Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fear not, Princess! Your life may be ending, but the country of Wano will never forget your legacy! All will come from far and wide to these very grounds to pay their respects! But now, my duty to the rebellion must be fulfilled! Farewell, Your Highness!”

The fierce cry of a young voice forcibly lowered to sound gruff, the rushing slap of bare feet on the stone steps. Then the strong swoop of a swinging bokken stabbed the air, narrowly missing the young princess’ waist, though she immediately screamed in mock pain and collapsed to the ground to writhe in a dramatic show.

“No—!” she stuttered, hands clutching at her side where the only red that blossomed was the floral pattern of her silk robe. “Brother, how—how could you! I’m—I’m—”

A twitching hand reached towards the evening sky, which now spread above the temple grounds in gradients of orange and purple, far more bruised than the nonexistent wounds she’d suffered in the play fight.

Yet, still, she coughed loudly, gave one final wheeze, and then her head lolled to the side, eyes slipping shut and tongue flopping out of her mouth, the air quiet, save for the chuckles of a few monks who passed by as they tended to the grounds.

“The Princess is dead!” shouted her opponent, the older boy lifting a triumphant fist before he placed a foot on his ‘dead’ sister’s stomach and slammed his bokken to the stone beneath them. “All of you, bow down before your new emperor!”

Nevermind that there was no one to bow, the large sandy courtyard beginning to clear out for the evening, the shuffle of sandals quiet as those come to worship returned home and the monks began to move inside.

It seemed the new ruler’s reign was to be cut short anyway when his fresh kill suddenly sprang to life to shove at his leg.

“Ew, Momo! Get your foot off me! You’ll get dirt on my robe!” the girl grumbled, hair a teal tumbleweed, golden ornaments askew and intricate twists unraveled from the style her mother had so lovingly created earlier.

Hair could be fixed, but clearly not a precious outfit.

So she lifted her own bokken to swing it at her brother’s shin.

But, instead of skin, the wooden sword smacked fruitlessly into a tough armor of pink scales that began to tile over the boy’s leg, bones giving a creak as toes lengthened and morphed into a clawed foot that now tugged teasingly at the girl’s robe.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” she yelped, smacking at his leg anew. “You said you wouldn’t use your Seal!”

“You’re already dead!” he shot back, looming over her with a cheeky grin. “I can use it all I want now!”

“Momo!” she whined, unbecoming for a princess, and especially one who’d recently turned eleven. But it was hard to shake old habits, particularly when her brother whined back, “Hiyori!” mockingly, and he was thirteen. He definitely should have known better.

The princess frowned, biting her lip as the familiar sting of tears pricked at her eyes, and as soon as her brother’s foot lifted from her stomach, she flipped to her side and curled up to bury her face in her arms.

A snicker filtered down to her from her brother, the lump in her throat growing beyond her control.

But then, a gentle hand landed in her hair, ruffling affectionately, and when she peeked out from behind her arms, Momo was crouched before her with a smile on his face.

“Hmph!” she huffed, ignoring that smile and going right back to pouting, ready to pout for as long as necessary until...until...

“I’ll give you a ride after dinner~”

Until her brother uttered those words, the young princess nearly headbutting him in the chin when she shot up with excited haste.

“Really?!” she exclaimed, giggling as the older boy teetered on his crouched heels for a moment before catching his balance and nodding.

“Yeah!” he assured. “And if no one’s watching, I can try and fly again~”

“Fly, eh?”

Suddenly, the addition of a third voice, one that belonged to neither child, and the two siblings instantly jolted, eyes going wide, and a shared grimace passing between them before they turned guiltily to face the voice’s owner.

“Kawamatsu…” Hiyori squeaked, the wide shadow of their stout retainer falling over them like a blanket of doom, his fiery orange hair ablaze in the warm light of sunset where it sat atop his head in a tightly-bound knot.

“O-Outside!” Momo amended quickly, with a nervous chuckle and a waving of hands. “I won’t try it in the temple again.”

“Yes, the enchanted scrolls would appreciate if their vaults were not destroyed, my Lord~” Kawamatsu said, but his tone was teasing, and though his smirk was hidden behind his red scarf, the mirth still reached his eyes.

That familiar spark of amusement drew a relieved grin onto the young prince’s face.

“Lady Hiyori,” Kawamatsu said, turning instead to the princess. “Your mother requests your presence at the palace. I believe for a bath.” His gaze flitted up and down her dirt-stained robes, their colors far less saturated than they were supposed to be, thanks to a day of roughhousing in the dusty outdoors. For all she’d vowed to keep them clean, it hadn’t amounted to much.

The disheveled girl let out a groan.

“What about Momo?” she whined.

“Yes, Lord Momonosuke as well.”

This was all it took for a mischievous grin to spring back to the princess’ face.

“Okay~” she chirped, though she didn’t move from where she sat, the girl leaning back casually on her palms.

“Preferably within the next twenty years,” Kawamatsu chided, though the twinkle in his eye was fond as he quirked an eyebrow down at her.

“Momo, carry me!” Hiyori demanded, her brother immediately looking to Kawamatsu, his brown eyes wide and pleading, complete with a manipulative wibble of his bottom lip until the samurai huffed out a helpless sigh and nodded.

The boy lit up excitedly, then backed away a few steps.

He crouched down on the stones, planting his hands onto the ground, and gave a preparatory roll of his shoulders. He was getting much better at full-body transformations, had been practicing often in the castle gardens, out on the samurai training grounds, anywhere there was space, really. He’d even done so in his own quarters, but his parents weren’t allowed to find out about that.

So, a deep breath, and another flex of his back was all it took before his robe began to billow and change in a self-contained wind, the pink satin tearing away from his body where it morphed into scales which flitted about and stuck to his skin like the petals of cherry blossoms in spring. Limbs shortened, claws replacing fingers and toes, his face elongating into a snout and his back stretching as the full snake-like length of his dragon form took shape.

The final row of golden ridges popped up from the crown of his horned head to the tuft of his tail, and there he stood, transformation complete.

Hiyori giggled in delight, immediately lunging for her brother and clambering onto his long back. He was far from full-grown, still small, but he was the perfect size for her, the girl settling comfortably onto his back, hands able to grip his horns for support.

Momonosuke bore sharp teeth in a grin, the dragon boy turning his head to give their retainer a once-over.

“Sorry, Kawamatsu, but…”

He laughed, knowing there was no way he’d be able to carry the large man as well. That was a challenge for when he grew much bigger.

Hiyori was easy cargo, however, and so, he kicked off the ground, to his sister’s glee, his long tail like a rudder behind him as he rose up to hover several feet off the ground, reaching Kawamatsu’s eye level, the retainer shooting him a warning look...

Only to nearly come crashing right back down in surprise when a loud snarled cry cut through the air, the three of them whipping heads towards the large gates to the temple grounds that still stood open to the street beyond.

Striding into the yard was an odd sight.

A hulking man was lumbering through the gates, a stranger unlike any they’d seen in Wano, his form far more massive than even the children’s own father, who stood taller and broader than any in the kingdom.

This man’s bootsteps seemed to shake the ground itself, his shirtless form incredibly muscled, the feathered purple coat draped over his shoulders barely clinging to their absurd width. A burst of coiled black locks fell from his head in cords, matching his beard and impressively long mustache.

But perhaps most curious of all was the source of those startling sounds that had drawn their attention in the first place.

The stranger’s hand was clamped tightly in the fabric of a shirt, a shirt worn by a small boy, (several years younger than Hiyori even, it appeared) who he carried clear off the ground, the child thrashing and growling as he struggled to be free of that dangling grip.

The boy’s unkempt hair stuck out on end in mossy tufts, his appearance clearly worse for wear, but his expression one of a ferocious little fighter, whose flailing only grew stronger the further the man carried him into the temple grounds, past confused monks making their final rounds and lingering worshippers on their way out as well.

The imposing man continued his slow march, unbothered, until he reached the foot of the stairs where the three stood, dropping the boy to the ground unceremoniously and holding him down with a foot crushed to his back.

“I request an audience with Emperor Oden,” the man rumbled, voice impossibly low and gruff. “I was told I’d find him here.”

Kawamatsu stepped forward on the landing above, looking down on the stranger with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m afraid he returned to the palace a short time ago,” the retainer said after a moment, his eyes flicking to the boy still struggling to get up beneath the man’s boot. “If the matter is urgent, you may accompany us. We are returning now also. What is your matter of business?”

Before the stranger could answer, however, Momonosuke shifted, landing back onto the ground and forcing his sister off his back with a shake and an indignant huff from the girl. The young prince reared up on his hind legs and gave his body a roll, scales seeming to fall off and twirl themselves back into his floral robe, skin smoothing and morphing until he stood in his human form once again.

“I am Kozuki Momonosuke, son of the Emperor,” the boy announced in a practiced speech, descending a few steps to address the visitor closer. “Any concerns or requests may be directed at me and I shall relay the message to my father.”

A long silence followed, the stranger watching the prince curiously, head tilting slowly as he stared.

“An impressive transformation,” the man finally observed, a flash of teeth glinting. “You were born with a Seal, were you not?”

For a moment, the prince looked surprised before he smiled and nodded eagerly, puffing up his chest proudly. It wasn’t often he was able to showcase his powers to someone new.

“Ah, yes!” the prince confirmed. “There are quite a few born with Seals in our country, though none as powerful as mine, the Seal of the Dragon. That’s why I will be tasked with the protection of Wano when I get older!”

“Indeed,” the man replied, his voice but a movement of turbulent air from his lips.

Another snarl from the little boy still at the stranger’s feet, and the man slowly removed his foot from the child’s back, though he planted a hand down on that green hair the moment the boy pushed up to his knees.

“I am known as Kaido,” the stranger said, raising his voice. “My crew and I are...travelers… We’ve come to your proud country from across the sea in search of something. Though I would never be so rude as to steal it. No, I’ve brought my payment. A trade, if you will.”

“We are always open to trade,” Momonosuke began to say, though this time, Kawamatsu stepped closer, moving ever so slightly in front of the princess, who still stood, pouting, on the landing of the stairs.

“Trade deals must be discussed with the Emperor directly,” Kawamatsu explained, wariness in his eyes. “So, as I said, you may accompany us back to the—”

“Take him.”

And with no further ceremony, Kaido’s hand clenched painfully in the boy’s hair, shoving him forward against the steps, where small hands hastily caught himself with a yelp, just barely saving his chin from a painful collision with the stone.

“I have no use for him anymore,” Kaido explained. “He is my payment.”

At this, the two young royals’ expressions morphed into owlish surprise, Kawamatsu’s the opposite as his features narrowed with ever-growing suspicion.

“Surely you jest…” the retainer said. “I don’t know where you’ve come from, but humans will never be currency in Wano. Least of all children.”

“He has a Seal as well,” Kaido answered, clearly with no qualms over his rough treatment of the child. In fact, he reached out to grab the boy again, this time by the collar, yanking him back up, if only to rip open the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing a circular brand of black design emblazoned on the skin of his nervously heaving chest.

“Seal or not, a life is a life,” Kawamatsu insisted, his eyes flicking to the boy’s face, where brave defiance was rapidly becoming fear. “Humans are equal and—”

“Exactly,” Kaido replied, his hand letting go of the boy, who tumbled back to his knees with a pained grunt. “A life….for a life.”

For a man so massive, the movement it took for Kaido to draw his sword from its blood-red sheath was nearly unnoticeable until it was far too late. With a speed entirely unforeseen, the beast of a man shot forward up the stairs, three at a time, until that sword nestled itself, swiftly and mercilessly, into the stomach of the young prince, who hadn’t even a moment to react before the blade twisted in his gut, causing a torrent of blood to spill from his lips.

The world stood frozen, somehow, despite the horrified scream of the princess behind him, the dull thud of the prince’s body collapsing to the stone, his life blood pooling beneath him, seeping through those silk robes, eyes glazed and unseeing.

Kaido yanked the blade from his prey’s stomach with a spray of gore, boot already toeing the prince’s limp body onto his back, where a light had begun to glow on his chest, lifting right off to hover inches above his form in the same familiar shape of a Seal, lines curving and intersecting in their own unique symbol.

A far too delayed, but no less anguished, cry from up the steps, as Kawamatsu finally broke free from his shock, the retainer charging the murderer with his own katana drawn, hot, enraged tears burning.

But a mere flick of his wrist was all it took for Kaido to stop him, his blade an unmoving wall that rose to clash with Kawamatsu’s, effortlessly stopping his swing without so much as a glance.

Instead, Kaido’s hungry gaze stayed fixed on that glowing shape above the prince, his laughter a slow rumble in his chest as he lifted his free hand and plunged it right into the light just before it could vanish.

Immediately, it traveled up his arm in a snaking pattern, the inky form of a skull and scales searing itself into his skin in a new mark as the Seal finally settled itself over his heart and sunk beneath the surface into his body.

He slashed his sword to the side, sending Kawamatsu stumbling, and straightened, his sick laughter only rising in intensity until it reached maddening heights.

And then, tossing his weapon away, he flexed muscles, which immediately tore themselves in a burst of blue scales that now tiled over his body, growing, growing, until he dwarfed Kawamatsu’s cowering form, the stairs, the temple itself.

And where the man had once stood, now hovered an enormous dragon, a flick of its tail enough to shatter the wall opposite the temple, sending those nearby scattering with terrified cries.

Kaido’s laughter distorted, seemed to layer with the force of a thousand demons, another mere thrash of his body ripping the roof off the adjacent monks’ quarters, and when he reared back his great head, an explosion of volcanic flame erupted from his gigantic maw.

Another swish of his tail that slammed a gaping crater into the ground, and his body lifted even higher, abandoning the chaos below and taking flight towards the castle that lay beyond, another thunderous spout of fire torching the temple as he soared off.

Pandemonium followed, the crumbling temple grounds suddenly rushed by hordes of armed intruders, who stormed through the gates with a vengeance of evil war cries and fiercely wielded weapons that struck down anything and anyone in their way.

Hiyori slunk down the steps, the distraught girl collapsing with heavy sobs and pleas over her brother’s still chest.

And yet, Kawamatsu couldn’t move, his fallen sword scattered several paces away and his shocked gaze fixed on his two young charges, one of whom was gone, both of whom he’d failed.

He knelt there on the steps and stared as the temple took flame around him, as the intruders below spilled yet more blood, the very sky above turning a thick, smoky gray as the capital began to burn, Kaido’s roar still rumbling in the distance.

Hiyori’s cries deafened even that.

Kawamatsu’s hand clamped down on the hilt of his katana, and he lifted the blade to his head, where he took hold of his topknot and sliced through the hair, letting it tumble to the ground in a shower of disgraced strands.

Then he forced himself to move, grabbing hold of Hiyori roughly and physically dragging her off her brother, which only made her screams grow louder and more hysterical. He slipped arms under the fallen prince and hoisted his body against his chest, then took Hiyori and forced her up the stairs towards the temple’s interior, dodging falling roof tiles and beams the closer they got.

“Wait! Wait! Don’t leave me here!”

A small voice called behind him, but he ignored it, pulling the princess into the temple’s main alcove, up to the altar, where stood a massive golden cabinet, aglow in the flames that licked down from the ceiling high above.

Carefully, he lay the prince’s body down before the altar, released the princess’ arm, only to throw open the filigreed doors to that forbidden cabinet, inside which rested row upon row of stacked paper scrolls, all of which shimmered like a mirage with the magic that rippled over each.

Kawamatsu reached in, ripping out the closest scroll, beside which sat an equally golden ink pot and brush.

“Your Highness!” he growled, yet again having to pull the girl off her brother’s form where she’d collapsed again in a fit of tears.

He yanked her to her feet, just as he unfurled the scroll, its thin paper blank, but seeming to shudder with anticipation.

Hastily, Kawamatsu took hold of the brush, dipping it into the pot, its bristles coming out as luminescent as the last rays of the sun which now struggled to fight through the darkening sky outside.

He took the brush to the scroll, took but a moment to consider his words, and scrawled:

As soon as the brush lifted from the paper, the words shone, brushstrokes white and heated before they began to sink into the page, searing golden.

He dropped the brush, quickly passed the scroll into the young princess’ trembling hands, her watery eyes flickering, terrified, in the ever-approaching flames.

“I will carry this guilt until the day I die, Lady Hiyori,” he gritted out fiercely, just before the light from the scroll grew, enveloping the girl’s entire form, swallowing up her stricken features.

And when the light finally exploded outward, it took her with it, the burst erasing her form from where it stood, leaving Kawamatsu alone in the crumbling temple.

He fell to his knees beside the lifeless prince, finally losing himself to his own powerful sobs, which spilled shamefully, the sound of shattering timber and the crackle of flames a cruel symphony in his ears.

Behind him, at the entrance to the temple, another young voice sobbed, that of a moss-headed boy, cowering at the foot of a pillar.

“Wake up—wake up—wake up!” he cried, small fingers gripping in his hair as if he could rouse himself from his surrounding terror.

But to no avail. For his nightmare had only just begun.

The hand gripping his bow had a quiver as visible as the one on his back, stocked with arrows he did not feel confident possessing, let alone shooting.

His heart throbbed uncomfortably in his chest, right along with his head, clear signs of fatigue and hunger that had crept up on him steadily as the days had passed and the supplies he’d managed to steal away with him had dwindled to little but crumbs and river water.

Three days now he’d struggled to hunt, never quite stealthy enough to sneak up on larger prey, and never with proficient aim or force enough to bag rabbits or birds.

It was pathetic, he knew. His plan to leave had been a hasty one, born from panic and fear, hardly well thought-out, and if Époni hadn’t managed to sneak him out through the kitchens, he knew he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.

But the persistent ache of his mother’s recent death and the fresh bruises still decorating his ribs were enough to remind him that he couldn’t have stayed, even knowing as little as he did about survival. Even with how weak he was. How weak he’d always been, according to his father, his brothers.

He didn’t care about them, couldn’t, because in his entire nineteen years of life, he could not recall a time they’d ever shown him compassion, much less love.

No, only his mother had. And though he believed his sister was kind deep down, she was far too timid and complacent to help him anymore. Not alone, in the face of his father’s threats.

And so there he was, far from the place that had hardly been his home, impossibly lost in the mountainous forest that surrounded him for miles upon miles, the sunlight sinking ever lower through the trees.

Still, however much his vision wavered dizzily, he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the doe that grazed quietly in the clearing ahead of him, the small field peppered with the silhouettes of the rest of the herd in the twilight.

His stomach gave a protesting grumble, threatening to give away his position, tucked within the tree line. He knew he already stood out in the greenery in his tunic, which still shone far too light amongst the foliage, despite the dirt and grime sullying it after days in the outdoors. He didn’t necessarily have an advantage here.

The doe stayed put though, a small relief.

He’d never thought himself privileged, certainly not, but he was coming to realize that perhaps he had been. After all, he’d never had to worry about procuring ingredients before.

Still, just that one doe would be enough. There were dozens grazing, but he wasn’t to be greedy. He could cook one easily. He knew everything there was to know about the culinary arts, to what had been his father’s dismay and his mother’s joy.

He focused on that, how proud his mother would surely be if he succeeded in this one measly task. She was the only one driving him now, even from beyond the grave.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he let eyes shut for a brief moment, as they so wanted to in his fatigue, before opening them and refocusing, willing his trembling arms to steady and straighten, pulling the nocked arrow back.

“Please,” he breathed.

And before his aim could shift any more, he let go, the arrow’s fletching just barely ruffling his blond hair as it took off past his face.

It never reached its target.

The arrow had barely left his hand before an ear-splitting roar sliced the air, instantly spooking his prey.

His heart leapt, as well as the rest of his body, which jolted in sheer horror, sending the hairs on the back of his neck springing to attention, his skin prickling with the awful sensation of goosebumps.

A crackle of leaves. Movement in the dark. And then, from the treeline across the clearing, burst forth an enormous creature, surely double his height. It bounded from the shadows on all fours, shaking massive tree trunks like twigs, its weight quaking the ground each time its lumbering feet touched down.

In one leap, the creature soared across half the clearing, clawed appendages lashing out to swipe down an unfortunate deer, the prey letting out a terrified, dying squeal before the monster sunk gargantuan canines into its stomach with a sickening crunch, and it slumped, lifeless and limp in the creature’s jaws.

It soon hit the ground with a heavy thud, the monster abandoning it to give chase to several other deer, whose short legs held no hope of escaping the hunter’s long strides.

The blond stared, eyes as wide and glistening as the setting sun, breaths which he now hardly dared to take beginning to shudder out of him at a quickening pace. It was all he could do, breathe, and barely at that, even though every fiber of his being screamed for him to run.

The creature was like nothing he had ever seen. It was feline, and black as the darkest night sky, but with faint stripes of glimmering orange that gave the appearance of fire flickering through shadow when powerful muscles rippled its fur.

Surely he wasn’t in his right mind. Surely he’d begun to hallucinate, the result of days of exhaustion, for though he physically felt the tremor of the creature’s roar and pounding paws in his chest, as solidly as his own fearful heartbeat, this was impossible. Yes, magic existed in the world, but this was no magical being he knew.

This was a demon that darted as swiftly as lightning, felling its prey for sport it seemed, striking as if the mere act of the hunt was pleasurable, its body quickly crouching for the next pounce as soon as one deer lay dead at its feet.

It was, without a doubt, a murderer.

And it was one that he soon found staring directly at him with eyes, pupil-less and red, that seemed to glow, piercing spots in the darkness that permeated around them.

The creature had lifted its great head from its last remaining prey, bloody saliva dripping from its gore-stained maw, and locked onto the blond’s form with a precision and awareness unforeseen in his blinding panic.

It was ready for him.

He couldn’t move, even his breathing coming to a choked halt as one paw hit the ground and that shadowy form moved, an undulating mass in the grass, stalking straight for him.

He couldn’t consciously move, and yet his body stumbled backwards, shoulders knocking and scraping hard onto the trunk of a tree as his bow and arrow fell from his grasp and his hands began to fruitlessly flail for something, anything, that might save him.

There was nothing though, nothing but those devilish eyes and black form growing impossibly larger, eclipsing even the setting sun in the distance.

He should have run, climbed, shot, screamed at the very least, but the air was silent, his own frantic gasps the only sound in his ear, the creature making no noise as it approached.

His vision undulated, a wave of dizziness washing over the panic, muscles trembling and yet staying hopelessly frozen when he found himself face to face with those red orbs which looked bigger than his own clenched fists, teeth, bore in a snarl, longer than a sickle and twice as sharp.

He was going to die, he realized with thick dread that brought a debilitating nausea to his stomach. Those teeth and claws were going to be his vessels to the next world by way of agony that would surely be worse than any he’d suffered at the hands of his brothers.

A low growl shook the throat of the creature, rumbling like thunder, its hot breath hardly a summer breeze before the storm.

The beast shifted, shoulder blades like mountain peaks growing against the sky, the rough scraping of dirt audible as it raked claws slowly through the earth, and the blond was certain his heart stopped prematurely in anticipation of the inevitable.

A wetness on his cheeks, and he realized that, in his terror, tears had escaped without his knowledge. He was nothing but a helpless child again, staring pain in the face, but with nothing, not even that horrible iron mask, to protect him.

The blow was coming. The creature was moving...

But it seemed fate was merciful in that moment, as racing breaths gave him little air, his head starting to spin and vision beginning to gray beyond recognition. Muscles shook, far beyond his control now, and he began to collapse, darkness encompassing his world, the only thing persisting those crimson moons that stayed, imprinted, until his last conscious moments.

Eyes fluttered shut, welcoming the relief of what would now, thankfully, be a painless death.

He heard claws shift again, another rumbling growl. Something solid hit his chest.

A flash of blinding light in the darkness.

Then, nothing.

He was warm next he knew. Warm, and though a dull throb soon pierced his temples, pink light from behind closed eyelids slowly reaching his awakening senses, he found he wasn’t in pain.

Yet, he didn’t want to move.

Instead, he lay as he was, prone on his back, he was coming to realize, with hardness beneath him and softness above, the unmistakable feel of fabric covering his form, rising and falling slowly with the breaths he was now aware of taking.

And his heart…. Yes, that was beating too, pulsing the ache in his head if he concentrated hard enough, which meant only one thing.

Somehow, he was alive. He’d survived the—

Eyes shot open to a dusty blue sky as he sucked in a sharp inhale, renewed panic filling him, along with the returning memory of what he’d assumed to be his last moments, jagged teeth, piercing eyes.

He scrambled to sit up, head giving a stomach-churning spin, forcing him to plant a hand onto the ground for stability as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

There was grass, he saw, beneath his palm, a green expanse that carpeted the earth and lapped at the edge of the forest, which stood, far less dark and intimidating now, in what looked to be early morning light, dawn poking teasingly through the trees in thousands of slivers.

He heard the whistling of birds, the rustle of the breeze in the leaves high above him, and he realized he was alone, with no sign of the monster.

Was this the same clearing? What had happened? There was no way a beast as bloodthirsty as that had truly abandoned him, spared him. No, it had to be nearby. He just wasn’t looking hard enough. Surely it lurked in the shadows, camouflaged itself there. He wasn’t safe. He couldn’t let his guard down.

He dared shift himself slightly, only to pause, eyes widening upon seeing a dark green patterned blanket draped over his lower half. No, not a blanket.... A robe...

A hand, strong and solid, clamped down on his shoulder, hard and sudden enough to have him flinch, a sharp cry of surprise leaving him involuntarily.

He whirled around, and there, crouched beside him, was a man, his brow furrowed, apparently no qualms about staring. The man tilted his head slowly, watching….studying?

It was much the same as the previous night, the blond quickly finding himself frozen in his surprise, unsure of how to react or what to even do under that scrutinizing gaze, most of all unsure of why it affected him so.

The stranger was clad only in a pair of loose trousers, the white silken robe he wore tied around his waist left open to bare his chest, perhaps more muscular than any of the blond’s brothers’, which was a feat in and of itself.

Though, quite like said brothers, the blond found himself a bit alarmed to see the stranger bore the mark of a Seal over his heart, a unique jagged circle of jet black on his skin, angular lines curving and intersecting in what must have been some kind of abstract symbol or pattern, though the blond did not recognize it.

Whatever it was, it meant this man possessed magic of some form, though how he’d acquired it was unknown. Through birth? Had he killed for it, absorbing the power from the dead as so many did? Either way, as the blond knew, this was much to be intimidated by, perhaps even feared.

That was the logical response, in his mind, but to the blond, it was also something he’d always envied. His own lack of one was the very reason behind all of his suffering, he knew.

And yet, despite that, he found himself drawn, not to the mark, but to the man’s face, rather close to his.

The stranger’s features were sharp, much more so than the people of the blond’s own country, and his dark eyes were intense in their depth, a brown that nearly blended with his pupils in the shade of his furrowed brow.

His hair too was foreign, not in its mossy color, but in its odd style, cropped short in wavy spikes, save for a longer knot tied up at the crown of his head.

But instead of an all-too-familiar sneer of malice (one the blond knew from experience to precede physical violence), a look of mild puzzlement began to color the stranger’s face, one brow quirking slowly as eyes gave a quick flick over the blond’s form.

“You’re awake,” the stranger finally noted, with a hint of a differing accent, and a smooth voice that settled low in his throat, clearly unperturbed by the long silence.

The blond stared at him, almost in disbelief at his casual tone, when the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness had been certain death leering him in the face, and the first sight upon awakening had been this equally affecting man.

A long moment, and then he squeezed eyes shut, shaking his head quickly before opening them again to fix the stranger with a baffled expression of his own.

“Who are—?” He huffed out a breath, changing his line of thought, frustrated at his own inability to focus.

“N-No, we have to get away from here!” he exclaimed instead, in spite of the confusion and uncertainty he felt with the odd man’s presence. “There’s—!”

He flicked a paranoid gaze at the treeline nearby. “In this forest, there was—!” And at the risk of sounding entirely mad, he blurted out, “A-A monster! A huge monster—I-I saw it! It killed—i-it was going to kill m—”

“I know,” the stranger interrupted bluntly. “I saved you. You’re welcome.”

Again, the blond found he could only gape and stammer, certainly due to the other man’s bizarre calmness and not his aching head, which hadn’t been remedied by his bout of unconsciousness.

“Wha—I—wait, you saved me?” he stuttered. “You fought that creature?”

The blond’s shock only earned him another unimpressed lift of the stranger’s brow, the man gesturing to his hip, where sat a trio of swords, tightly wrapped and secured there by a long purple sash, the excess fabric hanging like a tail behind him.

Still, the stranger’s smugness soon simpered into a dissatisfied scowl in response, his gaze dropping somewhat shamefully to the softly waving grass surrounding them.

“Would’ve,” the man muttered. “But it ran off.”

The swordsman let out a frustrated breath and shook his head, but the brief turmoil in his eyes quickly dissipated as he lifted them back to the blond.

“I saw all the carnage….found you passed out,” he explained. “Thought you were dead too for a minute.”

So this man knew of the monster? Had plans to fight it? But how could one man, even a swordsman, hope to kill a creature built for just that?

And that didn’t explain how he still found himself in one piece...

“You must have the devil’s luck on your side though,” mumbled the swordsman a moment later, as if reading the blond’s thoughts. “I dunno how the hell you managed to wander out here this damn far. ‘Nother hour and you would’ve hit Mount Fuji, and your luck would’ve sure as hell run out there. You lost or something?”

His location in the world was hardly concerning the blond in that moment though, despite the rather impressive snow-capped peak that was indeed visible in the distance now that daylight crept in. More importantly...

“So I’m not insane?” the blond asked quickly. “That beast was—was real?”

The blond’s confusion was entirely legitimate, as far as he knew, but the swordsman merely rolled his eyes before narrowing them with seriousness.

“It’s real,” he replied. “You didn’t answer my question.”

The blond huffed with growing impatience, and for what, he wasn’t sure. But he was certain any questions he had were far more pressing than anything the straightforward swordsman could ask.

“I’m—” he started.

But he was forced to stop short when a breeze tickled past them lightly.

It was an unassuming breeze, but it may as well have hit them with the force of a similarly rampaging beast, because with it, crashing its way into the blond’s suddenly keen awareness, was the smell of smoke. But not just any smoke.

Smoke that came from cooking, the heavenly scent of meat hot on its trail.

“Do you have food?” the blond all but yelped, the horrible ache in his stomach returning to him full force at merely the thought of something substantial to eat.

All mysteries of the previous night aside, what mattered most was sustenance, and it sent his heart pounding harder in his chest with the hope. He shoved what was most likely the swordsman’s robe off his body and struggled to get himself to his feet, limbs still shaky as a newborn deer (one surely about to be devoured by a giant predatory feline in this damn forest).

“Ye—o-oi!” the swordsman exclaimed when the blond all but toppled over in a dizzy heap. “You can’t just—you’re gonna collapse all over again, idiot!”

Sturdy hands shot out to steady him, which the blond nearly shoved off out of instinct.

“Shut up,” muttered the blond, resisting the urge to wince at his throbbing temples. “You were cooking venison and you didn’t tell me!”

A push to the swordsman’s chest to get the man’s grip off him before he’d targeted the previously-unnoticed fire circle set up in the grass a short distance away.

A steadily burning flame within a circle of stones. The bloody remains of a crudely butchered deer carcass discarded to the side.

And there, over the fire, skewered rather sloppily on a series of sticks, his prize.

Several mouth-watering slabs of meat roasting there with a familiar aroma that had never smelled so good.

The temptation of that smoky scent spurred the blond onward, forced legs to move until he fell to his knees by the fireside, all but sticking his head over the licking flames to inspect the meat.

And it wasn’t long before that primitively prepared meat was expertly cooked, sliced, and served up on some flat rocks found near the site, the blond’s experienced hands working dexterously as he went, his body seeming to regain energy from the mere act of preparing food.

He’d shoved a portion towards the baffled swordsman, who’d stood nearby the entire time, watching as if he’d never seen food properly cooked before, which he may not have, judging by his rather uncivilized appearance.

The blond didn’t wait for him, for once uncaring of both his lack of manners and utensils, using fingers to pop a chunk of meat into his mouth, barely resisting the urge to moan his elation as he chewed. That just wouldn’t do when he had a boorish stranger staring him down.

Said stranger did slowly lower himself to the ground though with a sarcastically muttered, “Help yourself,” before he too lifted a whole steak to his mouth and tore into it almost as viciously as the monster had the previous night.

Even through his feasting, the blond managed a spare moment to eye the swordsman with disgust.

The swordsman met that leer with an unbothered lift of his brow, an increasingly frequent look of his, his own gaze glancing over the blond before opening his already full mouth to garble out, “You’re eating like you thought you were gonna die.”

That comment, barely intelligible though it was, was still enough to have a wave of embarrassment crash over the blond, who forcibly slowed his chewing and set down his own makeshift platter to show he did have some self-restraint.

“I had an enormous beast corner me in the forest in the dead of night,” he shot back. “Of course I assumed I was going to die.”

This earned him an irritated huff of breath from the swordsman, and why, he couldn’t fathom, nor could he quite understand why he was being so confrontational with the man. Apparently, this stranger had saved his life, yet the manners and etiquette he’d had drilled into his brain from birth seemed to fly far away and descend to Hell itself in the mosshead’s presence. He had no choice but to blame it on his own malnutrition.

Not that said mosshead seemed to have any better clue about being polite when he asked bluntly, “Who are you anyway?”

The blond blinked, a shot of panic rushing him quickly before he countered, “Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?”

A scowl that was becoming predictable marred the swordsman’s features, though he did reply.

“Zoro,” he answered, then stared at the blond expectantly.

As if the man was going to get a direct answer right away because the blond was far too busy thinking of a response.

He’d left home with the intention of leaving everything, starting fresh and anonymous. Did that include abandoning his own name?

Admittedly, and perhaps foolishly, through it all, he hadn’t really considered it. After all, it was rather impossible to remain anonymous in his own country. But maybe somewhere else….

It was only when this ‘Zoro’ began twirling a hand insistently in a rude gesture to elicit an answer, staring harder, that he finally replied.

“I’m...San…..goro,” he muttered in response, resisting the urge to cringe at his own concoction, but dammit, they had been the first syllables his lips had produced on the spot. And it wasn’t as if the swordsman’s name was any better.

“Sangoro,” Zoro repeated, voice thick with skepticism.

But the blond confirmed it with deadpan confidence and a look that dared the man to challenge it.

“Sangoro.”

Zoro stared at him for a long moment, judgment clear in his eyes, but eventually he seemed to give up and sighed heavily, going back to his meal without further question, something Sangoro was glad for.

He returned to his as well, taking his time now that his initial desperation had quelled, letting the meat revitalize him, though part of him did long for the vast array of spices Époni kept in the kitchens. He could make this so much more flavorful with even some simple salt and pepper...

But the uncultured swordsman clearly didn’t care, stuffing his face in silence until he was left with nothing else but his fingers to lick clean, something Sangoro looked pointedly away from so as not to make himself sick.

Of course, the swordsman only continued to showcase his worst manners when he pulled an oddly-shaped bottle off his waist belt, popped it open, and proceeded to guzzle back half of its contents, clear liquid dribbling down his chin.

When he finished with a loud, satisfied sigh, the blond could sit quiet no longer.

“Do you always eat like a child?” he grumbled, a scowl forming when Zoro lifted a sleeve to wipe at his face. Sangoro remedied his observation. “Actually, no. I’ve seen children with better manners than you. You eat like an animal.”

Zoro merely shrugged, tossing the stick that had skewered his meat back into the fire and leaning back on a palm.

“Never anyone around to watch me,” he mumbled.

“That shouldn’t matter!” Sangoro shot back, but it seemed there was no getting through to the oaf, who’d lifted a finger to pick at his inner ear.

And here he was apparently in this lout’s debt for saving his life. Truth be told, and muscles aside, Sangoro wasn’t sure he could picture this man wielding a sword with any finesse whatsoever.

“Where are you heading?” Zoro eventually asked when he seemed satisfied with the cleanliness of his ear, settling back to watch the blond again with mild disinterest.

Sangoro spared his companion a glance as he finished his last bite of venison. Then, stalling for time, he set aside his serving stone and began scanning the area for his small satchel and arrow quiver, which he found lying nearby in the grass, along with his bow.

“Anywhere but where I came from,” he said, pushing to his feet, without dizziness thankfully, and crossing to his belongings where he crouched down, also thankful to find some water still inside his flask.

“Which is…?” Zoro’s voice rumbled behind him.

“Nowhere that concerns you,” Sangoro muttered over his shoulder as he took a swig, keeping his gaze steadily away.

“Well, you’re not from Wano, that’s for sure,” Zoro replied. “Anyone here would know how to make it in the forest.”

“With giant beasts wreaking havoc?” Sangoro shot back, closing the flask and securing it to his waist at his girdle, along with his satchel, unsure why they’d been removed in the first place. At least the swordsman hadn’t stolen anything by the looks of it.

“This is a country of samurai,” Zoro justified, as if that explained everything, but it hardly did when Sangoro had yet to see a demonstration of the man’s skills.

“Not very good samurai if you let that thing get away,” the blond muttered, settling down on the ground once more to check over his remaining arrows for damage. “What the hell was it anyway? Never seen anything like it...”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Zoro retorted mockingly, his face irritatingly smug when Sangoro shot a scowl his way. Still, his smirk did fade, the swordsman’s eyes averting as his brow furrowed.

“A dark being,” he clarified, with a hint of reluctance. “It’s been hunting close to the capital lately, but the Empress is worried it’ll go after livestock, or even people next. S’my job to kill it…”

Sangoro’s features tensed, looking at the arrows in his lap, the pathetic arrows that surely wouldn’t have held any hope of subduing such a beast. He’d thought, when he left his home, that maybe he could prove his own strength, finally. Show that he was capable and return as some great warrior, prove his father wrong.

….But if this forest contained monsters like that, then he knew he didn’t stand a chance. For all the training in the world, there was no hope for him. Because he was still the only one in his family who lacked one very important thing.

“You have a Seal…” he muttered, blue eyes flicking up to that ink-like mark on Zoro’s broad chest, unable to quite hide the bitter hint of jealousy in his voice. The mark looked as inconsequential as a tattoo, but held great power within, the blond knew. He knew not the specifics of Zoro’s, but if it was anything like his siblings’....

“Yeah,” the swordsman replied bluntly, almost defensively, particularly when he added, “So?”

Sangoro shook his head.

“So nothing,” he replied, frankly quite uncaring of Zoro’s feelings on the matter. The swordsman had no right to complain about such a damn lucky mark, and the blond did not want to hear him brag about it either.

So he quickly changed the subject, returning his arrows to his quiver and slipping the strap over his head to secure them at his back again.

“Where’s the nearest town?”

There was a pause, the swordsman looking almost surprised for a brief moment, brows lifting slightly. But the look was gone as soon as it appeared, and he pushed himself to his sandaled feet to gather up his discarded robe, throwing the heavier fabric over his shoulders.

“I’ll bring you to the Flower Capital,” he announced, to which Sangoro couldn’t help but balk somewhat.

The Flower Capital… So they were close to Wano’s center. Sangoro hadn’t been expecting as much. Perhaps if that beast hadn’t attacked, he could have made it on his own with just a short walk more. At the very least, it would have saved him an encounter with this moss-headed ‘Zoro’....

“I didn’t say I needed an escort,” the blond snapped in response, standing as well and brushing some grass off his trousers. “I can get there on my own. Just tell me the direction.”

Zoro scoffed, looking displeased in the midst of putting out the fire with the meager remains of his jug’s contents, whatever poisonous liquid was inside actually causing the flames to flare up angrily before being doused.

“Shut up and follow me….” he muttered, securing the jug to his hip belt once more. “Unless you’d rather stay out here and starve to death, as it seemed you were trying to.”

“I wasn’t!” Sangoro automatically shot back, offended and thoroughly annoyed. “I merely….miscalculated my own hunting abilities….”

“Well, you weren’t going to kill anything with those blunt arrows, that’s for sure,” Zoro critiqued, the swordsman bending over to pluck a long blade of grass from the ground, sticking it in his mouth for some unknown, but certainly idiotic, reason. He turned to face the blond, almost expectantly. “You coming or not?”

Sangoro let out a heavy sigh, shifting his gaze to the adjacent forest that he’d wandered for the past few days. The trees looked inviting now, with their cool shade and dancing leaves, but the blond knew, though he wouldn’t be admitting it out loud, that it would be foolish to re-enter. He was completely unsure of where to go, and admittedly, until that very morning, increasingly fearful of his own demise due to such foolishness.

He supposed…..letting the swordsman lead him, at least to civilization, where he could regroup, would be the smartest decision for now.

Still, it didn’t stop his pride from suffering a blow when he muttered a sulky, “Lead the way…”

He ignored the amused smirk that tugged up the swordsman’s lips.

Sangoro had never visited Wano’s capital, forbidden by his father, only allowed to attend a few trips to its surrounding territories when he was a young child, unlike his siblings, who’d accompanied his parents often. Still, that was before things had changed, when their family still traveled beyond his homeland’s borders…

His mother had always assured him that Hakumai, with its coastal towns, was more beautiful, or Ringo and its snow-blanketed mountains. The Flower Capital, landlocked as it was, would surely bore and disappoint him.

And yet, in Sangoro’s heart, he’d always known she’d told him such things to quell his sadness, his upset about being kept away from the public eye.

Thus, when he and Zoro crested the small hill of the clearing, unveiling the sprawling valley below, Sangoro felt his shoulders slump, the prickling of unexpected sorrow behind his eyes as he gazed at what had ultimately been his mother’s lie.

Below them lay a breathtaking sight, perhaps the most magnificent Sangoro had ever laid eyes on.

A colorful blanket of distant rooftops broke through the surrounding greenery, glistening like an iridescent ocean under the rising sun. Amongst the buildings, smaller peaks and cliffs jutted up in dramatic formations, some bubbling over with towering waterfalls, thundering veils that branched into a spiderweb of canals below.

And there, in the center of the city, stood the largest formation, a colossal tree that soared above the valley, curled, as if it were really the tail of a massive dragon that slumbered underground. That ‘tail’ harbored, in the plateau of its curve, what was surely the royal palace itself, lyrical and proud where it rose in its scalloped tiers above the land.

His own home, with its flat, barren landscape, void of color or splendor of any kind as far as Sangoro was concerned, was nothing compared to what stretched before him, scenery beyond his wildest dreams.

It seemed the mountainous border between their countries had been concealing this all along.

It was indescribably beautiful, enough so that the telltale burning of his eyes persisted, the blond finding himself wishing desperately for his mother, despite knowing it was impossible.

How many times had he sat with her, reading, imagining, wondering if he’d ever see the world? Her fingers in his hair, kisses to his temple, had been comforting, but not always reassuring.

And yet, here he stood, at long last.

“I take it you’ve never seen the Capital before.”

With unexpected and not necessarily welcome company.

Suddenly, Sangoro felt a bout of shitty self-consciousness flare up, a defensive response threatening to kick in by instinct, and he wasn’t sure why when Zoro’s remark hadn’t been anything to feel defensive about. But he had to force himself to shrug nonchalantly instead, glad no tears had made it to his eyes to further embarrass him.

“Heard about it,” he replied casually, dulling his gaze to one of disinterest, with minimal success, surely. “It’s pretty much what I expected.”

Beside him, Zoro nodded sagely, coming up beside the blond and taking the moment to absorb the scene himself.

A quiet minute passed, then the swordsman said, “Bet Germa’s ugly as hell, huh,” before he set off along the more well-trodden grass where a dirt path became visible down the hill.

Sangoro sighed, watching him go for a few paces until he hoisted up the strap of his arrow quiver and started walking again too.

“Well, it’s certainly—”

But then, the blond caught himself, eyes widening as a jolt of panic shot through him.

“What?!” he screeched, interrupting himself. “Who says I’m from Germa?”

Infuriatingly, Zoro merely glanced back over his shoulder, the mosshead’s face and tone ripe with condescension.

“Blue eyes? Blindingly pale? Germa,” Zoro replied, giving the blond a patronizing once-over before turning away to focus on the path ahead once more. “Besides, your weird outfit’s a dead giveaway.”

Sangoro let out an indignant scoff, glancing down at himself and finding his tunic and breeches to be, if not the cleanest garments in the world right now, still perfectly fashionable. At the very least, his cobalt cloak covered the dirt.

For a moment, he contemplated running right back into those woods rather than following the slap of the rude samurai’s sandals and the swish of his moldy robe any longer.

But when Zoro turned to look back at him almost expectantly, the blond found he could do little else but roll his eyes and stomp after him.

“Wow, would you like me to stereotype you too, asshole?” he muttered, speeding past the other man and shouldering him roughly for good measure as he did.

Still, Zoro merely lengthened his stride to catch up easily, and no, Sangoro did not miss the fact that he’d taken to staring yet again, as if it was socially acceptable in his kingdom.

“Not a stereotype. Just an observation,” Zoro replied, gaze lingering just above the blond’s narrowed eye at the faint curl that twisted his irritated eyebrow. “Warning you now, people are gonna stare.”

“As if you’re not doing that right now!” Sangoro yelped, hastily side-stepping in front of the swordsman in order to walk on his opposite side, letting the heavy part of his hair obscure the better part of his face from view.

“This is quite a fine welcome to your wonderful country, mosshead,” he grumbled, boots twisting in the dirt angrily as they reached a tight turn in the path, which doubled back on itself as it continued down a steeper part of the slope. “Tell me, do you always represent your people so well to foreigners?”

“Foreigners aren’t allowed.”

Sangoro’s steps screeched to a halt, the blond nearly toppling over in his haste to whirl around and face the swordsman, who remained a few paces up the hill, grinning down with a devilish flash of teeth, thumb casually pushing the golden handguard of one sword a few inches from its saya.

The blond paled.

“What…?!” he retorted for a second time, feeling his stomach clench uncomfortably when the man didn’t break the act, merely kept up that almost predatory look. “B-But that can’t be true!” he stammered, racking his brain for any difficulty his family could have had traveling to and from Wano. “My parents have—!”

But then, Zoro snickered, looking genuinely amused for the first time, and he set off walking again, leaning in close to assure, “I’m kidding,” near Sangoro’s ear before he passed. “You seriously looked ready to shit yourself.”

A loud groan from the blond, who didn’t hesitate to follow the swordsman this time, despite his annoyance, and it didn’t seem Zoro was looking to lose him either by the way he slowed his steps until the disgruntled blond was beside him once more.

“You’re hilarious, and that’s not a compliment!” Sangoro muttered, deadpan, sticking out a foot to kick the swordsman in the bare ankle when the man still looked downright pleased with himself.

Oddly, Zoro’s mood seemed to be lifting the longer the conversation continued, the mosshead not very good at hiding the little smirk of enjoyment that had begun to pull his features out of their low-browed scowl of earlier into an expression much more pleasant, certainly more youthful at the very least.

It rather irritated the blond further to think that Zoro’s change in demeanor was a direct result of his own annoyance. He was used to this, after all, used to merciless teasing and the sniggers and sneers it brought.

And yet...Zoro’s smug look had morphed into something a little more soft, and when Sangoro met his eye again, there was a spark of challenge there, yes, but hardly malicious intent, something the blond realized was both puzzling….and a bit charming…. Certainly nothing he’d ever experienced before in his life, most of his positive interactions coming from those who pitied him, or were obligated to care for him.

This was something else though, something new, and it was why he found himself tilting his head so he could land his gaze, both suspicious and curious, on the swordsman, despite his earlier attempts to hide it.

“Doesn’t mean we get many though.”

Zoro spoke, and for a moment, Sangoro had forgotten the conversation topic, in favor of wondering the meaning behind those three golden earrings that dripped from the mosshead’s ear.

“Hm?” he shot back, bringing his gaze back to some clarity.

“Foreigners,” Zoro explained with a quirk of his brow. “Not since the royal family was murdered. People are still scared.... You’re the first I’ve ever talked to.” His lips turned up again when he added, “I mean it—you’re gonna get looks.”

“Well, I won’t be staying long,” the blond quickly replied, considering the other man seemed so hung up on these looks he may or may not be getting. So long as no one made a fuss about who he was or where he’d come from, he could tolerate it. “I just need to regroup…” he explained. “Gather some supplies. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“To where?” Zoro snorted. “You’ve hit the edge of the continent, genius.”

He wasn’t wrong. Sangoro was perfectly aware of their geographic location, and though he’d never been much to care before, it became all too important now that he was looking to put Germa far behind him. Wano was a coastal country, unforgiving mountains locking Germa to the north.

It was surely the sea that now called him, something the blond had always been fascinated by, that endless blue like a siren, though he’d never laid eyes upon it himself.

Sitting with his mother for hours, hearing her gentle voice relay tales of her youth….. Those had been enough to transport and transfix him.

“Don’t you have boats?” the blond asked. Wano was a rather isolationist country, he knew from his studies, but surely they made use of their neighboring waters. “Are there no merchants that come to—?”

“Sail and you’re entering Kaido’s domain,” Zoro interrupted, and Sangoro found himself surprised to see the smirk fall from Zoro’s lips, his expression darkening in a way that actually sent a chill down his spine, all light vanishing from the conversation in one fell swoop.

Still, Zoro found the gall to snidely add, “And considering you couldn’t even survive in the wilderness...”

Sangoro scoffed, replying, “Am I not alive right now?”, though it was half-hearted.

Kaido’s domain…

Yes, the pirate warlord’s influence was well-known, even in Germa, where the only bodies of water were the few rivers that flowed down from the mountains. They petered out before reaching the inhabited plains, as if even they found the country undesirable…

But Kaido’s name was rather infamous, particularly after his crew of Beast Pirates, as they were rather fearfully named, had attacked Wano’s capital in the past, murdering three-fourths of their royal family and most of their defense force, leaving only their young princess, who had sought asylum in Germa for a time until the chaos died down.

“And the northeastern mountains? Goa?” Sangoro tried, naming the kingdom that had, admittedly, not been high on his list of escape routes. Goa’s monarchy was nearly as corrupt as Germa’s own.

“The monster you met roams that border as well. And I doubt the welcome you’d get on the other side would be half as fine as this one,” Zoro replied, smirking as if he merely spoke of a bit of rain hampering his plans and not the torrential downpour that would surely await.

Sangoro let out a scoff again, one fueled by far more frustration than annoyance now. The longer he stayed in one place, the more of a liability he was, not only to himself, but to the very country of Wano. He couldn’t afford to linger.

“I’m surprised no one has challenged Kaido yet…” he muttered, at a loss for anything else to say or do, considering his initial plans were now properly thwarted.

His eyes met Zoro’s for a split second when the swordsman shot him a glance, a flash of darkness coming over his expression, though he could have imagined it.

“Trust me, there are those who want to,” muttered the swordsman. “Myself included. But right now, we need to strengthen our forces. Focus on domestic issues. Least, that’s what the Empress says.”

Zoro trailed off, sounding less than convinced by that argument, and the blond noticed his fingers unconsciously twisting over the hilt of the white sword he’d been fidgeting with earlier.

“Domestic issues….” Sangoro repeated, watching those callused fingers for a moment. “Like the murderous beasts taking over your forests.”

As soon as he’d said that, the swordsman’s glare locked onto his once more, this time with barely masked frustration of his own.

“You telling me Germa doesn’t have its problems?” Zoro snapped. “Thought your royal family was off doing their own murderous shit…to their own citizens.”

Sangoro’s gut twisted uncomfortably, guilt, that shouldn’t have been his own, rearing its head, uglier than any monster he could encounter in real life.

“Why do you think I wanted out…” was all he could say.

He averted his gaze and trained it on the path ahead, the one taking him away from that life, one that neared the bottom of the slope now where the ground flattened out, crossed another short field where the first farmhouses waited amidst bundles of conifer trees.

Zoro had gone quiet too, though the blond could still feel his gaze for long enough to make him squirm, as if that predatory glower sought the well-deserved vengeance of all those who had suffered in his country. Or perhaps that was in Sangoro’s own imagination.

He needed the focus off him, needed it back on what lay ahead, not the bodies and pain that lay behind them.

“How is she?” he heard himself asking before he was fully aware, because his eyes had fallen on that magnificent castle in the distance, a flutter of nerves filling his chest for an entirely different reason. “Your Empress, I mean… Losing her family back then must have been devastating…”

Surely it must have, the pain of his own recent loss still raw in his heart. He couldn’t foresee that sting ever truly going away.

“Yeah,” Zoro’s voice rumbled slowly beside him. “But that was….what, thirteen years ago now? Why do you care?”

Sangoro shot a glare at him, unsurprised to find the swordsman’s eyes narrowed warily as well.

“Human compassion,” he justified, because it clearly wasn’t obvious to his dim-witted companion, nor was it necessary to hint at the memories that were still quite vivid in his mind….memories of a young girl’s lonely tears in the night...

But as soon as Zoro replied, “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”, the blond once again lost the will to argue, a brief flare of panic assaulting him.

“Forget I said anything…” he muttered, and fell silent again, fingernails digging into the strap of his arrow quiver for lack of anything else to fidget with.

Sangoro found himself grateful when Zoro said nothing else, hoping that the newfound tension in the air dispelled any desire of the swordsman to continue the conversation.

Sangoro had come for a fresh start. He wanted the city before him to hold nothing but new prospects, never returning to what was over and done with, as far as he was concerned. To what he couldn’t go back to.

He no longer wanted to be plagued, neither physically nor mentally, by what he’d left behind.

So they made their way along the rocky path in silence, pebbles and dirt slowly smoothing out beneath their feet the closer they got to civilization. Saturated squares of green rice fields were bisected more and more by modest chestnut houses and barns, those steepled thatch roofs and wooden frames soon changing to shining waves of tiles and crisply painted facades.

Slowly but surely, color burst around them into the rainbow of rooftops and cherry blossom trees they had seen from above the valley, the hustle and bustle of carriages and pedestrians alike turning the secluded dusty path into a busy road that led into the heart of the capital.

Market stalls and carts lined the way, the high-pitched nasally keen of shopkeepers hawking their wares ringing in the air and the temptation of cooking meat drifting amongst the crowds. Doors, that looked paper thin, slid open easily, the flow of traffic spilling in and out of the surrounding buildings, some houses, some shops, all with rows of sandals lined up in the entranceways.

It was just as exciting, just as beautiful as it looked from above, made more so by the people, dressed in similar robes to Zoro’s, each unique with all manner of designs and palettes, geometric patterns on men, women adorned with flowers and layers of overlapping silk that seemed to float as they moved through the streets.

Despite the activity in all directions as they walked, the street felt small, almost miniature, far more compact than anything the blond was used to in Germa, where identical houses rose in narrow spires, separate from one another, standing like stoic soldiers, cold and unwelcoming.

Here, there was a proper community, life present everywhere, from the architecture—that spoke of both tradition and a foreign mythology—certainly to the people, whose vibrant chatter and laughter filled the air.

And yet, as soon as the first pair of eyes locked onto the blond and his companion, that chatter stopped.

The air went frigid, a hush falling over the crowd in a ripple effect until the entire surrounding block had lost all its cheer in one fell swoop.

It was such a shock, to see hundreds of gazes fall on them silently, suddenly, that Sangoro actually stopped short, staggering back a step as if every single person before him had morphed into a feral beast to rival his encounter in the night.

Zoro had warned they would stare, hadn’t he, but this was something else, something cold and something disdainful, Sangoro felt, as the swordsman nudged him forward, seemingly unperturbed.

