Far above Sky Island, the night sky lit with Shirogai's fireworks. The warriors of the Sandia tribe craned their necks, bewildered by the strange, dancing flas. None of them had ever seen fireworks like these.
"What is that?" one murmured.
Wyper stared toward the unfamiliar blaze in the distance. His jaw tightened at the sight, and for an instant he wondered if it was the sa kind of fire his teacher once used. He pushed the thought away and turned back to the others, voice low and hard.
"Enough gawking. Tomorrow we finish this. One goal, brothers." He tapped his chest. "Reclaim our holand."
A string of brilliant fla-patterns blossod overhead, each burst folding into another until the sky was full of glowing shapes. From the temple side, the forr god Gan Fall watched with a fragile, awed expression. Bandages wrapped him like a veteran soldier; age had not dulled the sharpness in his eyes.
"Is this the Blue Sea's kind of fireworks?" he croaked, then shook his head. "No, these are flas made by a Devil Fruit."
Zoro, leaning back and sipping sake, answered with the sa dry calm he always wore.
"The Blue Sea certainly has fireworks, but these are Shirogai's. He's using his Devil Fruit to simulate them."
Gan Fall's hands trembled as he peered up. "How beautiful," he said, a complex sadness settling over his face. "If only I had such power when God's Country fell to Enel."
Zoro glanced at him. "You'd have stopped him?"
Gan Fall's laugh was small and brittle. "Would I have? Envy is a foolish comfort." He stared at Shirogai in the tree, his gaze searching for sothing he could not na.
Shirogai lounged across the trunk like a man without concern, watching the fireworks he'd made. The glow gilded his features and made him look less like a guest passing through and more like part of this island's night. Zoro tilted his head, an amused spark in his eyes.
"He's the one you asked about," Zoro said. "The fla user everyone's curious to see."
"Is he—" Gan Fall stopped short, the words choking in his throat. He had a mory that shivered at the edges of the present, a feeling he could not shake. The sa arrogant calm had once belonged to Enel when the tyrant first declared himself god.
Shirogai hopped down and landed near Zoro like he had always belonged. "Just a simple trick, a fla clone," he said with a shrug, but his smile carried no false modesty.
Gan Fall watched him closely. Sothing in Shirogai's bearing set his teeth on edge. The old man could not explain it fully, only that the confidence felt too familiar, too like the kind that had once convinced people to kneel.
Zoro chuckled. "He's honestly stronger than he pretends. The ra ra no Mi can do a lot, but he's pushed it further—fla clones now, apparently."
Shirogai shrugged. "Anyti you want to spar, I'll show you."
Gan Fall's eyes narrowed. He had expected a show of power, but what Shirogai did next shook him: the young man raised a hand and called down lightning, jagged bolts tearing the air and setting the heavens alight with electric light.
"How is that possible?" Gan Fall gasped, clenching the fabric of his sleeve. "That's—Enel's lightning. How can you have that?"
Shirogai's smile was patient. He let his fingers flicker through fla, smoke, sand, and then ice, as if turning the world's elents were as easy as flipping a page. Gan Fall stood rigid, the color drained from his face.
"You… are you even human?" he blurted.
"Of course I'm human," Shirogai said plainly. "Only with a billion more tricks." He gestured toward the Straw Hats gathered around the bonfire, their faces upturned and warm in the light. Laughter and music floated over the clearing; their joy stood like a barricade against the darkness.
Gan Fall swallowed. The old, battered ruler scanned the group, hope and skepticism warring across his face. "So he will defeat Enel?"
Shirogai's answer was quiet, not cruel but not reassuring either. "Enel will be defeated. But not by ."
"You an by your crew?" Gan Fall asked, a flicker of naive hope lighting him.
"No." Shirogai's eyes were steady. "By the Shandia. By the people of this island. You are the ones who will put Enel down."
Gan Fall's laugh was bitter. "They'd be cannon fodder. They would die!"
"Resistance costs blood," Shirogai said. "You call a passerby because we ca from the sea. But would you rather let your people live on their knees, or fight with a slim chance and keep a few standing?" He picked up a clod of earth and rolled it between his fingers as if the answer were obvious.
Gan Fall's shoulders slumped. "Your words are bold, young man. I wondered once—if I rallied all of Sky Island against Enel, could we kill him?" He stroked Pierre, his faithful steed, and looked to the ground as if the answer pained him. "Maybe. But very few would remain. Only a handful might survive."
"Then what would you have them do?" Shirogai said. The tone in his voice was blunt, a mirror held to an uncomfortable truth. "Surrender and live under terror forever? Or fight and risk everything for even a sliver of freedom?"
The old man's breath left him in a long sigh. He had given his life to a people who prized peace and innocence over conflict; asking them to change everything in a single night was a cruelty he had hesitated to commit.
Zoro set his bottle down and spoke in his usual flat drawl. "Enel's decided sothing," he said. "Tonight isn't about dreaming. He plans to wipe the island clean."
"What?" Gan Fall jolted, eyes wide.
"To kill everything on Sky Island," Shirogai said. His voice did not rise; the words were a small, precise tool. "He's made the island's fate visible—tomorrow I'll make his 'health bar' visible. Then the rest is up to you people."
That last phrase lodged itself in the old man's chest like a stone. The thought that the real asure of survival would co from the islanders themselves, and not from so pirate savior, cleared the air in a way words seldom could. Gan Fall straightened, the weight in his face giving way—just slightly—to resolve.
Around them, the fireworks continued to fall, phoenixes and spirals dissolving into embers. The night thrumd with tension and the fragile, stubborn warmth of people choosing how they would face the dawn.
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