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It was the night before their big day and the two heirs of the Figarland family were pulling their sleeping robes over their heads and climbing into their shared bed.
While Shamrock blew out his candles and wrapped himself up under his side of the heavy blanket, his brother Shanks sat at the edge and kicked his legs in the air, restlessly. The older twin watched him for a bit, before he groaned and sat up again as well.
"What's wrong, Shanks? We should sleep, it's late," he reminded his sibling sternly.
"How can you even think of sleeping? It's our birthday tomorrow! I wonder what we’re gonna get! Oh, what if it's something really awesome like a dragon?" He happily rambled on, smiling brightly at his concerned brother.
"Father wouldn’t trust you with a dragon," Shamrock stated plainly and Shanks pouted at him.
"He wouldn’t trust you with a dragon either," he teased back.
Shamrock easily took the bait, feeling provoked he tried shoving Shanks off the bed, but the other boy quickly fought back and soon they were wrestling on their mattress. They kept switching up who was on top of the other, their frowns soon turning into laughter, forgetting what time of day it was. Once they were both out of breath, Shamrock climbed off his brother and gazed out at the moon and stars shining down on the Red Line.
"Is it my turn now to ask what’s wrong?" Shanks chuckled quietly and nudged Shams with his shoulder.
He hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with his hands like he always did when something was weighing heavy on the seven year old's shoulders. His brother's big eyes were hard to ignore, blinking at him with an earnest curiosity that could make the toughest criminal yield and reveal it all.
"It's … about tomorrow," Shamrock began and Shanks shuffled closer to him, "You know how father asks us every year what we want to have for breakfast? And we can pick anything? Even sweets? Well, I wanted to ask for a chocolate cake, but I didn’t want him to think I'm childish, so I kept quiet."
Shanks sighed and shook his head.
"Father didn’t even ask me what I'd want," he replied and crossed his arms. Now they were both upset.
Their father was an extraordinarily busy man, as the Captain of the Knights of God it was his duty to protect the holy land from the evil around them. There was no time for listening to his children beg him for all sorts of delicacies or their nonsensical wishes.
"Do you think he forgot?" Shamrock said and sniffled, a sob threatened to escape him but he silenced it before it left his lips.
"Hm, well, even if he did- I'm going to ask for a chocolate cake tomorrow! So you don’t have to feel bad about it," Shanks offered and grinned, upon seeing Shams' worried face he added: "I promise I won’t eat it all up!"
"Then I will ask for your favorite," Shamrock agreed, "That way we can just trade as soon as father leaves for work!"
The twins nodded at each other eagerly. Satisfied with their plan and hopeful that Garling would remember the tradition on the next morning, they crawled under the blanket. Just as Shamrock opened his mouth to whisper a good night to his younger brother, he heard a pair of foot steps approaching.
To their surprise, it turned out to be their father. Garling opened the door and poked his head into the dark room. The moon shone bright enough onto their bed that he could clearly see his twins staring back at him. He clicked his tongue in displeasure, but his anger swiftly disappeared. He walked over to the bed and sat down, lifting his cape so it didn’t crumble.
"Sons," his strict voice let them perk up like trained dogs, "Before I forget, what's your wish for tomorrow’s breakfast?"
Neither of the twins said a word, they nervously looked back and forth at each other until Shanks found his courage.
"A chocolate cake! With lots of sauce on top," he told their father, but in the old man's eyes he saw a glimmer of doubt — had he already caught onto his lie? Quick, he needed to salvage this.
"Uhm, with bananas too, lots of them," he blurted out, much to Shamrock's dismay.
The older twin despised bananas, and now his birthday cake would be ruined by their wretched taste! It was hard not to cry right then and there. He bit his lip and waited for it to be his turn. Father stared Shanks down for what felt like a small eternity. Then, at last, he released him and his sharp eyes fell on Shamrock.
"And you?" Garling asked and cocked an eyebrow.
"Fried rice … with uh, kimchi," he stammered.
"Interesting," father hummed and let his boys suffer in silence for just a while longer, eventually his unmoving face let the smallest smile peek through, "Now rest, I don’t wish to hear another word from you."
Though their father never spoke with much softness to his tone, he did extend his hands and patted the boys on their heads. A gesture that excited Shamrock more than anything and left Shanks feeling uneasy. He didn’t dare to say it, but surely Garling knew his eldest hadn’t suddenly developed a love for spicy food.
"Night, papa," Shanks whispered and Shamrock hushed at him to keep quiet.
