin to weaken."
Murmurs of concern rippled through the room. They all knew this was true. The balance that protected Arboria was fragile, and only the Root Mother had the connection needed to maintain it.
"There is another way," the silver-eyed elder said. "Let each tribe put forth a candidate. A daughter of the tribe who is attuned to the island, who can attempt communion with the Heartwood. If the Heartwood responds, we will know she is the one."
"Like the Choosing of Old," the bearded elder nodded. "It has not been done in generations… but it may be the best path. That will spare us the waiting time for Heartwood to choose naturally."
Several heads turned as a younger council member spoke up. "If we do this, we must begin soon. The Heartwood is patient—but the world is not."
The silver-eyed elder slowly stood. "Then it is decided. Each tribe shall present a candidate within three days. On the fourth, the Choosing Ritual will take place at the base of the Heartwood Spire."
There was a moment of silence, and then one by one, each leader gave a nod of agreement.
The Choosing Ritual would proceed.
Once the meeting concluded, the nine tribal leaders descended the spiraling living staircase of the Heartwood Spire, each returning to their own territory within the vast living island of Arboria. The word of the ritual quickly spread like wind through the leaves.
Throughout the island, dryads gathered in small groups—some sitting on high branches, others near glistening streams or moss-covered paths—discussing who among them might be worthy.
"This hasn't happened in generations," one elder murmured to her kin. "The last Choosing Ritual was when our great-grandparents were young."
"I heard the Heartwood chooses through dreams," another said. "Or by causing the roots to glow beneath the chosen one's feet."
Young dryads, especially women of age, looked both anxious and excited. In one of the shore villages, several girls whispered together under a massive fern canopy.
"Do you think Leafra will be chosen?"
"She speaks to birds. That must count for something."
"No way. What about Solen? She grew an entire orchard just by singing!"
The sense of anticipation stirred across every tribe.
In the midst of this quiet flurry, a scout from the Eastern Shore Tribe came sprinting barefoot across root-bridges and mossy trails, his wooden flute necklace bouncing against his chest. He arrived at his village's central tree, where the tribal leader, Elder Wister, was discussing preparations for the ritual with his advisors.
"Elder!" the scout called, panting. "A ship has arrived. Just outside the kelp border. It looks… foreign, but not hostile."
The elder's brow furrowed. "Foreign?"
"Yes. But the strangest part is… two of the people aboard are dryads."
Whispers rippled among the gathered tribe members.
"Dryads?" the elder repeated. "From outside Arboria?"
The scout nodded. "They're approaching now. One has green hair with amber tips. The other has bark markings on his arms, just like us. They look… familiar."
The elder's expression changed. "Could it be…"
"Should we prepare a greeting party?" one advisor asked.
"No," the elder said, rising. "I will greet them myself. If it's who I think it is… then fate has brought them back at the perfect time."
Saying so, Elder Wister stood up, and left, followed by several members of the dryad tribe.
...
Eastern Shore, Arboria
The Silent Orca came to a gentle stop, its hull swaying slightly as it anchored just off the lush, untouched coastline of Arboria. A narrow walkway of frozen water stretched from the ship to the shore, crafted with precision by Zino's elemental control. It shimmered under the sunlight, linking sea to land like a quiet bridge of ice.
"We're finally home," Chloris said softly, her voice tinged with emotion as she looked toward the towering trees ahead.
Beside her, Moris gave a silent nod, eyes fixed on the familiar landscape. Though months had passed, the scent of the breeze and the sound of rustling leaves still stirred memories of their childhood.
"What a vibrant island," Hibari commented, taking in the green canopy that stretched far above their heads.
"These trees are insanely tall," Binko added, squinting up. "I wonder if they're taller than the mangroves back in Sabaody."
"I think they are," Stev replied, pointing ahead. "There are mangroves here too, look."
In the distance, enormous mangrove trees could be seen, their trunks wide and smooth, producing translucent bubbles that floated lazily into the air—just like those of the Sabaody Archipelago.
As the crew's boots stepped onto the forest-colored sand, the air subtly changed. Though still calm and sweet with earthy scents, a quiet tension began to rise. The island had sensed their arrival.
From within the dense curtain of flora—vines, ferns, and the colossal trunks of arboreal giants—figures began to emerge.
Tall and graceful, the dryads approached with the poise of nature spirits. Their skin bore hues of green, brown, and bark, blending with their environment. Some had leaf-like hair that swayed with the breeze, while others bore twisting wooden antlers or moss-covered limbs.
Though no metal weapons were visible, it was clear they were ready for confrontation. Vines wrapped around their torsos and limbs like living armor. In their hands, they held seed pods pulsing with natural energy—each one a dormant weapon, capable of springing to life at a moment's notice.
Their eyes locked onto the group. They said nothing yet, but their presence alone was enough to still the wind.
Then, their gazes fixed on Chloris and Moris. At first, there was confusion… then shock, and emotion—something like hope battling disbelief.
