The dawn was calm, but Kaen couldn't shake the feeling that the sea was watching him.
Every wave that touched his feet seemed to whisper — not words, but memories.
He had barely slept. The events of the night — the bandits, the wave, the voices — replayed again and again in his mind.
He sat by the shore, turning the broken compass over in his hand. The needle refused to settle, spinning endlessly.
"You're as lost as I am," he muttered.
The compass suddenly stilled. For just a heartbeat, it pointed not north — but out to sea.
Kaen frowned. "Don't tell me…"
He rose and followed the direction it indicated, wading into the shallow water. The compass trembled again, then stilled completely above a patch of darker sand beneath the waves.
He dove.
The salt burned his eyes, but he could feel something beneath — a faint hum, like a heartbeat echoing in the depths. He dug his fingers into the sand and pulled.
Something solid. Something old.
When he surfaced, gasping for breath, he held it in his hands — a small, half-buried stone tablet, etched with ancient markings.
The edges were smooth, the center carved with faint glyphs that shimmered under the sunlight. He didn't understand the words, but they felt familiar — like the whispers that had filled his head since he ate the fruit.
"You're from Ohara, aren't you?" he said quietly to the stone. "One of the lost voices."
The sea answered with a gentle wave that brushed against his knees.
---
Kaen carried the tablet back to the beach, setting it down near the fire pit.
He traced the symbols with his fingers. The carvings pulsed softly, glowing the same deep blue as his eyes.
For a moment, he hesitated — then he closed his eyes and let the sound of the waves fill his mind.
"Listen…"
The voice came not from around him, but from within.
And then, he saw.
---
He stood in a vision — an island surrounded by calm seas and giant trees.
The scholars of Ohara worked in silence, carving symbols into stone, documenting the forbidden truths of history.
Among them stood a woman with long white hair and gentle eyes. She held a small child by the hand — a boy with dark hair and curious eyes.
"Knowledge is freedom," the woman said. "Even if they burn our books, the sea will remember."
The vision flickered. The sky darkened. Cannons roared.
The woman turned to the boy.
"Run, Kaen!"
Then — fire.
---
Kaen gasped and fell backward, his heart pounding. The image faded, leaving only the sound of crashing waves and the sharp taste of salt in the air.
"That… was me," he whispered. "I… lived in Ohara?"
He clutched his head. The memories were fragments — broken glass reflecting pieces of a life erased by history.
He saw faces, heard laughter, felt warmth — and then flames.
All gone.
He stared at the stone tablet again. His name was carved faintly at the bottom — カエン (Kaen).
Tears stung his eyes.
"You made sure I'd remember, didn't you?" he said softly. "You left this for me."
The ocean breeze answered, gentle and cold.
---
By midday, Kaen had calmed his racing heart.
He stood facing the horizon, the tablet strapped to his back with torn cloth.
"If Ohara's knowledge was scattered across the world…" he murmured, "then I'll find every piece."
He looked down at the swirling marks on his hand — the symbol that had appeared since eating the fruit.
"The sea gave me this power for a reason. Maybe it wants me to finish what Ohara started."
He took a deep breath, tasting the salt on his lips.
"Alright, world," he said, his tone steady. "You burned my home once. Let's see how you handle when the sea itself fights back."
The waves surged behind him as if answering his declaration.
The water rippled, parting slightly — and there, half-buried near the shore, he noticed the faint outline of a shipwreck.
It wasn't much. But its mast was still intact, and its hull, though broken, could float with some repair.
"Guess that's my first ship," Kaen smirked. "The sea provides, huh?"
He waded toward it, ready to rebuild.
And as he worked through the day, patching wood and tying ropes, the wind carried distant sounds — faint cannon fire, and the echoing laughter of pirates far out at sea.
The world was alive, restless, full of chaos.
Kaen didn't know their names yet — the Straw Hats, the Emperors, the Marines — but he would.
One day, his name would echo beside theirs.
For now, he was just a survivor, mending a ship.
But in the heart of the ocean, something ancient stirred — a current twisting beneath the waves, whispering his name like a prophecy.
"Kaen Ohara… the sea remembers you."
---
To be continue...