Father pulled the blanket over them just a bit further before he walked back to the door and closed it slowly, leaving a tiny gap open so the faint light of the chandelier hanging from the hallway's ceiling gave the twins some comfort. His foot steps echoed through the empty manor until their steady rhythm lured the boys to sleep.
[ … ]
"Shamrock, wake up! Wake up!" Shanks squealed as he shook his brother and the entire bed along with him.
Shamrock groaned and fought Shanks off with his eyes barely open yet.
"Yeah, yeah I'm awake! Stop that!" He hissed at him and his twin finally ceased his attack.
"It's our birthday! We’re big boys now!" He called out with his arms stretched high, surely he had been loud enough for all of the servants inside and outside of the manor to hear.
"You have a long way to go until you’re 'big'," the eldest mumbled to himself as he climbed out of bed.
"Huh?" Shanks followed suit and tossed his sleeping robes aside.
"Nothing," Shamrock replied, "Let's get dressed before we rush downstairs."
The twins looked through their large closet to each pick out an outfit that felt appropriate to them for such a special occasion. While father didn’t like throwing birthday parties like many of the other nobles, he did expect them to treat the day with dignity and pride — as was befitting for a Figarland.
Frilly blouses with high collars and long sleeves were terrible for playing in the garden, so Shanks avoided them at all costs, today he unfortunately couldn’t wear a simple shirt. He grabbed one that matched the blouse Shamrock was already buttoning up. Shanks struggled a lot more with the buttons and waited for his brother to help.
"Not so big now, are you?" Shams teased as he expertly slid each button through the holes, leaving Shanks quite impressed.
"Thank you," he said and hurriedly pulled a pair of high waisted, black shorts over his thighs.
In their matching outfits the boys almost looked like dolls, except for their hair which had yet to be tamed. Shamrock ran to the door, eager to call their personal slaves, but Shanks grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
" … can you brush my hair? Martha always hurts me when she does it," he confessed, his big puppy eyes doing wonders to make his brother relent.
"Fiiiine! But don’t you dare fidget around," he agreed reluctantly.
Shanks sat down at their vanity while Shamrock detangled the red mess of hair atop his head and even finished off his work with a small braid. Meanwhile, Shanks listed off all the gifts that he hoped to get. Despite already having most of what a child could ask for, there was always something that seemed unattainable.
"All done," Shamrock announced proudly and put his hands on his hips.
Shanks jumped out of the chair, having sat still for too long he was eager to get all his energy out by running through the room and jumping across the bed like he had gone mad. With an eye roll and an overly dramatic sigh, Shamrock ignored his sibling's shenanigans and fixed his own hair, braiding it just like Shanks'.
All dressed up and looking proper, the brothers entered the long hallway of the second floor, which housed not only their bed room, but also a few salons for guests and a dance room. They heard the commotion of the slaves preparing breakfast downstairs and leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse of the maids carrying silver trays into the dining room.
"I bet one of them is my cake," Shanks giggled.
"You mean, my cake?" He snapped back.
Instead of an answer or apology, Shanks climbed on the railing and began sliding downstairs, much to Shamrock's distress. The last thing they needed on their birthday was a broken neck or a sprained ankle! He ran after him, skipping a few steps with quick jumps to catch up to Shanks just in time for them to arrive in front of the dining hall.
It seemed that father wasn’t inside yet, meaning he was still in his private chambers … it couldn’t hurt to use that opportunity to explore a bit, right? At least Shanks seemed to think so. He dodged the maids arranging the buffet and headed to the living room, the one with the big fireplace and the couch father liked to rest on after work.
"Shanks! Get back here!" Shamrock yelled in a whisper, but his efforts were in vain, once his brother had sniffed out something interesting, he became an unstoppable force of nature. "Oh, you really wants us to be in trouble!"
"Nuh uh, just checking if my dragon is there," he answered cheekily and stuck out his tongue.
There was no dragon to be found in the living room, but instead the boys were frozen at the sight of a hundred and a dozen more presents all wrapped in colorful paper. They were all piled up in the middle of the room, it was more than they had ever received on Christmas or other Celestial holidays. Father didn’t believe in spoiling them, so he never got them each more than two gifts … but this — this couldn’t all have come from him.
Shamrock snuck around the pile as if it was a trap. Shanks picked up one of the boxes and shook it, upon hearing a pleasant jingle coming from the inside, he could hardly contain the urge to tear it open.
