Now, a new generation scrambles for glory on a sea reshaped by that legend. The Marines consolidate power with advanced technology. The Revolutionary Army splinters into factions. And pirates, always pirates, chase dreams across skies, abysses, and celestial tides.

You are in a stone cell. Damp, cold, smelling of salt and rust. Iron manacles chafe your wrists, bolted to the wall. A single barred window high on the wall shows a sliver of gray East Blue sky. The distant sound of marching boots and shouted orders echoes from the Marine base of Shells Town.

You’ve been here for days. Or has it been weeks? The charges are vague: "Suspicion of piracy." They don't need more than that out here.