The royal banquet of Alabasta glittered like a mirage — laughter, crystal, and music filling the grand hall. Courtiers whispered, guards kept their distance, and nobles dared only glance at the woman draped in crimson silk — Nyx D. Ada, pirate of the Roger crew, her beauty edged with danger.
She spoke little, rely offering a polite nod when King Cobra, still young and proud in his gold-trimd robe, raised a toast.
Beside her, Crocus chuckled softly under his breath, swirling his wine with the bemused patience of a man long used to storms.
"Not bad for a desert king," he murmured. "You think the food's poisoned?"
Ada didn't smile. "If it is, they'll regret wasting it on ."
Crocus chuckled again, but he noticed her eyes — never still, never relaxed, always reading the room. Even here, among silk and song, she was coiled steel.
When the last cup was drained and the guests withdrew, the night settled over the palace like a velvet curtain. Ada lingered a mont longer on the balcony, the desert wind brushing against her bare shoulders, warm and dry. Crocus joined her, setting his glass on the railing.
"First ti I've seen you stay quiet this long," he said.
"I'm listening," Ada replied.
"To what?"
She frowned faintly. "That's just it. I'm not sure."
And then she felt it — the faintest hum beneath her heels. Not the music. Not the wind. Sothing deeper, older. It thrumd through the marble, vibrating like a heartbeat buried in stone.
Her brows drew together.
That's not the wind…
The palace was silent by the ti Ada followed the pull. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she descended the empty halls, guided by that strange vibration in the air. Crocus, realizing she had slipped away, caught up monts later, torchlight glinting off his spectacles.
"Ada," he whispered, "what are you doing?"
"Following sothing," she murmured. "Can't you feel it?"
He hesitated, shaking his head. "All I feel is the floor. What are you—"
Then, the air shifted. A pressure rolled through the corridor like a breath exhaled by the earth itself. Crocus stopped mid-step, the hairs on his arms rising.
"What in the world…"
They turned a corner — and the corridor ended in a great sealed door of black stone. The torches along the walls flickered violently as if reacting to their presence.
Ada stepped closer, her crimson dress trailing against the floor. The hum intensified until it beca almost a whisper.
And then she heard it — not with her ears, but in her mind.
We wait.
We rember.
We endure.
Her hand trembled as she touched the cold surface. "They're speaking…"
Crocus's eyes widened. "Who's speaking?"
"The stones," Ada whispered. "They're alive."
And then she heard them again.
The weapons that shook the world… the kings who feared them… the tide that shall return.
Ada gasped, stepping back sharply, her eyes wide. "What…"
Before Crocus could respond, footsteps echoed behind them.
"Miss Ada? Doctor Crocus?"
They turned. King Cobra stood at the end of the corridor, Pell beside him, both cloaked in flickering torchlight.
"You shouldn't be here," Cobra said, his voice low but not unkind.
Ada lowered her hand slowly, the hum fading but not gone. "I didn't an to intrude. I heard sothing."
Cobra frowned. "Heard?"
She nodded. "Voices. Not words exactly — just… sothing calling from beneath your palace. They're alive sohow."
The young king's face went still, his jaw tightening. "That's not possible."
Crocus stepped forward, frowning. "She's telling the truth, Your Majesty. I've seen Haki, power, madness — but nothing like this. The air itself was moving."
Ada stepped closer, her crimson dress trailing over the stone floor. "Why does it feel like your walls are breathing?"
Pell instinctively moved his hand to his sword, but Cobra stopped him with a gesture. "You… can hear it?"
Ada didn't answer imdiately. Her eyes remained on the sealed door. "I can't explain it. It's like… it wants to be rembered."
Cobra hesitated and exhaled slowly. "That chamber holds sothing few know of — a relic called a Poneglyph. Its writings are forbidden, older than any nation. They record truths the world no longer dares to speak."
Ada turned to him, eyes narrowing. "You seem to know a lot about sothing forbidden."
The king froze at the tone — quiet, asured, dangerous.
The king's face had gone pale. "The Poneglyph," he said softly. "Few even know it exists. And none should. What it holds… are records of the past — and weapons powerful enough to erase nations."
Ada's brow furrowed. "Ancient weapons…"
Cobra stepped closer, his voice trembling slightly. "No one should hear them, let alone understand them. The last to do so…" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Even speaking of it is dangerous."
"Tell ," Ada continued, stepping closer, "how does a desert king know of the voices of the past? Of stones that speak?"
