The sun hung low over Cocoyasi Village, painting the quiet fields in gold and rose. The chaos of Arlong's reign had finally faded into the horizon like a bad dream. The smell of salt carried from the distant sea, mixed with the sweet scent of fruit trees swaying in the evening breeze.
For the first time in years, the village truly breathed.
Bell-mère leaned against the fence outside her orange grove, watching Nami and Nojiko chase each other between the trees. Her hand rested lightly over the bandaged wound at her side, but her smile never wavered. The ache didn't matter. Peace had a taste—soft, fleeting, and worth every drop of blood spilled for it.
"Careful, you two!" she called out. "If you break another branch, I'm putting you both to work for a week!"
"Then we'll just blame each other again!" Nami shouted back, laughing breathlessly.
Bell-mère sighed, shaking her head. "That girl's got too much fire for her own good…"
From the hill above the grove, a familiar sound of laughter echoed. Makino, Tina, and Kuina were descending the slope, their shadows stretching long behind them. They carried a few small boxes of supplies—and something else, something warm in their smiles that hadn't been there before: relief.
The terror of Arlong's pirates was gone, buried in the ruins of the old dock.
And for the crew of the Eternal Life, it was time to move forward.
Far above them, in the quiet mountainside where the forge stood, Coldfang sat motionless on a boulder.
His eyes were closed, his body utterly still—so still that even the wind curved around him, as though respecting the boundary of his presence. The rhythmic sound of his breathing matched the rustle of the trees, the pulse of the earth itself. The boy who once fought only to survive now sat in complete harmony with the world around him.
But within that peace, power stirred.
The flow of Inner Force coursed through his meridians, washing away fatigue, polishing every corner of his body. With each slow inhale, the impurities in his blood burned out like dust in a forge. With each exhale, the air around him trembled faintly, almost humming.
He didn't notice the light gathering around his form—the faint silver threads that shimmered beneath the skin, the living aura of one who had touched the threshold between strength and serenity.
The blacksmith's hut behind him was quiet. The half-finished blade that lay across the anvil glowed faintly in the dying light, as if waiting for the hands that forged it to awaken again.
Coldfang's lips curved faintly.
"Fourteen years old," he murmured under his breath. "Seven years since I opened my eyes in this world. Feels like a blink… and a lifetime."
He opened his eyes, the faint gleam of molten amber within them.
"Back then, I was just trying to survive. Now, I have something worth living for."
A smile ghosted across his face.
"Family. Companions. Freedom."
He stretched his arms and lay back against the stone, letting the mountain breeze wash over him. The faint scent of rain lingered in the air—wild, fresh, and untamed.
"Found you," a soft voice called out from behind him.
Makino stood a few meters away, her emerald eyes reflecting the pale starlight. She carried a basket of fruit and bread, her hair tied loosely, a few strands dancing in the wind.
Coldfang tilted his head lazily, a smirk touching his lips. "You're early."
"Someone had to make sure you didn't starve to death up here," Makino replied, walking closer. "And besides… it's your birthday."
"Birthday?" Coldfang chuckled, closing one eye. "Didn't think anyone kept track of that."
"Kuina did." Makino smiled gently. "She told me you were born on the day she found you bleeding out by the riverbank seven years ago. That's when your life here began, isn't it?"
Coldfang blinked once. Then his smile deepened. "Huh. Never thought about it that way."
She knelt beside him, placing the basket down. For a moment, neither spoke. The sky had turned a deep shade of violet; the first stars had come alive, glinting like shards of steel across the heavens.
"Everyone's coming up later," Makino said softly. "Bell-mère's bringing the girls, and Tina's threatening to make you drink until you drop."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Coldfang murmured, sitting up.
Makino laughed under her breath, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You've changed, you know. You used to have that restless look in your eyes all the time. Like you were always fighting something invisible."
"I still am," Coldfang replied quietly. "Only now I know what I'm fighting for."
