Chapter Text
“You’re late,” you said softly, not bothering to turn around and greet your guest.
Your gaze was focused on an all-too-still body lying peacefully in the hospital bed, surrounded by dozens of bouquets of flowers and well-wishing cards. All from your family and friends, you knew.
“I AM NEVER EARLY OR LATE, CHILD. I ARRIVE PRECISELY WHEN I MEAN TO.”
The voice, although it sounded too preposterous to compare the hundreds of toneless whispers entwined into one sound to a human voice, resonated through the all-white hospital room, filling up the small space with its enormous presence.
The unnatural sound sent a violent shudder down your spine, your feet frozen on the spot beside the hospital bed. You weren't really sure how this whole afterlife thing worked, or if it even was the afterlife. You existed, sure, but you weren’t alive, not anymore.
You mustered up the courage to face the very being representing the end of it all, and slowly turned around; chin held high, hands balled into fists, sharp steel gleaming in your eyes.
You almost jumped back—you didn’t hear Death approach you, at all!
Its form dwarfed yours, forcing you to recognize the sheer power this being held. You never felt so insignificant before, so small and vulnerable. It made your skin crawl with unease, chest tightening with fear.
No holy texts, works of art or fables could truly depict the splendor of the being standing—floating? their pitch-black cloak didn’t quite reach the floor—before you.
Death was draped from head to toe in gleaming armor, its thick plates seemingly forged from the purest of silver. There were no dents or visible scratches upon the shiny surface, as if Death had yet to test it in battle.
The long, pitch-black cloak was draped around Death’s shoulders, curling and swirling around its wearer like a mist, the cloak’s hood covering the armored-one’s head. Only a pair of lime-green flecks like tiny flames of fiendfyre shone from the darkness of the hood, giving the godly being some semblance of life.
“YOU KNOW WHY I AM HERE, CHILD.”
You managed a weak nod, your throat too dry to make a sensible sound or a word.
“HOWEVER, AS IT IS A COMMON COURTESY, I MUST ASK YOU THUS; DO YOU WISH TO DEPART FOR THE AFTERLIFE?”
You blinked in surprise.
“I…wasn’t aware that I had a free will to choose.”
“EVERYONE HAS A CHOICE, CHILD,” said Death, its tone chastising, as if it were talking to an unruly student. “I HAVE NO DESIRE TO DRAG MORTALS TO THE SEVEN HALLS IF THEY DO NOT WISH IT SO.”
The hood covering Death’s face slightly tilted to the left. A sickening crack followed that movement, and you winced.
“Seven Halls? Is that Heaven? The, er, the place where good people go to?”
You weren’t aware of any religion mentioning an afterlife in such a name.
“THERE IS NO HEAVEN, NOR HELL, CHILD. SEVEN HALLS IS THE ONLY FORM OF AFTERLIFE IN THIS UNIVERSE,” Death corrected, before adding: “BUT, AYE, ALL THOSE WHO HAD CHOSEN ETERNAL REST WERE DEEMED GOOD.”
“And what about the bad people? If there is no Hell, where do they go?”
The lime-green flecks seemed to grow brighter, and you could’ve sworn you saw two rows of teeth shine in a semblance of an eerie smile.
“EVEN I—ALTHOUGH THERE IS NO TRUE NEED FOR IT—ENJOY A FEAST EVERY NOW AND THEN.”
Your stomach dropped from the revelation. Well, you didn’t pity those people, no, they definitely deserved their fate, but… You weren’t sure if you were as good in your life as you hoped for.
As if sensing your thoughts, Death raised one gloved hand and placed it upon your left shoulder, fingers digging into your not-truly-physical form. The contact burned through your skin, as if you’d been touched by an ice-cold water, the kind that burned your flesh despite bearing no heat.
Despite wearing a nightgown, you had to resist the urge to wrench free from the abnormally tight grip of the god-like being.
“THE FACT I AM GIVING YOU A CHOICE SPEAKS VOLUMES OF YOUR CHARACTER. YOU’VE DONE YOUR FAIR SHARE OF BAD THINGS IN YOUR LIFE, THAT IS TRUE, BUT YOUR GOOD OUTSHONE ALL SINS, EVEN THE MOST DISTASTEFUL.”
Death’s words tried to sound reassuring, but to your ears, the soft-spoken tone might’ve as well been a threat, for the way it leaned down towards your ashen face.
“You’ve said there are… other choices I can take. I…” you sucked a sharp breath into your lungs, “I want to weigh my options.”
Death’s hood made a jerky motion forward, the sickening cracks echoing through the room. You took it as a yes.
“THERE IS A POSSIBILITY OF REINCARNATION, OR—IF YOU TRULY WISH FOR IT—I CAN ARRANGE A RITUAL THAT WOULD BRAND YOU AS ONE OF MY REAPERS.”
Reincarnation sounded appealing to you. You’ve read countless stories revolving around this topic, even a few fanfictions on websites such as Wattpad and AO3.
The latter was… well. You didn’t know what a reaper was, but you assumed they belonged to Death in some shape or form, and you didn’t want to bind your existence to anyone or any place.
“Reincarnation,” you declared firmly, before minding your manners. “Please.”
No need to give Death any reason to dislike you. Becoming an available option on its menu wasn’t on your to-do list. You weren’t sure if you even had a to-do list.
Well, if this wasn’t just some sort of post-death hallucination and this was all real, you will have a to-do list in no time.
“VERY WELL, I—” Death abruptly halted mid-sentence, the jarring, high-pitched sound like stone scraping against steel, making you cringe in pain.
Death froze on spot, even its mist-like cloak kept close to its wearer’s shape. With its gloved hand, Death reached out into the cloak, sinking the arm in up to its elbow.
You gaped as Death pulled out a neatly rolled up parchment, tightly bound by a dark-blue ribbon. It had no seal upon it.
Death elegantly pulled the ribbon by its end, unrolling the parchment, before it began to read.
The silence that followed made your skin crawl, as if hundreds of thousand ants skimmed with their little legs all over your covered flesh.
Death made a sound that could’ve been a content hum. It retrieved the parchment back into the mist-like cloak, before focusing on you once more.
“Er, Death? Sir—um, Ma’am? What was that?”
“IT WAS FROM FATE. SHE HAS, WELL…” Death’s shoulders seemed to sag a little as it sighed with—disapproval?
“FOR WHATEVER REASON, FATE HAS DECIDED YOU ARE ENTERTAINING ENOUGH TO GRANT YOU YOUR DEEPEST WISH.”
This… was interesting. And quite the surprise. But you weren’t stupid, there had to be some catch to—Fate’s?—offer.
“But?” you asked with one arched brow, arms crossed against your chest.
“FATE WANTS TO PLAY A GAME WITH YOU.”
You blinked, slowly.
“A game?”
“AYE.”
“And…what is this game exactly? How do you play?”
“THESE THINGS AREN’T FOR ME TO REVEAL. FATE WILL DECIDE WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT.”
You took a deep breath in, held it in your chest, and counted to thirty. You exhaled a shaky huff. Clasping your hands behind your back, you started pacing around the hospital room whilst pointedly ignoring Death's watchful gaze piercing your form.
Your mind reeled at the implications behind Death's words.
A game. A game with Fate herself. You were more than certain Fate was the little shite that brought you into this mess in the first place—read: dying—and you weren't so ready to forgive her for that. But you were already dead, so you guessed none of that mattered anymore.
Oh. Oh, right. You were dead. But if you were dead, then—
"How can I play this game if I'm dead?" you asked, more to yourself then Death.
You stopped in your tracks, before your eyes fell upon Death once more.
Death stayed silent.
Your lips pressed into a thin line.
“Right…Reincarnation.”
“YOUR SOUL WILL ENTER THE CYCLE OF REBIRTH ONCE YOU STEP INTO THE TUNNEL.”
You could’ve sworn you heard a slight smile in Death's soft-spoken voice, the hundreds of whispers echoing its words.
It didn't make you feel so safe any longer.
