The New World's monsoon winds carried briny moisture, carving endless trails of waves across the boundless blue sea.
Kirishima Bupai lounged against the bow of the small warship he had seized, Yamato stuck casually into the deck beside his feet.
A crude fishing rod hung over the gunwale, its line trailing through the blue waves behind the ship. It had bobbed there for months without hooking so much as a fish scale.
"Anomalous vertical updraft and an exceptionally strong electrostatic field detected three hundred nautical miles ahead. Recommend adjusting course."
A flamboyant, showy male voice with a metallic timbre suddenly sounded in his head, as ostentatious as the opening of an opera.
"My dear captain, allow me to remind you that you have strayed from the Grand Line's magnetic route for three months and eight days. Your current position is near the edge of the Calm Belt."
"Incidentally, even the pigeons outside the Parthenon couldn't bear to watch your fishing technique..."
"Hm? What?" Kirishima smacked his lips, too lazy even to raise his eyelids. "Dante, shut up. Keep talking, and next time I'll redeem the Vergil voice."
"Oh! Don't do that!" Dante's voice instantly shifted into an exaggerated aria. "For the sake of that fellow in the blue tights... wait! Energy readings spiking! Captain! Above you!"
Kirishima finally lifted his eyelids. Overhead, there was more than a seamless expanse of sea and sky.
A boundless layer of pure white clouds, like an ocean of solidified milk, floated silently ten thousand meters in the air.
At the edge of the cloud sea, an enormous, visible cyclone funnel stretched upward, frantically tearing at the seawater and air below to form a stairway connecting sea and sky, with lightning flickering within.
Stranger still, deep within that White Sea, the outlines of islands and...