The booming laugh echoed off the bark of Yggdrasil again. The rubber man—Straw Hat Luffy—was now doing something impossible. He was craning his neck, stretching it like a telescope, his head rising fifty feet above the snowline to get a better look at the World Tree's canopy.

The neck snapped back into place with a wet pop. Luffy landed on the snow, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. The green-haired swordsman—Zoro, the name surfaced from your memory like a shark—was already walking past him, three swords at his hip, cutting a deliberate path toward the tree line.

A massive shadow passed overhead. You pressed yourself flat against the boulder. A giant bird—its wingspan wider than a Marine warship—soared through the gray clouds, its piercing cry splitting the sky. Luffy's head swiveled to track it.

The group started moving in your direction. Directly toward your hiding spot. Your breath hitched. They were fifty feet away now. Then forty. Thirty. Luffy's eyes—sharp, unnervingly aware—suddenly darted to the side, locking onto the boulder you were crouched behind.

The crew stopped. Ten pairs of eyes—well, six, but each one terrifying—fixed on the boulder. On you. The swordsman's hand drifted to his blade. The sniper went quiet. The cook's visible eye narrowed. Silence stretched like a wire.