You gulped, blinking twice. Oh, great, Death is getting cryptic now. This was definitely not good.
"What tunnel?"
Death raised their gloved hand high above their hooded head. A scythe appeared from a column of black flames, before Death grasped it in its hand, before resting the incredible weapon against its right shoulder.
The scythe was at least thrice your size, with a thin handle carved from bones—whether they belong to a human or an animal, you didn’t seem too curious to ask. The blade itself was of black steel, curved and by the look of it, very sharp.
Goosebumps appeared all over your arms and legs, hair on the nape of your neck standing upright. Odd noise, akin to sobbing, penetrated the silence around you.
You looked around, trying to pinpoint the exact place it was coming from, until your eyes landed on the enormous blade once more.
The scythe itself was—no, now you can truly hear it. The scythe wasn’t sobbing. The weapon was laughing. A terrible sound, like wisps of cold wind biting your ankles, the threat of being consumed, abandoned, forgotten.
“Wha—Stop… stop that. Stop it!” you cried out, backing away until your body was pressed against a wall.
The scythe seemed to relish in your fear despite being a non-living object.
Death took a silence step forward. It made no sound. Death never did. And then it took another step, and another, until Death loomed over you once more.
Your breath grew raggedy, pupils dilated as you tried your best at one last defying glare, your eyes piercing through the hood.
You couldn't die when you were already dead, right? There was no way—it was impossible! It should be impossible! But then again… Death did say it grew hungry once in a while—
With a mighty swing of its scythe, Death sliced the air right before your face, missing the tip of your nose only by a mere inch.
The swing created a shimmering line of golden light, which grew larger and then opened like a door—albeit it had no handle—allowing your bulging eyes to look inside the black, swirling vortex that awaited you.
Before you could say a word, Death snatched you by your forearm, the familiar burning touch making your skin bristle. This time you screamed.
"Wait—!" you yelped, digging your heels into the white tiles of the floor, trying to keep away from the vortex that seemed to pulse, thrumming like a heartbeat.
Death said nothing before it shoved you right inside the swirling, black emptiness. The pull of the vortex swallowed you right into its centre.
You screamed as you fell, the all-white hospital room swiftly turning into a distant dot in the horizon.
“THIS IS THE TUNNEL. DO NOT STRAY FROM YOUR CURRENT PATH, OR YOU MIGHT GET LOST IN HERE, PERHAPS FOREVER.”
Hundreds of colours passed through the corner of your eye in a blur, some of them almost unrecognizable blotches mixed up together, some piercing and clear as daylight, burning into your memory.
You kept falling through the tunnel at the speed of light, piercing wind blowing against your ears all but muffled out your screams. Your lungs burned and stomach churned, the acrid bile clawing its way up your throat.
You were still falling, still falling, still falling—
“GOOD LUCK, CHILD. MAY TIME BE ALWAYS IN YOUR FAVOUR.”
You stopped giving damn about manners and common courtesy the moment Death shoved you down this horrid place. You let your tongue loose, spitting out curses that would make even the drunkest of men redden from embarrassment.
Death’s laughter; hollow, dry and seemingly omnipresent, rattled in your skull even hours—if not days—after the white dot that used to be your hospital room disappeared from your sight.
God Valley was a massacre. Hundreds, if not thousands of innocent people were hunted and butchered like wild animals for the entertainment of the ill minded wretches, their souls blacker than the starless night itself.
Countless corpses; men, women and children alike—some merely babes too young to even comprehend the dreadful situation the islanders found themselves in—littered the ground of her home, their limbs mangled, bruised, cut and shot through, dignity and humanity taken away from them.
The unbearable stench of blood, too heavy, too real, polluted the once crisp air of the island. Selene’s stomach churned with disgust, bile clawing up its way up her throat.
The Tenryuubito—may the sea’s wrathful tides swallow those accursed fiends!—turned Selene’s home into their hunting grounds, their little game, a wicked sport to pass some time.
They called her and her people Rabbits. That’s all they were to the so-called gods. Rodents to be exterminated, flayed and then presented like trophies.
Selene wanted nothing more then to claw their eyes out, then to rip their bellies open with her bare hands, to cleave their heads open with heavy rocks—
—The young lass blinked away the hot tears rolling down her rosy cheeks, before wiping them with the back of her hand. Her nails created blood-red, crescent marks upon her palms, the pain but a mere afterthought in the back of her head.
She lightly shook her head, trying to clear her mind of any morbid images, to suppress the overwhelming grief that threatened to pour out of her like an avalanche, the ache in her heart unbearable.
Selene steeled herself, swallowing a heavy lump in her throat. Selene peaked from her hiding place; one of the large pillars built from thick blocks of white marble, praying to any deities for even a smither of hope that the Kingdom’s plaza was completely vacant.
Selene clasped her trembling hands over her mouth, shushing down a wild scream of anguish and unspeakable fury that demanded to be released from the confine of its silence.
The bare plaza of her Kingdom, once a lively market place thrumming with busy, merchant life, colourful and jolly in its blissful existence has been left trampled like a small flower, the petals of its unique beauty and innocence recreated into an image of terror-struck faces forever haunted by the last seconds of their lives.
Hundreds of gaunt, mud-stained faces gazed towards the lovely afternoon sky, no cloud at sight, just the orb of the yellow-and-orange flames, too far away to touch, yet close enough to see the tragedy unfold under its gentle caress. The God Valley folk’s eyes were glazed, milky white. Dull and dead, like the eyes of the fish laying upon the counter of the fish market.
Selene’s body slumped helplessly against the sturdy surface of the pillar, her blood boiling with righteous fury and profound sadness at the terrible sight.
The young lass recognized a lot of them, people she knew her entire life; her neighbours, her friends—some of them went as far back as her early childhood.
Dead, now. All of them.
“I pray…I pray that you are in a better place now. All of you,” she said softly, her voice slightly breaking at the end.
Although the Kingdom’s plaza was devoid of anyone living, save Selene herself, it brought Selene only so much comfort.
Selene raised her chin high, straightening her shoulders—raising them like a shield—and bravely took a step, albeit quaky one, towards the trampled bodies, the weight of her survival heavy burden upon her spine.
‘I need to find myself a weapon.’ she thought resolutely. ‘If I have to die, then I shall die knowing I dragged at least one of those fish-gutted usurpers with me.’
Selene couldn’t help but cringe as she knelt down towards the first pile of corpses. This work was incredibly improper and all-together distasteful, but she argued with her “proper-self” with the knowledge that the dead no longer had any use of weapons whatsoever.
Besides, she was stealing only because her survival demanded it. There was nothing dishonorable about that… Right?
The feel of blood, still warm and fresh on her bare hands, made her gag. The acrid taste on her tongue brought her to tears, but she suppressed the urge to vomit and went on with her search.
Selene forced herself to focus on the task at hand, arguing with her imagination that this was a necessary evil, whilst making sure her gaze never wandered towards any of the blank faces.
She did it, once, anyway.
Selene’s eyes widened in shock, her already ashen face paling even further at the familiar face that belonged to the body she was currently scavenging.
It was Paul; the sweet young lad that babysat Selene’s niece whenever she was busy with her work. Sometimes, when the schedule around the flower shop wasn’t so packed, Selene managed to find some time off work, and he offered to help around the house anyway.
He was kind, he was good and he was dead.
Paul’s short, lime-coloured hair was soaked with blood, the unruly strands sticking to all directions, and even to his sweat-slicked face.
His throat was slit open; a clean, crescent-shaped wound, terrifying in its surgical precision.
Selene cried out as she threw her arms around his throat, burying her face against his shoulder. The smell of gunpowder and blood mixed with the lovely sunflower-scented perfume he usually wore on his person, dulling her sense of smell. She didn’t pay that any mind now, her sole focus being Paul’s sagged form, devoid of any warmth.
“I’m so, so sorry. Paul, I—I hope you are doing far better than you did… I want you… want you to be in a place with lots of plants and small gardens you always so fancied,” Selene sobbed, allowing her tears to flow freely, but not for long.
