The beach was quiet now. Too quiet.
Argento lay on the sand, staring up at a sky choked with smoke. The sun struggled through the haze, casting a muted gray-gold glow over the dunes. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath scraping against the tightness inside him. The wind whispered across the sand, carrying salt, smoke, and the faint, acrid tang of burned wood.
His body ached, but nothing hurt as much as the silence.
She was gone.
The thought came first as a whisper, then struck like a blade. She was gone because of him.
He didn't know how long he lay there. Minutes, hours, maybe days—time had lost its shape. All that remained were memories of her: laughter bright as silver lightning, the defiance in her eyes, the flash of power that had split the chaos. And the gunshot. Every second stretched into eternity.
I should have stopped her. I should have done something. I should have died instead.
"This is it," he whispered, voice cracking. "This is what she died for."
A bitter laugh ripped from him, sharp, hollow. "A stupid fruit."
The metallic, acrid taste of the Devil Fruit still lingered on his tongue. He had eaten it with desperation, certain it would make a difference. But it hadn't.
He was still human. Weak. Empty.
Argento forced himself up onto his knees, glaring down at his hands as though the fault lay there. "Why?" he muttered. "Why can't I do anything?"
No power. No surge of strength. Just the same boy who had watched his mother die.
"All I can do is… slightly deform my palms?" His voice cracked with exhaustion and bitterness. "That's it…?"
The guilt climbed back up his throat, raw and burning. He slammed a fist into the sand, slower this time, trembling—not with anger, but with despair. The sand hissed beneath his knuckles as a strange silver shimmer flickered faintly, pulsing once before vanishing.
He exhaled, shoulders shaking, voice barely a whisper. "I can't even protect her… and now I can't even understand what she left me."
Behind him, a soft shuffle broke the silence. Veyra stirred, murmuring his name.
He turned, watching her small frame. She slept with a fragile serenity, untouched by the storm in his chest. Her tiny hand twitched as if reaching for the comfort he couldn't provide.
"I'll figure it out," he muttered, teeth gritted. "I don't care how long it takes. I'll master this power… and I'll make them all pay."
Hours passed. The sun climbed slowly across the gray-gold sky, spilling light over the deserted island. Sand clung to his hair and clothes. His body ached from running, fighting, and surviving. His chest tightened with every heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of what he had lost.
Veyra blinked up at him, slowly sitting, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Fear and confusion lingered in her gaze.
"Big Brother?" she whispered. "Are… are we… safe?"
He forced a weak smile, a mask for grief and exhaustion. "I think so," he said quietly, words hollow but necessary. "We… we're on our own now."
Argento flexed his hand, watching the faint silver shimmer ripple across his palm. The flesh bent and twisted unnaturally, almost like liquid metal beneath the skin. He clenched and released, leaving faint impressions in the sand. The shimmer pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat barely conscious of his will.
"I… I don't understand," he whispered. "I ate it… but nothing happens. Why can't I control it? What is it supposed to do?"
Veyra tilted her head, concern lacing curiosity. "Big Brother… your hand… it's… glowing."
He looked down. Silver light flickered along his palm, faint but unmistakable. It pulsed as though alive, quivering in a rhythm he didn't control.
He flexed again, punching the sand lightly. His hand deformed, stretched, and twisted—but the sand barely moved. His eyes widened in awe and fear.
"It… it's like… it's moving… without me wanting it," he whispered. "I can change it… kind of. But not really. Not yet."
"You'll figure it out, right?" Veyra asked, voice small and uncertain.
He swallowed hard, the weight of her trust pressing down like stones in his chest. "Yeah," he said, more to convince himself than her. "We have to. We have to get stronger."
The wind shifted. A distant rumble carried over the dunes—the faint sound of movement, far-off, deliberate. Ships? Patrols? He didn't know, and he didn't dare wait to find out.
He rose slowly, letting the silver shimmer pulse faintly along his arms as he tested movement. Sand shifted subtly beneath his fingers, responding in hesitant, quivering waves. Control was small, imperfect, but it existed. A spark.
Veyra stayed close, gripping his arm tightly. "Argento… what do we do now?"
He looked down at her, chest tight, exhaustion still heavy, but determination burning beneath the grief. "We survive," he said, voice steadier now. "No matter what. We keep moving… and we keep each other safe."
The horizon offered no comfort. Only the endless sea and distant threats. But in his hands, the Devil Fruit pulsed like a heartbeat, a promise of power, protection, and vengeance.
Together, they began walking inland, sand giving way to the dense jungle, hearts pounding, muscles burning—but a tiny spark of hope flared within Argento. The world had taken much from him, but as long as he held the fruit and Veyra by his side, they still had a chance.
And for the first time since God Valley, since Celestia's death, he felt something alive stirring within him. Something that might just be enough to change everything.