Chapter 14: The Timeskip

Chapter 14: The Timeskip

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The sky over the Grand Line shimmered in tranquil hues of soft azure and faint gold. It was a rare morning—quiet, serene, as if the seas themselves had paused to rest. A faint breeze whispered through the trees of a secluded island, one nestled in the early reaches of the Grand Line. This island, teeming with life, was devoid of human inhabitants but abounded with vibrant creatures—birds with radiant plumage, deer with antlers that glowed faintly in the morning light, and trees that stretched their branches to caress the clouds. It was here, amidst untouched beauty, that the Whitebeard Pirates had found respite.

The centerpiece of this moment of calm was Edward Newgate, the man the world feared and revered as Whitebeard. He sat regally on a colossal chair carved from dark mahogany, its craftsmanship a testament to his crew's devotion. His massive frame leaned back comfortably, his mighty bisento resting against the armrest. Around him, the crew bustled, not with the chaos of a pirate ship preparing for battle, but with the easy camaraderie of family sharing a meal.

Laughter echoed across the campsite as pirates passed plates piled high with fruits, meats, and steaming bread. Voices overlapped in good-natured banter, with the occasional bark of a sea lion in the distance adding to the symphony of life. A group of younger crew members argued over a card game, their antics drawing chuckles from the veterans. The morning carried no tension, no looming battles—only the peace that came with knowing you were among brothers.

Whitebeard's piercing gaze scanned the horizon before settling on the newspaper in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he read, his weathered face betraying a mix of amusement and concern. Finally, he spoke, his voice a rumbling baritone that commanded attention even in its calmest tone.

"This brat," he muttered, folding the paper with deliberate care. "He's reckless."

Marco, the crew's first division commander, leaned over to glance at the headline. His blond hair caught the morning light, and his blue eyes carried the sharpness of someone who missed nothing. "Portgas D. Ace?" Marco murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I've heard that name plenty of times. The kid's making waves fast."

Whitebeard grunted in agreement. "That won't last if he keeps this up. A flame that burns too brightly burns out quickly." He paused, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "He needs someone to shield him, someone under whose banner he can grow. I've decided—I'll make him one of my sons."

Marco raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Whitebeard's expression. "Ace has been making a name for himself for over a year now, hasn't he? His journey probably started even earlier. If he's in the Grand Line, we might run into him soon. But how do we find him?"

Whitebeard chuckled softly, a sound that carried the weight of experience and unshakable faith. "Leave that to fate."

As the two spoke, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind caught their attention. The crew turned, and the lively chatter quieted. There he was—Meliodas.

He moved with an easy grace, his stature diminutive yet commanding. His white, loose-fitting shirt with long sleeves billowed slightly in the breeze, and his brown boots crunched softly against the earth. Slung over his left shoulder was a small satchel, lightly packed, and strapped across his back was Lostvayne, its dragon-etched sheath glinting faintly in the sunlight. His blond hair shimmered like molten gold, framing a face that seemed perpetually caught between mischief and solemnity.

"Meliodas," Whitebeard's deep voice carried a hint of curiosity, "what's this? A sudden journey?"

The young man stopped a few steps away, his expression serious, his emerald eyes calm yet resolute. "It's a journey I won't return from, Oyaji. I'm setting out to the sea to begin my own story."

A heavy silence followed. Whitebeard straightened in his chair, his massive presence amplifying the tension. "You're saying you want to leave? To sail alone?" His voice was measured, but his gaze bore into Meliodas.

Meliodas nodded firmly. "I want to steer my own ship, face my own challenges, and build my own crew. Today, I leave the Whitebeard Pirates for good."

Marco stepped forward, concern shadowing his face. "Do you even understand what you're saying? The pirate world isn't a playground. It's dangerous—more dangerous than you think."

Whitebeard raised a hand, silencing Marco. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, his voice softer now. "Let him speak."

"I've thought about this long and hard," Meliodas replied, his tone unwavering. "I'm not turning my back on you or the crew. You're my family. But this is something I need to do—for myself."

Whitebeard sighed deeply, then smiled, his eyes twinkling with something close to pride. "I knew this day would come. You never did get that tattoo, did you?"

Meliodas smiled faintly. "Thank you for understanding, Oyaji."

"You still call me Oyaji, even though you're leaving my crew?" Whitebeard asked, his tone half-amused, half-reproachful.

Meliodas chuckled. "I'll spread your legend far and wide, and I'll tell everyone I meet about the greatest father I ever had. No matter where I go or what happens, you'll always be my Oyaji. And every member of the Whitebeard Pirates will always be my brother."

For the first time, Whitebeard stood, his towering form casting a shadow over Meliodas. Without warning, he pulled the young man into a crushing embrace. "No matter what happens, you are my son. If the seas ever turn against you, come back to me. I'll always be here."

Meliodas froze for a moment, then smiled softly, his voice steady. "Thank you."

When Whitebeard released him, Meliodas turned to Marco, extending a fist. "Even if the waves separate us..."

Marco hesitated, then smirked, bumping his fist against Meliodas's. "Even if the waves separate us, we'll always be brothers."

The crew, one by one, bid their farewells. Vista smiled wistfully, gazing at the ground. "So this is where your journey with us ends. Let's see what kind of story you'll write on your own."

Jozu crossed his arms, his crystalline fist catching the sunlight. "You're a reckless little brother. I'll read your exploits every day. And if anyone dares lay a hand on you, I'll make them regret it."

Meliodas turned to address them all, his grin widening. "There's no doubt in my mind—you're my brothers. But... I'll claim the One Piece for myself, you scoundrels!"

The crew erupted in mock outrage, drawing their weapons. "Meliodas, you bastard! Declaring war on us?!"

Marco's wings flared with blue and yellow flames. "You don't plan to leave unscathed, do you?"

Jozu slammed a crystalline fist into the ground, sending cracks racing toward Meliodas. He leapt into the air, laughing. "You'll have to try harder than that, Jozu!"

Marco appeared above him, flames blazing. "Stay sharp, or you'll never survive out there!" His kick sent Meliodas hurtling toward the water, the flames dissipating in shimmering trails.

Meliodas landed on a small rowboat with a thud, waves rocking the vessel. He looked up, grinning. "Was that your way of saying goodbye, Marco?"

Whitebeard laughed heartily. "Let me join the fun!" His fist shattered the air, sending shockwaves rippling through the sea. The waves pushed Meliodas's boat farther into the horizon.

As the crew stood watching, their faces etched with pride and longing, Meliodas felt the weight of their love. You were the best family I could have asked for. Thank you.

From the ship's mast, Teach watched through a spyglass, his voice barely a whisper. "I fell like this isn't the last we'll see of you, boy. Let's leave everything to fate"

And so, Meliodas's chapter with the Whitebeard Pirates ended, marking the beginning of a new story—one where he would forge his legend under his own flag.

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