She released Paul, gently laying him down upon the cobblestone-paved ground once more, before planting a gentle kiss upon his manicured brow.
One last goodbye the two of them will ever share.
Selene wasted no time after that, no matter how much her heart ached. Time was far too precious to let it fly away so carelessly, and so she went on with her search.
She will mourn Paul, her people and her kingdom later. Oh, Selene had no illusion she was going to survive, but perhaps, even one small chance of escape—
—A soft hum; an ancient melody, as old as the world and as deep as the Four Blues themselves, burned with so much hope, so much light that all of Selene’s sorrows seemed to fade away.
Selene jumped straight onto her feet like a startled cat, and as she whipped around, her gaze searching for whomever—or whatever—played that strangely alluring music.
Her attention was caught by a strange yellow door that Selene was more than certain wasn't there before.
The door looked quite ordinary and unassuming, just like every door she’d seen before. Tall with a broad frame, the door bore a singular round window in the centre, the thick glass divided into four parts. A round golden knob gleamed under the sunlight—no, the whole door seemed to glow with a faint light, its bright yellow paint must’ve looked like a great pyre from afar.
Selene walked towards the strange yellow door weaponless, for she didn’t dare to turn her back towards that strange object that appeared in the Kingdom’s plaza out of thin air.
She wasn’t crazy, that door, which had immensely piqued her interest, wasn’t there before and now it was there and Selene didn’t know what to think of it.
The closer she got towards the door, the clearer became the strange sound she’d heard minutes before.
Selene halted in her step, now standing only three feet away from the door, the magical object—for what else could this be?—seemed to tower over her, despite her being only a head and half shorter than it.
Her eyes wandered, taking in the details she hadn't noticed before.
The door smelled of fresh paint, despite the now very obvious scratches on the sturdy wood, and lemon. Then there were two signs nailed into the wood atop one another, one smaller than the other. The handwriting on the first white plate was barely readable, as if someone scratched it in the utmost hurry.
On the first sign, written in big, bold, red letters was this:
DISTURBANCE WELCOME ONLY IN THE UTMOST EMERGENCY
The second smaller sign, also written in big, bold, red letters read thus:
KNOCK THREE TIMES
Selene frowned.
‘What if this is some form of a trap placed here by a Tenryuubito?’
Selene shook her head, trying to make sense of this mystery.
‘No, there were no Tenryuubito nearby and the door appeared just about now. Out of thin air. Like magic.’
Selene paced around the yellow door, careful to keep away from potential traps—it still could’ve been a trap, maybe sent by someone else entirely—examining it from every angle.
Nothing suspicious or dangerous-looking.
The surge of hope, of the mere possibility she could escape this hell and live, the fleeting feeling filling her chest made Selene’s heart pound faster, sweat glistening on her forehead as she slowly raised her hand towards the door…
knock knock knock
…The last knock against the yellow wood resonated in the air with a frightening finality, the sort that halted the course of the entire planet, the whole world holding its breath.
The music halted, as if a bright flame was snuffed out from the hearth in one breath, leaving nothing but a shadow of the flame’s light, a memory of its warmth.
Selene stepped away from the door, her entire frame shaking. Was it fear? Or perhaps it was from anticipation? Or even both. She rubbed one sweaty palm against the skirt of her dress—
“It appears one little rabbit managed to flee after all,” a woman’s voice cooed from behind her, its tone dripping with vicious delight.
Selene spun around, her face as white as a paper sheet.
The young lass came face to face with one of the Tenryuubito knights.
A tall, black-haired woman with sharp, onyx eyes that reminded Selene of a hawk stood before her, one arm resting against the pommel of her broadsword, the other placed upon her hip.
And it wasn’t just the she-knight’s eyes. Her frame—mostly adorned in pieces of thick silver armor, especially the gauntlets and the boots—was a weapon, each part honed for battle, honed to kill everything that dared cross her.
Her tunic, which she wore underneath all the armor, was a vibrant purple, the colour of royalty.
She wore no cloak and bore no family crest, at least what Selene could see.
“You didn’t expect me to find you, did you, sweetling?” the woman smiled, her blood-red lips curving into something predatory, something akin to hunger.
Icy chill crawled up Selene’s spine.
“I never expected a filthy commoner—and a blasphemer no less!—to know of the Conqueror's Haki, it is almost pitiful to let you die like this,” the woman’s hungry smile morphed into a comical grimace, similar to a tragedy mask before the smile returned. “Almost.”
“Con… Conqueror’s Haki? I don’t understand,” Selene shook her head, suddenly feeling all too light on her feet.
The she-knight cocked her head to the side, her neatly tied ponytail swaying slightly as she did so. She seemed to study Selene with something like consideration whilst drumming her gauntlet-covered fingers against the pommer of her sword.
“Oh, don’t play the dimwit, girl. It does not suit you.”
Each tap-tap-tap made Selene flinch, her eyes briefly flicking towards the door behind her.
“You used Conqueror’s Haki, if only briefly, but it did leave its mark long enough for me to catch its location. And this little outburst of yours,” she pointed at Selene, “was far too controlled to have been an accident.
“I don’t… I still don’t understand,” Selene said, her face twisting in confusion. “I didn’t—it wasn’t me who used this…this Haki-nonsense you are speaking about!”
“A Haki signature never lies, girl,” sneered the she-knight, her tone sharp as a whip as she regarded Selene with repulsion common to the Tenryuubito.
“You are the only living person that stands near the source of the outburst. The other Rabbits are hopping in the woods or trying to escape through the beach and whatever ports this island has left.”
Selene wanted to defend herself, but the she-knight’s gaze swept over the young lass and landed on the yellow door behind her. One, perfectly manicured brow arched in thinly-veiled interest.
“This wasn’t here before,” a strange glint lit up in her eyes. “Oh, you are a devil fruit user as well! Well, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise!’
Selene gulped as the she-knight’s silver gauntlet wrapped around her broadsword’s pommel and raised the absurdly large weapon—it must’ve been twice the size of its wielder!—and pointed the sharp blade at her, her face a hideous mask of false sorrow.
“But I do want to win, so I suppose you’ll have to go. Ah, what a shame. A devil fruit user and a Conqueror? Yes, a shame indeed.”
The sickly sweet smile, so full of false pity and mockery of gentleness made Selene’s stomach drop, her mind welling with rage.
She wanted to die knowing that she had killed at least one of the filthy, murderous hypocrites, but right now, facing that woman… Selene wanted nothing else but to scream, to rage and curse the heavens until her throat grew sore, until all she knew was embrace of the other life.
The she-knight charged at her, raising the broadsword above her head, aiming for Selene’s chest—
—The yellow door swung open, and the whole world was swallowed in golden light.
Saint Figarland Garling was bored; a common occurrence that no longer disturbed his perfect existence, and yet set him on edge every time a branch cracked or a bush rustled that made his fingers twitch towards his sheathed saber. The boredom was slowly driving him mad. Where was the action? The thrill of competition?
The Tournament was insufferably dull, his opponents naught but obstacles to hinder his rise in the ranks.
Not like he’ll need it.
He was sure he'd win this year's Tournament too, he was far ahead of the other Knights—the true competition—by a couple of thousand points or so.
It was amusing, really. Most of the Super-Rare rabbits were already killed—by yours truly, naturally—so there was no real chance anyone could outrank him.
Garling couldn’t help but snort in amusement.
‘Competition my arse. Hm. Perhaps I should quit participating and search for some other means of entertainment.’
Manmayer's grinning face flashed before his eyes; so full of feigned innocence, eyes wide like a newborn puppy, and he could already hear his taunting, high-pitched voice and that smug look in his eyes as the young Lord brags about his hard-won trophy—No.
Garling’s eyes narrowed as he glared up into the cloudless sky—as if the heavens have just personally offended him—his face a maelstrom of barely controlled anger.
