Far above the world below—beyond the reach of ordinary storms, beyond the paths sailed by even the boldest pirates—drifted an island hidden amongst the heavens themselves. Ten thousand meters above sea level. A kingdom in the sky.
Massive chunks of earth floated in silence amidst endless oceans of clouds, their undersides wrapped in roots and shattered stone that hung like the fangs of some sleeping titan. Waterfalls spilled endlessly from the edges of the floating landmass, vanishing into the white abyss below before ever touching the sea.
The winds up here howled differently. Sharper. Lonelier. Ancient ruins and colossal fortifications stood upon the island, remnants of a bygone era reclaimed by nature and isolation alike. Strange beasts roamed its forests, creatures too dangerous or too extinct to exist in the world beneath the clouds.
And at the island's center, a palace of gold and black steel overlooked the endless heavens. Inside one of its vast open chambers, where the evening sun bled crimson across the clouds, two monsters sat across from one another.
"You were a hard man to find… Golden Lion." Patrick Redfield chuckled softly as he set the wine glass down upon the table between them. The crystal chimed faintly against the polished wood, the only delicate sound in a room filled with dangerous men.
Opposite him sat a legend the world had almost forgotten. Shiki the Golden Lion. His long golden hair cascaded over his shoulders like the mane of a beast, his sharp eyes carrying the same untamed arrogance that had once made the seas tremble. Though age had touched him, it had not diminished him. If anything, it had sharpened him further—like a blade hidden too long within its sheath.
Many believed Shiki had retired. Others believed he had gone mad after the collapse of his era. Some even whispered that the once-mighty ruler of the seas had simply lost the will to compete against the monsters of the current age. But only Shiki himself knew the truth. And he had never cared enough to explain it.
"But it seems I didn't hide well enough," Shiki sneered, swirling the liquor in his glass lazily. "You managed to find me regardless."
His gaze narrowed slightly toward Redfield. Normally, Shiki would never have entertained someone like him. Patrick Redfield was infamous even amongst monsters—a lone wolf whose arrogance rivaled emperors, a man who believed himself above crews, alliances, and camaraderie alike. Which was precisely why Shiki was curious.
"That aside…" Shiki leaned back in his throne-like chair, the massive windows behind him revealing endless skies drenched in gold by the setting sun. "Why is someone like you looking for me?"
For the first time since arriving, Patrick Redfield hesitated. Only briefly. But Shiki noticed. And that alone interested him. Finally, Redfield exhaled slowly and spoke.
"I came with a proposal." The air in the chamber seemed to still. "A proposal for an alliance." Silence followed. A long silence.
Then— "Shihahahahahaha…!" Shiki exploded into thunderous laughter. The floating palace itself seemed to tremble with the force of it. Birds scattered outside into the clouds while the wine within the glasses rippled violently from the sheer pressure of his amusement.
"Now that…" Shiki wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, his grin stretching wide and savage. "…that might be the funniest thing I've heard in years." His golden eyes locked onto Redfield. Sharp. Predatory.
"Since when did the mighty Patrick Redfield…" Shiki's tone dripped with mockery. "The man who proclaims himself the strongest to ever walk these seas… start talking about alliances?" The laughter faded. Not completely. But enough. Enough for something colder to settle beneath it. Shiki leaned forward slowly, elbows resting atop his knees, shadows stretching across his face as the dying sunlight framed him like a demon seated upon a throne of clouds.
"You spent more than a year searching for me," he said quietly now. "Crossing half the world just to stand in front of me." A grin slowly spread across his face. Dangerous. Excited. "So tell me…"
The atmosphere changed. The very air grew heavier. Invisible pressure rolled through the chamber as two monstrous wills brushed against one another.
"What kind of enemy…" Shiki asked, voice lowering into something almost eager, "…scared you enough to set aside that monstrous pride of yours?" His grin widened further. "To the point you're willing to shake hands with me, Redfield?" The skies outside rumbled faintly. Not from thunder. But from the sheer weight of the monsters now speaking beneath the heavens.
Redfield's eyes narrowed slightly at Shiki's taunt. Under normal circumstances, such mockery would have been enough to provoke bloodshed. Patrick Redfield was not a man known for tolerating disrespect. Pride was woven into his very existence, sharpened over decades of standing alone against the world.
But this time…he let it pass. Because the moment Shiki spoke of fear, a memory surfaced. Dark waters. Black sails. And eyes that still haunted him even now. For the briefest instant, the confidence in Redfield's gaze wavered. It had begun more than a year ago.
