The sun filtered gradually into the Dressrosa royal hall, bringing heat to the marble floors and stone pillars in a gentle gold. For once, the island was peaceful — no thunderous battles, no collapsing spires, no blood shed under a false king's rule.
Standing at the far end of the long, highly polished mahogany table was Solian Flare. He wore no crown — he had refused one — but no one could mistake his presence for anything less than a king. His scarlet cape, embroidered with an ascending sun bursting from above a cleft in the heavens, flowed behind him like a blazing river.
Around him, the new council had congregated: Kael, Vance, Milo, and Itachi — his trusted inner circle. With them, important players in Dressrosa's rebuilt government, such as Raul, the new governor, and a few seasoned counselors long stifled under Doflamingo's authoritarian grasp.
Outside the palace, the lively cadence of rebuilding pulsed through the air: hammer on stone, merchants peddling wares in the open squares, children playing in the streets. Dressrosa lived once more.
Inside, the atmosphere was thicker — a slow, careful negotiation of the future.
"We've stabilized the main districts," Governor Raul reported, glancing at the parchment maps spread across the table. "Food stores are secured, irrigation systems are being repaired. The people… they're wary, yes. But there's hope in them again. Your victory wasn't just a change of rulers — it was the lifting of a nightmare."
Solian nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Hope can build cities just as stone."
He drummed his fingers on the table contemplatively.
"But hope alone will not keep us safe."
Kael leaned forward, his gaze keen. "We need to have defenses. And allies. If we're holed up, we'll be picked apart. Doflamingo had contacts everywhere — pirates, nobles, the black market. We can't expect the rest of the world to forget that Dressrosa has switched hands.".
"We're already moving on that front," Vance added, sliding a set of letters forward. The wax seals were still fresh. "Messengers dispatched to two targets: Amazon Lily and Rainbase."
Milo whistled low. "Boa Hancock and Crocodile. Big names."
Kael chuckled dryly. "Big risks too."
Solian smiled faintly. "Just the kind of allies we need. Both have. sullied pasts with the World Government. Both know the value of loyalty and strength. If they see Dressrosa as a rising power and not a defeated relic, they'll talk."
The council nodded.
A low rumble echoed outside, vibrating the glass panes of the high windows. Heads turned.
Outside, in the training grounds, Itachi Uchiha stood alone under the open sky. His cloak fluttered as wisps of mist enveloped him. Storm-Storm Fruit's power glowed in the air — dark clouds coalescing into a tight, compact spiral above his palm.
He extended a hand with slow precision, pulling the swirling winds together. Tiny lightning arcs sparked between his fingers. With a simple flick, he sent a miniature storm bursting upward, the condensed pressure vanishing into mist before it could reach dangerous levels.
The sight was mesmerizing.
"He's adapting… unnaturally fast," Kael muttered, eyes wide.
"No," Solian corrected softly. "Itachi's not adapting. He's mastering."
The heavy doors creaked open, breaking the moment.
A messenger whose uniform was stained with salt knelt down quickly before Solian, presenting him with a sealed scroll.
"My lord… urgent news from Marijoa."
Solian took the scroll, breaking the seal with a flick of his thumb. He read through its contents slowly.
"They've done it," he said out loud, laying the paper on the ground. "The World Government has officially recognized me as the sovereign king of Dressrosa."
The room was still for a heartbeat — then burst into muted, bewildered murmuring.
"They're acknowledging you?" Milo exclaimed. "They never legitimize rebellions. They suppress them."
"It's a delaying tactic," Kael said, drumming a finger on the table. "By acknowledging Solian in public, they forestall the danger of open revolt inciting other kingdoms. But in private? They'll dispatch assassins, spies, agents of Cipher Pol — perhaps worse."
Governor Raul's face turned pale. "Cipher Pol… the secret police?"
Solian nodded gravely. "There are a number of divisions. The ones most people know about are CP1 to CP8 — intelligence, police work, black ops. But there are… nastier branches."
"Cipher Pol Aigis Zero," Itachi spoke softly, his voice cutting through the room.
Everyone stared at him.
"The personal enforcers of the Celestial Dragons. They do as they please. If they come, it will not be to negotiate."
Solian locked eyes with every member of his crew. "There will be spies who present themselves as merchants. Assassins who pose as nobles. Saboteurs who pose as our workers."
He stood up, his cape flowing behind him.
"Dressrosa must be ready — militarily, economically, and politically."
He paced slowly down the length of the table, his voice authoritative:
"The World Government is a hydra. Cut off one head, and two more take its place. They control the Marines. They command Cipher Pol. They hold treaties with kings and warlords across the seas."
He stopped, resting his hand lightly on the back of Itachi's chair.
"But they do not control us. Not anymore."
Kael spoke cautiously. "And what of the Revolutionary Army?"
Solian smiled. "They'll be paying attention. I doubt Dragon himself will make a move… but if the World Government gets too aggressive, even he might find reason to cast a look in this direction."
For a moment, the future stretched out before them like an infinite sea — with waves that could not be sensed, underwater rocks that lay concealed, storms brewing on the horizon.
Outside the windows, Itachi continued his practice in silence.
Above, the otherwise open sky now presented a dense, black cloud — not one storm, but an enveloping series of mounting strength. The winds began to keen in ordered, racking currents, working around his body like trained hounds.
Itachi breathed slowly, synchronizing his chakra with the untainted storm energy. The ground beneath him groaned softly from the pressure. His Sharingan spun vacantly within his eyes, analyzing the dynamics of nature's fury flow with cold detachment.
Milo whistled softly. "That dude is not human."
Solian watched cautiously. "No. He is becoming something more."
As the council broke apart, Solian walked alone out to the balcony of the palace. The city stretched out before him — hurt, but healing.
For a moment, he allowed himself to believe in the peace they had made. To savor it.
But even so, he could sense it — like a pickle at the base of his neck.
The building pressure of something huge circling the globe.
Ancient forces stirring.
New powers rising.
And above it all, the relentless, unseen gaze of the World Government, waiting, scheming.
Solian gripped the balcony railing with a chill intensity.
This peace would not last.
But he would be ready.
When the storms broke out — and storms always did — and he and his crew would ride them out in its midst.
And they would not fall.