" … do you think we can unwrap them? I mean, they must be for us," Shanks thought out loud and picked up another present.
"Surely not before breakfast!" He insisted. "And if they’re for us, who brought them here?"
Shanks shrugged, he was more curious about what was inside of them than finding out what mysterious figure had snuck into their manor.
"Opening one won’t hurt," he decided and pulled the bow open.
"Shanks, wait!"
[ … ]
Saint Garling made his way to the dining room with an unfinished mission report in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. As usual he had woken up with a mild headache and he feared it could only get worse when he saw one of his servants rushing towards him in the hall.
The mousy woman bowed before him and squeaked.
"My deepest apologies, Saint Garling, but last night members of your family insisted on dropping a few presents for the heirs at your door and … we couldn’t convince them to leave until we brought them inside," she explained, her nervousness causing her to stutter.
Ah, there it was, his migraine took a sudden hold of his mind and he couldn’t even enjoy his wine anymore, nor decipher the report.
"These insufferable vermin," Garling growled and let his wine glass shatter on the floor, two slaves hurried to clean it but he scared them off with his eyes alone, "Dispose of the gifts, now! Before my boys get a hold of them."
The servant turned her ugly little head and seemed to be on the verge of tears, it was tiring to handle these poor-willed people. He was about to yell at her when he heard the twins' voices coming from the living room.
"Where are the presents now?" Garling asked, staring off into the distance.
" … the living room, master."
Garling cast his report aside and marched off to interrupt his sons playing with toys they didn’t need and perhaps even sweets that would only ruin their diet! The other side of the Figarland bloodline was terribly rude and relentless in their pursuits to spoil his heirs rotten. He already gave them everything they needed. A small treat and a single, important gift were more than enough. Not all this useless nonsense that'd end up broken anyways.
He was determined to pull his sons away from the gifts and scold them, but when he looked through the door crack and saw Shanks laughing as he ran around with a wooden seagull in his hand and his twin was attempting to catch him — the sight moved his heart. His boys, clever as they were, noticed his presence lingering at the door and turned their shock-filled faces towards him.
"Father … we-," Shamrock spoke up first, walking to stand in front of Shanks like one wolf pup protecting the other. Garling had raised them well.
"Spare me the excuses," he told them and he could watch the joy fade from their eyes, "None of these presents are from me, your tactless relatives have forced them upon us. That said … you may keep them."
The twins perked up at that, their smiles returning.
" … for a day," he added and they both pouted, which amused him greatly.
Garling bent down and gestured for the twins to come closer. He put his hands on their shoulders and squeezed them, hard enough for Shamrock to flinch at the sudden pain.
"I do have a surprise prepared for you, now that you’re eight years old, I believe you’re ready for it … after breakfast."
Garling ushered the boys out of the room and towards the dining hall, they could barely contain their excitement and for once he didn’t feel like shutting their mood down. They could go back to training hard tomorrow. Once they were inside, Shamrock hesitated to sit down in front of his fried rice, Shanks on the other hand appeared much happier.
He was about to order them to quit their farce and switch places, he had known they were lying about the food since last night, but again their peace was disrupted.
"Saint Garling, a call from the Supreme," the maid informed him and he left the twins alone to take care of it.
"Garling!" The snail barked at him and he held it as far as possible away from his ears, "Where is your report from your last mission?! Everyone has handed theirs in except for you! I expect better of someone eager to take my position!"
The only thing keeping Garling calm was standing by the door and watching his boys wait for him at the table. As harsh and sometimes even cold of a father as he could be, the twins were his everything. His only family whom he considered worthy of his attention. He had created them in his perfect image — the most beautiful and smartest boys in all of the holy land.
"Garling? Are you listening to me?" The Supreme complained through the snail, his grating voice pulled Garling from his thoughts, but he came to an unusual conclusion.
"The report will be done by tonight, and if not, do me a favor and send me a hawk instead of a call," he told his superior and hung up on him.
Finally, he could breathe. He handed the snail to a servant and urged them to take the phone as far away from him as possible. No one was allowed to interrupt them now. It was him and his boys, as it should be.
[ … ]
Shanks and Shamrock looked up from their food, clearly distressed. Most days father disappeared before they could even take a single bite together as a family. They hadn’t expected him to finish his call so quickly, let alone that Garling would sit with them without correcting their posture.
"Not feeling hungry?" Father asked as he picked the caviar from from the top of a roasted oyster.