Ever since obtaining that Devil Fruit, Redfield's ambitions had shifted. For most of his life, he had wandered the seas as a lone predator, uninterested in kingdoms, crews, or ruling territory. Strength itself had been enough. But pirates were creatures of adventure by nature. And there was no greater adventure than the final island. Laugh Tale. The One Piece.
In recent years, the hunt for the Road Poneglyphs had escalated into madness. Every emperor, every major pirate faction, every ambitious monster of the sea had begun clawing at one another for fragments of history. Especially after the fall of Charlotte Linlin. With her death, the balance shattered.
The whereabouts of all four red stones became a mystery overnight. The Road Poneglyph once guarded within Totto Land had vanished amidst the chaos. The stone hidden beside Fish-Man Island had disappeared years prior without a trace. The remaining two had faded into rumor and speculation. The world was blind.
And then—Patrick Redfield stumbled upon information. A whisper. A lead pointing toward the possible location of one of the missing red stones. Most would have questioned it. Investigated cautiously. Considered the possibility of a trap. Redfield had done none of those things. Because he was Patrick Redfield. A man who stood atop the seas.
A man whose mastery of Haki rivaled legends. A man who now wielded the terrifying power of a mythical Zoan. What ambush could possibly threaten him? So he went. Alone. Straight into the abyss. And that decision… had nearly killed him.
Even now, the memory remained fragmented—as though his own mind refused to fully relive it. He remembered the sea first. Pitch-black waters beneath a moonless sky. Then the ship. A vessel darker than the ocean itself, its sails like funeral cloth drifting in dead silence. No flag. No crew visible. Just stillness. Wrongness.
And then—him. Hinokizu. The "Man Marked by Flames." The shadow whispered about across the underworld. The thief said to have stolen the Road Poneglyph from the ruins of Totto Land after Linlin's fall. At first, Redfield had dismissed the stories. Until he met the man himself.
Even now, recalling that encounter caused something ugly to stir in his chest. Not shame. Not rage. Something rarer. Instinct. The instinct of prey standing before a predator. The details blurred after that. A clash. A sky split apart. The sea itself twisting unnaturally beneath monstrous Haki.
He remembered black flames. No—not flames. Something worse. Something that swallowed light itself. And those eyes… Cold. Empty. Ancient. The kind of eyes that looked upon monsters like Patrick Redfield and found nothing impressive. Redfield remembered attacking with everything he possessed. He remembered the confidence he carried into that battle shattering piece by piece.
And then—pain. Overwhelming. Absolute. The kind of pain that forced clarity upon even the proudest men. If he had hesitated for even a second longer… If instinct had not screamed at him to retreat… Patrick Redfield knew, deep down, that he would have died there.
The realization still disgusted him. Back in the floating palace, silence lingered between the two legends. Shiki watched him carefully now. Because Golden Lion Shiki had noticed it. That tiny flicker buried deep within Redfield's expression. Fear. And suddenly, Shiki stopped laughing.
Rather than answering Shiki's question directly, Patrick Redfield chose to show him instead. The legendary pirate moved slowly, deliberately. The umbrella resting beside his chair was placed carefully against the table, almost reverently, before Redfield's pale fingers reached for the buttons of his crimson shirt. One by one they came undone, exposing the skin beneath.
For the first time since Redfield had arrived upon the floating island, the smirk on Shiki's face faded. A wound stretched across Redfield's torso. From the left collarbone all the way down toward his navel ran a jagged blackened slash, grotesque and unnatural. The flesh around it looked neither healed nor rotting—it looked stuck. As if time itself refused to move upon that section of his body.
The edges of the wound were dark crimson mixed with veins of charred black, faint wisps of smoke-like residue occasionally curling from within the cut itself. Every few seconds the torn flesh attempted to regenerate, muscles twitching and knitting together for an instant before the black remnants devoured the healing and ripped it apart again.
Like the injury was alive. Even Shiki's grin disappeared entirely now. He understood exactly how monstrous Patrick Redfield truly was. A mythical Zoan user possessed absurd vitality and regenerative capabilities far beyond ordinary humans. On top of that, Redfield himself was among the strongest monsters to ever sail the seas. Men like him did not carry wounds for long.
Yet this injury…it looked fresh. Raw. As if it had been inflicted mere hours ago rather than over a year in the past. Shiki's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "What the hell was that…?" he muttered, leaning forward slightly. "Haki?"
Redfield slowly buttoned his shirt back up, his movements calm, though his expression had darkened considerably. For a brief moment, silence lingered between the two legends while the distant thunderclouds drifted beneath Shiki's floating island.
