Chapter 3: The Weight of the Ancestor
Monkey D. Kelean did not emerge into the world with a roar or a flash. He rose from the ruptured depths of Impel Down, standing atop the massive, swirling Crimson Tide that had now transformed from a liquid shield into a mobile, silent platform. As he ascended through the turbulent currents of the Calm Belt, his eyes fixed on the distant, glittering line where the surface met the sky.
He had no interest in the shattered prison or the scattered remnants of Blackbeard's crew who watched in petrified awe. The World Government was not a target; it was merely a stain on the tapestry of history, a temporary distraction from the grand, unfinished task of the Void Century.
His gaze alone was the catalyst. Kelean released his Conqueror's Haki.
It was not an explosion. It was the sound of eight hundred years of suppressed potential finally being allowed to breathe.
Across the four seas and the two Grand Lines, every soul capable of sensing it felt the pressure—a sudden, suffocating realization of their own insignificance. It was the weight of the past pressing down on the present.
Mariejois: The Empty Throne
In the sanctified quiet of the Pangea Castle, the Five Elders were gathered, discussing the Impel Down breach with barely concealed panic. Then the pressure hit.
The vast chamber cracked. The Elders, men who commanded armies and dictated world policy, collapsed, gasping on the marble floor. Their swords snapped, not from force, but from the Haki's oppressive resonance.
In the center of the world, atop the Empty Throne, Imu (or the shadow of Imu) reacted. The mysterious figure stood, trembling violently for the first time in memory. Their voice, a whisper of cosmic coldness, sliced through the panic.
"Kelean… the Founder… how?" Imu did not fear death, but this presence spoke of a power that could undo existence itself. "The seals were absolute!"
The New World: Scattered Reactions
The Yonko felt it. Red-Haired Shanks, mid-drink, slammed his hand onto his table, his single eye wide. The very air around his ship, the Red Force, seemed to solidify into glass.
"That's not just Conqueror's Haki," Shanks muttered, his voice strained. "That's history. No one alive possesses Haki that dense. He's loose."
Kaidou, roaring in his drunken frenzy, suddenly went still, his scales vibrating against his will. Big Mom stopped her feast, her usually monstrous laughter replaced by a nervous hiccup, sensing a hunger far greater than her own.
The Marine Fleet: A Private Reckoning
Miles away, near the border of the Calm Belt, Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp stood on the deck of a Marine destroyer. He had been briefed on the Impel Down disaster and was already mobilizing.
When Kelean's Haki struck, every single Marine officer collapsed, foaming at the mouth, their own willpower shattered. Only Garp remained standing. The force did not crush him; instead, it felt like an ancient, powerful hand resting on his shoulder.
Garp closed his eyes, his old, scarred face filled with reverence and a deep, ancestral sadness.
"The Ancestor," Garp whispered, knowing the name without needing a source.
In the deepest recesses of the D. family's hidden legacy, every true descendant was shown one image: a depiction of the founder, Monkey D. Kelean, carved into a piece of unbreakable black wood. It was a compulsory ritual, a rite of passage performed in secret, ensuring that the bloodline never forgot the face of the man who started the fight and bore the greatest burden. It was the only artifact Kelean had left them, a sign of respect for the power they were born to confront.
Garp had seen that image decades ago. The eyes staring out from the deep, amber and cold, were now staring out from the sea.
Kelean, now fully clear of the water, stood suspended over the Calm Belt. His Crimson Tide held him aloft, and he paid no attention to the World Government's scattered forces or the panicked Navy ships. He was looking for a specific resonance, a signature he had imprinted on his bloodline eight centuries prior.
His gaze swept over the ocean, then focused, sharp as a laser, on Garp's tiny, lone destroyer.
"The blood is strong," Kelean murmured, his face unreadable. He did not need to ask. He saw the fire, the foolish honor, and the powerful will in his descendant.
Garp, seeing the massive figure miles away, simply nodded to himself. He knew the Founder was not interested in Marineford or the Elders right now. He was interested in family.
Garp stepped over the unconscious bodies of his crew. He moved to the rail of the ship and leaped, activating his own formidable Haki, striking the water with such force that it launched him like a projectile toward the Ancestor.
"You took your time waking up, Great-Grandfather!" Garp roared, the sound swallowed by the wind. He carried no weapon, only respect, and the full power of his fists, ready to greet the man who started it all.
The reunion is finally happening! The Founder is facing his greatest descendant.