Slowly, they began walking again, the blond’s gaze flitting self-consciously left and right, letting Zoro take the lead down the street as if nothing was amiss, the crowds parting for him easily, people, young and old, quickly sidestepping out of his way. Out of fear? Intimidation? The blond wasn’t sure.

Sangoro could feel eyes landing on him for brief moments of time, but the farther they walked, the more he sensed something particular, when he noticed lips curling up in contempt as they passed, heard quiet murmurs, and saw judgment in so many gazes that were not trained on him, but rather….

Yes, he was sure of it. It was Zoro they were staring at, Zoro the people seemed so disgusted by, and there was no doubt about it when those whispers reached his ear, sending a chill down his spine as if they were the sneers and jibes of his brothers come back to haunt him.

“The disrespect….displaying his Seal so brazenly…”

...

“I can’t believe the Empress lets him wander freely…”

...

“....Useless….still hasn’t killed the creature…”

...

“You know, I’m starting to think he’s actually—”

Sangoro squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shook his head, and strode to catch up with Zoro, having fallen behind several paces.

He couldn’t listen to this. The criticism was not even directed at him, and yet he felt the words and the stares squeezing at his heart and his mind as if the hordes of people themselves were closing in to crush him.

He found himself speeding up, unable to take the pressure, the sound of Zoro’s slapping sandals echoing in his ears like a cracking whip.

“Oi!” he hissed in Zoro’s ear, hoping to hurry the swordsman’s leisurely pace along before it drove him completely insane. “Why are they looking at you like that?!”

With overbearing disdain, even menace, in their eyes...

To his surprise, Zoro didn’t answer, just kept walking, his features blank, as if he hadn’t even heard the blond’s question.

But Sangoro noticed the tension in his jaw that traveled down his neck and arm, down to the fist that had slowly begun to clench at his side, fingers squeezing themselves tightly.

Still no answer.

The blond huffed, eyes flicking nervously to the eerie crowd.

He nudged Zoro’s arm, leaned in more persistently.

“Hello? I asked you a ques—”

“They’re staring at you! I told you they would!” Zoro growled back suddenly, with enough irritation to make the blond jump, particularly when teeth bared and the tone of the swordsman’s voice tilted dangerously towards a bitter anger yet unseen.

“It’s you, not me! You’re the strange one here!” Zoro insisted when the blond merely looked shocked, staring as if the swordsman had grown another head of moss.

Taken aback, Sangoro felt his stomach clench uncomfortably, knowing he wasn’t crazy. He’d heard those murmurs, knew all too well when unwanted attention was directed at him, so dammit, what the hell was the swordsman going on about?

He knew it wasn’t him. But that look in Zoro’s eye, the heave of his chest, control slipping from him despite his passiveness of but a minute before...

Sangoro had clearly struck a nerve. And he no longer wanted to stick around to prod at another, not when Zoro’s mood had turned deadly serious so suddenly.

He needed space, free from the horrible underside of human nature that always seemed to surface around him. He’d left Germa to escape that, not dive full-force back into it.

His arms were reaching out of their own accord, shoving the swordsman aside, and then his boots were pounding in the dirt, pushing through the edge of the crowd, ignoring Zoro’s sudden call of, “Oi!” to put as much distance between them as he could.

Equally confused and shocked faces whizzed past him, a blurry kaleidoscope. His breaths panted harshly, and his heart now thundered in his chest, but at least it drowned out the whispers. At least he couldn’t hear the taunting calls of his name that crawled from his memory, told him he was pathetic for running, that he was nothing but a coward for leaving everything behind.

His legs propelled him into a narrow alley, barely wide enough to pass through, but he managed, jumping over some discarded wood and dodging a bundle of tall brooms propped against a wall before he burst out onto the opposite street.

Thankfully, it was far less crowded, lacking the market stalls and constant passing of traffic….the hundreds of eyes that had suddenly made the main road unbearable.

So he took off again, not knowing where he was going, but following the curve of this new dusty road until the packed-down dirt turned to large slabs of stone beneath his feet.

Then, the rows of buildings stopped suddenly, and he found himself at the foot of a bridge, a wide one that curved up in a gently arching hill, its thick wooden rails painted an almost blindingly brilliant vermilion.

The bridge spanned the length of what looked to be a moat, though what lay on the other side was entirely obscured by great stone walls that rose far above the blond’s head. Beyond them, he could just make out the lush green tufts of vegetation, and the massive form of the palace tree in the distance beyond.

Still panting, Sangoro glanced behind him, then to either side, finding he was alone on the water’s edge with an empty path before him.

And again, his feet moved before his mind, pace still quick, but no longer sprinting as he had been, the sudden shift in atmosphere having him slow even further when he passed through the opening in those walls and entered the interior.

To his surprise, what he found was a vast garden, but none like he’d ever seen before.

Paths of fine pebbles branched their way through soft lawns of moss, patches of flowers exploding from the ground in colorful bursts, as well as from veil-like trees, whose long, thin branches skimmed the paths and left a carpet of pink where their petals had fallen.

A large central pond lay tranquil, other odd trees stationed around it, each small, their branches stacked in wide layers as if physically flattened. Joining them stood peculiar stone sculptures, like tiny lantern pagodas, their feet firmly planted on the rocks that rested dormant in the calm water.

These were nothing like the palace gardens in Germa, which bore only worship to the king, their maze-like hedges filled with grandiose statues whose blank gazes followed eerily at every turn.

This was entirely different, the blond thought, now moving, almost trance-like, his heartbeat and breaths calming as he wandered over miniature footbridges that spanned trickling brooks, noticed yet more statues of meditative figures, their eyes closed as if asleep, dusted with moss and lichens as if they’d sat that way, undisturbed, for thousands of years.

He lost track of time, walking there, amongst the well-groomed foliage. It could have been minutes or hours. It was utter peace, these surroundings, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since his mother was in good health, the warm breeze through the trees just as comforting as her embrace.

It sucked all the terrible voices and whispers from his mind and left him wondering if maybe, just maybe, staying here wouldn’t be a—

“Hey, mister, you sleeping like that?”

His eyes shot open (when had he closed them?), heart jolting a bit before he located the source of the surprising voice.

Standing on the path ahead, stood a young girl, her red robe standing out amongst the greenery, her dark eyes wide and round as they stared at him.

He blinked, taking in her short bob of pink hair that matched the enormous bundle of flowers in her arms, the toothy grin that spread over her lips as she took in what must have been his bewildered expression.

“Uh….my apologies,” he stammered hastily, giving a small apologetic bow. “Just...taking in the scenery.”

The girl giggled again, though he’d not said anything remotely amusing, and took a few steps closer, several stray petals falling from her grasp. Her owlish eyes flitted over his form.

“You don’t look like you’re from here. Are ya lost?” she chirped, and when he found he couldn’t reply right away, her brow furrowed a little, despite the grin not leaving her face.

“Maybe he’s sick,” the girl muttered to herself, her head tilting curiously before she raised her voice again. “Are ya lookin’ for the palace? We’re real close—I’m goin’ back too! I can take ya there if ya—”

“What?” he yelped suddenly, knowing that was the last place he wanted to go. “No, no, why would I be? I—the market! If you could just point me in that direction, I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, her smile falling but not disappearing entirely. “Just wondered, ‘cause you’re lookin’ a little pale, an’ the Empress knows the best herbal remedies, y’know. She’d have you feelin’ a-okay real qui—!”

“I’m not in need of herbal remedies!” he assured. Then, with a huff, he turned quickly to head back towards the direction he’d come.

Only to collide with a body that leaped down from the tree above him, swift and silent, landing, surprisingly nimble despite his hulking size, on his two feet, green robe flowing out behind him.

“Nice one, Toko. You found him,” rumbled an irritating, familiar voice, causing Sangoro to lurch back from the broad chest he’d all but run, face-first, into.

“Huh? Found who?” asked the girl behind him, and when the blond shot a glance back at her over his shoulder, he saw her eyes and grin had begun to grow impossibly, on their way to engulf her whole face it seemed, when she exclaimed, “Wow, did I just help you with a mission?”

“Sure did,” Zoro said with a casual chuckle, and Sangoro began to find himself rather unsettled, trapped between two grins who clearly saw far more humor in the situation than he did.

How the fuck had the swordsman tracked him? And how had he managed to be that damn stealthy?

“I—What the—were you hiding in a tree? How long were you there?!” the blond squawked, for lack of anything better to ask, gut twisting uncomfortably at the odd, cunning look that was beginning to sharpen Zoro’s features. He hadn’t looked like that before.

“Why did you run?” Zoro asked smoothly, ignoring the blond’s questions. He tilted his head slowly, his gaze traveling up and down the blond’s form in a way that was far more calculating than anything he’d shown yet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sangoro snapped, and there was the feeling that he was cornered again, ever cornered by unexpected monsters.

“I don’t think he’s from here, Zoro!” the girl, Toko, piped up behind him, though Sangoro kept his wary gaze firmly on the swordsman.

Zoro shook his head, his eyes alight with something that leaned toward danger, as they had been before when he’d teased, but it was different, for that glint wasn’t going away, and it was enough to make Sangoro question his earlier assessment of the samurai’s skills....

“You’re right; he’s not,” Zoro’s voice purred in response. “He was lost in the mountains for days and he needs to rest.”

“I said I’d take him to the Empress!” Toko replied.

Again? Must everyone insist he be taken to the palace?

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Sangoro interrupted quickly, hands waving frantically and feet already shuffling in the fine stone path with the intention of sidestepping the swordsman and getting the hell out of there. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I need only stock up on supplies before I—”

Zoro rolled his eyes, jerked his head towards the girl with an unamused look.

“He’s said that about fifty times now…” he muttered.

And before the blond could even voice the retort building within him, the swordsman’s hand had clamped down onto his arm in a vicegrip, fingers like claws as they yanked him in close.

“Hey, let go of me!” the blond yelped, stumbling as his heart suddenly leapt to his throat in fear. “What the hell are you—?”

“I really hoped you wouldn’t make this difficult, Your Highness.”

Zoro’s low snickering close to his ear. The harsh sting of his arm when the swordsman wrenched it behind his back.

Then, the sharp ringing of metal, and the cold edge of a blade hovering over his throat.

The blond’s knees cracked painfully on the tiled floor as the swordsman shoved him down roughly, still with a sword to his throat and his grip fiercely twisting at both the blond’s wrists behind his back now.

He could barely make sense of his new surroundings through the fog of sheer panic that now clouded his world, nothing but the ever-encroaching immensity of the palace above staying in his mind, followed by a blur of unfamiliar staircases, doors, and rooms leading him to this point. Not to mention his own completely futile attempts to pull himself free.

“Oi, Hiyori.”

The swordsman’s voice had lost all charm the blond had so foolishly believed it to have, even for the most fleeting of moments. Now it held the same empty malice of his brothers and his father….surely.

Shapes moving ahead of him in the vast room, indistinguishable through the curtain of disheveled hair obscuring half of the blond’s face, though he dared not lift his head for fear that blade would finally tear into his skin.

A gruff, scolding male voice.

“Swordsman! The Empress must be referred to as ‘Empress’—‘Empress Hiyori’ at the most casual! Though to you, ‘Your Majesty’ would be most appro—”

“Kawamatsu, it’s alright,” a light-hearted female chimed in, only to receive an irritated grunt from Zoro, whose looming presence seemed to overtake all of the blond’s senses in that moment, from the feel of his skin to the press of his blade.

“We’d better send a messenger out to Germa, woman,” Zoro said. “I caught their missing prince. As you requested.”

The blond’s stomach dropped.

Chapter Text

Silence in the room. Nothing but the chill of his own blood pumping faster, harder, causing his head to throb and his mind to spin back into that horrible panic he was beginning to doubt would ever leave him.

Zoro knew who he was, had known all along, and there it was, the piercing feeling of eyes boring into him, even worse than in the marketplace because now those eyes were definitely on him.

He should have known. He should have known word would spread, that his father would send out a notice, that his father was perhaps here, in Wano, waiting for him. And not to welcome him back with open arms.

He should have known escape was impossible. And why? His father didn’t want him, would never want him, so why couldn’t he just be free?

He couldn’t move, couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t even look up, could only kneel there, helpless, at the mercy of that blade and the mercy of a girl—no, a woman now—that he’d never imagined he’d see again. Certainly not like this.

The blond knelt there, heavy breaths leaving him, gaze, wide and unfocused, staring blankly at the swirling patterns of jade and gold that swept over the floor tiles beneath him with dizzying design.

He couldn’t even be angry, not at anyone or anything but his own foolishness, for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’d had a chance beyond his kingdom’s borders.

The sound of clicking on the tile, echoing throughout the space, which he soon realized was a pair of shoes when they came into his field of vision, strange wooden sandals that clicked faster until they stopped directly in front of him, submerged in a pool of silky pink fabric when their owner sank to his level.

Hands, soft and slender, rose to his face, and though their touch was gentle, he still flinched instinctively when fingers met his jaw and brushed hair from his eyes. Those fingers lifted his chin carefully until he found himself staring at a young woman, long waves of teal hair tumbling over her shoulders, her features delicate and sympathetic, wrought with concern.

She looked even more beautiful than he remembered, even if thirteen years had passed since their last meeting, and the woman that crouched before him now was a stranger.

Yet her voice was quiet, almost hopeful, when she murmured, “Sanji…?”

His name. His real name, and the flash of emotion in his eyes was surely what had her red-painted lips turn up in what looked like relief.

“It really was you,” she breathed.

Sanji barely had time to relay his shock, a flustered utterance of, “E-Empress—” before arms flung themselves over his shoulders and he found himself yanked into a tight, joyful embrace.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed close to his ear, the scent of her hair like fresh cherry blossoms, overwhelming at such close proximity. “You’re alive! Sanji, do you remember me? You were so small, but—”

Just as soon as she’d leapt for him, the empress pulled back, holding Sanji at arm’s length to gaze at him for an elated moment.

“Zoro, let go of him,” she said distractedly, and though Sanji couldn’t see his face, he could sense the swordsman’s confusion when the grip he had on Sanji’s wrists loosened slowly, almost reluctantly, before releasing him entirely.

Sanji supposed he hardly looked any less baffled by the situation.

The empress giggled, her hands unsure of where to land, fingers meeting his cheek, then his shoulders again, his chest, before they settled on his waist. And he had no choice but to allow it when she dove in for another affectionate hug, this one for longer.

Despite her delight, not to mention her beauty, Sanji couldn’t lift his arms, couldn’t hold her back, even if he no longer sensed any threat but rather the genuine joy of an old friend.

“Look at you,” the empress said when she sat back again, giving a playful squeeze to his biceps, her bright eyes traveling over his form. “You’re a man now.” Another giggle and she leaned closer, lips flirtatiously smug as they pulled up in a smirk. “You probably enjoyed that hug, didn’t you~”

“I-I—” he stammered once again, having lost any sense of eloquence he should have possessed, his cheeks growing unbearably hot, gaze unable to meet hers.

Mercifully, the swordsman’s gruff voice sounded from somewhere behind him, the man’s irritation clear.

“He was out near the base of Fuji,” Zoro grumbled. “No food. No supplies. Nearly got himself killed.”

But any insult he might have intended was quickly squashed when the empress’ eyes flicked back to Sanji, a question quickly tumbling out.

“What were you doing there?” she asked, her grasp having settled on Sanji’s forearms. “We were sent wanted posters! I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

Sanji resisted the urge to scoff, pushed it right back down along with his own forming question, the part of him that didn’t understand why she cared, why she seemed so concerned after all these years. Even if they’d bonded as children, how could anyone care about what he’d become?

If he’d been kidnapped….well, at least that would have meant he had some worth. But that wasn’t the case.

Thus, a sense of embarrassment, of shame, rose within him, replaced any happiness he might have felt over their reunion.

A hissed sigh, and he averted his gaze to the floor once more, staring hard at the patterns there as if they would direct his words. With Zoro, a stranger, it had been easy. With her, not so...

“Empress. Please,” he murmured slowly, heart in his throat. “I ask...that you not alert my father as to my whereabouts. I-I left there, with the intention of never returning. I cannot go back. Not as I am.”

The blond lifted his head guiltily, risked a glance at the empress’ face. Though her grip on his arms remained, her brow had furrowed slightly with concern.

He took a shaky breath, swallowed hard, before continuing.

“I will not stay here long,” he assured. “I will gather what I need for my journey and be on my way. The last thing I want to do is endanger your kingdom if my father comes searching for me. I will leave….”

Sanji’s words were met with silence for a long moment, the empress looking torn, and Sanji thought he knew why when a man stepped into his line of sight, his body stout, but massively thick with compact strength. A burst of long fiery orange hair exploded from beneath a pointed straw hat he wore on his head, a red scarf covering much of his face, save for a pair of dark eyes and a small beak of a nose.

Sanji’s brows rose for a moment, recognizing, if vaguely, this man. The empress’ retainer, wasn’t he? Sanji remembered, as a boy, being rather frightened of the odd, hulking man who’d eventually come to retrieve the princess from Germa. He was….Kawamatsu? The empress had used the name just a minute ago….

Name aside though, one thing remained. The blond could admit to the small feelings of dislike he’d harbored as a child, watching this man usher away the only friend he’d ever made...

And Sanji could sense an overbearing protectiveness when the man spoke, moving closer to the empress.

There was hardly an indication of Kawamatsu’s expression when he stated, “Kaido controls the surrounding sea.”

It was the same warning Zoro had given. Sanji sighed, nearly turning to shoot a glance at Zoro before thinking against it. He didn’t know the swordsman’s true intentions anymore.

“So I’ve been told…” the blond muttered, wishing someone would give him a solution instead of reiterating the truth that continued to trap him.

“And you can’t pass through the mountains to Goa now either,” the man added sternly. “A strange beast roams the forests. Until it has been vanquished—”

“Then let me vanquish it!” Sanji huffed out impulsively, his frustration and desperation beating its way to the forefront, despite the presence of the empress.

“You…?” Kawamatsu replied slowly, skepticism clear. “Forgive me, Prince, but even our samurai have yet to be successful.”

“Yes, I’ve seen proof of that,” Sanji said, unsure if he should mention his encounter in the mountains, ultimately deciding against it in case he found his head lopped off from behind.

A soft disgruntled noise left Kawamatsu in response, muffled by the scarf covering his mouth, and Sanji noticed his narrowed eyes had settled behind him, on Zoro, the blond confirmed with a subtle turn of his head.

For the first time since tumbling into the room, the blond took in the swordsman’s stance, Zoro’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his jaw twitching slightly as he clenched it.

Zoro’s discomfort was clear, his own gaze fixated resolutely on the walls, which Sanji now saw were adorned with the bold lines of ink paintings on long hanging scrolls, many depicting the contorted forms of horrible-looking beasts. Others showed figures clearly ready to combat them, robes flowing and swords drawn in lyrical arcs of movement, brushstrokes almost animating the action within.

They were rather beautiful, transfixing, though something about them seemed to unsettle the swordsman, as he ultimately lowered his tumultuous expression to the floor.

“Stay with us, friend. Here, in the Scabbards’ Compound.”

The empress’ voice nearly startled Sanji, particularly when her fingers gripped his arms a little tighter, and he reluctantly ceased his deciphering of the swordsman’s face.

“Until Zoro has defeated it,” the empress continued when Sanji met her eye again. “If you cannot return to Germa, then we will protect you here. And we will not breathe a word of your presence.”

Immediately, however, Kawamatsu let out another displeased sound, his head shaking with almost automatic disagreement.

“Empress, please reconsider,” he advised, the adamance in his tone far stronger than his words. “You know how the Germa royalty are—”

“He’s not like them,” the empress replied, her blue eyes kind and honest, as if they saw through to something Sanji could no longer see.

Still, Kawamatsu insisted.

“It’s been years, Empress,” he huffed. “We cannot continue to put blind trust in those that might bring harm to—”

“That’s enough!”

The sudden and sharp exasperation in the empress’ tone caused Sanji’s heart to jolt in his chest, a seriousness coming over her features when she whipped her head to frown up at her retainer.

An unexpected tension rippled through the air, and it heightened the blond’s nerves enough that he knew he had to dispel it somehow.

“If I help defeat the beast, then I can leave sooner,” Sanji cut in quickly, his words falling out faster than his common sense could edit. “Consider it my payment for your generosity.”

Surprisingly, silence followed his statement for a long moment, along with the judgment of Kawamatsu’s stare yet again.

“Payment…” the man murmured quietly, almost mulling the word over by the sound of it, and when Sanji risked a glance, he saw that he had once again let his contemptuous gaze drift to Zoro for reasons unknown.

“So he’s staying?!”

A shriek interrupted the strange atmosphere, and Sanji looked up to see the little girl, Toko, previously unnoticed, now looking their way from across the room, where the floor lifted in a raised platform and she knelt in front of a low table, arranging the pink-hued flowers and small branches she’d gathered in a decorative vase.

In fact, there were many flowers, he noticed, the blond finally taking proper stock of his surroundings, a long room with low ceilings, the walls and ceiling a grid of wooden supports framing those beastly paintings. It was an audience hall by the looks of it, with minimalistic opulence, a gold accent here and there, no furniture but that table, surrounded in a semi-circle by ten cushions placed on the floor.

It felt small, with its lack of windows, and it made the blond feel all the more nervous for that reason...

“Yes~” Hiyori answered, her lips turning up and her voice returning to its cheerful tone. Her hands released Sanji’s arms gently then, and she rose to her feet, the full splendor of her intricate robe on display right before Sanji’s eyes.

She turned to Kawamatsu and said with finality, “I’d like to speak with him. Privately.”

Though the man stood defiantly taller than her, it only took a few moments before he let out a heavy sigh and seemed to bow under her authority.

“You have Enma,” he muttered quietly, Sanji following the gesture of the man’s large hand to notice, almost hidden amongst the folds and waves of the empress’ robe, the long ivory sheath of a sword tied to her waist by a sash.

Her delicate fingers brushed the hilt for a brief moment before she assured, “I won’t be needing it.”

Her lips curved up a little more, her palm extending towards the swordsman behind Sanji.

“Anyway, Zoro is here. All will be fine~”

But Kawamatsu’s response was fast and sharp as the blade he’d just indicated.

“No,” he growled, jerking his head at the swordsman. “You are dismissed.”

Sanji’s mouth felt dry, witnessing, for the second time since he’d arrived, the utter disdain for the swordsman that he’d experienced in the marketplace. It was disturbing, and though he was still unsure of the reason, he couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy he felt, despite knowing nothing of the circumstances, particularly when the swordsman quickly turned away without so much as another word. His dark eyes merely met Sanji’s for a split second more before he swiftly crossed the room, slid open a door, and was gone.

Sanji stared at that closed door for perhaps longer than necessary. For all his irritation at the swordsman for his manhandling, for his blunt, unfiltered tongue... The apparent hatred for him felt….entirely misplaced.

Or perhaps he was seeing too much of his own past manifesting in the situation...

“I’ll be outside,” Kawamatsu was saying, reluctantly brushing past to follow the swordsman’s path and exit the room after him, leaving Sanji alone with the empress and Toko, still fiddling with her flower arrangements quietly.

Even if Toko was preoccupied, he sensed a troubled pang from the empress when he looked up at her, her brow now furrowed at the door, lips drawn into a small, pouting frown.

“I’m sorry…” Sanji mumbled, feeling embarrassment start to creep over him once more. “I’m causing you trouble…”

The empress’ hand met his shoulder with a reassuring touch before she offered the same hand to help him to his feet.

“You’re not,” she said when he took her hand with a closed smile and stood as well. “Please don’t mind him…”

Sanji sighed, releasing the empress’ hand, rolling his shoulders a bit to relieve some of the soreness wrought there by Zoro’s rough treatment. The damn swordsman had been far too eager to carry out his little mission.

“You look exhausted," noted the empress, her tone sympathetic. "I can show you to the guest quarters if you’d like to rest. Are you injured?”

He shook his head, forced a smile. “No. I’m fine. Though I appreciate the concern.”

Still, his eyes drifted to the door through which Zoro and Kawamatsu had disappeared, wondering how long it would be before the empress’ retainer deemed it time to intervene.

The empress hardly seemed bothered though when she said, “Let’s take the scenic route then,” with a pretty smile as she boldly looped her arm through his, drawing heat to the blond’s cheeks, no matter how innocent the gesture.

“Toko, will you join us?” the empress asked the girl, who, after a few slight movements of flower stalks, finally looked up from the table, still with a bright grin that hardly ever seemed to dim.

“Let’s go!” Toko chirped, hopping to her feet. “Y’know, he fell asleep standin’ up earlier, out in the gardens. Think he’s real tired~”

The empress chuckled.

This certainly didn’t help the heat currently assaulting the blond’s face, but he stayed quiet, merely let out a sheepish breath and shrugged to hide his embarrassment.

Maybe he could admit to a bit of fatigue.... It would certainly be nice to sleep indoors again, that was for sure.

The empress led Sanji over to the edge of the low platform, where he noticed she slipped out of the high wooden sandals she wore and stepped onto the woven straw mats with her bare feet.

Toko giggled, then slipped her hand into the empress’ free one and gave a playful tug towards the other end of the room until the empress followed with a chuckle of her own, shooting an expectant look back at Sanji.

The blond stood where he was for a long moment, slightly baffled by the foreign concept of removing his shoes, but eventually, he followed suit, though it took significantly longer to undo the many laces and buckles that fastened up his boots.

An awkward minute later, his dirty, scuffed boots slumped beside the empress’ pristine footwear on the tiles, and he stepped onto the platform in his wool hosen that would probably sully the mats anyway, in need of a good wash as they were.

Sanji felt entirely out of place as he made his way to the two, Toko having slid open another door near the corner of the room, this one made of a translucent paper that stretched taut over the frame.

But neither the girl nor the empress seemed to mind his uncertainty, Toko skipping off ahead of them, the empress sliding her arm through his once more.

They emerged into a hallway, smooth wooden floor stretching impossibly long before them. More closed doors lined the left side, but a glance to the right had Sanji’s breath catch in awe.

The right stood open to the air, revealing a beautiful courtyard, much like the garden he’d wandered into earlier, lush trees and flowers circling a pond where he saw a glimpse of some of the biggest fish he’d ever seen, orange and gold scales flickering in the sunlight as they swam slowly about.

Looming, impossibly huge beyond the buildings on the opposite side, was the towering shape of the palace tree, curtains of water spouting from the trunk itself where they thundered into a hazy mist near the base.

But despite that fantastical sight, what Sanji found most fascinating were the fine gray pebbles filling in the spaces between plants and walkways in the courtyard, pebbles that were raked carefully in mesmerizing patterns and designs, perfect circles mixed with rigidly straight lines, not a mark out of place.

He must have been staring for far too long, a strange sense of calm coming over him as he took in the swirling grooves of the garden’s designs because he heard the knowing smile in the empress’ voice when she said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He let out a breath and nodded.

“Yes, it is,” Sanji murmured in reply, feeling, not for the first time since arriving, that this land had the power to transport him much further than the physical distance he’d traveled.

“Kawamatsu changes the design every morning,” the empress explained. “He says it’s a form of meditation for him. I would help, but I’ve admittedly never had the patience for it.”

Sanji’s lips turned up slightly, a faint memory crawling to the forefront of his mind. Fingers digging trails in the sand. His mother’s fond smile…..

His brothers’ feet trampling heavily through his proud scrawlings…

Sanji turned away, Toko now much farther down the hallway, humming a carefree tune to herself as she floated along.

“Toko is an orphan,” the empress said, the gentle breeze playing with her bangs, the two starting after the girl once more. “Our fathers were close, but hers passed away two years ago and she had nowhere to go. She lives here now. Helps around the palace.” She smiled and glanced Sanji’s way. “You know, it’s said her father died laughing.”

One look at Toko ahead of them, the girl waiting at the end of the hallway for a beat before vanishing around the corner with her identifying grin...

Sanji smirked.

“I’d believe it,” he murmured, smirk growing when he heard the empress’ quiet chuckle beside him.

It was peculiar, Sanji thought, to stroll so amiably with an essential stranger. He was surely a stranger to her himself. After all, he hardly felt like the same person as that small six-year-old who’d seen that mysterious burst of light between the lush rows of grapes in the castle vineyard.

A little boy, not yet ruined by his father and brothers’ abuse, who’d tugged on his mother’s dress lightly, and found a foreign girl huddled there in the vineyard path, clutching a mysterious scroll, alone and trembling, but shedding no tears.

She never had, the entire time she’d stayed in Germa, and in fact, she’d never even spoken a word, an eventual messenger the only way they’d even come to learn of the terrible events in Wano.

Sanji had stayed with her, talked to her, even if she remained silent, because even though he hadn’t understood her sorrow and trauma at the time, in his young mind, he’d known it mattered, and he’d known she needed a friend.

Now, thirteen years later, he did understand her plight. He understood fully, that horrible terror and wrenching uncertainty that came with losing a parent. Even Toko did, apparently.

But here the empress and the girl were, their smiles full of genuine light, and Sanji had no idea, no idea how it was possible…

And he had no idea how to talk about it.

“You have a lovely voice, Empress,” he finally murmured, deciding that he could at least compliment her on that, even if he still felt too insecure to openly acknowledge his own weakness in comparison. “I feared, even then, I might never hear it.”

They reached the end of the hallway and turned, now heading down a long, low-ceilinged passage connecting to another building, Toko still farther ahead.

“It was my own way of coping,” the empress said, and when Sanji spared her a glance, her head was held high, a twinkle of bold determination in her eye, particularly when she looked at him seriously. “But I quickly realized that silence would not change the past, certainly not bring back those who were lost. And it would not lead my country…”

He found himself nodding, even though shame filled his chest at his own inability to live by those words.

“Empress…” he murmured after a moment, and voiced something that had taken him aback when they’d reunited. “Why did you seem surprised I was alive….?”

Her brow furrowed at that, and she slowed her steps a little to fix him with her full attention.

She looked at him for a long moment, her breathing light as she studied his face.

“We were told you died…” she finally said gently, her free hand coming to rest on his arm.

Sanji’s heart knocked hard in his chest, a sickening feeling suddenly rising in his throat in lieu of any response he could have had.

The look on his face must have been troubled enough that the empress shifted to take his hand in both of hers, giving a comforting squeeze.

“Shortly after I returned to Wano, all those years ago,” she explained quietly. “We received word that you had died of a mysterious illness. So soon after...my family and the Scabbards, I….” She trailed off, closing her eyes for a moment before continuing. “It was a shock. Even as young as you were, you were so kind to me. I never forgot it.”

The blond stayed quiet, finding it difficult to quell the dread he felt. Perhaps worst of all, he didn’t feel angry, merely defeated...accepting...

“A few days ago,” the empress added. “A messenger arrived with wanted posters for a missing person from Germa. No mention of a name. The illustration was rather crude, but I knew it was you.”

A faint attempt at a smile, but her brows soon furrowed again, her gaze now fixed on him intently, almost searching his face for answers.

“What I can’t understand was why we were told you were dead,” she said. “You’re their prince. Was it false information? Was it sent prematurely? Did you survive your illness or—?”

“I was never ill,” Sanji cut in, his voice void of any emotion. “I’ve just been dead to my father since that time. He told my kingdom I was dead….kept me locked away. I guess I’m not surprised he wanted the world to think so as well.”

A flash of empathy flickered through the empress’ eyes, fingers giving his another squeeze.

“Why…?” she murmured.

“I bear no Seal, unlike the rest of my siblings,” he said with a dejected shrug. “After Kaido attacked your kingdom, my father began to see them as weapons. In case Kaido targeted Germa. And….considering the Seal Kaido obtained from your brother, we would need the extra power to combat him.” Sanji sighed. “He had no use for my weak form.”

The empress was silent, Toko’s faint humming ahead of them and the soft padding of their footsteps the only sounds to break it. Sanji knew he’d troubled her with his explanation, and while he most certainly did not want to do that, he was merely stating facts, things he’d learned to live with. He didn’t need pity.

“Perhaps he was trying to protect you…” she eventually said, her voice quiet, but a little hopeful.

Still, he had to shake his head.

“No,” he murmured. “If he’d really wanted to protect me, he would have trained me like my siblings. But he made my worth to the family very clear.... My mother was the only one that kept me safe until now.”

Another silence, this one heavier than the last as that familiar dark fog of sorrow crept over his heart, grew to cloud the very air around them.

“Is the news about your mother true…?” the empress asked quietly.

He nodded, looking straight ahead through that blurry fog. “Yes.”

He felt her weight grow heavier against his shoulder, the smooth pad of her thumb brushing over the back of his hand, an attempt at comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Sanji swallowed back the stinging lump in his throat. “Me too…”

It seemed the conversation was ruined, as thoughts tumbled back into darkness. Not even the sunlight, shining warm and bright through the windows on either side of them, was enough to light up his spirits.

It was a slump he admittedly hadn’t felt all day, not since he’d been lost in the woods, alone and hungry. Shit, he was still pretty hungry too…

But why was that? What had cleared the fog, if only for a short while? Nothing had changed. He’d merely been burdened with the presence of that irritating swordsman for most of the morning. Nothing else remarkable.

That strange swordsman with his strange attitude, strange hair, strange Seal on his chest, strange smirk that had seemed to be hiding something…

Sanji wanted to see him again, he realized. He still had to kick his useless ass, even if just verbally, for dragging him to the palace like some kind of animal. For some reason, the swordsman’s very presence lit a fire in him he’d never been brave enough to unleash.

“Seals do not dictate a person’s worth.”

The empress’ voice cut into his thoughts, Sanji almost forgetting where he was for a moment as his mind wandered.

He turned to look at her, blinking owlishly.

“That’s what I believe,” she continued, meeting his eye with a small upturn of lips. “Only my mother and brother possessed one, and yet my father was emperor. And he was loved by the people. Just as much as my mother and brother.”

The blond resisted the urge to scoff in the presence of such a respected woman, but he couldn’t exactly help it. Not when he remembered clearly how the people in the streets had looked so sneeringly at Zoro. How her very advisor had dismissed him so readily. Surely the commonfolk didn’t share the sentiments of the past. In fact, it appeared to be the exact opposite now.

“Of course, Wano has changed,” the empress continued, her brow furrowing as she confirmed Sanji’s thoughts. “Since my family was killed. Since my brother’s Seal was taken. Most see Seals as threats now, a target on our kingdom to lure other greedy enemies. Those who bear Seals keep them hidden.”

“Not your swordsman,” Sanji replied, Zoro's smug face filling his mind. “I saw his clear as day.”

Again, her lips pulled up, though the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes, her gaze seeming to travel far from the passageway they walked through now.

She seemed to mull over her words for a minute before eventually replying, “Zoro is….different.”

“So I judged,” he muttered.

Surprisingly, she chuckled, and when he glanced over at her, her smile was fond.

“Perhaps you two have that in common,” she said, an impish glint in her eye. “If you’d like, I can order him to train you~”

“I think I’d prefer to train on my own,” he answered quickly, knowing that would surely be disastrous, even barely knowing the man.

She sighed as they rounded a corner in the hall, a long row of doors appearing to their right.

“Well, as much as I appreciate your offer of help, I’d like to avoid seeing you truly killed,” the empress admitted, fingers squeezing his. “I haven’t seen the monster myself, but some of the farmers have detailed quite terrifying accounts. Our mountains are full of large beasts, but never have they shown such...murderous intent.”

Murderous intent, she said, and yet the damn swordsman had traipsed around the wilderness like it was nothing.

“You sent Zoro to defeat it,” he mumbled, trying not to sound sulky, but he did have some pride left to uphold.

Pride that was effectively crushed when she replied, “Zoro is strong. Stronger than anyone here,” though her tone was somewhat wistful, particularly when she continued. “His history with our family goes back...to the day of Kaido’s massacre.”

“How so…?” he asked slowly, studying her face and wondering what history lay behind her words. His gaze drifted to her turquoise hair. “Are you related?”

This earned him a bright laugh from the empress, her eyes alight with mirth.

“No,” she assured. “But he has pledged his life to me. I think….it’s a story he might not want me to tell you.”

Sanji couldn’t help the small frown of confusion that came to his lips. Yet more mysteries unfolded, but he decided to let it go for the moment as the empress stopped before a door. Toko was nearby, he noticed, dutifully sliding open a few more wooden panels along the wall to let in more fresh air and sunlight.

“Get some rest, Sanji,” said the empress, gesturing towards the door before them, and he realized they’d seemingly arrived at their destination. “I’ll have you sent something to eat. Along with someone to show you to the bathhouse.”

His stomach dropped a little with embarrassment, the blond briefly glancing down at his own form, which could certainly be described as haggard at best, and he knew he hardly smelled anywhere near as enticing as the empress’ perfume.

A hand covered her mouth as she chuckled.

“Will you join me tomorrow morning for breakfast?” she asked, and though Sanji felt his face heating yet again, he hastily nodded.

“Of course, Empress.”

“Hiyori~” she corrected, with a wink and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. “Now go. Unless you’d like company in the bath~”

To add to his torture, his heart stuttered, eyes going wide and his mouth gaping for a response, none escaping him beyond an unbecoming stammer.

The empress merely giggled, then stepped away.

“Until later, Sanji,” she said, a hand coming to rest gently on Toko’s head when the girl joined the empress at her side, giving Sanji a cheeky wave of her own. The empress’ voice softened. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Then the two turned away, leaving Sanji staring after them for a bit too long, his pulse still hammering a bit too hard.

But when they turned the corner, leaving him alone in the long hall, he managed a deep breath, which he let out slowly, a faint smile reaching his lips.

“Likewise… Hiyori,” he murmured.

When Sanji slid open the door to his room, his breath caught because, although the room was minimally decorated, again with soft woven floors and wooden accents, he was treated to an uninterrupted view of that magnificent garden they’d passed on the way. The walls of the room had been slid open entirely, letting in the warm breeze and the soothing floral scent of the air.

Sanji closed the entrance behind him, noted a pair of sandals, similar to the empress’, positioned near the door, and climbed the raised step into the room.

A low table sat in the center of the room, upon which a steaming pot of tea already waited for him, inviting enough that he took a few minutes to indulge, cradling a small ceramic cup in his palms as he knelt there, taking in the moment of tranquility and trying to clear his brain of all he’d experienced in the past hour alone. It was enough to make anyone’s head spin.

Eventually, he padded from the first room into a second one, an adjacent bedroom by the looks of it, its doors closed to the garden, with a thin sleeping mat laid out on the floor, topped with ornately-patterned layers of blankets. Folded atop the blankets were what looked like a robe and a sash.

He couldn’t help the near shudder that escaped him, so enticing was the sight, and it was almost a rush to throw off his bow, his arrow quiver, all his clothes, slip into the clean cotton of that striped robe, and stretch out blissfully on the mat with a euphoric sigh.

He lay there, breathing in the soothing scent of pine, reminding him of the deep forest in which he’d spent the last few days, but this was relaxing, faintly mixed with smoke or incense that he couldn’t quite identify.

It didn’t matter, Sanji thought, as his eyes closed of their own accord. There were certainly plenty of things about Wano that he didn’t yet understand. But these were things he could discover later, because for all his haste to be in and out quickly, he could admit that he’d perhaps earned a bit of rest, as the empress—Hiyori—had so urged.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, time seeming to pass in a strange haze measured only by his slow breaths and the passing of shade over his closed eyelids as the day wore on, the sun reaching its height and beginning its descent.

...

Or at least, he’d assumed it was the sun, for when he opened his eyes again, he found the room entirely dark, save for a small wood-framed lantern he noticed in the corner, the flickering dance of a flame visible through its translucent paper.

He slowly sat up, unsure of his surroundings for a moment before he remembered the garden, the empress’ sweet smile….Zoro’s titanic grip on his arm….his knees slamming hard into tile.

A sudden tapping sound in the darkness, and his head whipped towards the source, though he couldn’t locate it, the room empty as before. He could have imagined it...

But then, that tapping persisted, a leisurely wave of successive clicks that Sanji quickly realized was not coming from the room itself but from outside, beyond its thin walls.

Those clicks grew louder, closer in their lazy approach, and the very air turned dark around him, even the lantern’s light seeming hesitant to shine. He now feared what lay in the sheer black beyond the room’s threshold.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, his heartbeat quickening, the rush of blood in his ears filling the silence surrounding him.

The room grew frigid, his body rooted to the spot, and suddenly, it hit him. That all too familiar terror, the same as he’d felt in the forest, as if a heavy shroud had been dropped on the world, the approach of those clicks entirely sinister.

Closer…. Closer…. Toying with his senses until they came to a sudden halt, the lantern’s flame giving a shudder, lanky shadows contorting along the walls.

And then, the low scrape of unmistakable scratching, long and loud, right on the other side of the wall, enough to send a tremor through his body, the sound raking through his chest like a blade.

One scratch…. Digging into the wooden floor… Another…… A third…… A fourth….

Then, silence. Silence, save for the slow expelling of air from lungs that weren’t his own, his own breath frozen.

The light from the lantern flickered out in one fell swoop, plunging the room into sheer darkness.

Until, with a massive rattle, the paper stretching the walls tore, claws puncturing it, ripping parallel trails clean through.

The moon shone through the holes, bright and full, into the room, a beam of light illuminating him where he quaked in horror.

Then the moon disappeared, replaced by a black void, and a single crimson eye locking onto him.

An otherworldly growl shook the air.

Even his own scream died in his throat.

And then he gasped, a great gulp of air that caused his whole body to lurch, eyes shooting open to find the ceiling above him, softly lit by the sinking orange of sunset.

Sanji scrambled up to find himself in the same room, his face covered in a cold sweat, but the room was light, not yet engulfed in that horrible darkness.

The wall stood intact, the paper undamaged.

And Sanji nearly jumped out of his skin to find a young woman knelt on the floor by the open door to his bedroom, peering timidly into the room.

“A-Ah!” she huffed in surprise, averting her gaze. “Forgive me for disturbing you. I’ve merely delivered your dinner. Also taken your clothes for washing. Please excuse me.”

She placed her hands on the floor, bowing low, before getting to her feet and shuffling from the room, the eventual slide of another door signaling her exit.

Left alone in silence once more, Sanji’s heart hadn’t stopped its pounding, his entire body on edge, as if any second he’d hear that telltale click of claws on wood again, hear the fierce tearing, and see that red eye burning into him…

Could he even eat now? He wasn’t sure, even as his stomach gave a protesting rumble to contradict his thoughts.

Still, he didn’t want to sit there alone in such an enclosed space, so he quickly got to his feet and hurried into the other room, where the doors to the garden still stood open, letting in the comforting view of the setting sun and the light breeze that was nowhere near stifling.

On the table in the center of the room sat a pot of some kind of stew, the homey smell of boiling vegetables and broth taking him right back to the kitchens of the castle in Germa, where he’d spent so much of his time growing up. And the sight of a steaming grilled fish and rice, waiting for him on another platter, instantly told him to forget his damn anxiety and sit down to enjoy his first proper meal in days.

So he did just that, even if fingers clumsily handled the two short tapered sticks meant as utensils, his eyes constantly darting around the room as he ate, the vivid memory of that monstrous stare boring into him...

Sanji didn’t wait for an escort to lead him to the bathhouse after his meal, which was perhaps foolish considering the darkening halls and the many wrong turns he made as a result, but dammit, he wanted to prove to himself and to any shitty demons that haunted him that he wasn’t scared. He couldn’t be scared anymore, especially if he was to face this beast again for real, had volunteered for it, for fuck’s sake.

As it was, Zoro was probably already wandering the mountains in search of it at this point in the evening...

And yet, after some time, Sanji managed to find himself, somewhat miraculously, in what had to be the bathhouse, a large tiled room, lit by lanterns, the walls lined with the gaping maws of stone dragons who spewed, not fire, but water from their mouths.

The room was empty, so he tentatively entered, eventually stripping down and seating himself on a small wooden stool where he proceeded to fill a nearby bucket with water and dump the entire contents over his head.

It was freezing, but he hardly cared. It felt far more refreshing than it should have.

Another bucket by the wall contained bars of waxy soap, and he set to washing himself, every nook and cranny, almost frantically, as if it could cleanse him of not only the physical dirt, but every negative thing he’d been feeling.

He could have been there for an hour, for all he knew, the sun sinking ever lower outside the open door, a cool night breeze blowing the hanging cloths that shielded the entrance.

Except no...that wasn’t the entrance. It was another doorway he hadn’t noticed at first, on the opposite end of the room, this one with a stone path visible through the open lower half, the warm light of yet more flickering lanterns illuminating it.

Curious, Sanji filled up one last bucket-full of water, rinsed himself of all suds, then got to his feet.

He grabbed up his robe, tied it around his waist, and slowly moved to peer through the doorway.

Sanji inhaled sharply in surprise. The door led outside, to another enclosed garden, this one peppered with several large pools of steaming water amongst the trees, a lantern-lined walkway leading to each.

Again, the space was empty, so, with a glance behind him, he stepped outside and made his way along a path, to the nearest pool.

Another quick survey of the area to assure he was alone, then he slipped out of his robe and, nude, slid slowly into the warm water, first a toe to test, then his whole body once he became used to the heat.

A deep relaxed sigh and he leaned back against the rocks, tilting his head to the sky and closing his eyes, nothing but the sound of trickling water and the rustle of the wind in the trees to accompany him.

“Mind if I join you, Prince?”

Sanji’s eyes shot open with a start, and he hastily turned to see the broad form of Kawamatsu, clad only in a green robe circling his thick waist, his orange hair like flames underlit by the lanterns.

The blond stammered for a second, but eventually regained himself enough to shake his head and slide to the side, allowing the man more room to climb in.

He averted his eyes automatically as Kawamatsu’s robe met the stones beside the water, followed by the long sword he still carried, and then his own nude body slipped in with a satisfied sigh.

Sanji sunk lower into the water self-consciously, arms crossing over his torso. Not that his nudity was exposed, hidden by the dark water, but he still found himself a little embarrassed, particularly when the air fell into a silence he deemed awkward, though the other man seemed not to mind.

The silence persisted for a while, long enough that Sanji wondered if the man would say nothing at all. But, after some minutes, Kawamatsu’s perceptive gaze met his, now unobscured by the hat and scarf he’d worn earlier.

“I’m afraid I can’t apologize for my wariness earlier, Prince. When it came to letting you stay,” said the samurai. “But I do owe you thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” the blond asked, raising a brow.

After all, he remembered the man’s so-called ‘wariness’ a little differently. Not so much cautious, but more so contemptuous. Perhaps Sanji’s own reaction had been a little brash, volunteering to kill the monster as he had. But if proving himself was what he needed to do...

“For the kindness you bestowed on the empress when she was a girl,” Kawamatsu continued, admittedly not the answer Sanji was anticipating. “I worried immensely after I sent her away, but it seems your care resonated with her, to this day.”

“It was nothing,” Sanji replied, somewhat taken aback. “I…. I needed a friend.”

Kawamatsu nodded, and Sanji noticed the man’s gaze shift distinctly to his bare chest, something that automatically had Sanji lifting a hand to brush over it uneasily, even if his lack of a Seal seemed to be preferred in Wano.

“You and the Empress are alike,” the man eventually said. “I sense you will be a great leader. Without the need for excess power.”

It was odd for Sanji to hear. It was certainly a sentiment he’d never before heard in his life, not even from his mother, but where it should have been encouraging, there was something about the intensity behind Kawamatsu’s words that sent a twinge of discomfort through the blond. He struggled to conceal it.

“Thank you, but I shall never see my family’s throne,” he murmured in reply. “Even if I was first in line, my father would never allow it.”

Kawamatsu shifted in the water, a frown coming to his thin lips, dark eyes lifting to Sanji’s face.

“With all due respect, your father has his values backwards.”

Sanji let out a dry laugh, one that held little humor and much bitterness.

“I can certainly agree with that,” he muttered. “I’ve experienced his shortcomings firsthand, to put it lightly—”

“You misunderstand, Prince.”

The samurai cut him off, his tone sharper than expected, causing Sanji to snap his mouth shut, his body instinctively slinking further away in the water, his increasing discomfort most likely obvious by that point.

“There are hard truths that must be faced when ruling a country,” Kawamatsu explained coldly. “Your father has not recognized the true threat to this world.”

“Seals, you mean,” Sanji replied.

Kawamatsu nodded.

Sanji’s whole life had been dictated by this same threat, one that had pressed him down both physically and mentally since birth, given him the still-healing bruises to prove it.

And yet, his mind drifted instantly to the green-haired swordsman again, whose gruff attitude had somehow managed to be endearing, intriguing at the very least. And whose irritated scowl had seemed to be concealing something other than just anger….

Sanji could have sworn he’d witnessed a flash of his own pain in Zoro’s eyes. But perhaps that was merely wishful thinking, his own attempts to justify his inexplicable curiosity about someone who he had every reason to hate...

“Perhaps things could have been different in Wano,” Kawamatsu mused quietly, interrupting Sanji’s thoughts after a long moment. “Had Kaido not attacked. But there is no use dwelling on what could have been. Even if my shame still plagues me. As I often tell the Empress, we must live with the fate presented to us, and do what we can to ensure the past does not repeat itself.”

His words rang true, but still, Sanji found himself contradicting them. For all this man deemed it useless to dwell on the past, he still seemed to let it dictate his life. Just as Sanji’s father did. It was starting to unsettle him.

“Kaido has long since moved on,” the blond replied carefully. “He already got what he came for. Surely there is no need for fear any longer—”

“Nonetheless, he has left his mark on this land,” Kawamatsu said. “And the Empress has unfortunately forbidden me from destroying that final link to his power.”

“Final link?” Sanji repeated with a deepening frown. As far as he knew, Kaido was gone from Wano, which had served no further use to him after obtaining the prince’s Seal.

What could possibly be left…?

Just then, a shadow shifted in the doorway of the bathhouse, and Sanji made out the shape of a figure slipping through the hanging cloths out into the open, his damp torso glistening in the low light of the lanterns, Seal dark as a ragged hole on his chest.

A trio of sheathed swords he held in his grasp, and his blindingly white robe stood out around his waist, as did the whites of his eyes when they locked onto Sanji’s. Mild surprise crossed Zoro’s face upon seeing him, the swordsman pausing there in the doorway.

Kawamatsu noticed the drifting of Sanji’s stare, the man turning to glance over his shoulder as well, his own gaze running frigid when he too laid eyes on the swordsman.

“That is also not to say there aren’t others who lust for such power,” the man continued slowly, his eyes not leaving Zoro, who’d looked away from both of them and begun to slink off to the other side of the garden instead, towards the far end of a separate pool.

Sanji looked away with some difficulty when the swordsman eventually began fumbling with his robe to remove it.

“I suppose I have no business dictating how to run your country,” Sanji said instead, Kawamatsu sliding his attention back to Sanji as well. “I merely sympathize with those scorned, that is all.”

Because things may have been opposite to Germa here, but he knew how it felt to be reviled for something he couldn’t control.

He heard a faltering splash come from Zoro’s direction, as if he’d stumbled getting into the water, but he didn’t look over.

“A price to pay for Wano’s safety,” Kawamatsu said with cool judgment that he now seemed to pass on the blond as well. But Sanji stared back defiantly, with courage he perhaps couldn’t have mustered in front of his own family.

The air grew silent for a long minute, the blond unsure if the samurai would speak again.

He didn’t, just let out a sigh eventually, and plopped hands on his knees to get to his feet, displacing a wave with his large form that splashed up Sanji’s chest.

“Well, I will leave you to it,” he said, his expression unclear as Sanji quickly dropped his gaze to the rippling water between them. “Enjoy your evening, Prince.”

The blond nodded and mumbled his thanks as the man climbed out of the pool and gathered his belongings, eventually lumbering back off where he disappeared into the bathhouse once more.

That left Sanji keenly aware of the moss-headed swordsman’s presence, the two of them now alone in the night air.

Somehow, Sanji was unsurprised to find Zoro’s eyes already trained on him when he glanced over subtly.

It wasn’t a glare though. In fact, there was almost confusion behind the swordsman’s gaze, visible even in the dim light. Confusion that seemed far more vulnerable than the blond had assumed possible.

Neither said a word, Sanji eventually settling back against the rock and sinking low into the water, closing his eyes to the increasing sounds of crickets raising their shrill voices in the evening.

He stayed there until he heard the sloshing of Zoro exiting his pool, the faint slap of his bare feet crossing the stones once more.

Soon, Zoro had left too.

Though Sanji had definitely heard him hesitate near the bathhouse for a long moment...

Sleep evaded Sanji that night, enough so that, the next morning, when an escort came to fetch him, another young woman in a patterned robe, Sanji was already awake, sitting on the step that led to the garden outside of his room, watching the sunrise peeking out through the branches of the massive tree that loomed above. He was thankful it wasn’t hidden because he was eager to see it, when his thoughts had continually whirled in a dark cyclone all night after both his nightmare of the creature and his encounter with Kawamatsu.

But despite every strange thing he’d experienced, one thought persisted in his mind.

The desire to confront that damn swordsman, whose eyes had stayed in Sanji’s mind far more stubbornly than even the piercing crimson of the monster’s. He wasn’t sure why, but Sanji was beginning to wonder if it was Zoro who held the answers to the mysteries that seemed to cloud this land.

There was much that still frightened Sanji, pathetically so, but somehow, despite every reason he should have had, he couldn’t believe Zoro was one of those frightening things. He couldn’t be, not when Hiyori seemed to trust him so. Not when he remembered his teasing smile, which had surely been real, not to mention that odd look of his in the bath garden the previous evening.

If Zoro was a threat, he wanted to find out for himself, once and for all. He didn’t want to take anyone else’s word for it. He wanted to confront that which he should fear, from here on out, and maybe this was the first step.

And if he ended up a fool, well….it wasn’t as if he had much left to lose in this world.

So with those thoughts in mind, he took up his bow and arrow quiver and followed the quiet escort, barefoot, through the open halls of the compound towards what he assumed would be the palace to meet the Empress.

The escort’s long robes swished smoothly over the wooden floor ahead of him, and the morning breeze tickled Sanji’s hair.

He took the moment to suck in a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever conversations, potentially unwanted, inevitably awaited him….

….only for a hand to clamp down over his mouth, stifling his yelp of surprise, dragging him off through one of the open doors beside the hallway, his bare feet landing on a soft bed of moss.

The hand continued to pull him down behind some low bushes until the escort rounded the corner of the hallway and disappeared without so much as a backwards glance, oblivious to the sudden assault.

Quickly, he whirled around, fully expecting to find that feral grin of the swordsman’s, already growling, “What the hell do you think you’re—?”

But instead, there was the pleasant smile of none other than the empress, looking far less groomed than the day before, bare-faced, her long hair gathered messily atop her head in a loose bun, her cotton robes far less decorated.

He’d worn his new striped robe as well, tied his hair up as best he could in a small bun himself, though half of it still fell persistently around his face.

It had been an attempt to blend in better with the locals, but here crouched the country’s monarch, and a lady no less, right there in the bushes with him. His own attempts at grooming seemed not to matter.

“Good morning, Sanji~” Hiyori chirped, laughing when his jaw dropped in shock.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked casually when he didn’t reply right away, to which he could do nothing but stammer.

