Holy Land Mariejois – Pangea Castle, Grand Chamber of Kings
The Reverie was meant to be a symbol of unity.
Yet as dozens of monarchs arrived—adorned in robes, jewelry, and delusions of equality—there was tension that lingered in the air like smoke before a fire.
They all knew.
One chair remained unmarked.
A thirteenth throne—never used.Until now.
And then the doors opened without announcement.
The guards stiffened. The Celestial Dragons watching from behind the veils paused their whispers.
He walked in.
Saint Donquixote Lucien.
No entourage. No guards. Just him.
Wearing white gloves. A long black coat. A red glass cane.
And behind him…
Raisa and Mireille.
Dressed not as slaves, but as envoys. Their beauty wasn't just distracting—it was terrifying.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Lucien didn't ask for permission. He stepped to the center of the floor and sat.
In the thirteenth chair.
It had no nameplate. But it did now—his crest burned into the velvet like a brand.
The other monarchs didn't dare object.
Only Nefertari Cobra stood.
"You don't belong here," he said.
Lucien looked at him with all the weight of a god.
"And yet I sit. What does that make the rest of you?"
No one answered.
Cobra sat down.
Outside the Castle – Arrival of the Pirate Empress
A royal vessel unlike any other docked beneath the red wall.
Aboard it stood Boa Hancock.
She wore a dress far more refined than usual. Still red. Still bold. But trimmed in silver—Donquixote silver.
The World Government agents stiffened as she disembarked.
They couldn't stop her.
She didn't even look at them.
Behind her came her sisters and a dozen Kuja warriors—only half of whom still bore Amazon Lily's crest. The others… House Donquixote.
As she entered the castle, a familiar chill crawled down her spine.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
Garden of Saints – The Mask Speaks
Back at the estate, alone in the marble garden, the black mask began to hum.
No one touched it.
No one spoke.
Yet a voice emerged from it anyway, like ink pouring into the sky:
"He has sat upon the Ghosted Throne."
"The Spiral has begun."
"The Empty Will is awakening."
And beneath it, the roots of the garden—once trimmed, pristine—began twisting.
The soil bled.
Reverie Floor – The Dance Begins
Lucien didn't speak again for hours.
He let the kings argue over famine, trade routes, and stolen waters.
He let them scream at Wapol for corruption, and beg Alabasta to share crops.
Only when the question of the Ancient Weapons arose did he stand.
"Do any of you even know what they are?" he asked softly.
The silence spoke louder than truth.
"I do."
He smiled, slow and venomous.
"And unlike you… I don't fear them."