Shamrock tried to avoid locking eyes with him at all costs, instead he stared his kimchi and rice down as if it had personally offended him. The hot spices burned his nostrils just from breathing them in, he had always been sensitive. He looked over to his twin, who had a hard time not indulging in the cake he had managed to ruin with those gross fruits on top. Their lies had forced them into a corner once more — it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time.
"Shamrock?" Garling said sternly and the boy immediately began to tear up, nervously kicking his legs under the table.
With a deep sigh their father grabbed Shanks' plate just in time before he could dig in and shoved it in front of the older twin. Then he took away his rice and gave it to the younger boy.
"If you wish to deceit your enemy, you should always be expecting the unexpected," he lectured them and continued to eat, leaving the boys both perplexed and relieved.
"Yes, sir," Shamrock answered, throwing Shanks a look to do the same but he just rolled his eyes and ate his breakfast.
The three of them enjoyed an unusual morning together. Father didn’t seem upset or in a bad mood at all, he didn’t even read through any reports or distract himself in any other way. All his attention was on the buffet the maids were carrying in and out as he finished his meal plate after plate and talking to his sons, more than he had done in the past week.
Shanks worried what this sudden change in behavior meant. Was father planning something nefarious? Did he only play nice to punish them harder later on?
Shamrock struggled to eat his cake at an acceptably slow pace without looking like a starved pig, he cut each piece into a dozen smaller pieces and picked them up one by one with a golden fork. He avoided the bananas on top as best as he could, fortunately they didn’t ruin most of the chocolate. The sweet taste let him forget all about his suspicions of what father was planning. He spent so much of his life worrying, he allowed himself this moment of pure indulgence.
With chocolate smeared all over his lips, Shamrock sighed happily and leaned back in his chair. That's when he finally locked eyes with Garling, who regarded him sharply, then smiled and leaned forward to wipe the chocolate off his lips.
"I take it you enjoyed that?" He asked and Shamrock nodded.
"Very much, sir!" He replied eagerly.
"My rice was good too!" Shanks chimed in, rubbing his stomach.
All good things had to come to an end. The twins feared for the worst when father's chair scratched over the marble floor and he rose to his full height. He clapped his hands together and the lazy grin on his face could have been an indicator for a terrible plan or—
"It's time for your gifts, the ones I have chosen for you to bear."
The twins followed their father, holding each other's hand to ease their anxiety. To their dismay they quickly passed the living room, their fear only amplified when they headed for the staircase leading to the dungeons of the manor. Luckily their destination wasn’t the prison, but the armory.
The armory was a dark, dimly lit room entirely made up of stone walls that were incredibly cold. Shanks pressed his body closer to Shamrock's, who wrapped his arm around him because he knew how easily his brother froze.
The walls were decorated with ancient weapons and stolen relics from the underworld, from the floor to the ceiling swords, bows, axes and even katanas waited for their time to be used again. Father kept them as trophies. Memories of his past triumphs stored away in the depths of the dungeons to keep them safe from thieves.
The boys had been down here a few times to listen to father tell them grand stories about how he and grandfather had hunted down some of the last remaining Lunarians, or how they slayed many kings of kingdoms who refused to yield to the world government. Shanks and Shamrock didn’t understand much about politics or what happened in the underworld, but in their innocent eyes father was a hero.
Garling lead them to a large chest that was securely locked. He opened it with a big key and the twins' eyes sparkled with curiosity. Shanks shoved Shamrock to the side to get a better look, only for the older sibling to shove him back and earn them both a silent glare from their father. They stopped and watched with bated breath as the chest opened and revealed two long bags.
Father lifted them out of their dark prison and handed the red bag to Shamrock while giving the green one to Shanks. Whatever was inside of them — they were heavy, too heavy for the boys to properly hold them.
Garling got on one knee in front of them and cupped both of their chins with his hands.
"My boys," he spoke very fondly, "I have saved these blades for you since your great, great, great grandfather and his brother wielded them in an ancient war. They are twin blades, forged in flames long forgotten and created with the sole purpose to be used together in battle. When you become knights you will be fighting side by side, not as two soldiers, but as one. Do you understand?"
They hesitated. Upon hearing father's words their bags felt even heavier. Shamrock was the first to nod, Shanks followed suit and tried unraveling his blade.
"Go ahead, open them. Look at your weapons, listen to them speak to you," he ominously told them.
