Chapter Text
He saw her move through the air in slow motion, as if the world had stopped around him.
Looking up at her from the bottom of the stairs, all he could see was her. Everything else had faded away.
Her hand was reaching forward towards him, grabbing at nothing. Her short hair tumbled in the air, her eyes wide in fear.
His eyes met hers. She was getting closer and closer.
As she reached him, he tried to catch her, but she was intangible, slipping through his hands as everything went black.
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When Zoro opened his eyes, she, Kuina, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his Sensei was standing in front of him with eyes empty, his expression hard.
“Kuina’s dead. She fell down the stairs, broke her neck”, he told Zoro.
A piece of him tore, leaving a jagged hole. A piece of him that he would never get back. An emptiness that would not be filled ever again.
He forgot to breathe. NO! She can’t be dead. What about our promise?
Dark sports started pricking behind his eyes, filling his vision. As they grew everything went black again.
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He was standing in front of her grave. The burial was in progress.
It’s on me now. Your death will not be in vain. I will honour our promise for the both of us, for you…
His breath caught in his chest. He could feel prickling behind his eyes as tears that he would never allow to fall threatened.
A darkness entered his vision, growing until it encompassed everything.
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A white hilt with woven details. His eyes continued down the blade, carefully following the beautiful pattern of the tempered steel of the katana.
“Sensei, please let me have her sword!”, Zoro was on his knees, begging.
“The Wado ichimonji is a very special sword, Zoro. Why would I let you have it?”
“We made a promise. We would compete everyday, until one of us had become the worlds greatest swordsman. Now it’s on me. I want the Wado ichimonji to be there as I honour our promise. Then a part of her will be with me when I reach that goal. I need to do this. For her. For us.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, fire burned in his eyes as he loudly proclaimed, “I’m going to become a great master swordsman that my name will be known even in heaven! I’ll have to keep the promise for the both of us.”
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Pain. Resignation. Worry.
Blood was streaming out of the large open slash wound spanning all of his chest. It coloured the water that surrounded him.
I’m not strong enough. What if I die here now? I did not fulfil our promise yet. I cannot die like this. It is not time yet. I have to be stronger. For her. For us.
As he drifted out of consciousness, one last thought echoed through his mind, 'If I survive this, I will become stronger. The strongest.'
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Someone had brought him out of the water.
The contrast between the enveloping pressure of the water and the chilling gusts of wind briefly roused him.
The Wado ichimonji was still in his hand.
He had been grabbing with all the strength and determination that he possessed. Even as he had fallen in the sea, fallen unconscious and being dragged back onto the restaurant ship.
His two unnamed blades had been broken in more pieces than he could count. But the Wado ichimonji had stayed whole.
As his eyes had found the white hilt, following the length of the blade, he had let out the breath he had been holding. The blade had been intact. Barely a scuff to the beautiful steel. If it had been broken beyond repair, he did not know what he would have done.
Over the years, the sword had brought him both strength and resolve. Helped him get through the grief, keep it from consuming him.
Deep down, he believed that he had brought the blade strength in turn, as it too grieved Kuina. With his fight for their shared promise like a last memento of her that he had given and would continue to give the sword.
His and Wado's mutual grief had built a connection of trust and belonging. He felt more deeply connected with that blade than anything, or even anyone, in the world. It was the most precious thing in all of his life.
Now, feeling the familiar hilt in his closed fist, it brought him strength. He would survive. He would get stronger. He would spend every free moment working toward their dream. He would do it. He would not let her down. Not let Wado ichimonji down. Honour her memory.
Gathering his last traces of strength, he yelled out, “I will never lose again! From now to the day I beat him to become the greatest swordsman I will never…LOSE AGAIN!”
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Pain. So much pain. He was on the floor, close to passing out. He was sure his wound had opened again, but that did not matter now. He was not going to lose.
“They call me Hachi of the six-sword style! Did you know that?”
He gritted his teeth and got back up.
