One Piece: Tempest Of Principles Book 1: Embers of Rebellion

*One Piece: Tempest of Principles*

*Book 1 - Embers of Rebellion*

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### **Istanbul, Türkiye – 2023**

The library was quiet, save for the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of Zayn's pen against his notebook. Sunlight pooled over his desk like spilled honey, illuminating a half-finished essay on Ottoman trade routes. His laptop hummed faintly beside a stack of books—*Islamic Ethics in Modern Governance*, *The Golden Age of Al-Andalus*, and a well-worn Volume 59 of *One Piece*, its spine cracked from countless rereads.

He glanced at the clock: **12:15 PM**. *Dhuhr* was in fifteen minutes. With a sigh, he flipped open the manga to the dog-eared page where Luffy's crew stormed Marineford. Ace's face, defiant even in chains, stared back at him. Zayn traced the panel with his finger, muttering under his breath, "Why'd you have to die, man? You had the *coolest* powers…"

A librarian coughed pointedly. Zayn snapped the manga shut and stuffed it into his bag, its frayed edges catching on the zipper. He slung the bag over his shoulder, adjusting the black-and-white keffiyeh around his neck—a gift from his mother, its fabric worn soft from years of wear. *"This isn't just cloth,"* she'd told him when he turned sixteen. *"It's a map. Every stitch is a story of our people."*

Outside, the streets of Istanbul thrummed with life. Vendors hawked roasted chestnuts and simit bread, their voices weaving through the blare of car horns. The Süleymaniye Mosque's minarets pierced the sky, their shadows stretching long over the cobblestones. Zayn paused, inhaling the scent of cardamom coffee drifting from a nearby café. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. *Pray first. Eat later.*

He cut through an alley, shortcutting toward the mosque. Graffiti splashed the walls—a mix of Turkish slogans and spray-painted anime characters. Zayn smirked at a crude drawing of Luffy's straw hat. *Even here,* he thought, *the Grand Line finds me.*

Then he heard the scream.

A child stood frozen in the crosswalk, a toy truck clutched in his tiny hands. A delivery van careened around the corner, its brakes screeching. Time slowed. Zayn's feet moved before his mind caught up.

*"Allāhu akbar!"*

He lunged, shoving the boy backward. The van's grille slammed into his ribs with a sickening *crunch*. Pain exploded—white-hot, electric—radiating through his chest. He crumpled to the asphalt, his vision blurring. The child's wails sounded muffled, distant, as if underwater.

*So this is it?*

Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into his keffiyeh. Fragments of his life flickered: his mother's laughter as she stirred *maqluba* on Fridays, the smell of her rosewater perfume, the unfinished *One Piece* volume in his bag.

*Luffy… Ace… I never saw how it ended…*

Darkness swallowed him.

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### **Mariejois – The Holy Land**

**Twelve Years Later**

Cold.

That was the first thing Zayn registered—the biting cold of marble floors against his bare knees. His hands, small and calloused, scrubbed furiously at a rust-colored stain. The metallic tang of blood clung to the air, mingling with the cloying sweetness of incense wafting from the Celestial Dragons' chambers.

*Where… am I?*

Voices echoed down the corridor, sharp and gilded with cruelty.

"Faster, maggots! Her Radiance's floor better gleam before sunset!"

A whip cracked. Zayn flinched, though the lash hadn't struck him—not yet. His eyes darted to the slave beside him, an old man whose back was a tapestry of scars. The man met his gaze briefly, shaking his head in silent warning.

*This isn't real. I was in Istanbul. I was… dying.*

Memories slipped like smoke through his fingers. A straw hat. A war. A man with fire for fists screaming, *"The One Piece is real!"*

"You—boy!"

Zayn's head snapped up. A Celestial Dragon loomed over him, their features obscured by the grotesque bubble helmet all nobles wore. A jeweled boot pressed down on his fingers, grinding them into the stone.

"This stain displeases me," the voice sneered. "Lick. It. Clean."

Zayn's throat tightened. *I'd rather die.*

The whip lashed his shoulders.

*"Now."*

He bent forward, bile rising in his throat—

"Enough."

A skeletal hand gripped his wrist. The old slave stepped between them, head bowed. "The child is new, Your Eminence. Allow this humble one to finish."

The noble snorted. "Pathetic." They strode away, their gilded cape billowing like vulture's wings.

Zayn stared at the old man. "Why… help me?"

"Because Allah sees." The man's voice was a rasp, his Arabic tinged with an accent Zayn couldn't place—North African, maybe. He pressed a chipped nail into Zayn's palm, tracing shapes: a star, a wave, a key. "Remember this: chains cannot cage the *niyyah*. The intention."

*Niyyah.* The word resonated, unlocking a memory. His mother's hands guiding his small ones in *wudu*, her voice soft: *"It's not just the action, Zayn. It's the heart behind it."*

"What's your name?" Zayn whispered.

The old man smiled, revealing gaps where teeth should be. "Jabari. It means 'brave one.' Though I've forgotten what bravery feels like."

A guard barked a command. Jabari returned to scrubbing, but not before slipping Zayn a crumpled leaf—a page from some forbidden book, its edges charred.

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### **Nightfall**

Moonlight filtered through barred windows, painting silver stripes on the dungeon floor. Zayn unfolded the leaf under its glow, his fingers trembling.

Arabic script stared back at him—a verse from Surah Ar-Ra'd:

*"Indeed, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves."*

Footsteps echoed. Zayn tucked the page into his ragged tunic as guards marched past, dragging a lifeless body. The corpse's face was unrecognizable—a mosaic of bruises and burns.

Jabari leaned close, his breath warm against Zayn's ear. "They kill us for reading. For dreaming. But words… words are seeds. Plant them in the dark, and they'll crack even stone."

Zayn's fingers brushed the hidden page. *Seeds.*

Outside, the stars burned cold and distant. But for the first time since awakening in this hell, Zayn felt warmth.

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### **Twelve Hours Earlier – The Slave Ship**

**Aboard the *Sanguine Crown***

The boy with storm-gray eyes shared his moldy bread.

"Kai," he mouthed, pointing to himself. No sound came out—his tongue had been cut long ago.

Zayn mimicked eating. "Thank you."

Kai traced shapes on his palm: a ship, a wave, a key.

*Escape.*

Zayn shook his head. "Not without you."

Kai pressed a shard of seastone into his hand. *Trust me.*

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### **Back to the Present**

Zayn clutched the seastone shard, its edges biting into his palm. Jabari's words echoed: *"Allah sees."*

He closed his eyes, envisioning the stars Jabari had taught him—Polaris, Vega, the crescent moon of his mother's keffiyeh.

*I'll change this,* he vowed. *Even if it kills me.*

Somewhere, deep in his soul, a voice whispered: *"You already did."*

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