Sea Forest, Fishman Island
The Sea Forest —a realm of wonder, mystery, and quiet reverence — lay nestled northeast of Fish-Man Island, hidden deep on the sea floor where the currents flow slow and solemn, as though even the ocean itself treads carefully around this ancient place.
Bathed in the gentle radiance of the Sunlight Tree Eve, whose roots stretched like lifelines through the ocean depths, the forest glowed with an ethereal light—soft, golden, and dreamlike. It is this light that breathed life into the coral groves, causing them to flourish in impossible abundance. The vibrant coral bloomed in every shape and color imaginable, forming natural arches, spires, and meadows of swaying fronds that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the sea itself.
Marine life drifted and danced freely through this underwater sanctuary. Schools of luminous fish glided through coral tunnels like streaks of living starlight, while majestic pods of whales drifted solemnly above, their haunting songs echoing like ancient hymns through the water. The harmony of predator and prey was momentarily forgotten here, as if nature itself recognizes the Sea Forest as sacred ground.
Yet not all within the Sea Forest was tranquil.
Scattered among the coral and sand were the bones of dreams long lost—the twisted remains of sunken vessels, their broken masts and shattered hulls now consumed by coral and time.
Drawn here by the powerful and unpredictable ocean currents, countless ships have met their final fate within this watery graveyard, earning the forest its ominous second name: "The Ship Graveyard." Each wreck whispered stories of hubris, misfortune, and forgotten voyages, preserved forever beneath layers of sea flora and silence.
Ancient anchors lay half-buried beneath kelp, cannons rust in eerie rows, and treasure chests—some broken open just at the locks, others completely destroyed—peeked through the seagrass like relics from a forgotten era. Even the bravest fishmen never dared to linger here for long alone, for it was said that the sea remembered every soul claimed by its depths.
"That hill over there," Queen Otohime said softly, her eyes lingering on a distant rise cloaked in bioluminescent coral and shrouded by slow-drifting kelp, "contains the graves of our ancestors. Some of those resting there... we believe their tombs date back to the time before the Void Century."
Her hand extended gracefully, pointing toward the ancient hill resting further to the right, veiled in solemn tranquility. Her voice lowered, touched by a note of wistful reverence.
"Someday, when my time comes... I wish to be buried there, among them. To sleep in the arms of history, surrounded by those who dreamt of peace long before I did."
The Right Minister, walking a few steps behind, stiffened at her words. A protest rose to his lips, but Queen Otohime waved him off with a light chuckle and a playful flick of her fingers.
"Ah, I was simply jesting, Minister," she said, her voice returning to its graceful lilt. "We're here to entertain our guests—do you truly think I would sour the mood with such grim talk?" She turned back to the group with a warm smile, though the flicker of something more knowing lingered in her gaze—something heavy, like a woman who had already glimpsed the path fate had laid before her.
Their guests, gathered in respectful silence behind her, were anything but ordinary. When they first arrived, King Neptune and his court had assumed them to be a delegation of precocious teens and children—talented perhaps, but still green. But that illusion had shattered after a single shared banquet.
Despite their youth, many among them spoke with the clarity and conviction of seasoned warriors, their composure honed not by age, but by hardship. Behind every polite bow and innocent smile was the unmistakable weight of experience.
And perhaps the greatest surprise of all was their very first request. Not to tour the bustling mermaid boulevards. Not to explore the palace vaults filled with ancient treasures. Not to visit the famed shopping corridors or the luminous coral gardens.
No—the first place they wished to see was this. The Sea Forest. A windswept, silent corner forgotten by time and feared by most.
Even the roughest fishmen from the slums of the Fishman District avoided this place, whispering rumors of old curses, ancient spirits, and unending grief. It was a place of deep silence, where not even the bravest dared linger without purpose. And yet... these youths had chosen it without hesitation.
Perhaps they felt drawn by the same weight that pressed against the sea here—where centuries of hope, pain, and blood had been laid to rest. Perhaps, like Queen Otohime, they too carried the burden of legacy on their young shoulders.