“Six-sword style? Sounds silly”, Zoro retorted with more nonchalance than he was feeling. He gathered a slow breath before yelling “Listen up octopus! There’s a man I have to meet and until I see him again… NO ONE CAN TAKE MY LIFE!”
The pain was close to unbearable, but this spurred him on. If he could not fight through this pain, overcome this obstacle. Then he was not worthy of her, her sword, their dream. He needed to come out on top.
Without taking his eyes of the octopus-man, he yelled “Yusaku, Johnny, your swords! Now I’ll show you the three-sword style.”
Even in his near delirious state, he was aware that he could not defeat this man fast enough with the single sword. And, if this fight drew out much longer, it would be his end.
He tied his bandana to his head. He took a slow breath to steady himself. He was shaking from his fever rising and his awareness was fading.
He sensed the two swords sailing towards him and the world slowed down. He closed his eyes, feeling the movements of the two swords coming towards him as if they were the only things that existed in the world. He could sense their trajectories. He instinctively knew where the handles would be when they reached him.
He centred himself, already mentally preparing for his attack. His hands reached out to grab the hilts and as soon as they made contact, his attack began.
“Three-sword style: Streaming world-swords!”, he called out as the attack connected moving past the octopus, deflecting his attack.
When the octopus attacked him again, he blocked the swords, but the octopus-man shot his head into his chest just as the swords lost contact. Right into his wound.
He was thrown back, head dropping, his mouth filled with blood.
The pain soared through him. He was barely conscious anymore. He needed to end this now. He would not lose! Kuina needed him. But not only Kuina, he needed to do this for them, his crew. Luffy needed him. He met the next attack from the octopus man before preparing his finishing blow.
“Oni-giri Dragon twister!”
A storm stirred up as the octopus man’s swords shattered and blood flew out of the wounds all over the octopus-man’s chest.
He did it. He did not lose today. He had not broken his promise yet. He was still a man of his word. At least as long as he survived this.
He felt unconsciousness about to claim him as he thought about it again.
He was not sure he would survive. At least he would die while having tried to fulfil his promise. They would understand that, wouldn’t they?
Suddenly, fear overcame him. Fear so great that it almost managed to overshadow his close to unsurmountable pain.
What if they wouldn’t? He had promised to become the greatest swordsman, not to die trying. He needed to survive. He could not die now. He needed to get stronger, to fulfil his promise.
As the black enveloped him, the fear of his failure drowned him.
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With a start, he opened his eyes. Jagged shallow breaths escaped him, the fear of his near failure still pounding in him. Fanthom pain centred on his chest was slowly inching again bit by bit.
He glanced down at his chest. There were no bandages anymore. His naked chest only carried a jagged scar.
He slowly reached with his fingers to the start of the scar by his shoulder and allowed his fingers to grace over the scar, remembering that day.
Ever since his fight with Mihawk, the dreams of Kuina would not leave him alone.
Every single night he would first relived her death before his defeat at the end of Mihawk's sword.
Only since having woken up bandaged, the day after his defeat of Hachi the octupus-man, he had been able to relax somewhat.
He had not died. He had not broken his promise. He would still be able to go on.
Since then, the frequency of the dreams had decreased slightly.
The travels towards the entry to the Grand Line had allowed a couple of weeks to go by, his scar had healed. He had been able to return to his training. The last dream had been about a week ago.
He glanced towards the small window in their sleeping quarters and saw the tell-tale signs of sunrise flitting in through the window. At least it was not the middle of the night. He knew well that he would not get back to sleep after this.
He groggily made it out of the hang mat, taking his swords. He did not bother with a shirt. With his training, it would be at most five minutes before it was of again, and at least this way it would not get dirty.
He made it out of the sleeping quarters and onto the upper deck and started his workout. Pushing himself to his limits, even more than usual, taking every exercise to failure. Using the feeling of the exhaustion to calm and empty his mind. By the time he was barely able to move around anymore, the sun was properly up and he could start hearing the sounds of his crew starting to move about, getting ready for their day. He went to the mast, closed his eyes, and let a shallow dreamless sleep claim him for a nap.