Makino watched him for a moment. There was something in the way his words carried—a steady conviction that reached beyond his age. He wasn't just a boy anymore. The world had carved him into something sharper, something heavy with purpose.
Without thinking, she reached out and brushed the dust from his shoulder.
"You're growing faster than the rest of us can keep up."
Coldfang turned toward her, eyes calm yet unreadable.
"Then stay close," he said simply.
Her fingers froze in place.
The air between them changed—quiet, heavier somehow. The scent of smoke from the forge mixed with the faint sweetness of her hair, the warmth of her breath close enough to touch. For a heartbeat, time held still.
Makino drew back slightly, but he caught her wrist—not harshly, just enough to stop her. His eyes searched hers, patient and steady.
"I'm not good at saying things," he murmured. "But I don't want you to leave my side. Not now."
Makino's heart stuttered. Her lips parted, but no words came. For someone who had comforted so many, who always smiled for others, she suddenly found herself unable to hide behind calmness.
"You really are impossible…" she whispered.
Coldfang's smirk returned, softer this time.
"I've been told that before."
She let out a shaky breath, the tension between them easing into something fragile but real. Then, gently, she withdrew her hand and looked away.
"If the girls see us like this, Tina will never stop teasing."
"Let her," Coldfang said. "She needs something to talk about."
Makino laughed quietly, her cheeks still faintly flushed. "You haven't changed that part of yourself, at least."
By the time the others arrived—Kuina, Tina, Bell-mère, Nami, and Nojiko—the night had deepened into a blanket of stars.
A bonfire crackled in front of the forge, casting dancing lights over their faces. The smell of roasted boar filled the air; Bear had returned with his hunt, proud and covered in leaves.
"Boss!" Bear rumbled cheerfully. "Got the fattest one in the forest!"
Tina snorted, waving a bottle. "Good! Because this idiot's going to need it when I make him drink half of it!"
Coldfang raised an eyebrow. "You mean half the bottle or half the boar?"
"Both."
Laughter rippled through the group. Even Kuina, usually reserved, allowed herself a rare smile as she sat cross-legged beside the fire, polishing her blade. The flames reflected in her eyes like molten glass.
Nami and Nojiko sat close to Bell-mère, mouths already full, arguing about who got the first slice. Makino watched them from beside Coldfang, her expression soft, almost wistful.
"Feels like a family," she said quietly.
"It is one," Coldfang replied.
The firelight flickered, painting his face in gold and shadow. Around them, the air was thick with laughter, warmth, and the faint hum of a world slowly healing.
Kuina looked up suddenly, her sharp eyes catching Coldfang's. "Don't get too soft," she said simply. "You're the one who started all this. If you fall, we fall."
He met her gaze and nodded. "I won't."
Her lips curved faintly. "Good. Because next time, I'm not letting you sit out the fight."
Tina clapped her hands together, grinning. "Alright! Enough gloomy talk! It's our captain's fourteenth birthday, damn it! Time to celebrate!"
The cheer that followed echoed across the hill, into the sea breeze, into the stars themselves.
For one brief, perfect night, there were no pirates, no Marines, no monsters lurking in the deep. Only family, laughter, and the steady heartbeat of a dream beginning to take shape.
When the laughter faded and the fire burned low, Coldfang found himself alone again, staring at the half-finished sword resting in the forge. The others had fallen asleep nearby—Makino's head resting against Tina's shoulder, Nami curled beside Bell-mère's lap, Kuina's sword still clutched loosely in her hand.
Coldfang stood there for a long time, the night silent around him.
He stepped closer to the anvil and placed a hand on the hilt of the unfinished blade.
"Soon," he whispered. "You'll be ready. And when you are… we'll carve our path through this world."
The faint light of dawn began to rise over the horizon, brushing the edge of the sea in silver.
He smiled to himself, the kind of quiet smile only a man who had finally found his purpose could wear.
"Fourteen," he murmured again. "Still just getting started."
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T/N :
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