Pell tensed, but Cobra held up a hand. "Because my ancestors have guarded it. The royal line of Alabasta carries that duty — to protect what the world wants erased."
Ada's gaze sharpened, studying him. Then, softly —
"You seem familiar sohow. The way you speak… the way you carry that burden."
Cobra blinked. "Familiar?"
Her expression darkened, a faint tremor in her voice. "You speak like soone who carries a burden he didn't choose. Tell , King Cobra… does the letter D run in your veins, too?"
The question struck the air like thunder. Pell stiffened. Cobra's eyes widened, just for an instant, before he mastered himself.
"That's… quite the accusation," he said quietly.
Ada tilted her head. "Not an accusation. Just an observation. You don't flinch at talk of forbidden history. You don't fear it — you guard it."
Crocus watched silently, his pulse quickening. He could feel it — that sa invisible tension that seed to follow Ada everywhere, as if the world itself bent toward her.
Cobra's voice dropped, heavy with tension. "If I were what you think… the fewer who know, the safer this kingdom remains."
Ada's lips curved faintly, unreadable. "Fair enough."
For a mont, the silence was thick with unspoken understanding. Then Ada turned back to the black door, laying her palm against it once more.
The hum returned — stronger this ti. Crocus took an involuntary step back as the torches flickered violently, their flas bending toward her.
Ada's voice trembled. "It's crying out. It wants to be heard."
Cobra stared in disbelief. "You… can hear the Poneglyph?"
"I can't read it," Ada said, her voice distant, almost reverent. "But I can hear it. The sa way Roger can."
Cobra's breath caught. "Roger… Gol D. Roger?"
She nodded faintly. "He hears them too. The stones. The sea. The world itself."
Cobra finally spoke again, softly. "You can hear what no scholar or scribe ever could. That ability… it's dangerous."
She nodded. "Roger doesn't read the stones — he listens to them. If so… then maybe it's not just him anymore."
Crocus swallowed, his analytical calm faltering for once. "Ada… this is beyond dicine, beyond reason."
"Maybe," she murmured, still staring at the door. "But truth rarely fits reason."
The hum subsided, leaving only silence — thick, heavy, ancient.
The king's expression flickered between fear and fascination. "Then perhaps the world has chosen its ssengers again…"
Ada stepped back, her eyes half-lidded, as if listening to sothing far beyond the room. "Then maybe it should learn to whisper softer."
Her words hung in the air — quiet, resolute, dangerous.
Cobra finally spoke, his voice quiet but grave. "If the world learns you can hear them… they'll fear you, Ada. They'll co for you as they will for Roger."
Ada's gaze lingered on the Poneglyph door. "Let them fear the truth, not the ones who hear it."
She turned, her crimson silk brushing past the stunned king and his guard, Crocus following silently behind.
As they disappeared into the shadows, Cobra whispered, almost to himself.
"The Will of D… it truly never fades."
Pell looked uneasy. "Your Majesty?"
Cobra's eyes remained on the sealed door, its black surface now eerily still. "That woman doesn't just carry it," he murmured. "She awakened it."
The dawn over Alabasta ca soft and gold — the first light spilling across endless dunes, painting the palace in shades of amber. The desert wind carried the scent of sand and spice as Ada and Crocus walked toward the harbor, their shadows stretching long behind them.
The people watched from a distance — rchants, guards, a few curious eyes peeking from balconies. None dared approach the crimson-clad woman whose presence felt heavier than the desert heat itself.
Crocus adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing back at the towering palace one last ti. "You always leave like this?" he asked lightly.
Ada's crimson dress rippled in the breeze as she stepped onto the gangplank. "Goodbyes are for those who stay," she said simply.
From the highest balcony, King Cobra stood in silence, Pell at his side. He didn't wave — only watched as her small vessel cut through the harbor waters, red sails catching the rising sun.
"She's dangerous," Pell muttered. "Yet… she didn't feel like an enemy."
Cobra's gaze didn't waver. "She's sothing the world isn't ready for," he said quietly. "A woman who can hear the voice of history itself."
Down below, Ada's eyes lifted toward the golden sky. The desert winds brushed against her face, warm and whispering — and for a heartbeat, she thought she could still hear it.
We rember. We endure.
Crocus turned to her. "What's next?"
Ada exhaled softly. "Back to the crew. Roger's waiting."
Their ship slipped past the stone arches of Alubarna's port, the kingdom growing smaller behind them — a jewel swallowed by the horizon.
King Cobra watched until the crimson sails vanished into the dawn. "The Will of D," he murmured, voice lost to the wind. "It always moves forward."
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