“I-I—Yes.” Even though he’d barely managed to doze. “Thank you, Empress…” He shook his head, squeezing eyes shut before correcting himself. “Hiyori. Please forgive my—”

“Good,” she interrupted with a bright smile and reached out to squeeze his hand, tugging him up to his feet. “Now let’s go, before the morning market gets too busy~”

“Go where?” he stuttered as she pulled him nimbly onto the stone path, her own bare feet carrying her gracefully along.

“Breakfast,” she replied with a playful glance back over her shoulder. “Aren’t you hungry? I’d much prefer to eat outside the palace. Unless you’d rather stay here?”

Her face fell a little with that question, the burgeoning disappointment clear on her features, as well as the beginnings of what may have been a manipulative emotional ploy when her eyes seemed to shimmer under the climbing sun.

A ploy that he fell right into when he quickly answered, “Whatever you want!”

Her face instantly lit up again, her steps regaining their bounce by the time they reached the other end of the garden, Hiyori guiding him confidently back up the step onto a perpendicular walkway that looked nearly identical to the last.

With nothing else to do, he followed her as she slid open an inconspicuous door panel, this one depositing them on the outer perimeter of the building, under the shade of a line of tall trees that stood just inside the high stone wall that circled the entire compound.

Hiyori released Sanji’s hand and hopped right down onto the ground outside, stooping to pull out a pair of sandals from a gap under the building, a second pair following that, which she scooted towards Sanji. Clearly, she’d had this planned.

“Uh...Empress,” Sanji stammered, still somewhat baffled, but sliding feet onto the provided sandals nonetheless. “What about—?”

“Kawamatsu?” she asked, slipping on her own shoes and closing the panel behind him. “He’s no doubt waiting for us right now. But Toko is rather good at distracting him.”

“Does he hold much sway over what you do?” Sanji replied, admittedly finding her energy a bit contagious, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he teetered on the elevated sandals.

“He tries,” she hummed, reaching out to steady him before she leaned in conspiratorially. “But I don’t always let him.” Then she took his hand and gave another eager tug. “Now, come!”

And she dragged him off, a burgeoning sense of exhilaration in his chest as he stumbled after her.

The capital was just as lively as it had been the previous day, still with vibrant sights and sounds at every turn, but with Hiyori, it managed, somehow, to seem brighter. The Empress was hardly dressed in her full regalia, yet this almost seemed to enhance her presence, Sanji thought.

Her arm looped casually through his, Hiyori eagerly led him through the town, her town by the looks of it, the expressions of passersby lighting up upon seeing her, her feet carrying her swiftly and easily through streets she seemed to know well.

Stall owners waved, offered ‘the usual.’ Respectful, but friendly greetings sang out on every block. Children approached to gift her flowers. The very sun seemed to step out from behind the clouds to shine on their path.

And it was while the two of them munched on delicious meat skewers given to them for free, listening to Hiyori happily pointing out the capital’s best noodle stands and most talented seamstresses, that Sanji came to realize this was what Germa was missing.

This was a true ruler, one that wove themselves among the people, was an ordinary person, with the same mundane interests and joys as the rest. It was how he’d always imagined his mother to be, though her poor health had kept her from public appearance, particularly during the last few years of her life. It was how, in his most hopeful moments, he’d fantasized himself to be, should he ever ascend the throne.

And yet, Hiyori was no fantasy. Wano was no fantasy.

It was almost surreal, certainly the complete opposite to his introduction the previous day, when crowds had scowled in disdain and parted for an entirely different reason, a reason that couldn’t stay off his mind for long because—

“Zoro!”

Hiyori’s face lit up, and suddenly, the empress was tugging him along faster, Sanji’s head whipping through the crowds for a glimpse of green hair, confused when he saw no stray patches of moss.

Until Sanji noticed the empress’ gaze was directed upwards and he finally locked eyes on a particular swordsman, lazily reclined on a rooftop of all places, head propped on a hand and his eyes closed as if he’d fallen asleep there.

The slow movement of his jaw chewing on the long blade of grass that stuck out from between lips betrayed his consciousness, however, the swordsman opening an eye a second later to lock perceptively onto the two when they stopped below him.

Of course, they were also met by a rather disgruntled old woman, incessantly swatting at the scalloped roof tiles with a broom. Her hunched petite form struggled to reach though, and her shoulders visibly slumped with relief seeing the empress.

“Ah, Your Majesty!” the woman exclaimed wearily, her sagging cheeks red with both rouge and fluster. “Please do something! He’s been there all morning, and he’s scaring away customers!”

An insistent gesture to her nearby stand of apples, which stood devoid of business despite its enticing display.

“Shoo! Shoo, I say!” And the woman started her efforts anew, frantically waving her broom, even as Zoro closed his eyes again and ignored her.

Sanji had to cringe at the ridiculous scene, though Hiyori seemed unperturbed, the empress merely stepping forward with a subtle smile to press a hand gently onto the woman’s shoulder.

She said nothing, but the message was there. She would handle this, and her quiet insistence was enough to make the old woman sigh and trundle back to her stand, grumbling under her breath.

Only after she’d left them alone did the swordsman finally acknowledge their presence. Although, with his eyes still closed, he looked to be sleep-talking more than anything.

“Don’t you remember what happened last time you snuck out...” he muttered, to which the empress merely chuckled.

“Don’t you remember we have a guest?” she replied, gesturing to Sanji with a smile that was cheeky enough to prove she could hold her own against the rude oaf, to Sanji’s subtle surprise.

“I’m aware,” the swordsman mumbled in reply, his brow furrowing irritably for reasons unknown.

Sanji was certain an eye roll would have accompanied that statement. One certainly escaped the blond, but he managed to stay silent for the empress’ sake.

“I haven’t heard talk of monster sightings last night,” Hiyori continued, something that had Sanji’s eyes sliding to her with an uncomfortable knock of his chest. “Does this mean you’ve succeeded?”

Somehow, Zoro’s brows drew in even further, his eyes finally opening to stare hard at the shiny roof tiles.

“I couldn’t track it,” he muttered, barely audible.

How the hell had he not? Sanji had to wonder, particularly when a closer examination of Zoro’s face revealed tired dark circles beneath his eyes. Had he been searching for it all night?

“Perhaps it’s moved on finally,” the empress offered hopefully.

“Doubt it….” Zoro replied, almost sulking now as he picked absently at his robe.

But then his eyes lifted sharply to lock onto Sanji’s, something oddly knowing passing between them in a way that sent a chill down the blond’s spine, as if Zoro could read his mind, see straight through to the unsettling nightmare he’d experienced.

The intensity of the moment had Sanji’s breath hitch, and he broke eye contact first, struggling to will away the strange heat that spread over his face.

“Optimism, Zoro~” Hiyori reminded sweetly, and though Sanji didn’t look at him, the annoyed exhale and the long silence that followed was enough to spell out the swordsman’s irritation.

A few seconds later, he mumbled a dismissive, “Did you need me for anything?”

Hiyori merely shrugged gracefully though, her free hand coming to rest on Sanji’s arm.

“No, I suppose not right now,” she said. Her lips lifted with a teasing smirk. “But I’m still waiting for that kata training you promised.”

“You made me promise,” Zoro complained as he sat up, pulling his swords into his lap to examine them. “Your focus was all over the damn place last time.”

She laughed. “It’s not my fault the world is full of so many distractions!”

The swordsman huffed. “Butterflies aren’t distracting—!”

But Zoro suddenly cut himself off, his unraveled expression quickly turning stoic, and for a moment, Sanji wasn’t sure why, until...

“I love butterflies!”

The startling entrance of a new, much younger voice, directing Sanji’s attention to Hiyori’s waist, where now stood Toko, grinning excitedly up at the group.

And behind her stood the broad, imposing figure of the empress’ retainer, his face once again largely hidden by his wide hat and scarf, but it was clear from his stance that he was far from pleased.

Movement on the rooftop, and it was Zoro getting up, gathering his swords and walking off without another word, his movements easy and lithe, even on the sloping tiles.

Kawamatsu’s voice quickly fell into scolding the sheepish empress, but Sanji’s eyes stayed on the swordsman, who nimbly jumped the distance to the neighboring roof as casually as he’d avoid a rut in the road.

...

“Your Majesty, the meeting.”

“The meeting?”

“Regarding the irrigation canals.”

“Yes?”

...

The conversation faded into the background, and Sanji took an unconscious step away from the group the moment the empress’ arm slipped from his.

...

“You’re late, Empress.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Oops, I am! Well, I suppose duty calls.”

…

The blond was already several paces away, fixated on Zoro’s retreating form so as not to lose him.

A chuckle behind him, and Hiyori’s voice grew louder.

“Sanji? Will you—?”

He jolted a little, glancing over his shoulder to find the remaining three staring at him, Hiyori tilting her head with a bit of curiosity at his dazed expression.

“A-Ah, I think I’d like to explore a bit more,” he said, a bit self-conscious as he turned back to face them, though eyes wanted desperately to follow the swordsman. A hasty bow of his head. “If that’s alright with you, Empress.”

To that, Hiyori smiled brightly.

“Of course! Come find me later?”

He nodded as Kawamatsu took the empress’ arm and pulled her away gently but insistently.

“I recommend Ebisu Town!” Hiyori called over her shoulder as they left, stumbling a bit when Kawamatsu gave another grumpy tug. “Everyone is quite cheerful there!”

“Bye!” Toko called too, the two of them waving before the throngs of pedestrians swallowed them up as if they’d never been there at all.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sanji let his own waving hand drop, and he immediately turned on his heel, taking off after Zoro.

But he was dismayed to find the swordsman gone from his sight as well, his prowling form no longer visible on the rooftops ahead.

Shit. Where the hell had he gone?

He’d been damn stealthy the previous day, leaving Sanji thankful there were no trees overhead as he pushed his way down the street. Still, he kept his gaze fixed above, because, for all he knew, the swordsman was waiting to ambush him from the fucking sky itself.

Nothing. Nothing. Just a blur of robes and confused looks as he jogged with growing frustration.

Until, by a twist of fate, he spotted a glimpse of a familiar green robe on the ground ahead, swishing through the gaps in pedestrians. Pedestrians that sidestepped away with various curses and frowns.

Sanji felt his heart speed up along with his feet.

“Hey!” Sanji called, brushing past a few women who looked rather baffled when they noticed just who he was running toward.

Somewhat predictably, the idiot swordsman ignored him, even as he grew closer.

“Hey!” he called again. “Zoro!”

A flash of purple hair near his waist, the blond nearly plowing over a young girl who just barely scampered out of the way in time.

Damn his sandals. He could hardly keep his balance, unused to them as he was.

“I’m sorry!” he stammered, placing a hand gently on her head and pausing just long enough to assure she was fine before he hurried off again, the girl staring after him.

A few more hurried strides, and finally, his hand clamped down on the swordsman’s shoulder, pulling back hard enough to spin Zoro to face him.

Zoro let out a loud irritated grunt, as if he were some kind of unseemly ape, before he squawked, “What do you want?” in Sanji’s face, tightly-drawn brows certainly not clearing the simian image from the blond’s mind.

Sanji must have caught him off-guard, however, because, for a moment, scrutiny marred his features, the swordsman’s eyes flicking over Sanji’s form briefly. Maybe it was the new robes… But he ultimately shook his head and narrowed his gaze again.

“Shouldn’t you go off with Hiyori? And go deal with royal shit?” Zoro muttered, his tone almost sulky. He turned to shoulder past the blond once more, mumbling, “Since you’re such good friends and all…”

“You’re the one who dragged me to her!” Sanji shot back, striding right up in front of him so he could block Zoro’s path. “I could have been in and out of Wano easily if it hadn’t been for you!”

Not that he wasn’t happy for his reunion with the empress, but the fact still remained that it complicated things.

Zoro scoffed, shifting to the side to avoid him. “You didn’t tell me the truth, Your Highness.”

“I was hardly obligated to!” Sanji grumbled, grabbing Zoro’s arm again and forcing him to stop. “You knew who I was anyway! Why did you turn me in?”

“There’s a reward on your head—why do you think?” the swordsman growled, irritation growing, loud enough to draw the attention of several stall keepers nearby, their eyes snapping to them once more.

Sanji bristled self-consciously, stepping up to hiss right back at close proximity.

“I left my kingdom—didn’t you hear me?” he insisted, then, for the sake of any concerned onlookers, he called over his shoulder, “I wasn’t abducted!”

A hiss, and he whipped back to face Zoro. “Are you that greedy?”

“No!” the swordsman retorted, frown trying hard to reach his chin, his eyes darting to Sanji’s hand still holding tight to his arm. “I don’t care about the money! Hiyori said to bring you to her if anyone found you. I didn’t know it was ‘cause she knew you. I was following orders.”

He huffed childishly, and looked away, finally ripping his arm from Sanji’s grip, crossing arms over his chest to mutter, “You must have people who follow yours…”

Untrue. Zoro didn’t know anything about Sanji's life, and that only made his arguments all the more invalid. Not to mention infuriating. Sanji was the only one allowed to sulk about his own position in life. Certainly not stupid samurai who couldn’t even think for themselves.

Still, despite his annoyance, Sanji felt himself looking away as well, frowning hard at the wooden wheels of a nearby cart rattling over the dirt.

“My brothers are the real princes,” he muttered eventually. “Not me.”

The market was bustling, but quiet fell between them, and Sanji hated that he could feel the moment Zoro’s eyes shifted back to him, though he didn’t return the gaze. He fucking wished his emotions weren’t as volatile as they were, that a mere mention of his upbringing held no power to trigger anger and helplessness within him. He’d come here with the intention of giving the swordsman an earful, but the flame within him now dulled so easily...

“The queen was your mother…?”

Zoro’s voice rumbled again, surprisingly soft despite his ire of a moment ago, and it was enough to form a lump in Sanji’s throat.

He nodded stiffly, taking a measured breath through his nose.

“Is that why you ran?”

Sanji let out that breath with a frustrated sound and shook his head.

“Enough questions,” the blond muttered, finally meeting Zoro’s eye, if only to shoot him a glare.

Zoro stared back, the activity of the street passing them by as if neither existed, if only the girth people skirted around them wasn’t so abnormally wide. But in a way, it meant the two of them were alone, with no one to burst the strangely intimate bubble that seemed to encapsulate the conversation. Their emotions were contained there...protected...

“Is that all?”

Sanji’s brow furrowed a bit, dragging himself back to the moment to find Zoro looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer almost warily.

“What?” the blond muttered, trying to clear his head.

“Is that all you came to yell at me about?”

Sanji scoffed, a tired sound more than anything. He supposed he could bring up the incident in the marketplace the previous day. The spiteful stares that persisted to this moment, that Zoro had insisted were directed at Sanji.

But knowing what he’d learned from the empress… He elected to leave that concern unspoken for the moment, particularly when Zoro stood there, invisible to the world, but so imposing to him.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sanji mumbled, a little unsure what to do next now that his initial reason for confronting the man had fizzled.

Zoro’s brow quirked, the swordsman’s stare intensifying the longer Sanji stood there, unmoving.

“Then why are you still here,” Zoro pressed, as if Sanji should have every reason to leave. “Don’t you have a beast to go kill at least?”

Why was Sanji still there? Surely, Zoro's intention was to mock with that question, but Sanji couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind that mask, behind the way Zoro’s jaw clenched, somehow mirroring his own awkward uncertainty. It was a contrast to the day before, when his grin had been so bright and teasing.

Now he looked at Sanji with an air of dejection...

“Yes,” Sanji replied, steadying his gaze, and his lips tilted up a bit, his subsequent words tumbling out of him before they could be stopped. “But that’s where you come in.”

Confirming Sanji’s thoughts, Zoro’s eyes widened in surprise, his dumb mouth dropping open slightly before his brows were right back to their near permanent furrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the swordsman asked, full of suspicion.

“The Empress gave you that job,” Sanji clarified slowly, because Zoro was obviously too dim to figure out his implications. “I’ll be helping you.”

“As if I need your help,” was Zoro’s automatic response, but the edge to his voice was almost inviting this time, certainly still bewildered.

“You know the forests,” said the blond, who stepped forward with hands outstretched, pivoting on his heel to shuffle backwards towards the mountains looming in the distance. His smirk widened, but how could it not when Zoro’s bemusement was becoming downright endearing, yet again. “Show me around so I can get familiar.”

“You just need my help,” Zoro retorted, though he’d slowly begun to follow the blond, coming up to his side as Sanji spun to walk normally again.

“No,” Sanji shot back.

“You do. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Then prove it,” Zoro insisted, whacking a fist into Sanji’s back with a dull thump, the blond stumbling a step and scowling when a slow smirk came to Zoro’s lips too.

“Fight me right here,” Zoro challenged, gesturing in front of them. “‘Cause if you can’t get through me, there’s no way you’ll kill that monster.”

Sanji glowered at him, unsure if the guy was really that reckless or if he was just an idiot. Probably both.

“Right here?” he pressed. “In the street?”

Zoro nodded. “Sure. People will move.”

“And what a lovely impression that will leave,” the blond grumbled, the image of shattered market stalls and houses toppling like timber vivid in his mind. But a glance to Zoro, whose demeanor had wilted and fallen back into a more irritated scowl, and he quickly amended his statement. “Besides,” he said. “Arrows against swords is hardly fair.”

Zoro flicked eyes to him for a moment, then huffed.

“True,” he replied. “Not those arrows at least, remember?”

The swordsman reached out to pluck one of the arrows from Sanji’s quiver, twirling the shaft in his hand and boldly touching a finger to the tip of the head. A second of pressure, then he pulled it back smugly to show his undamaged skin, not a bead of blood in sight.

Sanji snatched that arrow back with an indignant grunt, returning it to the quiver sulkily.

“Then let me use one of those,” he said instead, jerking his chin towards the three blades tied to Zoro’s hip. “You’ve got three.”

And considering Zoro’s lack of qualms about stealing one of his own weapons, the blond took the liberty of grabbing the hilt of a sword, the dark one, wrapped tightly with purple cloth.

Ignoring Zoro’s immediately stammered protests, he yanked it out with a smooth slide of metal.

He held the blade out towards Zoro’s face, the metal tempered with a strange flame-like pattern that matched the deep purple of the hilt, and he straightened his shoulders confidently in an attempt to mimic the heroic knights that graced every portrait in his own castle.

Sanji stared Zoro down teasingly, feeling an odd burst of confidence despite the questioning looks from several onlookers. He stood there, waiting for a reaction from Zoro, surely a roll of eyes or some screeching.

But instead, Zoro stood there, hands frozen in mid-air where he’d reached to stop him. His mouth gaping, he stared hard at that blade which rested peacefully in Sanji’s grasp. His chest rose and fell visibly, breaths shuddery, a strange tension mounting between them in that moment.

Yet, the longer it lasted, the more confusion seemed to come over the swordsman’s face. He slowly frowned, looking down at himself, a hand subtly rising to brush over the Seal on his chest before his gaze snapped back to Sanji’s face.

The blond noticed the change, confusion twisting over his own features, enough that he lowered the sword to stare back at Zoro.

“What?” he mumbled, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed, which he tried to remedy with a quip. “Lost the will to fight?”

He was half teasing, though it sure seemed that was exactly what had happened, for whatever strange reason. He resisted the urge to flick eyes to Zoro’s Seal.

This finally earned him the roll of eyes he’d been expecting from the beginning, though Zoro’s irritation seemed to be more for show, a hasty cover-up for whatever strange emotion had crossed his face a moment earlier.

“Shut up,” muttered the swordsman, who reached out to snatch back the blade from Sanji’s hands, quickly returning it to its sheath.

Sanji watched the man’s fingers run over the hilt of the sword for a moment, the careful way they traced the detailed accents and criss-crossing fabric that decorated it. It didn’t seem he was even conscious of it, particularly when he lifted his gaze to Sanji’s again, a bit of that strange vulnerability still lingering.

The blond wondered if perhaps now was the time to mention the glares that persisted through the marketplace, the way the crowds parted and avoided the man in an almost absurd fashion for reasons unknown.

“Zoro…” Sanji began slowly, wary of triggering a negative reaction again. “You work for the Empress, but everyone in town is eyeing you like you have the plague. What’s with that?”

Zoro’s breath shook when he hissed out an exhale, flicking his eyes to the surrounding people for a moment before fixing them on Sanji again, almost defiantly.

“They’re staring at you,” he insisted, but with half the ferocity and double the uncertainty he’d shown the first time.

Sanji was ready, however, not believing his words for a second.

“Not this again,” the blond grumbled, automatically stepping back into the swordsman’s personal space. “Y’know, I was gonna let it go, but you really think I’m stupid? I’m not the one getting death glares! Not to mention the way Kawamatsu treats you.” He paused for a moment, lowering his voice a touch. “It’s ‘cause of your Seal, isn’t it.”

The instant glare he received rivaled those of the townsfolk around them as Zoro shot back, “That’s none of your business.”

“Then forget my business!” Sanji retorted immediately, satisfied when he pushed himself close enough that he forced the swordsman to falter. “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have one or not! In fact, I think you’re damn lucky to have one! But can you at least assure me you’re not about to murder me and take the reward on my head?”

His tirade left a heavy silence between them, and it was strange, seeing the swordsman struggle for words until he ultimately gave up, averting eyes and mumbling, “I told you m’not after any money...”

Sanji didn’t know how he’d expected Zoro to respond to the confrontation, but he’d certainly assumed he’d get a glimpse of that predatory swordsman who’d dragged him to the empress with such relish and cunning. Arrogance and abrasiveness at the very least.

Definitely not this passiveness that had suddenly manifested in Zoro’s hunched shoulders, the anxious way his fingers twitched at the hilt of his sword, not to attack, but instead as a nervous habit, it seemed.

“Good. Then let’s go,” Sanji said, his chest giving an oddly pleasant clench when the swordsman lifted eyes to him again warily, almost as if Sanji was the one to be feared between the two of them. It was a foreign and entirely new feeling, liberating in a way, after living oppressed in his own home for so long.

Thus, his smile had inadvertently grown when he added teasingly, “It hunts at night, right? We’ll need to be ready.”

Zoro scoffed.

“You think you’ll beat it tonight?” the swordsman replied derisively. “You’re delusional. And yeah, you must be stupid if that’s your plan.”

“If I’m to open a path to Goa as soon as possible, then yes, I have to start right away,” Sanji shot back, undeterred.

But Zoro had his next retort ready.

“Why are you trying to leave so quickly? You on a deadline?”

The blond rolled his eyes.

“I said already—it’ll only spell trouble if my father comes in search of me. It’s best if I keep moving.”

“You don’t think you’re safe here?”

“Is that an offer of protection, Zoro?”

Sanji had again stepped closer without knowing it, boldly narrowing the distance between them in an unplanned move that the swordsman seemed to become acutely aware of, judging by his quick inhale and stumble that sent him nearly knocking into a passing cart whose owner sent a string of angry curses his way as he wheeled off.

Yes, there was definitely no way Sanji wanted to stay here, amongst the judgmental townsfolk. For either of their sakes.

But it seemed Zoro was way ahead of him when, after a long moment, he gathered himself with a heavy sigh and a final, equally heavy stare at the blond. Then he abruptly turned and marched off in the opposite direction with a muttered, “Let’s go.”

Sanji blinked, staring after him for several heartbeats before he shook his head quickly and hurried after him.

“Hey!” he called, speeding to catch up. “Go where?”

And to Sanji’s surprise, when Zoro looked at him, the look in his eye was one of growing amusement, though the swordsman clearly tried to hide it with a frown and a gruff response.

“Thought you wanted to learn the forests,” he replied.

Sanji didn’t get the chance to respond before a sudden commotion sounded down the street, dragging both men’s attention towards a barrage of angry shouts, scrambling feet, and then the unmistakable fearful squeal of a young girl.

“Let go of me! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

To Sanji’s surprise, a rare look of unconcealed dread seemed to come over the swordsman’s features at the sound of that voice, the dread palpable when he hissed out, “Tama!”

And then he was taking off, abandoning Sanji altogether to sprint and shove his way through the crowds, disappearing into the sea of robes that continued to mill past like nothing was amiss.

Sanji’s stomach dropped, and despite his uncertainty over what was even happening, his first instinct was to shout, “Wait!”, the blond hoisting his bow and arrows up on his shoulder and rushing after Zoro.

An unexpected panic filled his senses, losing Zoro so easily again, and he wasn’t sure why. But he was perhaps coming to realize that he didn’t want to be left alone, not in the midst of chaos at least. Even if that meant following the unpredictable swordsman into a potentially dangerous situation.

So he too dodged carts and passersby alike in a desperate chase down the street until he burst forth at the foot of a bridge, similar to the one he’d crossed in front of the palace gardens. Only this bridge spanned the width of, not a placid moat, but a swiftly moving canal that bubbled and churned far more rapidly beneath.

And standing at the rail of that bridge was a massive man, a deep scowl on his heavily stubbled face, his huge fingers bunched tightly in the verdant robe of a young girl whom he dangled precariously over the water below.

“Think you can steal from me? Huh, kid? You think we don’t all got mouths to feed?!” growled the man ferociously, letting the girl purposefully slip a few inches in his grip, drawing another frightened cry from her lips.

“I’m sorry!” she cried again, legs kicking and head shaking frantically, familiarly violet strands coming loose from her hair bun. “I surrender! I’ll—I’ll pay it back! Just let me go!”

It was the same girl he’d nearly collided with earlier, Sanji realized.

It was also then that he noticed the spilled bag of rice grains littering the ground nearby, just as Zoro became visible ahead of him, pushing through the last of the onlookers with swords drawn to attack.

Sanji wasn’t thinking about the consequences when his hand automatically drew his bow, nocking and aiming an arrow with far quicker precision than he’d shown hunting in the forest.

He wasn’t thinking when he let that arrow fly, no time to even be surprised as its flight path soared directly through the negative spaces in the crowd towards the man’s arm, where it stabbed flesh with a dull sound and ripped a howl of pain from his victim.

The man’s fist released the girl entirely in his shock, and she plummeted with a scream, Sanji cursing himself for not having foreseen it.

He bolted forward too, just as not one, but two of Zoro’s swords slashed at the man, sending him tumbling to the ground from the force where he nearly bowled over several pedestrians.

Sanji’s heart thundered in his chest, his legs carrying him swiftly to the bridge’s rail. Hands caught himself hard on the vermilion-painted wood as he leaned over, eyes widening when he saw the girl, barely clinging to a support beam several feet down.

His relief couldn’t last long though when the whimpering girl’s trembling fingers nearly slipped.

Instantly, he lunged forward, folding himself over the rail to reach out toward her desperately.

“Grab my hand!” he gritted out, the girl already frantically trying, though she nearly lost her grip once more with a yelp.

A scuffle behind him, followed by the ringing of clashing metal, and Zoro’s voice was gritting out to him, “She can’t swim!” before he gave a fierce growl, the gruff voice of the girl’s attacker also sounding again as they fought.

A shot of newly justified panic cut through the blond as mercilessly as one of those blades, but Sanji couldn’t look. He could only focus all his attention on the girl, leaning down as far as he could, stretching, straining, to reach her. Teeth clenched hard, muscles quivering, the girl’s fingers slipping slowly off the wood.

Until, in a last burst of energy, she swung herself with desperate momentum, her hand finally clamping onto his, just as her other let go, the full weight of her body hanging from Sanji’s arm.

Their victorious smiles only lasted a split second though.

He couldn’t hold her, her weight causing him to finally lose his footing, sliding fully over the rail himself.

It was only when he failed to catch himself, the two of them freefalling towards the water below, that he remembered, foolishly late.

He’d never learned how to swim either.

Chapter Text

The sun gleamed bright on the surface of the water, and yet, it was bracingly cold when Sanji hit, the girl’s scream cutting off a second before he too found himself plunging into a hurricane of bubbles. It was all he could do to keep a tight grip on her arm as he thrashed and flailed through his own panic, in desperate search of air.

He found it, or rather, it found him, his head breaking the surface after a few seconds with a loud gasp. He yanked the girl against him, pulled her up too, and she instantly flung arms tightly around his neck. Of course, her weight only managed to shove him back under again, and he kicked hard with any hope of keeping them afloat.

Fuck, why hadn’t he learned to swim? Why hadn’t he at least tried to teach himself during those fleeting days at the lake as a child, barely a memory now, save for the soft texture of his mother’s dress which he’d stubbornly glued himself to.

He could have helped the girl now, could have propelled them to safety easily, but all he could do was—fuck—flounder and flail in a fruitless fight for air that was—shit.

Why hadn’t he just—?

His siblings had splashed and roughhoused in the water...that was why… Fear.

Another moment of air as he bobbed above the surface, followed by a choked gasp that turned to spluttered coughing as soon as a gulp of water flooded his mouth.

The water was moving them, pushing them along too swiftly. Sanji felt his bow slide off his shoulder in the chaos, but he couldn’t catch it before the current swept it away. His crutch—his feeble facade of strength. Gone, quickly as the air that barely reached his lungs.

He caught a glimpse of the bridge growing smaller in the distance before he slipped under again to the sound of the girl’s frantic cries as she struggled to hold onto him and push herself up.

He let out air too soon and his lungs began to burn, unable to break the surface in time.

His body screamed to inhale, but what was left of his meager willpower prevented it vehemently, even if the churning water seemed eager to flood his throat.

He couldn’t tell right from left, forward from backward. His feet couldn’t reach the bottom, and his free arm could only flap uselessly against the current until—

SMACK!

His back bumped hard against a solid surface, one his hand scrambled for automatically, despite his shock, clamping, by some miracle, onto what felt like a rope that scraped and burned over his palm. He gave an immediate strong tug fueled by pure adrenaline, and they surfaced again, this time with truly desperate inhales.

It was indeed a rope, hanging fortuitously from an empty shop boat, docked along the canal’s edge, and Sanji held onto it tightly, limbs shaking against the water that tried hard to drag him off again.

The girl was crying through her panicked huffs of breath, and he couldn’t even soothe her properly, could only pant out, “Grab it!”, urging her to take hold of the rope herself.

She did, tears flowing, but her teeth gritted with surprising focus as her small hands let go of Sanji’s shoulders to grip on.

“Pull yourself up!” he hissed, mortified, even through his own panic, that he could do nothing more than bark orders, lacking the proper leverage to lift her out of the water himself.

Still, she nodded, tears mixing over her face, her arms already straining to do just that and grab hold of the boat’s railing, which was close, yet still just out of reach.

The blond did his best to hold the rope taut, closing his eyes for a moment and forcing himself to crawl back to his senses, calming his breaths and eventually opening eyes again to survey his surroundings.

The stone wall where the boat’s bow nosed, sloping down into the water from the walkway above, frustratingly devoid of anyone who could help them...

The boat, tilting towards them under the girl’s weight, slippery wood squeaking under her bare feet which she braced against the side as she climbed, sandals lost in the water...

And an orange glint beneath the surface as Sanji’s own bare feet brushed against something terribly cold and terrifyingly large...

An automatic yelp of fear, embarrassing, but mostly damning as his body jolted in surprise and fingers slipped from the rope, the girl’s frantic cry of, “It’s okay—it’s just—!” cutting itself off as the water muffled her voice and pulled him under again.

Thrashing anew, his shoulder scraped painfully against the hull of the boat, blocking the surface above him with its broad form, and he felt it again, the pathetic terror in his chest, just as he remembered from the forest. That moment that he’d been so sure was death’s embrace coming to take him at last.

And when he risked opening his eyes, there was something massive still looming beneath him, its colors bright as fire in the murky water. Its shape slunk slowly, stealthily, and its eyes were blank orbs.

He didn’t move, despite his every instinct, the water like dense foliage now, the boats a dark canopy above him that offered no shelter or safety, not even air.

Clouds of sediment obscured the creature’s full form, displaced only by its gaping maw that approached him like a void, cavernous enough to capture his entire body.

What was it? It didn’t matter, for his breath had left him of its own accord, his heart slamming full force against his ribs, his body quaking violently with the urge to inhale.

Just as the first gulp of water began to gush past his lips and his vision grayed around that approaching monster, a hand, an unmistakable human hand slammed itself over his mouth, a sudden dam that stopped him from inhaling.

A sturdy arm circled his waist from behind, and his limp body followed easily when he found himself dragged by something stronger than the current.

It was something warm, and it was something very angry when Sanji’s head finally broke the surface again, the base instinct to stay there leaving him scrambling blindly against the solid form that held him.

“You idiot!” his rescuer gritted out in a familiarly gruff voice, barely keeping his head above the water too. “Hold onto me—fuck! Don’t pull me down! Stop—fighting!”

Rationality returned only after Sanji’s frantic gasps slowed and his front slapped hard into a broad wall of sleek scales.

Even in his state, he’d know that surface anywhere. His hands had ached to prepare every kind that inhabited the oceans, taste every flavor they had to offer.

Yes, the monster he’d seen underwater that now bobbed at the surface before them was an enormous fish, surely as big as a whale, those giant sea creatures Sanji had only read about in books.

It was at least the same size as the boat that had nearly been his savior to begin with, and it was something he couldn’t focus on for long as a hand fisted in the back of his robe and urged him to crawl onto its back.

“Climb up—come on, I’ll drop you if you don’t—move, Curly Brow! How the fuck can you not swim?”

That stern voice again, a barely registered insult, and Sanji forced himself to brace hands against the gentle slope of the fish’s back, the creature’s fanlike fins slowly swishing in place.

His sopping robe weighed him down significantly, but he finally managed to get a knee up, crawling his way out of the water until he flopped onto his stomach atop the wide expanse of scales, feeling, absurdly in his situation, like a fish out of water as he panted heavily.

A splash behind him, and his eyes opened briefly to see none other than Zoro settling opposite him on the fish’s back, the swordsman’s own back stubbornly turned away from Sanji as he pulled his arms free from the soaking sleeves of his robe.

His swords followed, the man slipping them from his sash and into his lap, presumably for inspection.

Zoro said nothing more, just sat there as if he’d ridden a giant fish thousands of times, looking far too comfortable atop the splatter of orange and white scales.

The blond stared, almost comforted, oddly, by the sight of Zoro’s broad shoulders, moving with his own heavy breaths, dark and defined against the sun overhead. Water slid steadily down contoured muscles that were far more rendered than Sanji’s own, which still quivered from exertion.

He should have thanked him. And yet, that ‘thank you’ died on his lips for the moment, his mouth feeling dry as a desert, despite the ordeal he’d just escaped.

Again, again, the swordsman had saved him, and the uncomfortable thought that this was becoming far too frequent stood out almost as prominently as the dip of Zoro’s tense spine, sharply berating Sanji for being far weaker than the man sitting before him.

“Zoro!”

Another voice tore his attention away, thankfully, and Sanji finally pushed himself up to see the girl running along the top of the wall of the canal, bare feet slapping against stone, looking like a green hummingbird flitting towards them against the backdrop of houses.

Small hands struggled to hold up her wet robe, but she managed, stopping at the canal’s edge with a breathlessly relieved smile on her face.

Zoro shifted, laying his swords behind him on the fish’s back and called out, “Jump,” stretching arms to beckon her.

She didn’t hesitate, merely backed up a few steps on the walkway, then sprinted forward to leap over the edge, only a slight squeak of fear leaving her as she fell the short distance towards the water below.

She never hit, as Zoro caught her easily, the fish beneath them dipping slightly with the added weight, but still hovering idly, almost obediently, in place.

Immediately, she scrambled from his grasp, the swordsman with a frown on his face as she crawled onto the fish’s head where she knelt, curling over to press her forehead to the fish’s skin in front of Sanji, bowing before him.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she huffed profusely, the flowers and clips that had held up her meticulous hairdo now dripping free. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—I just needed rice, but—”

The blond shifted to kneel as well, pushing at his wet locks, trying to pull himself together when he felt no more composed than the child.

“Are you okay?” he asked, though her eyes stayed clenched shut, refusing to look at him despite his attempts to meet her gaze.

“I-I’m fine,” she mumbled, her voice shaky. “But—”

“Talk later,” Zoro interrupted, his tone softer than before as he nudged her shoulder gently until she straightened again, wiping self-consciously at her leaking eyes.

“Tell it to get us out of here first,” the swordsman mumbled, and when Zoro jerked his chin at the very creature keeping them afloat, Sanji had to furrow his brow in confusion.

But the girl seemed to think nothing of the strange request as she merely gave a few lingering sniffles and nodded, shifting to face forward, lifting a hand to rub again at her cheek—

Except no. It wasn’t to rub—

Sanji’s eyebrows shot up when those small fingers pinched her own cheek, stretching out the fair skin, more, more, more than was humanly possible until, with a tiny burst of wispy light, from her cheek sprang a small doughy ball that she tossed into the water to be quickly consumed by the fish’s gaping mouth.

The girl leaned down closer, giving the fish’s head a gentle pat.

“Take us to Amigasa,” she said, and to add to Sanji’s bewilderment, the fish listened.

Fins gave a very conscious pump, and suddenly, they were moving upstream with purpose, fast enough that Sanji nearly slipped right back into the water in pure shock.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He was fully aware Seals existed, of course, but with his siblings as the only destructive examples he knew….with their haughty attacks that had so loved to use him as target prac—

Just as roughly, a hand he was growing all too familiar with grabbed his collar and tugged him from his spiraling thoughts, thoughts that seemed to fall into darkness so fucking easily now. But how could they not when bruises were still only days old, when he knew the feeling of a fist’s violence all too well.

So he flinched at the rough treatment. He couldn’t help it, even when Zoro’s hand merely pulled him up farther onto the fish’s back to prevent him from falling. He flinched and roughly tore himself free on instinct alone, only to be met with Zoro’s own wide-eyed surprise for a moment, the swordsman clearly caught off-guard.

But Zoro soon let his hovering hand fall back to his lap awkwardly, and he looked away.

Sanji too averted eyes, embarrassed by his reaction, though his gaze tentatively flicked back a mere second later.

There was blood on Zoro’s robe, he noticed, blossoming brightly like a watercolor over the white fabric that hung at his waist.

“You’re bleeding,” Sanji noted, almost monotone. The first real thing he’d said to the swordsman since his rescue, and it was far from gratitude. Was his own pride that stubborn?

The swordsman blinked, frowned, then glanced down at himself as if realizing for the first time.

“Not my blood,” he eventually mumbled with a shrug.

“Are you sure?” Sanji pressed, though his concern was met with an obnoxious roll of eyes.

“Worry about yourself first,” Zoro muttered, his gaze landing on Sanji’s shoulder, where Sanji was almost surprised to find the pinkish red tint of blood saturating his own robe. The skin beneath stung, he realized, with the recognizable pain of a bad brush burn.

Was he an idiot for not noticing until now?

No….he’d merely...

“Had worse,” he muttered in response with a nonchalant shrug of his own.

Again, the slightest flash of surprise crossed the swordsman’s face, though he swiftly buried it behind stoicism once more.

He didn’t reply, and Sanji was honestly glad. It seemed he was finally getting it through his thick head that Sanji did not want to speak about his past….even if, for a split second, the blond longed for some genuine concern.

But that was a rarity in his life.

His life….which somehow still coursed through his veins despite every reason he had to be dead.

This country seemed determined to kill him, and yet, Zoro seemed determined to prevent that…

It was horrible, to owe such a lout, when for so long, Sanji hadn’t cared if he lived or died. He didn’t matter to anyone. Still didn’t. Not enough that his death would have any significant impact on the world.

Death was like that. His mother had gone, and the world still turned, even if his own had crashed to a halt without her…

The smooth forward movement of the fish beneath them made the silence almost peaceful, the houses lining the canal drifting by lazily. The water glistened; a tall crane coasted low, keeping pace with them ahead; Zoro’s breathing was measured as he examined his swords once more.

And Sanji’s voice was soft when he spoke.

“Zoro,” he murmured.

He felt a little less foolish for flinching so violently under Zoro’s touch when his voice alone seemed to shock the swordsman just as much, his dark eyes widening before flitting back to fix on Sanji over his shoulder with that familiar wariness.

The blond’s next word came out more easily than expected.

“Thanks.”

Sunlight (surely it was sunlight) dusted Zoro’s cheeks, reddening them.

His nod in response was subtle, but visible before he looked away.

Sanji’s heart thudded with lingering adrenaline.

Surely it was adrenaline.

For as unbelievable as Sanji felt the sight was—three people floating up the canal as casually as one could on the back of a giant fish—they traveled rather inconspicuously. The few passersby that shuffled along the walkways lining the water had spared mere glances before continuing on their way, those manning boats doing the same.

Was this a common sight in Wano?

No one pursued them; no one questioned them; no one accompanied them aside from that lone crane that seemingly waited at every bend.

And no one told Sanji what awaited them as buildings grew more and more scarce, the passing shade of bridges overhead becoming less and less frequent. The stone walls of the canal eventually dropped off until the water morphed into a natural river that carried them away from the town, rippling through lush fields that shook in anticipation of a harvest.

Sanji had told the empress he wanted to explore….and he supposed this certainly counted, despite their journey taking them into the countryside, unexpectedly.

The girl had said a name. Amigasa? A person? A place?

Perhaps he could have asked her, but she’d fallen quiet during the journey, settled by herself on the fish’s head, her introspective gaze fixed steadfastly on the water ahead of them. Zoro too was silent, watching the shrinking Capital behind them.

It felt odd to break the silence, especially when Sanji already felt like a burden as it was, so he held onto his questions, relinquishing his confusion for just the tiniest bit of trust as the fish continued its steady swim upstream.

The river twisted through those fields for some time until, ahead, Sanji noticed something new. A forest loomed, but, as with so many sights in Wano, it was full of unfamiliar nature, trees that looked almost manmade, towering to the sky in long, thin poles of a bright, vibrant green. Their tiny leaves bloomed at the canopy, the forest oddly uniform with its lack of criss-crossing branches, but no less dense.

Sanji hadn’t realized the fish was slowing until they came to a complete stop at the edge of the forest, where the water began to narrow and climb a slight incline. Clearly, their massive carrier could progress no further.

The girl was already murmuring thanks to the fish, patting its head sweetly as if it could truly understand her, and, as Sanji thought back to her apparent powers, maybe it could.

Zoro had gotten to his feet and jumped the distance from the fish’s back to the grassy river bank with ease, surprising Sanji yet again with his nimbleness. He turned back, reaching out for the girl, catching her hands when she leaped for him and swinging her onto the bank as well.

Sanji couldn’t help but watch the scene for a moment, watch the swordsman pat the girl’s back and nudge her up the hill, his actions natural and soft, and her smile was bright when she looked back at him, completely comfortable despite the man’s stoic demeanor. Clearly (and rather inexplicably), the guy had a way with children.

Zoro’s eyes met his then, the blond quickly blinking and looking away to conceal the fact he’d been fixated for a few seconds too long.

The swordsman said nothing though, just stood there expectantly, so Sanji pushed up to his feet too, hoping he didn’t slip on the fish’s scales.

He managed, thankfully, without any embarrassing mishaps, and soon he and Zoro were walking side by side through the strange forest, following the girl, who scrambled up the hill ahead of them.

Sanji was reminded of his stroll through the Scabbards’ Compound with the Empress, watching the girl weave in and out of the pole-like trees, greeting a few birds along the way as if she knew them personally.

Except this time, there was no arm linked through his, no conversation, just Zoro’s silent but imposing presence lumbering beside him.

The blond found his gaze flicking to Zoro more than once, wondering if he would speak, wondering if he himself should speak. And when it seemed the swordsman had no intention to, Sanji took the initiative, unsure why he held the desire to fill the silence.

“So you seem to know a lot of kids,” he muttered, watching a scowl come to Zoro’s features.

“And?” Zoro huffed irritably, drawing an automatic roll of eyes from Sanji. He hadn’t even said anything remotely irritating.

“Just an observation,” the blond replied, and when Zoro still looked perturbed, he sighed. It was sad really, that he could relate so well to the defensive walls the swordsman seemed to have built around himself. They came up so easily, even in the face of casual comments.

So he added, “….I think it’s nice,” something that drew the man’s eyes back to him with a predictable flash of surprise.

Sanji shrugged when their gazes met again. “Kids get cast aside too often.”

“Come on!”

The girl’s voice ahead of them, her short form now standing at the crest of the hill, beckoning eagerly for them to catch up.

Sanji glanced back at Zoro, his lips turning up slightly, and he jerked his head for the oaf to follow before he sped up himself, lengthening his strides to climb the slight incline.

He stopped beside the girl, who tugged his still-damp sleeve when he got close enough and swept her hand out at the scene before them.

“This is Amigasa!” she exclaimed, then gave another tug to urge him down the other side of the slope towards a small village that sprawled out at the foot of the hill, visible in stripes through the tall trees.

Sanji stumbled after her in surprise, only checking briefly to make sure the swordsman was following before focusing on the path ahead.

The odd trees were giving way to even odder houses, their roofs steepled at acute angles, similar to hands in prayer, each covered with thick layers of dense straw, or so it looked to Sanji. Their walls seemed to lean precariously, like plants seeking sunlight under the canopy of the forest, though it could have simply been due to the uneven terrain of the small valley. Still, Sanji couldn’t help but envision the structures as parts of the foliage themselves….

These buildings were modest compared to the ones in the Capital, some even close to dilapidated, lacking the vibrant colors and ornamentation, and it seemed the villagers were much the same. The few visible were dressed far more plainly, carrying heavy loads of resources over their heads, bundles of firewood, large clay pots, and the like.

It was far more quiet here, more peaceful, and Sanji very nearly breathed a sigh of relief, for Zoro’s sake, as they neared the bottom of the hill, finally emerging from the thinning trees onto the village’s main path.

“We all live here. It’s where we’re safe,” the girl was saying, and though Sanji wasn’t sure what she meant initially, any question he could have asked died in his throat when, suddenly, a round object went flying past them, narrowly missing Tama’s head as it rushed by, the object—a ball, Sanji realized—bouncing to the ground ahead of them.

It had barely landed though before, to Sanji’s disbelief, the ball lifted itself clear off the ground, hovering at eye level for a long moment before an unseen force tugged it back through the air, almost faster than it had come.

Sanji could barely process what he’d just seen before the sound of laughter rang out behind them, followed by a trio of young boys who rushed past, one clutching the ball close to his chest.

“Sorry, Tama!” he called as they hurried away, another turning back to stick his tongue out childishly before they rounded a corner.

No sooner had that happened than Sanji heard rickety wheels approaching, his head whipping around to see a small cart loaded with wood stopping in front of a nearby house, pulled by a large horse with no driver—

And then the horse was morphing before his eyes, looking almost like a mirage as its shape undulated and straightened, coarse hair whisking away until a human man stood in its place, his muscular arms setting down the cart. He stretched, gave a few twists and cracks of his back before sliding open the front door of the house and slipping inside with a call of, “I’m back!”

Voices across the street, some shirtless fishermen with baskets, their rods thrown over their shoulders as they congregated under the eaves of a nearby awning. Sanji heard them grumbling their disappointment about a fruitless haul, one holding up a meager trout with, not fingers, but five sharp hooks curving around it like talons.

Sanji’s heart thundered when his eyes fell on the dark circular mark of a Seal on the man’s chest, on each of the men’s chests, and he stopped short, the realization finally hitting him fully.

They had Seals too! All of them! And when his eyes quickly darted to the other villagers he could see, each of them did as well, slivers visible beneath low necklines, or plain as day over bare chests.

Had the girl really meant all of them lived here?

He didn’t mean to stare, but he’d never seen this many in one place! Not even in his own country!

It was fascinating, almost more so than even the Capital’s awe-inducing scenery. How could gifts so amazing be shunned? How could they be when Sanji himself felt so damned ordinary and powerless by comparison?

He knew their destructive potential. Of course he did. He’d seen it—felt it—firsthand.

But still, he foolishly coveted it when all he saw was what he lacked, what he’d always wanted to have….what his father had always wanted him to have.

He kept his mouth shut as they walked, struggling to keep emotions at bay, keep the ugly jealousy off his face lest it be mistaken for resentment...

Sanji saw the fishermen note the girl, still leading him along, with little reaction, their conversation merely pausing when they noticed Sanji, curiosity crossing their faces.

And then they saw Zoro bringing up the rear, and it happened, same as it had in the Capital. Eyes narrowed in disdain; scowls formed; the muttering started.

Sanji couldn’t help his surprise, which slowly, despite his initial amazement, began to turn, once again, to disgust.

Did every damn settlement in this country have something against the swordsman? And why? Because of his Seal again?

It made no sense, particularly when every person Sanji saw possessed a Seal, and yet, Zoro was still receiving looks.

Where panic and discomfort had arisen within him the first time in the Capital, now there was only anger bubbling within the blond, enough that he let the girl skip ahead when her hand slipped from his. Instead, he turned back to clamp his hand hard onto Zoro’s forearm, pulling him forward almost possessively, certainly protectively.

He couldn’t stop himself shooting a dirty glare of his own at the fishermen as he passed, yanking Zoro up to his other side so he wasn’t in their direct line of sight.

Zoro was protesting in his ear, grumbling for him to let go, but he didn’t the whole way down the main path, moving in front of the oaf when they passed villagers to block their view of him and leveling the bolder ones with his own sneers.

Eventually, Zoro’s arm went limp in his grasp, and he stopped his complaints, shuffling behind in silence once more.

Sanji couldn’t even fully appreciate the quaint, almost ancient beauty of the town, his blood boiling too hot, confusion and frustration for someone he barely knew clenching at his heart like a claw. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the gall to return the sneers and glares, though maybe it was the memory of the swordsman’s downcast gaze.

Maybe it was the memory of his own...

He was grateful when the girl finally slowed ahead of him, approaching a house that looked just like the rest, but had a smaller addition, a shed-like structure beside it from which billowed an overwhelming heat, a glimpse of a hellish orange fire through the dark open doorway. A blacksmith…?

There wasn’t much time to decipher what lay inside, however, before, from the taller roof of the adjoining house, a thin white crane swooped down, diving steeply towards the path in front of them. Sanji realized, with some alarm, that it was headed straight for them.

And then, just before it landed, the bird exploded, drawing a jolt through Sanji’s chest and an embarrassing yelp from his throat, his hand sliding up Zoro’s arm as he stumbled back in surprise.

Long, white feathers suddenly burst forth from the bird in a flurry that started to take the shape of….a cotton robe, the creature’s body lengthening, growing thicker as that robe formed around it.

And when it landed, instead of a crane before them, there was a tall woman in a deep blue robe, her black hair pulled up in a style that resembled, to Sanji, the open petals of a flower, her features sharp and long like the inky strokes of the paintings he'd seen in the Empress' hearing room.

Instantly, she ran for the girl with an exclamation of, “Tama!”, who ran into her embrace eagerly.

Sanji could only stare, his brain still working to process the woman’s transformation, even as she moved, already ushering the girl towards the house, her long arms like wings hovering over the girl’s shoulders, worry clear on her face.

The girl paused in front of the entrance, closing her eyes and blowing out a hard breath as if preparing herself before allowing the woman to lead her inside.

Sanji didn’t move to follow right away, merely stood, rooted to the spot, until Zoro’s voice broke the silence, shattering his shock.

“Ask Hitetsu for a sword…” Zoro mumbled quietly, jerking his chin towards the house when Sanji looked his way.

Oh, right. Sanji shifted uncomfortably, the non-existent weight of his lost bow seeming to sink heavier over his shoulders as he remembered his lack of weapon. He wasn’t sure if a sword was his best option, but he had to assume it was this ‘Hitetsu’s’ house they’d arrived at.

The blond frowned as Zoro merely brushed past him though, bypassing the house entirely to move towards the side alley, a small, narrow dirt path that barely managed to separate the neighboring house.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Sanji asked immediately, and yet Zoro seemed perfectly content to avoid that door.

The swordsman didn’t even use words to reply, just gave a primitive shake of his head as if he planned to forget Sanji even existed.

Something about Zoro’s dismissive attitude didn’t sit right with Sanji, not after everything they’d, dare he think it, been through. It wasn’t that he wanted Zoro around, he just…. Well, a familiar face was nice to have when clearly every kind of unseen danger lurked in this damn country. And maybe he was starting to rely on the swordsman just a little...

“Will you wait…?” Sanji found himself asking, trying hard to conceal any bit of pleading from his tone, but not quite succeeding.

And disappointment unexpectedly welled within him when Zoro merely mumbled, “I got shit to do…”

And what shit was that? Sleep on another rooftop? Disturb more old ladies? He’d now seen some evidence of the man’s sword skills, but did the guy even train? He'd said he’d show Sanji the forests but it was starting to seem he'd forgotten.

Sanji’s hand darted out to grab Zoro’s arm yet again before he’d planned it, fingers clamping onto the swordsman’s warm skin. He really shouldn’t be making a habit of this, but there he was...

Immediately, Zoro’s eyes shot to his in surprise, mouth opening as if to protest, his arm tugging away slightly, but Sanji held on firmly.

“It’s a request,” the blond implored, his tone lowering as he stared back at Zoro seriously. “Will you wait? Please?”

Zoro’s chest rose visibly, confusion passing over his dark eyes for the long moment he held Sanji’s gaze. Then his lips pulled into a tighter line, and those eyes flicked away, hardening again.

But he nodded. He nodded as he pulled his arm away finally and continued past Sanji to settle on the ground, right in the dirt under the shade of the building, his outstretched leg nearly able to touch the opposite wall.

Sanji nodded too, his gaze lingering on Zoro for a moment more. Then he pushed aside the hanging cloth over the entrance and stepped into the house, unsure what to make of the way Zoro’s fingers continued to brush at the spot he’d grabbed.

Stepping into the shade of the interior, it was instantly cooler, a refreshing breeze somehow ghosting through the room he entered upon.

It was a large room, and it was open, Sanji realized, with door panels slid aside on either end, letting in that breeze and its accompanying sunlight, which washed over the smooth straw mats, similar to those in Sanji’s guest room in the Capital.

A stove pit sat in the center of the room, its embers flickering around an iron teapot nestled within the coals, a chimney pipe extending upward through the ceiling, and there was a low table to the side. Other than that, the room was empty, save for the three figures knelt on the floor nearby, one of which was receiving a thorough scolding, by the looks of it.

“You said...not to use my Seal anymore for food, so I thought I…” the young girl whimpered, her head bowed nearly to the mats in apology in front of an old man, one whose appearance visibly startled the blond.

The man was short and stocky, his build much like Kawamatsu’s, dressed simply in a robe, tunic, and vest tied around his broad stomach, his chest covered, long white hair slicked back over his head. His body alone should not have been so imposing…

But it was the strangely fearsome, crimson mask he wore on his face, its exaggerated features twisted into a permanent grimace, angry lips and eyebrows carved into the surface in bright yellow strokes.

Sanji sincerely hoped this wasn’t the Hitetsu he sought.

“W-We needed rice,” the girl continued, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “But...I know money is—”

“I told you not to waste your energy on him,” the old man said gruffly, and Sanji shuddered instinctively, even if the scolding was not directed at him. “You’re going to run yourself dry if you keep leaving dangos for that damned samurai. Not to mention it’s dangerous if you’re discovered in the Capital.”

“He saved me though…” the girl muttered, slowly lifting her head to look up at the man. “And I just want to help him…”

The man didn’t seem convinced. In fact, this statement only served to irritate him further, evident, if not on his hidden facial features, then in his slowly clenching fists, his shoulders tensing.

“The only help he needs is a swift push out of the kingdom,” he growled. “Anyone fraternizing with Orochi is not to be—”

No. Not this again. Not about Zoro.

