One Piece: Lightning's Heir

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The ancient storm clouds above Raijin Island, roiled by Birdpence's suicidal act, had unleashed an unprecedented thunderstorm.

Arthur—in his Thunder God form—had plunged into the heart of the storm, seeking a transformation.

The lightning raged... the thunder roared!

Raijin Island, one of the three starting islands of the New World—was now sealed off from the rest of the world.

———

The New World, without Arthur's chaotic presence, seemed to have calmed.

But it was a fragile peace, the undercurrents of change already beginning to stir.

The Whitebeard Pirates searched for Arthur for three months, but found no trace of him.

The Marines, monitoring Whitebeard's movements, also came up empty.

Finally, Whitebeard abandoned his search, returning to his own territory, his usual jovial demeanor returning.

The Marines, their surveillance mission complete, returned to their bases.

———

A month later, the Roger Pirates, with Oden's help, found the third Road Poneglyph—the final coordinate to Laugh Tale.

The World Government grew desperate, dispatched CP0 agents to gather intelligence, and Garp to pursue Roger.

But Garp, his heart not in the chase, merely went through the motions, a brief, half-hearted clash with Roger before retreating.

He sensed Roger's declining health, his weakening spirit.

For some reason... he couldn't bring himself to arrest him.

———

Two more months passed.

The year was now mid-1497.

News of Arthur had faded. The sea was a fickle mistress, its memory short. The strong emerged, their names whispered in hushed tones, then vanished, replaced by new legends, new threats.

Those who'd studied Arthur's personality assumed he was dead. How could a man so reckless, so driven by a thirst for excitement, remain silent for so long?

Only a few—like Garp—suspected he was hiding, training, preparing for his next move.

And on Wheat Island, the island Arthur had claimed as his own—the Whitebeard Pirates' Jolly Roger now flew from the highest peak.

That same month, the Roger Pirates, after a brief but fierce clash with their old rival, Shiki, found the fourth and final Road Poneglyph.

They had it all—the coordinates to Laugh Tale. They deciphered the ancient text, uncovering the true location of the final island.

The world held its breath, waiting for the news that would shake the very foundations of their world.

Shiki had been defeated.

Whitebeard had no interest in Laugh Tale.

Redfield was enjoying his wine and classical music in some secluded castle.

Kaido and Big Mom—they were still years away from reaching their full potential, no match for Roger.

The World Government's warships were sunk, their forces decimated.

The era of chaos had begun.

Finally—the day came when no one dared to stand in their way. The Roger Pirates reached the final island—Laugh Tale.

News Coos flew across the Grand Line, across the Four Blues, spreading the news to every corner of the world.

"Roger has reached the final island, conquering the impossible Grand Line... The first Pirate King has emerged!"

The world fell silent, a stunned, disbelieving silence.

The Grand Line, teeming with powerful pirates, the New World, the stage for the world's strongest—all had been conquered by a single man.

It was unimaginable, unbelievable.

Many pirates abandoned their dreams. What was the point?

The true king had been crowned.

The World Government, however, was terrified. They feared Roger would reveal the truth, the secrets hidden in the Void Century. They sent their strongest forces, their most powerful weapons, to ambush him, to silence him forever.

But it was useless.

Roger, the man who had conquered the sea, had vanished.

In the latter half of 1497, after reaching Laugh Tale, the Roger Pirates secretly disbanded.

The "Roger Era," which had dominated the seas for twenty-five years, ended the same year he claimed the title of Pirate King.

The world, still reeling from the news of his achievement, was unaware of their disbandment.

Shanks returned to the West Blue, honing his skills.

Buggy, with his treasure maps, headed for the East Blue.

Rayleigh and Shakky opened a bar on Sabaody Archipelago—"Shakky's Rip-off Joint."

Gaban vanished without a trace.

Nekomamushi and Inuarashi returned to Zou.

Crocus returned to the Twin Capes, delivering the news of the Rumbar Pirates' demise to Laboon, the massive whale who had waited for them for so long.

The whale, in its grief, began to ram its head against the Red Line, its cries echoing across the sea.

The rest of the crew disappeared, their whereabouts unknown.

It was their captain's final order.

Roger's plan was in motion.

And once it began, his crew would be hunted by the World Government's strongest forces.

Roger, accompanied by Oden, went to see Whitebeard.

——

On the Moby Dick, a feast was underway.

"Pops, I'm back!" Oden, dressed in his samurai garb, his swords at his side, greeted his former captain.

Whitebeard nodded, feigning indifference, but a flicker of relief crossed his eyes. His son, after so long with Roger, had returned, safe and sound.

"Wahahahaha! I kept my promise, Newgate!" Roger laughed, taking a swig of sake.

"You brought him back, Gold. Now get lost. Any more of your nonsense, and I'll toss you overboard." Whitebeard's voice boomed, his tone gruff, but without any real malice.

"I believe you…cough, cough!" Roger choked on his sake, a violent cough racking his body. He wiped his mouth, his expression grim.

"I'm dying."

"What are you talking about, Gold?" Whitebeard asked, confused.

"I have less than a year. And…my name isn't Gold. It's not Gold Roger. It's Gol D. Roger." His voice was firm, his gaze steady.

"D? Like my son, Marshall D. Teach? And that lightning brat who killed my other son?" Whitebeard's grip tightened on his sake gourd, the air around him crackling with a dangerous energy.

Roger, unfazed by Whitebeard's aura, continued, "Whitebeard, do you want to know where to find the One Piece?"

"I'm not interested. I don't care about treasure." Whitebeard glanced at his sons, who were celebrating Oden's return, his gaze filled with a fierce, paternal love.

The feast continued, the atmosphere festive, but a shadow of sadness hung in the air.

Roger, after a few more drinks, left, his small frame disappearing over the horizon. To Whitebeard, Roger had always seemed small, insignificant.

But his departing figure, silhouetted against the setting sun—it seemed…larger than life.

This was likely their last meeting.

Their rivals were either dead, crippled, or dying.

Soon, he would be the only one left, a relic of a bygone era.

Roger's era was over. A new era was about to begin.

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