Chapter Text
The wind pulled the sails violently while the dark waves erratically smashed against the hull. The Oro Jackson was built to withstand anything and everything, but nothing could prepare them for the ocean rampage.
Roger stood on the figurehead of the ship in the middle of the storm, ignoring Rayleigh’s scolding. The ocean was particularly violent and merciless at the end of his journey. He could feel her wrath in his veins, screaming of infinite pain and coiling anger rang in his head like a distant echo of a bygone era, a remnant of something much bigger. But the anger wasn’t directed at him; it never was.
The wrath that drenched the water and paralyzed the air is a mindless rage, like a mother’s unconscious effort to keep the danger away from her cubs, like a bone-deep instinct to destroy everything that might come close to her beloveds.
Roger was no danger to whatever was hidden in the last island; he simply wanted adventures and freedom, but the ocean didn’t discriminate, as her soul was long gone and her mind was shattered. So she attacked and attacked. And Roger kept advancing, anyway, for being born a Ds means being born defying fate, for Ds would do anything to get whatever they want, for Ds bowed to no one, even the Gods.
“Captain, at least put on your coat, damn it! You’re trembling from the cold!” Rayleigh nagged.
“This is from excitement, Ray!” Roger laughed stubbornly. He couldn’t say that he was too numb from the cold to move and grab his coat. That would destroy his image!
And so the Oro Jackson sailed straight to the horizon.
“This…is unexpecting…” Oden trailed off. The Roger Pirates couldn’t help but stare in awe as they walked through the island.
The final island was more than anything Roger could possibly imagine. He laughed and cried and laughed again until his breath was empty.
Roger called it Laugh Tale, where there were so many treasures that couldn’t be counted. And among them was a story. A story so powerful that it could and would shake the whole world and turn everything upside down. A story that Roger had heard before, had lived it before, in another life of the distant past.
Janus, God of all Beginnings, broken and lost.
Janus, God of all Endings, trapped in mortal flesh and dying.
Janus, the one who always arrived too soon, when everything had just barely started.
Janus, the one who always arrived too late, when everything had just ended.
Oh, how he hated this so much. He never got to witness the climax. Janus pouted childishly.
“We come too soon,” Roger told his crew. He, Janus, hadn’t even opened the first chapter of the story yet.
So Roger told his crew to wait at the ship while Janus ventured deep into the island. He closed his eyes as a pirate and opened them as a God. He had a duty to fulfill.
Everything looked exactly as Janus remembered. Every single street, every nook and cranny, from the flower-patterned stone at the main square to the crack on the large pillar of the white temple built from moonstone. The market still hung colourful decorations for the spring festival.
Impossible.
Everything looked exactly as Janus remembered. But he also remembered the destruction, blood flooded the street, corpses littered the wasteland. All the temple had been blown to pieces, the gods were slayed and faith was lost.
The scene before him was a stage play, built up from the memory of the lost ones, trying to recreate the illusion of home to chase the loneliness away. But Janus knew this was not home. Home was where the people are, and here, there was nothing. This is just an empty snow globe trying to immortalize what was already gone. And now Janus’ duty was to break this snow globe.
Janus closed his eyes and let his memories carry him away. He didn’t need his eyes to find his old friends.
He found Atrus first.
Janus always got lost, and every time, the stars would guide him home. So he always looked for Atrus first.
Atrus, the Endless Stars, broken and angry.
Atrus, the Endless Stars, deep asleep and at peace.
Janus reached out to the condensed mass of stardust. Thousands of dying stars slowly crumbled away to oblivion.
Slowly, oh so slowly, he gathered the remnants in his hand, carefully like turning the first page of an old book.
Atrus was always there at the very beginning, the very first light in the endless void. It broke Janus into a thousand pieces to see his oldest friend like this.
Keeping his voice strong, Janus started.
“O Atrus, Weaver of the First Silence,
You who counted the void before numbers were born,
You who wrote the heavens in a language even fate forgets
Hear me.