For all Sanji’s unease at this man’s presence, he summoned a bit of conviction and cleared his throat pointedly, interrupting the man, who turned his head towards him for the first time, along with the girl and the woman, as if they’d only just noticed his entrance.

Sanji forced himself to stare into the man’s eyes, at those dark holes carved out of the mask’s pupils.

“It’s my fault,” Sanji said, as levelly as he could manage. “I knocked into a man and spilled his rice. She just happened to be nearby, and the ruffian attacked her. Zoro fought him off.”

He saw the girl’s eyebrows raise, though she didn’t contest his untrue story.

“And who are you?” the man predictably asked, and Sanji saw his head dip, as if he’d taken note of his Seal-less chest.

“Just a bystander,” Sanji replied hastily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“He saved me too, Grandpa!” the girl cried, whipping her head back to the old man. “But he lost his bow… We don’t have any extras, do we?”

A flash of surprise shot through the blond at the word ‘grandpa’, but at least now his suspicions were confirmed. This was very likely the man Zoro had indicated, if he indeed had a stock of weapons. And Sanji was becoming increasingly sure that any request of a stranger’s would not be met with much hospitality.

“It’s not necessary,” Sanji immediately protested, almost out of habit, but certainly in the face of the man’s gruff attitude. “I can—”

“Sit down, boy, you’re bleeding.”

His mouth snapped shut at the old man’s rebuke, discomfort filling him once more under the man’s scrutinizing attention.

A tense moment followed, but perhaps it was only in Sanji’s mind, because eventually, the man let out a long-suffering sigh and shuffled his way past his granddaughter, crossing the room to the front door. He slipped into a pair of wooden sandals that towered inches higher than any Sanji had seen yet, his billowing robe draped over his shoulders like a pair of wings.

“I’m a swordsmith, not a bowyer,” he grumbled under his breath, followed by another string of near unintelligible complaints as he passed through the hanging cloths and left the house.

Sanji stared after him for a moment until he became aware of two more sets of eyes on him, forcing him to turn back to see the girl’s owlish gaze studying him.

“You don’t have a Seal…” she finally murmured quietly. “Why did you help me?”

He looked at her, saw nothing but a little girl, another human, and it hurt to see the pain of his own childhood reflected on this kid’s face. The fear of rejection…

But he pushed back any ill-timed memory that could have overcome him, instead giving a shrug, his lips turning up slightly.

“You were in trouble,” he answered simply. “Whether you have one or not doesn’t matter to me.”

He wasn’t expecting the tears that filled her dark eyes, certainly not the hug that tackled him after she scrambled to her feet and dove across the floor mats to him, but he accepted it, his bewilderment slowly disappearing as his own arms tightened around her.

“My name’s Tama,” she mumbled into his waist, their first proper introduction, even if he’d heard her name called earlier.

“I’m…” And though he hesitated for a moment, he found it far easier this time to finish with his real name. “Sanji,” he said, a genuine smile coming to his face.

The girl giggled, squeezing him harder as if she’d known him all her life before finally releasing him to scamper back over to the woman, who’d moved to the edge of the room, opening a low cabinet to rummage inside.

“Did you see? Did you see? He doesn’t care about my Seal!” Tama chirped excitedly, something that drew a warm smile to the woman’s red lips as the girl flitted around her, the image of a small hummingbird once again coming to Sanji’s mind.

“I saw,” the woman murmured in reply, her eyes flicking knowingly to Sanji before handing the girl a ceramic basin she pulled from the cabinet. “Please fill this with warm water.”

Tama nodded eagerly, already tearing towards the front door, barely slowing when the woman called, “Carefully!” after her.

Her eyes were back on Sanji then, her pale hand gesturing him over to where she knelt, still as elegant as the crane she'd transformed from.

He obliged, slowly lowering himself to the floor in front of her, her hand reaching out to take his.

“My name is Tsuru,” the woman said, covering his hand with her other, both clasping his gently. “I thank you and Sir Green for protecting Tama. I am in your debt.”

He smiled, rather soothed by her soft tone and touch, and rather amused at Zoro’s nickname.

“It was nothing….” he answered automatically. “Are you Tama’s….?”

“Mother?” she guessed, but shook her head. “No. Merely a friend.”

And it was the pensive way her lips turned up that left Sanji wondering if perhaps everyone in this country had lost their parents…

He couldn’t linger on the thought for long though before Tsuru’s hands had left his to land on his shoulder, her fingers already prying open his collar, coaxing him to shrug out of the fabric.

He did, with some discomfort, the brush burn on his back throbbing anew at the aggravation. He struggled to keep the pain off his face.

A minute of quiet examination, then the woman backed off, Sanji taking that moment to instantly pull up his robe, though she tapped him scoldingly.

“Please wait,” she said, and he reluctantly obliged, slumping shoulders once more as she went in search of tools.

It wasn’t long before she’d returned though, kneeling down behind him once more with the water basin Tama re-entered with, along with a cloth and a roll of white bandages.

The warm cloth eventually met his back, sending a stinging pang through the scraped skin, but the woman’s touch was still gentle as feathers, the pressure light as she dabbed away the blood.

It was a familiar touch, motherly hands tending to his wound, and Sanji closed his eyes the instant they began to burn, the threat of tears sudden and painful. He wanted his mother’s soft humming, her smile, attempts to cheer him up, remedy not only his injuries, but his spirit, every time he found himself on the receiving end of his brothers’ abuse.

She was gone. He had to remind himself of that, but he wasn’t sure which was more painful, the fact that this was a stranger, not his mother….or the indulgence of pretending it wasn’t.

Sanji cleared his throat, forced himself to ignore the soothing feeling altogether, simply sat blankly as that cloth turned to bandages, the woman’s fingers brushing his skin now and again as she maneuvered them under his armpit and over his shoulder to cover the wound.

He stared hard at the opposite wall, focusing on the pots and utensils hanging there, doing his best to turn off his mind until Tsuru finished, something that wasn’t too hard to do considering the wave of exhaustion that washed over him, the chaos of the morning catching up to him.

He didn’t feel comfortable drifting off here though, so his gaze eventually hardened, the blond forcing himself to speak.

“What was your grandpa talking about?” he said over his shoulder when Tama appeared in his peripheral, crouching down to remove the water basin, the clear liquid now tinted pink with blood. “If you’re short on food, I can show you a few recipes to make it last longer.”

“We have plenty! That's my power!” she chirped cheerfully. Sanji wondered if all the children in Wano were as upbeat as the two girls he’d met. To him, it was still a mystery how they could be.

“Your power…” Sanji repeated quietly as Tama slipped out the front door again briefly, the sound of water splashing on the dirt ground following soon after.

She stepped back inside a moment later, still wearing a smile, her cheeks plump, and the image of her fingers pulling a doughy ball from her skin flashed through his mind again.

“I can tame animals too if I feed them!” she said, setting the bowl by the entrance and lowering herself to the floor mats again.

“So you called the fish?” Sanji guessed, remembering how the giant beast had seemed to listen to her, following her directions as if it understood.

She nodded eagerly, not taking her gaze from Sanji, even as Tsuru moved across the room to her, the woman’s fingers now working to tame Tama’s disheveled hair. Sanji wasn’t sure her efforts would be as effective as Tama’s taming of the fish.

“And you’ve been giving food to Zoro?” Sanji guessed, remembering Hitetsu’s apparent disapproval of such.

“Yes...” the girl muttered, her eyes flicking to the doorway, as if her grandfather would come back at any moment.

Sanji couldn’t help but snort, imagining Zoro hovering for scraps in the street like some stray animal.

“Yet he was so keen on advertising how resourceful the people of Wano were…” the blond mumbled quietly. “Meanwhile, he’s accepting free hand-outs from a little girl...”

“Sir Green is not from Wano originally,” Tsuru added, still focused on Tama’s hair, now fully unraveled from its previous style as the woman combed her fingers through gently.

It was surprising to hear, especially when Zoro seemed to be the very embodiment of Wano, at least to Sanji. If he wasn’t from Wano, where was he from…?

“It was Kaido who brought him here, as a boy,” Tsuru answered a moment later, something that shut down anything Sanji could have expected.

His heart clenched hard at the words.

“Really…?” he replied, his widening gaze meeting hers when she shot a glance his way.

“Yes,” she said as she began to pull Tama’s hair back in an intricate style. “After the attack on the Capital, Kaido abandoned him.”

Suddenly, a cog clicked into place in Sanji’s mind. The looks in the street. Kawamatsu’s animosity. Maybe this was the real reason… But why the hell had he been with Kaido to begin with?

“So the blatant hatred for him…” Sanji eventually murmured, focusing on the swift movement of Tsuru’s pale fingers, a whirlwind that left clean twists and braids in their wake. “I thought it was because of his Seal. But if he’s associated with Kaido...”

Tsuru merely nodded, her hand extending to Tama, who lifted a floral hair clip off the floor and placed it in her hand.

“To those in the Capital,” the woman said. “I believe Sir Green represents the loss of the royal family, and the ever-looming threat of Kaido’s power. Unfortunately, that prejudice has spread to all with Seals in the years since the attack. That’s why we were forced to leave the Capital and settle here.”

“That was hardly his fault, especially if he was so young!” Sanji shot back almost instantly, in defense of the man yet again because he still had yet to see any justification for the contempt. “Shouldn’t those of you with Seals support him? He was getting looks even here!”

“It may not have been his fault,” Tsuru admitted, securing a few clips before moving to the other side of Tama’s head. “But from our perspective, to many with Seals, he signifies the beginning of our oppression. There are those distrustful of his continued subservience to the Empress. They wonder about his true motives.”

“So you think he’s still loyal to Kaido too,” Sanji replied, deadpan. “Has no one thought to ask him?!”

“I am merely explaining the popular sentiment,” she said calmly, seeming to sense his growing frustration. “It is not only him the people worry about. There were other pirates left behind after Kaido’s massacre. Including the Orochi mentioned by Hitetsu.”

Still. How could a child share the viewpoints of a deadly pirate warlord? Especially if Kaido had abandoned him. Zoro had been cast aside long ago, and dammit, why was it the same? Why could Sanji feel his own past rearing its ugly head in parallel fashion, and why was it Zoro who seemed to share his experience?

How had he known...somehow...that Zoro understood…?

“The Empress trusts Zoro…” Sanji found himself muttering after a quiet minute, and dammit, he almost felt like he was defending himself now, justifying his own existence through the guise of Zoro’s.

Zoro seemed to think Sanji's existence was justified. He’d continually saved his life, after all...

“And I trust—”

He paused, his own apparent trust of the swordsman nearly spilling out far too quickly for his liking, certainly quicker than his mind could process. So he amended his statement.

“—her judgment,” he continued, and he didn’t elaborate. If he admitted to his friendship with the Empress, his own origins might come into question. And how would that be received?

Instead, Sanji implored, “Please do not direct your anger at the Empress… I can’t imagine it’s her wish to perpetuate the discrimination.”

Thankfully, despite his careful words, the woman smiled slightly, giving one last pat to Tama’s finished hair before she settled her hands primly in her lap and shifted to face him fully.

“I know this,” she replied. “Hitetsu knows this as well.” Her back straightened then, almost proudly. “My husband served the Kozuki family for many years as one of their most trusted samurai. I feel true dismay, witnessing what has become of our once united country…” Her voice quieted. “As I’m sure my husband would as well, had he not fallen during Kaido’s attack…”

Sanji wilted, familiar sorrow washing over him, even if he knew nothing of this woman’s husband. “I’m sorry…”

But she shook her head, determination the only visible emotion in her eyes.

“Do not be,” she replied, lips turning up in reassurance. “I only hope there can come a day when Wano can live in harmony once more. I have faith…”

“You do…?” Sanji asked, feeling his eyebrow lift, if not in skepticism, then certainly in surprise. Even the Empress and her retainer had seemed rather resigned about their country’s fate.

But Tsuru seemed sure of herself, her gaze unexpectedly fixed on him, as if he was the reason for her faith. And soon enough, she confirmed it.

“Yes,” she said. “Because good still exists in this world. Someone like you has come along.”

Automatically, despite her words, Sanji frowned. What made him special? What stood out about him during their very brief acquaintanceship that was so “good,” as she said? He supposed his way of thinking didn’t align with the typical Wano citizen’s, but what power could he possibly have to affect things here, in a country he barely knew?

Her smile was somehow knowing though, and he suddenly felt rather exposed, as if this woman could see straight through him and knew, if not of his family, then of his struggles. Knew him better than he perhaps knew himself. She couldn’t know who he really was, could she?

Tsuru gave no indication either way though, and Sanji found himself glad when a grumbling voice interrupted the silence, saving him from any further questioning or forced explanations.

Through the front doorway came Hitetsu, stepping down from his tall sandals and crossing the mats with something unexpected in hand: a sword, its sheath dark blue, the hilt wrapped tightly in a similarly hued fabric.

The thing was long and intimidating and heavy when the man passed it directly into Sanji’s arms, the blond fumbling to grab ahold of it in his surprise.

“No bows here,” the man muttered. “Take it or leave it.”

Sanji gaped down at the weapon, noting its slight curve, the tassels wrapped around the sheath, which he saw, upon closer inspection, was etched with a sprawling pattern of angry waves crashing in the sea.

It was beautiful, a work of art in itself, and one Sanji knew he had no hope of wielding, not as it should be wielded.

A memory flashed through his mind of a similar moment, himself as a boy nearly falling over under the weight of the enormous broadsword his father had shoved at him, some terrible hope on his menacing features that Sanji would be able to use it with the same raw power as his siblings.

Of course he hadn’t been able to. Of course he wouldn’t be able to now.

But he found himself nodding, accepting the weapon. For now at least… Until he could find another bow. Perhaps the Empress had one…

And yet for a second, he shared his father’s past hope, that maybe he could learn how to use the blade…

After all, hadn’t Zoro agreed to stick around…?

Still, it felt far too foreign, almost inappropriate, for him to be holding such a weapon. He certainly felt like an imposter, the weight of the blade drooping awkwardly at his side, hitting his leg when he eventually exited the house some time later, having thanked the gruff Hitetsu, as well as Tsuru and Tama, who’d insisted he stay for a cup of tea at least before he left.

They’d graciously offered him a new pair of sandals, the girl squeezing him tight for another hug, then let him go on his way.

A few curses escaped him as soon as he was outside, directed at the blade itself, the blond shoving at the cumbersome sword’s hilt, fingers fumbling to tie his sash tighter as he stepped out onto the dirt road once more, when a gravelly voice caught his attention.

“Did you get him? Let me guess. He got thrown in the dungeon, and Kawamatsu’s singing your praises—!”

Sanji’s eyes slunk to the neighboring gap between the houses, noting the owner of the voice crouched on the dirt near the opening, his features rather piglike, sneering toothily as he spoke, purple spikes of hair wild atop his head, gathered in a fluffy topknot.

The blond wasn’t even surprised when his eyes next locked with Zoro’s, the familiar swordsman tucked inside the mouth of the alley, where he still sat on the ground, lounging back casually against the wall.

The mosshead hardly seemed perturbed to see Sanji, despite the hushed tone of his conversation partner, who quickly let out a disgruntled noise of shock when Zoro merely pointed at the blond lazily.

“They were friends, he and the Empress. No way he’s seeing any dungeon,” Zoro replied, and Sanji now knew exactly who had been the topic of conversation.

Himself, the swordsman’s piercing eyes not leaving his for an instant....

The blond felt a prickling of discomfort shoot through him when the crouching man’s shock upon seeing him turned to discernible contempt, features scrunching into a glare, his pointed mustache like a second set of angry eyebrows over his clenched teeth.

It set Sanji’s heart thudding faster, the familiar desire to remove himself quickly from the situation growing within him.

But that oddly scrutinizing glare lasted but a moment, the stranger’s beady eyes flicking over Sanji once more before his expression simmered back into something more detached.

“A prince of Germa? Friends with the Empress…?” the man muttered, almost to himself more so than Zoro, and Sanji couldn’t help the jolt of panic that shot through him. He knew?

But the man disclosed nothing, just let out a derisive scoff before uttering, “How surprising…”

And he said no more, merely got to his feet with some effort and shot a pointed look at Zoro, his shoulders hunched. Sanji caught a glimpse of the dark Seal on his chest as the man shot back one last sneer before skulking off down the dirt road.

The blond stood his ground, despite the uncomfortable feeling in his chest, the man’s clear distaste lingering in the air, in a way Sanji hadn’t felt directed at him personally since arriving in Wano.

He glared sullenly after the man’s retreating form until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Only then did he fix his attention back on Zoro.

“Friend of yours?” he deadpanned.

If that was the unpleasant kind of person Zoro associated with, then Sanji had to admit to a twinge of disappointment.

Yet, Zoro simply shrugged, as indifferent as ever, and the swordsman finally dropped his affecting stare to close his eyes instead, crossing arms behind his head.

“I don’t do the whole friend thing,” he said. Then, with a little more sarcasm, he added, “Not like you and Hiyori.”

And why mention that? Sanji wondered with growing irritation. He couldn’t imagine a man who was so focused on his loner reputation caring much for Sanji’s own relationships, of which he had few, thank you very much.

“I don’t do it either,” the blond shot back, feeling more defensive than pathetic in that moment, as if to prove to the brute that he didn’t need friends. “She’s the only one I ever made.”

Zoro shrugged again and replied, “Right.”

How one word could incite a rise out of him, Sanji didn’t know, but it didn’t much matter.

Zoro wouldn’t hurt him. He was quite sure of that now, and so he had no hesitation barking back, “You don’t know shit about my life.”

“So you’ve said,” Zoro mumbled, sounding almost bored, and the silence that followed was enough to leave Sanji feeling frustrated.

As if he didn’t feel stupid enough standing there, bristling with pent-up energy, while the idiot swordsman all but ignored him.

“Did you tell that man who I was? How did he know?” Sanji hissed, his voice lowering but still clouded with anger.

Hadn’t he and Zoro been making some headway towards cordiality? Or so Sanji had assumed, especially after their ordeal in the canal.

But now Zoro seemed put out by Sanji's existence again, and there was something immensely frustrating about that.

“I didn’t tell him,” Zoro said. “Orochi keeps tabs on everyone. Sure he figured it out from your wanted poster.”

Orochi… So that was the man Hitetsu so disapproved of… And Sanji couldn’t fathom how his anonymous wanted poster alone could have given him away.

A brewing discontent settled in his gut, the fear that maybe Zoro was lying to him stirring there, more painful than he wanted to admit. He hated that he’d actually wanted to trust the man.

Yet Zoro stared back at him steadily now, almost daring him to question his word, and Sanji couldn’t help the feeling that he was being tested in some way, though how exactly he didn’t know.

This was probably the part when most people would walk away from him, and Zoro seemed to be highly aware of that, his expression turning steely and guarded.

Sanji knew he could have, and the day before he certainly would have. But then what…? He'd be back at square one with a promise to the Empress to uphold and no way to fulfill it.

The blond huffed, his uncomfortable need to rely on the swordsman rearing up to overtake his doubts.

“As long as he doesn’t stir shit up…” Sanji mumbled dejectedly, staring off down the road once more.

When he looked back at Zoro, the swordsman’s eyes had closed again, his brow mid-furrow, but he said nothing.

“So now what?” Sanji grumbled after a minute, quite happy to interrupt Zoro’s brooding when he received a satisfyingly annoyed frown in response.

And that frown preceded the return of Zoro’s gaze, the swordsman looking almost confused for a moment, so Sanji elaborated, for the sake of the fool’s slow mind.

“Are you still going to show me around or not?”

Zoro’s gaze instantly flicked to the sword tied to Sanji’s hip like an out-of-place limb, causing the blond to fidget self-consciously.

“I oughta teach you how to swim first…” Zoro finally muttered, though the tilt of his eyebrow had regained its persistent flash of challenge, and Sanji found himself glaring at him in lieu of the less mature eye roll he nearly responded with.

But Zoro was getting to his feet, arching his back in a languid stretch, followed by a few unsightly (surely purposeful) cracks of his neck.

“Come on,” the swordsman grunted once he seemed satisfied with the alignment of his bones.

He stepped out from the alleyway and physically shouldered past the blond, to his chagrin, despite there being plenty of space to move around him.

Sanji caught the mosshead’s gaze dropping to his new sword once more.

“And don’t curse at it,” Zoro said as he walked past. “It’s disrespectful.”

He didn’t wait for Sanji’s response, merely set off down the path.

It took a beat, the blond staring after him for a few moments, struggling to piece together what the hell the strange man was referring to.

Until it dawned on him, once he’d stooped to the idiot’s mental capacity.

“Like it can hear me! It’s a sword!” he shrieked in response.

“And you’re an idiot,” Zoro shot over his shoulder without stopping.

“What?!”

He stomped up to Zoro’s side then, making sure to jab the swordsman in the waist with the blade’s hilt.

“Teach me how to use it then,” the blond insisted, that bit of hope from earlier bubbling up within him. He also hoped it wasn’t conveyed in his tone.

From the long glare Zoro shot at him, Sanji expected a refusal…

But then the swordsman merely shoved him aside with a muttered, “Keep up,” as he continued marching on.

The blond was left with no choice but to hurry after him, struggling to keep a grin off his face, despite Zoro’s brutish bullying. Maybe now, he could properly learn to retaliate, and even that small incentive was enough.

Sanji wasn’t sure what he’d imagined when he pictured training. Fierce cries. Sweat. Exertion. Something intense, especially when it appeared it was all the swordsman did, the man’s body practically sculpted from marble. The image of his defined muscles still stood out uncomfortably in Sanji’s brain, after all.

It certainly didn’t help that the swordsman seemed to want to remind him, his bare torso still free of his robe, even if he’d dried off ages ago, though the sheen of sweat now glistened on his skin instead.

Still, these were things the blond knew he should ignore as they walked in silence, the initial bickering falling off as his mind lost its excited bravado and began to race around what might ultimately be his demise, his own lack of strength in the smug face of Zoro’s.

He wasn’t expecting to follow the swordsman from the settlement, down the worn road that quickly turned to a narrow dirt trail through the forest.

In fact, it was hardly a trail, more of a chance break in the foliage, and Sanji began to wonder if Zoro even had any direction in mind….or if they’d simply wander forever. Maybe this was training? Certainly training for his patience, at any rate...

The woods grew denser, humidity hanging heavily in the air under the midday sun that now blazed through the branches, and though it was bright, the deeper they went, the more Sanji felt paranoia creeping at the corners of his senses.

Wasn’t this the beast’s home? Weren’t they in danger going out this far? He wasn’t naive enough to assume otherwise now, and while he’d seen some proof of the swordsman’s skill against the thug in town, he couldn’t be certain he was in good hands if faced again with a monstrous feline.

He slipped behind Zoro, was forced to when the almost nonexistent path narrowed, tall plants parting when the swordsman pushed them aside ahead of him, only to smack back in Sanji’s face when he moved through. Sanji was sure he was doing it on purpose, the blond’s quiet grumbles and huffs becoming more and more frequent the longer the trek went on.

Not to mention, the heat began to climb, Sanji’s hair beginning to stick to his face, the awful feeling of sweat sliding steadily down his neck and back making him tug at his own robe in discomfort. The air hung stagnant around them, no breeze for respite, and dammit, he’d known Wano was a southern kingdom, but this was ridiculous.

How could the stupid mosshead press on through this jungle without complaint? Did he enjoy trekking through this stifling heat, breathing more water than air in this damn humidity?

And when what had to be the fiftieth massive fern slapped him in the forehead, Sanji was finally about to protest loudly.

Until he realized that was the last fern standing between him and a clearing beyond, though the canopy of leaves still speckled over the blue of the sky.

The sudden sound of rushing water grabbed Sanji’s attention almost instantly, and he realized, with some degree of surprise, that the path had brought them to the edge of an embankment where a stream bubbled and rushed with urgency. A few wooden stakes of an ancient-looking fence were all that stood between the narrow path and the steep slope that dropped to the water below them.

Zoro didn’t stop there, however, still moving steadily upstream towards, unexpectedly, a small waterfall, the water tumbling over massive boulders until it reached their level, close enough for Sanji to touch if he hopped over those giant rocks.

He must have been halfway off the path already because he felt a hand clamp down on his wrist, stopping him from moving.

“Shoes off,” Zoro said, releasing Sanji only to remove his own sandals, the blond tentatively following suit.

And Sanji saw why when the natural path beneath their feet led them to a curve in the stream where that path turned quickly to flat stone, wet stone at that, something their wooden sandals had no hope of gripping. Sanji was amazed to see a long manmade staircase suddenly stretching up over the water, the sloped chasm that surrounded them on either side of the stream twisting itself and rising up into sheer stone faces, impossible for trees to cling to.

The spray of cool water suddenly whipped over Sanji’s face in a continuous wind that replaced the humidity with a strange anticipation for what lay ahead, at the top of that staircase.

They were going there, Zoro already climbing fearlessly up a few fallen boulders and grabbing onto a stone marker built into the rock, scrawled with a vertical writing Sanji didn’t understand. It gave the swordsman leverage to swing himself up to the foot of the staircase where he paused, glancing back to stare at Sanji expectantly.

The blond huffed out a breath, wondering how the lumbering oaf could make such fluid strides. He glanced down at his own waist, at that cumbersome sword that would surely hinder him, but if Zoro could do it with such ease, then dammit, he had to try.

So he stepped up onto the first rock, and just as his hand reached for a higher one, he felt fingers grip his tightly and give a strong tug. Sanji followed the momentum, made the steps much more easily than anticipated until he stood beside Zoro, whose stoic expression didn’t change, save for an almost challenging quirk of his brow.

Then he’d released Sanji’s hand and was moving again, up that stone staircase, which stood almost carpeted in soft moss from what must have been years of disuse. Sanji wondered with a twinge of amusement if Zoro’s hair had grown green due to neglect as well.

But his amusement didn’t last long before, in its stead, a powerful gust of awe hit him, just as powerful as the misty wind that now swept through his hair as he stepped around the bend of the rock wall and mounted the stairs.

Amazingly, directly below the staircase churned a series of waterfalls, previously out of sight but now tumbling in tiers down the mountainside.

Sanji’s breath caught, and he quickly moved to the stairs’ railing to peer over the edge at the sight, letting the spray of water hit his face and the wind whip around him like a hurricane. The thrill of it brought a smile to his lips, and he was vaguely aware of the swordsman stopping a few steps above him.

Maybe he should have been surprised to see Zoro’s eyes on him when he finally glanced up, the ghost of a smirk on his face, but for some reason the swordsman’s intense gaze was becoming familiar, almost expected.

Sanji looked away in pure reflex, watching the roaring water again, but only for a moment before he found himself looking back at Zoro. He tried to contain the exhilaration on his face, but it wasn’t quite working.

“Wow,” he said simply, jerking his chin towards the sight, something that earned him a flash of teeth from the swordsman.

“There’s more,” Zoro replied over the rush of the water, and then he was climbing the stairs again, leaving Sanji with no choice but to follow, a little torn about continuing so soon. He could have stood with that view for a damn while longer.

“More?” Sanji shot back in disbelief as they ascended the stairs, reaching the flat landing, the walkway turning to continue up one last flight, this time climbing the wooded hillside.

Zoro didn’t reply or look back, merely stopped at the top ahead of him, so Sanji let out a huff, his hand gripping the mossy stone railing, hurrying up himself.

And his eyes widened when he saw, between the overhanging foliage, the scalloped roof of a tall pagoda suddenly appear, looming higher and higher the closer he came until, by the time he stood beside Zoro, the pair was dwarfed by an enormous wooden temple standing before them.

Moss clung to its pillars, vines dripping from its rooftop, the structure seemingly lost in time as the forest reclaimed it.

Sanji heard Zoro snicker, most likely at his stupidly gaping jaw, but his gaze was far too occupied with the massive statues of menacing deities that glared out at him from caged alcoves at the temple’s entrance. Their angry expressions mimicked Hitetsu’s mask, poses fierce and aggressive as if they were about to break free of their imprisonment at any moment.

“It’s the Scabbards’ temple.”

Sanji finally looked over at the swordsman, whose eyes roved over the structure too, suddenly looking far more relaxed than Sanji had seen him all day.

“They used to train here,” Zoro continued, meeting Sanji’s eye. “But it’s been abandoned for years.”

“Why…?” Sanji murmured, unsure how such a magnificent place could be forgotten.

“They’re dead,” Zoro replied simply.

Oh. Right.

Sanji sighed, wondering if the conversation would take a downturn, but Zoro’s eyes were clear, a smirk even coming to his face.

“The new guard train in the Capital,” Zoro explained, flashing a broader grin as he finally brushed past the blond towards the closed doors at the foot of the temple.

“So it’s mine now,” he finished proudly, his fingers curling around the tarnished ring of gold that served as the door’s handle.

Then he gave a hard yank, somehow managing to pull open the massive door, which looked like it hadn’t budged in a hundred years, holding it in clear indication for Sanji to pass through first.

The blond did, thankful for the remnants of a walkway beneath his feet, and when he moved through, he was surprised to find, not an interior, but an overgrown courtyard, more of those strange pole-like trees and plants sprouting up from the perimeter of the packed-down sand that spread out inside the building’s walls.

And on the far end, the mountain’s slope rose up in a steep cliff from which spouted a line of stone dragon heads, water pouring from each of their mouths in a perfect row of seven small waterfalls, each falling several persons’ length to a long rock-lined pool below.

Sanji heard the door close heavily behind him, and when Zoro stepped up to his side, this time it felt strangely intimate, the two of them alone together. It was certainly quieter, and it was clear by the look on Zoro’s face that this place was special to him, perhaps far more than Sanji knew, though he could certainly relate… Hadn’t the castle kitchens always been that for him?

Sanji was beginning to get the feeling that this was a show of trust, being shown Zoro’s place of respite...

He tried not to think about the warmth in his chest at that thought.

“It’s amazing….” he breathed instead. “I’ve never seen any place like it…”

It was an admission he hadn’t allowed himself to make the day before, laying eyes upon the Flower Capital for the first time. He hadn’t wanted his own inexperience to show, for fear of what it would bring him, but for some reason, in that moment, he felt his qualms tumbling as quickly as those uniform waterfalls. He would miss this beauty when he left Wano. It was a shame he couldn’t stay.

“S’easy to forget shit here…” Zoro murmured, Sanji’s eyes flicking his way to see the swordsman nodding as if he’d seen right through to Sanji’s thoughts and understood.

The warmth inside him flared, enough that he chose to quickly stifle it, a deep breath clearing the sentimental fog clouding him.

“So you train here now?” Sanji asked, noting the distinct lack of anything he’d expect to see on a training ground—targets, practice dummies, armor….people. The only evidence he saw was a few mutilated posts, some with bundles of straw tied to them, hacked short.

“Uh huh,” Zoro replied simply, not even sparing Sanji a glance as he set off to cross the courtyard.

“By yourself?” Sanji pressed, walking up beside him.

Zoro rolled his eyes in response, but said nothing.

“There’s hardly anything here,” Sanji clarified because, as far as he knew from his own experience, that should warrant confusion. His father’s training grounds had been elaborate….deadly...

“Obviously,” Zoro said.

“Obviously? What about—fighting?” Sanji huffed. “Cutting shit? Combat practice?”

“That’s part of it.”

A big part, as far as Sanji knew.

“Yeah, and that’s the part that’s going to help us go up against the monster!” he justified.

“Shut up,” Zoro snapped, shooting a glare at the blond. “You’re jittery as hell. You need to learn to calm your senses first. Or you’ll never have any hope of wielding a weapon.”

It was Sanji’s turn to roll his eyes, the swordsman’s critique hardly unexpected. He’d heard it time and time again, after all, what a damned failure he was, hopelessly timid when he should have been strong. He remembered the early days, after all, when he’d still accompanied his siblings to the training grounds.

He remembered Ichiji dodging every attack thrown at him, as if it were as easy as breathing, Niji slashing through dozens of opponents with his manic speed, Yonji crumbling brick walls with a single punch. Even Reiju would step in on occasion, felling challengers with poisonous accuracy.

They’d taken down adults more than double their size and all Sanji could do was watch and wonder why he was different, why he couldn’t muster that speed or strength….that mercilessness. Even in the face of punishment, of pain….he couldn’t.

He’d heard it all. He knew what he was…

And Zoro had already picked up on it.

Sanji blinked, slipping back to the present when he felt fingers clamp onto his wrist, give a tug until he realized they’d reached the line of waterfalls, Zoro standing stoically beside him.

The blond’s gaze drifted up to those stone dragons, their eyes blank but piercing, almost perceptive, as they loomed over him. Were they judging him too?

“There are seven virtues of a true samurai.”

Sanji glanced over to see Zoro staring up at the dragons too, glancing at Sanji for but a moment before he jerked his chin towards the dragons, above which, Sanji noticed, was a different symbol carved in the rock over each.

Sanji had no hope of deciphering them, but Zoro seemed to be able to as he continued.

“Integrity. Courage. Compassion. Humility. Honesty. Honor. And loyalty.”

Zoro’s voice was quiet, certainly reverent, and yet Sanji felt the need to scoff.

“Well, you certainly don’t embody all of them,” he muttered, but Zoro immediately shot back, “Do you?”

Of course he didn’t. At least, not as he saw himself...

Sanji’s shoulders slumped and he looked away, feeling foolish. “I…never claimed that...”

“Then keep your mouth shut,” Zoro scolded, already slipping his swords from his sash and plunking down onto the edge of the pool.

Sanji blinked at him, unsure why the hell he was settling so comfortably.

“Uh...what are you doing?” the blond asked. “Aren’t we going to train?”

“You really can’t shut up, can you,” Zoro huffed.

“I’m curious!”

The swordsman groaned, then fixed Sanji with a look, irritation clear on his features. “You’re impatient is what,” he muttered. A sigh followed though, and his eyes sharpened.

“Look,” Zoro said eventually. “If you’re so damn curious about shit, I’ll tell you something important.”

Sanji’s eyebrows pulled down, the blond slowly moving to take a seat beside the swordsman, despite his confusion, removing his own sword and setting it down on the lip of the pool too.

As soon as he had, Zoro leaned forward conspiratorially, despite their isolation.

“Tama’s the only one who can defeat the monster,” he said, something that had Sanji draw back in shock.

“What?” he stammered, images of the little girl hacking a sword at the giant beast bursting through his mind. “Don’t tell me she’s a samurai too!”

But Zoro merely gave a long-suffering sigh and shook his head.

“Then how—” Sanji started.

“Her Seal, idiot.”

Oh, Sanji thought, his image of the child destroying demons shattering quickly, as incredible as it could have been. But still...

“Zoro, even if she can tame it, you can’t send a little kid out into the forest to take on that thing! It could kill her before she even gets the chance!”

Again, Zoro rolled his eyes, lip curling. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re capable of…”

And it was true. He still knew next to nothing about this man, aside from his own intuition to trust him and the word of a few people.

But he saw the way Zoro’s shoulders slumped, his gaze turning downcast, anger seeming to slip inward instead, enough that when Sanji spoke again, his voice had automatically softened.

“That’s why she’s been giving you dumplings with her power…” he guessed. “So you can feed it.”

Zoro nodded silently, breaking yet another assumption in the blond’s mind. Zoro may have been many moronic things, but he was not a freeloader. Something about that was a relief...

“So, what the fuck!” Sanji huffed, trying to catch Zoro’s gaze again, to see some of the life return to his eyes. “Just feed them to the beast and it won’t be an issue anymore! The thing will follow anything she says!”

It worked, Zoro sitting up to look at him again.

“It’s not that simple,” he justified. “It deserves to die.”

“Zoro, it’s an animal.”

“It kills,” Zoro retorted instantly. “It almost killed you.”

“Because it was hunting!” Sanji cried, tossing up hands. “It was just following its instincts!”

It was Sanji’s turn to growl under his breath. Why was killing always the answer? It always had been with his father, his siblings. Was he the strange one? Was it strange, in this world, to want to preserve life?

Maybe that was why he so often felt he didn’t belong… Clearly this wasn’t the world he was meant to inhabit if these were the morals that abounded.

“I don’t believe wild animals have bloodlust,” he continued after a minute. “That’s a human thing. Or....a you thing.”

Zoro just gave an exasperated sigh, and why was the swordsman even fighting this so hard? He had to know… He didn’t want Zoro to be that callous.

“If there’s no reason to slaughter it, then why slaughter it?” Sanji pressed, and he was surprised when Zoro replied. Not by his words, but by his tone.

“Everyone wants it dead!” he said. “It could still hurt people!”

His voice was tired, almost pleading, and there was an unexpected pain in his eyes that made something click into place in Sanji’s mind. Because he recognized that look, or, at least, he thought he did, and suddenly, the thought became tangible….that Zoro’s history with this beast might be more than he’d originally let on.

Had he lost someone too…?

“If Tama’s power can tame it, then that’s how I want to defeat it,” Sanji replied slowly after a minute. “I’m certainly not bloodthirsty.” Of course there was the fact that he couldn’t physically defeat it, but he chose not to focus on that.

Zoro’s brow furrowed slightly, his mouth working for words for a moment.

When he replied, his voice had quieted.

“You’re not...scared of it…?” he asked, fixated intently on Sanji as if his answer was somehow important.

“Of course I am,” the blond assured, resisting the urge to pull a face, not wanting to upset the man further. “Because I don’t want to be mauled to shreds and eaten, thank you. But there are scarier things out there.”

“Like…?” Zoro prompted.

“Do you really need examples?” Sanji shot back.

Receiving nothing but a glare in return, Sanji turned up his palms.

“What I just said,” he continued. “Humans. Humans with bad intentions. You of all people should know that.”

“And how do you know that?” Zoro asked carefully, and they were back to this, it seemed, back at the precipice of Sanji’s history that he’d so far shied away from.

The swordsman’s insistence was subtle, but persistent nonetheless, and for the first time since arriving in Wano, Sanji decided to allow that persistence to punch through, if only a small amount. After all, he remembered what Tsuru had told him about Zoro’s past…. He remembered that perhaps they had more in common than he’d believed possible.

The first brick of his wall fell.

“Germa is not a nice place,” Sanji muttered simply.

“But you’re a prince—”

“Stop calling me that!” the blond huffed immediately, and yes, he was sure of it now. Zoro was definitely trying to pull down far more bricks than Sanji was willing to give up.

But desperation rose within him, the deep annoyance over the fact that the oaf just didn’t get it. How could he, living in this country?

“You have the wrong idea!” Sanji growled, his chest clenching with anger. “The way things are with the Empress? Here? In Wano? It’s not like that where I’m from. My father is one step away from Kaido!”

“Yeah fucking right—” Zoro muttered darkly, giving a rude snort.

“Shut up! You have no idea what it’s like there!” Sanji cried, and he had to consciously force himself to calm down, to lower his voice. He dropped his head, running hands over his face for a moment, heartbeat thundering uncomfortably in his ears.

“...Look,” he breathed after a moment, more to himself than to Zoro. “I’m not about to have a competition over whose life is worse, alright?”

A heavy sigh left him, and when Zoro didn’t reply, he risked a glance at the other man, fearing a sneer or glower.

But it seemed the swordsman was done fighting him on the matter, his eyes lingering on Sanji for a few seconds before he too sighed and settled back, pulling swords into his lap and examining the hilts as if he’d decided to ignore Sanji’s presence entirely, yet again.

And it seemed he most certainly had decided this when he set his swords aside altogether and pulled legs up, crossing them and straightening his back, planting hands firmly on his knees and closing his eyes.

The blond gaped at him as if he’d lost his mind, watching the swordsman still.

He wasn’t going to sleep, no….his breaths were too measured for that.

This was….meditation….? It wasn’t a common practice in his own country, but the blond recognized the pose. His brothers had mocked it on the rare occasion his kingdom hosted foreign warriors.

Well, whatever the hell it was, Sanji wasn’t going to allow the man to pretend his prying hadn’t happened. If Zoro thought it was fine to pry, then Sanji would very happily return the favor.

So he ducked his head to stare at the swordsman’s features, which had regained quite a bit of youth in their relaxing state, brows no longer drawn tight, lips bowed softly above his angular chin. There was even a bit of rosy sunburn dusting his nose, highlighting a few faint freckles. Why did he frown so much when his resting face was so….?

Sanji cut off his own thoughts, unsure of where they were even wandering. He hadn’t noticed his observation of the swordsman had led him to lean closer, and it was close enough that he had to sit back again, pretending he hadn’t moved.

“So what is your Seal anyway?” Sanji asked to distract himself, satisfied when Zoro tensed the instant he broke the silence. “Why not use your own and leave helpless children out of it altogether?”

It was as if Zoro had been expecting the interruption, as he replied, but didn’t open his eyes.

“It’s nothing that can do any good,” he said quietly, still facing straight ahead. “That’s why I’m a swordsman. And a true swordsman doesn’t use gimmicks. I grow by my own natural strength.”

Sanji scoffed loudly in hopes Zoro would look at him again, and it worked, Sanji’s smirk turning smug when their eyes finally met, the swordsman lifting an unamused brow.

“You call any of this natural?” he said, mimicking Zoro’s pose to exaggerated effect, earning him enough of a neolithic death glare from the man that he had to chuckle.

“Besides,” Sanji added. “It’s not a gimmick! It’s your birthright. You were born with it, weren’t you? You’re lucky enough to have one, so embrace it!”

“I’m allowed to do what I want,” Zoro muttered, turning his head and closing eyes again in a clear attempt to end the conversation.

But Sanji was stubborn, pressing again, “Have you ever used it?”

Zoro’s head whipped towards him suddenly with deadly focus, enough to have Sanji jump back slightly in surprise, both at the sudden movement and the strange return of that pain he thought he’d done well to banish from Zoro’s eyes.

“Why are you so damn fascinated by it? You trying to mock me?” the swordsman hissed, past irritation to something beyond...something more powerful.

“No!” Sanji huffed, and if his own wall had lost a few bricks, he could practically see those same bricks piling on top of Zoro’s. “No, why would I—?”

“How the fuck do I know you’re not thinking about killing me for it! Since you’re so obsessed.” That edge of desperation had returned to Zoro’s voice, as if he hoped it wasn’t the truth but feared it was.

“I’m not!” Sanji assured quickly, his hands coming up defensively before they slowly lowered to his lap and he looked away, a little ashamed of himself. As fun as it was to rile the man up, he’d clearly pushed too far this time, and it was enough that he had to sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually said sincerely. “It just….having one would’ve made my life a lot easier. I can’t help but fixate…”

He trailed off, trying not to fall into sulking, but certainly feeling emotionally compromised. He wished he could stop that fixation. He wished he could stop comparing himself to others. He wished he could cultivate his own damned worth.

He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have tried to break the man’s guard, especially knowing how it felt himself. He hadn’t thought himself that insensitive, but it seemed there was a lot he didn’t know about himself...

Silence fell between the two again, for long enough that Sanji contemplated getting up and finding his way back to the village. It was enough to make the self-hatred start its slow descent over his mind again…

But then Zoro spoke, and there was something in his voice that sent a pang through Sanji’s chest because the anger was gone. Everything was gone from his demeanor save for a genuine confusion.

“Why did you run from me then….?” he murmured. “When I first brought you to the Capital…”

Sanji allowed himself to look at the swordsman again, observe the intensity in his eyes, his light breathing, inaudible under the rush of the water behind them.

He studied the hilt of his new sword instead, tracing the tightly-wrapped fabric on the handle as some sort of comfort to himself.

It took him a minute to reply, a minute full of doubts and insecurities telling him to keep his mouth shut as usual, to avoid the truth that so often rendered him powerless.

But in that moment, he was also powerless to resist that truth tumbling out of him.

“I didn’t run because of you…” Sanji murmured, wishing he couldn’t feel Zoro’s gaze still boring into him. “I ran because….all the jeers, the looks from the townspeople. Even today…” He shuddered at the memory. “It reminded me of a time in my life I’d like to forget, and it was too much. So don’t give yourself all the credit. You’re not that scary.”

He tried to end his confession with sarcasm, but he knew it hadn’t concealed anything, not when his voice was too unsteady, not when his eyes burned and his throat tightened uncomfortably.

Zoro exhaled heavily beside him, a shaky sound, but the blond didn’t spare him a glance, unwilling to see whatever negative reaction no doubt lingered on the swordsman’s face.

He’d said Zoro wasn’t scary, but the isolation he could bring about with his rejection….that was another thing entirely.

Perhaps he should have kept his guard up though, because a moment later, Zoro’s hand clamped onto his arm unexpectedly, the swordsman giving a hard, painful yank that sent Sanji tumbling off the low wall into the pool behind them, a yelp escaping him as he crashed into the freezing water. He barely managed to suck in a breath before he found himself submerged, limbs automatically flailing in a frantic panic.

But then, almost immediately, his back hit the bottom of the pool and he sat up with a pronounced gasp, the shallow water barely reaching his waist.

He sat there in shock, panting and dripping, Zoro’s smug grin fixed on him from several feet away.

“Wanna take that back?” the swordsman asked far too gleefully, and it took Sanji a few extra seconds to realize he was referring to Sanji’s ‘scary’ quip.

The blond scowled, only for dread to overcome him a second later when Zoro pushed up and splashed feet into the water himself. The swordsman grabbed Sanji’s collar and began dragging him, despite his attempts to pull himself away, directly towards the row of waterfalls. It took but a moment for Sanji to realize his intentions.

“O-Oi, what the hell are you—?!”

But it was a moment too late. Zoro shoved him right underneath one of the waterfalls spouting from above, the column of water crashing down onto Sanji’s head in an ice cold torrent.

An unbecoming screech and a string of spluttered curses, Sanji’s fingers doing their best to tear holes in Zoro’s robe as he tried to claw his way free.

Zoro was an unmoving, unflinching rock though, his hands pushing strongly on Sanji’s shoulders, keeping him in place, and when Sanji managed to glare up at him through the curtain of water cascading over his face, the swordsman’s smirk was downright devilish.

“Sit. Focus,” Zoro ordered simply, and Sanji found himself too dumbfounded to question it, merely gaped at the man as he finally stepped back, removing his hands…

...only to sit down beneath the stream of water beside him, assuming the same straight-backed, cross-legged pose he had before, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

He gave no further instruction, and in fact, the strange bastard closed his eyes again, effectively putting an end to their interaction once more.

Sanji stared for a minute more, unfortunately feeling every insult or response he could have had disappearing from his mind, the sensation of that water continuously pelting his head and shoulders the only thing filling his senses. It felt like bullets on his bandaged wound, and damn it all, Tsuru’s meticulous bandage job was now thoroughly ruined.

But the longer he sat there, with the roar of water in his ears and the sight of that tranquil courtyard before him, the more his fight left him. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he removed arms from his robe, taking his injured shoulder out of the water’s direct range, and closed his eyes, crossing legs and settling into the same pose he’d just teased Zoro for minutes earlier.

He grew accustomed to the water temperature, still cold but no longer stakes of icicles against his bare skin. He slowed his breaths, let that exhaustion he’d been struck with in the village come over him once more, calming his mind.

It felt odd, at first, to let his guard down so completely. Sanji wasn’t even sure he was capable of it, afraid he would flinch back to awareness at the slightest hint of a disturbance, but how could he when there was nothing to hear but his own heartbeat, nothing to feel but that cool spray.

He saw nothing behind his closed eyelids, his mind becoming void of stress and uncertainty for the first time in what felt like forever, certainly since his mother’s death.

He didn’t even see her as he drifted into nothingness, decided he didn’t want to, for once, didn’t want to dwell on things he couldn’t change, didn’t want to exist in that moment because it was easier, far less painful, to disappear.

He saw nothing for the longest time, not his brothers’ hateful faces nor his father’s fists.

Just black...and a pair of beastly red eyes coming into focus in the darkness.

It didn’t startle him this time, surprisingly, and in fact, the eyes merely floated there, studying...not with killer intent, but with curiosity, the outline of that feline face just barely coming into view.

The creature tilted its head, flashing incisors when its mouth opened with a low huffed growl. Still massive as ever...

But it didn’t move, didn’t come closer....

It wouldn’t hurt him. Not now at least. He didn’t want to kill it. It shouldn’t have to die.

Zoro was wrong about that.

Zoro was…

…

He felt a hand touch his cheek in the darkness, a gentle, tentative touch that was somehow familiar….

It was gone as soon as it appeared, though he felt it move to his shoulder where it gripped with more certainty and gave a light shake.

Sanji wasn’t expecting it to take so much of his energy to crawl back to the light, his eyelids feeling heavy when he finally opened them to find Zoro standing before him, his hand falling back to his side where fingers clenched a little awkwardly.

The light silhouetting him from behind was far lower in the sky, shadows stretching longer across the ground.

How long had they been there…?

“You should get back to the palace,” Zoro was saying, adding, almost in answer to Sanji's mental question, “It’s getting late.”

The blond huffed, working to gather his senses a bit, something that seemed to happen in one fell swoop the second he moved out from under the waterfall.

Zoro caught his elbow as he stood, the swordsman pulling his hand back quickly as if the reflex had surprised him, and just like that, the world was back in stark clarity—the humidity in the air, the slight throb of his injury, the chill of his damp robes, the tension lingering between them, though Sanji could have imagined that...

“We haven’t even trained,” Sanji muttered eventually, brow furrowed as he tried to clear his head, feeling as if he’d just awoken from another strange dream, only to land in a stranger one that left his heart pounding and his breaths difficult.

Zoro moved away and that feeling dissipated somewhat, the blond letting out a harsh breath.

“Yes, we have,” the swordsman replied, cryptic as ever, but this time, Sanji opted not to voice his confusion, unsure if he even felt up to training in that moment.

He watched Zoro as the other man stepped out of the pool and gathered his swords, securing them to his hip once more.

It certainly looked like the man was preparing to leave, so Sanji followed slowly, wading through the water and climbing out of the pool himself, though he lingered, settling himself on the edge, watching the swordsman throw the wet fabric of his green robe over his shoulders.

“Let me guess,” Sanji eventually said, eyes not leaving the swordsman. “You’re going after the beast.”

“Yup,” Zoro replied without glancing back.

“Alone?”

“Yup.”

Alone…

Sanji fell quiet, an odd disappointment filling his chest that had no business being there. His own sword lay beside him, forgotten and foreign.

“Not gonna fight me on that?”

When Sanji lifted his head again, Zoro was looking at him, a brow quirked in question and perhaps a bit of surprise.

The blond sighed, shaking his head.

“I can admit when I’m not ready...” he muttered in defeat.

This time when Zoro smirked, it was far less spiteful, more gentle than anything.

“Damn straight,” the swordsman said. “Do you remember the way back?”

“Yeah… Easy,” Sanji mumbled. “Just follow the path down the magic waterfalls, and take the giant fish back to the Capital.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, but his tone was softer, a little amused, when he spoke again.

“Go back to the village and ask Tama for help. Think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sanji replied, waving off the swordsman’s instructions more out of stubbornness than anything. Yes, he should get back. Yes, he was getting pretty damn hungry. Logic told him this. But he wanted to uphold the little pride he had left.

Still, as he busied himself with his own robe, slipping back into his sleeves and clumsily securing his own sword, he felt that small amount of pride slipping away because there he was wishing he didn’t have to return alone. The sun hadn’t set, and yet the prospect of being alone in the forest was already daunting. But it wasn’t just the forest, it was anywhere.

Maybe he wanted the mosshead’s company. Maybe he didn’t want him to leave for the simple reason that he’d liked this. He’d liked forgetting his fears, his worries…

He’d liked catching a glimpse of this secret world of Zoro’s, and he certainly wanted more answers.

He wanted more time...

So that disappointment didn’t leave when Zoro started to walk away without another word, across the sand towards the tall gate opposite them, the sun catching the gold filigree of his swords, glinting off his earrings.

He should say something. He should ask him to meet again. Here. In the Capital.

Anywhere.

“Hey, Zoro,” he called after him, the swordsman’s steps faltering, sandals scuffing to a halt.

When he looked back over his shoulder, there was a glimpse of vulnerability in his silence.

“Don’t get killed,” Sanji finished, both a challenge and a sincere wish, he realized.

He wanted to see his stupid face again...

Zoro’s eyes widened minutely, chest expanding with a sharper inhale, the swordsman staring back for a moment. Then he nodded jerkily and turned away quickly, starting off for the gate once more.

Sanji wanted to see his stupid face again.

But he was unlikely to forget that lingering emotion he’d glimpsed through the cracks of Zoro’s wall.

Zoro had called him an idiot.

Yet he found himself hoping that maybe the swordsman possessed the same desire to see him again too.

Chapter Text

It was strange, traversing the forest again by himself. In a way, it was like the past few days hadn’t happened. Sanji was alone, and perhaps he’d never found Wano. Perhaps all of this had been a dream, and he was still on his own, wandering without aim, his only desire to put as much distance between him and his former kingdom.

If it weren’t for the sword at his hip and his change of clothes, he might have believed this.

But there was another reason, something stuck in his mind that wouldn’t leave, and that thing was Zoro.

Sanji’s mind still burst with questions about the man, every mystery he thought he’d unraveled only revealing more. It was perturbing enough that after exiting the abandoned temple grounds, he found himself leaning against the railing of that mossy staircase, staring down at the waterfalls below for far longer than he’d planned, the rush of the water lulling his thoughts deeper.

He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand why the swordsman was so adamant about not using his Seal, why he wouldn’t even disclose what it was.

How could he throw it away? Even with the animosity in the Capital, why not use it on his own, away from them? The people of Amigasa certainly hadn’t had qualms about displaying their powers, so why did Zoro?

Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Was it really a power that “couldn’t do any good,” as the idiot had put it?

Sanji knew that wouldn’t matter to him if he had a Seal of his own. He’d spent his entire life wishing, longing for a power of any kind, no matter how small or insignificant. He could have made it work. He could have made his father proud… He could have risen to his expectations, not tumbled from grace like the crashing water below that gave him no answers despite how hard he stared.

Anything so his father wouldn’t lock him away anymore. Anything so his brothers wouldn’t think less of him. Anything so his mother didn’t look at him with pity, healing him again and again until she ran her own Seal dry.

He remembered how her powers had weakened in the months before her death... And yet he’d still crawled back to her side every time, begging for comfort with fresh wounds that wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t been different.

He felt that longing when he looked at Zoro. Surely that was why he’d fixated on the swordsman. He wanted what he couldn’t have.

But then, the man’s smile was...

Sanji hadn’t fully realized he’d sat on those steps until he brought himself back to focus, dragging himself away from his thoughts the instant they started to wander into territory that was unknown even to his usual melancholy.

They were fleeting thoughts and they were confusing, why he’d so liked the feeling in his chest when he and the swordsman were together, despite everything that told him he should despise the man for wasting his gift. Was he that lonely? That desperate for some sort of companionship, even with a rude brute like Zoro?

It was too much, his swirling thoughts filling his brain to capacity when they’d emptied so easily just shortly before, when the tranquility of the training ground had pacified him, led him to lose track of time. Now he was alone again, with no one to stop his mind from whirring into a frenzy.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Quickly, he pushed up and hurried down those stairs, unsure if he’d imagined the eyes he felt watching him as he left….unsure if it was just wishful thinking.