He will not quit, not if it costs him the view of Manmayer's face growing green with envy, as he snatches that victory right from that pointy nose of his.
House Figarland was the greatest noble House in the sacred land, and Garling will do everything in his power to cement that fact.
Even if it’ll cost him the greater part of his sanity.
Garling glanced down as a small weight pressed against his chest, the cargo he’d been carrying around in the make-shift sling—which had been tied across his right shoulder and around his hip to keep the squirming cargo, a one-year-old babe, from falling off—now very much awake, demanding his attention.
A pair of sleepy, maroon eyes, Garling’s maroon eyes, which of course did not affect the Holy Knight on an emotional level, looked right up at him, an odd sense of serenity radiating from his round, freckled face.
“Hello, Shamrock,” he greeted his son, one gloved finger caressing the babe’s freckled cheek. “I hope you’ve had a good sleep, though I wonder what has gotten you to wake so early.”
He slowly crouched down upon a heavy crown of a particularly old oak tree, the branch bending slightly upon the weight of his armor.
Garling has been hunting the rest of the remaining rabbits that hid within the forests for the better part of the day, always keeping himself on the very top of the trees, so as to not disturb his unsuspecting prey.
Shamrock blinked, still staring at his father with that strange serenity. The babe only yawned and then blubbered out some incoherent sounds, making no indication he was in want of anything.
Garling’s shoulders sagged in relief, before tucking the babe’s head against his chest.
He pressed a light kiss, barely a brush of his lips, on the crown of Shamrock’s head, before deciding it was time to move on.
And then he felt it. It was distant, could be barely considered an afterthought, something to be shrugged off and thought about later.
But Garling didn’t.
No, he stood still like a statue, a shadow of something he dared not to name crossing his features.
‘Conqueror’s Haki from an unfamiliar source.’
Closing his eyes, he forced his body to relax—not an easy task considering the fidgeting bundle pressed against his chest, but he managed, naturally. His Observation Haki traveled through the entire island, checking every valley, every cave or port. Nothing.
Garling frowned. Stretching out his Haki in such a wide range only made his focus weaker, and he couldn’t afford any mistake.
He focused his Observation Haki in smaller areas, the Voices of Tenryuubito and the natives mingling together, but they were clearer, almost tangible to him. He searched further east and—there!
The Haki signature scorched its way into Garling’s mind, burning amidst the sea of flames like a pyre, a beacon of light so bright it could’ve outshone the sun itself. It lingered in the air for a little longer, in the north-east, Garling deduced, before it disappeared, just like that.
Garling opened his eyes, blinking away the black spots that suddenly blinded his vision. Well…this was certainly something.
“It burned so brightly, it felt so alive and in a millisecond, it just… poofed out of existence,” he frowned, glancing down at Shamrock who was already getting ready for another nap.
“This revelation could bring something interesting to my mundane existence, considering this…outburst was not from one of mine or Saint Saturn.”
He seemed to have made up his mind; he was going to search for the source of this powerful Haki and find it before the others, who have no doubt already realized something was amiss.
If it was a rabbit, which certainly would’ve been a surprise, he would claim its points and add it to his, such a powerful creature would’ve been worth a heavy sum, even if it was wasteful, considering its potential. And if it wasn’t a rabbit…
‘Well, it has been a while since I’ve been presented with the opportunity for a good duel.’ mused Garling, his mouth curling into a sneer, showing off two perfect rows of straight, white teeth.
Standing up, Garling carefully adjusted the make-shift sling, gently tucking his son against his chest, one hand supporting his small back whilst the other rested ever so comfortably against the curved sheath of his saber.
“It seems the game has changed, with a new, unknown player appearing on the chess board.”
Garling’s eyes lingered upon his son’s sleeping face, before he raised his gaze towards the direction the outburst came from.
“All I have to do is decide whether this wild card is an equal or prey.”
The sea-borne city of Mykaros enveloped the Sunset’s Bay, cradling the golden-and-red waters in its long arms, like a mother would hug her child, or a lover would envelop their other half.
The sun dipped below the horizon, coating the great city’s masterful architecture in warm hues, the smell of sweet water, rich perfumes and the always-present scent of roasted sea grass enveloping you in a one last goodbye.
“I’ll miss you too,” you sighed wistfully as a gentle breeze ran through your hair, brushing against your face, and hands as you pressed your elbows against the dark-blue blocks of the City Wall.
Even from this distance, the Mykarosi monuments towered over all lesser buildings within the sea-borne city, mortal-made titans in their own right.
Grand palaces, where only the highest of the Raashvi were allowed to take residence, were built around the Sea Hearth’s Keep, their thin Water towers so tall, their tips could pierce the clouds in the skies.
Dozens of magnificent sun-shaped shrines were built on the outskirts of Mykaros—making them the most reachable monuments—the tall gold-and-blue pillars that supported the round, glass-made roofs glimmered like hoards of sapphires. The thick walls depicted heroic deeds of the local legends and heroes in a form of mosaic and art pieces.
Neatly stacked villas, which created intricate swirly patterns within the city itself were all painted in hues of blue, green and yellow. The wealthier ones even adorned their abodes with intricate golden statues placed atop the flat roofs.
Mykaros was truly one of the wonders of this Age. You wouldn’t mind living here.
‘Well, maybe one day, if Fate is kind enough,’ you mused as you gave one last longing glance towards the city before turning around to face the two finely garbed noblemen that patiently waited for your attention.
“Ji drazī alighe, mugno atrēz.” one of the two noblemen—the shorter of the pair, Lord Eriza, you remembered—spoke out first, a faint hint of a southerner accent laced within the words of his mother tongue.
“Jiye arkham vy ziprikosh, dan zāg ervistbrak.” spoke the second, taller and spindler of the pair, Lord Tirbeiron was his name, his voice thick and raspy after decades of smoking heavy tobacco.
You merely bowed your head in respect and walked after them as they led you towards the nearest of the City Wall’s hundred watchtowers, which was about five minutes walk from your spot.
The guards standing on each side of the watchtower’s massive, arched door stepped aside, lowering their long spears only ever so slightly, just enough to allow the two members of the Senate and their guest to enter, before they closed the door behind you with a resonant BANG!
The watchtower’s lowest tier was lit only by a handful of torches and candles, the flickering blue flames giving the entire room an oppressive light. With Lord Eriza and Lord Tiberion, there were also three other Mykaroshi folk, dressed in less elegant, yet more practical robes meant for labour and everyday life.
“The yellow gate has been fixed,” said the eldest of the three, his Common Tongue clipped in some vowels. “You must continue your journey and find the treasure you’ve been tasked with safekeeping.”
“Thank you, Maester Zītran. Your kindness shan’t be forgotten by neither me nor mine,” you thanked, bowing low.
“Neither shall your services for our beautiful city,” replied Maester Zītran, bowing to you in return. “You will always be welcomed here.”
Your eyes slid from the three Maesters towards the yellow door in the centre, its humming always present within you, and you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. No scratches, no ripped wood and no remaining scorchmarks from blasters. Good. You’d like to keep it that way.
You strode towards the yellow door with a giddy step, the excitement of traveling once more forcing a large, toothy smile on your face.
You pressed one hand against the lacquered wood, gently stroking the door's frame, feeling the dulled out pattern of a triple heartbeat, drumming against your body in response.
“I missed you too, old friend. I’m glad to see you in good shape.”
You paused, feeling the gentle hum turning into something more… petulant. Angry.
“Will you let me travel with you once more? I promise I will keep the shields up this time. This won’t be like two months ago.”
The yellow door seemed more-or-less unconvinced, but the hum changed into something akin to compliance.
“Thank you.”
You turned around to face your company, hands clasped behind your back.
“Is everything ready for my travels?”
“Aye, Honoured One,” called out one of the two Maesters accompanying Zītran.
He stepped forth and with an outstretched hand offered out a long gold-plated shepherd’s crook, its weight welcomed burden in your hands.
“The Krycian stone? The time string? Are they all in their places?” you questioned, whilst inspecting your precious tool.
