As the last remnants of Ikki Island plunged into the boiling abyss, Titan-Ymir, the colossal engine of its destruction, finally succumbed. The inferno within its molten half sputtered and died. The crystalline ice encasing its other side cracked and fell away in great, steaming chunks. The green, frenzied light in its eyes flickered and faded. The raw, untamed power that had fueled its rampage began to dissipate.
With a final, shuddering groan that was more sigh than roar, the two-hundred-and-fifty-foot titan dissolved. The frost and fire, the stone and magma, melted away into mist and steam, revealing a tiny figure at its core.
Boy.
But not the Boy they knew.
The monstrous transformation had reversed, but it had left its indelible mark. The boy who fell from the dissipating form of Ymir and splashed into the churning, superheated water was no longer the ttrnsfigured-monster they had rescued. He was smaller, impossibly so, looking no older than five.
"Boy overboard!" Marco, his phoenix form allowing him to hover above the tumultuous waves, was the first to spot him. He clutched the small, unconscious child from the turbulent sea just as he was about to be swallowed by the waves.
He flew back to the Moby Dick, landing gently on the deck. The crew gathered, their faces a mixture of shock, relief, and profound unease. They laid the boy down.
He was no longer the grotesquely transfigured child, nor the monstrous titan. He was… different. His skin was pale and smooth, unmarked by the crystalline growths. But a network of fine veins snaked up his right arm, glowing a faint, fiery red, as if embers still smoldered beneath the skin. His left arm bore a similar pattern, but these veins pulsed with a cool, ice-blue light. His hair, once a simple brown, was now a striking mix of fiery crimson and stark white, mimicking the titan's skin.. His small, five-year-old frame was peacefully still, his golden eyes – so like Whitebeard's – closed in unconsciousness. He looked fragile, yet undeniably changed.
Whitebeard approached, his massive form casting a shadow over the boy. He knelt, and looked at the child, at the marks of fire and ice, at the innocent face.
A wave of emotion, so potent it was almost a physical blow, washed over him – relief so profound it was painful, guilt for what he had put the child through, and an overwhelming, fierce love.
Slowly, as if waking from a long dream, the boy's eyelids fluttered. His golden eyes, unfocused at first, opened. They scanned the concerned faces around him, then settled on the colossal figure of Whitebeard kneeling before him. There was no recognition of the monstrous titan, no memory of the island's destruction. Only the innocent, slightly dazed gaze of a very young child.
A tiny, trembling hand, the one with the ice-blue veins, reached out, patting Whitebeard's massive, calloused finger.
Whitebeard couldn't hold back any longer. With a sound that was half sob, half rumbling chuckle, he gently, carefully, gathered the small boy into his arms. It was an awkward embrace, the Emperor of the Sea holding a child who barely filled his palm, but it was filled with an unquantifiable depth of emotion. The crew watched in silence, many with tears welling in their own eyes.
"My son…" Whitebeard rumbled, his voice thick, his gaze fixed on the boy's face. "You're… you're alright."
The boy blinked, looking up at the giant face. "Papa?" he whispered, his voice small and clear, no longer distorted by monstrous rage, but filled with a child's simple recognition.
Whitebeard's heart clenched. "Yes, lad. It's Papa." He held the boy a little closer, a silent promise passing between them.
"Do you… do you have a name, little one?" Whitebeard asked gently, though he already knew the answer. The boy had been too young, too lost when they first found him.
The child shook his head, his crimson and white hair brushing against Whitebeard's chest. "No…"
Whitebeard smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Then I shall give you one. A name for a warrior." He looked at the boy, at the faint glow of fire and ice on his arms, "Your name," Whitebeard declared, his voice resonating with a father's love and pride, "is Gunnar." He paused, then added, a new strength in his voice, "Gunnar Newgate. My son."
Gunnar, nestled in Whitebeard's massive embrace, his small hand still resting on his father's finger, managed a faint, sleepy smile as he heard his new name. "Gun…nar…" he mumbled, the effort seemingly exhausting him. His golden eyes, which had flickered open with such innocent clarity, began to droop. The faint glow in the veins on his arms pulsed once, then faded into his skin, becoming almost invisible. With a soft sigh, the five-year-old boy drifted back into unconsciousness.
---
A week passed. The Moby Dick, battered but still defiant, sailed away from the turbulent waters where Ikki Island had once stood, leaving behind no trace of its cursed existence.
Marco, his phoenix flames having worked tirelessly, not just on his crewmates injured in the Ikki debacle, but also in carefully monitoring Gunnar, finally emerged from the sickbay.
"Pops," Marco began, his voice low.
Whitebeard looked up, his golden eyes instantly sharp, searching Marco's face for news. "The boy? Gunnar? How is he, Marco?"
Marco took a deep breath. "He woke up a few hours ago, yoi. He's… conscious. Alert, even. Recognized me. Asked for water."
A wave of relief, so potent it was almost visible, washed over Whitebeard. He leaned back, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "Gurarara… Good. That's good."
But Marco's expression remained serious. "There's more, Pops. The good news is, the sickness… it's completely gone from his system. though there will be after effects of such Experiements."
Whitebeard nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And the… other effects? The transformation?"
"That's where it gets complicated, yoi," Marco said, running a hand through his pineapple-shaped hair. "The titan form is gone, obviously. He's back to being… well, a very small five-year-old boy. The red and blue veins are still there, under the skin, but they're dormant. No sign of the ice or fire. No uncontrolled power surges since he reverted."
"But?" Whitebeard pressed, sensing the unspoken caveat.
Marco met his captain's gaze. "But… he can't move, Pops. From the neck down. He's paralyzed."
The smile on Whitebeard's face vanished, replaced by a deep, furrowed frown. The air in the room grew heavy. "Paralyzed?" he rumbled, the word a weight in his mouth.
"It seems the… the sheer scale of the transformation, the after effects of experiment, the rapid growth and then the reversion, the immense power he channeled, especially mimicking your Gura Gura no Mi… it's put an incredible strain on his young body, yoi. His nervous system, his muscles… they're overwhelmed. Shocked into inactivity." Marco paused, choosing his words carefully. "I've done everything I can with my flames, promoting healing, trying to stimulate nerve regeneration. And there is progress, Pops. It's not permanent, I don't think."
"What are you saying, Marco?" Whitebeard's voice was dangerously quiet.
"I'm saying he's recovering, yoi. But it's going to be incredibly slow. Agonizingly slow." Marco looked at his captain, his own eyes filled with a weary empathy. "Based on what I can tell, with constant care, with focused rehabilitation… he might regain some movement in his limbs within a year. Maybe be able to sit up on his own. With luck, and if his body adapts… he might be able to walk within a couple of years. Maybe three."
Whitebeard closed his eyes, his massive hand clenching into a fist. A couple of years for a child to walk. The thought was a fresh stab of pain.
"And a full recovery?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "To be a normal, active boy?"
Marco sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his prognosis. "Pops… that's… harder to say."
A decade.
"He's strong, Pops," Marco said softly, seeing the storm in his captain's eyes.
Whitebeard opened his eyes. The rage was still there, but it was tempered by a fierce, protective resolve. He looked at Marco, his First Commander, his son. "Take me to him, Marco. I want to see Gunnar."