By the time he finally burst forth from the secluded path, trees and undergrowth giving way to the crooked houses of Amigasa, Sanji found his heart thumping with relief. It hadn’t been a long walk, at least not as long as it had seemed to take with Zoro, but even still, with every tree and plant looking the same as the next, the blond had just begun to worry, more and more with each step, if he’d be able to make it back on his own after all.

It would have been pathetic, he knew, to get lost on a straight path, but the congratulations he offered himself at his success was almost more so.

Still, all he had to do now was drop by Hitetsu’s house once more and seek out Tama. He just hoped the girl hadn’t run off somewhere too.

So he hurried back onto the main road, making his way through the village, his sandals scuffing up dirt that clung uncomfortably to his ankles, still damp from the water. He was likely filthy again by that point, and he found himself longing for another soak in the Empress’ bathhouse.

Hopefully with better company… He wasn’t looking to have any more awkward encounters with passive aggressive—

“Your Highness.”

The blond jolted a little at the sudden rough voice, thankful it was only his heart that stopped and not his entire body, his surprise only heightened by the use of that title.

Still, he managed to turn himself smoothly to see a stout man approaching him, his purple hair painfully saturated up close, deep rivets carved in the skin over his bushy brows, surely from glaring too much. His expression was harsh and, unfortunately, familiar.

“I think it’s hardly fair that you seem to know me while you remain a stranger,” Sanji muttered, despite the man’s name bursting through his mind.

Orochi… The same man he’d found conversing with Zoro earlier. The same man Hitetsu had so disapproved of...

The man’s sneer only dug those creases deeper into his forehead.

“So you don’t deny it,” the man grumbled, still with no introduction in response. “You really are a prince of Germa.”

The blond sighed, certainly understanding the disdain at his country’s apparent reputation, but unable to shake his discomfort, the same he’d felt when the strange man’s unwarranted glare had bored into him earlier.

“I don’t deny it, but I detest it,” Sanji admitted, and picked up his pace in order to sidestep around the man. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

But, to his dismay, the man moved right along with him, the nauseating scent of body odor and alcohol wafting towards him with the swish of the man’s robes.

“And do you deny your friendship with the Empress?” he asked, sending another wave of unease rolling through Sanji’s chest.

He didn’t fault Zoro for telling the man as much at the time, but he was starting to wish he hadn’t. He’d hoped his friendship with her would prove no consequence to Orochi, but it was starting to seem that wouldn’t be true. It only made the man’s true loyalties that much more questionable...

That thought was enough to make Sanji turn on his heel, irritation clear on his face, but panic clouding his heart.

“Zoro certainly denied his friendship with you,” the blond bit out, voicing the one reassurance he still clung to. “Orochi, was it?”

He was met by an ugly scowl, bearing a set of crooked, discolored teeth that somehow managed to look pointed and sharp. But any satisfaction Sanji could have felt over the man’s discomfort was quickly squashed when he replied.

“I don’t need him to be a friend,” Orochi said, something that had Sanji’s eyes narrow immediately.

Whatever the hell the man meant, he did not like the sound of it…

In that moment though, he was not going to stick around and ask questions, not to Orochi at least, so he kept his expression as flat as his voice.

“Right, well. If you’ll excuse me,” he emphasized again, quickly moving forward once more. He thought he could recognize Hitetsu’s blacksmith workshop ahead. He knew he’d prefer interacting with the grumpy masked man now compared to this one.

Sanji made it several paces without a reply, and he’d just begun to wonder if he was free.

But then Orochi’s voice grated through the air again. He resisted the urge to wince.

“The Empress isn’t what she seems,” the man called from behind him, and Sanji shuddered when Orochi slunk into his peripheral, a terrible creeping sensation coming up his neck in response.

He was forced to stop short when Orochi’s form blocked his path fully. He kept his eyes firmly averted and his own mouth shut when the man’s bitter speech continued.

“She’s nothing but a puppet controlled by her retainer,” Orochi growled. “You see how we live, what we’re reduced to while the Capital thrives.” He threw a hand out to gesture aggressively at his surroundings. “We’re leftovers.”

Sanji’s chest felt tight with an unspoken frustration. He hated that he couldn’t deny it. He hated that this man had a point, that he was voicing exactly what he’d noticed, how unfair it was that these people were forced to live as outcasts.

But he had to defend the Empress because Orochi was wrong about that. She was kind and good and strong as far as he had seen. Not to mention, he had to remember. He had to remember where Orochi had come from….who he was associated with. Kaido, the bloodthirsty pirate who had decimated the Capital all those years ago.

“The Empress doesn’t approve of this—” Sanji began, though Orochi quickly interrupted him.

“And yet, she does nothing to bring about change—”

But Sanji was not deterred, drawing on his inner frustration to fuel him, to spur a surprising defiance in front of this stranger that he hadn’t known he possessed. But it seemed protecting his friend was a good enough reason for it to manifest.

“Zoro is part of her guard,” Sanji snapped. “Are you telling me that’s not a step in the right direction?”

He wasn’t sure why his mind went to the swordsman as well, but if no one else would bring worth to the man, then maybe he should.

He was met with a wickedly knowing laugh, one that sent a shiver down the blond’s spine, his eyes flicking automatically around him for an escape or perhaps someone to help him, particularly when the man stepped closer, laughter petering off and lips pulling back in a sneer.

“She is passive and weak,” the man bit out. “Surely that is not how you rule your people in Germa.”

Sanji’s lip curled with anger.

No, it wasn’t how his father ruled. But aggression and power were hardly a better option to Sanji.

It took every ounce of the blond’s strength to remain rooted to the spot, to stare back unflinchingly.

“My country has its own issues,” he muttered. “None of which concern you.”

Orochi merely glared back with malice.

“Inaction will be this kingdom’s downfall,” the man spit back.

“And is that a downfall you’re hoping to see?”

The words spilled from Sanji’s lips before he could calculate them, before he could think about the implications and the fact that he didn’t want to know the answer. He thought he’d escaped such darkness.

Or would it simply follow him wherever he went…? Was that the real truth…?

The light tread of footsteps in the dirt road, and the blond noticed a young woman approaching, a pensive smile on her attractive face as she came up to Orochi’s side. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on Sanji even as her smooth fingers dropped a small pouch into Orochi’s waiting hand with a telltale jingle of what sounded like coins inside.

Neither said a word for a long minute, Sanji feeling his heart beat faster as the tense silence stretched longer, waiting for an answer that he didn’t receive when Orochi finally spoke again.

“Why are you here, Prince,” the man said, less a question than a demand, one that Sanji knew he wouldn’t answer either….even if he had known the answer.

So he avoided it, instead replying, “I could ask you the same question,” wishing his imagination hadn’t supplied the sudden thought of a certain innocent child caught in a conflict that shouldn’t have defined his life.

He wondered, with growing disdain, if this man had played some part in that innocent’s misfortune...

“Sanji!”

A child’s voice, real this time, dispersing the image of Zoro’s wary, guarded eyes, watching Sanji as if there was something he could do about it.

He looked away, further down the street where he saw Tama standing outside Hitetsu’s house. The young girl gave a timid attempt at a wave and smile, though she glanced fearfully at Orochi after doing so.

Orochi acknowledged her presence, his angry expression slowly simmering back into his resting face, a mere slight improvement over his previous look of disdain.

Thankfully, however, he ignored her, sidestepping around Sanji with the young woman still on his arm.

The blond didn’t move, curling his fists to hide the tremble there, steadfastly watching the treeline in the distance as he waited for the man to disappear.

The slow slide of Orochi’s sandals in the dust, somehow almost as menacing as the scratch of the forest beast’s claws from Sanji’s lingering nightmare. He stopped just beside the blond, leaning into Sanji’s space, his rancid odor far too pungent.

“If Germa is waiting to capitalize off Wano’s destruction, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed…” the man hissed close to Sanji’s ear. “Not all of us are willing to accept defeat.”

And then he finally moved away, Sanji only releasing the breath he’d held when he was certain there was some distance between them. He waited, counting the breaths that followed until the sound of those footsteps diminished.

Four…

Five…

Six...

He risked one last glance behind him to be sure.

Sanji just caught sight of the man’s dirty yellow robe ghosting around a corner, though he couldn’t disguise the confusion that washed over his face a moment later, nearly forcing a double take.

The young female companion was gone.

At Orochi’s side hobbled, instead, a haggard old woman, whose long white hair seemed to shimmer a sickly green in the sunlight.

“Orochi is a bad man… He’s mean,” Tama muttered, the girl treading along beside him, kicking at a few twigs in their path as they made their way together up the forested hill near the village, back towards the stream. He hadn’t expected her to lead him there, but he appreciated the company after such an unnerving encounter.

“He’s not very pleasant, that’s for sure…” Sanji mumbled in response, an understatement, having a hard time ridding his mind of the man’s hateful sneer.

Tama’s voice lowered to a whisper. “And he’s ugly.”

Despite everything, Sanji snorted with genuine amusement, sighing and turning an admittedly grateful gaze down at the little girl, who beamed up at him with an innocence and obliviousness Sanji wished he himself could enjoy once more.

“Tsuru thinks he’ll try to hurt the Empress, but I know he won’t,” Tama continued, her hand gripping Sanji’s trustingly when she used him as leverage to hop over a fallen log.

“How do you know?” he asked, watching her skip a few paces ahead of him, starting up a little game with herself where she avoided the patches of shadow cast by the trees, stepping from sunlit bar to sunlit bar.

“Zoro works for her,” she said simply, wheeling arms to catch her balance. “He’ll protect her.”

Sanji found his lips turning up a little, pleased that someone seemed to have confidence in the mysterious swordsman. Kids could be foolishly trusting, sure, but thinking back to the easy, natural way Zoro had looked after Tama. The panic in his voice when she’d been in danger. That couldn’t be an act.

And though he didn’t know Orochi’s power, or even Zoro’s for that matter, he nodded in agreement. Zoro would protect what needed to be protected. He believed that now.

“Right,” he murmured as they reached the crest of the hill, Tama starting down first, her small fingers swinging her around the tall, thin trunk of a nearby tree.

“Is it true though?” she asked, swinging back around to look at him. “Is she nice? The Empress?”

To that, Sanji nodded, catching her sleeve to keep her from rushing too fast down the hill. “Very.”

“I want to meet her someday…” she replied wistfully, her hopping game more difficult now that the setting sun lay on the other side of the hill, casting their path entirely in shade.

“You can come back to the palace with me now?” he offered without thinking.

“You’re going there?!”

“I—”

He paused, realizing he may have said too much. It shouldn’t have been a secret that he knew the Empress, but after Orochi’s reaction, paranoia still plagued him.

He eventually sighed though, smiling a little sheepishly. Perhaps he needn’t hide it, at least not in front of a child.

“Yes, I’m… She’s my friend.”

Tama had stopped in her path, watching him catch up with wide eyes that stayed fixed on his face even as his taller form approached, her neck craning up at him almost comically for a moment.

“Wow…” she breathed. “That’s why…”

And he was left to question what she meant when she simply shook her head and started off again, neglecting to elaborate.

“I can’t come,” she eventually said, a little regretfully. “My grandpa would kill me. Plus it’ll get dark…” Her eyes turned back to him a little fearfully this time, voice lowering as if they’d be overheard. “Have you heard of the Night Beast?”

His face struggled to remain passive, the sudden reminder of its existence blaring loud in his head, along with the worrisome fact that he still had no idea how to properly wield the sword at his hip. If it made another appearance, he’d be dead for certain this time...

Still, he feigned ignorance, though his step had subtly quickened, subconsciously eager to escape the confines of the forest.

“Is that the same one everyone’s talking about in the Capital?” he asked.

“Yup.”

He said nothing, just nodded. “Then yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

She nodded too, letting him catch up to her again so they could walk side by side, and he noticed her brow furrow, troubled gaze fixed on the path as they walked.

“I can tame it with my power…” she eventually mumbled, and he had to wonder if that was guilt behind her tone when she added, “I can help, but...I’m too scared…”

He understood all too well, had more reason than most to be absolutely terrified, but there was something about her small, dejected voice and the slip in her confidence that had him stopping, a hand finding her shoulder as he turned to her.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” he said, unsure where the words were coming from when he so often felt his own fear was shameful.

She shook her head, muttering, “It’s weak—”

But he stopped her again with a hand pressing to her cheek, lifting her chin gently until he could level her with a serious, but kind gaze.

“You’ve got plenty of time to get stronger,” he assured, knowing it had to be true for her.

The grin that slowly lit up her face at least told him he’d said the right thing to her, even if his own mind still swirled around the time he himself had lost as a child...the opportunities he’d lost due to his own weakness. He still doubted whether he’d be able to make up for them.

But with her hand tugging him forward anew, he forced himself to remain in the present, the two of them eventually arriving at the bottom of the slope where the stream lapped and the trees thinned to reveal the vast expanse of flat fields beyond.

Here Tama stopped, removing a small purple pouch from beneath the folds of her robe. She opened it, reaching inside to pluck out a few white balls of dough which she tossed into the water where they bobbed and floated off down the widening river leading back to the Capital.

She then pulled the drawstrings tight again and plopped the bag into Sanji’s hand.

“Here,” she said. “Just follow the river for a bit. Sakanabi will probably show up downstream. Sometimes he’s slow. Make sure you give him an extra treat when you get to town~”

Sanji sighed, already feeling strangely melancholic about their parting, though he brought a smile to his lips to hide it.

“Thank you,” he said, a hand ruffling her hair gently, drawing a giggle from the girl.

“Will you come back to visit us?” she asked, her bright eyes shining with a hope he wished she didn’t have. It would only make things more difficult in the end.

After all, he needed to be moving on from Wano soon. He couldn’t afford to get too attached or too comfortable, even if it was in his very nature to latch onto kindness, any kindness, in some futile attempt to keep it in his life.

Things never worked out that way. But he didn’t have the heart to say it to Tama, merely let his lips turn up.

“I’d like that,” Sanji said simply, because that much was true, and so was the genuine embrace he squeezed Tama with before they parted ways.

The fish had found him, somehow, as he walked along the water’s edge, or rather, he’d found it when he finally caught a glimpse of a huge expanse of orange scales beneath the surface, hovering in place when he approached.

He’d tentatively climbed atop it, tossed the creature a few more dangos, and felt somewhat foolish asking it to take him back to the Capital.

But though he received no reply or even hint that it had understood him, sure enough, the creature began its leisurely swim once more, its destination clear when the rippling fields sprouted colorful slanted roofs again and the bustling streets of the Capital came back into view.

He’d rode it to the edge of town where he hopped off onto the shallow embankment, not wanting to draw attention to himself by riding further into the canal.

He gave the fish a grateful pat, didn’t forget its final dango reward, then headed into town on foot, securing the pouch and the remaining dangos to his belt. There were only a few left, but he figured they might come in handy. Or so he hoped, still unsure if he’d ever have the courage to use them against something more menacing.

It was one thing feeding them to a fish—giant, but toothless.

It was going to be another entirely to face the fanged creature he’d nearly lost his life to...

The sun was definitely on its way down now, bathing the emptying streets in long shadows and warm light, paper lanterns hanging from posts, lit along the street, their glows leading the way to the palace in the distance.

Its presence seemed to loom even more massive in the fading daylight, a dark shape silhouetted against the pink sky, wispy clouds of orange stretched thin behind it. The setting sun perched almost perfectly on the tip of the enormous tree’s curved branch.

Like a moth to a flame, Sanji followed that orb through the streets, unsure where he would find the Empress but figuring the palace grounds were a good enough place to start.

Then again, Hiyori was hardly the traditional royalty. He supposed he could just as well have asked a civilian if they’d seen her.

But, soon enough, he found himself in a vast sandy courtyard at the foot of the palace tree, almost a larger version of the abandoned grounds Zoro had led him to in the mountains.

It was much closer to what he’d expected a training ground to be, the sounds of clashing blades ringing out, robed samurai of all shapes and sizes sparring, some against each other, others hacking away at training posts, their sweat glistening in the waning sunlight.

And at the center of it all, unexpectedly, was a familiar figure, dancing across the ground as she swung her sword in practiced positions, her robe floating behind her like the wings of the butterflies Zoro had claimed distracted her.

He stood under the tall gateway to the grounds, watching the ease of the Empress’ moves with a mixture of both shock and awe, suddenly feeling, yet again, the heavy weight of the foreign blade at his hip, hanging there, useless with him as its master.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Prince! How ya likin’ Wano?”

Sanji startled slightly, only to find none other than Toko standing before him, the little girl’s loud voice offsetting the stealthy way she continued to pop up unseen. What she was doing at the training grounds remained a mystery. Surely it was no place for a small child, though it seemed she never strayed too far from the Empress.

He let out a breath, having to chuckle at the girl’s unbroken smile.

“It’s amazing,” he answered truthfully. “Beautiful. I truly appreciate the hospitality.”

She giggled in response, and he noticed, for the first time, a stone statue near the entrance: a bushy-haired figure with a matching broad grin, adorned with meticulously placed flower petals.

“Are you and Zoro going hunting?” she asked, the blond’s gaze drifting back to the girl, whose hand clasped a handful of bare flower stems.

“I… Zoro left already,” he replied. “I’m...admittedly not up to the task tonight.”

“Oh, I just thought with the sword and all,” Toko said, tilting her entire head and body to look at the blade, as if she couldn’t see it from her vantage point. Then, to his surprise, her face lit up. “The Empress is training! You should spar with her!”

His stomach dropped.

“A-Ah, I don’t think that’s—”

But her hand clamped down on his wrist, and despite the girl being less than half his height, he found himself stumbling along behind her as she dragged him right out into the middle of the courtyard, her laughter floating all around him when she finally pushed him right up behind the Empress.

The woman’s body twisted, mid-swing, her expression focused as she arched her blade quickly downward.

Until she noticed the blond standing far too close, and her face broke out into a smile.

“Sanji!” she exclaimed, not stopping her fierce swing, the tip of the blade slicing the air mere inches from Sanji’s nose, forcing him to stumble back clumsily in alarm.

The Empress laughed playfully, her face attractively flushed from her routine. Not even Kawamatsu’s large hand lifting in warning dampered her smile when he approached as well, his bare torso exposed and a sword of his own tied to his hip as he brought his calculating gaze to the blond. Sanji hadn’t noticed him observing the Empress, but he must have been nearby.

“My apologies,” the Empress said breathlessly, lowering her blade and brushing some sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. “I caught you off-guard.”

“I-I—Not at all…” he stammered, despite his voice pointing to the affirmative.

He was admittedly glad Zoro hadn’t forced this kind of training upon him earlier that day. He might have made a fuss about it to the mosshead, but seeing it in action, it was starting to seem like a more daunting task than expected.

He felt Kawamatsu continue to study him, enough that he glanced over to see the man’s brow furrowed slightly, his red scarf like a stream of blood flowing down his chest.

Sanji supposed he did look out of place, disheveled as he was, his hair and clothes still a mess from both his fall in the canal and his forced meditation under the waterfall. He wondered again how soon he could escape to the bathhouse.

“I see you’ve got a new sword,” Kawamatsu said, Sanji shifting a little uncomfortably when the man gestured a hand out for it. “May I?”

He didn’t know why he was hesitant to show him. Maybe because of where he’d obtained it. But it was just a sword, and if he didn’t disclose its origins then surely it wouldn’t be an issue.

So he reluctantly slipped the blade, sheath and all, from his belt, passing it over to the man, who took it in his grasp carefully.

“Yes, I….exchanged my bow,” Sanji explained. After all, that was a half truth. He just hadn’t been given the choice of exchanging it. “I didn’t think...it would be effective against the monster.”

“I see…” Kawamatsu replied, turning the sheath over, eyes roving over the lacquered surface before he drew the sword smoothly and held it up before him.

It was the first time Sanji had seen the blade properly too, and he couldn’t help but stare at the delicate craftsmanship, the way the metal seemed to shimmer blue when the man tilted it.

“This is a beautiful blade,” Kawamatsu said, his thumb running over an engraved symbol near the hilt, delicate lines swirling in an unfamiliar design.

“It is,” Sanji agreed, nodding. “You have very skilled craftsmen in your country.”

“You must be rich!” chirped Toko, whose big eyes looked ready to burst from her head as she too stared, fascinated, at the weapon.

“Ah, hardly.” Sanji chuckled. “It turned out my bow was a quite valuable trade, being from Germa…”

He trailed off, unsure what to make of the fact that Kawamatsu had yet to lower the blade. When the man spoke again, his tone was casually curious, but his dark eyes were somewhat scrutinizing.

“From whom did you obtain this?” he asked, to which Sanji fumbled for a reply.

Surely there was nothing wrong with a weapon from Amigasa. If the swordsmith possessed a Seal himself, Sanji didn’t know, and it was stupid of him, to hold his tongue over such a matter. But remembering the retainer’s outright disdain for those with Seals had Sanji again thinking twice about telling the truth.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch his name,” he said quietly, trying an apologetic smile before deciding it was better to avoid any expression.

He could sense another question brewing within the other man, one that was far more accusatory.

But then Toko was giggling, jumping between them to reach short arms out for the blade eagerly.

“Is it heavy like Enma?” she asked, still reaching fruitlessly, though Kawamatsu didn’t allow her to test it.

The man merely frowned, glancing at the girl with what Sanji interpreted as barely masked irritation, though he sheathed the blade and handed it back to Sanji without further complaint.

“Use it well,” he said simply, something that came off far too much like a warning, one Sanji wasn’t even sure he could heed.

Still, he managed a nod as the man turned to the Empress, who’d spent the previous minute practicing a few more fluid stances before her retainer drew her attention back to the group.

“Empress, we should be finishing here,” he said, to which she sighed, her painted lips curling into a somewhat exasperated smile.

“Yes, I’ll just need a change of clothes~” she replied.

“Now.”

She nodded. “Yes, now.” But showed no signs of moving.

Kawamatsu made a disgruntled noise in return, and Sanji had to suppress his amusement at the Empress’ subtle defiance. She was clearly so comfortable with this man that she didn’t fear consequences, something Sanji couldn’t help but envy despite her retainer’s intimidating demeanor. But then again, she was the Empress… It was almost easy to forget in moments like this.

Her retainer didn’t protest though, merely shot another glance at Sanji, then gave a begrudging sigh.

“I will wait in the audience chamber,” he said, his hand finding Toko, his wide palm nearly able to cover her entire back. “Come along, Toko. We should prepare for dinner.”

The girl took the cue and scurried off happily towards a smaller gate on the edge of the courtyard, humming to herself all the while.

Kawamatsu lifted eyes to Sanji one final time, bowing his head slightly as he murmured a quiet, “Prince,” before taking his leave as well.

Sanji’s eyes followed him for a long minute, noticing a circular symbol tattooed across the man’s broad back, that of a bird-like form, wings extended within the shape, a simplified sun silhouetted on its chest.

The man slipped arms back into the sleeves of his robe soon after, covering the mark, and Sanji had to turn when lithe fingers reached out for the sword once more at his hip.

“This really is a beautiful—” the Empress started, though Sanji's nerves won out and he interrupted to hastily change the subject.

“Empress—” Sanji said, though he quickly corrected himself again to, “Hiyori,” the instant she replied with a subtle sigh and a pointed upturn of lips as she sheathed her sword. He had to chuckle sheepishly, still apparently unable to drop the formalities, before adding, “Can I ask you something?”

She smiled fully, replying, “Of course. Anything.”

It took him a moment, despite knowing exactly what he’d planned to ask. It was a question he’d had brewing in his mind ever since Tsuru had divulged part of Wano’s history to him in Amigasa. He wasn’t necessarily afraid of her reaction, but perhaps it was the answers he might receive that were daunting to him…

His eyes darted around, ensuring there was enough distance between them and the other practicing samurai before he asked, “How exactly did Zoro come to serve you? Kaido brought him here…?”

Her expression flickered with surprise for a moment, mouth parting slightly before her thin brows furrowed.

“He told you?” the Empress asked, but he shook his head.

“I….heard someone in town mention it.”

She didn’t question it, merely nodded before replying, “Yes.”

There was a long moment of what seemed to be deliberation before the Empress took hold of his arm and pulled him along suddenly, urging him to follow her across the courtyard towards a grand set of steps leading up to a rather magnificent building.

Of course, he’d seen it upon his arrival, but the closer they walked, the more impressive it seemed, the structure’s tiled roof rising up in several tiers, its exterior painted a brilliant crimson supported by huge columns which towered far above their heads when they reached the top of the staircase.

“We can talk in here. No one will bother us,” she said, and led him inside, looking small as she passed between the columns.

The sudden woodsy smell of incense filled Sanji’s nose, and he was surprised to find a sprawling room before them, largely empty like the audience chamber he’d first been brought to, though this room had a matted floor and various deific statues surrounding its perimeter, watching from their alcoves.

And at the far end stood an elaborate altar, a golden pagoda-like structure housing flickering candles and small figurines that Sanji didn’t recognize.

It seemed to glow, a holy beacon lit warmly by the hanging lanterns above. Its beauty was humbling, enough that he could only stare dumbly as the Empress slipped out of her shoes, leaving them to step onto the mats and cross to a row of ornate pillows on the floor before the altar. She knelt there for a moment to clap her hands together and bow her head reverently.

She noticed his hesitance when she straightened, though she smiled and beckoned him over, the blond slowly removing his shoes as well and making his way to kneel on the cushion beside her, unsure what he should do or if he should even be there. Few in Germa had practiced any sort of religion, least of all the royal family. His father had believed them deities in their own right.

But the Empress still wore a welcoming smile and said nothing by way of correction when he merely sat there, a little overwhelmed.

She reached out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m still not sure it is my place to tell you this,” she finally said, turning her body towards him, shifting her legs to sit more comfortably. “But I can at least convey my perspective.”

Sanji waited with bated breath as she seemed to muster the words within her. She closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them, it was with conviction.

“Zoro was there when Kaido killed my brother,” she murmured, a statement that sent Sanji’s mind reeling, the blond struggling to control the blatant shock on his features. Tsuru had said Kaido brought him to Wano, but why had Zoro been near the Prince?

“What…?” he stammered in disbelief, any hope that it wasn’t true swiftly squashed when the Empress nodded.

“He was just a boy,” she continued sadly. “But Kaido offered him up….as an exchange... For my brother’s Seal, we soon learned…”

He couldn’t reply, but it seemed she wasn’t finished, her gaze lowering to her lap as a ripple of old turmoil crossed her face. It was a look he remembered from when they were children, her grief still raw and fresh, one he’d hoped he wouldn’t see again.

“I don’t remember much of that day,” the Empress admitted. “I try not to. But I remembered him.... When I returned to Wano after staying with you in Germa, he was gone, and I didn’t see him again for many years. In fact, I assumed he’d been killed….

“But he returned two years ago, a trained samurai. He said that if Kaido left him as payment for my brother’s life, then he wanted to fulfill it by pledging his to the throne.”

Sanji’s head spun, an ill feeling creeping over him. So Kaido hadn’t simply abandoned Zoro. It was much worse. Zoro’s life...for the Crown Prince’s…

It all made sense now, why Zoro in particular was so reviled, even amongst those with Seals. The massacre hadn’t been his fault, but to the people, it was. And to Zoro…? What did he feel about himself?

Suddenly, Sanji wished he hadn’t pushed him about his Seal. He regretted needling the man, regretted all his own selfish sentiments about wanting power. He hadn’t known the full story, but why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? He’d seen how it upset Zoro...

What if Zoro resented him for it?

And that was a fear far more debilitating than expected. Sanji had hated it himself, after all, having his own past pried open without consent…

He swallowed, willing back the nausea rising within him.

“Where did he go for all those years?” he managed to ask, keeping his voice quiet so as not to show the emotion threatening to overtake him.

“I’m not sure,” the Empress answered with a frown. “Kawamatsu presumes he fled, or hid himself at least.” Her lips turned up a little sheepishly. “Admittedly, I accepted his service against Kawamatsu’s advice. But in a way, it was closure for me. To extend my hand in kinship to a supposed enemy. Just as you did for me. I needed someone strong by my side once more.”

He could relate to that, certainly. In fact he’d put it into practice all too recently. But, couldn’t she see?

“You’re strong too,” he murmured, to which she lifted her head to look at him again, the magical glow of the altar washing over her features.

Her expression didn’t brighten though, her blue eyes studying his face for a long moment, almost searching for his reasoning, maybe even hopeful for it. For a moment, the blond felt a moment of connection, as if his own insecurities had unexpectedly overlapped with hers.

“I don’t feel it,” she eventually replied, and it was strange to hear her tone so somber. Perhaps he’d been wrong to assume a person like her wouldn’t have their own doubts, particularly when she continued.

“I was never meant to rule, Sanji. My brother was the rightful heir. He deserved it. He was focused, preparing for it even at a young age, while I was still catching bugs in the gardens, rolling around in the dirt all day.”

His surprise must have shown on his face because she chuckled before adding, a little sadly, “I must do my duty, I know. But it’s a duty I never expected, nor wanted, truthfully.”

She sighed then, shook her head after a moment, as if trying to bring back a bit of her usual positivity. “I apologize,” she said. “I’m the daughter of a samurai. Such weakness is disgraceful…”

He reached out to take her hand gently.

“But, Empress, the people love you,” he implored, though she shrugged again.

“And I love them, but…..if Momo were here, I would give it up in a heartbeat. I would rather be one of them. I would rather not have this burden…”

Her confession rang far too true in his ears. Even if their plights were slightly different, Sanji knew he felt the same, if not about his throne, then about his lack of power. He’d just wanted a normal life...or what had constituted as normal in his kingdom...

“What would happen if you gave it up?” he wondered, and it was a question he’d asked himself countless times. What if he stopped worrying? What if he accepted himself for who he was?

He noticed that her gaze had fallen on the altar once more, the light finally bringing a bit of the life back to her eyes.

“Right now, I have no heir. Kawamatsu has been insisting I appoint a shogun—” She glanced his way, saw his confusion before clarifying. “A military leader—to rule in the event I die… But that somehow seems like a step backwards. I’m not sure what I want.”

He sighed, watching her for a moment before replying.

“I suppose that’s how I felt...about my own throne,” he said. “I was never allowed to want it, really. But I still find myself wishing….that I’d been important enough to make a change.”

The Empress’ eyes met his again, this time with a bit of her usual spark, particularly when she plopped her other hand on top of his and gave a solid pat.

“I think change can start small. Or so I tell myself. Though Kawamatsu says, ‘Good governing must be bold,’” she mimicked, puffing out her chest and lowering her voice in imitation of her retainer.

He chuckled, though he couldn’t deny the man’s sensibilities still made him uneasy. Was the Empress even aware of the feelings he’d laid so bare to Sanji that night in the bathhouse?

Still, he said nothing, just took his opposite hand and set it atop hers for a final squeeze before releasing her.

“For what it’s worth, my father could learn from you…” he said, and he was glad to see a full-blown smile return to her face, beautiful and confident.

“I appreciate that,” the Empress said, and he smiled too.

In the silence that followed, Sanji found his eyes drawn upwards to the altar once more, where he noticed, for the first time, a cabinet nestled in the center, its filigreed doors open to reveal a large statue of a dragon inside. Its detailed form was painted a rich rose color, several scales on its back shining with golden accents. Its long body twisted over and under itself in a mesmerizing tangle, though its front feet stood planted firmly on the bottom of the cabinet, each clutching something curious.

Two rolls of parchment were clasped within the dragon’s unmovable ivory claws, their surfaces seeming to shimmer gold as well when Sanji tilted his head, though whether it was from the lighting overhead he wasn’t sure. They looked alive and almost...familiar.

“What are those?” Sanji breathed quietly, because it seemed deliberate, the two scrolls placed there.

He felt a little unnerved asking, as if the dragon’s fierce, protective expression was directed at him, unwilling to spill its secrets. He couldn’t take his eyes off the statue though, studying its polished curves and long twirling whiskers, hypnotized.

“Those two scrolls are all that remain of our original palace,” he heard the Empress say. “There used to be hundreds, but Kaido destroyed everything. He didn’t know they were enchanted, otherwise I’m sure his destructive path would have spared them—”

“Enchanted?” he immediately blurted out, finally turning a wide-eyed gaze on her.

“Yes.” And she leaned in conspiratorially, her voice lowering to a mischievous whisper. “It’s a secret of the royal family. Passed down for generations.”

“O-Oh,” he started to protest. “Then—”

But she smiled reassuringly. “I trust you…”

He watched her eyes flit towards the altar again.

“Whatever one scribes on them becomes reality. Apart from some restrictions. One cannot, for example, wake the dead,” she said with a wistful upturn of lips. “As per tradition, their protection is tasked to each ruler’s most trusted retainer. In my case, Kawamatsu. Naturally, that has not stopped the abuse of their power throughout history…”

She trailed off for a moment, leaving Sanji to wonder how the scrolls had survived Kaido’s massacre. And furthermore, how had she…?

As if hearing his thoughts, she leveled her gaze on him once more.

“It’s how I escaped when Kaido attacked,” she said. “Kawamatsu used one to send me away. To Germa.”

Yes. It made sense. He remembered the burst of light, remembered the scroll in her hands when she’d appeared in Germa, unaccompanied, on the same day of Kaido’s attack. It should have been impossible, the distance between their kingdoms far too great, though he hadn’t questioned it as a young boy.

But now...if the scrolls truly possessed such power, surely they had enough to—

“Empress, if you wish for things to be different, why not use one?” he blurted out in revelation. The solution to peace could be right here, not just within Wano, but within both their kingdoms—even the entire world! Wasn’t it that simple?

But her expression was somewhat troubled, and in fact, she’d seemed to anticipate his reaction, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her robe when she looked back at the scrolls.

“Each can only be used once,” she murmured, seemingly to herself. “And only two remain…” She sighed. “It’s something I must think hard about.”

The blond resisted the urge to show any frustration, seeing her shoulders almost sink physically with the weight of that unseen responsibility.

Perhaps he’d spoken out of turn, he thought with a sliver of regret. He didn’t have the fate of a country in his hands, unlike her. And he did know how tactful a good ruler must be, even if his own father had hardly shown any himself.

It was the Empress’ decision, and he hoped she’d make the right one. Still, he’d never imagined Wano could possess such an easy solution…but it seemed this country was full of surprises and mysteries.

That brought to mind something else, a persistent thought, something that definitely may not have been his place to know, but he so desperately wanted to.

“May I ask one more thing…?” he asked carefully after a minute, watching as the Empress returned from deep thought, looking a little dazed for a second before she nodded with an attempt at a smile.

“You may.”

“You said Kaido offered Zoro as an exchange for your brother…” he began slowly, then finally asked, “Do you know what Zoro’s Seal is?”

Her brows lifted slightly, as if he’d caught her off-guard with the question. And he had to hide his dismay when she merely sighed and shook her head.

“No,” she admitted, looking troubled by this fact. “I don’t know anyone who does. But I know he loathes it terribly…”

“Yes, I gathered that much…” he replied, for lack of anything else to say, though he felt ready to wilt with his disappointment.

Had Zoro really never shown anyone? Why? Was he that ashamed?

But Sanji stopped his thoughts from traveling down that path again.

Things were different now that he knew Zoro’s story. He couldn’t let his own selfish desire for power cloud his judgment anymore. Zoro was here, alive, essentially in the late Prince’s stead. Even if Sanji didn’t believe he was at fault for any of Kaido’s wrongdoings, the people of Wano seemed to think differently.

Maybe Zoro did too.

And maybe now...it wasn’t so shocking that the swordsman wouldn’t want to utilize the bargaining chip that had cost the young Prince his life.

“I think it’s been weighing on him as of late,” the Empress murmured, as if to confirm this. “He doesn’t seem to be sleeping well…”

Her saddened expression softened a little, an upturn of lips bringing a bit of mischief back to her eyes.

“I think he likes you though,” she added, leaning in playfully to press a hand over his again.

At that, Sanji automatically let out a loud snort of skepticism, even if the statement sent an odd jolt—of panic, surely—through his chest.

“Why, pray tell,” he scoffed flatly.

The Empress wasn’t deterred though, merely giggled and replied, “He actually brought you to me as I asked.”

Sanji raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying he’d disobey you…?”

“I’m saying he’s a good judge of character,” she clarified with a laugh, patting his hand and sitting back. “He would have killed you otherwise.”

She flashed a pleasant smile at him once more, then, with a final bow to the altar before her, gathered her robes and got to her feet, offering a hand down to him.

The blond stared for a moment, still rather shocked. Was the mosshead really that good of a judge? Yes, Zoro might have spared him, saved his life even, but into his mind, again, crept the awful sneer and biting comments of Orochi, whom Zoro hadn’t claimed as a friend but certainly hadn’t done anything to dismiss…

A country in need of change, and no one yet making a move to incite it…

As he took the Empress’ smooth hand, Sanji couldn’t avoid, for the second time, the fleeting, uncomfortable thought that Orochi’s twisted anger had been somewhat justified...

The crooked dank alleys wove like a labyrinth of disjointed limbs, each leading endlessly into the next. Sanji’s boots pounded over the cobbles, the stones as uneven as his harsh breaths, splashing through dirty puddles in a fruitless search for an escape.

Every time he thought he’d finally reached the main street, his palms slammed into yet another brick wall slick with industrial grime, staining his skin with soot and dirt.

But he pressed onward, even as the sky blackened similarly, the rumble of distant thunder sending ominous vibrations through the charged air.

He had to run. He had to get out before the soldiers captured him, threw him back in the dungeon and plunged him once more into darkness. His neck still ached from the heavy weight of metal, his skin not yet healed from months of chafing that he hadn’t been able to alleviate, and the air still felt abnormally brisk on his newly bare face.

He couldn’t go back. He’d die if he did, and while that was probably preferable, dammit, he was scared of even that. He couldn’t guarantee himself a swift, painless end, after all.

The buildings seemed to close in on either side, like soldiers themselves looking to cut off his escape. The thunder rumbled again, except it wasn’t thunder this time. It was the sound of boots pursuing him, growing closer and closer in the dark, inciting a blind panic that threatened to turn his body to liquid, all control and reason flying away from him in waves.

But just when he’d reached his limit, his racing heart burning in his chest, legs trembling, he burst out onto a wider street, damp and gleaming like oil under the cool moonlight.

He stumbled, nearly fell, but a pair of thin arms caught him, helped him right himself with an exclamation of his name.

Sanji looked up fearfully.

And he could have collapsed with relief to see his mother there, her pale skin looking translucent when she lifted hands to brush back his sweaty hair.

“What are you running from?” she asked gently, her face breaking into a small, almost condescending smile.

Sanji realized the running footsteps hadn’t stopped chasing him, their sound only growing louder as they descended.

His relief faded entirely when his mother’s smile turned mocking, just as sneering as—

“It’s only your brothers,” she said.

And then she shoved him, hard, towards the three shadowy figures pursuing him, their wicked grins glimmering for a split second before, with a horrible ripping sound, their forms burst into a flurry of dark scales which molded themselves back into three serpent-like shapes. Dragons, ferocious and bloodthirsty as they flew towards him, their fangs dripping with toxic venom that burned rivets in the stone beneath them.

Sanji stumbled back, but when he turned, his mother had vanished, any hope of her protection gone with her, and he had no choice but to run, again.

His feet were lead and he couldn’t seem to move any distance, the same buildings in his peripheral no matter how hard he pushed his legs, but still he tried, even as tears soaked his face.

His boot caught the edge of a cobble and he tripped, crashing down to his knees painfully, just as one of the dragons grabbed his arm with its sharp claws.

He felt himself being lifted, sharp teeth scratching his flesh, the burn of acid searing its way into his bloodstream.

And then he was colliding with the ground once more as another force tugged him loose from the dragon’s grasp.

His entire body was on fire now, writhing there on his back uncontrollably, his eyes barely able to focus on a familiar rosy-haired figure above him, slender fingers landing next to the laceration on his arm. A tugging sensation, and he saw those fingers drawing a purple substance from the wound, separating it from his blood with a magnetic pull.

His rapid breathing began to slow, heartbeat placating, the fire subsiding—

—until one of the dragons burst through the darkness, cutting through the air like an arrow that pierced through his sister’s form, sending her dissipating into a cloud of thick smoke.

He was alone now. He felt it. No one else was coming to help him.

He lay there, his body no longer burning but numb, immobile, the wetness of the ground seeping into his clothes as steadily as the blood oozing from his arm.

The dark sky above him swirled with tempestuous clouds, his eyes fixed dully on those three silhouettes now hurtling straight for him, their huge mouths gaping wide to strike. He couldn’t look away, could only think that, yes, it was better this way.

There was nothing. He had nothing left.

His chest lifted with what was surely one final breath, a breath that was drowned out by the sound of a mighty roar, thick with fury and louder than any thunderclap.

Above him, an enormous shape blocked out the sky, two giant paws landing on either side of his torso with thuds that vibrated his entire chest.

The creature reared up, clamping its teeth down directly onto the neck of one of the advancing dragons.

A shrill shriek filled the air.

…

Sanji flinched at the sound of Toko’s high-pitched laughter, his mind dropping heavily back to the present moment.

He was sitting at a low table across from the Empress, Kawamatsu and Toko on either side, the four of them eating breakfast outside in the morning air, the courtyard gardens surrounding them. Birdsong flitted from the trees, sunlight dappling over dew-covered leaves...

But Sanji’s mind remained stubbornly in the dark streets of Germa, remembering the unsettling dream that had kept him, yet again, from a restful sleep. He’d experienced frequent nightmares throughout his life, but he now worried he’d never see freedom from them, not even here, in such a beautiful place…

He’d woken that morning with fresh robes laid out for him and a quick escort to the courtyard where the other three were already waiting for him. The Empress had given a small apologetic shrug when he’d arrived, flicked her eyes subtly to Kawamatsu, who clearly hadn’t wanted the two of them escaping to town again.

So Sanji forced himself to eat, not wanting to waste the artful meal prepared for them, though in truth he only felt like picking at his rice, taking a few sips of his soup. He stayed largely quiet through the conversation, under the guise of taking in the morning. He wished he could relax…

But he still found himself far too jumpy when a door slid open suddenly and a robed attendant stepped outside, bowing low.

The Empress immediately perked up, abandoning her food and straightening, but Kawamatsu pressed a hand to her shoulder and stood himself, crossing the courtyard to speak with the attendant himself.

She smiled gratefully, then continued with her meal, speaking amiably with Toko as if nothing was amiss.

And yet, Sanji’s attention drifted to Kawamatsu, the blond shifting his gaze to the man’s broad form, his voice out of earshot, but the tension in the man’s shoulders heightening worryingly. Another minute, then he nodded and turned around.

Sanji averted his gaze quickly as the man began to make his way back, the clack of his wooden sandals against the stone path growing louder until they stopped, the man standing beside the table silently, his presence looming enough that the three looked up.

The man peered down at the Empress, his eyes shaded by the wide brim of his hat, but the seriousness of his expression visible all the same. Whatever the attendant had told him didn’t seem favorable.

“This pertains to both of you,” he said simply, and Sanji was surprised when the man indicated him as well.

A small part of him wondered if the matter had something to do with Zoro...

So he’d pushed up from the table a little more eagerly than perhaps was normal, and they’d left the courtyard, he and the Empress following Kawamatsu through the airy halls to the audience chamber, Toko skipping along behind.

They entered the long room to find a civilian man, poor by the looks of it, as he wore a modest brown robe, his face tan and hardened from the sun, most likely a farmer. The pack tied to his back leaked bits of grain when he rushed forward upon their arrival.

“Ah, Empress, thank goodness!” he huffed, foregoing formalities to immediately take her hand and tug her forward urgently. “Something must be done. The beast was seen last night. In the fields bordering the Capital. It killed one of my cows!”

Sanji’s heart dropped, but the Empress remained collected, reaching up to take his hand in hers gently.

“Please, calm down, sir,” she said. “Where exactly was—?”

But the man interrupted, releasing the Empress only to whirl towards Kawamatsu this time, growing hysteria in his voice.

“You must increase the hunting efforts! It has never ventured this close before! If we wait any longer, our farms, our families will be in danger!”

The man continued his frantic speech, the Empress softly trying to calm him, but Sanji tuned it out, instantly searching the room for Zoro. Attendants lined the room this time, but there was no sign of a telltale head of moss, and dammit, where was he? Hadn’t he been hunting the beast?

He scanned every face, saw no trio of swords, no muscular form, not even a familiar glare piercing back at him.

Where the hell was he? He suddenly wanted to shove the farmer aside, blurt out the question that should have held top priority then. Zoro could fight, he knew, but if the beast had come that close to the Capital… Well, fuck, what if he’d been injured? Or worse?

He didn’t know why the worry sparked in him so violently, the voices in the room fading to the background, sounding almost muffled beneath his sea of concern.

Until one voice—one terrifying statement—broke the surface with stark clarity.

“It is for the best, Empress,” Kawamatsu was saying. “We must protect our borders as is, now that Germa has sent soldiers into Goa—”

And if Sanji’s blood had run cold with the news of the beast, then it solidified into ice with that utterance.

“Wait—!” he exclaimed, fear gripping his expression and breaths hastening as he whipped his head to the man. “Germa is invading Goa?!”

All eyes fell on him, sending his heart pounding anxiously in his chest, skin heating uncomfortably in a way he hadn’t experienced since that first walk through the Capital, when the comments and insults of the townsfolk had summoned traumatizing memories.

“Invasion or not… We don’t yet know their intentions,” Kawamatsu said, his voice level. “Unless you do...”

Sanji felt a tremor run through him, rippling through from head to toe. His lungs constricted, squeezing out air far too quickly, his body threatening to betray him as panic weakened his knees and sent his ears ringing.

Because he knew their intentions. Of course he knew.

His father was after him. His father was searching for him. He’d drag him back and imprison him. His brothers would torture him again, their kicks and punches as rough as—

The Empress’ hand touched his tentatively, but he flinched back violently, enough to make her eyes fill with alarm, uncertainty crossing her features.

“We received word from a messenger last night,” she said, retracting her hand, then looked down apologetically. “I thought it best not to tell you right away.”

He tried to muster his voice, tried to apologize, nod, something, but found he couldn’t, his head feeling heavier on his shoulders, straining the muscles in his neck.

His vision had begun to tunnel around a memory, blackening on either side until he could only see through a tiny slit, cold iron circling his head, blocking out all other senses, the literal key to his freedom dangling teasingly in the hand of a guard, just out of reach.

Thick iron bars flew at him from either side, threatening to trap him, and though it was the Empress’ voice that called his name with concern, all he heard was his mother, ripped straight out of his nightmare.

Pushing him right back into his hell.

If he didn’t run now, he’d never be free. Just as he’d known in his dream, he would die if he went back this time. He was certain.

But he wasn’t ready to give in yet.

So without further warning, Sanji turned on his heel and bolted across the room, footsteps echoing, painfully loud, over the tiles.

Again, the Empress called after him, but he ignored it. He couldn’t turn around. Not even for her. Nothing could protect him from his father now. Nothing. He had to get out.

Sanji flew from the audience chamber into an entrance hall he vaguely remembered seeing when Zoro first dragged him there. He had to find his quarters, so he tore off down an adjacent hallway, the same terror of being chased clawing at his heart, though no footsteps followed him, the air silent save for his own heavy breaths.

He ran aimlessly, each hallway looking like the next, whipping around right angle corners far faster than he should have. Until, by some miracle, he recognized a floral arrangement and a large scroll painting hanging on a wall. His room was just down the hall from it.

He nearly destroyed the door with his grip when he reached it and slid it open forcefully, but he couldn’t care about that, merely rushed in to gather what little belongings he had. He found his old clothes, freshly laundered, folded neatly near his bed, so he kicked off his sandals and pulled on his trousers and boots, balled up his cloak and shoved it into his satchel, along with the pouch of dangos from Tama. His robe he didn’t remove, knowing that the foreign garment would make him less recognizable to his people.

He should have prepared more, should have found food to take, more weapons, anything, but there was no time. His father wasn’t even in Wano yet, but there was still no time. His panic was winning out over logic. Wano would be next, surely, and he needed to put as much distance between them as he could.

So he took up the only thing he had left, his sword, his only hope of defending himself, secured it to his belt, and then he was off, retracing his path through the halls, dodging confused attendants, and praying no one tried to stop him.

More than once, he narrowly avoided a collision, particularly when he exploded through the doors to the entrance hall to nearly plow over an old woman who hobbled away from the grounds with a pack of grain on her back, her bushy white hair looking vaguely familiar, had his mind been rational enough to notice.

But he couldn’t even apologize, just continued on towards the gardens.

Not even nature’s tranquility could soothe him when he found himself sprinting down the sandy paths, weaving amongst floral beds, past those meditating statues that looked oblivious with their closed eyes. And yet, their ethereal smiles almost seemed to mock Sanji’s fear now.

He couldn’t afford to stop, even with his lungs on fire, out of air to the point that his head gave a dangerous spin, forcing Sanji to catch himself against a tree trunk. He had no choice but to press his forehead against the rough bark, struggling to get his breathing back under control.

And that was when he heard it, a rustle of branches above, followed by the sharp thud of two feet landing heavily in the path behind him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

That sarcastic voice, alive, and certainly not eaten by a monster.

Sanji’s heart did a flip for an entirely different reason, his eyes shooting open.

“I didn’t die,” Zoro announced, not waiting for an answer, his tone far too smug, and when the blond spared him the quickest glance over his shoulder, he could see a stupid smirk, of all things, plastered on the swordsman’s face. The look was youthful and relaxed, and what had changed overnight, Sanji didn’t know. Never had the swordsman greeted him so amiably before, if he could consider it that.

Sanji couldn’t look at him for long though, shouldn’t, not when it fucking hurt, that even after such a short time together, it couldn’t last. He had to leave before he thought of Zoro as anything more than an acquaintance...

“You didn’t kill it either,” Sanji muttered quietly in an attempt to disguise how breathless he was. “It took out a farmer’s livestock near the Capital last night.”

Zoro went silent for a moment in which Sanji wondered if he’d crushed the man’s spirits. He risked another glance to see the swordsman had frozen, a strange emotion that Sanji couldn’t quite place flashing over his features, as if he were hearing the news for the first time, his brow drawing in and his head tilting slightly.

But it only took a few seconds before he seemed to force his thoughts away, shaking his head and shooting back, “But I didn’t die,” just as smug, just as pleased, as if Sanji should be happy about that fact.

And dammit, of course he was. He didn’t want Zoro to die. He’d told him as much, but the thought had become more and more prominent in his mind since their last encounter, Zoro staying there far too stubbornly the entire time they’d been apart. Sanji wanted to talk to him again, forget himself again. He didn’t want to keep running.

Yet, he forced himself to push off that tree and walk on, hitching his satchel up on his shoulder and ignoring Zoro when he heard the swordsman start to follow, even speeding up in a feeble attempt to lose him.

Why was he like this? Why did he grow attached to someone the instant they showed him any kind of attention? Sanji had thought it before, but he didn’t want to admit it. That he truly was that desperate and lonely… But then again, he’d never had someone truly understand his experiences. Not until this stupid swordsman.

In that moment, Sanji hated him for it. Why was it him? Why did this have to be so difficult?

“Oi, where are you even going?” Zoro called, a few steps behind him, though he quickly caught up.

Sanji’s chest ached, but he didn’t reply.

He heard Zoro huff, but the mosshead was damn persistent, knocking into his shoulder to grab his attention.

“People are talking,” Zoro tried instead, lowering his voice a bit as if the world was listening in. “I heard Germa’s army is in Goa.”

Instantly, Sanji’s panic returned, that ice cold dagger stabbing through him again, his heart combating it with a heated shudder, soon speeding up in his chest. This time Sanji answered, though it was clipped, and he struggled to swallow the anxiety that so wanted to shatter him at the very thought.

“Yes,” he bit out, keeping his gaze trained on the path ahead and willing his vision not to waver again. “They’re looking for me. It’s a miracle they didn’t start here.”

“So where are you going?” Zoro asked again, sounding the tiniest bit more wary to Sanji’s ears, though he could have imagined it.

“I can’t let them find me,” he answered simply, though it was starting to sound rehearsed, he thought, nothing more than a mantra he’d forced himself to follow. “I’ve got to get away from the Capital.”

To his surprise, Zoro’s footsteps faltered, and though he still wasn’t looking, Sanji heard the swordsman’s shaky inhale, heard him stammer for a moment.

When he finally managed a sentence, his tone had grown more desperate.

“They’re not here!” Zoro insisted. “They’re in Goa! Besides, you have protection here—you’ll be fine!”

So the oaf had been offering protection all along, Sanji realized. In a backwards sort of way. But though it was a fact that threatened to stop the blond in his tracks, turn around and accept Zoro’s offer, he tuned it out.

“You don’t know my father’s strength!” Sanji shot back, but Zoro countered quickly.

“And he doesn’t know ours!” the swordsman cried, this time stepping directly into Sanji’s path.

An accidental glance at Zoro’s face exposed an expression he hadn’t expected, Zoro’s eyes oddly tumultuous, his chest heaving with uncontrolled breaths. Had he struck a nerve? Hurt the swordsman’s stubborn pride? How could he when one thing persisted.

“Neither do I, truthfully…” Sanji muttered, pushing past the swordsman dismissively. “Just stop following me.”

He didn’t, his steps quickening to match Sanji’s pace.

“Here’s a question—”

“Stop following me—!”

“You said your father is like Kaido,” Zoro pressed, and if only Sanji hadn’t divulged so much about where he’d come from. Maybe this would be easier.

“So why is he searching so damn hard for you?” Zoro continued when Sanji said nothing, his voice rising, cutting sharply right through to the very memories Sanji hated to have pried out of him.

“If he didn’t care about you, he shouldn’t care if you’re gone—!”

“Because he proclaimed I was dead!” Sanji snapped, finally rounding on the swordsman with far more aggression than intended, but there Zoro was again, battering his carefully constructed wall, and it was one he didn’t want to come crashing down. What would Zoro think of him when he saw what was behind it?

Zoro didn’t rise to his aggression as Sanji had expected. Instead, his shoulders fell, all the frustration in his face dropping and draining from his body, his arms limp at his sides and his breathing light.

His mouth worked for words, coming up short for a moment before he finally managed to utter, “He did…?”

Zoro’s energy had diminished, but Sanji’s hadn’t, all the anger and pain he’d bottled inside for so long building up within him until he felt ready to explode.

“Yes! Years ago!” he cried, and though he’d told the Empress as much, there was something about Zoro’s presence that stoked that fire of emotions. With the Empress, he’d felt defeated. With Zoro, he was roaring to life.

“I’ve been locked away, kept out of the public eye for all this time, because of what I don’t have!” Sanji growled, shoving a finger right at Zoro’s chest, at that mark over his heart which Sanji wanted to rip off him in moments like this.

Zoro merely stood there in some degree of shock, if that was something the brute was even capable of, taking the abuse in silence, though his expression held all his tension.

Sanji let out an angry hiss, backing off a step to drag hands back through his hair before throwing them up bitterly.

“I mean—that has to be why,” he gritted out as he paced because, dammit, it was the only reason he could think of. His father was selfish, obsessed with his image of absolute power and strength. A defective son was an embarrassment. Besides… “Think of the political havoc it would wreak if everyone in Germa found out their king had lied to them!”

He noticed Zoro shake his head suddenly, his brow furrowing even more.

“Why doesn’t he kill you for real then!” Zoro asserted, to which Sanji shot a dark glare, one that rivaled his father’s, unbeknownst to him.