“Aye, and—”
knock knock knock
You and everyone else gaped at the yellow door. Silence fell upon you like a thick winter cloak, before your eyes widened not just in surprise, but absolute delight.
“Oh, oh, this is fantastic! The outer side of the door must’ve already reached the destination by reading the numbers on the time string beforehand—oh, you old scrap of wood, you are absolutely fantastic!”
You knelt in front of the door’s golden knob, twisting it to the left, opening it. The crimson glow of the Krycian stone blinded your vision for a moment, before your eyes adjusted to the room’s faint light.
You stepped aside, just far enough for you to push the straight end of your shepherd’s crook into the door knob.
“Well, time to go!”
You grasped the centre of the shepherd’s crook in an iron grip, before you started spinning it, like one would spin the handle on the well, prompting the bucket of water to rise from the well’s depths.
You started slowly at first, the friction between the straight end of the shepherd's crook and the Krycian stone creating a small friction, tiny sparks of black lightning rising from the golden knob.
You picked up on speed, spinning faster and faster, the friction between the golden-plated wood and diamond-hard stone forcing out more powerful black lightning.
The Conqueror’s Haki that filled the crimson stone made one of the Maesters and the two guards from the outside faint.
Using all of your strength, you spun the shepherd’s crook one last time, before jumping away, watching with glee as it now spun on its own.
“The time vortex is opening! It’s… It’s working!” you shouted across your shoulder, whilst still keeping your eyes upon the yellow door.
“Alright, just a bit more—come one, come on! You can do it!”
The shepherd’s crook was now a blur, the speed of its spin too great to keep up with, until it halted in its trajectory, the sudden stop of spin and friction between it and the Krycian stone released a shockwave of black lightning across the entire City Wall, knocking your entourage out cold, leaving you the only one standing.
You wiped the sweat out of your forehead with the back of your hand, sighing in relief. You were glad your traveling companion wasn’t petty enough—today—to hit you with the same force of Conqueror’s Haki as the poor Mykarosi folk have been subjugated to.
“Okie-doke, this should be enough to finally get the coordinations right,” you huffed, smoothing out all the wrinkles on your crisp clothing.
You pulled out the shepherd’s crook out of the golden knob with a wince—the job harder than it seemed—before closing the tiny opening to the small stone chamber.
The Krycian stone has been reduced to pinkish powder, a bit less effective as fuel, but still capable of harnessing the great mass of Conqueror’s Haki.
“Alright, the door’s ready. Hm. Something’s missing, though.” Your eyes lit up.
“Oh, right, the papers! Fate would’ve flayed me if I forgot them somewhere. Or not. Meh, won’t risk it.”
You reached out into the pockets of your trousers—a very elegant cut, the black fabric tailor-made to fit your figure like a second skin—and pulled out two yellowish papers, crumbling on the edges thanks to time and your adventures, yet they still remained mostly intact.
You stuffed the shepherd’s crook into your right pocket; it would’ve been embarrassing to lose your door key in a span of delirium and foolish giddiness.
You unfolded the papers, smoothing out the wrinkles before you started reading. You’ve probably already memorized the words inscribed upon the papers, but you still kept it on your person, just in case. Caution was important when you were a time traveler.
Hello, hello, hello!
I am VERY excited to play this little game with you, my dear! I know I was a tad bit UNFAIR towards you in your last LIFE, but no worries of your past will have to plague your mind any longer!
Anywho, I have prepared this very grand adventure, just for you, darlin'! I am sure you are a bit anxious about what AWAITS in this universe!
I searched through your Soul and figured out that the universe perfect for our game would, of course, be the One Piece universe! I am not truly familiar with this world, but you belong to THOSE who read both the silly comic books and watched that strange cartoon, so this must be one of your (if not the) favourites!
Besides, it was one of your biggest dreams to be able to meet your favourite One Piece characters, was it not? Not to mention your very own favourite~!
Fate’s minimalistic handwriting still made your head throb with fathom pain just like the first time you read these letters.
However, Fate’s words rang true. Ever since you were a little kid, you've kept dreaming of meeting the Straw Hats, of sailing on their ship and fighting by their side. You even had the black cross tattooed on the back of your hand when you managed to come of age.
Naturally, the more volumes you covered and the more episodes and arcs you skimmed through, more and more characters were added to your Wish To Meet list.
And there was this one particular character you admired the most—right beside Luffy, of course.
Red-Haired Shanks.
Despite being a part of the One Piece universe for so long, you still didn't really understand why Fate wanted you to meet him of all people, but she did make you feel a bit excited anyway. This was Shanks, after all.
You continued reading.
Well, to get to the point; your goal is to find and protect the wonder boy, WHO is the true starting point of your new life, otherwise this game can't truly begin!
Your main objectives in this world are:
1. Survive
2. Don't let the wonder boy die under any circumstances
3. You mustn’t allow anyone to get a hold on the yellow door, keep it safe
You stared at the sheet of paper with a slight frown as you re-read the objectives.
“Yeah, that should be easy enough,” you said.
You decided to move onto the second yellowish sheet of paper and continued reading.
Now, my dear, that you’ve read the objectives, time to move onto the rules of our game! I am positive you are just shaking from excitement! There aren't many rules to keep, but it would still displease me greatly if you were to CHEAT your way through.
Now, here are the seven rules you must follow. And I repeat; it would displease me greatly if you were to cheat, so don’t even think about it. Anywho:
1. Giving out your true name is strictly prohibited; death penalty is ensured
2. You mustn’t harm or kill any important characters to the main plot, unless this rule is going directly against your three main objectives
3. Keep the yellow door well fed and healthy all the time, if possible
4. Eating a devil fruit is strictly prohibited—I already installed counter measures into your new body if you tried to do so
5. You mustn't join any political fractions within the canon timeline, stay neutral
6. Search for the One Piece is strictly prohibited
7. Do not seek help from outer forces such as I or Death; this adventure is for you and you alone to enjoy
Good luck~♡
After finishing reading the second letter, you stuffed both papers back into your pockets.
You grabbed the golden knob with a shaky hand, the anticipation evident on your face. The knob kept turning to the left until a soft click could be heard from the other side of the door.
The DNA of the one who knocked, now forever imprinted in the wood, helped you to steer the time and direction of the door’s appearance and you prayed in your mind, begging Fate that this was finally it. The moment you’ll finally meet Shanks.
The yellow door swung open, and the remnants of Conqueror's Haki that still lingered within the door’s frame basked the other side of the time vortex with golden light.
Without looking back, you stepped through the yellow door, welcoming the unknown time and land with an excited look in your eyes and adventurous smile stretching your lips.
“Red-Haired Shanks, here I come!”
The repulsive, iron-ish scent of blood was the first thing that greeted you on the other side of the opened door, pulsing in your brain as a wave of nausea hit your stomach like a well-aimed punch.
The golden light that basked the land before you faded, and the beauty slowly withered away, revealing a picture that made your skin crawl.
Corpses of all gender and age littered the cobblestone-paved ground, their blood a feast for the dry soil underneath, their flesh soon to be ripped apart by scavengers and insects. It was a massacre, and whoever did that could only be named a heartless monster.
You looked around, the excitement and joy but a distant memory, replaced with a sombre mask of silence. This place could’ve as well been a market place, or a well-maintained plaza; the empty shops of all kinds and houses lined the space from both sides, the once colourful buildings seemed to fade into the equally dull background, as if all joy and life was sucked out of this place.
A shiver ran down your spine. This… very wrong place oozed with something frightening, something rotten. The hollowness that should not be here felt like standing within a cemetery.
This island was dead, but what was worse was that whatever or whoever killed its inhabitants and left the once grand place to fade into memory, was still here.
You could smell it and feel it in the air.
Expensive perfumes and powders mingled with the blood and rotting human flesh, the sickly sweetness numbing your brain to the point you almost fainted. This island reeked of unspeakable wealth, cruelty and bloodlust evident in the way the natives were killed.
