In the heart of the Holy Land of Mariejois, beneath a glass dome that reflected the light of a false sun, seven cloaked agents sat at a round table. These were not the Gorosei — they were deeper than that. The Cipher Core, the intelligence behind the curtain.
A report was laid bare on the table, ink still wet:
"Raizen D. Crow. Alias: The Nightborne. Bounty: 312,000,000 Beli."
"He moves like a pirate but thinks like a revolutionary," one murmured.
"No... he doesn't want to liberate the world," another replied. "He wants to remake it."
A third leaned in. "He's only twelve. If we let him reach twenty..."
A shadowy finger tapped the table.
"Then we won't."
Emberfang – Three Days Later
Raizen sat in his quarters, staring at a Devil Fruit suspended in a jar of brine. Not just any fruit — one they'd stolen from a Kronvale convoy.
The Grav-Grav Fruit.
"Careful," Calder said, polishing his rifle. "That one crushed a mountain when it bloomed the last time. Took out a mining colony."
Raizen didn't respond. His fingers hovered above the jar.
"Captain," Zhara entered, arms crossed. "We intercepted a broadcast. The Marines are offering a pardon to any pirate who brings your head."
Raizen smirked, not even looking up. "And let me guess. The bounty posters changed too."
She nodded. "They call you... the Lord of Shadows now."
He finally turned. "Not yet."
Across the Seas – Ripples of Raizen
In the icy wastes of the South Blue, a woman known as Snowcut Syra stabbed a spear into the frozen ground. "A new king rises," she whispered, watching the black banners wave in the distance.
On a moving island-ship in the sky, the monk-warrior Tengen Uro lit incense and saw visions of fire and shadow entwined. "The prophecy of the Eclipse D. is unfolding…"
And in a hidden city where the sun never rose, the pirate twins known as the Laughing Coffins bet 10 million Beli that Raizen would take down a Warlord before the year's end.
The world was watching.
The Map Room – Emberfang
Raizen gathered his crew before a massive, custom-made map. Regions were circled. Islands crossed out. Dotted lines drawn like wounds across the sea.
"This," he began, "is the old world. It's built on trade routes, noble bloodlines, and the illusion of order."
He took a dagger and stabbed it into the map — just north of Mariejois.
"We're going to burn this map... and draw a new one."
Zhara leaned forward. "And who decides the lines?"
Raizen stared at her, cold and calm.
"I do."
Marineford – Admiral Citron's Quarters
A lithe figure with golden epaulettes and a mechanical hand stood in silence, rereading Raizen's file. Admiral Citron — a tactician feared for never losing a naval battle.
She snapped the file shut.
"Summon the Bloodhounds," she ordered.
Her vice admiral blinked. "The assassins?"
"No. Worse. The failures."
At Sea – Aboard the Merchant Ship Trident Wake
Three Kronvale diplomats were halfway through their wine when their table shattered. The lights flickered. Their guards were already dead.
A voice echoed from the upper deck.
"Tell your masters the age of gold is over."
One diplomat screamed, "What do you want?!"
Raizen emerged from the shadows. "Everything they promised the world. And everything they stole."
He turned as the ship ignited behind him.
A New World
All across the seas, flags were rising. Black ones, red ones, banners never seen before. A girl in a desert town named her sword Raizen. A boy in a northern prison carved his sigil on the wall.
The old empires trembled.
And the Nightborne smiled, not because he had won — but because the war had finally begun.
End of Chapter 12: A New World