Finally, Redfield spoke. "It felt like Haki… but it wasn't." His voice was quieter than before. Measured. Careful. "As absurd as that sounds." Shiki remained silent, allowing him to continue. Redfield's crimson eyes drifted toward the horizon, but unlike before, there was no arrogance in them now. Only caution.
"No… 'Haki' isn't the correct word." He frowned slightly, trying to recall the sensation. "Haki clashes against Haki. It collides. Resists. Dominates."
"But this…" His fingers unconsciously brushed against the hidden wound beneath his shirt. "This thing consumed it." Shiki's expression sharpened. "When his blade struck me, my Busoshoku was already layered over my body. Thick enough to withstand cannon fire, enough to split mountains apart if I wished." Redfield's jaw tightened faintly. "Yet the moment that black flame touched my Haki… it was like watching fire devour paper." The air itself seemed colder as he spoke. "It didn't overpower my Haki."
"It erased it." Shiki's pupils constricted slightly. Redfield continued, his tone growing darker. "The flames were black… darker than the sea at midnight. They crawled along the blade like living creatures." His brows furrowed. "And wherever they touched, everything felt… wrong."
"Wrong?" Shiki echoed. Redfield nodded slowly.
"I cannot explain it properly. My instincts screamed at me the moment I saw them." His voice lowered further. "Like standing before something that should not exist in this world." For the first time in years, Patrick Redfield remembered feeling genuine danger. Not excitement. Not thrill. Fear.
"When our blades clashed, I felt my Haki being eaten away piece by piece." He clenched his fist unconsciously. "And then that slash carved through me as though my defenses had never existed at all."
Shiki leaned back against his chair, his expression now entirely serious. This was no exaggeration. Patrick Redfield's pride would never allow him to fabricate weakness. Which meant somewhere out there…a monster capable of permanently injuring Redfield existed.
And judging by the lingering black remnants on that wound, that monster possessed a power even the legends of the old era did not understand. Redfield finally lifted his gaze toward Shiki.
"That man..." he said quietly, "Hinokizu…he is guarding something far more terrifying than a mere Road Poneglyph."
"Did you at least manage to get a good look at his face?" Shiki asked, his tone far more serious now. The amusement from earlier had completely vanished. For someone like Patrick Redfield to come searching for him personally—setting aside his monstrous pride and speaking of alliances—meant the threat posed by this mysterious "Hinokizu" was no laughing matter.
Redfield's answer, however, brought only disappointment. The legendary pirate slowly shook his head. "He was cloaked and masked," Redfield admitted calmly, offering no excuses for his failure. "And unfortunately for me… I did not have the luxury of trying to uncover his identity while fighting for my life."
The words hung heavily in the air. Shiki narrowed his eyes. Those were not the words of a coward attempting to save face. No—Patrick Redfield was a man whose arrogance rivaled even the old monsters of the previous era. For him to admit such a thing so plainly only made the situation more unsettling.
The winds atop the floating island grew quieter. Far below, the endless ocean stretched like a dark abyss beneath the clouds while thunder rumbled softly in the distance. "…Interesting," Shiki murmured at last, leaning back into his massive throne-like chair.
The golden-haired pirate lifted the bottle beside him and slowly poured himself another glass of liquor, though this time even the alcohol seemed to have lost its taste.
"And here I thought I knew everything there was to know about this world…" His voice carried an unusual heaviness. For decades, Shiki had ruled the seas as one of its absolute apex predators. Alongside Roger and Whitebeard, he had stood atop an era where monsters clashed and kingdoms trembled beneath their shadows. Men feared his name. Governments dreaded his return.
Yet now…a hidden figure had appeared out of nowhere and nearly killed Patrick Redfield. And the most terrifying part? Neither of them knew who he truly was. Shiki's fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
"Maybe Xebec was right all those years ago…" he muttered. At the mention of that name, the atmosphere itself seemed to grow heavier. The memory of the man who once sought to rule the entire world still lingered like a ghost over their generation.
"We were naive," Shiki continued quietly, staring toward the distant horizon beyond the clouds. "Naive enough to believe we stood at the apex of this world." A faint grin tugged at his lips, though there was no humor in it.
"How laughable." The floating island creaked softly as violent winds brushed past its edges. "Roger… Whitebeard… even myself…" Shiki exhaled slowly. "We conquered seas, shattered fleets, and fought wars that reshaped history…"
"But in the end, perhaps we were merely strong men playing pirates on the surface of a world we never truly understood." Redfield remained silent. Because deep down…he agreed. Ever since that battle against Hinokizu, the world itself had begun to feel different to him. Larger. Darker. Like a curtain had been lifted ever so slightly, revealing something ancient lurking behind the stage of history.
