The Red Force cut through the calm waters, but inside the ship, the atmosphere was heavy. They had survived the Abyss, but the cost of what they had discovered weighed heavily on every mind.
Ankit sat alone at the ship's railing, staring at the endless sea. His hands trembled faintly, not from fear—but from the weight of what they now carried.
Rion D. Gol.
The Void Century.
A truth so dangerous it had been buried beneath oceans and blood.
Shanks approached quietly, his steps slow. For once, there was no grin on his face. He leaned against the railing beside Ankit, the sea breeze brushing his red hair aside.
"You've been quiet since we surfaced," Shanks said softly. "That thing down there... the truth... it shook you too, didn't it?"
Ankit let out a slow breath. His voice was quiet, almost broken.
"It's one thing to fight enemies you can see. But lies? A world built on them? How do you fight something like that?"
Shanks was silent for a moment, then gave a small, tired smile. "You live your truth louder than their lies. That's all we can do."
For a rare moment, Ankit saw the man beneath the legend. Not the Yonko, but a sailor who'd seen too many friends fall chasing the truth.
The Calm Before the Storm
In the war room, Benn Beckman laid out the latest intel. His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of unease.
"We intercepted some marine frequencies. Cipher Pol Zero has been activated. Silent Erasure Protocol."
The room went silent.
Even Yasopp, usually lighthearted, cursed under his breath. "CP0... damn. They're sending their top assassins to clean this up."
"Silent Erasure," Beckman continued, "means this: no witnesses, no survivors. They'll erase everyone who knows about the Archive. Us, and anyone we've spoken to."
Lucky Roux crossed his arms, face grim. "So it begins."
Ankit's fingers tightened into fists. "They're going to silence the truth before it spreads. Like they always have."
Shanks placed a hand on his shoulder. Steady. Grounding.
"Then we don't give them that chance."
Across the World... the Order is Given
In Mariejois, beneath layers of false peace, the Gorosei gathered. Their faces were cold, carved from stone.
"The Abyssal Archive was breached," one of them said flatly. "Rion's name has resurfaced. This cannot be allowed."
Another nodded. "Activate Silent Erasure. Deploy CP0's Abyss Unit."
Shadows moved in the chamber's corners. Figures clad in pure white masks, lifeless and obedient, kneeled.
"Cleanse the Red-Haired Pirates. Wipe out anyone connected to them. Burn their legacy from history."
The leader of CP0, a tall man with hollow eyes, simply bowed.
"It will be done."
Nightfall on the Red Force
That night, under a sky thick with stars, the crew gathered on deck. No celebration, no drinking. Just quiet understanding.
Yasopp lit his pipe. "Feels like the start of something bigger than any of us."
Beckman nodded, looking into the distance. "This fight won't be about treasure or territory. It's about what kind of world we leave behind."
Shanks looked around at his crew—his family—and spoke, calm but fierce.
"Listen up. From this moment on, anyone who stays is marked. We'll be hunted, blamed, lied about. But if you're staying... we fight together."
One by one, the crew smiled, grinned, or nodded. No one turned away.
Ankit looked at them—these reckless, stubborn fools—and felt his resolve harden.
"I won't run. Not from this. If the world wants to silence us... then we'll carve our voices into history with our blades."
Shanks chuckled softly. "That's the spirit."
Meanwhile, in the Shadows
Far from their ship, silent ships without flags sailed under the moonlight. Onboard, CP0 agents prepared, their faces hidden behind porcelain masks.
"Engage in 48 hours," the lead agent ordered. "Leave no trace."
The Next Morning
The Red Force's log pose pointed north—to the Eternal Glacier, their next destination. But the danger was already on its way.
As Ankit stared at the horizon, the system flickered:
[Warning: High-Priority Hostile Forces Approaching]
Recommended Action: Prepare for conflict within 48 hours.
You cannot escape your past, only face it.
Ankit smiled bitterly. "I was never planning to run."
Behind him, the crew readied their weapons.
They had 48 hours to prepare.
And then... hell would come.