But it didn’t deter Zoro, the swordsman reaching out to grab Sanji’s arm urgently.

“I’m trying to find the fucking logic in this!”

“It’s hopeless, Zoro,” Sanji bit out. “You and logic don’t mix.”

Zoro shook his arm roughly. “Why do you think he kept you alive all this time?”

“Why all the questions?!” the blond snapped, ripping his arm free just as roughly, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. “He’s not a good man, if that’s what you’re implying! I’m sure it was because of my mother. She was the only one who cared about me. But now my mother is gone, so—!”

Again, he noticed Zoro’s stance wilt slightly, the swordsman looking almost frustrated with himself, his gaze downcast and his fists clenching, chest taking in a shaky breath.

Sanji didn’t stop to wonder why, merely said, “The world is full of darkness, Zoro. That shouldn’t be news to you.”

The statement came out harshly, and he noticed Zoro’s eyes close painfully for a moment. He stayed silent though, so Sanji continued.

“I told you. My country is different from Wano. My father values Seals more than anything. Of course he would want to erase a disgraceful son like me!”

The blond scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. He hadn’t intended on telling Zoro the full pathetic truth, even if it ran through his own mind constantly, but there it was, out in the open all the same.

He shook his head and turned away from Zoro, crossing arms over his chest, a wry tone to his voice when he muttered to himself, “Maybe we should trade kingdoms…”

A growl from behind him, Zoro’s breath hissing out through his teeth, and then his voice was sharp and strong once more. Clearly he wasn’t finished arguing.

“You think it’s bullshit how people treat me—well, it’s bullshit how he treats you!” Zoro cried. “Don’t believe what he wants you to!”

But it was too much. All of it. Every hidden truth he’d spilled, every dark secret Sanji kept inside. Everything he’d been too ashamed to admit, to accept about himself when all he’d ever wanted was to be better—at everything. He didn’t want this, and yet—

“You know what the worst part is, Zoro?” he nearly shouted, whirling on Zoro with pent-up rage. “I’m just like him! I’m just like my father! Even you picked up on that! Because having a Seal? Having power and strength? I’ve always wanted that! I still want it now!” He looked away the instant he felt a sting behind his eyes, a tightness building in his throat. No. He was angry. He was furious. He wouldn’t let himself display anything else, certainly not vulnerability.

He forced himself onward.

“I can remember my siblings—burning down fucking forests, electrocuting entire lakes! And here you are wasting yours!”

A heavy shove to Zoro’s chest with those words, one the swordsman took full-on.

The man didn’t stumble, just stood, as still as a statue, watching Sanji with complete seriousness. He’d made himself immovable, and it only worsened the burning in Sanji’s eyes. He hated that look. It felt cold and judgmental and—

—Zoro’s voice when he spoke was so gentle, so quiet and calm that it immediately focused all of Sanji’s attention. Something had shifted in Zoro’s eyes with that tone, a thawing ice.

“Would you really kill for a Seal?” he murmured, and Sanji struggled to hold onto his aggression.

“I want to kill you half the time,” he growled unconvincingly. His hands had already lowered, trembling and still tingling from the impact with Zoro’s warm chest.

“Go ahead then,” Zoro said simply, not taking his eyes from Sanji. “Do it. I don’t want mine anyway.”

He loomed there before Sanji in silent challenge for a long moment, his stance completely relaxed, waiting for something he no doubt knew wouldn’t come.

And Sanji knew it just as well, all because he couldn’t even look at the swordsman without feeling a persistent stirring in his chest, a growing need to be around him simply because it made his heart beat faster and the will to live somehow surge within his veins. It was new and it was dangerous, this something that he’d never been permitted to feel.

But it was life all the same. And why should any one person hold control over another’s.

“Exactly,” Zoro murmured. “You wouldn’t. Because you’re not like that.”

Sanji shook his head, a last show of defiance. He wouldn’t kill, no. He wouldn’t seize that manic control like his father. He knew it was wrong.

But one thing persisted...

“I can’t….I can’t even…” he stammered with frustration. “Through my anger, through everything. I couldn’t fight back against them. Not once.”

Could he tell Zoro his deepest secret? Would he understand?

“And you think that’s a bad thing,” Zoro replied.

Or would he think him just as weak and pathetic?

“What good am I,” Sanji continued, a tremor to his words. “No Seal, no strength whatsoever. I couldn’t even go with you to take on a giant fucking cat! So often I….”

Tell him. Trust him.

“What…?” Zoro murmured, anticipating.

He told him, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted my father to kill me. Because clearly he resented my existence…”

Sanji looked away, closed his eyes, scared to see Zoro’s reaction. He heard nothing, not even a huff of disbelief.

The long moment it took him to reply was agonizing, Sanji waiting for his brothers to inevitably resurface in Zoro’s words.

But Zoro wasn’t them. And in fact, his voice was almost accepting when he finally spoke.

“So stay here,” he said. “Where you’re safe.”

He swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat and a pang of longing burn his chest.

Sanji wanted to. Fuck, he wanted to, despite all his worries. Because they’d vanished, hadn’t they, the moment Zoro appeared, to be replaced by nothing but the swordsman’s overwhelming presence, irritating, but strengthening somehow. His troubled thoughts had merely shifted to the fact that he didn’t want Zoro to be tangled in this, in all his stupid problems that he couldn’t let go of. Zoro had his own. He didn’t need this.

“If my father is looking for me, he will not come and go quietly, Zoro,” he tried, a last ditch effort to explain the dangers of the situation. “Not anymore. Those times are long gone. I need to get out of Wano. This will keep you safe, if I leave!”

Zoro would be safe and free and shouldn’t he want that? The swordsman seemed to value his freedom so much, after all.

But for some reason, Zoro huffed out a defiant, “That’s not your job to worry about!”

“Then why are you trying to stop me?!” Sanji shot back, hysterics rising beyond his control. “Why do you want me to stay?”

“Why do you think I want you to stay!” Zoro shouted, his voice finally unhinged.

And Sanji stiffened because suddenly, Zoro’s stoic demeanor cracked open, just like that, leaving a jagged crevice of emotion that swept over his face. It left Sanji speechless at the rawness that shone through, his breaths coming unevenly and his eyes wild as they bore into Sanji desperately.

The blond could barely breathe himself.

“Why do you think I’ve tolerated you, huh?” Zoro continued, his fists clenched and shaking. “You’re annoying and nosy and you irritate the hell out of me, but you’re the only one!”

“The only one who what—?!” Sanji cried.

“The only one who looks at me, idiot!”

Sanji’s mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t respond, but Zoro didn’t stop.

“You’re the only one who sees me,” Zoro huffed out as if he dreaded the fact itself but needed to get it out all the same. “Really sees me, acts like it really was a good thing Kaido—!”

But he cut himself off quickly, shaking his head and looking away, a mixture of pain and embarrassment contorting his features, enough that Sanji felt the sudden urge to reach out, to touch him and—he didn’t know. But he could barely stand it....to see the swordsman standing there, struggling to throw his wall back up when it had already so futilely crumbled. He hated this. He hated seeing someone as strong as Zoro look so lost, so alone…

He hated how much he kept seeing himself in these people. It was a distorted mirror, at once comforting and terrifying.

He saw Zoro attempt to regain his composure, to take a deeper breath and push the emotion off his face. He managed, to a degree, his eyes hardening, though now that Sanji knew what lay beneath, it was hard to unsee the vulnerability he’d just witnessed.

The swordsman took another measured breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at Sanji’s face, though he soon lost his nerve and dropped his gaze to Sanji’s chest instead for his next words.

“If you leave, there’s no one,” he said quietly. “I can’t prove myself to people who aren’t willing to see. And neither can you.”

Sanji, however, didn’t take his eyes from the swordsman, his heart beating fast.

“What about the Empress…?” he finally managed to ask carefully.

Zoro shook his head, still not looking up.

“Hiyori saw something worth keeping around…” he muttered. “But the more responsibilities that fall on her shoulders, the harder it is for her to ignore the sentiments of the country. Not to mention Kawamatsu. He’s protective to a fault...and he’s always hated me….”

Again, Zoro trailed off, self-defeat creeping over him, the sight paining Sanji in turn.

“And Toko? Tama?” the blond tried.

Zoro snorted humorlessly, but Sanji heard the fondness when he muttered, “They’re just wild little brats.”

That left one more question pounding through Sanji’s brain, one that terrified him beyond reason but left him hopeful at the same time.

“And what am I then?” he finally managed.

He expected a delay, a scoff perhaps or some measure of defiance. But this time, Zoro’s response was quick and decisive, and suddenly, Zoro’s dark eyes lifted to his with as much ferocity as the beast’s had.

“Lucky.”

Sanji’s heart clenched. “...Lucky?”

Zoro nodded, unfaltering.

“Seals aside. You didn’t end up like your father. Or Kaido, for that matter, or anyone here. If you had, well…” He paused for a moment, a tiny spark of his old teasing returning to his tone. “I would’ve killed you right away.”

The blond jolted inwardly, his mind instantly returning to what the Empress had told him the previous day. That perhaps this meant Zoro….rather inexplicably, in his eyes…liked him.

The thought hadn’t gotten any less weird. He didn’t know what to say, feeling overwhelmed with the torrent of emotion that had threatened to drown both of them, right there in the garden.

In the end, it seemed he’d either be dead by Zoro’s hand, or protected...

He could only stutter stupidly before finally uttering a somewhat bewildered, “It seems my life is in your hands either way...”

Zoro didn’t respond to that, just stood there watching Sanji as if the blond held his life instead. As if that were even possible…

He seemed to be mustering the courage for something.

“So will you stay?” he finally asked, far quieter, features passive, but eyes ultimately betraying that persistently raw desperation.

Sanji sighed heavily and shook his head out of sheer disbelief.

How the hell had any of this happened in such a short time? Surely this couldn’t be. Surely someone as proud as Zoro didn’t want him around. Even if Sanji had so tried to see glimpses of Zoro’s true self, surely the swordsman couldn’t feel this strongly.

And yet, the longer it took Sanji to respond, the harder Zoro’s breaths came, a subtle panic seeming to overtake him until he reached out to clamp a hand onto Sanji’s arm, wrenching Sanji’s gaze up to meet his.

“It’s a request…” he said seriously. “Please….stay…”

Sanji’s breath caught, hearing his own words from Amigasa spoken back to him.

When had he ever heard them directed at him?

Not even his own mother had—

...

Go. I’ll be fine without you, Sanji.

…

He’d come back to find she’d left him alone.

He was always alone.

...

So why was Zoro gripping his wrist so tightly? Why was his hand so solid and warm?

Maybe, just maybe, Zoro was just as scared as him.

He sighed.

“If you want people to see you, Zoro, you have to make them look,” he murmured, because for some reason it was easier to tell Zoro the words he knew he himself should live by.

Zoro didn’t let go of him, just stared back somewhat helplessly.

“I don’t know how,” he breathed.

Neither did Sanji really...but he did know one thing.

“You figured it out with me.”

Zoro shook his head. “...They’re not like you…”

Swiftly, the telltale tightening of Sanji’s throat returned, but he didn’t allow it to grip him. Instead, he reached up to slowly remove Zoro’s hand, his own fingers curling around the swordsman’s wrist, feeling the rapid throb of Zoro’s pulse there in the second before he let go, though it could have been his imagination.

“This better not be a trick to get me to comply,” the blond said, trying to ease some of the tension hanging in the air, unconsciously backing up a step towards the palace again.

“Why would it be?” Zoro scoffed, looking flustered even as he tried to quip back with his usual snark. “M’not that good of an actor, dammit!”

“I dunno, you put on a good show when you first dragged me to the palace,” Sanji replied, remembering all too well the predatory darkness that had clouded his eyes, his bruising grip.

Zoro growled. “I can drag you there again if that’s what you want!”

Sanji huffed out a breath. What did he want…?

Was he allowed to want things now…? Because with Zoro, it was starting to feel like he could.

“I’ll stay. For now...” he finally said, unable to deny the weight that seemed to lift from his shoulders with that statement.

And he was also unable to deny the pleasant stirring that yet again assaulted his chest when the swordsman’s breath hitched, a surprising flash of pure relief and happiness lighting up Zoro’s eyes, lingering long enough for Sanji to know it was real. He hadn’t imagined that.

Sanji struggled to keep his own relief from showing. He’d already laid himself bare enough.

“But maybe you ought to consider leaving too…” he eventually said instead. After all, staying meant Zoro was still subject to the mistreatment he experienced nearly everywhere he went.

“I have nowhere to go—” Zoro muttered, but Sanji shrugged.

“Neither do I.”

Zoro looked torn for a moment before he shook his head. “I can’t…. I swore to protect the Empress.”

“It seems she has plenty of protection already,” Sanji justified, to which Zoro hissed out a breath. He leveled Sanji seriously then.

“My life belongs to the royal family…” Zoro asserted. “I can’t break my oath…”

Zoro’s hand came to his swords as he trailed off, almost instinctively, tracing the textured hilt of one as if to soothe himself.

Sanji’s mind flashed to those stone dragons in the abandoned temple grounds, each representing a samurai virtue. Of course, one of them had been loyalty… But, despite the Empress’ kindness, why should Zoro feel so obligated to live up to an exchange that had been forced upon him to begin with?

Sanji didn’t know...but he had to grudgingly admit to the swordsman’s bravery. Zoro wouldn’t run, it seemed, and maybe that was something to be admired.

Sanji sighed with some degree of defeat, but said simply, “Then things need to change.”

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know what he or Zoro could possibly do.

But he did know what the Empress could do. Or rather, what she possessed. Those scrolls…

“It doesn’t matter what they think of me…” Zoro mumbled in reply, and dammit, why was he being passive? For someone so fired up about Sanji’s situation, why should his own not matter?

“Oh, do you like being an outcast? ‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t!” the blond snapped, wanting that glimpse of strength back, that fire of Zoro’s that so often set him ablaze too.

“They won’t change,” Zoro insisted.

“Not with that attitude.”

“Why are you saying all this…?” the swordsman huffed, tossing up his hands, and for a moment, Sanji nearly told him what he’d learned of the scrolls. He nearly assured him there was hope, that maybe all they needed to do was convince the Empress to set the country right again. He didn’t know if Zoro was aware of their existence, but it was too late. Sanji trusted him fully.

But he kept his mouth shut, retracting the thought at the last moment, though he met the swordsman’s eye resolutely, where he saw an endearing flicker of confusion and uncertainty.

“Maybe, like the Empress,” Sanji said slowly, picking his words carefully. “I can see something they can’t…”

Zoro’s stance shifted, brows lowering.

“See what?” he asked warily.

Sanji just scoffed. “A bulky oaf like you? Hard not to notice you.”

Zoro let out an irritated breath, though his expression relaxed some as he mumbled, “Shut up….”

He fell quiet then for a moment, Sanji watching as the mosshead’s small mind no doubt worked through something momentous. The idiot looked ready to explode for a minute, his face reddening and his gaze averting awkwardly.

Sanji wasn’t sure what kind of outburst would follow…

But it wasn’t an outburst at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and Sanji could barely make out his speech when the swordsman mumbled quietly under his breath, “D’youwannatrain f’real?”

“What was that?” the blond asked loudly by contrast, goading Zoro with an exaggerated hand to his ear.

Zoro growled, but spoke up defiantly.

“I said, do you wanna train for real?”

Sanji’s brows shot up in mock surprise. “No sitting under waterfalls and talking about virtue?”

But again, Zoro surprised him when, instead of rising to the bait, he actually let out an amused breath, rolled his eyes and smiled, of all things.

It wasn’t a big one, and it seemed to surprise him too for a second. But he didn’t lose it entirely, and instead faced Sanji with a little more confidence.

“Not the whole time…” he said.

And Sanji surprised himself as well when he gave a genuine chuckle.

He felt light inside, the persistent whisper of his worries completely silenced to the point where they all seemed foolish, his panic from earlier blown completely from his mind. His father was still looking for him, yes, but Zoro had been right. His army was in Goa, which meant they had time to prepare. He had time to prepare.

He had time to get stronger, as he’d insisted Tama had. An actual future, if he dared hope for one. He’d never dared before, but now…

The blond wasn’t thinking when he stepped closer to Zoro, closing the distance between them until they were nearly chest to chest.

The swordsman froze, even his own chest barely moving as he watched Sanji approach.

The wall between them continued to fall brick by brick, and suddenly, the weight of that sword at Sanji's hip was far more empowering than it ever had been.

“Then teach me how to fight, Zoro,” Sanji said, fierce, determined, serious this time. “Teach me how to be strong like you.”

Zoro stared back at him, his jaw clenching in a way that left Sanji fascinated, his gaze nearly dropping of its own accord to the swordsman’s lips, which had parted with another shaky inhale.

“You only need me for one of those things,” he finally said, eyes roving over Sanji’s face.

Then he quickly turned away and walked off a few steps.

Sanji saw his hand lift to run over his mouth before he dropped his clenching fingers to his side again.

He stopped though, a few paces away, his head subtly tilting back over his shoulder where he jerked his chin for Sanji to follow him.

Sanji did, feeling, for the first time in his life, that maybe he could believe Zoro’s unexpected words.

Chapter Text

“Strike!”

Following Zoro’s command, Sanji pulled back his blade quickly, lifting the sword over his head and swinging down with as much force as he could muster towards Zoro’s face, the swordsman instantly catching the blade with his own.

Zoro flicked his wrist easily, his body following the motion, twisting as bare feet pivoted in the grass. His movement was so fluid, and yet the force he pushed back with was strong enough that Sanji struggled to hold against it, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly so as not to falter, while Zoro managed with one hand.

Zoro’s expression was completely focused though, eyes flitting over Sanji’s form each time he moved, no doubt judging and calculating in ways Sanji still couldn’t even imagine, even after three weeks of training with the brute.

“Again,” Zoro said quietly, the arm holding his own sword almost guiding Sanji’s purposefully down in a long arc as he pushed the blond’s blade away.

Sanji did his best to follow the momentum as Zoro had taught him, a growl of exertion escaping him when he swung once more, this time with a slice aimed at Zoro’s waist.

But again, Zoro’s sword stopped his attack with no effort, and yes, that was the whole point of this. He wasn’t really trying to cut Zoro to ribbons, but dammit, this was as easy as breathing to Zoro, wasn’t it.

“Now, block,” the swordsman murmured, and before Sanji knew it, Zoro’s right hand pulled a second blade swiftly from its sheath at his hip, forcing Sanji to react quickly, an awkward fumble of his own sword barely able to stop Zoro’s attack as it hurtled towards his head.

Caught between both of Zoro’s blades, he danced back a few feet, weapon outstretched, hating the way his arms still trembled with the weight of wielding it.

Zoro twirled and maneuvered his swords like they weighed nothing, like they were mere extensions of his own limbs. He’d tried to have Sanji conduct strength training, but days of hacking bamboo poles to bits and lifting heavy river rocks only made the blond feel silly and embarrassed, far from the power and confidence he should have been building.

It was much easier to practice with the Empress, whose smile was always kind and encouraging and whose touches were gentle and light, unlike Zoro, who wasn’t afraid to yell at him, or to get physical, to push him around, even nick him with a blade a few times.

So he’d found himself making a habit of sparring with Hiyori in the evenings, when Zoro disappeared into the forest for the night to go hunting, still refusing to let Sanji even tag along for the experience. Hiyori went easy on him, he could tell, but her patience was always a soothing comfort net after long, tiring days spent with Zoro in the humid woods, or out in the fields with the heated sun blazing down.

Too often Sanji remembered his brothers’ harsh treatment, their disgusted sneers when he couldn’t get back up, the way they’d mock him when his limbs shook, when his feeble strength couldn’t hope to match theirs.

It should have been demoralizing, not to mention traumatizing, to be thrown back into an environment like that, where he was reminded of his weakness daily with no one to believe in him. Only disappointment. Endless disappointment.

And yet, he kept trying. He tried damn fucking hard despite the mosshead’s stubborn admonishments and exhausting regiments that left Sanji wondering what relevance they could possibly have. Because for all that disappointment, all the sweat, and yes, the blood that had fallen, there was something different about Zoro that always showed itself just when Sanji thought he couldn’t take anymore, when tears threatened to complete that trinity so many deemed the keys to progress.

Zoro did believe in him. And Sanji strove for the moments when Zoro acknowledged him, when Sanji would correctly position his stance and Zoro would nod his approval, or he was able to push away one of Zoro’s attacks and he would see that exhilarated grin come over Zoro’s face. Never reluctant, never annoyed, just full of pure pride, if Sanji allowed himself to assume.

Zoro loved it, rather inexplicably in Sanji’s eyes, but he truly loved the art of swordsmanship, and it was something he clearly took joy in sharing.

Even more inexplicably, Sanji loved watching his swordsmanship, he found, taking the quiet moments when Zoro demonstrated to observe, not only the way his body moved with unexpected grace, but his face, his eyes, which shone with far more light and peace whenever they were alone together. It was what had drawn him to the swordsman in the beginning, those fleeting glimpses of Zoro’s true soul that he kept so carefully hidden around others.

But somehow, when it was just the two of them, the rest of the world fell away, and it was something Sanji had never experienced before with anyone, not his mother, or even the Empress. He’d never had a truly safe space, a safe person, with whom he could talk, tease, laugh, his worries seeming small.

His insecurities hadn’t vanished, of course, and neither had their arguments surrounding them. They often flared up still in moments of weakness, much to Sanji’s continued frustration. But he’d never met a person who could so perfectly combat them as Zoro could, push them right back down with equal stubbornness.

Day by day, time and again, the stupid mosshead had proven that he too could see Sanji, even when Sanji couldn’t see himself, and day by day, that thought alone made running seem like less of an option, even if reports continued of his father’s soldiers scouring Goa in search of him.

That kingdom was only so large…. It was only a matter of time before they set their sights on Wano, time Sanji wasn’t sure would ever be enough for him to grow strong, if three weeks hadn’t done it.

He couldn’t endanger Wano, nor Zoro, despite the man’s persistent assurances that Germa wouldn’t stand a chance against them. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t put Zoro through that again. He didn’t need to see more battle, nor put himself on the line for Sanji of all people....if he was even willing.

Yet, even with that thought in mind, the prospect of leaving seemed nigh impossible now when Zoro’s irritating smirk entranced him so much…

...so much it nearly made him lose his grip when the swordsman leaned in close to shove away Sanji’s sword.

The air sparked between them and there was something about the glint in Zoro’s eye when he met Sanji’s, an eyebrow arching in challenge…

Sanji took the bait, abandoning their choreographed routine for instinct instead, whirling in a circle with his blade to swing it quickly back at Zoro in another offensive attack.

He saw the tiniest flash of surprise twitch at the man’s brows for an instant, his smirk growing. And then, just as quickly, Zoro blocked, crossing his two blades in front of him to clash with Sanji’s once more.

The blond had known it was coming, knew he’d have no hope of deflecting when Zoro inevitably tensed in preparation to throw Sanji off.

So he tried something new, something he hadn’t tried before but just came naturally in that small moment of alarm.

He pushed back against Zoro’s blades with all his might, using that force to twist his leg up, aiming a kick directly for Zoro’s side. It should have been a mistake. Surely Zoro would dodge in time, catch his leg just as easily, or scold him for breaking form.

What he hadn’t expected was for the kick to land.

His shin connected hard with Zoro’s waist, a hand nearly having to catch himself on the ground when the sudden weight shift sent him toppling off balance, but he managed to stay upright, snapping his leg back to his side and stumbling back a little clumsily.

It didn’t fell the swordsman, who merely grunted at the impact, feet staying firmly planted, but Sanji saw his eyes widen, his lips splitting as an almost disbelieving grin slowly crossed his face.

And then Zoro lunged forward with an unplanned attack of his own, his blade catching Sanji’s easily and giving a sudden flick that was somehow enough to knock the blade clear from Sanji’s grasp, landing on the ground several paces out of reach.

Sanji’s heart thumped in panic, now completely weapon-less, but Zoro merely flipped the sharp edge of his blades away from Sanji and gave a nod, that same reckless look on his face that only made the new challenge seem all the more attractive. Sanji wasn’t sure how much Zoro’s crooked flash of teeth was to blame for that.

Still, he forced down the fear that automatically wanted to well in him. Zoro wouldn’t hurt him. Not for real, no matter how feral and uncontrolled he looked. Zoro could control those swords better than any warrior Sanji had ever seen.

So he struck out again with another kick, feeling the reverberation jolt through his leg when the sole of his boot met one of Zoro’s blades, as sturdy as a metal bar. Zoro had always urged him to train barefoot as well, claiming it would help him feel the ground better, but in that moment, Sanji found himself glad for his own stubbornness against it.

His body was exposed, in the second he balanced there, so he wasn’t surprised when Zoro’s other sword came slicing for his torso. It wasn’t surprising, but the sight was still terrifying.

Desperation led his body to react instinctively again, the foot locked with Zoro’s blade pushing back hard. Zoro’s arm stayed predictably still, something that was normally frustrating, but it gave Sanji a solid surface, however small, to kick off of. He did so quickly, rotating his body as fast as he could in mid-air, arcing himself over Zoro’s swing and landing to send his opposite leg straight for Zoro’s ribs again.

The swordsman dodged this time, forcing Sanji to land somewhat clumsily, barely catching himself from face-planting into the grass. He was panting again, had to brush sweaty hair from his face, but when he staggered to his feet, Zoro’s expression was very near incredulous, if that was something the swordsman was capable of emoting. Disbelief curled his lips upward, the mosshead’s dark eyes bright and amazed as he shook his head with a huff of breath.

Amazed at what, Sanji didn’t know, but he could still sense that excitement within him as they lunged for each other once more. Sanji didn’t know what he was going to do, but—

Suddenly, a great series of thundering cracks rumbled from the woods surrounding the clearing, the sight of several tall trees snapping and falling behind Zoro sending a flinch through Sanji’s body.

He had little time for the confusion to run its course before an enormous figure burst from the treeline, just as the creature had all those nights ago. Just as it so often did in his dreams.

But this time, it wasn’t a dream. It was very real, the reverberations of giant paws shaking terror right back into his heart.

Instead of the dark rippling of midnight fur though, he was met with something new, a massive golden creature, and for a moment, Sanji foolishly wondered if the Night Beast changed form to match the time of day.

But no, this new creature lacked the same grace and stealth. Its features were more canine, long fangs protruding from a snarling mouth situated beneath a flat, hog-like nose. A thick yellow mane burst like flames from its collar, a similar explosion of fur serving as its tail.

It stomped its stout legs impatiently, dragging a paw through the dirt like a bull preparing to charge.

Zoro had turned to face the creature, but he didn’t attack, and in fact, he hardly looked surprised, strangely. Sanji caught the slow glance Zoro shot back at him, as if waiting for Sanji to make the first move.

As if he could, standing there frozen, his chest heaving as he faced down a beast more than twice his height. He felt the heavy absence of his sword like a phantom limb, one that surely wouldn’t help him even if it was restored.

The creature took a step forward, crushing the grass completely flat in a wide circle, Sanji automatically stumbling back, his own foot barely leaving an imprint. He registered vaguely in his panicked mind that he’d moved closer, perhaps subconsciously, to his fallen sword.

It was still out of reach though, and the beast hadn’t stopped, watching him carefully with piercing eyes, the pupils mere pinpoints in its yellow sclera.

Its incisors were as long as sabers, the creature’s thick lips unable to contain them, and Sanji saw saliva pooling at the corners of its mouth, its hunger far more obvious, far less calculating than the Night Beast’s had been. This creature would surely delight in tossing him around like a plaything before devouring him.

It was still stalking towards him, and dammit, why wasn’t Zoro doing anything? Why was he just standing there as the beast moved past, his brows raising slowly in insistence that Sanji do something.

But what? What did he have? His tiny sword, shorter than the beast’s teeth? His legs, which he’d fleetingly thought might be viable weapons just moments before? Only to realize now how futile they’d be in a fight against a monster that could snap them in two.

He had nothing, not even Zoro when the creature leapt for him suddenly, the blond falling back to the ground, cowering as two enormous paws landed on either side of his head, just like the Night Beast’s so often did in his recurring dreams.

Those horrible jaws loomed above him, the creature’s hot breath snorting over him from its gaping nostrils, and there was absolutely nothing Sanji could do but close his eyes and hope it killed him quickly—

“Komachiyo, no!”

A young voice cut through the clearing, and Sanji had just enough bravery left to open his eyes when he heard small feet scampering through the grass, Tama huffing and puffing as she finally made it to the beast’s side.

Sweat moistened her forehead, robes disheveled and stained as if she’d run through the forest to catch up.

Her lips drew into a pout as she fearlessly reached out to shove the creature’s enormous leg with no fear.

“You were supposed to wait!” she complained, now throwing all her weight against the beast’s unmoving leg until it finally lifted up a paw to back away from Sanji, tongue falling out of its mouth before it nuzzled the girl, sniffing eagerly at her robes.

“Okay, okay...” Tama muttered, reaching into her small pouch and pulling out a few dangos, which the creature slurped happily off her palm with its huge tongue.

The girl merely giggled, barely reaching the monster’s knee when she reached out to scrub hands through its fur.

Zoro approached from the other side as Sanji slowly sat up, eventually scrambling to his feet, backing away carefully to Zoro’s side, eyes not leaving the beast. Zoro, unbelievably, showed no concern or surprise whatsoever…

And the realization hit him when the beast playfully bounded across the clearing in an impromptu game of tag, Tama chasing after with a smile on her face.

“You planned this,” Sanji breathed, shaking his head slowly at his own stupidity. “This was just a set-up. This wasn’t even… You just…” A frustrated sound and he ran fingers back through his hair.

“He was supposed to be part of your training, Curly Brow,” Zoro muttered, returning his blades to their sheaths and shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Don’t read too far into it. Though I thought he’d stay serious a bit longer...stupid mutt…”

“So what, you sent Tama’s pet after me? Ordered it not to bite?” Sanji growled, dropping his hands and rounding on Zoro.

He shouldn’t have been so upset, but dammit, it was taking him right back to his childhood, when his father would underestimate him, purposely training him with weakened soldiers. His mother had always assured him it was to help him, since he wasn’t as strong as his siblings, but the look on his father’s face had never been encouraging, and his words had always been disparaging, humiliating….not to mention his brothers’ jeers...

“You’ve gotta start somewhere!” Zoro was insisting. “You haven’t even tried—”

“Was this to prove how worthless I am? How much further I still have to go?”

The bitter words flew out of Sanji’s mouth before he could rein them in. He’d been trying so hard these past few weeks to let himself feel, if only briefly, his own self-worth, but it was all too easy to slip back into the anger and frustration that had plagued him for years.

“No!” Zoro growled, annoyance flaring in his voice. “Don’t you know how training fucking works? It’s like—I dunno, your cooking! You can’t go making your fancy shit right away without learning the basics—”

“I know that, mosshead! I’m not stupid! That’s not the issue!”

The issue was that, for a second, he’d thought he was there, fighting Zoro. He’d thought he had a chance. But now it was only more apparent that he was so much farther than assumed… Was Tama’s beastly pet terrifying in its own right? Surely, but even Tama wasn’t afraid, so why should he be? It was foolish—it was pathetic—it was—

Zoro’s hand gripped his arm hard, jostling Sanji away from his darkening thoughts, the fire in his eyes working hard to hold the blond’s attention.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” the swordsman huffed. “I should have told you. But I thought the element of surprise would—”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong! ‘Cause it just made me feel even weaker than before!” And Sanji ripped his arm free roughly to pick up his pacing again, flattening a large square of grass beneath his feet.

“Well, now that you know, we can work it in as part of your training!” Zoro justified, not giving up. “Actually try different—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to fight a giant monster like that? I can’t even take you on!” Sanji retorted, thrusting hands at the swordsman’s broad form.

“You’re overreacting!” Zoro cried.

“No, I’m not!”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re not a swordsman—”

“Just shut up!”

“—So it’s useless to keep training you like one!”

“This is making me feel so much better, Zoro—!”

“Let me finish!”

Again, Zoro grabbed him, but this time, Sanji didn’t waste time wrenching away, instead twisting his body on instinct to whirl a kick straight for the swordsman’s side.

“You have power, Curly Brow!” Zoro growled, blocking Sanji’s leg with his own arm and lunging forward to tackle him.

Sanji danced back in time, anticipating the move, instead lifting a knee in an attempt to nail him in the stomach.

“But it’s not in that sword!” the swordsman gritted out as he stopped Sanji’s knee with both hands.

Sanji saw red, hot irrational red, and it was enough fuel for him to snap his leg forward powerfully, driving his boot directly beneath Zoro’s ribs.

It felt like kicking a wall with how infuriatingly hard Zoro’s abdominals were, but still the swordsman grunted, staggering back with a wheeze that was far more satisfying to Sanji’s ears than it should have been.

And yet, instead of getting angry, instead of retaliating, Zoro merely backed off, a hand rubbing at his stomach as he muttered, “See?”

Sanji slowly lowered his foot and glared at him silently, not understanding.

“Your legs, idiot,” Zoro said, fingers dropping from his reddened skin to gesture at the blond’s boots. “You were so much more natural just now. You stopped thinking and just…moved.”

Was that true? Sanji certainly hadn’t put any thought into finesse of any kind. In fact, it had mostly been his irritation, he thought, that had driven him and he wasn’t sure if that could be considered powerful in any way. One should be rational in combat, or so he’d always assumed.

Still, he could admit how much less he had to think when he didn’t have a cumbersome blade in his hand.

“That still doesn’t answer how you expect me to take on a beast like that. Or my father’s soldiers for that matter...” Sanji muttered eventually, knowing it was childish to keep arguing, but Zoro had definitely started this one.

Zoro didn’t answer him right away, just watched him with those serious eyes that always seemed to want to say more…

Though they never did, and the three words that left Zoro’s mouth were hardly sufficient, in Sanji’s eyes.

“I get it,” he said, to which Sanji scoffed automatically.

“Shut up, I do. You think there’s nothing you can do. That your skills won’t be enough. And you’re right, they won’t be. Not yet.” Sanji mustered his most menacing glare, though Zoro wasn’t perturbed, continuing, “But that’s why you’ve gotta keep fighting! Because the second you give up, they’ve won! You can’t let your past take control of your future. You have to face it.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Sanji dissented, almost a gut reaction at this point. Was it easy though? He knew Zoro’s past, after all, knew how much it affected his present...

“It’s not,” Zoro answered, confirming this. “It took me...years to get to this point. And I still...”

Zoro trailed off, so Sanji took his chance to snap, “And what part of ‘we don’t have years’ are you not getting? You really are terrible at motivational speeches!” The blond lowered his tone to mimic the swordsman’s deep voice. “‘Go on! Face your father’s army, Sanji! Even if it’s suicide!’”

The look of immense frustration that came over Zoro’s face in reaction was almost enough to make Sanji regret his outburst. Maybe he was too hard on the idiot… But Zoro wasn’t the one with mediocre combat skill.

Sanji sighed heavily, his heartbeat no longer racing in his ears, feeling far less emboldened when Zoro didn’t respond in turn, didn’t even roll his eyes or crack a smile.

“I don’t want to give up, Zoro… Not anymore,” he murmured eventually, watching Zoro’s face and wishing he could stop blaming others for his own shortcomings. “But the longer this progress takes, the more difficult it becomes. And not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

“Then why?” Zoro asked, bringing eyes tentatively to Sanji’s.

Again, the blond sighed, wondering why his next words were so hard to admit. It wasn’t as if they were inherently bad.

“Because…for the first time in my life, my weakness—my failure, if it comes to that—won’t just affect me,” he said, taking in Zoro’s form, the warmth of his tan skin, the corded power of his arms that somehow fed into gentle hands, the stubborn clumps of hair that perpetually fell into his forehead. All things he knew he would miss. Zoro was a person he would miss if he left.

So he admitted it, vaguely, but he admitted it. His growing attachment that was both comforting and terrifying.

“I have more to lose now…”

Zoro’s eyes widened minutely, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in something else Sanji didn’t recognize, but he didn’t miss the subtle flush that crept up his ears, most likely from embarrassment. He really needed to stop voicing such stupidly sentimental things aloud.

“You think this is all on you?” Zoro finally asked after a minute. “You think I’m really gonna let your scrawny ass take on an army by yourself?”

The blond huffed, grateful for the teasing tone that had crept back into the mosshead’s voice. “No…” he muttered sulkily. “I just wish I was able to.”

Another moment of silence followed, and Sanji could practically see the gears spinning behind the swordsman’s focused expression. Was he thinking of a reply? Was he planning what to say? Debating something in his head? Sanji couldn’t place it, but he was nearly certain he’d see steam start to burst from the man’s ears before long.

Finally, words spilled tentatively from his lips, which Sanji realized he’d been watching for perhaps a beat too long.

“That’s not...why I haven’t brought you hunting anyway…” Zoro said, Sanji’s gaze lifting to the swordsman’s eyes again, which averted in a way that contradicted his words.

“It’s not…?” Sanji asked skeptically.

Zoro shook his head, but didn’t elaborate, fixated on the collar of Sanji’s robe. His jaw clenched resolutely before he blew out a breath through his nose and finally looked up again.

“If you wanna come with me tonight, then we’ll go.”

Sanji’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “...Really?”

“Yeah…”

“I thought I wasn’t ready…” the blond countered, despite the strange tingling that now stirred bubbles in his chest.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you…”

Those bubbles fizzed over with warmth. Still, Sanji tried his best to look unconvinced lest he give away his excitement.

“I saved you before, didn’t I?” Zoro insisted when Sanji didn’t reply. “Don’t you trust me?”

Of course he did. But the admission wouldn’t leave Sanji’s throat, too embarrassing and too revealing. He wondered if there would ever come a day when he wouldn’t have to rely on Zoro’s strength. A day when he could save Zoro...

“Fine. We’ll go,” was all Sanji said, the blond trying to fight off the reddening of his cheeks with thoughts of the mosshead’s disgusting habits. He had to remember who he was dealing with. Not to mention… “But we should eat well first.”

It wasn’t an answer to Zoro’s question, and he could have sworn he saw a crestfallen look lingering on the swordsman’s face.

Komachiyo was the beast’s name, apparently, as Tama had called it.

It was rather amazing just how unintimidated Sanji was an hour later, watching Tama in the clearing, lying in the grass and giggling as she tossed cubes of raw meat into the giant dog’s mouth. It was a mouth that could easily swallow five of the small girl whole, but yet the creature seemed to wear a content smile as it rolled about like an oversized puppy, its bushy tail wagging and its tongue lolling out comically as it easily flattened twigs and flowers alike.

Sanji sighed. Tama had said she’d cared for the beast since it was a baby, hence its subservience to her, and he found himself wishing the Night Beast was the same. Despite his determination to go after it that night, he knew his fears would no doubt resurface, potentially at the wrong moment.

Probably at the wrong moment…

What if Zoro got hurt because of his weakness…?

He shook his head. He had no choice but to push that thought from his mind, knowing that the first step to feeling level-headed was a full stomach. So he turned his attention back to their small fire on the edge of the clearing, where he served up a helping of the wild boar meat Zoro had hauled back, arranging it artfully on one of the clay plates Tsuru had so kindly lent him. The woman often offered them tea and lunch on long days they spent outside, but Sanji much preferred to prepare it himself, a comforting reminder of the parts of his past he did miss.

Of course, the swordsman wouldn’t even notice its presentation, but Sanji wouldn’t lower his own standards, topping the meat with a sauté of wild mushrooms and finally passing it off to Zoro, who merely grunted his gratitude and settled in the grass to dig in.

The blond silently thanked Tsuru again for lending him all manner of utensils as well, glad he no longer had to watch the primitive man tear into his food with the voracity of an animal. Not that chopsticks made much of a difference, but it was a slight improvement at least.

By the time Sanji sat beside him with his own food, Zoro was nearly finished.

“Did Tsuru not give you rice today? What the hell is this?” Zoro muttered rudely, despite looking quite satisfied with the taste as he cleaned his plate.

“This is how we serve meat in my country,” Sanji huffed. “But you knew that.”

Zoro made a face as if Sanji hadn’t been cooking meals for him nearly every day when they went training. He wasn’t sure why Zoro so liked to play the stupid card, but the banter it invited was admittedly enjoyable, so Sanji played along. For all they argued, he’d grown rather fond of that low-browed glare.

“I know. It’s shocking that other cultures exist,” the blond teased, lifting a bite to his mouth which he thankfully didn’t drop. He was far more skilled with using Wano’s utensils now, and thus was able to chew rather smugly.

“Now you don’t have red wine here, so I couldn’t make a proper marinade,” he continued when Zoro ignored him. “I had to make do with adding that shit alcohol you always drink instead, but I suppose it’s just as well. You wouldn’t like anything else.”

“And I’m supposed to know what a mari-whatever is?” Zoro shot back, mouth disgustingly full, which he washed down with an obnoxious guzzle of said shit alcohol.

Sanji resisted the urge to gag, merely rolled his eyes and looked away, focusing on his own meal before he lost it to Zoro’s vile habits.

Unfortunately, he could still hear them in the quiet that followed, more gross chewing and gulping, followed by a loud, satisfied sigh before Zoro plopped his empty plate on the ground and leaned back on a hand, lifting his robe sleeve to wipe at his mouth.

The blond said nothing, even when he felt the swordsman’s eyes land on him calmly, as they often did. He didn’t look up, did his best to ignore it as always, but it was becoming harder to do lately, particularly when he caught glimpses in his peripheral of Zoro’s tan arm, thickly corded with muscle, or his toned chest that just left Sanji envious.

Yes, surely envious.

“Who taught you all this crazy stuff anyhow?” Zoro said eventually, Sanji feeling glad for the distraction because his eyes had flicked of their own accord to Zoro’s Seal, yet again studying the mark’s strangely curving lines.

It took Sanji a moment to realize Zoro’s meaning until he noticed the swordsman circling a finger vaguely towards his plate of food.

Sanji had to scoff out a laugh, finally lifting his gaze to Zoro’s face.

“I guess a guy from a country that eats raw fish would consider actually cooking things to be crazy,” he replied, expecting annoyance in response, but Zoro surprised him with a relaxed smirk, one that Sanji felt in his chest.

“I know. It’s shocking that other cultures exist,” Zoro replied, grinning wider when Sanji recognized his own words thrown back at him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, genuine amusement shining through. He usually tried not to give Zoro any satisfaction when he made dumb jokes, but, for whatever reason, it was becoming more difficult the more time they spent together.

Not to mention Sanji found it far easier now to open up to the man.

So it was with little hesitation that Sanji explained, “My mother sparked my interest. We used to look at recipe books together. But she was never well enough to work in the kitchen, so I used to sneak in and learn from the staff. Back when I could at least.”

Zoro gave a small snort, but not a disparaging one, the look on his face softening a bit as his eyes fell to the locks of Sanji’s hair the blond felt lifting with the breeze.

Sanji’s face was warm when he spoke up again.

“What about you? Where did you learn to be so…?” He gestured at the mosshead’s entire person, his own face breaking into a satisfied grin when Zoro lifted an unimpressed brow.

He didn’t look angry though, and the air was comfortable enough between them that, for a moment, Sanji contemplated bringing it up, what Hiyori had told him of Zoro’s past. There was a good decade of Zoro’s life that remained unaccounted for, and Sanji couldn’t deny his ongoing desire to uncover all of the swordsman’s mysteries.

But even if he himself felt more at ease opening up to the other man, it seemed there was still something blocking Zoro from doing the same when he didn’t answer, just kept up that same flat look.

It was frustrating, and disappointing, to think that Zoro still wasn’t comfortable enough. But he had to keep his composure. Patience may not have been one of the samurai virtues Zoro had told him about, and it certainly hadn’t ever served him well in his own life, despite what his mother had often urged. But with a brute as stubborn as Zoro, it was clearly something he’d have to exercise.

But that also wasn’t to say patience shouldn’t go hand in hand with persistence.

“Okay, then where did you learn to wield swords?” Sanji amended, wondering if a more specific question would give Zoro less room to evade.

“Been doing it since I was six,” the swordsman replied with a shrug.

“That doesn’t answer the question of ‘where’,” Sanji pressed, his voice amiable, but his eyes betraying just a bit of his insistence.

Zoro often called him nosy for all his questions, but dammit, he’d hoped that, with time, it would pay off. Clearly, Zoro had never had this either, someone to properly open up to, so why shouldn’t he try? If he’d so wanted Sanji to stay in Wano, then for what?

The swordsman stayed quiet though, for long enough that Sanji gave up in that moment, merely sighed and went back to finish off the last few bites of his food to hide his disappointment.

He had to be patient, yes, but he could admit to that small amount of pain, wondering if Zoro would ever trust him enough. Or if he’d ever learn before something happened to lock Zoro’s soul away forever…

But then, a sigh from the swordsman as well, and when Sanji glanced up, Zoro’s gaze was downcast, his fingers picking awkwardly at the hem of his robe.

“I have a master,” Zoro mumbled with a shrug. “Who taught me. He’s just...not the most...sociable. He doesn’t enter the Capital. So you haven’t seen him.”

And though it wasn’t much, Sanji couldn’t help the ecstatic burst of warmth in his heart, a triumphant feeling that he tried and failed to keep off his face lest it lead Zoro to close his doors again.

Yet he couldn’t stop a smile from blossoming, knowing that, no matter how small it was, any glimpse into Zoro’s mind was a victory, even if he didn’t quite know why.

But was it so wrong to hope that maybe he, as he was now, all flaws and baggage attached, was making his first true friend from scratch?

“Look at that, I got an answer. Only on the fifty-seventh try. Was that so hard?” Sanji replied teasingly, enjoying the way Zoro’s cheeks and ears instantly reddened, the swordsman’s passive expression quickly turning to a scowl.

Zoro wasn’t really upset though. Sanji knew the difference by then, so he didn’t have any qualms about asking another question, finishing his meal and setting his own plate aside so he could focus his full attention on the compromised swordsman.

“He gave you those swords?” Sanji asked, flicking eyes to the three blades perpetually tied to Zoro’s side.

Zoro let out a breath, his gaze falling to his swords as well, fingers automatically reaching up to brush over them as they often did.

“Hitetsu forged this one,” he said, indicating the sword with the deep purple hilt, dark leather criss-crossing tightly over the lacquered wood. “Sandai Kitetsu. The other two were gifts.”

He didn’t elaborate further, but the way his hand passed over the black-sheathed sword to linger almost affectionately on the ivory one, his clear favorite… It had Sanji wondering if there was more to their stories.

This time, he didn’t press though, already satisfied with even the small amount of history he was divulging.

The blond smirked.

“Still don’t know why you need three,” he said. “Most samurai only need one.”

“And yet one was too much for you,” Zoro shot back instantly, to which Sanji’s jaw dropped in mock offense.

“I thought my power was in my legs,” Sanji replied, stretching one out to kick the swordsman squarely in the side. When it only elicited a series of spiteful snickers from the man, Sanji added a casual, “All the better for when I finally run the hell out of Wano.”

That shut Zoro right up, the swordsman’s eyes quickly sharpening, his grin falling off his face. In fact, Sanji quite liked the small panic that came over Zoro each time he so much as mentioned leaving. It always served to sober the idiot at the very least, and the blond enjoyed having at least one fail-proof method of gaining an edge.

Even if, with every passing day, the threat became more and more empty.

He’d never intended to stay in Wano for as long as he had.

But he’d also never expected to feel as safe and comfortable as he was beginning to feel.

He hadn’t expected to find people who’d give a shit about him, certainly hadn’t expected such a sense of belonging in a culture that was so different from his own.

Where would he even go from here? The only logical option would be to move into Goa when his father’s soldiers inevitably turned their search to Wano. That hardly seemed preferable…

After all, Zoro was right, wasn’t he, as hard as it was to admit it. He couldn’t hide forever, even if, at Zoro’s side, he felt like he could...

When Sanji spoke again, his voice had quieted some, his own doubts beginning to surface yet again, though he willed them down. He’d already let them overtake him earlier, and he was trying to be better about that. To see, not the worst, but the worth in situations. And maybe, by extension, the worth in himself.

“The beast wasn’t sighted this morning,” he said, busying himself with gathering up their plates. “At least, no one reported it at the palace. With any luck, it’s crossed into Goa finally and can take out my father’s soldiers before they get here…”

Zoro’s eyes were on him as Sanji wrapped the dishes carefully in cloth for protection and stowed them back in the basket Tsuru had provided that morning.

He still seemed troubled for some reason, and Sanji wondered if it was still from his earlier comment about leaving. It was rather surprising to him, that Zoro of all people was the one to share his fears.

Of course, he might have been projecting his own assumptions. It was often hard to tell with the stoic swordsman, but, more and more, Sanji was beginning to see vulnerable moments like this as genuine.

He didn’t think Zoro was sensitive, and he didn’t much care about hurting his feelings, knowing the idiot would bounce back quickly, but he didn’t like seeing that real stress on his face. And he also didn’t like how frequently it continued to surface.

“You sure this monster’s real?” Sanji asked, hoping to lighten the mood a bit as he packed up the cooking utensils as well. “Y’know, maybe I imagined it. A hunger-induced hallucination or something.”

He was teasing, of course, knowing that what he’d seen had been real, as he was unable to forget it to that day, the creature’s intense eyes and warm breath still haunting him each time something moved in the corner of his eye.

There might not have been reports that day in particular, but more often than not, there was a new farmer at the palace every morning with fearful complaints of trampled crops or slaughtered livestock far too close to the Capital.

And yet, where was it?

Why was Zoro incapable of tracking it now when he’d clearly been able to find it before? Would they even find it when they went out that night? Had Sanji’s luck just been extraordinarily bad when he’d first arrived in Wano…?

Zoro huffed out a breath, his lips tilting up a bit humorlessly before he finally muttered, “I wish…”

Sanji knew that look on Zoro’s face. It was a look that meant he was somewhere else, at least in his mind, somewhere far away.

The blond finished packing the dishes and returned to sit across from Zoro again, crossing his legs and scooting a little closer than before, his knees not far from Zoro’s. His fingers wrung absently in his lap, itching with the strange urge to forcibly lift Zoro’s head to meet his eye.

Thankfully, Zoro did it on his own, the swordsman looking surprised for a moment at their close proximity. But it was perhaps more surprising when, after a few heartbeats, Zoro pushed off his palm and tentatively leaned forward to be closer as well.

“Why do you want this thing dead so bad?” Sanji managed to ask, despite his mind briefly clouding somewhere around the angled line of Zoro’s jaw, the small freckles that he’d never noticed before sporadically dotting his face.

Had there always been flecks of gold in his eyes?

“You know why,” the swordsman said. “It’s dangerous. It could hurt—”

Sanji shook his head.

“No, why do you want it dead?” he interrupted, his hand reaching out of its own accord to poke Zoro’s chest. “Has it hurt you?”

He retracted his finger quickly, but Zoro’s eyes lingered on the spot for a moment longer before he sighed heavily.

“It didn’t used to be like this…” he eventually replied quietly, Sanji watching Zoro’s brows lower, his gaze averting to the grass beside them. “It didn’t cause any trouble. But then...it...lost control. I don’t know how or why, but...at night, it…” He shook his head, expression darkening. “All it sees now is prey...things to be hunted. I can’t stop it. Every time I think I’m close, it slips away… And I lose it.”

It was a vague answer to Sanji’s question, and he couldn’t help but think there was more Zoro wasn’t telling him. Not for the first time, Sanji wondered if the beast hadn’t slipped away with more than he let on.

And yet it was strange to him, because the emotion Sanji sensed from the swordsman was hardly rage, certainly not a reaction he’d expect from someone seeking revenge.

No, it was more like defeat, something Sanji couldn’t understand when Zoro met every other aspect of his training with heart and determination. He knew now that Zoro could take on the beast physically without a doubt. So what was blocking him mentally?

And at the same time, he couldn’t understand why his own subconscious view of the beast had so shifted over time. Why the thought of facing it scared him for the logical reasons, but far less than the prospect of facing his family… He wasn’t yet capable enough to fight either, but he was finding his curiosity over something that could definitely tear him to shreds growing.

Even at night, when he should have been terrified, lying awake in his quarters, he no longer imagined the phantom scratch of the creature’s claws, nor saw its fierce eyes as something to be intimidated by. Maybe that was because, on more than one occasion, another pair of fierce eyes had occupied his mind, the same pair that looked up at him sharply when Sanji admitted, “I’ve had dreams about it.”

That wasn’t all he’d begun to have dreams about, but Zoro didn’t need to know all of that.

“Surprising thing is, they weren’t all bad,” he settled for saying instead, watching the way Zoro’s brows lowered in confusion and perhaps shock. Sanji shrugged. “It was even...protecting me, a lot of the time. From...figments of my past…”

He sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean,” the blond admitted with a shrug, averting his gaze to pick absently at the sash belting his waist. “I know it sounds strange, but…I dunno, it makes me think maybe I could actually stand up to it now…”

It was a stupid admission, considering he’d been cowering under Tama’s huge golden pet not long before, and surely Zoro knew it too, though the swordsman said nothing. Instead, Zoro’s eyes replied, as they often did. He felt their gaze as intensely as if he’d physically seized him, but Sanji couldn’t meet it, his own gaze landing on Zoro’s Seal.

He’d nearly memorized its design by that point, those angry symmetrical strokes looking ready to burst free from their confining oval, evoking power in their own right. Sometimes Sanji thought he could recognize its design, just as he saw shapes in the clouds or the stars…

For once, he didn’t feel that ugly twinge of jealousy that so often plagued him when he thought about Zoro’s dormant power. Perhaps it was his responsibility to close that gap between them himself, if he so wanted to be strong.

Sanji’s heart picked up speed against his will as an ever persistent question brewed in his mind. He’d asked it before...more demanded it, but this time his tone was soft, patient, as he tentatively brought eyes to the swordsman’s.

“Zoro, can you...show me sometime...your Seal?” he breathed, the words coming slowly, as if that would quell a bad reaction. “Or tell me what it is…? I just…”

But, perhaps predictably, Zoro’s eyes widened, his chest hitching with a sharper inhale. His lips parted, but before he could say anything, Sanji was already reeling back his question.

“I’m sorry...nevermind,” he muttered, unable to stop the surge of disappointment that rushed him.

Thankfully, Tama’s voice cut through the air, and Sanji was glad for the distraction when he glanced over to see the girl waving goodbye to Komachiyo as the great beast lumbered off into the woods. Its massive paws crushed undergrowth, tongue lolling, panting loudly, but soon, somehow, the creature’s golden hide melted into the streams of sunlight cutting through the trees and it disappeared from sight.

Tama was coming their way, her smile just as sunny.

“He had fun!” she chirped when she reached Zoro’s side, the swordsman’s troubled gaze now fixed on his lap. She didn’t seem to sense the tension that had washed over the two. “I’ll call him to train with you tomorrow if you want! Maybe Hihimaru will come too! He can fight with a katana, you know!”

Abruptly, Zoro stood, and for a moment, Sanji expected him to storm away without a word.

But he spoke, if quietly.

“We should head back. You need to rest if we’re going out tonight,” he muttered, gaze flicking to Sanji’s briefly, though it quickly darted away when he noticed Sanji looking at him already.

Sanji’s eyes lingered, silently cursing his own curiosity. Was it not enough to let Zoro keep his closely-guarded secrets? It should have been.