As the shepherd once called to the valley of dry bones,
And breath returned to dust,
So too I call to you beyond the firmament of death.
The clock is broken.
The stars have lost their names.
Return.
Let the constellations remember their places.
Let the ink of creation flow once more.
Let your gaze fall upon the unfinished world
And judge whether it deserves another dawn.”
Janus closed his eyes before the bursting flame. Light consumed the space as the sky began to stitch itself up again. The dead stars cracked apart, revealing the molten core inside, still beating, still shining. Then, one by one, the forgotten stars ignited again. Constellations connected to each other by a string of flame, weaving across the space like a spider web, mapping the celestial body.
“Do you remember the first darkness, Atrus?” Eyes still closed, Janus whispered softly. He could feel the familiar burn against his mortal skin. Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “Before light, before time, when there was nothing but the question of ‘what comes next’? You gave it shape. I gave it direction. We were never meant to stop.”
His voice dropped in silent anger.
“They broke your constellations. Turned your body into trinkets men swallow to pretend they understand power. Ha!” A mocking laugh. “They still don’t.”
“I’ve come to the end again. And like always… I found you waiting at the edge of it.” Voice softer, Janus slowly opened his eyes. “So don’t make me start the next story alone.”
A beat.
“Wake up, old friend. The sky is a mess without you.”
Janus walked away. Beginnings did not linger, and a story never stayed still.
He found Tsuisu next, sleepwalking like a sorrowful shadow through empty streets that pretended to be full, past laughter that did not exist.
Tsuisu, the Eternal Moon, scarred and silent.
Tsuisu, the Eternal Moon, restless even in dreams.
Janus walked side by side with him like two shadows reliving the memories of the day. His voice filled the empty street.
“O Tsuisu, Keeper of the Silent Mirror,
Firstborn of shadows and master of all that is hidden,
You who walk in dreams as wolves walk in snow
Hear me.
The world has forgotten how to dream.
Men see only what is before them,
And so they have become blind.
But you,
You who hold the other side of every coin,
The echo behind every voice
Return.
Let the seas remember your pull.
Let the night whisper again.
Let every lie reveal the truth it was born to hide.
And if this world is but a dream
Then awake… or let it sleep forever.”
The shadow stilled. The darkness started to squirm away, flooding the space.
“They’ve forgotten you, Tsuisu.” Janus stared straight into the dark, a sad smile on his face. “Not just your name, but what you gave them. No one listens to the night anymore,” he continued. “No one asks what their dreams are trying to say.”
A soft, gentle glow illuminated the path.
“So come back already.” Janus chuckled. “There is a story that needs to be written down. And if it’s not you, then who will tell me everything I missed when I’m back for the end?”
A wind blew past, disrupting the stillness of eternity. Janus heard a promise in the wind. Satisfied, he continued to walk away.
He found Nika last. The younger God always loved hide and seek.
Nika, the Everlasting Sun, chained and tired.
Nika, the Everlasting Sun, smiling wide even in sleep.
Janus threw his head back and laughed before starting to sing to the sound of the drum.
“O Nika, Bringer of the First Dawn,
Flame that danced before law was written,
The drum that beat in the chest of every free soul
Hear me.
They carved your light into pieces and sold it as power.
They taught men to kneel… and called it peace.
As the walls of Jericho fell to a shout,
As the trickster laughed in the face of kings,
So too do I call you, not with reverence, but with freedom.
Return.
Break the chains that were never yours.
Burn the lies that fear your name.
Let the world remember the sound of its own heartbeat.
So rise, Nika, not as a ruler.
But as a laugh no one can control.”
The snow started to melt and cracks started to warp around the glass. One more push and the snow globe would break.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, grinning. “Of all of us… You’re the only one who’d turn your own death into a punchline.”
DOOM dut da da! DOOM dut da da!
“I can hear it, you know. Stop hiding, you gremlin.” Janus laughed.
The sound of glass shattering engulfed the space. The sky broke into a million pieces, sunlight peaking through the cracks.
“There you are.” Janus joked. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead. I have a story you are going to love.”