Shiki suddenly chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. "And now monsters are appearing one after another…" His eyes gleamed sharply. "Rosinante. That masked bastard Hinokizu. The Donquixote brothers forcing the World Government out of the New World…"
He swirled the liquor in his glass. "The seas are changing again." A slow grin spread across Shiki's face now—wild and excited, like the old lion of the seas had finally scented blood again after years of boredom. "And for the first time in decades…" Golden lightning-like killing intent flickered subtly around him. "…I'm starting to feel excited."
Patrick Redfield's expression darkened for the briefest moment at the mention of Rosinante. It was subtle. A slight tightening of the jaw. A flicker of coldness in his crimson eyes. Then it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. That, too, was a debt that remained unpaid.
Years ago, Rosinante had killed his nephew—a blood relative placed under Redfield's personal protection. In the world of pirates, such matters were never forgotten. Blood demanded blood.
And yet… Redfield's attachment to the boy had only gone so far. He was not Whitebeard, who would wage war upon the world itself for family. Nor was he sentimental enough to throw away ambition for revenge. Rosinante was a grudge he intended to settle eventually—but not at the cost of his greater goal. Not when the One Piece itself was now within reach.
"Tell me honestly, Redfield…" Shiki suddenly said, swirling the liquor in his glass. "I wasn't your first choice, was I?" The question caused Redfield's brows to knit together slightly. He had intentionally avoided bringing that topic up.
Not because he feared Shiki—but because he understood the man's pride. The old Golden Lion of the Rocks era was infamous for his arrogance. Back in the old days, merely implying someone else stood above him was enough to trigger a massacre.
Yet now… Shiki sat calmly upon his throne-like chair overlooking the endless sky, almost amused. "Didn't you approach Newgate with the same proposal first?" Shiki asked bluntly.
Redfield immediately understood. Shiki already knew. Which only made this conversation stranger. By all logic, the old Shiki should have exploded into rage by now. He should have shattered the table, mocked Redfield's desperation, and driven him off his island at swordpoint for treating him like a second option. But none of that happened.
Instead, Shiki merely watched him with quiet curiosity. Redfield studied the man carefully. The Golden Lion had changed. Not outwardly—Shiki still radiated overwhelming presence even while seated casually. His golden mane still flowed wildly around his shoulders, and his eyes still carried the savage ambition that once rivaled Roger himself.
But beneath it…there was restraint now. Patience. The recklessness of his youth had been tempered into something sharper. Something far more dangerous.
"It seems you've changed quite a bit yourself these past few years, Shiki," Redfield remarked slowly. "No wonder you vanished from the seas. The world thinks you've faded into obscurity…" His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "But it seems you've merely been hiding in the shadows while preparing something much larger."
Shiki did not respond. He simply continued staring at Redfield, waiting for an answer. Eventually, Redfield exhaled quietly. "Fine," he admitted. "Yes. You were not my first choice." The winds around the floating island whistled softly between the silence. "I approached Newgate first to see whether he would be willing to form an alliance."
Shiki suddenly burst into laughter. "Shihahahahaha…!" The booming laughter echoed across the island like thunder. "And what did that old fool say?" he asked with a grin. Redfield leaned back slightly.
"Though his temperament has softened over the years, his ideals remain unchanged." His tone carried faint disappointment. "He has no interest in the One Piece. He claims he is content with what he already possesses."
Redfield clicked his tongue softly. "Such a waste." His gaze drifted toward the distant clouds. "A man said to stand closest to Roger's throne… yet he refuses to reach for it."
Shiki's grin widened dangerously. "Then it truly has been a while since you kept up with the state of the world, Redfield." The air shifted subtly. The atmosphere around the Golden Lion sharpened.
"Perhaps years ago Whitebeard really was the man closest to the One Piece after Roger." Shiki's golden eyes gleamed faintly beneath the setting sunlight. "But the seas have changed." A shadow passed over his face. "There are monsters out there now…" he murmured.
"Monsters far more terrifying than Newgate." For the first time since arriving on the island, Redfield's expression turned completely serious. Shiki slowly stood from his chair and walked toward the edge of the floating island overlooking the endless world below.
The clouds parted beneath his feet. The sky itself seemed to bow before the Golden Lion as his massive coat fluttered violently in the wind.
