Nighteye slowly lowered his hand, his five fingers inching toward the surface of the scroll. With every second that passed, his instincts screamed; he felt as if he were reaching into a Pandora's Box that should never be disturbed. He gulped, his throat tight with dread.
Tak.
The moment his fingertips brushed the paper, his Ryou flared to life automatically. A dark green aura swirled around his hand and encased his entire body in a protective shell. The room turned deathly serious. Everyone stood on high alert, feeling that same subtle, chilling aura of death creeping back into the air—not as a roar this time, but as a whisper.
Nighteye closed his eyes and activated his Quirk.
Suddenly, the world froze. Time ceased to exist. Every person in the room became acutely aware that the clock had stopped. Even Nico Robin, startled from her exhaustion, opened her eyes to the unnatural stillness.
Creakkkkkkk...
A haunting, splintering sound filled the silence. The Dove Room began to shift, the vibrant colors bleeding out of the walls, the furniture, and even the people. From head to toe, their skin, their clothes, and the very air turned to a stark, haunting black and white. They tried to move, to speak, to react—but their bodies were locked in the stasis of the moment.
The creaking grew louder, more rhythmic. In the center of the scroll, the ancient ink began to writhe. It rose from the parchment, taking the form of a beautiful woman who appeared to be carved directly into the grain of a tree. Her wooden features were delicate yet ancient.
Slowly, her eyes opened. She did not just look at Nighteye; every person in the room felt her gaze pierce through them simultaneously. Her mouth, a jagged line of bark, parted with the sound of withering wood.
"Creeeaaashhhhekkkkaa‐cherkkkesh-crekkkaaassshh..."
There was no malice in the sound, no direct threat. Instead, it felt like a heavy warning—a plea from the ages telling them that this was a secret they should not pry into.
As quickly as she had appeared, the figure dissolved. The ink scattered and swirled, pulling itself together into a perfect, pitch-black triangle in the dead center of the scroll. As they watched, the scroll began to petrify, turning into cold, hard stone right before their eyes.
The dark green Ryou coating Nighteye's hand began to turn to stone as well, crawling up his fingers.
Banggggg!
The connection snapped. The force of the petrification clashing with his Haki caused a violent spiritual backlash, throwing Nighteye's hand back.
The gears of time began to grind forward once more. The black-and-white world vanished like fading paint, the colors rushing back into the room as the essence of the vision returned to the scroll. The world was normal again, but the scroll now lay on the table—a heavy, petrified slab of stone with a single black triangle etched into its heart.
Everyone stared at the black triangle etched into the heart of the petrified scroll. Even though time had resumed its march, no one moved. This time, it wasn't fear that paralyzed them, but a suffocating, lethal curiosity. They were looking at an enigma that seemed to predate their history and their powers alike.
Nico Robin, who had heard the woman's wooden voice with a clarity the others lacked, finally cut through the silence.
"Future knows no bound; The Fate is unstable; Thou shall not disturb The slumber," she recited. Her voice was thin, but it carried a haunting weight that made the words sink deep into the minds of everyone present.
A heavy, contemplative stillness followed. Inside their own heads, the same question echoed like a drum: What is happening to this world? The leaders of the Marines, the symbols of Peace, and the legends of the old era felt a shift in the very foundations of their reality. First the merging of worlds, then the discovery of the islands, and now this—a warning from the void itself. More and more strange occurrences were stacking up, forming a mountain of mysteries that none of them were prepared to climb.
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No one spoke just total silence contemplating what just happened then senjoku voice echoed throughout the room..
Sengoku looked at the petrified slab, his eyes narrowing. The "slumber" mentioned—was it a person? A power? Or the very island they were planning to invade?
"The slumber..." Fujitora whispered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his cane-sword. "It seems we are not just heading toward an expedition. We are heading toward an awakening."
Garp, for once, didn't laugh. He stared at the black triangle, his expression unreadable. The era of simple battles between pirates marines,villains and heroes was fading, replaced by something ancient and unpredictable.
The room is left in a state of deep unease.
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To be continued