The journey to Sphinx Island was a tense game of cat and mouse with the sea. The Empress was a fine vessel, but as they navigated the jagged weather fronts of the New World, Maye stood on the deck, watching the wood groan under the strain of a particularly nasty gale. "This won't do," Maye remarked, her hair whipping around her face as she looked up at the swaying masts.
Ace, who was busy helping the crew secure the rigging, looked over. "What do you mean? She's fast." "She's fast, but she's not a home," Maye replied, a sharp glint of ambition returning to her eyes, the kind that belonged to a high-ranking commander. "The Whitebeard Pirates don't crawl through the waves in a scout ship. We need something with weight. Something with a figurehead that makes the Marines turn their ships around before we even fire a cannon. We need a ship worthy of the name, Ace." Ace grinned, the fire in his soul catching on her words. "One thing at a time, Anchor. Let's handle the past before we build the future."
They arrived at Sphinx under a somber, grey sky. The island was quiet, tucked away from the chaos of the Great Pirate Era, a humble piece of land that felt far too peaceful for the legends it housed. The crew walked in a silent procession up the grassy hill. The atmosphere was heavy, the usual rowdy banter replaced by the rhythmic crunch of boots on soil. When they reached the summit, the sight hit Maye like a physical blow. Two graves stood against the horizon. The largest was unmistakable— Whitebeard's grave, draped in the massive, iconic white coat that had once seemed to span the entire world. Beside it, smaller but no less significant, was a stone marked with her own name. 'Maye. Daughter. Sister. The Anchor.' She stared at it, a bizarre, disjointed feeling washing over her. She was standing there, breathing, her heart beating against her ribs, yet she was looking at the place where the world had buried her. The ruby pendant hummed, a low, mournful vibration that seemed to pull at her very marrow. "Grave markers are for the world to remember, daughter," a deep, phantom rumble echoed in the back of her mind, a voice like shifting tectonic plates and warm sake. "But the soul carries its own map." The crew stood in a semi-circle, heads bowed. Marco placed a hand on the giant's headstone, whispering a report of their status, while the others left small offerings of sake and tobacco. Maye didn't move. She felt like she was caught between two lives, the ghost and the woman overlapping until she felt dizzy. She needed to speak to him. Not as a part of a crew, but as the girl who had been found in the wreckage and given a family. "I need a minute," Maye whispered, her voice barely audible. "Alone..." The commanders looked at one another. Ace lingered the longest, his hand half-extended as if he wanted to pull her away from the sight of her own death. He looked at the empty space where his own grave would have been if she hadn't stepped in the way of Akainu's fist, and the weight of that debt clouded his eyes. "Ace," Marco said softly, placing a hand on the Captain's shoulder. "Give her the time-yoi." Ace hesitated, his jaw tight, but he nodded. He gave Maye's hand a firm, lingering squeeze before turning to lead the men back down toward the village, leaving her in the deafening silence of the hilltop.Now, it was just her, the wind, and the two stones. Maye stepped forward until she was standing between the giant and the ghost of herself, the silence of the island wrapping around her like a shroud.