"So now that we are finally here…" Queen Otohime's gentle voice broke the hush that had settled over the group, "perhaps you can tell us why exactly this place was your first request, young miss?"
Her eyes landed on the young blonde girl standing quietly near the edge of the coral ridge. The girl's golden hair shimmered like threads of sunlight in the filtered glow of the Sea Forest, but it wasn't her appearance that commanded respect—it was the gravity in her presence.
Though barely in her teens, she bore herself with the same quiet authority as any of the great pillars of the Donquixote family. The world knew her not simply as a child of the underworld—she was Donquixote Robin, the youngest of the Three Donquixote, and perhaps its most enigmatic.
Robin, who had been quietly admiring the breathtaking view—sunlight filtering down through the Eve Tree, illuminating centuries-old coral and shipwrecks entombed in silence—turned her gaze to the queen. She hadn't planned on hiding the truth, merely waiting for the right moment.
"I've heard the Sea Forest holds a Poneglyph," she said with calm clarity. "If it's not too much to ask, I would like to see it with my own eyes."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Even among her peers, the word Poneglyph stirred curiosity. While the rest of the Donquixote youths had heard of the mysterious stone tablets that recorded the forbidden history, few had ever seen one. Robin's interest had suddenly sharpened their own.
Queen Otohime paused, visibly surprised. The knowledge of the Poneglyph's existence was a closely guarded secret—most of her own people had forgotten it even lay beneath their sea. The Right Minister's mustache twitched with unease, but the Queen quickly composed herself, offering a soft smile.
"I see… So the Donquixote family is aware of that ancient relic," she said, with a hint of reverence in her voice. "I shouldn't be surprised. With your family's reach and wisdom… perhaps it was only a matter of time."
She turned, the folds of her flowing robe trailing gently through the water like strands of kelp. "Come, then. It lies in the most secluded corner of the Sea Forest. Even among our own kind, few ever wander there. But it is... sacred."
The journey through the Sea Forest deepened, the coral thickening, the water darker—quieter. The vibrant colors of the outer reefs gave way to more solemn hues: ancient stone, fossilized coral, and the skeletal remains of long-forgotten ships gently cradled by the sand. All chatter ceased as the group approached what felt like a sanctum.
And then, through a veil of seaweed and an arch formed by living coral, they saw it.
The Poneglyph.
It stood monolithic and unmoving—a massive, cubic slab of dark indigo stone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly under the filtered light of the Sea Forest. Its surface was untouched by time or tide. No coral grew on it. No fish swam too close. It demanded reverence.
The Donquixote youths fell silent, even the ever-talkative Gladius and Buffalo. Even Sugar, ever bubbly, gripped Monet's sleeve a little tighter, as if sensing that what lay before them was not something meant to be disturbed by childish play.
Robin stepped forward slowly. Her golden eyes had changed. The calm, reserved girl they knew was gone—replaced by someone else entirely. A scholar. A seeker. A soul haunted by the weight of forgotten centuries.
She reached out with a trembling hand, brushing her fingers along the cold, smooth edge of the Poneglyph. Her breath caught. Every time she stood before one of these stones, she felt as though the silence of the world held its breath with her. Her heartbeat slowed. Her mind raced.
"Such precision," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "This language… it speaks without a voice, yet it echoes across time…"
The others watched her, awed not by the stone, but by how it transformed her.
"She's… different," Monet murmured, holding Sugar close.
"She always gets like this," Gladius said in a hushed voice. "Every time she sees one of these things, it's like... she forgets the rest of the world."
Robin knelt, tracing a line of ancient text, her lips silently forming words as she read. Queen Otohime stood back, observing with quiet admiration. For once, she didn't see a Donquixote. She saw a kindred spirit—someone who sought to preserve truth, not power.
For several minutes, the Donquixote children remained in quiet reverence before the ancient Poneglyph, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Each of them absorbed the enormity of what stood before them in their own way—this wasn't just a slab of stone, but a fragment of a forgotten world, untouched by time.
Smoker, however, couldn't suppress his impulse to test something that their older brother, Ross, had once told them during training: Poneglyphs are impervious to all damage—even Devil Fruit powers.