But Sanji knew it wasn’t mere curiosity now.

He cared. He actually gave a shit about the oaf because Zoro was the first person who’d shown him that same respect. He tried not to feel entitled to Zoro’s secrets, but he’d at least expected he’d done enough to earn Zoro’s trust.

It seemed that wasn’t so. Perhaps he had more growing to do than he’d thought.

His disappointment redirecting to himself, Sanji got to his feet as well.

Amigasa was peaceful when they returned. Despite the villagers’ muttered disdain the first time Zoro and Sanji had arrived in town together weeks ago, they were merely greeted with silence now, Zoro ignored entirely and his foreign companion barely acknowledged. The glares still came, but without the words to strengthen them, they often fell away easily when met with a glower of Sanji’s own.

It seemed his reputation now preceded him as a strange presence in the kingdom. Friend of the Empress, but also inexplicably attached to the scorned swordsman, his true loyalties a mystery, but Sanji couldn’t care. Orochi hadn’t approached him again since their heated introduction, nor had he seen much of the man, but Sanji could swear he often felt a pair of beady, spiteful eyes watching him every time he passed a particularly dark doorway.

Most likely his imagination, and with cheerful Tama leading the way along the dusty path, it was hard to fear much.

And it was clearly hard for the villagers to remain focused on their presence for long. Living off the land gave them less time for gossip and fixation, unlike the residents of the Capital, who took far more interest in making their displeasure towards Zoro known.

Every day he saw the ingenious ways the people of Amigasa used their Seals, for food, heat, and transportation. The villagers didn’t have much, but it was clear their powers brought them worth and purpose in a kingdom that seemed determined to cast them out.

And yet, Sanji heard no talk of dissent, something he was both relieved and baffled by. Sanji couldn’t bear to see the Empress hurt after all she’d done for him, but he knew the discontent festering beneath the village’s calm facade. He’d seen it in Orochi’s hateful eyes, and certainly heard it in his voice, that grating voice that now filtered into his ears as soon as he exited Hitetsu’s house, after thanking Tsuru and Tama and bidding them farewell for the day.

Zoro had stayed outside as usual, but his voice was also audible from the alley beside the smithery. Heart picking up an unsteady thud in his chest, Sanji found himself stopping, staying hidden around the corner to try and hear the conversation.

He caught the end of Orochi’s sentence.

“—and that’s why you’re going to do it,” the man said sneeringly.

“And what do I tell Hiyori,” Zoro replied, sounding defiant and irritated. “Do you actually think she’ll be happy if—?”

“Kawamatsu will. Besides, I’m sure Her Majesty will approve if she finds there was a traitor in her midst all along.”

Sanji’s stomach clenched uncomfortably, but Zoro’s response was immediate, tone rising in anger. “No… No, don’t even think about—!”

“Do you not want change, boy?” Orochi growled. “Or have you stopped seeking acceptance?”

“I don’t want it like this! I’ll earn it properly.”

“Then what else have the past few weeks been for, if not to earn it properly.”

Zoro fell silent for a long moment, something that set Sanji’s nerves on edge before he finally replied, “I won’t do it.”

Sanji heard Orochi’s sneer in his voice.

“Oh, but I think you will…”

“You won’t make me do a damn thing,” Zoro gritted out, true discomfort and maybe a little panic in the harsh words.

Again, silence followed, the blond trying hard to keep his breathing quiet, pressing his back flat against the wall of the house as if to ground himself. Orochi’s feet scuffed in the dirt, his voice sounding far closer to the corner.

“Tread carefully, Roronoa,” he muttered. “The captain will return one day. And what do you think he will do if things in Wano aren’t as he intended…”

Feet shifted again, and Sanji had just enough time to duck back into the genkan of the house before Orochi moved back out onto the street, his ankles visible beneath the cloths barely obscuring Sanji from view in the doorway.

The blond waited, glad Tsuru and Tama had left the main room as his heart still thundered and his breaths heaved far too shakily under the lingering menace of the conversation.

What the fuck was Orochi trying to do? What was he trying to use Zoro for? No matter what, Zoro wouldn’t hurt the Empress. Sanji knew that. But did Zoro have faith in himself…?

He waited until Orochi was out of sight, nothing but his footprints left in the dirt. Sanji poked his head out through the doorway tentatively, letting out a sigh of relief when the man was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t waste time then, rounding the corner of the house, into the alley, where he found Zoro standing, leaning back heavily against the wall, looking just as unsettled as the blond.

Zoro’s eyes flew up to meet his, wide and oddly frantic for a moment, as if Sanji had truly startled him, before they narrowed quickly and he stepped closer to growl, “You should go. Now.”

Surprised at his tone, Sanji could only stumble back towards the mouth of the alley as Zoro entered his space, seemingly to herd him away with sheer intimidation alone. His energy had changed, entirely severe and almost deadly. Not since their first meeting had Sanji seen him so serious.

“Zoro, what the hell is—hey! Stop! Let go!” Sanji cried when Zoro’s hand clamped onto his bicep hard, dragging him along painfully for a few steps before Sanji wrenched himself free.

He grabbed hold of Zoro’s arm instead, noting the rapid rise and fall of the man’s chest, and giving him a shake until their eyes finally met again.

“Zoro,” he said sharply, staring until the swordsman’s gaze seemed to relax, pupils dilating as he slowly came back from whatever panic had overcome him until he stood, calmer, but somewhat guilty, under Sanji’s scrutiny.

Something was certainly wrong. Something about that conversation with Orochi had shaken the stoic swordsman, enough that Sanji let his own annoyance simmer down, his voice softening for Zoro’s sake.

“What’s going on,” he pressed, Zoro’s eyes having yet to leave his, anchored there as if Sanji could somehow remedy everything. “With Orochi. What does he want you to do?”

But Zoro was quick to shake his head dismissively.

Sanji huffed his frustration.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to listen to him! You’re stronger than him,” Sanji insisted, feeling his heartbeat pick up when Zoro didn’t reply, merely continued watching him mutely.

Eventually, Zoro let out a longer breath and muttered, “You should go,” a little more gently. “Wait for me at the palace. Do not leave until I come to get you tonight.”

But Sanji was stubborn. He knew a diversion when he saw one, so he tightened his grip on the swordsman when he tried to pull away.

“Zoro, what’s happening,” he urged again. “Tell me, please—”

“Don’t let anyone touch you,” Zoro interrupted, his tone adamant.

“Why? What’s—?”

“Anyone, especially not an old woman—long, white hair—if you see her, don’t let her near you.”

What? Why, for fuck’s sake? “Zoro, this is freaking me out!”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe until I come for you!”

“Only if you tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Zoro rolled his eyes in response, a frustrated noise escaping him. A heavy beat passed which Sanji mistook for his surrender.

“I’ll tell you…” Zoro muttered, and Sanji nearly felt accomplished. But then he finished, “—after I come get you—”

“Then no deal—!” Sanji cried, releasing Zoro’s arm only to throw up his own hands.

“Will you just—trust me on this?” the swordsman asked. “Please?”

Zoro’s eyes were back on Sanji’s, this time to enhance his plea, and Sanji was surprised to see a very real desperation there, a hint that the swordsman’s panic over the matter hadn’t gone away. Was it that serious? Was Orochi really planning something? He couldn’t know unless Zoro told him!

Sanji hated that those dark eyes had any sway over his own stubbornness…

But, after all, he’d already decided long ago to trust the man.

He didn’t say as much out loud though, merely sighed his irritation and glared at Zoro for a long moment before muttering, “Keep your word.”

Sanji would get his answers if he had to pry them out of the man’s stupid mouth.

Zoro looked away and let out a breath through his nose, a strangely disappointed sound, though Sanji couldn’t fathom why.

But he nodded shortly in agreement.

That left Sanji with a moment to size up the other man, judging his sincerity.

Ultimately, he dropped the matter, turning on his heel and storming off to head back to the palace, leaving the swordsman where he stood in the shadows.

The way back to the Capital was quiet. Sanji had traveled it enough times now that he could do so without worry. He even knew the wooded glen where Sakanabi liked to bask, making it easier to locate the giant fish whenever he wanted to hitch a ride. He was no longer wary of doing so alone either, though he could have sworn he’d seen a certain companion trailing him. Maybe those glimpses of a lanky crane soaring low over the rice fields were just his imagination, but it was comforting to think Tsuru was watching out for him. He hadn’t exactly experienced that often in his life.

Hiyori was nowhere to be seen when he made it back to the palace, so he retreated to his quarters, feeling an emotional exhaustion that he hadn’t felt in a while. He found himself lying on his futon for far longer than planned, the breeze whispering through his open windows as he watched the changing light dance over the ceiling, warming steadily towards sunset. He tried not to think about what he’d overheard in the village, but, try as he might, he couldn’t stop Zoro’s conversation with Orochi from replaying over and over in his mind.

Eventually, Sanji was too restless to remain still, so he changed his clothes, putting on a dark, midnight blue robe, knowing the camouflage would do little to deter the beast if they encountered it in the forest, but he’d rather buy himself a few seconds of life at least.

He picked at the evening meal brought to him, forcing himself to finish all of it, even though his stomach had begun to turn itself into knots in anticipation of the night that followed. He trusted Zoro to keep him safe. He did. He’d wanted this, after all, perhaps foolishly, but he had to follow through, no matter his nerves.

By the time he left his room, having packed in his satchel some of the rice left over from his dinner, securing his sword at his hip, his heart had joined his stomach, practically doing flips in his chest. This was the time of day when he’d normally seek out Hiyori for a short training session, and surely she was expecting him to meet her outside the temple grounds. Not since the first news of Germa’s troops in Goa had he bolted from the palace so suddenly. Since then, he’d apologized for his panic, always informed Hiyori where he was going.

He thought he heard hers and Kawamatsu’s voices from within when he slunk by the entrance to the temple grounds… A twinge of guilt as he debated telling her he was joining Zoro’s hunt that night. She might worry, and if this ended up being his last night alive, he knew he wanted to say goodbye.

But instead, he hurried past, sticking to the shadows, and made his way at dusk to the gardens where he knew the swordsman liked to lounge in the trees. They hadn’t set a meeting place, but they never really did. Zoro always managed to find him somehow.

He waited, sitting on a stone bench bathed in orange light from a nearby lantern. He had no idea who lit them, the flames almost seeming to appear on their own as soon as the sun disappeared below the trees.

He waited until, finally, he heard the familiar scuff of sandals on the path, the swordsman’s broad form appearing out of the darkness, stopping before him.

Sanji felt a heavy sigh brewing in the expectant silence that followed, wondering if he should apologize for his prying earlier but feeling his impatience win out, particularly when Zoro merely stood there, stoic, and jerked his head for Sanji to get up and follow him.

Sanji did, the two of them starting off down the path towards the town, walking in silence out onto the darkening streets, the usual bustle of pedestrians dispersing with the sunlight.

They walked for a good while, neither saying a word, not about Orochi or anything, Sanji’s stolen glances growing more frequent, his impatience growing until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

As soon as they reached the outskirts of the Capital, he rounded on the swordsman.

“So?”

He received a mere grunt in response.

“When are you going to explain?” he pressed.

Zoro still didn’t reply, his expression completely passive to Sanji’s irritation.

“I stayed at the castle; I didn’t let anyone touch me, and I didn’t even see any old ladies, so keep your shitty word and tell me what the hell Orochi was trying to get you to do!”

This time, he saw the corners of Zoro’s lips turn up in a tiny smirk, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes, nor did the swordsman even look his way.

“Orochi needs to get the Empress’ attention. We all do,” Zoro finally answered, his voice low.

“Who is ‘we’?” Sanji huffed.

“She is scared to integrate us,” Zoro replied, almost robotically, Sanji thought. “She can’t see our potential—the power we can offer Wano. She needs to see the truth of it.”

The blond scoffed loudly, hardly recognizing Zoro’s odd tone.

“Did Orochi tell you to say that? You know that’s not how Hiyori feels.”

“And are you sure you know?”

“I—” Sanji stammered. “Of course I’m sure! What does this even have to do with anything?”

“You can help us,” Zoro said simply. “You will help us.”

Sanji huffed. It was too much. His words were too cryptic to be conjured by the swordsman’s tiny brain, and it was enough to make Sanji stop in his tracks, grabbing Zoro’s arm and tugging him back to face him.

“Hey. For fuck’s sake—look at me!”

Zoro did…. And his cold expression nearly sent a chill down Sanji’s spine, his eyes devoid of any of his usual warmth, seeing Sanji but almost looking straight through him. Something was wrong. Something was terribly off, though Sanji didn’t know what.

His hands itched to touch the swordsman’s face, to coax the life back into his expression, but he refrained with difficulty.

“Why are you saying all this?” he asked instead, almost desperately. “Zoro, I told you, you don’t have to listen to him! I—”

He stopped himself, letting out a heavy sigh before deciding to let go of all of his cards. If Zoro got angry with him, so be it.

“Look, I know, okay?” he admitted slowly, wary of Zoro’s reaction. “Tsuru and Hiyori told me. I know that Kaido brought you here when you were young—what he—exchanged you for, but—that doesn’t mean he has any hold on you. Not him, or any of his cronies o-or—” Another frustrated huff. “None of that matters now. It’s a debt you shouldn’t be responsible for paying. All of this—all of this was Kaido’s doing. Things wouldn’t be the way they are now if not for Kaido, and Kaido alone. You had no part in it.”

He paused, wondering how the fuck he could get this through the mosshead’s thick head before continuing.

“You told me I’m not like my father. Well, you’re not like Kaido. You wouldn’t have dedicated yourself to the Empress if you were. You wouldn’t have—saved my life or tried to train me all this time. You wouldn’t have been my—my shitty friend—if that’s what you can even call this…”

His heart was in his throat, embarrassment creeping over him because Zoro still hadn’t responded in any way, merely stared back as if Sanji’s words didn’t even register.

“Dammit, say something!” Sanji growled, giving the man a rough shake. He’d just acknowledged Zoro as a friend, for fuck’s sake! Shouldn’t that at least embarrass him enough to say something? Protest? Cringe? Burst into flame like he normally did? Anything was better than this silence!

Instead, Zoro leveled him with a gaze devoid of any emotion.

“You have no idea what I am,” the swordsman said, his words chilling the air between them.

Then he reached up, his fingers curling around Sanji’s wrist to pry his hand off his arm, his grip strong enough to bruise, his touch harsh and callous. Sanji remembered, vividly, the man’s warm, trembling grasp when Zoro had pleaded with him to stay in Wano.... This didn’t even feel like the same hand...

The swordsman brushed Sanji aside unceremoniously and moved past, walking off with purpose towards the edge of town and the dark sea of rice fields beyond. As he left the orange glow of the street lanterns, Sanji could only stare after him, incredulous, for a few long moments until he feared he’d lose him, and not just to the dark, so he hurried to catch up, fury in his steps.

“I would if you’d just talk to me!” he growled, nothing but the glint of Zoro’s three identically black-sheathed swords to act as a beacon in the moonlight as the man stepped onto a narrow dirt path cutting through the swishing stalks of rice.

He could barely register that Zoro’s prized ivory sword was nowhere to be seen before he noticed, ahead of them, silhouettes moving slightly in the darkness of the fields, not deer this time, but people, clearly waiting for them.

Sanji hesitated, catching the glimmer of serious eyes when the figures turned towards them.

“Zoro, what is this?” he muttered when he finally caught up to his side. “A whole hunting party—?”

But then, his words cut off when Zoro grabbed a fistful of Sanji’s robe, yanking him forward roughly.

“You talk too much,” the man gritted harshly into his ear, his voice barely recognizable as his own, then he shoved Sanji ahead with enough force to send him stumbling, nearly falling to the path below.

The blond’s pulse thundered in his ears, not understanding Zoro’s behavior, not understanding why suddenly, things had changed and the swordsman was treating him with such contempt. He wanted to fight back, to yell at Zoro for this with genuine anger. This wasn’t how they teased. This wasn’t how they fought. The words they threw at each other never stung, and maybe that was precisely why he liked Zoro so much. Zoro understood, inexplicably so, where to draw the line. And even if he did push it too far, the swordsman’s stupid eyes were expressive enough to betray any emotion, any regret he tried so hard to hide. Sanji knew that all too well by now.

But in that moment, there was no hint of the idiot underneath. He was acting like—

“Ah, Roronoa. Right on time. Far easier this way, wasn’t it.”

An ugly laugh, low and grating, and Sanji could just make out the stout, jagged form of Orochi standing ahead of them on the path, seeming to take up far more space than any other figure, despite having the shortest stature.

Sanji felt his stomach twist, not knowing where to turn when the swordsman merely stepped up silently to Sanji’s side, not looking surprised in the least.

Orochi turned then, features barely visible save for a flash of teeth when he addressed another figure, that of a tall, slender woman moving closer to the path. She wore a long cape, reminding Sanji of the now tattered one he’d worn on his journey from Germa, the heavy velvet absorbing all light. Her rosy hair flipped outwards where it touched her shoulders, and her amused lips were glossy and familiar when they twitched upward into a smirk reminiscent of his own.

“Here he is, Princess. Safe and sound, as promised,” Orochi said, gesturing to the astounded blond.

The woman drew closer, into the direct path of the moonlight. Her eyes, blue like their mother’s, stared pointedly at him.

“Sanji. It’s been a while, little brother.”

Chapter Text

It’s been a while, little brother.

Her words were smooth, and her tone was casual to the ignorant ear, as if he’d only been away on a journey. Yet, while Sanji should have been glad it was his sister, of anyone in his family, who stood before him, the cold apathy behind her stare was more than enough to remind him.

Reiju’s presence was anything but comforting.

‘A while’ would never be long enough to erase years of torment.

Sanji couldn’t react, feeling his brain begin to numb in familiar fashion, starting its instinctive retreat to a far corner of consciousness where nothing could hurt him, neither insults nor physical harm.

He felt himself standing there on that dirt path, the night breeze chilling the air, the gleaming eyes of dozens upon him, both Orochi’s villagers and his sister’s soldiers alike. His memory flitted back to the herds of deer he’d struggled to hunt on his nights alone in the forest, dotting the fields like mushrooms waiting to be picked. But now, he was the hunted.

His vision had begun to dull, as it hadn’t in weeks, at the sight of Germa’s forces, those black-clad forms blurring slowly into identical shadows he could barely register as people. His mind stumbled backward out of his body, disconnecting itself as its only method of defense.

No dungeon bars separated him from the world at that moment, yet the Sanji he’d been with Zoro—the stronger person he’d so loved becoming—why did it slip away so easily, upon merely seeing a glimmer of his past? Why did it—? He didn’t want to—

A large hand shoved him roughly to the ground, the jolt to his back and the grind of his knees against the fine rocks beneath enough to rattle him back into his body, his dissociation cruelly halted.

It was Zoro’s hand that had pushed him, the swordsman looming behind him in a way that was hardly comforting either, a fact that was heartbreaking to Sanji in ways he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

It was Zoro—his friend, or so he’d thought—who had brought him here, inexplicably, standing unphased before Orochi and the villagers, the swordsman’s own tormentors, as if he too had disconnected himself from the world…from everyone…even Sanji.

The blond struggled to hold onto his trust in the swordsman, now as devastatingly thin as sand sifting through his fingers.

The silhouette of Reiju’s cloak fluttered, a tattered wing, the smoky scent of gunpowder on the wind—the scent of his father’s training grounds.

“Come, Sanji,” she said quietly, reaching out towards him with a gloved hand. “I don’t want to make this difficult.”

The gesture was a semblance of kindness, her tall form a picture of regality in her ruffled collar and intricately patterned tunic. But her icy gaze was as dead as the portraits that lined Germa’s palace halls, hollow and unfeeling.

And thus, Sanji was able to muster the defiance he felt inside so strongly. He was there, present in that horrible moment, but he could fight back now. He would. He need only think of what Reiju was to him. Nothing but false, painted perfection hung over cold, hard stone.

“No,” he replied, voice low in a forceful tone she likely hadn’t heard from him before. It was one he himself hadn’t known he’d possessed until very recently. But he would damn well use it now as the adamance rose within him. “I’m not going back.”

If his sister was surprised, she didn’t show it, the slight pause before her reply the only indication of any tension before she said, “We’re going home—”

He interrupted immediately, disgusted at the very suggestion.

“It was never my home, and you know it!” he growled. “Especially not now that Mother is—” He cut himself off with a grit of his teeth, still unable to let the word escape him, even if his bitterness threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t waver.

Reiju remained silent, so he continued.

“I’m not going with you. I can’t go back to that cel—”

“Father will allow you your own quarters—” she started, but he merely scowled.

“Why? What could he possibly want me back for?” Sanji hissed. “He had no use for me! He wanted me dead!”

“You wouldn’t be alive now if he’d wanted that.”

It was what Zoro had wondered, in a futile attempt at comfort, not truly knowing what Sanji was running from. But hearing the words from his sister’s mouth, when she’d helped perpetuate his father’s cruelty, he couldn’t forgive them.

His glower took on the fresh heat of rage, even as Reiju sighed and walked closer, crouching down gracefully before him, the hem of her belted tunic skimming the ground.

“Sanji, I tried,” she murmured, her face decidedly more human at close proximity, and Sanji struggled to ignore how much she resembled their mother, as pale as she looked in the moonlight. “I always tried to advocate for you,” she continued. “But Father… Father is—”

“It’s too late, Reiju—” he growled in quick dismissal. If she’d tried, she hadn’t tried hard enough. She’d had years—years.

“Things can be different now,” she pressed, a gloved hand reaching out for him before she drew it back to her side as if thinking otherwise. “You know that. Now that you have—”

“Why should I believe you?!” The words burst from his lips at long last, words he’d stopped himself from saying more and more often as time had passed and his sister’s consolations rang empty. Now he let them flow freely. “Why would I ever believe you? You were all I had! I trusted you. I trusted you every time like a fool and look where it got me!”

He remembered, after all, his failures at training, his sister’s hand on his shoulder as she led him inside, only for her to shuffle away with mumbled apologies when their father came to reprimand him.

He remembered her assurances that his faked death was good, that it would remove the constant pressure he felt to live up to his country’s standards.

Her empty promises to help him sneak out of the palace, enjoy a day of anonymity outside his cell, to bring back books, extra food, paper for him to jot down recipes. Promises to tell their ailing mother why he never came to visit nor assured her he was alright.

Promises to protect him from their brothers, promises that next time, next time would be different. That she’d pluck up the courage to stand up to Father then and never now.

Now was too difficult. Now wasn’t the right time, and he’d waited and waited for an ‘eventually’ that never came.

He’d always believed her, handed control of his life into her fickle grasp.

Why had he done that? Why had he believed he didn’t matter? Why hadn’t he just stood up and said—

“I’m taking back my own life.”

And with those words, he was back on his feet, shoving off even Zoro’s hand to rise above his sister, Reiju staring at him silently until she slowly pushed herself up too. He stood marginally taller than her now.

Sanji waited for a semblance of understanding in her eyes, unable to snuff out the hope that maybe the time had finally come when she’d support him. Too little, too late, but dammit, she was his last hope for a family, as far as he was concerned.

Indeed, something tumultuous brewed in her features, something that he couldn’t quite place. Something completely fleeting before her face froze over again, the crevasse of worry he imagined furrowing her brow smoothing back into marble.

Reiju pushed to her feet and turned her head slightly, shooting a glance over her shoulder with a subtle nod.

And then, figures descended swiftly upon him from either side, hands grabbing his arms violently and wrenching them behind his back.

He struggled instantly, thrashing in their grasp as fear filled his chest, and he stupidly, so stupidly, turned to Zoro. On pure instinct, he turned to his only friend for help.

“Zoro—Zoro! Help me!” he gritted out, his eyes hot and skin burning where his captors’ fingers dug into his arms like talons.

Zoro didn’t move, merely stared down at him dully, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face.

It was different. It was again so different from their first meeting. There was nothing behind Zoro’s stare. No enjoyment, no malice, just emptiness, and Sanji knew it wasn’t him. This wasn’t the annoying idiot who’d trained him so determinedly, looked at him with such fierce support and warmth that couldn’t be faked. He knew false kindness, and he didn’t think the swordsman capable, however much he liked to pretend otherwise.

“Dammit, mosshead, snap out of it, please—!” he cried, desperate now to break through whatever was keeping Zoro from reacting, but it was no use. The swordsman was a statue, cold and unmoving.

The soldiers gripped him tighter against his escape attempts, his knees dragging in the dirt as they pulled him toward his sister’s side. His sword was still belted to his hip, but he couldn’t reach it, feeble kicks doing nothing, legs unable to gain their footing.

Just when he found himself giving up, movement began to close in on his sister’s troops, Orochi and his men stepping forward threateningly with hands and weapons raised.

For an odd moment, Sanji wondered if they’d decided to help him after all, especially when Orochi’s voice rumbled, “I’m afraid we can’t make things that easy either, Princess.”

But then, Sanji caught a glimpse of the man’s teeth, sneering with amusement.

“A Germa defeat will be all too redeeming for us with Seals, after all.”

Redeeming…?

Sanji’s eyes narrowed, flicking to Zoro inadvertently when his captors momentarily ceased their assault. Had Orochi and the villagers truly come to take on his sister’s troops? Did they really think it would win them favor in Wano?

Zoro, predictably, gave nothing away.

“Our sole purpose was to retrieve my brother,” Reiju replied, her expression as cold and empty as Zoro’s. “We will not attack your people.”

Orochi simply sneered back, his eyes beady slits.

“Perhaps you need some incentive,” he growled.

Then he turned his head towards Zoro.

“Roronoa, kill him. He’s just in the way.”

Almost instantly, Sanji felt the grip on his arms loosen, then drop altogether as the soldier holding him fell to his knees with a choked gasp, a spray of blood spurting from his throat where Zoro had sliced it.

The man slumped to the ground, unmoving, a glow visible beneath his armor before the shape of a Seal lifted off his chest, hovering there for a few seconds before vanishing into the night.

And for a fleeting moment, Sanji had hope, watching the life leave his captor. Maybe he would escape. Maybe Zoro would help him after all.

But that hope was quickly squashed the moment Zoro’s hand yanked him by the collar, wrenching his head back, the blade of his sword pressing against Sanji’s jugular.

He swallowed, his heart pounding as he took in the last sight he’d see before his death—the eruption of chaos. The villagers rushed Germa's soldiers on Orochi's order, the field quickly filling with battle sounds, cries of pain echoing in the night.

He whimpered his final words—

“Zoro, please…!”

—only to be met with an ear-splitting roar overpowering the battlefield.

The men barely had time to react before an enormous dark form leapt clear overhead from the direction of the forest. Nothing but a black shadow soared through the air, growing larger by the second until four giant paws landed directly in front of Sanji with a thunderous thump, and he found himself face to face with the Night Beast.

Zoro's blade left Sanji's throat when the beast swiped over the blond's head, giving the swordsman no choice but to raise his sword to block, massive claws clashing with the steel, like blades in their own right.

Sanji dropped to the ground instinctively, throwing hands over his head as the monster surged forward again, this time with its teeth, paws barely missing him when the creature ran forward on the attack.

Familiar panic ravaged his chest, clenching and squeezing, leaving his breaths ragged and his heart struggling to keep up.

He couldn't move, his eyes darting between the clashing bodies above him—nothing but flashes of weapons, animalistic appendages as Seals were used, and glows of otherworldly powers.

Reiju was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t follow any of the writhing action—didn’t want to—the screams, the murder in the eyes of both sides overloading his senses from every direction.

He had no one. He was alone. His sister would take him captive again, if he wasn’t killed first. And the one person he’d thought was different was—

Sanji couldn't help but turn, fearfully searching for Zoro amidst the devastation. His gaze locked on the beast, towering over the swordsman, driving him further away from Sanji with ferocious, bloodthirsty growls and swipes.

And Zoro—strong, invincible Zoro—was barely holding it off, his movements slow and clumsy, his face wrought with his own panic, the first emotion Sanji had seen from him all night.

He had to help him. Zoro had betrayed him, but dammit, it was Zoro. Even with the fresh memory of that blade digging into his throat, Sanji couldn’t believe he’d decided this all on his own. Orochi had something to do with it, and though he didn’t know if he could forgive him, he couldn’t even try if the swordsman was dead.

And something about that thought terrified him more than the monster, more than his sister and Orochi combined.

He was on his feet, sword drawn before he fully knew it. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but already he was pushing through his shock, stumbling through the grass, his eyes fixed on the swordsman.

A cry to his left, the robe of a Germa soldier billowing towards him, and Sanji twisted, his sword blocking a fist made of stone from crushing through his skull.

He didn’t think about the way his body moved on its own, didn’t think about the look of surprise on the man’s face before he kicked him hard in the side with a quick pivot, the man collapsing to the ground. He didn’t think about the strong desire to stab him through the chest, a desire he just barely pushed down.

There was nothing but Zoro in his mind, a prolonged shout of pain he’d never heard from the swordsman echoing in his ears as the beast clamped its jaws into his shoulder with a crunching squelch. It shook him vigorously in its grip before dropping him heavily to the ground, his form nothing more than a rag doll.

Sanji broke into a run. Zoro wasn’t moving.

“Zoro!” he screamed, sprinting now, another horrified cry leaving his throat when the beast descended, again and again, gouging the already mangled swordsman repeatedly.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, how he was going to fight it off… He didn’t know if Zoro would even live, but he still ran.

Perhaps the monster would have kept going, mad with bloodlust, had a group of Germa soldiers not intervened, one lashing out with arms that had turned to rope, another with thick vines that fought to restrain the beast.

It fought back, its attention now focused on the soldiers, and it was just enough of a distraction for Sanji to reach Zoro’s side, the blond falling to his knees in a pool of blood beneath his mutilated form.

“Zoro!” he cried, hands unsure where to land when the body before him seemed less man than raw meat. Was he even breathing? “Zoro, fuck—look at me! Look at me!”

His touch found Zoro’s face, stroking his cheeks.

“Open your damn eyes, mosshead! Why did you—what the fuck did they do to you?”

Zoro still wasn’t moving, his skin cold and pale, the moonlight glistening off the sea of red coating his body. His wounds were severe, unsurvivable, surely, but Sanji couldn’t go through it again. The pain of his mother’s death was still so fresh. To lose Zoro…the strongest person he’d ever known…

“I need you—you can’t—! Come on… Come on, please…”

He should have been trying to stop the bleeding. He should have been doing anything more than just staring desperately, tears streaming down his face, his pleas and whispers lost on deaf ears.

Or so he’d thought…

Amazingly, impossibly, a groan left the swordsman’s throat, his chest hitching with it, and Sanji gasped as his eyes fluttered open, just barely.

But it was enough to make a jolt of alarm shoot through the blond when he realized those eyes were the wrong color. They were not the deep, warm brown he was used to, but instead an odd light gray, and in fact, the colors were fluctuating, struggling between the familiar and unfamiliar.

The swordsman coughed, blood coming with it, but a grating chuckle followed, his voice sounding strange…raspy…

Sanji’s hands leapt off the swordsman’s face when his skin began to shift beneath his touch, morphing and stretching grotesquely. His fingers began to twist and curl, knuckles becoming gnarled, veins protruding. His muscles seemed to shrink.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

This was not Zoro. This was not the man he’d started to—

“It will only be your undoing, boy…”

The voice that choked out of the swordsman belonged to someone else entirely, and a second later, the body that lay beneath him, eyes blank and unseeing, was that of an old woman, her white hair long and tangled, translucent skin stretched thin over destroyed bones.

It was the same woman he’d run into at the palace… The same woman he could have sworn accompanied Orochi earlier that day…

Zoro had warned him not to let an old woman near him… He’d been stupid, so stupid. He hadn’t thought…

But how had she…?

Then, from beneath the tattered fabric of her robe, a glow, the oval shape of a Seal floating upwards. It hovered there, temptingly, for a second before it vanished into the night air with her final rattled exhale.

This wasn’t Zoro, Sanji realized, torn between horror and complete and utter relief. It hadn’t been Zoro, which meant Zoro was alive, and for a moment, he worried that this woman had disguised herself as him the entire time he’d known him, but no. There was simply no way.

He’d been right. Zoro would have never turned him in. Zoro would have done anything to protect him, which raised the question—the terrified, panicked question of where he was. Where the real Zoro was.

Was he hurt? Captured? He was alive. He had to be. He was alive! But where was he?

Sanji found himself frantically scanning the battlefield, his gaze fearfully roving over fallen forms and closely studying fighting ones.

The beast was nearby, roaring and hissing with rage as it fought off attackers from both sides. Why had it come? Why wasn’t it leavi—?

Suddenly, hands grabbed him from behind, coiling over his shoulders and dragging him through the grass again. He struggled, smelling his father’s gunpowder on his captor’s sleeves, but his fight was slowing, the shock of the carnage he’d witnessed starting to catch up to him, even if his heart still thundered in fear for Zoro—not even for himself anymore…

His vision was spotty, flashes of red, the scent of blood in his nose, his breaths coming far too quickly.

There was a huge shadow bounding straight towards him, but he couldn’t react, the action around him seeming to grate by at a sluggish pace.

That shadow swiped over Sanji’s head, a severed one shooting past him like a cannonball as it swiftly decapitated his captor.

He fell to the ground, rolling to his side, unable to move anymore, his body trembling with panicked breaths as he watched the shadow rear up to towering heights as it fought off more soldiers.

A slash of a blade across the shadow’s torso, blood spraying outward. A ferocious roar of pain.

A massive thud, and four thick limbs were surrounding him, utter darkness blotting out the night sky above. He felt heat, heard the great huffs of lungs far bigger than his own. A hot splash of blood dripped down on him, soaking his entire back.

It wasn’t a shadow at all…. It was the beast.

It was really there. And it wasn’t hurting him…

His vision wavered as he struggled to stay conscious, the fear threatening to pull him under entirely.

A grip on his ankles, tugging him backward, out from under the beast.

His father’s soldiers were relentless, yet another pinning him to the ground with an iron grip. He couldn’t fight back at all. It was completely gone, his energy.

Something solid hit him sharply in the back of the head.

Pain burst through his skull, and the world before him vanished.

When Sanji’s senses returned, time felt distorted. It was slow and confusing, fuzzy, muffled shouts and cries making their way to his ears, though he couldn’t make sense of them.

Some corner of his brain told him he was moving, but not of his own accord.

Something was carrying him, but not arms. His torso was in something’s grasp, his body limp. He felt heat again, moisture seeping into his robe.

He didn’t understand.

So he let himself drift, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to bring himself back to full consciousness. He had to protect himself somehow, spare himself any more trauma.

The air grew quieter, and in fact, the air itself was hot, gusting heavily over his skin in rhythmic bursts.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally felt himself touching solid ground. Whatever was carrying him had lowered him there, gently as could be. He felt something heavy press against his chest, hold there for a moment, as if feeling his breaths.

And then it was gone.

Wherever he was, he was alone.

…Safe?

He didn’t know. And he couldn’t care through his exhaustion.

He fell fully into the darkness again.

The key clicked in the lock, and the metal pulled away from his face, more light than he was used to flooding his vision as the soldier removed his helmet.

No one told him the reason, but he wasn’t about to question it. It had been weeks since the last time they’d freed him.

His head felt light, almost too light without the weight of the iron, and he stumbled awkwardly behind the men who led him out of his cell, his hands still bound, his ragged clothes too loose around his frame. He’d lost more weight.

They took him through the underbelly of the castle, through the cave-like tunnels out of sight, but when they finally emerged through a doorway, they’d arrived in a lavish suite, the kind he hadn’t been permitted to live in for years.

The next hour or so was a blur of bath soap, scissors, razors, and fabric as he was scrubbed, shaved, and dressed back into some semblance of a human. A glimpse of himself in the mirror saw the familiar guise of a prince, but the haunted, gaunt look of a forgotten one.

That was all he was, after all.

He’d been led into the castle proper after that, through the halls he’d grown up in, and when he realized just what corridor they’d turned down, his heart fluttered.

“You’re taking me to see her?” he’d asked, his voice cracking from disuse, but nonetheless full of hope.

His escorts said nothing, save for one, who merely muttered, “She’s been asking for you.”

That hope twisted in confusion. Did she not always ask?

But he had little time to question it before he found himself outside the ornate entrance to his mother’s wing, the soldiers knocking on a wide set of double doors that seemed no less massive than they had when he was a child, rapping knuckles there fearfully after a bad dream.

He entered to find her in bed, same as his childhood, but this time something was off. She looked terribly frail, perhaps more so than himself, he thought, her skin and her frame thin.

Her eyes looked dark and hollow when she rolled her head to look at him tiredly.

“Sanji…” his mother breathed, even her voice sounding weak, but Sanji found himself rushing to her as the doors closed behind him, falling stiffly onto the mattress beside her, his head bowed in both shame and relief.

When was the last time he’d seen her? He couldn’t even count, though it definitely hadn’t been since he’d turned nineteen. And that was several months ago. Maybe… What was time anymore?

Her bony hand lifted to his hair, trembling fingers doing their best to stroke there.

“Your last journey was too long, Sanji. Why haven’t you come to see me…?” she asked, shattering his heart, but he swallowed, conjuring the lie his father insisted he tell her years ago.

“I-I know, Mother. I’m so sorry. But I was held up on my mission overseas.”

She frowned, contemplating this for a moment. “You look so tired, Sanji. Have you been eating properly?”

“Ah, you’re observant, Mother…” he replied. “I suppose I haven’t. I’ve been preoccupied since I returned. Training….with Father.”

His eyes lifted to hers briefly, not missing the spark of life that returned to her gaze.

“You have…?” she breathed, a smile coming to her face when he nodded, her stroking gaining a bit of strength.

“I always knew he’d accept you,” she said, her other hand touching her chest, where the dark brand of her Seal stood out against her pale dressing gown and even paler skin.

He stared there for a moment, an uncomfortable twisting in his chest, but he forced a smile himself, forced himself to enjoy this rare exchange he was afforded. If his mother was unaware of his imprisonment, so be it. He would rather her live blissfully unaware of his suffering, rather than hear the truth of his torture. It would cause her far too much pain, pain he wasn’t willing to risk, seeing how sickly she looked now.

The power of her Seal had always weakened her, the more she used it. Healing others’ wounds required quite a large amount of her own energy. But she always bounced back. She always had…

The soldiers allowed him to stay for a while, surprisingly. He told his mother as many stories as he could think of, imagined stories of his adventures, adventures as a knight that he would never experience, journeying to far-off kingdoms and learning foreign cultures. Growing in strength…

He’d talked to her until her eyelids drooped, until her form became heavier against the pillows, and it was clear she was losing the battle with consciousness.

It scared him, for some reason, more than usual. It scared him to see her slipping away so quickly, letting herself fall into something that looked deeper than sleep.

The soldiers came to collect him, entering the room once more and standing a few paces away, clearly pressuring him to leave.

He didn’t want to though. However much of a lie he was living in that moment, it was a lie he didn’t want to end. He didn’t want to be dragged back into his unbearable truth.

“I should stay,” he’d insisted. “She’s exhausted; she needs someone to look after her.”

It was his mother who had answered him, her voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes were closed, already half asleep.

“Go…” she murmured. “I’ll be fine without you, Sanji.”

But he wouldn’t. He needed her. He needed her love and care, even if it was false. He was starting to think he would die in that cell. Not even his dreams were strong enough to keep him alive anymore.

So he vowed to come back in the morning. He promised her he would, living that fake reality just a little longer, even though he knew it wouldn’t happen.

The visit felt like a dream once he was back in his cell, in his dirty rags, vision once again narrowed to the small slit afforded him through the iron helmet.

He’d slept fitfully that night, overwhelmed with emotion, his heart unable to calm, aching for things he couldn’t have.

His meager breakfast had come the next morning, the trapdoor near the floor opening, his tray of food sliding in through the sliver of dim light as it always did, cold and gray, unchanging…

…Save for the new words that did accompany his rations that morning.

“The queen is dead.”

The trapdoor slammed shut, taking that sliver of light with it.

Full awareness returned to Sanji slowly, in fragmented sensations that brought an uncomfortable chill to his skin and a piercing pain to the base of his skull.

The pain throbbed there, drawing a heavy groan from him as he rolled, digging his forehead into what he eventually realized was earth in an attempt to stave off the agony.

He clenched his fists and forced his eyes open, revealing a remote forest, silent trees standing sentinel in the night. He moved to push himself up, his hand touching down on something smooth. He looked down to find the lacquered sheaths of three familiar swords resting beside him at the base of a tree stump.

He sucked in a breath, Zoro’s swords triggering the memory of where he’d been. He looked down at himself, realizing with a skip of his heart that his robe was soaked through with blood.

But the blood wasn’t his. Aside from the throbbing of his head, he felt fine. He had no injuries as far as he could tell. So where had the blood come from…? Where was—?

Noises, the sound of growling, some sort of struggle.

He swiveled around, his heart picking up speed, to find a trail of crushed underbrush. The leaves and dirt gleamed in the moonlight, coated with a slick trail of blood.

Sanji didn’t move for a moment, but then, the sound of water splashing, more grunting and struggling.

He didn’t know why or how, but he got to his feet, shakily following that blood across the forest floor to the crest of a hill, a small embankment that led down to a stream.

And there, collapsed and writhing in the shallow water like a giant beached fish, was the Night Beast, its huge limbs thrashing and twitching in uncontrolled spasms.

It took Sanji a long, horrifying moment to understand what he was seeing, wide eyes flitting over the scene, from the creature’s frothing, foaming mouth to its own glazed eyes, whites disturbingly visible as they rolled. Blood soaked the lighter fur of its underbelly, staining the stream water a sickening red that carried over the rocks, taking the beast’s life with it.

The creature was dying; that much was obvious, and it was something that sent a sharp, unexpected pang of sorrow straight through Sanji’s chest. The beast had protected him, whether it was aware of it or not, just as it had in his dreams, saving him from certain death at the hand of Zoro’s—no, that woman’s—blade. He’d been right to believe Zoro would never hurt him. And it was saddening to think he’d set out that night with the intention of hunting this poor beast down.

It was suffering, heavy, unsteady breaths wheezing from its lungs, and Sanji could only watch from afar, tears welling as those spasms grew slower, the beast’s body seizing in grotesque positions for seconds at a time, until, after an agonizing minute, its form relaxed, falling limp into the water.

It lay there, bleeding, barely breathing, and it was only then that the spell keeping Sanji frozen broke, the blond tentatively stepping out from his hiding place and slowly sliding down the leafy slope to the stream’s edge. He was a few paces away from the creature now, but it hadn’t reacted, so Sanji stepped closer with solemn confidence, unsure of what he was doing but wanting to provide what little comfort he could in the beast’s final moments.

He didn’t make it closer.

Suddenly, a swift, unnatural wind rustled through the creature’s fur, great clumps of midnight black and burnt orange lifting, to Sanji’s utter shock, into the air in a swirling cloud that engulfed the animal’s form. At the same time, the beast began to shrink, its hide shimmering and paling, fur scattering and rearranging to take the form of a dark robe, one that settled itself around a smaller body that lay where the beast had moments before.

A human body.

Sanji’s heart stuttered, and his blood ran cold.

Zoro’s body.

He wasn’t moving. Just as the beast had fallen still in the water, so too had Zoro, collapsed there on his side, partially submerged in the stream. His torso was bare, visible skin glistening with sweat, and it took Sanji far too long to process what he’d seen.

The beast had changed, transformed with the power of a Seal, surely, as he’d witnessed so many times before. And yet Sanji’s mind could not wrap itself around the fact that the creature, which had so haunted him for weeks now, and the swordsman were one and the same.

Surely he’d imagined it. But the longer he stared, the longer he squeezed eyes shut and willed the scene away to no avail…

The fear he’d felt, the frustration, Zoro’s secrecy, his unwillingness to share his power, the contempt, the thought that everyone wanted the beast—wanted him—dead—

“It was you…. It was you. All along it was—” the blond huffed, trembling, trying to make sense of those words that he could hardly believe.

And yet…

“You came for me…”

It was all too much, enough to make the blond’s limbs quake with stress, his head spinning and throbbing.

So he chose not to dwell on it because what he saw now was Zoro, the real Zoro, unmoving and lifeless. The blood flowing down the stream was his.

He stumbled into the water, barely able to hold himself up until he fell to his knees beside him, soaking them in the stingingly cold water.

“Zoro…” he murmured fearfully, trembling hands hovering over the swordsman’s shoulder, noting his closed eyes, his cheek thankfully pressed against his outstretched arm, saving his face from submersion.

“Zoro…” he tried again, receiving no response. He was well and truly unconscious.

Or worse…

With a jolt of sudden terror, he slid a hand over Zoro’s chest, resisting the urge to melt with relief when he felt a small hitch of movement.

He didn’t waste any more time.

Carefully, he took hold of Zoro’s shoulder and rolled the swordsman onto his back. Zoro came limply, his head lolling, Sanji lifting trembling hands to his still face to steady him automatically.

But he nearly recoiled upon seeing the man’s entire torso slathered thickly with blood, a gaping gash ripping its way across his front from shoulder to opposite hip. He couldn’t be sure if the flecks of white he saw were visible bone or his own vision speckling as nausea overcame him. Unnatural veins of dark purple exploded from the wound, hundreds of roots branching across Zoro’s skin that was otherwise pale, so fucking pale.

He knew what to do, or rather, he would have, had his mind and body not locked into the same panicked cycle, touching Zoro’s face, his chest, his face again, eyes flitting between those horrible veins, his slack lips, the blood—shit, the blood.

He wanted to yell at him, scream, shake him back to consciousness, something, but he couldn’t make anything work, not when Zoro’s chest barely moved, his heartbeat faint beneath Sanji’s palm.

This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. Something would change, just as it had in the field. This wasn’t the real Zoro. His mind tried futilely to drag him from his panic with such thoughts, and yet his heart knew it wasn’t so. It really was Zoro this time, bleeding out beneath him.

Just then, a crackle of underbrush, someone approaching from the forest, and Sanji sucked in a breath, instinctively shielding the swordsman despite knowing he had nothing to protect him with.

But he didn’t care. He’d do anything—anything at this point.

The figure, alone thankfully, came closer, slender form stepping out of the trees to stand at the top of the embankment.

His sister stood there for a long moment, their gazes meeting, though his could barely linger before his attention flew back to Zoro.

This was her fault. If she hadn’t come, this wouldn’t have happened. Zoro wouldn’t be hurt; no one would have had to die; Zoro would be fine—

He heard her footsteps approaching, rage boiling inside him until he exploded the instant she knelt beside him.

“Why did you come here?” he gritted out, glaring at Zoro’s mangled chest, willing the man’s shallow breaths to keep coming. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?!”

Reiju didn’t reply, the silence infuriating enough that his head shot up, redirecting his venomous glare to her face.

“Why?!” he demanded. “Why did Father send you?! Why does he want me back so damn badly if—!”

She remained silent until, unexpectedly, her hand reached out to tug at Sanji's robe collar, fingers opening the loose fabric at his chest, which heaved with his own distressed breaths. Her delicate brow furrowed, and Sanji flinched back when her cool touch landed on the bare skin above his sternum.

Reiju’s fingers held there for a long moment, her head shaking slightly in what looked like—of all things—confusion.

“Mother’s Seal…” she eventually breathed. “You didn’t take it when she...”

He stared at her, eyes burning and bewildered. Take her Seal…?

“No, I—of course not, I—”

But he squeezed his eyes shut, snapping himself out of his surprise, and turned himself back to Zoro, whose wound seemed to bloom with yet more of those spider-like veins, blood still oozing between Sanji’s fingers despite his futile attempts to staunch it.

“What is this?” Sanji stammered. “What was on that sword?”

It was poison. He knew it, and he knew Reiju knew it. He’d seen it used by his father before, the waxy, but deadly substance of his own design that polished countless of his soldiers’ weapons, coated the sheaths of their swords. He knew just a small amount was enough to kill.

He also knew his sister could cure it, thanks to the Seal she possessed.

“Father was sure you took it,” Reiju was murmuring, almost to herself now as she ignored his frantic questions. Her hand fell away from her brother’s chest to sit forlornly in her lap. “I assumed you had too…”

Sanji’s heart stuttered around the implication behind her words.

…

“I’m sure it was because of my mother. She was the only one who cared about me. But now my mother is gone, so—!”

…

He’d believed it, even told Zoro so, but he’d never thought it could be true in this capacity.

They thought he’d stolen his mother’s Seal when she died?

“Why would I have taken her Seal?! I wasn’t even with her, Reiju!” Sanji snapped, anger and sorrow surging within him. “Mother told me to leave for the night, that she’d be fine! But the next morning, she was—”

His voice broke, and he instantly gritted his teeth, cutting himself off. But he quickly pushed down his grief before it could consume him and his priorities.

“It doesn’t matter! Reiju, what’s happening to him?!”

Zoro’s breathing hitched beneath his hand, a choked sound leaving his throat, flaring Sanji’s panic again. “You have to reverse it!”

Reiju’s eyes were on the swordsman now, but calmly so, almost resigned, and he didn’t like the way her lips seemed to twitch up faintly.

“Sanji, we can be a proper family…” she murmured gently, and Sanji realized she was fixated on Zoro’s Seal.

Zoro choked again. Sanji couldn’t feel him draw breath.

Her gaze met his, imploring. “This is your second chance.”

“No!” he cried immediately, horror bubbling within him as the meaning of her words hit him. Had they been waiting? Waiting for his mother to die so he could take her power? Was that the only worth she’d had to them? The only worth Zoro had?

“I don’t care! I don’t care!” He would never let Zoro’s life be a bargaining piece! Never again! He wasn’t Kaido nor his father, and he knew now that he didn’t need power, even though he’d coveted it for so long. Zoro had taught him that.

“I won’t let him die!” he growled, furious tears falling against his will, dripping from his cheek to Zoro’s, mixing with the blood smeared there. “Just save him! Please!”

Blood trailed from the corner of Zoro’s dark lips, a trickle from his nose as well. The swordsman had gone completely still.

Then his Seal began to glow, faintly at first, then brightly, like a beacon in the night.

And though the sight was mesmerizing, Sanji knew what it meant.

“No—” He shook his head, his eyes widening. “No—fucking stay, mosshead! Zoro!”

A tremor quaked through him, terror ripping hard and cold through his chest as he curled over the swordsman, hands on his face again, touching desperately as they never had before.

“Don’t go, please, please…” he begged, the glow of Zoro’s Seal casting a deathlike pallor over his face.

Sanji was unaware of his forehead pressed tightly against the swordsman’s, unaware of his fingers, which gripped at Zoro’s short hair, thumbs stroking his cheeks as if they could bring back any amount of warmth to the man’s cold skin.

He felt it, perhaps as strongly as Zoro had all those weeks ago when he’d pleaded for Sanji to stay in Wano. How much he didn’t want to lose him, couldn’t. Zoro too was the only one...the only one…

He was unaware of the desperate words that very nearly spilled from his lips in his hysteria.

“I…”

And he wasn’t fully aware of his sister’s hand over Zoro’s chest, her fingers twirling slow circles above the wound until strange violet wisps floated from the gash, the dark veins following, creeping, receding steadily until the surrounding skin sat unaffected.

It was the arch of Zoro’s back as Reiju lifted the last of the poison from his body that told Sanji something had occurred. The light from his Seal dimmed back to black ink. His chest rose with a rasping breath—

With a start, the blond drew back, wide eyes red-rimmed and stinging, watching as Zoro took another breath and another and another, and he was still too pale, still bleeding, but he was alive.

Sanji’s head fell to Zoro’s shoulder in relief, nose brushing his bare collar, his own breaths still shuddering with the effort to hold back sobs.

…Reiju had saved him.

A more vulnerable version of himself would have thanked her, seen the act as a great kindness to him, and perhaps it was, he thought as he clung to the swordsman. But again, Sanji’s mind spiraled back to the fact that this wouldn’t have happened had his sister not come. He couldn’t thank her for that.

There was still Orochi and his mysterious plans to consider. Part of the blame lay with him. But all Sanji could focus on at that moment was how much he didn’t want his sister’s kindness, not anymore, not when it was always temporary.

He knew true kindness now. Kindness that was pure and undemanding, unconditional. He knew true acceptance.

He could no longer live in the shadow his family had forced over him, because Zoro was lying there bleeding because of them, and that was unforgivable. Zoro, who had taught him so much in just the short time they’d known each other…

I grow by my own natural strength.

Zoro had said that to him, a statement that had made Sanji scoff just a few weeks prior. He’d now seen what Zoro could do with his Seal, finally realized that it had always been Zoro, in all forms, inhabiting his dreams, his thoughts, his fears, his hopes…

But despite the power he possessed, Zoro had denounced it.

And for the first time since running away from his kingdom, Sanji saw the merit in Zoro’s words.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there against the swordsman’s chest, but eventually, he sat up stiffly and spoke, his eyes not leaving Zoro despite his words being for his sister.

“If that man won’t accept me as I am, then he’s no father to me,” he said, bitter but determined.

He looked his sister in the eye when he told her, “The only approval I need is my own.”

Yet again, she didn’t respond, just watched him silently, but he didn’t back down.

And in fact, he thought he saw his mother in her features—his mother’s pride flickering there for the briefest of moments before Reiju’s expression hardened back to impassivity.

“I hope you achieve it then...somewhere,” she finally said, her voice quiet but even. “We will pursue you no longer.”

He stared back for a long moment, judging her sincerity, but nodded.

“Goodbye, Reiju,” he replied in clear dismissal.

Again, a brief flash of something warmer in his sister’s gaze. Was it regret? He didn’t know, and perhaps he never would as she got to her feet.

No sooner had she risen to her full height than her body began to shrink, impossibly so, her cape engulfing her as it twisted into the shape of two delicate wings with the power of her Seal. She hovered there for a few seconds in her new form, a luna moth of iridescent violet and rose.

But soon she was gone, fluttering off into the night, leaving Sanji alone with Zoro once more.

Zoro, who was still bleeding beneath him, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

He couldn’t move him. Physically, Sanji knew he was incapable. He needed to find help, but Sanji had already decided he wouldn’t leave. The last time he’d left, he’d lost. So he wouldn’t leave; he wouldn’t let Zoro die.

Not like his mother…

He ripped off his waist sash, clamping teeth on one end and swiftly tearing the fabric into long strips. There was no way he could stop all the bleeding, no way he could put pressure on the entire wound, so he had to close it somehow.

It was the same as wrapping meat to keep its shape, he thought as he slipped each strip beneath Zoro’s torso and tied them tightly over his chest, the sliced skin knitting closed as he went.

It wasn’t a permanent fix. Blood still leaked through in frightening amounts, but it would do until he could get the swordsman stitched up.

“I’ll stay with you….” he assured as he worked, trying to keep his own breathing under control, his own terror from immobilizing him once more. “Just keep breathing, Zoro. That’s all you have to do… Keep breathing… Keep breathing...”

No response from the swordsman, predictably, so he gritted his teeth and continued his work. By the time he’d pulled the last strip tight over Zoro’s stomach, he was sweating, his hands covered in blood.

What now? What now…? he worried as he scanned the empty forest.

He didn’t know where he was, feared what would happen if he brought him back to the Flower Capital, let alone Amigasa. He didn’t know how or even if the battle between the villagers and his sister’s soldiers had ended. He couldn’t go back.