Shanks opened the bag and pulled out a saber with a golden knuckle guard and a handle wrapped in a green ribbon. He grabbed onto the handle and held it up, careful not to point it at his brother or father. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was how the sword would be talking to him — that wasn’t something they had learned during their training. He pressed his ear to the cold steel of the blade and waited for something to happen.
"Shanks?" Shamrock whispered as he revealed his own blade, identical in every way except for the golden band.
"It's not saying anything," Shanks mumbled with a pout and looked up at his father for some guidance.
Garling scoffed and drew his own blade, unsheathing it to show it off to his twins.
"Every sword with a devil living inside of it has a name, one that the blade will reveal to you if it deems you worthy," he explained and pointed the tip of his blade at Shanks, "Fenrir whispers to me in battle, that's how I knew his name before I even unleashed the beast living inside of the steel."
Fascinated by that, Shanks tried listening to his sword again.
"What's your name?" He spoke quietly, only to be met with silence.
"I can’t hear anything either," Shamrock said, sounding a bit defeated, worried that father would take their swords away.
"Ah, in that case we must go outside and you two will test your blades. Then they might open up and speak to you," he decided.
[ … ]
With great anticipation the Figarland twins entered the fenced off training area inside of the courtyard. Each of them held their respective blade, the ones their father was sure they were destined to wield. In his eyes, they had been born for these swords. Why else had fate blessed him with two precious heirs instead of one?
The blades were forged for them and the twins were bred for the blades. Finally it all came together, years of hard training and shaping his boys into suitable blades of God lead up to this very moment.
The wind blew through their red hair, loosing their breads as they tried to control their breath and get into a proper battle stance.
Garling looked upon his boys and remembered his first time proving his father that he deserved to inherit Fenrir from him.
"Begin," he called out and the twins obeyed.
Shanks landed the first hit, causing his brother to stumble backwards and nearly fall, but Shamrock regained his balance and struck back twice as hard. It was only meant to be a friendly sparring session to awaken the devil fruits inside their blades after being forced into a deep slumber for many decades. That didn’t mean they would hold back.
Like wolf pups practicing their hunting skills, the the twins bared their teeth and growled at one another during the fight. Their blades slashed through the air faster than the eye could see, for their ages the Figarland heirs were exceptional. Garling had to utilize his observation haki to keep track of how many hits they were landing and blocking.
Shanks jumped on top of the fence and pointed his blade directly downwards, aiming for his brother's chest. Garling fought the urge to intervene, it was typical of his youngest to act so reckless, but he couldn’t stop them now.
Shamrock quickly shifted into a defensive position, the fear of death flickering in his eyes.
"Gryphon!" Shanks screamed, his words were followed by the shriek of a large beast that emerged from his sword like a shadow.
"Cerberus!" Shamrock yelled back as if he answered his brother's call. A second beast, much larger and its shadow darker, jumped out.
Their blades clashed, creating enough friction to send sparks flying around them. The Gryphon and the Cerberus were at each other's throats, not fully manifested yet, their ghosts only briefly fought before disappearing into thin air as the boys ended their duel.
"Did- did you see that?" Shanks stuttered and stared at his blade in awe. "Gryphon! Her name is Gryphon!" He laughed and held the blade high up in the air.
Shamrock was a bit more reserved, but his joy was written all over his face.
"Cerberus sounds pretty cool," he said and admired his weapon.
Garling clapped and jumped over the fence. He pulled his boys into a tight hug, which surprised them enough to freeze up in his hold. He patted their heads until their neatly done hair was all messed up.
"That's my boys, I knew you were worthy," he praised them which made both of their faces light up with pride.
"She talked to me, father! Just like you said," Shanks exclaimed.
"That means she wishes to be your blade, for the rest of your life, but be careful - if you don’t take good care of Gryphon, she won’t obey you," he taught him.
Shanks seemed more than ready for the challenge and pulled himself free from the hug to swing his new blade around. Shamrock remained exactly where he was, soaking up his father's attention as much as he could, because deep down he knew Garling would be busy again tomorrow.
"Cerberus is growling at me," he mumbled and tugged on father's uniform.
"Hm, well, in that case you should train more and tire him out," Garling suggested and patted his shoulder, "Go on, challenge your brother to another round. We do have all day!"
Their eighth birthday turned out to be the happiest one the twins would ever have. Unaware of the terror that awaited them later on in life, they played with their swords and screamed with laughter until the sun went down. At night, father sat with them on the couch and told them stories of his hunts while the twins were allowed to cuddle up to him. Everything was truly perfect, if only for a moment.