The temptation was strong. At first, he considered unleashing one of his condensed smoke bursts just to see if the indigo monolith would react. But before he could act on that reckless urge, he caught Monet's warning glare—sharp, cold, and unmistakably laced with menace.
He grunted, relenting, and instead stepped forward with a challenge of a different sort. Slowly, he extended a gloved hand and pressed his palm against the ancient stone. Almost instantly, a wave of pressure washed over him—crushing, suffocating.
Despite the specialized suit designed by Wolf to help Devil Fruit users withstand submersion, it was as if the Poneglyph ignored all that. His breath hitched. The chill ran deep, past muscle and bone, into his very essence. He recoiled with a sharp inhale, stumbling back a step.
"What the hell…?" he muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers. He had touched seastone before—this was different. This was something far more ancient… something alive.
"Hehehe… Can't even handle a rock?" Gladius taunted, grinning smugly. "Maybe you're not as tough as you act, Smokey."
Smoker scowled. "Tch… Big talk for someone who hasn't even tried it yet. Go on then—let's see how you handle it."
Predictably, Gladius couldn't back down. His pride demanded satisfaction. "Watch and learn," he said smugly, removing his glove and placing his bare hand directly on the Poneglyph's surface.
The result was immediate.
His entire body jerked as though he had been struck by a jolt of pure force. A tremor ran down his spine, and he staggered backward. Smoker, already expecting the outcome, caught him before he could collapse.
"You were saying?" Smoker said with a smirk.
Both boys exchanged a glance, the bravado slipping away. Beneath the surface, both were shaken—not by the pain, but by the realization. They had trained against seastone, had built tolerance to it through grueling regimes—but this… this was on an entirely different level.
"You both really have forgotten what Brother Ross taught us, haven't you?" Robin's voice came from behind, calm and measured, yet laced with quiet reproach. She didn't even look at them, her eyes still scanning the inscriptions on the Poneglyph. In one hand she held a small leather-bound notebook, scribbling rapidly and cross-referencing glyphs with symbols she had deciphered previously.
"These stones aren't just indestructible because of the materials or the lost techniques used in their crafting," she continued, eyes gleaming with fascination. "They're infused with Haki. That's what makes them truly eternal."
She paused, tracing a single line with her finger—gentle, reverent. "And this one… this Poneglyph is different. The Haki in it feels… denser. More potent. Even compared to the ones Brother Ross showed me during our times of travel."
Gladius and Smoker glanced at each other, sheepishly backing away. Their antics forgotten, they now stood like chastised apprentices before a master.
Queen Otohime, who had remained quiet during the exchange, blinked twice. Her expression was unreadable—but her heart skipped a beat at the girl's words. Haki… infused into the Poneglyphs? That detail… it wasn't in any of the royal archives. Not even in the classified records passed down from monarch to monarch.
As someone gifted with an extraordinary form of Observation Haki, Otohime had visited this very stone countless times. Yet she had never once felt that presence—never sensed the deep, lingering will etched into its core.
She looked at Robin again, this time not as a guest… but as an anomaly. A golden-haired teen with the eyes of someone far older than her years. Could it be…?
Her breath caught as she watched the girl scribble with an almost meditative calm. Not just studying—but deciphering. Her eyes scanned the symbols like a historian tracing the scars of time. And then, Robin turned slightly, her side profile meeting the Queen's gaze.
"I know what you want to ask me," Robin said, her voice still soft but unwavering. "Yes… I can read it." Queen Otohime's eyes widened.
"This Poneglyph," Robin continued, her fingers now caressing the surface like sacred porcelain, "it's not a weapon blueprint. Not a record of ancient kings or vanished history."
"It's a letter," she said with a quiet gravity that hushed even the swaying coral around them. "A letter of apology… from someone named Joy Boy, to the mermaid princess of that time. A promise left unfulfilled… a sorrow buried in stone."
The words echoed in the Queen's mind like a tide crashing through old, forbidden memories.
Joy Boy. The name was known only to a handful in the Ryugu Kingdom—their greatest secret, passed down from generation to generation. Otohime herself had wept the first time she read the ancient scrolls referencing the man who had once made a promise to save them… and failed.