Some deaths were messy and intentional to prolong their victim’s suffering. Others were cleaner, almost surgical, as if their bodies were sliced apart by a doctor. They all died screaming, you could see that on their pale faces, frozen in horror, dying in fear.
“Who… are you?” a weak voice called out.
You frantically turned around, eyes searching for the source of that faint noise and—there! Not too far from you, near the six very large corinthian-look alike-styled pillars laid a woman.
You hurried towards her, then knelt beside her form, helping her stand up on her wobbly feet.
She was a pretty young girl, this one. With long curls like molten gold neatly arranged, cascading down her back like a waterfall, her long fringe covering the right side of her face, only one eye, blue as an opal rimmed with red and blurry with unshed tears gazed into yours.
Her long pink dress was tattered and mud-stained at the edges, her puffy cuffs were torn to shreds. Looking closely, her dress was missing one silver button near the vast square-shaped collar (you dared not to look lower).
“Shh, it’ll be alright. I’m here now.” you hushed her softly, wrapping one am around her small shoulders, pulling her in a tight embrace.
You held her like that until her sobbing ceased completely, only a deep sorrow sculpted on her pouty lips and neatly-trimmed brow remained.
“What’s your name?” you asked, pulling away a bit.
“Se… Selene. Selene Gull.”
“It’s my greatest pleasure, Miss Gull,” you answered, before planting a gentlemanly kiss upon the back of her hand.
“Miss Gull, what happened here? No, a better question, where are we?”
Miss Gull’s one visible eye widened in dumbfounded shock, her confusion saying it all; “How can you not know that?” “Were you born yesterday?” etc.
Then, as if woken out of her stupor, the frightened girl answered: “This island’s named God Valley. Or was.”
Your stomach dropped. Now that you looked around, really looked around…Six corinthian-ish pillars, six wooden chests—and when you looked back at Miss Gull’s face…even she was oddly familiar to you.
Then it clicked.
“You are the blond girl, the one with the white hat! You stood closest to the King of God Valley as he died.”
Miss Gull’s one opal eye widened. She nodded weakly, her face ashened as she seemed to reminisce on that terrible memory.
“Are you… Did you really come through that door? Who are you and how did you do that? You are not one of them, are you?” The last question was voiced with the same amount of fear and fury.
You didn’t blame her, she has been through a lot in one day.
“No, I am not a Tenryuubito. I am… I travel. A lot. Yeah, I am a traveler. A hermit, if you will.”
You turned your head towards the six treasure chests basking in the sunlight, waiting for the Tournament's victor to claim them.
If this was truly God Valley, which no doubt it was, there was no true reason for Miss Gull to lie to you, then Shanks was a one-year-old baby hidden in one of those treasure chests.
And if the island hasn’t been turned into a battlefield, yet, then it means that the Rocks pirates, Roger pirates and Garp haven’t arrived. Yet.
Your hands balled into fists at the realization; Ginny, Kuma and Ivankov were here, children and still slaves and that the island swarmed with Tenryuubito, Holy Knights and one of the Gorosei; the most sadistic one, in your opinion.
“I hate you Fate. I hate you for putting me into these impossible-to-survive situations. I hate my life…” you kept muttering as you approached the white-grey pillars, the six treasure chests beckoning you to come closer with their invisible index fingers.
“What are you doing?” Miss Gull called out, her tone layered with annoyance, fear and curiosity. “You mustn’t touch those, they belong to the Tenryuubito!”
You picked up one, soundly ignoring the worried young girl who furiously stomped after you, the click-clack of her heels seemed just as angry.
It was the first chest from the left.
“Here, Miss Gull. Will you be kind enough to help me? They are quite heavy… heavier than I anticipated.”
Miss Gull sighed, her shoulders sagging in resignation before she grabbed the chest from the other side.
“One, two, three!” she counted before you lifted the chest in unison, carrying it and the treasure it might contain further away, before carefully putting it down with a heavy thud.
You slowly opened the lid of the first chest, your heart hammering against your ribcage with anticipation, a sliver of anxiety wetting your palms and forehead.
To your relief—and little disappointment—you only found a lofty amount of golden coins, gems and other fancy trinkets. No devil fruits or Shanks.
"Alright, another one."
The two of you picked up the first chest on the right, hoping for a different result. You only met with disappointment.
This one too was nothing but a hoard of coins and fancies.
“Oh, well. Not like it’ll be much of a loss,” you shrugged as you stuffed your pockets with a handful of Berri, and some shining emerald and saphire.
Miss Gull glared at you with disapproval. “Stealing is not honourable.”
“I am stealing from the very people who did this to your home,” I reminded her, nudging with my chin towards the corpses behind us. “How is stealing bad in comparison to their sins?”
Miss Gull pursed her pouty lips together, seemingly trying to come up with a good response, but only found herself speechless. She shook her head, her opal gaze settling on the remaining four chests.
“What are you even searching for?” she asked you, her voice strained as you took the next treasure chest from its pedestal, carrying it towards the other two.
“Treasure of the most special kind.”
You placed it down and slowly opened its lid, neither of you breathing, the atmosphere was thick with an air of mystery.
Your eyes widened in awe.
There in the chest laid the infamous Uo Uo No Mi.
"Kaidou's devil fruit," you whispered as your fingers brushed against the fruit's hard, sapphire swirls that reminded you of scales.
“I’ve never seen any devil fruit before,” sighed Miss Glum, “It’s… beautiful.”
With a frustrated hiss you pulled your hand away. You remembered the fourth rule. This fruit wasn't yours to claim and so you let it be, closing the lid with somber finality.
The next chest contained yet another devil fruit, the one Kuma will eat sooner than later. Needless to say, you returned the chest back upon its pedestal.
You moved onto the fifth chest.
You and Miss Gull lifted it up after counting to three. The golden-haired girl may not have looked like it, but boy, oh boy was she strong.
This particular treasure chest seemed twice as heavy then the rest.
The two of you carefully carried it towards the others, your mouth drying up from anticipation. This has to be it. This must be it. You were more than sure of it.
“Miss Gull, you must listen now, and listen very carefully.” you tilted your head towards the short woman, “This chest may contain a living human baby—”
—What?!” Miss Gull shrieked, but you silenced her with a raised hand.
—which was placed into this chest as one of the Tournament’s grand prizes.”
“And what will you do with it?”
“We will take the baby as far from here as possible. God Valley is already not the safest of places and I fear that something terrible will happen in an hour or so.”
You sucked a sharp breath through gritted teeth, before continuing with a low hiss: “And we have to be quick, for as far as I know, the baby’s father is on this very island as well.”
From the corner of your eye, you could see Miss Gull’s jaw clenching, opal eye flashing with a dark shadow.
“Are you implying,” she began, her voice low, “that the child’s father is a Tenryuubito?”
Her delicate hands balled into fists so hard her knuckles paled.
For a single moment, without shadow of doubt, you saw murder written on Miss Gull’s face as her arm slowly reached out towards the lid, her pupil blown wide in fury.
You caught her wrist before she could grab the chest and pull it away.
“The child is innocent!” you hissed, squeezing her wrist to the point her smooth skin bruised.
She didn’t even flinch as you did so.
“The child is a Tenryuubito, and among them live no innocent!”
“Miss Gull—Selene, please. He is just a child.”
“So were they!” she screamed, her hand whipping to point at the mass of bodies behind your back.
“Did the Tenryuubito show them any mercy? Look at them! Barely ten-years-old, barely teens! What kind of justice is this? To let the child of a war criminal live out its life to the fullest whilst their lives were spat upon?”
“Why is it that this filthy thing has the right to live whilst my niece was butchered like a pig for slaughter?!”
“You cannot blame the child for the sins of their parent, Miss Gull. The babe wouldn’t even remember this ever taking place, not if we take him away and raise him to be a kind person.”
“And you think that’s possible? To change its hideous nature into something worthy and deserving of being called ‘human’?”