"The Donquixote brothers…" Shiki spoke the name slowly. Carefully. As if uttering the names of calamities. "They are no longer merely Emperors." His grin returned, though this time it carried genuine tension beneath it. "Those monsters are carving out something far beyond territory."
Redfield remained silent.
Because even he had heard the whispers spreading across the seas. The World Government retreating from vast sections of the New World. Entire nations shifting allegiance. Pirates disappearing overnight. And at the center of it all—those black flames. Shiki's eyes narrowed toward the horizon.
"And if the rumors are true…" he said quietly, "then Rosinante himself may already possess enough power to challenge the balance of the entire world." The winds roared louder. For a brief moment, neither pirate spoke. Because both of them understood something terrifying. The era they once dominated…No longer belonged to them alone.
"So tell me…" Shiki said as he rose from his chair, golden hair swaying lightly in the wind. "What exactly did you have in mind when you spoke of an alliance?"
The Golden Lion strolled toward a massive wooden rack carved into the side of the hall, lined with dozens upon dozens of expensive bottles gathered from every corner of the world. Rare liquors from fallen kingdoms, wines stolen from noble vaults, and ancient brews aged longer than some nations had existed.
Shiki casually plucked one from the shelf before uncorking it with his thumb. The sharp scent of aged alcohol filled the air instantly. "If you think I'm going to help you settle your old grudges," he continued, pouring himself a glass, "then you can forget that nonsense immediately."
His golden eyes briefly flickered toward Redfield. "I know about your history with Rosinante." The atmosphere grew heavier at the mention of that name. "But I owe the Donquixote brothers a debt." Shiki took a slow sip from the glass. "One I have no intention of forgetting."
Years ago, when the seas themselves had nearly swallowed him whole and his ambitions had crumbled into ruin, it was because of Rosinante's interference that Shiki still lived today. The Golden Lion was many things—cruel. Prideful. Mad. But he was not dishonorable. There were debts even pirates repaid.
Redfield merely scoffed faintly. "I am not so spineless as to seek another man's assistance in settling my personal grudges," he replied coldly. His crimson gaze sharpened slightly. "No… our alliance would extend only toward our mutual objective."
"The One Piece." Those words carried weight. Even the winds outside seemed quieter. Redfield leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and measured. "We exchange information. Resources. Movements across the seas." His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. "And if either of us happens to acquire a Road Poneglyph…"
He paused briefly. "…the other receives a copy in exchange for something of equal value deemed acceptable by both parties." Shiki swirled the liquor in his glass thoughtfully but did not interrupt. "As for Hinokizu…" Redfield's expression darkened faintly. "That is another matter entirely."
Once again, since arriving upon the floating island, genuine caution surfaced in his voice again. "If I encounter him again, there is a strong possibility that even someone like me may not survive alone." His crimson eyes met Shiki's directly.
"And if that time comes… we may truly need to fight together." The words lingered heavily between them. Because for monsters of their caliber, alliances were not born from friendship. They were born from necessity. And for Patrick Redfield to admit needing assistance against a single individual—that alone spoke volumes about the terror called Hinokizu.
Then Redfield reached into his coat and withdrew a small black Den Den Mushi. Unlike ordinary Transponder Snails, this one possessed metallic plating along its shell and intricate mechanisms embedded around its body. A recording snail. Without another word, Redfield tossed it across the table. Shiki caught it effortlessly with one hand.
"This," Redfield said calmly, "is a token of my sincerity." Shiki narrowed his eyes slightly. "Contained within are fragments of information I've gathered over the past several years." Redfield's voice remained steady. "Trade routes. Hidden territories. Rumors tied to the Road Poneglyphs. Movements within the New World."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Some of it may prove useful even to you." Shiki stared at the snail silently for several moments before setting his drink aside. "I do not know what plans you've been concocting up here in the skies," Redfield continued, rising slowly from his seat. "Nor do I particularly care."
His coat fluttered lightly behind him as the winds swept through the massive chamber. "But one thing is obvious." Redfield's crimson gaze sharpened. "Everything you are building…it all leads toward the One Piece."
A slow grin spread across Shiki's face. Not mocking. Not arrogant. Excited. Because the man standing before him understood him perfectly. Redfield turned toward the open horizon beyond the floating island.
"So I sincerely hope," he said quietly, "that you consider my proposal carefully, Golden Lion." Outside, thunder rolled across the skies far beneath them. Two monsters from the old era stood overlooking the world once more—not as enemies. But as predators, beginning to realize that the hunt for the final throne had entered a far more terrifying stage than either of them had anticipated.