Now, hearing the exact truth from the mouth of a girl barely in her teens—Otohime's composure threatened to fracture. Her hands clenched, her breath tight. She truly can read the language of the Void Century. She knows what was lost.
Robin, oblivious to the Queen's inner turmoil, continued studying the glyphs, her expression somewhere between serene and melancholic. "The words are simple," she said. "But the emotion… it's powerful. It feels like… like he meant it with all his heart."
"You can truly read the forbidden language… If the World Government were to find out…" Queen Otohime's voice faltered mid-sentence, her expression paling as the weight of what she had just implied sank in. It was too late.
A low, almost melodic laugh echoed through the seafloor—high-pitched and laced with venom.
"Fufufufu…" The voice belonged to none other than Reiju—barely seven years old, yet standing with the poise and menace of someone thrice her age. Draped in a flamboyant feathered coat, dyed soft rose and gold, her small frame was a twisted mirror of her mentor's charisma. Every movement she made was steeped in theatrical grace, every expression calculated. Her smile curled cruelly—eerily reminiscent of Doflamingo's infamous grin.
"What if the World Government did know, hmm?" she asked sweetly, but her eyes gleamed like twin blades. "Would you go running to them, Queen Otohime? Perhaps in exchange for a shiny medal or a seat at their pathetic table? Or maybe… just maybe… you think they'll forgive your people's blood for a few flattering speeches and bowing heads?"
The words struck like daggers.
"Don't think we're unaware of your little ambition to restore ties with them," she continued, taking a slow step forward, the fabric of her heels clicking softly against the seafloor's stone.
"Even after what happened at Mariejois, you fail to learn your lesson. Even after they tried to chain you like a pet to the Celestial Dragons' leash. And it was my master who had to step in—who crushed a line of those self-proclaimed gods beneath his heel to ensure you didn't become a royal plaything."
Her words, soaked in mockery, echoed like thunder through the grave-still Sea Forest. A ripple of silence followed. Queen Otohime's breath caught. She stiffened as if struck. How…?
How did this child know? The truth Reiju spoke wasn't spoken out of the royal chambers, wasn't shared with any minister or guard. Only Neptune… only he knew of her quiet, desperate efforts to reignite a diplomatic bridge with the World Government.
After the catastrophe at the last Reverie, he had been adamantly opposed—but she had persisted, believing that peace was still possible. That dialogue and trust could overcome centuries of prejudice.
But the Donquixote family knew. They always knew. Reiju's smirk widened as she watched the color drain from Otohime's face.
"That face suits you, your majesty," she purred. "That wide-eyed dread… You wear it well. Fufufufu…"
"That's enough, Reiju…!" a soft voice echoed.
It was then that Shyarly—gliding gracefully across the kelp-strewn floor—stepped forward, her voice calm but weighted with an eerie prescience.
"Queen Otohime…" she said gently, her long teal hair flowing like seaweed in the current, "it is not my place to question your ideals, nor do I believe I'm wise enough to judge them… But as someone who once called this island home, I ask you—beg you—to reconsider."
Her crimson eyes shimmered with sorrow and the faint glow of something far older.
"I've seen fragments of what lies ahead… and I fear that if you keep walking this path, placing your faith in those who rule the world from ivory towers and blood-soaked thrones… then one day, your dream will be the very reason Fish-Man Island falls."
Her words didn't hold the razor-edge of Reiju's, but they pierced just as deep—wrapped not in cruelty, but in heartbreak.
Otohime stood frozen, the weight of truth crashing around her like waves in a storm. Her ideals had always been noble—believing that kindness could shatter centuries of hatred. But these children—these strange, brilliant, dangerous children—had already seen the world for what it was.
And somehow… she knew they were right.
Robin, still scribbling diligently in her notebook, didn't glance up once. The moment had passed into something sacred. Her voice was soft but resolute:
"The past doesn't lie, your majesty. But it does warn."
And Reiju, her laughter now gone, simply stared into Otohime's eyes with that same confident grin, her silhouette framed by the towering Poneglyph behind her like a young sovereign of secrets and shadows.
