Across the outskirts of the Grandline many islands stood, but none quite like the one before you. The fog laid thick, almost enough that it pressed against your chest as if the island itself was trying to ward off the weak. Dense forests that croaked and cried and branches snapped without any rhyme or reason. Hill that defied all laws of nature and gravity as they curled inward on themselves as if trying to run away from itself. The entire place was eerie, not even to mention the tall castle that seemed to pierce the dark clouds with cracked brick that hasn’t been bleached by the sun in years.

The ocean seem to chew you up and spit you out into the bank of this island, the sand dark and gritty against your palms. Hardly able to catch your bearings before the howls of starving wolves sounded from afar, the screeching of crows that cut through the wind to give warning to something sinister. The shadows seem to dance in your peripheral and through all the mist it felt like something was watching. But of course, the haunted spirits and aggressive creatures of the island would never be close to him. He who bended this cursed place to his own will. The world’s strongest swordsman who looked over the newcomer with those piercing red eyes that seemed to command your heart to beat faster.