The afternoon sun began to dip, casting long, amber shadows across the white sands of the island, but the heat radiating from the crew had nothing to do with the weather. The silence was so thick you could hear the sizzle of the dying campfire, fifty hardened pirates staring with wide eyes and dropped jaws at the sight of their Captain finally reuniting with the woman the world had called a ghost. Maye pulled back from the kiss, her face flushed a brilliant pink, but the "Fog" was gone. In its place was a sharp, familiar spark of mischief—the kind that had led the Whitebeard commanders on merry chases across half the Grand Line. She looked at the sea of shocked faces, then at Marco, whose marshmallow had finally charred to a crisp on his stick.
She shifted her weight, planting a hand on her hip with a confidence that felt like a physical weight returning to the deck. "Close your mouths, boys," Maye called out, her voice ringing clear and authoritative over the sound of the surf. "I'm a pirate, not a dentist, and I really don't want to see your cavities. It's a miracle I'm back; don't make me regret it by looking at your ugly mugs all day." A beat of stunned silence followed, and then a roar of laughter erupted that was louder than any cannon fire. "She's back!" Rakuyo screamed, tossing his hat into the air. "That's the Anchor! That's our girl!" Maye grinned, though her head was still spinning with the sheer volume of memories, kid-Ace and Commander-Ace were currently overlapping in her mind like a double-exposed photograph. She turned her gaze to the horizon, her eyes narrowing. "Well?" she challenged, looking back at the crew. "Are you all going to continue gawking like a bunch of seagulls waiting for a scrap of bread, or are we going to take back the seas? We've got a flag to fly and a world to remind that the Whitebeards don't stay down!" "YOU HEARD THE LADY!" Ace roared, his voice booming with a joy he hadn't felt in a lifetime. He slung an arm around Maye's shoulders, pulling her close. "WE'RE LEAVING! MAN THE STATIONS! WE'RE HEADED FOR THE NEW WORLD!" The departure was a whirlwind of organized chaos. The Empress weighed anchor, its sails catching the evening breeze as it cut through the waves. The deck was alive with the sound of shanties, the clinking of sake cups, and the constant, buzzing energy of a family restored. But as the island faded into a smudge on the horizon, the frantic energy of the day began to settle into a quiet, heavy realization. Maye stood at the stern, leaning against the railing. Her mind was a kaleidoscope. She remembered the taste of the first meal Pops ever gave her, mixed with the smell of the gunpowder from the day she left Dawn Island. She remembered the feeling of Ace's hand in hers at age ten, and the feeling of the magma piercing her heart at age twenty. It was a dizzying, beautiful, and agonizing mess. She subconsciously raised a hand, rubbing the center of her chest. There was no scar, the "Watcher" had seen to that, but she could still feel the phantom heat of the magma, the way her breath had simply stopped, and the terrifying, final silence of the battlefield. A familiar warmth pressed against her side. Ace stood there, his presence the only thing keeping the spinning memories from throwing her overboard. He noticed her hand on her chest, his own expression darkening with a shadow of the guilt he still carried. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice low so the celebrating crew wouldn't hear. "Is it the stone? Is it hurting you?" Maye shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the moonlit wake of the ship. "The stone is fine, Ace. It's just... everything is so loud now. I remember the mountain. I remember the Moby Dick. I remember the way the wind felt right before..." She trailed off, her throat tightening. "I remember Pops. I remember the way he looked when he told us to leave him behind. I remember the sound of his heart stopping." She turned to Ace, her blue eyes shimmering with a mix of grief and a desperate need for closure. The memories were back, but the goodbye was still missing. "Ace," she said, her voice trembling. "I know the Marines are hunting us. I know the world is watching. But... can we go to him? I need to see where he's resting. I need to tell him I'm home." Ace looked at her, the flickering lanterns reflecting in his eyes. He knew she was talking about Sphinx Island- the quiet, hidden place where Marco had laid Whitebeard and the original Ace to rest. It was a dangerous move, a beacon for anyone tracking the "Fire-Fist," but as he looked at the woman who had died to save his soul, there was only one answer he could give. "Yeah," Ace promised, his grip on her hand tightening until it was an unbreakable anchor. "We'll go. We're going to see Pops."