Chapter Text
The day Roronoa Zoro left, the village celebrated.
People laughed.
Children chased one another down the dirt roads.
Someone wished him luck.
Someone else joked he'd get lost before he ever found the sea.
You laughed too.
You had to.
Because if you didn't...
"...You'll come back, right?" you asked quietly.
Zoro adjusted one of the swords at his hip.
"Yeah."
"...Promise?"
"...Yeah."
He wasn't good with words.
Never had been.
But when he made a promise, he meant it.
You smiled.
"I'll hold you to it."
He rolled his eyes.
"As if you'd let me forget."
For just a second...
...everything felt normal.
Then he walked away.
You watched until he disappeared over the hill.
You didn't know it then...
...but that was the last time you would ever see the boy you grew up with.
The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when someone knocked on your door.
Your heart leapt.
"Zoro forgot something?"
It wasn't him.
Instead...
Footsteps.
Too many.
A smile that showed far too many teeth.
"You live alone now... don't you?" A voice spoke in the shadows. Your breath caught in your throat. Before you had any time to react one of the men grabbed your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point. Suddenly, it felt like there was fire in your body instead of blood. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out. You collapsed to your knees, blood dripping down your neck…from two circular bite marks. Your breath faltered as you looked up at the men. The one who attacked you wiped your blood off his mouth and onto his sleeve. “See you soon, Kira” was the last thing you heard before the footsteps faded back into the shadows. You screamed again, and this time, it was audible. “ZORO!” You shrieked, desperately trying to wipe the blood off of you as you heard your neighbors run to your house, seeing you covered in your own blood. Your vision blurred as people helped you up, scattered outside looking for the people, or, rather the supernaturals, who hurt you. Someone, you couldn’t pinpoint it, but you guessed a classmate, bandaged your wounds, and every time something silver got near you, like the mayor’s watch or a grandmother’s ring, you flinched.
That was six years ago