The dryads spoke quickly in their native tongue, a flowing, melodic language filled with natural rhythms. Though Zino and the others couldn't understand, the tone was cautious but not aggressive.
Zino narrowed his eyes slightly, hand resting casually at the back of his head. "What are they saying?" he asked softly.
Chloris replied. "They're asking where we've been all this time… and if we're being held captive by you humans."
The crew exchanged amused looks, but didn't speak.
"They're not sure if you're enemies or allies," Chloris added.
Moris stepped ahead, placing a hand over his chest and bowing lightly in dryad greeting. Then, switching fluently to their native tongue, he addressed the oldest dryad present—an elder with greyed vine-hair and a thick moss-wrapped staff.
"Uncle Meliad," Moris said with visible emotion, "these are not slave traders or enemies. They are the Orca Pirates. Captain Zino and his crew saved us. They took us in, helped us grow stronger. Thanks to them, we returned home."
The elder's brow furrowed deeply as he stepped closer, studying both twins with a stunned expression.
"You crossed to the other side of the Grandline?" Meliad asked in disbelief. "The Paradise? That far?"
Moris nodded. "Yes… we were about to be auctioned as slaves in the Sabaody Archipelago, a mangroves island on that side. Fortunately, we escaped."
Meliad's voice lowered, bitter. "If I hadn't been away with the Southern Tribe during the raid… I would have fought those slave scum to my last breath. You and Chloris would never have been taken."
He paused, eyes scanning the crew briefly. His wariness began to ease.
"How about your father? Where is he?" Meliad asked after a moment.
Moris hesitated. Chloris lowered her head, her fists clenched.
"He… he was killed when we escaped," Moris answered, voice barely above a whisper. "He sacrificed himself to protect us."
Silence fell.
Meliad's hands trembled slightly as he absorbed the news. He turned away for a moment, the pain etched into his barked skin.
"…Ketris." Meliad whispered. "He gave everything for his children… just like a true son of Arboria."
Then, Meliad straightened his back, his hand resting firmly on Moris's shoulder. "You're safe now. Both of you. That's what matters most."
Then he turned to Zino, his gaze steady. In clear, albeit slightly accented human tongue, he said, "I thank you, outsider. For bringing them home."
Zino offered a respectful nod. "They're part of my crew. I only did what any captain should."
The surrounding dryads, who had remained tense and alert, began to relax. The writhing vines coiled gently back around their bodies, no longer ready to strike. The air shifted from suspicion to quiet welcome.
Raising his hand, Meliad motioned toward the lush forest behind him. "Come. The island will want to see your return. And there is much you need to know. Things have changed since the time you left."
Without another word, he turned and began to walk inland. The other dryads stepped aside, parting the way with quiet reverence. Chloris and Moris moved closer to the front, following alongside Zino and the crew. The rest of the Orcas walked behind, eyes quietly scanning the strange and vibrant surroundings of Arboria.
Baral, the mimic creature, remained aboard the Silent Orca on the shore, watching the crew disappear into the forest. The ship itself, alive and aware in its own way, stayed docked quietly on the soft tide.
As the group made their way deeper through the winding paths formed by shifting roots and softly glowing moss, the dense foliage gave way to a clearing near the edge of a village—homes woven into tree trunks and elevated walkways made from branches, all seamlessly shaped from living wood.
It was here they encountered another group approaching from the opposite side.
Leading them was a tall dryad elder with cascading silver-green hair and a staff wrapped in blooming vines—Elder Wister, one of the high-ranking tribe leaders.
Meliad stepped forward and gave a respectful bow. "Greetings, Elder Wister."
The others followed suit, including Chloris and Moris, who lowered their heads with silent respect.
Elder Wister's sharp eyes scanned the group. When he saw the twins, his expression shifted in an instant. "Ketris' children…" he breathed. "You've returned."
His eyes flicked behind them instinctively. "Where is Ketris?"
The question struck the twins like a blow to the chest. Chloris swallowed hard, her mouth trembling to form words. But before she could speak, Meliad answered in a somber tone.
"Ketris gave his life protecting them," he said. "He fought to ensure their escape."
For a long moment, Wister said nothing. The forest seemed to hush with him.
"I see…" the elder finally said, voice low and heavy. "He was a true son of Arboria. Brave, and selfless."
His eyes now turned to Zino and his crew, taking in their foreign attire and unfamiliar presence. He raised a brow in polite curiosity.
Before any tension could rise, Moris stepped in.
"This is the Orca Pirates, Elder Wister," he said. "They are the ones who brought us safely home. We're a part of their crew now."
Wister's expression softened. Like Meliad before him, he smoothly shifted into the human language. "Welcome, esteemed guests. Thank you for bringing them back to us."
Zino gave a simple nod. "They're part of my family. Bringing them home was my duty."
Wister studied him for a moment, as though weighing his sincerity. Then he smiled faintly and gestured toward the village ahead. "Come. The rest of the tribe must be informed of their return."
With that, the group continued forward, deeper into the heart of the dryad village.