Just as Queen Otohime parted her lips to offer a sincere apology for the misunderstanding, a sharp, sneering voice echoed through the solemn Sea Forest, cutting through the ambient stillness like a poisoned blade.
"Well, well… I didn't believe it when I first heard the rumors, but here it is. Proof before my eyes."
The voice dripped with contempt.
From the coral-framed path leading in from the outskirts of the Fishman District, a large figure emerged. Muscular, jagged-toothed, and radiating menace—Arlong stood tall and unrepentant, flanked by over two dozen fishmen warriors. Each bore twisted sneers and cold, hateful eyes. Armed with tridents and harpoons, they marched like a gang of wolves surrounding prey.
"To think the Queen of Ryugu Kingdom would lower herself to this," Arlong spat, his eyes raking over the gathered guests like filth. "Entertaining human scum like honored guests? Tch… What's next? Stripping naked and parading through Fish-Man Island for their amusement?"
His words were venomous—each one laced with bile and centuries of resentment.
"You filthy traitor," he hissed. "You spit on the pride of our ancestors."
The insult reverberated like a slap across the gathering.
"You bastard!" thundered the Right Minister, his fins flaring, eyes ablaze with fury. He stepped forward, unstrapping the royal spear from his back in one swift, practiced motion. "Watch your tongue! I'll raze the Fishman District to the ocean floor if you dare insult Her Majesty again!"
The soldiers in attendance, loyal to the Queen, immediately fell into formation around Otohime and the visiting Donquixote children. Spears locked. Shields raised. Tension crackled like static.
But Arlong laughed.
"Look at you. Shameful. Lining up like obedient dogs for humans. Raising your weapons against your own kin. Have you truly fallen so far?"
His words were a goad—and one of the Queen's guards, swayed by the pressure, betrayed his hesitation. Arlong's eyes flicked, barely perceptible, toward the youngest of the Donquixote guests.
Robin. She stood only a few paces away, completely focused on the ancient Poneglyph. Her fingers danced across its etched surface, her concentration unbroken even in the presence of hostility. She had sensed the killer intent a moment before it bloomed—her Observation Haki flaring like a whisper in the dark. She didn't move. She didn't have to.
Crack.
A sharp, crystalline hum resonated across the sea floor. In an instant, a gleaming prism of jagged crystal erupted between Robin and the traitorous guard's spear. It didn't merely block the weapon—it consumed it.
FWASH!
Gladius, standing just behind Robin, raised one arm—and the seafloor responded like it knew his wrath. With a flick of his wrist, a massive surge of translucent, razor-edged crystal shot up like a blooming rose of death. The glowing spikes twisted and danced with deadly grace, forming an impenetrable dome around Robin like a fortress born from the sea itself.
But he wasn't done. Without pause, the crystalline growths snaked outward, slithering along the coral-covered ground with frightening speed. The traitorous fishman barely had time to scream.
SHUNK!
In a flash, half a dozen spear-like shards impaled him through the chest and limbs. He was lifted off the ground for a heartbeat, his eyes wide with shock—before the light faded, and he crumpled to the floor in a spray of red mist and sea bubbles.
Silence.
Even Arlong and his mob took a cautious step back, their bravado shaken. The display had been merciless—surgical in its execution. The crystals, now blood-stained, pulsed faintly as if alive.
Gladius turned slowly, his face unreadable beneath his jagged bangs.
"You really thought… you could touch her?" he asked coldly, his voice low and thunderous. "You'll die a thousand times before you lay a finger on our sister."
Robin, still scribbling calmly in her notebook, glanced at him with a faint, grateful smile but said nothing. She knew this would happen the moment she felt the shift in the air—and she had complete faith in her brother's shield of death.
Reiju clapped her hands slowly, mockingly. "Fufufufu… And here I thought this visit would be boring," she mused. "How delightful. Do bring more entertainment, Arlong. Or are you already rethinking your life choices?"
Arlong's fists clenched. His pride boiled in his veins, but he knew one thing—the Donquixote children weren't normal. Not weaklings hiding behind royal skirts. They were wolves in velvet, raised by a king of monsters.