“None of us are born evil, Miss Gull. It is our choices and decisions that shape our character, and only us who can walk down the path of our choosing.”
Your grip upon her wrist grew lighter.
“So, please, if you truly want a scapegoat to hurl all of your problems onto, choose any other Tenryuubito that actually participates in their hunt.”
Miss Gull’s bruised arm fell back against her side, whilst she wiped the angry tears that rolled down her flushed cheeks with the other.
“Very well. But I still don’t approve of this… idea of yours.”
Your focus fell once more upon the treasure chest before you.
‘This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. Okay, okay, I got this. Here. We. Go!’
Closing your eyes, your fingers wandered towards the lid, tracing the spirals and scars that marred the old wood.
"God, I don't even know what to say? You will be a baby, so you probably wouldn't understand much, if anything at all," you cracked a smile as something tight squeezed inside your chest.
You opened the lid, your eyes following after.
You and Miss Gull peeked into the chest. The golden-haired girl yelped in surprise as a pair of tiny arms stretched towards her.
“Aaw, he likes you already!”
And there he was; a chubby little thing, writhing and kicking as he laid upon a comfortable-looking cushion of rosy-pink silk. His round face was twisted in a toothless smile, his pointy nose scrunched in such an adorable manner.
“Hello, Shanks,” you cooed at the babe, one finger scratching the boy’s tummy.
That seemed to be the wrong move, because the second Shanks' eyes opened and got a really good look at who was around him, the red-haired babe started wailing, crocodile tears rolling down his freckled cheeks.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—! I'm so sorry! Please don't cry!" you immediately retreated your hand away from the chest, but even that didn't seem to shush Shanks down.
The worst only came soon after as Shanks—that little shit—decided to join in too and cry as loudly as possible.
"I hate you Fate, I hate you so, so much. Fuck this, fuck this—"
Miss Gull took the matter into her own hands. She grabbed the wailing babe into her arms, cradling it against her bosom with an odd gentleness, considering she wanted to straight up murder little Shanks.
She rocked him about, whilst humming a soft melody, which seemed to tune down the ceaseless shrill, until it simply sobbed in her arms.
You stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles left on your trousers and suit piece. You looked around—no one was there. Good. You still had some time left.
The golden knob still safeguarded the Krycian stone turned powder with remnants of Conqueror’s Haki lingering in there for at least one loop back. How far into the past or future, you didn’t know. Perhaps one or two centuries. Maybe more, or maybe less.
You glanced back at Miss Gull, who seemed by all means enamored by the once-more laughing baby boy.
The golden-haired girl slowly stood up, her skirt rustling after her as she strode towards you, one opal eye lingering on Shanks’ smiling face.
You smiled briefly at the sight, before grasping the golden knob into your free hand. You started twisting it to the left. This time, the soft click arrived a bit later than usual. You sighed, a bit annoyed, a bit relieved. Neither Miss Gull or Shanks seemed or cared to notice.
“You know. You never gave me your name,” said Miss Gull.
“Aye, I would like to know that as well,” called out a voice behind you.
You turned around, swift on your heel as your wide eyes met with the furious glare of Saint Figarland Garling.
Garling arrived towards the area he considered the source of the Haki outburst, but he wasn’t the first to do so. No, someone beat him to it.
He swiftly concealed his presence and hid behind an empty shop, a butcher’s house, to be precise.
From the corner he could see the back of his opponent, a fellow Holy Knight; Long, almost ink-black hair tied in a high pony tail, thick silver plates of armor and a large broadsword pressed against one of the Knight’s shoulders.
Garling clicked his tongue, brows knitting in a deep frown as he eyed the massive weapon. He recognized it as the legendary broadsword of House Sidereus, Dusk.
“Bella, that raven-haired minx,” Garling hissed.
Bellatrix Sidereus towered over a trembling human girl, who couldn't be older than twenty. They seemed to be… talking about something. The human girl, whom Garling recognized as the one who stood the nearest to the foolish King of God Valley, kept shaking her head, denying whatever accusations Bellatrix threw at her.
“She must be the one,” mused Garling, “Yet, I cannot feel even the slightest hint of Haki within her. What do you think, Shamrock?”
Garling glanced down at his sleeping son, his round, freckled face comfortably resting against his shoulder.
“Aye, you are right. The girl can’t be the one. Otherwise, she would have fought back already, and I can tell, I’ve already met at least one slave bearing Conqueror’s Haki. She fought… decently.”
Garling didn’t move, just stood there and watched as Bellatrix raised Dusk high above her head and charged at the rabbit.
“Oh, well, a couple of points lost. It isn’t such a tragedy I cannot live with—”
The yellow door—how come he hadn’t noticed the blasted door, so bright and jarring in the contrast with its glum surroundings!—swung open and the world was swallowed in golden light.
The she-knight didn’t even have time to scream as the blast of Conqueror’s Haki, possibly almost as powerful as his own, sent Bellatrix flying like a shooting star.
It was ironic, but Garling couldn’t help but feel a spark of pity for his comrade.
The rabbit on the other hand was simply thrown a few feet away from the yellow door, her consciousness still intact.
Garling’s mind recoiled with confusion.
‘She should’ve lost consciousness. Why is she still awake? The Conqueror’s Haki wasn’t hers, so why? Was it the door? But inanimate objects cannot have will on their own, unless the door ate a devil fruit.’
Garling’s rapid train of thoughts was halted as a person—not a rabbit or a slave, and certainly not a Tenryuubito—walked through the doorstep.
It was, or at least, it resembled a human being. Despite having a clear view of its face and body, he couldn’t truly place if the possible human was a woman or a man, their clothes and manners too neutral to truly place them one way or the other. Maybe it was neither.
From the left pocket of their long, black trousers with an elegant cut, they pulled out a… a black top head with white shawl wrapped around the base and placed it upon their head… Huh.
Garling raised a brow. That was… something.
They wore a shirt of white linen underneath a waist coat of black velvet that had thin, light-grey stripes upon it. The waist coat was buttoned up with two golden, diamond-shaped knobs.
They surveyed their surroundings with child-like excitement, but that quickly faded away, wonder and awe replaced with stone-cold silence. Grief radiated from them, Garling didn’t need to use his Observation Haki to know that.
Their head whipped towards the place where the young, golden-haired rabbit fell. They immediately hurried towards her and helped her stand up.
The two of them talked for a bit. They even pulled her in a comforting embrace, and Garling was not feeling a tiny stab of jealousy throbbing in his chest. That was beneath a god like him, thank you very much.
The golden-haired rabbit and the stranger glanced up at the six pillars, nay, the six treasure chest, and one of Garling’s gloved hands immediately shot towards his sheathed saber, fingers curling around the green pommel until his knuckles turned white.
‘If they find Shanks, there is no telling what these two might do to him.’
He cursed under his breath, watching as the two filthy little insects scavenged the chests. The top-hat put some coins in their very strange pockets—Garling was still unsure how that worked—clearly disinterested by the devil fruits and other nice trinkets. The golden-haired rabbit didn’t dare to take anything, her fingers nervously fisting her pink skirt.
The moment they opened the fifth chest and Shanks bright laugh echoed through the plaza, Garling stepped out from his cover.
His steps were silent despite wearing stiletto heels, his Haki still tightly concealed, so the top hat wearing person wouldn’t spot him.
Then, Shanks’ laughter turned into high-pitched shrill, tears leaking from his maroon eyes in large drops.
Garling stilled. Shamrock woke up, and was clearly in distress by the way he was wriggling in the makeshift sling. His eyes blurred with tears as he outstretched his tiny arms towards Shanks’ crying form.
Thank all heavens, Shamrock didn’t cry out. Thanks to his serene nature, he only let out soft hiccups, tears as large, if not larger than Shanks’, rolled down his freckled cheeks.
Garling focused his attention on his eldest son, rocking him in his arms, wiping those tears away with his thumb. He murmured soothing words against the crown of Shamrock’s hair, before planting a kiss upon the babe’s forehead.
