Celestial Dragon Privileges

Grand Line, Water 7.

Milky-white fog flowed along the crisscrossing waterways, spilling over bluestone steps and creeping up stained-glass windows, wrapping the entire city in a hazy veil.

On Scrap Island, mountains of old shipwrecks loomed in and out of the fog. Seagull cries pierced the mist, joined by the first hammer strike from a distant shipyard as Water 7 awoke.

Inside Tom's Workshop.

Tom hung up the Den Den Mushi, turned around, and swept his gaze across the workshop.

"Clean up. We'll be receiving guests in a few days."

Iceburg put down his sandwich and nodded.

Franky scratched his exaggerated blue hair, his face full of impatience.

"He's come so many times over the past few years. There's no need to make such a big fuss, is there?"

Tom shook his head, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Fog poured in, carrying the sea's distinctive salty tang. His gaze crossed Scrap Island and fell upon Water 7's distant main city.

Several days later, on another morning, at Water 7's harbor.

This harbor, large enough to accommodate massive merchant ships, bustled with noise. Dockworkers shouted work chants as they loaded and unloaded cargo, vendors hawked fresh seafood, and travelers crowded the piers while waiting for the next Blue Station.

The harbor master was crouched outside the duty room, smoking a pipe and squinting at the waves glittering gold beneath the sunlight. Then he saw a dot appear on the horizon.

The dot rapidly grew into a sail, followed by a hull. When the entire ship came into view, the pipe fell from his mouth with a clatter.

It was a colossal warship sixty meters tall, its three main masts stabbing into the sky as black sails billowed in the wind.

At the center of the canvas, the