Shanks’ crying seemed to grow silent as well. Garling glanced at his younger son—the two of them haven’t seen to have taken a note of his presence, yet.
The person with ambiguous gender walked towards the bizarre yellow door and started toying with the golden doorknob, before a soft click pierced through the silence.
“You know. You never gave me your name,” said the golden-haired rabbit, the little cockroach holding his son against her chest as if he were her own.
The audacity of humans… To claim a god like so. What repulsive little beasts they were!
“Aye, I would like to know that as well,” called out Garling, finally allowing his presence to be known.
They turned around, almost jumping from surprise, and Garling relished in the fear he brought upon them.
Wide, strangely curious eyes met with his own, and he looked as furious as he felt, because how dare they lay their hands on his child—
“Who are you,” Garling said through clenched teeth, before focusing his fury on the shorter woman, “And why is my son in your arms?"
She hid behind them, her small form cowering in fear under his righteous anger. Good. He wanted them to be afraid.
“Who are you and why is your hair like that?” the top hat wearing person arched their eyebrow, slowly eyeing him up and down.
“I asked first,” he scowled, lips curving into a sneer.
“Well,” they intoned sweetly, “I am older than you, so you have to answer me first."
“And how would you know that?”
“Look at you! You literally scream teenage angst! You probably didn't even hit puberty yet!” they snickered whilst approaching him, no fear or hesitation weighing down upon their spine, their step confident.
They had the gal to jab their finger into his chest. He slapped their hand away with a repulsive look in his eyes.
“Oi, watch it, Top Hat!” he snapped, nose scrunched in displeasure.
“Oi, watch it, Moon Boy!” they replied, mimicking his accent with a playful grin.
“It's Saint Figarland Garling to you, filth,” he said, one eye already twitching.
“Well, my name’s the Wanderer. Not a wanderer, but the Wanderer, the definite article so to speak. But you can just call me Wanderer, no need for the… the.”
They—the Wanderer, apparently—pointed behind them at the trembling wench that still held Shanks in her arms (how dare she!)
“And this is Miss Gull. She is my traveling companion!” They introduced her with a beaming smile.
The rabbit—Miss Gull, another ridiculous name—glanced at them, one blue eye wide with… something.
“I… I am? You want me to stay around and… and travel with you?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want!”
The golden-haired wench smiled shyly. “Yes, I would like that.”
"Your parents couldn’t have possibly loved you very much, naming you in such a way."
"Says a man who is named after a vegetable," they flashed him a sweet smile, but that smile froze on their face as their gaze settled upon Shamrock.
Something briefly flickered in the Wanderer’s eyes, the false smile slowly dropping into a blank look, their gaze still upon Shamrock’s curious face.
“I take it you would like your son back,” they hummed.
“Obviously,” replied Garling, eyes narrowed.
They looked from Shanks and Shamrock, and back and forth, as if still unbelieving that the two babes are two different people. It would’ve been amusing if Shanks wasn’t a possible hostage.
“Well, I can't really do that, not yet anyway. Besides, we already have one big problem brewing up, and I bet it’ll take for the Rocks pirates about an hour, maybe less, ‘till they arrive.”
Garling’s eyes grew wide in disbelief.
“Rocks pirates? Here? What are you talking about? There is absolutely no way for them to know our location!”
“Amongst the rabbits, the most special ones—”
“—Super-Rare Rabbits—” Garling corrected.
“—Aye, them. Well, amongst them, there is this one slave, and she is really good with Den Den Mushi technology, which will be then used to leak out the signal that attracts all nearby ships and reveal this island’s location.”
“And how would you know that?” asked Garling, before slowly unsheathing his saber, “Unless you are one of the pirates yourself.
The Wanderer shook their head.
“Me? I don’t think I’d make a good pirate, or maybe I would, I can’t tell, but no, no! I am not a pirate! I am, as you could’ve guessed from my name, a traveler.”
Garling regarded them warrily. “A traveler? Really? Am I supposed to believe such blatant lies?”
“Alright, fine, fine. I am a time traveler.”
“That sounds even more absurd! Oh, let me guess, the ugly yellow door—”
“—Do not insult my door!—” the Wanderer snapped.
“—is your time traveling machine?” Garling scoffed.
“Yes!” they threw up their hands in frustration.
“Prove it, then. Convince me and perhaps I’ll let you live.”
“How? And if you ask me to 'tell you your future' or some similar nonsense, I’ll throw you into the sea.”
Garling seemed to consider their offer, if only for Shanks’ sake.
Oh, he had no doubts he could carve through the two of them like cutting a cake. Yet to see Shanks so calm in the arms of people who are not Garling is… rare. Not impossible, no, but rare.
Shanks trusts the golden-haired wench, which shouldn’t truly mean anything, he is, after all, a one-year-old babe, but he does have a good sense to already tell the difference between a good and bad person.
And despite being a rabbit, the wench seemed to gain his trust. For now, anyway.
‘If what they are saying is true and the Rocks pirates will soon invade this island then it would be foolish of me to keep my children here.’
“I want you to… take me and my children through this time traveling machine of yours.”
“Ooh! An adventure!”
“…Aye, an adventure.”
“But Wanderer! He is a Tenryuubito! How can you even think of trusting one of those bastards!” the wench cried out, her usually soft-spoken voice entwined with steadily growing wrath and disgust.
“He’ll probably stab us in the back the moment we turn around!
Garling opened his mouth to retort, but the Wanderer beat him to it, their hand already fumbling with the golden doorknob.
“Nah, he won’t. We have his kid and he wouldn’t risk Shanks’ life like that. And if he did, well…” The Wander smiled, sharp and dangerous, letting the implications hang in the air.
Ruthless, if nothing else, Garling had to approve of the Wanderer’s mindset.
They weren’t wrong, though, he would’ve tried, but with Shanks posing as a hostage—even if he was the spare—he was still a Figarland, and to be able hold a Figarland hostage—and right in front of Garling whose hands were more or less tied—was by far the most humiliating feeling he’d ever endured.
The Wanderer opened the door, and once more the silent plaza of God Valley island was swallowed in rays of bright golden light.
And then he heard it.
The soft hum and thrumming, like a heartbeat, yet the rhythm was wild, barely coordinated. It called out to him, beckoning Garling to get closer, to reach out and fall into its embrace—
“And now…” the Wanderer waggled their eyebrows at Garling and the wench.
They spun him around, their arm now coiled around his waist like a serpent.
“Now that is skinny! That is proper skinny!” they laughed out loud, boisterous and carefree.
Garling’s face turned the same shade of red as his children’s hair.
Then, the Wanderer grabbed the wench by her shoulder and pulled her against them.
The Wanderer glanced at two of them, eyes blazing with mischief that promised lots of trouble.
“What are you doing?” he yelled in frustration, not even bothering to slap their hand away this time.
“Taking us on an epic journey through all timelines of this universe!” the Wanderer yelled back, excitement slurring the end of their words.
“Wanderer, what’s happening?!” screeched out the wench, tucking Shanks’ head under her chin.
The three of them started walking backwards—no, they weren’t walking, they were being pulled into the golden opening within the door. Pulled into its living light like being sucked into a black hole.
“What?! How—” the Wanderer cut Garling off with a wicked grin.
“Oi, Moon Boy! Say 'Allons-y!'”
The air and dust swirled faster and faster and the ruby shone brighter and brighter.
“Stop calling me that, you little…!” he screamed, trying to out-shout the wind that grazed his ears.
The dust, fallen leaves and even small rocks rose and swirled around them and that blasted door like a tornado, its spin growing faster and faster, the noise like a roar, or a howl of a mighty beast, drowning out all and every other noise.
“Just say it!” the Wanderer urged him.
Garling groaned in frustration, but he complied.
“Allons-y!”
“You too, Miss Gull!”
“A… Allons-y!”
“ALLONS-Y!”
The Wanderer leapt into the glowing light, laughing.
Garling screamed as his body was plunged into the thrumming liquid heat, and all he knew was darkness.