They were well and truly on their own.

Or so he assumed until he noticed a ghost-like movement sliding between the tree trunks, a massive dark figure sending his heart into overdrive once more.

Something was approaching.

He leaned forward over Zoro’s prone form, again not knowing how he’d ever be able to protect him, but needing to nonetheless.

He stayed silent, barely breathing, but it seemed the figure was approaching him specifically. Whatever it was knew he was there. Had it been watching all along?

Sanji trembled, his hand grasping for the hilt of his sword, which he knew wouldn’t defend him as soon as the figure emerged fully into view.

It was a giant fox, from the looks of it, covered in billowy white fur that shifted to black over its legs, giving the creature the appearance of a floating cloud in the night.

Sanji didn’t move, just watched and waited for whatever the creature intended as it regarded him with piercing yellow eyes.

But, to his surprise, aggression didn’t follow, the beast simply tilting its head and eventually settling down to the ground, revealing another form on its back that hadn’t been visible.

Sanji couldn’t make out his features, but it was very clearly human, a man, his dark hair tied up in the high bun of a samurai.

“I mean you no harm, Prince,” said the man, Sanji’s heart skipping a beat at the formality. How did this man know him…?

It didn’t matter though, because the man was gesturing urgently between Zoro and the animal’s back.

“Lift him up here,” he said. “Onimaru and I can bring you both to safety.”

There was no time for debate, but still, Sanji didn’t react right away, roving his gaze over the man for a long moment, taking in his robe of partial stripes that…draped over nothing.

Sanji realized with a sharp intake of breath that the man was missing his legs, his thighs ending in short stumps that looked barely able to cling to the beast’s sides…

He shouldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust anyone but Zoro now, but he had no choice. Zoro had to live.

With his heart in his throat and his skin dyed with Zoro’s blood, he nodded.

Chapter Text

Safety came in the form of a tiny thatch-roofed hut deep in the forest, a hut that appeared abandoned if it weren't for the neat piles of wood beside a well-used firepit outside and the tidiness of the clearing.

The huge fox that served as their ride had lowered itself to the ground once more, and Sanji slid from its back, Zoro’s swords strapped to his, managing to throw the unconscious swordsman’s arm over his shoulder and drag him, with some difficulty, towards the entrance.

His mysterious escort—a samurai, Sanji assumed—followed, sliding nimbly to the ground as well, despite his lack of legs, the man quickly surpassing Sanji on his hands, his arms and shoulders thick with muscle.

“In here,” the man said, sliding open the rickety wooden door to reveal a single room, coolly lit by the uniform patches of moonlight that fell in from the rows of windows.

He gestured to a sleeping mat against the wall, so Sanji wasted no time settling Zoro there, his hands clammy with blood and sweat, limbs trembling from the effort of lowering the heavy man as gently as possible.

The samurai's smaller form moved swiftly about the room, his hands pushing him across the tattered floor mats to light a few oil lamps, finally illuminating the swordsman properly for the first time since Sanji had found him.

It wasn’t a pretty sight, Zoro’s carved torso still oozing blood, and he was so pale and lifeless that, for a moment, Sanji feared he’d slipped away.

But his breaths still came, upon closer inspection, and his Seal remained inked on his skin, so the blond willed himself to stay focused and present. Zoro was a fighter; he had to remember that.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked the man, who was busy rummaging through a box across the room.

“I am not,” the man replied distractedly. “Though the boy’s gotten injured enough that I’ve a few medical supplies on hand.”

That “few” consisted of a crude assortment of bandages and salves that soon formed a small pile on the floor next to Sanji when he brought them closer.

Not a doctor… The blond huffed, a twinge of panic threatening to overcome him for a moment, despite the man’s apparent familiarity with Zoro and injuries.

The bitter thought entered his mind that, had his sister’s assumption been true—had he really stolen his mother’s Seal—he could have healed the swordsman easily.

But no.

He was done with those defeatist thoughts. He didn’t need a Seal. His own strength would be enough.

“A needle,” he said instead. “And some thick thread…”

The man glanced over at him curiously. “Are you a—?”

Sanji shook his head. “I cook. So I know my way around meat. This isn’t much different.”

The man merely nodded in response as he procured just that from the box: a spool of thread and a smaller box of needles, which he passed to Sanji as well, followed finally by a ceramic bottle that reeked of alcohol.

It seemed this responsibility was falling to him alone, Sanji determined, faced with the daunting wound before him when the samurai moved back outside, mumbling about fetching water.

He could do this himself. He had to do this…

A minute later, the man returned with a bucket of water, the metal handle firmly clamped between his teeth as he continued to maneuver himself with loping strides of his arms. How he moved with such ease, Sanji didn’t know, but his fascination couldn’t linger.

Instead, he set to work cleaning the wound as best he could, washing away enough blood so he could see his canvas.

Soon, there was nothing left to do but begin.

He took the bottle of liquor, another whiff telling him it was the same pungent sake the swordsman guzzled like water. Ironically, it would serve a very different purpose now.

He wasn’t sure of its effectiveness, but he knew from experience that it would sting like hell, so he leaned in close to Zoro’s ear and murmured an apology before he slowly trickled the liquid over the wound to flush it further.

Nothing, not even a twitch or reaction from the swordsman, forcing Sanji to squash another tidal wave of worry that threatened to overwhelm him in favor of finishing the job.

He focused on threading the needle next, barely managing through the shakiness of his fingers, then passed the tip through a lit candle, sterilizing it too as best he could.

And then, those same trembling hands met the swordsman’s chest tentatively, the needle poised over the gash for a long moment.

Sanji took a deep breath to steady himself.

Then he took the first stab, sliding the needle and thread through the damaged skin to the knot and pulling it tight, a light exhale of relief escaping his lips when the string held securely.

This would work. This would help. He would help.

Another stitch followed, and another, the blond finding a slow, careful rhythm as he inched his way down the massive wound, discarding his makeshift binding as he went.

The minutes ticked by in silence, his left hand staying firmly atop Zoro’s Seal as if he could keep it there himself—as if his touch alone could perpetuate Zoro’s shallow breaths and the sluggish flutter of his heartbeat.

He kept going, dabbing away blood as necessary, gaining confidence as he went, only pausing to rethread the needle a few times.

His work would scar, most likely, the somewhat clumsy stitches like a jagged line of teeth gnawing its way over Zoro’s torso. But he didn’t think Zoro would mind. After all, the idiot was the polar opposite of vain, sometimes to a fault. He’d probably see it as a trophy, wouldn’t he.

More than a few times, Sanji couldn’t resist an extra-hard jab of his needle, just to see if it would rouse him. He wanted the mosshead’s eyes to open; he wanted to see his stupid smirk and hear his stupid voice. Even in sleep, he was never this quiet…

Yet Sanji found himself alone as he tied off the last bit of thread, finally reaching the end of the wound near Zoro’s hip.

He was alone, with nothing but Zoro’s heartbeat to comfort him.

That is, until he heard a shuffling and remembered his new companion, a glance over his shoulder revealing the man had settled himself on a cushion, silently watching the scene.

Sanji looked away, dozens of questions circling through his mind, but he started with one as he began to wrap Zoro’s torso in bandages.

“So who are you?” he asked, carefully coiling the cloth strips over the wound.

A moment passed with no reply, but then he heard the sigh the man heaved out, and he knew an answer was coming.

“My name is Kin’emon,” said the samurai, a solemn look on his hard features when Sanji met his eye. “I’m afraid I haven’t met a foreigner in quite a long time, let alone a prince. Do excuse my humble lodgings.”

A prince…

He’d once again identified Sanji correctly, and the blond had to assume.

“Zoro told you about me…” he muttered, his gaze automatically flitting back to the swordsman, but not before he caught the look of surprise that crossed Kin’emon’s face.

“You know him,” Sanji clarified. “I’ve gathered that much.”

Another sigh from the man.

“Yes,” he conceded. “He’ll deny it, but I practically rais—”

But then it hit Sanji, recalling that first glimpse of Zoro's past that the swordsman had allowed him, and it was enough for him to interrupt.

“It was you,” the blond realized, pausing his work. “You’re the one who trained him. His master.”

Kin’emon nodded silently.

The reclusive man Zoro had mentioned… Though Sanji had to admit, the samurai’s disability was unexpected, albeit impressively so. A legless samurai. Even after weeks, this country continued to reveal its hidden wonders.

Still, if this man knew Zoro, then surely he knew what he was capable of.

“So will he live?” Sanji asked, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “You said you’ve seen him injured before. How strong is he…?”

He knew the swordsman’s immense strength himself, but this… He’d shown no signs of waking, and there was so much blood.

The lingering fear of nearly losing him, twice that night alone, was still a raw ache in his chest.

Kin’emon seemed to sense his concern, such that his voice came a little softer.

“I believe he wouldn’t want us doubting him. Least of all you, Your Highness.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d been fishing for. Above all, he’d wanted reassurance from someone more experienced, Sanji could admit. But still, that usage of his title left his heart clenching for different reasons.

He turned to resume his bandaging as a distraction.

“My country’s soldiers just fought your people,” he muttered, not wishing to delve fully into his contempt for his origins. Not when he’d only just escaped his family again. “I wish you wouldn’t acknowledge me as such.”

Kin’emon didn’t respond, the swishing sound of Sanji’s work filling the silence for a moment before he asked, “The Empress… Is she capable of stopping them now…?”

Sanji raised a brow, sparing the man a glance. Wano was his own country. Shouldn’t he know the answer to that?

“Germa’s forces should be retreating,” Sanji eventually replied. “If you’d like to seek shelter in the Capital, I can tend to Zo—”

But the man was quick to respond.

“No. I must never re-enter the Capital.”

That statement earned Kin’emon a greater pause from Sanji, who tied off the bandages and turned to face the man fully, though one hand remained on Zoro’s chest.

In the low light, the man’s shadow dwarfed him completely on the opposite wall, yet Sanji took in his appearance in greater detail.

He couldn’t place his age. The hard lines on his forehead and the tiredness in his eyes spoke of someone far older, though there wasn’t a hint of gray in his hair, nor in the thick goatee that decorated his chin.

Sanji noticed, for the first time, a glimpse of a Seal beneath the fabric of his robe.

The blond sighed, now understanding the difficulty of returning to the Capital. Some clearly weren’t as resilient as Zoro, no doubt unable to handle the prejudice thrown at them. But Kin’emon seemed to pick up on his unsaid assumption, shaking his head.

“Not only because of this…” he said with a gesture to his Seal.

Then the man shifted, slipping his arms from his loose sleeves and twisting himself to reveal a large tattoo on his back, the design of a bird whose form was emblazoned with a simple sun.

Sanji instantly recognized it, his eyes widening as his mind flashed back to that day he’d found the Empress training with Kawamatsu…

"That tattoo…" he murmured. "The Empress’ retainer has it as well… Wait…" And he trailed off as the significance of that mark dawned on him.

But no… It couldn’t be… They were all dead.

And yet, he found the words leaving his lips anyway.

“You’re one of the Scabbards.”

Kin’emon confirmed it with a nod, leaving Sanji’s mind reeling. Again, questions assaulted him from every angle, everything he’d been told about the enigmatic group—all of whom had supposedly perished defending Wano—flipped on its head.

Had he been fed lies? Were they all alive? Or was there something else at play here? Why was Kin’emon living alone, so far removed, even from Amigasa?

“Then why can’t you go back?” was the first question he blurted out, feeling frustration bubble within him. If all this was true… “You could change things! For everyone with Seals! The Empress could—”

“Of the Emperor’s guard, I was the only survivor on that fateful day of Kaido’s attack,” Kin’emon replied seriously. And despite Sanji’s confusion, one look at the man’s haunted eyes convinced him it was no lie. “My injuries—my legs—were my price to pay. I retreated to the forest to continue my penance in solitude. The shame of our weakness is now mine alone to bear.”

“But Kawamatsu is—”

“Kawamatsu was tasked with protecting the Emperor’s children,” Kin’emon explained. “His duty and loyalty have given him reason to stay in the light.”

“Are you saying you’re no longer loyal to the Empress?” Sanji huffed.

“Of course I am. But my failure to protect Emperor Oden has caused this country’s hardship.”

Sanji immediately shook his head, that inner frustration boiling over. How many of these people would continue to blame themselves for everything that happened? How could they not see what—or rather, who—was really at fault?

“Kaido was the one who caused it,” Sanji insisted, his hand curling into a fist over Zoro’s chest. “And he is the only one who should have to atone for it. Or would you also blame your fallen comrades? For their so-called ‘weakness.’”

Perhaps it was hypocritical of him. After all, Sanji had spent years curled in his cell, fixating on all the things he should have done differently—all the things he’d ruined, all the reasons he’d been made to feel shame over his existence. He could relate…

But now he’d seen the other side, if only a small glimpse. He knew what it was to break through that shame and force a change. If he could do so, why couldn’t this samurai?

Indeed, the man looked torn, his gaze troubled and downcast, dark shadows ravaging his face.

“Your words are strong, Your Highness,” he admitted. “I can see now why the boy has become so enamored… I only wish it were that easy…”

Kin’emon trailed off, but Sanji found himself struck by what he’d said.

Something stirred in his chest at that word—“enamored”—a flame that flickered up to his cheeks, making him suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, the feeling of Zoro’s skin beneath his touch.

The swordsman’s gaze flashed through his memory, immobilizing him just as it always did when it lingered and softened impossibly with something that seemed almost desperate and longing.

This was something that had begun to entrance him more and more—those times when Zoro didn’t look away, when he seemed to forget himself at the same time as Sanji.

But no. They were comfortable in each other’s presence—that was all. They’d both been lonely, craving companionship, in their own ways. He could never question it, never wonder if it was more. It was all in his head, as starved for attention as he was.

Sanji knew there was no way the swordsman shared his fascination. It would thoroughly disturb him, surely. He couldn’t expect that of anyone, let alone someone as independent as Zoro.

So he pushed that minuscule hope down before he could disappoint himself.

“Does the Empress know you’ve been living here?” he asked instead, trying to return to the matter at hand, despite the pounding of his heart.

“She does not…” Kin’emon answered. “‘Twas my choice to exile myself.”

“Does anyone know? Besides Zoro?”

The samurai shook his head. “Not a soul. Not even my lovely Tsuru… I believe you met her as well.”

Sanji’s brows lifted in subtle surprise, realizing the woman’s “dead” husband now sat before him. And yet, the poor woman didn’t know…

He sighed his disapproval, looking down at Zoro again to steady himself, watching his still face for a long moment.

“Zoro told me of your virtues...the virtues of the samurai,” Sanji eventually said. “If I recall, honesty was one of them…”

Honesty, which had so eluded him throughout his life. Even the swordsman had kept secrets from him.

But then again, he’d kept his own as well.

He’d never prioritized any sort of virtue in his life, never even been afforded the opportunity, but the way he was talking now… Perhaps Zoro’s teachings were starting to rub off.

Kin’emon was pushing himself up onto his hands again, and Sanji saw a distant sadness on his face as he made his way to the door.

“I will make sure we weren’t followed,” he said, bowing his head slightly with an added, “Your Highness,” that made Sanji automatically bristle with discomfort once more.

The man seemed to notice, his lips turning up faintly.

“Forgive me,” Kin’emon said. “But I will always use formalities for someone I deem worthy.”

Then he slid the door open and slipped through, leaving Sanji alone with the unconscious swordsman and his own swirling thoughts, the worthiness of which he wasn’t sure.

Those thoughts accompanied him through the night, thoughts that became more and more worried, more and more panicked, as the next day slid by with no sign of Zoro waking. He barely moved from Zoro’s side, couldn’t sleep, halfheartedly picking through the simple meals of rice and stew Kin’emon prepared for him using what meager stores he had.

The man offered him a change of clothes too, which came, rather amazingly, in the form of a pebble that the samurai placed on top of Sanji’s head. Kin’emon pressed his hands together, and that pebble exploded into waves of blue and white fabric around Sanji, waves that took the form of a new robe. It was an odd power, but a useful one.

With little else to do, Sanji changed Zoro’s bandages and cleaned the wound twice, thankfully with less blood seeping through each time. It was enough though that Kin’emon’s supplies began to run low, his salves scraped dry and bandages nearly depleted.

Sanji’s anxiety grew.

He talked to Zoro, in the moments Kin’emon ventured outside to cook or scout, murmuring admonishments that he hoped would annoy him back to consciousness. They never worked.

And it was late the second night, Sanji sitting awake in the candlelight, Kin’emon snoring across the room, that those goading words turned to pleas. His touch became bolder—innocent, but adventurous—tenderly exploring the swordsman’s face, the feel of their hands linked together—all things he could never try if the swordsman were awake.

He was scared, he told himself—desperate for comfort and reassurance—and playing gently with Zoro’s earrings, stroking over the strong muscles in his forearm provided that. It assured him there was still life left in the swordsman. Surely he wasn’t imagining the color slowly coming back to Zoro’s face, his skin growing warmer.

And he certainly wasn’t imagining the small groan that left Zoro’s lips on the morning of the second day. Kin’emon had stepped out, so the noise couldn’t possibly have come from anyone else.

Sanji whipped his head around so fast it hurt his neck, instantly hovering close, his heart in his throat as shifting followed.

Zoro’s features tensed in discomfort, his breathing changing rhythm.

The blond almost couldn’t speak, frozen with hope, but he managed when, finally, Zoro’s eyelids began to flutter.

“Hey…” he murmured shakily, but like hell he wanted his weak voice to be the first thing Zoro heard, so he cleared his throat and tried again more forcefully. “Hey! Zoro! Enough sleeping—wake up. Wake up, mosshead—”

He reached out to shake the man’s shoulder, an explosion of relief raining showers of warmth through his chest when Zoro finally opened his eyes to blink up at him groggily.

Words escaped Sanji again for a long moment, the blond struggling to hold back a sudden onslaught of stinging tears.

Zoro’s eyes were that familiar deep brown, the color constant and steady. It was really him, as he’d known.

"Welcome back…" Sanji muttered, a phrase that couldn’t hope to convey the magnitude of his relief, but it was impossible to articulate more.

Zoro's bleary gaze never left Sanji's face, searching there, until, a few moments later, Sanji saw a spark of recognition widen the man's eyes—actually saw the moment that memories no doubt rushed back to the swordsman.

“You’re here…” Zoro uttered, his voice hoarse, a look of disbelief coming to his face. “You’re safe—”

He began to push himself up, something that Sanji immediately stopped, firmly pressing him back to the mat. The swordsman winced in pain but didn't lose his incredulous expression.

“I’m fine,” Sanji assured, keeping hands on Zoro’s shoulders for a long moment before slowly pulling back when he calmed. “Worry about yourself.”

They were words Zoro had spoken to him before, and he saw they had a similar effect when the swordsman’s brow furrowed, shifting a glance down to his bandaged torso.

“What happened…?” he eventually asked, his wary gaze meeting Sanji’s again.

Something about that careful look told Sanji that the swordsman remembered, at least up to a certain point.

Sanji had two options.

He could answer Zoro truthfully. He could tell him that he’d seen him transform, that he now knew what his Seal was, despite Zoro’s attempts to hide it.

Or he could wait. He could be patient and let Zoro tell him on his own terms, knowing how much the swordsman hated his power.

The slight quickening of Zoro’s breaths the longer he waited for a reply was enough to help him choose. Sanji couldn’t stress him, still fearing the effects on his injured body, so he reluctantly opted for the latter, choosing his words carefully.

“I don’t know for sure…” Sanji said, and it was true to a degree. He didn’t know what had happened to Zoro beforehand, where he’d been prior to the fighting. “My sister tried to take me back to Germa. There was…a battle. Think I blacked out for a bit, but next thing I knew, I was in the woods. I found you passed out near a stream. There were claw marks all over the embankment. You earned a nasty one yourself too—must have fought the beast… You’ve been out for over a day.”

His eyes flicked tentatively over Zoro, letting his words sink in, wondering if the swordsman would seize the moment and tell him the truth.

But he saw the relief, not surprise, that crossed Zoro’s face, the way he let out a shaky breath.

Sanji waited, trying to implore with his eyes alone that Zoro could tell him. He could tell him everything.

The swordsman opened his mouth to speak.

But all he huffed was "My swords—" and Sanji clenched his jaw in response.

“Right there,” he replied, jerking his head to the adjacent wall where the three were propped.

Zoro closed his eyes and nodded. Disappointment caught bitterly in Sanji’s throat.

He was going to hold on to his secret, wasn’t he. Did he really think Sanji would judge him? After everything they’d been through? It hurt to think so.

Still, Sanji reasoned, if Zoro wouldn't let go of his secret that readily, then he would hold on to his patience. He was starting to realize he would do anything for the man who’d saved him, a thought that was equal parts scary and powerful.

“That wasn’t me who took you out there,” Zoro eventually continued, his words gaining urgency as he looked up at Sanji. “Higurashi could change forms—”

It was something Zoro shouldn’t have known unless he’d been present for the full battle, his omission of the truth clearly showing its holes, but Sanji decided not to question it.

“Yeah, I figured that out, mosshead—”

“—Orochi’s plan. I had nothing to do with it, I swear—!”

“I know,” Sanji replied, his hand naturally finding Zoro's, fingers lightly touching. “It’s okay. I trust you...”

Zoro’s next inhale was pronounced, the swordsman’s lips parting and his eyes taking on that desperate, almost sad quality that Sanji certainly wasn’t imagining now. What had caused it? Sanji’s words? Simply his trust?

“I’m sorry,” Zoro breathed eventually, the words nearly a whisper. “I didn’t want…”

Sanji smirked despite himself when the man trailed off.

“Don’t hurt yourself again, mosshead,” he teased, his fingers sliding a bit more confidently to squeeze Zoro’s palm.

If the idiot was still unwilling to tell him the truth, perhaps Sanji could coax it out himself, he thought, finally asking, “How did you know the old woman led me somewhere…?”

He saw the flash of panic across the swordsman’s face, his mind no doubt grappling for an answer. The blond resisted the urge to chuckle. Perhaps it was cruel to toy with him, but he wanted the man to accept that he was safe.

“W-We were supposed to meet, remember?” Zoro finally stammered. “I went outside town when you didn’t show up, saw the fighting. I…protected you from the beast. It tried to drag you off when you passed out. I was afraid you…”

His words tapered off again, the man clearly struggling for an explanation, but Sanji could relate—remembering the terror, the complete helplessness he’d felt watching Zoro nearly…

“I owe you one,” was all he said, an absolute understatement, but trying to put into words how he’d felt, just how scared he’d been, and how grateful he was for Zoro’s help… He wasn’t sure if he could ever express it, especially not now that Zoro could hear him.

The swordsman’s eyes drifted to his bandages again, then slowly back up to Sanji’s.

“Think we’re even,” Zoro said, relaxing ever so slightly, his lips turning up. “Did you…bring me here?”

Sanji shrugged, a strange wave of embarrassment coming over him, especially when the door jostled across the room, sliding open to reveal Kin’emon’s short form. Sanji’s heart pounded as if the man had entered upon something far more intimate.

“Had some help,” he mumbled, hitching a thumb towards the samurai. “You know, for someone who doesn’t do the ‘friend’ thing, you’ve got more allies than I expected.”

“Zoro,” Kin’emon said, his face relaxing into a placid smile upon seeing the swordsman, erasing years from his weathered skin. “I am pleased to see you awake.”

“Any sign of them?” Sanji asked over his shoulder.

“No,” Kin’emon replied as he settled himself on the floor, unhooking his sword from his belt. “It seems you correctly predicted your sister’s retreat. Orochi and the surviving villagers have returned to Amigasa, from what I observed.”

The blond nodded, relieved. “Germa won’t come after me. Not anymore.”

“They left…?” Zoro cut in.

Sanji turned back to look at him, something about Zoro’s hopeful expression sending butterflies straight to Sanji’s stomach. The fool wasn’t even trying to hide his emotions.

Surely it was the blood loss.

But then why were Zoro’s cheeks so red?

“I don’t have what they’re searching for…” he responded simply, fighting the flushing of his own cheeks, and he didn’t elaborate further.

But it was enough that Zoro let out a long breath.

"They’re really gonna leave you alone," he murmured, the sincere happiness in his voice enough to draw a smile to Sanji’s face, those butterflies soaring to his chest.

“You wouldn’t have turned me in, would you,” he said to Zoro, his smile widening when Zoro shook his head adamantly.

“Hell no,” the swordsman insisted. “Don’t tell me you believed Higurashi’s act…?”

His words were teasing, but the concern was clear.

The blond shrugged slowly, unsure what he could say to justify the fear he’d felt. “She looked just like you. I never expected…” He sighed. “I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew you weren’t there. Your eyes were…” He shook his head. “They weren’t your eyes.”

He could have added some quip, and perhaps any other time, he would have, but the thought of “Zoro’s” empty stare still sent a chill down his spine, not to mention the even worse memories that followed.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly thinking about that as I watched the beast tear ‘you’ to shreds,” he added, his gaze falling to Zoro’s bandages once more, noting the speckles of blood that still stubbornly stained the white fabric in places.

But Zoro was smirking despite that, looking almost smug.

“She couldn’t even lift a sword properly,” he snickered, with the quick addition of “I bet” after a second, a feeble attempt at keeping up his act.

Though Sanji barely noticed, his attention wandering.

Studying Zoro’s battered torso, he started to feel his mind drifting again, felt the slick, sticky wetness of Zoro’s blood on his hands, heard the strangled cries of the battlefield—the tearing of flesh and cracking of bones.

He remembered how final it had felt to watch Zoro’s Seal glow, how he’d lost control of himself at the mere thought of losing him. How he could do nothing but cling to him with hands that could do nothing to bring him back—

“You don’t have to look at me like that.”

Sanji blinked back into focus, suddenly aware of the swordsman’s grip on his wrist, grounding him back to that room—the peaceful sound of the breeze in the trees outside, the warm morning sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Redness had colored Zoro’s cheeks again, the bridge of his nose, and he seemed to be having trouble meeting Sanji’s eye, but he kept his hand where it was, anchored against Sanji’s skin.

The blond let out a long breath, trying to steady himself and keep himself present. He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment before redirecting his gaze out the window.

What would the world look like if Zoro had really left him? Would it lose its radiance, its color, as it had when his mother died? Zoro had started to bring that color back for him, dragging him from his former gray existence into a world of verdant green.

If he didn’t have Zoro, would he even be able to see at all? Why did the world want to steal every source of his happiness?

“This won’t kill me,” Zoro said, drawing a pained, bitter laugh from Sanji.

“You say that…” he muttered.

“So believe me,” Zoro implored.

He tugged at Sanji’s wrist then, forcing the blond to look at him once more. Their eyes met, and Zoro’s grip crept up his arm, coming to rest near his elbow, the slide of his thumb sending sparks through Sanji’s skin, sparks that seemed to travel directly to his heart.

Zoro was alive. Zoro would survive. He had to keep telling himself that.

From then on, he had to be there for the ones he cared about. He couldn’t shut down. He had to be strong for them, if not for himself. It might hurt more to live through those moments, but now he had things to live for. He couldn’t watch the world take them from him just because he couldn’t bear to act.

“I won’t let it…” he finally murmured in reply, more to himself than to Zoro.

To his surprise, Zoro snickered quietly, something that made him hiss with pain again. But he grinned through it, and Sanji felt the swordsman’s fingers brush his skin again in a shy but intentional touch.

The blond’s eyes lingered there, at the point of contact, for a long moment, watching Zoro’s hand but remembering his mother’s caresses that had always comforted him after an altercation with his brothers, lifting him up from depression, a reminder that someone gave a shit about him and his life.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel something similar again.

So he basked in it, closing his eyes for a moment, steadying himself with a few deep breaths.

Zoro’s touch seemed to grow in confidence, his hand sliding down his forearm again, this time to cover Sanji’s with his own, curling fingers around the blond’s.

Sanji swallowed, feeling his pulse pick up speed, and the desire to move closer burst through him suddenly.

He suddenly wanted—needed—that same contact he’d had when Zoro lay there in the field, the lack of inhibitions that had allowed his own touch to surge forward to Zoro’s face, his hair, press his forehead to the swordsman’s and feel his breath so warm and close.

His mind, spurred by a different kind of desperation, wanted more, wanted to feel Zoro’s touch on him…his lips…

He’d never felt that before with a real person—imagined it, sure—but never actually felt that desire in his core, his chest, never felt it tugging him, urging his body to act.

Sanji forced his eyes open before the rash desire took hold.

He found Zoro had closed his eyes as well, and for a moment, Sanji thought he’d lost consciousness again, but his thumb still stroked a rhythmic pattern over his hand, and when Sanji shifted, he cracked eyes open again.

“You should sleep,” Sanji murmured, to which Zoro shook his head tiredly. Ever the contrarian, Sanji thought.

And he was about to urge the swordsman further when Kin’emon spoke up. The blond had nearly forgotten his presence entirely.

“We need salve...and bandages,” the man muttered, looking extremely interested in the hem of his robe. “The wound will become infected otherwise. The Capital will have supplies…”

The implication was clear. Someone needed to fetch them, and, as it stood, only one of them was capable of returning to the Capital.

The blond let loose a string of curses in his head.

“Go get some, Curly Brow,” Zoro said quietly, his eyes half-closed again, exhaustion quite clearly creeping over his form. “Ask Hiyori. I’ll be fine.”

The words were almost triggering, so similar to the ones that were constantly stuck in Sanji’s mind. He resisted their hold.

“I won’t be able to sleep with you here,” Zoro murmured again, this time meeting his eye.

Sanji huffed out a frustrated breath. “Why not?”

“You’re too distracting…” the swordsman continued. “I can hear you thinking…”

Sanji felt a sick feeling twisting at his stomach, every bit of his heart fighting his logic. He didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t. If he left, then—

“I’d go myself, but…” Kin’emon added apologetically.

Stop, stop.

Sanji knew it. He’d noticed the dwindling supplies earlier, felt concerned over it. He could surely make it to the Capital and back by the end of the day. Zoro wasn’t alone.

Zoro wasn’t his mother.

Zoro was stronger.

Sanji would come back. He would keep his promise this time.

“Fine,” Sanji hissed before he could stop himself, and pushed himself to his feet, feeling Zoro’s fingers slip reluctantly from his. Already his hand felt colder.

He busied himself with preparations, gathered his own sword and pack, listened to Kin’emon tell him the general path, though he assured him Onimaru could take him to the edge of the forest. The man even brought out a small saddle, which Sanji helped him affix to the fox’s back.

Eventually, there was nothing left to do but head out.

Sanji paused though—he had to—re-entering the hut and kneeling beside Zoro again, watching his dozing form for a long minute.

Zoro seemed to sense him because he shifted beneath his gaze.

“Do you want me to fucking sleep or not,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

No. Sanji didn’t want that, because an annoyingly large part of him feared he wouldn’t wake up, despite knowing he needed rest.

“If I come back and you’re dead, Zoro…” he warned, trying and failing to keep his voice menacingly low. Instead, it quavered unfaithfully.

Zoro’s brow furrowed, then he opened his eyes, rolling his head to look up at Sanji.

“Thought you trusted me,” he said, with such softness that Sanji felt the urge yet again to fist his hand in Zoro’s hair and press their mouths together, if only to solidify how much he did trust him.

Instead, he let out a breath and looked over the swordsman one last time.

“Wait for me,” Sanji replied, and allowed himself one indulgence, bringing his hand to Zoro’s jaw, stroking there tenderly for just a moment before he forced himself away.

He stood and crossed the room, reaching the door just as Kin’emon came shuffling back inside.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said to the samurai, but his gaze fixed on Zoro, hoping to drive that same statement home for the swordsman.

He didn’t wait to see if Zoro understood his implication, merely slipped through the doorway with his heart in his throat, and the thought of Zoro’s lips in his mind.

Onimaru carried him along the river, taking him as far as the forest’s edge, just as Kin’emon had said. Sanji was surprised to find Sakanabi floating lazily in the water where the trees met open field.

A gruff little yip from the fox was met with a splash of the fish’s fin. Somehow, it seemed, they had a sort of unspoken agreement, so Sanji slid off the fox’s back and hopped onto the fish’s, watching as Onimaru slunk back into the trees with a regal bow of his head.

From there, the way to the Capital was the same, though Sanji noticed, in the distance, what looked like quite a few of the Empress’ samurai out in one of the fields, the same field where the battle had taken place. This realization had his chest automatically tightening, so he looked away, keeping his head down until Sakanabi dropped him off where the first houses began to dot the landscape.

He pressed on through the Capital, feeling almost in a daze as he passed through the streets he’d started to become familiar with. But he couldn’t stop to appreciate the warm hustle and bustle. Zoro needed him. Dodging market stalls and passersby, he hurried towards the palace.

The gates were more heavily fortified than usual, he noticed, though the guards let him through with silent stares. He found the temple courtyard thoroughly deserted, not a worshiping monk nor training Empress in sight.

For some reason, it unnerved him, the quiet feeling almost sinister, so he continued into the palace, hoping to find Hiyori.

He heard a mournful tune as he wandered the halls, the faint plucking of musical notes growing in volume as he neared the inner garden. Two guards were stationed in the hall near the open doors, and when he peered out past them, there was the Empress seated outside, like a colorful lotus flower amidst the trees, strumming away halfheartedly on her guitar-like instrument.

He stepped out, listening for a moment before she noticed him. But she was struggling, her head low, her hand abandoning the strings to cover her eyes instead.

“Hiyori,” he said, walking closer, and she instantly straightened, her head turning to look at him before her face all but melted in emotional relief.

“Sanji!” she cried, dropping her instrument and throwing her arms around him when he reached her side, burying her face in his shoulder and hugging him tightly.

“I feared the worst—” she whimpered. “I’m so happy to see you— A-Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I’m fine. I’m alright,” he assured, squeezing her back, brushing some hair from her eyes when she pulled away to look at him with a tearful smile.

He tried to return it, but he couldn’t quite, not when she looked so upset, and not when his thoughts drifted to the reason he’d returned.

Her hand tugged at the sleeve of his robe as if she sensed his distress.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Where have you been?”

“It’s Zoro,” he answered, though he kept his voice lowered. “He’s injured, badly. I’ve been tending to him, but I need to restock on medical supplies. Can you help me?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she replied immediately, her brow furrowing through the lingering emotion as she tried to compose herself.

She let go of him before he could answer, wiping her face and sniffling away the tears.

“Come,” she said, getting to her feet. “The infirmary.” And she began to lead him off quickly along the path towards the other end of the garden, away from the guards, eventually asking, “Was he injured fighting the beast?”

“I… No, it was… Something else…” Sanji replied carefully, slipping through the doorway after her into the opposite wing of the palace. “What exactly…happened? Out in the fields? I saw some of your men out there.”

“The Night Beast,” she answered, keeping her arm firmly looped through his as they hurried down the hall. “It attacked two nights ago. Some of the farmers outside town witnessed it. There were so many dead, Sanji. People this time. You didn’t come back that night and I was so afraid you’d been caught up in it. I never—I never thought—”

Sanji stopped her then, bringing the two of them to a halt, looking at her seriously.

“It wasn’t the beast,” he said. “It was—” He huffed out a breath, deciding she needed to know the truth. “My sister and her troops came to collect me that night. They failed, obviously.”

“Your sister…?” the Empress replied, her eyes widening.

“Yes. Orochi led the villagers from Amigasa to attack them.”

Her features scrunched with confusion. “But the bodies found were not from Germa.”

“Her surviving soldiers must have taken their dead when they retreated.”

“The villagers…? None of the fallen had Seals either…”

At that, Sanji gave her a silent, pointed look. Surely the Empress knew what became of Seals when their host died. She too had witnessed it firsthand.

He saw the moment she realized, remembered, her shoulders slumping, and he nodded stoically.

“This was not the beast’s fault,” he implored, squeezing her shoulders gently. “The beast protected me. It saved my life.”

Her blue eyes fixed on his, searching there for the truth, something she seemed to accept when she let out a breath and nodded resolutely as well.

“Th-Then we have to tell Kawamatsu!” she said hastily, though she looked torn about this fact. “He believes it was the beast that killed them!”

She stood there for a moment, her delicate hands coming up to grip her arms, and Sanji saw the stress written clearly on her face. She looked small, burdened with far too much, and he couldn’t help it. He reached out and pulled her to his chest again, feeling her instantly slump, leaning her weight into him gratefully.

She hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted any of this responsibility, he remembered. She’d been left alone too.

And he also wasn’t the only one who’d desperately needed a friend all these years.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he murmured as he held her, relishing in the comfort as well until she eventually pulled away, blowing out a heavy breath and straightening her posture.

The anxiety was still there, but the strong tug of her hand on his as she led him along again told him that she was ready to fight it, just as he was.

“Where is your sister now? Do I need to send out our guard?” she asked over her shoulder as they turned a corner.

Sanji shook his head. “No. She retreated, as I said. I believe she will no longer pursue me.”

He felt her fingers squeeze his hand, and when he looked up, she was smiling at him genuinely.

“Then you are free,” she said, something that brought a slow, but genuine smile to his own face too.

Freedom… He liked the sound of that. For the first time in his life, it was something he could dare hope for.

The warmth it brought lingered in his chest when they reached a door at the end of the hallway, and she led him into a room that looked hardly different from his own quarters in the palace, yet the glass-windowed cabinets lining the walls told him they’d reached the infirmary.

Together, they rummaged through for supplies, Hiyori helping to fill Sanji’s pack with a large variety of salves, bandages, even herbal teas—probably to excess, but he gladly accepted. According to her, the Capital’s best doctor was called in when necessary and regularly restocked their stores, so nothing would be missed.

Soon, Sanji’s pack was far heavier, digging into his shoulder uncomfortably, but he didn’t care. All of it was for Zoro. If the swordsman could lug around all manner of ridiculous river rocks, some in his mouth, no less, then Sanji could manage a few jars and bottles.

“Where is he?” Hiyori asked. “I will go with you. I just need to change my clothes—”

“No, Hiyori, you’re needed here,” he interrupted, continuing when she opened her mouth to protest. “He’s safe. Outside town. I think it’s best if he stays there until all this blows over. I’ll watch over him.”

Her lips twisted into an uncertain pout, but she eventually nodded reluctantly in agreement.

Just then, footsteps padded along the hall outside with some haste, and the two of them turned in time to see one of the Empress’ female attendants poking her head in the room. A small sigh of relief left her lips upon finding them.

“Ah, Your Majesty, there you are,” she said, pausing to bow low. “Forgive me for interrupting, but Kawamatsu is looking for you. He requested you urgently.”

The woman’s fidgety demeanor had a bundle of similar nerves twisting in Sanji’s gut at the mention of the Empress’ retainer. There was still the matter of proving the truth to the stubborn man. Of proving Zoro’s innocence.

Hiyori’s hand met his arm gently, her eyes meeting his.

“I will set this right with Kawamatsu,” she assured, looking determined. “For now, I’ll entrust things to you. Keep me informed, yes?”

Sanji knew these “things” referred to Zoro, and he nodded, watching as she slipped from the room with one last squeeze of his arm.

He waited a few moments, peered down the hallway until she and the attendant turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Then he followed her.

Sanji kept his distance, ducking behind corners and sliding into rooms to avoid being seen as they made their way through the palace.

By the time the Empress and her attendant reached the temple, he was confident he hadn’t been spotted, finding a suitable nook between a statue and a pillar just outside the entrance.

He crouched there, hidden, until the attendant left, then slowly scooted closer, peering in through a crack in the old wooden wall.

The lighting was dim, but he could see Hiyori and Kawamatsu inside, kneeling before the golden altar that housed the enchanted scrolls, the two seemingly sharing a quiet moment of contemplation before Kawamatsu spoke.

“This has gone on long enough,” the man said, gazing up at the altar before turning towards the Empress. “This beast cannot be allowed to run free any longer. And those you have employed to dispatch it have proven useless.”

Hiyori shook her head adamantly.

“Kawamatsu, listen to me. Sanji told me our assumptions were false.” Instantly, the man gave an irritated growl in response, but she pressed on. “It was a skirmish between Germa and the villagers. Orochi was part of it. He said the beast defended him!”

“And you believe this!” he shot back.

“Yes!”

“Empress, that boy has been spending far too much time in Amigasa,” Kawamatsu insisted. “Even if he spoke the truth, who is to say that he wasn’t rallying those villagers for his own selfish gain, to defeat the Germa forces? We cannot have those heathens committing unauthorized acts of war! Not to mention the fact that Germa breached our borders in the first place!”

“Kawamatsu—”

“He comes from a country of Seals!”

“Sanji has no ill intent!”

“He is a son of King Judge, Your Majesty!” the man hissed. “Do not forget this. His father is well-known for his brute force. It’s in his blood.”

Sanji froze, those words hammering into him like two-dozen stakes through his heart. His temples throbbed, igniting suddenly with pulsing heat. It was all he could do to stay focused on the exchange.

Hiyori had visibly bristled, her hands clenching over the embroidery of her robe. She swallowed hard, a sudden iciness coming to her expression that Sanji hadn’t seen from her before.

“With all due respect, Kawamatsu, you’re wrong,” said the Empress, her jaw clenched and her head held high. “Sanji is not a danger to us.”

Kawamatsu fell silent, seeming to consider either her reply or her sudden authoritative stance. Sanji didn’t know which, but for a second, he felt a twinge of relief, certainly gratefulness, for Hiyori’s defense. Perhaps the man would listen to her after all.

But before the blond’s pride in her could win the moment, Kawamatsu’s gruff voice continued.

“Then we direct our attention to the beast, as before,” he replied, sending a spike of alarm right back into Sanji’s chest. “There is no better time to be certain of our people’s safety, no matter the threat.”

Without further explanation, he pushed to his feet, Hiyori blurting out, "What are you doing?" as he approached the altar and opened its golden cabinet.

“Empress. Your permission to use a scroll,” he said. “We can isolate the monster and dispose of it properly.”

“No,” Hiyori shot back, scrambling up as well. “Kawamatsu, I refuse. We cannot waste the magic on a matter like this.”

“On the contrary, Empress. Any danger to our kingdom is a matter worth considering.”

Her hand reached out to land on his wrist, trying to guide it away from the two ancient scrolls sitting temptingly inside.

“Kawamatsu, please. Enough,” she urged, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. “We will think of another solution. This would leave one scroll. For the rest of time!”

“The future has not yet arrived,” he growled in response, lifting his own hand to remove hers, though he held onto it, his large fingers squeezing hers urgently. “But the present has. And your people need your help now. We need to know the truth behind this creature, once and for all.”

She let out a frustrated breath, dropping her head and looking away from him to fixate on the scrolls herself, the tension in the air thick and heavy.

Sanji cursed inwardly when she muttered, “What did you have in mind?”

"We must gather those with Seals. And use a scroll to summon the beast," Kawamatsu explained, his voice quieting somewhat. Whether it was a tactic to get the Empress to comply, Sanji didn’t know, but it seemed to be doing something when he saw her gaze slide tentatively back to his, wide and unsure.

“That is the only way,” he urged, then he let out a sigh. “Perhaps…they can help us subdue it.”

Sanji’s gut twisted at the same time Hiyori’s eyes lit up, a spark of hope returning there while Sanji’s was crushed.

“You will—you will embrace their power?” she asked.

A long pause followed before Kawamatsu spoke again, slowly.

“I am willing to give them a chance to prove where their loyalties lie, if they will help us defeat whatever threatens our country.”

Sanji nearly revealed himself, his teeth gritting against those words, which he couldn’t believe were true. Surely that wasn’t Kawamatsu’s true plan. Surely he meant to punish all of them somehow by rounding them up, under the guise of a noble cause. And if he used a scroll… Zoro would have no escape…

“Empress… You are our leader,” the man continued, pressing onward through Sanji’s silent panic. “You have been trusted to protect the people of Wano at any cost. These scrolls were made for that as well. Think of your family.”

Any small belief Sanji had in the man’s integrity was shattered by those words. He had to be lying or, at the very least, toying with the Empress’ compassion and sense of duty.

How many times had he been told to think of his ailing mother, to think of his family’s image, all while silently accepting the heavy burdens nailed to his shoulders, all for the “betterment” of things? Even before his imprisonment, his family’s obsession with Seals, their mistreatment of their own kingdom’s subjects, had all been in the name of “protection” and “building strength.”

It was delusion, nothing more. Delusion and weakness.

Someone had to do something. If not, there was no telling what would happen to Wano—to Zoro. He couldn’t believe that Kawamatsu would be fair to the swordsman at all if his identity was revealed.

Sanji was screaming in his mind for the Empress to shut him down again. He willed her to see how her retainer’s fear of the past repeating itself had corrupted his judgment so horribly.

But Hiyori was sighing, nodding in agreement, allowing herself to be gathered into the man’s thick arms, his murmured reassurances filling the quiet space.

And Sanji saw himself. He saw himself falling into his mother’s embrace, Reiju’s embrace. He saw, from an outside perspective, what it looked like to fall prey to his own uncertainty, the desperate desire to be guided and loved, at the expense of his own bravery.

He saw his own reflection, but that boy in the mirror was lost. That boy in the mirror wasn’t him. Not anymore.

The dragon statue, silently gripping those two powerful scrolls, seemed to grin at him mockingly.

But Sanji glared back with a vengeance.

Chapter Text

By the time Kin’emon’s tattered hut came into view again, it was nearing sunset, the firepit outside trailing smoke from a recently-made meal, the windows glowing with orange light.

It was a surprisingly warm scene, and yet Sanji’s chest was tight, the fear of what he’d find inside drumming through him as the exchange he’d witnessed between Hiyori and Kawamatsu played over and over in his head. His thoughts hadn’t known a moment’s peace the entire ride back.

Suppose Zoro was gone, already captured or summoned by the palace guard.

Suppose, worse, he’d succumbed to his injuries…

Pulse racing, Sanji all but leaped off Onimaru’s back and ran for the door, throwing it open roughly.

What he found was the swordsman sitting up in bed, bickering with Kin’emon, his face half-buried in a bowl of rice.

Rice he almost choked on upon Sanji’s sudden entrance, the two of them staring at each other for a long moment of disbelief.

But then Sanji wilted against the doorframe, trying to hold back his relief as Zoro smirked, his mouth still full, a grain of rice stuck stupidly to his bottom lip. Sanji hated to admit to himself that the man’s primitive eating habits were extremely comforting. He was fine, just as Sanji had known, deep down, he would be.

He gladly let the high of relief erase the gnawing dread, if only temporarily.

“Thought you got lost,” the swordsman mumbled through his food as Sanji entered the room fully, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Very funny,” the blond replied, turning his head to hide his bright smile and busying himself with removing his pack, if only to try and quell the excited clenching of his chest.

He couldn’t stay away though, making his way to Zoro’s side and kneeling beside Kin’emon.

“Wipe your mouth, you damn child,” he scolded, swiping a hand toward Zoro’s face, though the swordsman beat him to it, cleaning the rice off his lip with his thumb and instantly trying to smear the grain on Sanji’s cheek.

Sanji dodged, and the rice ended up on Kin’emon’s robe, much to the blond’s amusement.

“How do you feel?” he asked, stifling a laugh as the older samurai scraped it off with a scowl.

Zoro swallowed his mouthful, to his credit, washing it down with some water offered by Kin’emon.

“Better,” he finally replied, and he did indeed look it, the dark circles under his eyes less prominent, his face more healthily flushed.

A glance at his torso still showed spots of red, though they at least looked dry. Perhaps he really was out of danger.

“And what does ‘better’ entail?” Sanji pressed. “Are you in pain? Feverish? Is the wound still bleeding?”

His hand shot out again to feel Zoro’s forehead, something the swordsman squirmed away from, doing his best to elbow Sanji without stopping his rice consumption.

“He’s always been resilient. Even as a boy,” Kin'emon assured as their squabbling subsided, Sanji glancing over to note the man's fond exasperation.

Something about it was reassuring. For all those years, Zoro’d had at least one person who understood, who’d been willing to give him a chance, despite where he came from. It didn’t erase any of the hardships he’d faced, but it certainly explained the swordsman’s kindness. It was in Zoro’s nature, he knew, but perhaps he would have grown into an entirely different person had he truly been alone.

Sanji found himself thankful for the strange samurai, even if he couldn’t understand the man’s decision to exile himself.

“Finish that and we should change your bandages,” the blond said eventually, with a jerk of his chin to Zoro’s meal.

The swordsman’s chewing slowed marginally, his eyes flicking up to meet Sanji’s for a brief moment before he swiftly looked down again, nodding with a newfound seriousness.

A minute later, he’d passed his empty bowl to Kin’emon, guzzled the rest of his water, and the samurai headed outside, noting his intention to wash the cooking utensils. Though Sanji couldn’t help but wonder, with an eager twinge of gratitude, if the man was mainly leaving to give them privacy.

Either way, Sanji’s heart was drumming a little faster as he organized the supplies he’d brought back from the palace.

By the time he’d begun unraveling the old bandages from Zoro’s chest, it was practically galloping.

Their bodies were close, inevitably. He had to lean forward with each cycle of the bandages around Zoro’s torso. He heard Zoro’s sharp intake of breath the first time, though he seemed to try to steady himself, sitting still for each subsequent orbit.

The silence was heavy, the swordsman’s presence nearly overwhelming, especially when Sanji felt the man watching him. The blond noticed him quickly look away whenever they made eye contact.

“It’ll be over soon,” Sanji muttered, mostly through his embarrassment. He was no doubt making the swordsman feel awkward as hell, and after every heavy emotion he’d experienced over the past few days, he refused to let the idiot trivialize it with some rude insult or jibe.

But none came as more and more of Zoro’s injury was revealed, the swordsman eventually able to look down and see the entire wound in all its glory.

Sanji watched his reaction, watched him lean back on his palm and lift the other hand tentatively to brush over the crooked stitches crossing his chest, his expression unreadable.

With little else to say, the blond let out a huff, his own eyes following Zoro’s fingers, running down the long line of damaged skin, still inflamed and irritated in places, scabbing over with dried blood in others.

“It was the best I could do,” he finally mumbled with a shrug. “I’m sure it’ll scar, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Zoro said, cutting him off, and when Sanji raised his head in surprise, he found Zoro’s gaze already on him in a way that clouded Sanji’s thinking and dangerously limited his surroundings to nothing but Zoro’s face—his eyes—his lips again.

He combated the urge to close that distance between them with a light shove to Zoro’s shoulder.

“You’re crazy,” he said loudly, unable to stop a disbelieving smile when Zoro’s grew as well. “You think this is perfect?”

Zoro snickered, nodding.

“Well, congratulations, I suppose,” Sanji shot back. “You got as close to being sliced in half as one can possibly get.”

The swordsman was still grinning like a masochistic fool, and it was only when they heard the slide of the door opening, the two of them turning to look, that the blond properly noticed a slight tugging on his robe. Zoro’s fingers were playing absently with the fabric near Sanji’s knee.

“There are some things at which a student can never best their master,” said Kin’emon, joining the banter as he hefted himself into the room on his hands. “You know, I used to be the tallest in my village before I lost my legs. ‘Twas the second thing my dear Tsuru fell for.”

“What was the first?” Sanji asked, trying and failing to ignore Zoro’s hand.

The samurai smirked, crossing the room. “My handsome face, of course.”

At that, Sanji shared a skeptical look with Zoro, both trying hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can’t imagine this one attracting any women,” Sanji teased instead, reaching out to poke a finger to Zoro’s forehead, the swordsman gritting out a shocked “Oi!” before his entire face burst into flame.

Kin’emon chuckled, a surprisingly genuine sound from the serious man. It left Sanji’s heart a bit lighter than it had been as he focused on Zoro’s wound again, setting to work cleaning dried blood and dabbing it with a poultice from the palace as gently as he could.

That is, until Zoro spoke up again, his voice low.

“What’s happening in the Capital?” he asked, and the question, as important as it was, brought Sanji’s anxiety crashing back over him, the calm short-lived.

He couldn’t blame Zoro for asking, though. He’d just liked forgetting, even for a few minutes. He’d enjoyed reveling in this relief, now free of the shackles of his family. He could almost pretend that things were peaceful.

But their problems were far from over, so he let out a sigh.

“Kawamatsu’s lost it,” he said, shifting to gather a roll of new bandages. “He thinks…the beast attacked on the night of the battle. He thinks it killed people of its own accord.”

He met Zoro’s eye then, waiting to see how the swordsman would respond, but the other man’s gaze was downcast, his brow furrowed.

Sanji kept hold of his patience and continued.

“Amigasa is in danger. He said he plans to gather everyone with Seals to fight the beast. But I believe he has other motives.”

This finally earned him a notable reaction, the swordsman sharing a glance with Kin’emon across the room.

“If he does, Hiyori won’t allow it,” Zoro eventually said, though Sanji was quick to shake his head.

“She already did.”

The swordsman shut his mouth, his troubled gaze fixed on Sanji with growing concern.

Sanji stared back for a long moment before repeating, “She agreed.”

A sigh, and he decided to busy himself with the bandaging, beginning the task of wrapping Zoro’s torso again.

“Kawamatsu manipulated her, or at least that’s how it looked to me,” Sanji continued as he worked. “She thinks he’s finally embracing the villagers’ powers. But I can’t trust him, knowing how he feels about Seals. He has to have some other reason.”

“He wouldn’t,” Kin’emon cut in, a hard tone to his voice. “Kawamatsu would never manipulate the Empress, no matter what!”

Sanji sighed, casting an apologetic glance at the samurai.

“I’m not sure he’s the same man you once knew…” he replied.

He couldn’t say for sure, but he saw how the Empress was around the man. She clearly viewed him as a father figure, looked to him for guidance.

And yet, seeing Kawamatsu’s treatment of Zoro, his contempt for those with Seals…

Sanji couldn’t imagine the Empress becoming so attached to him if those beliefs had been there from the start. She was too kind-hearted for that. Not to mention, he’d served the entire royal family, most of whom had possessed Seals. There had obviously been a time when he’d accepted them.

Sanji reached the top of Zoro’s wound with his bandaging, looping the strips under his arm and over his shoulder before tying them securely with a soft pat to Zoro’s chest.

He turned back to face Kin’emon then, knowing his next words would likely cause a stir.

“Perhaps...you’re the only one who can make him see reason,” he said, glancing down at the samurai’s own Seal.

Predictably, the man’s features morphed into the fierce glare of a warrior.

“I cannot, Your Highness!” he exclaimed. “It would be worse to show myself now, after years! What would they think of me? The only reason I’ve kept myself alive is that death would be far too easy an escape, despite the samurai tradition. I should not be afforded that honor.”

Sanji felt frustration brew within him, his response spilling out instantly.

“Is this the Wano you failed?” he hissed. “A divided Wano? Is this the Wano your late Emperor would want?”

He was tired of hearing excuses from those who could make a change, especially when people he cared about were in danger. He hated that Orochi’s words burst through his mind from their confrontation in the village all those weeks ago.

‘Inaction will be this kingdom’s downfall.’

Orochi had asked him why he was here, why he was in Wano. Sanji hadn’t known the answer then, but he was coming to realize it now. And it was certainly a reason he would fight for.

“You trained Zoro all this time,” he continued adamantly when Kin’emon didn’t reply. “You helped make him into the strong person he is. For what, if not to build a better future? That doesn’t seem like you’ve given up. And I don’t want to give up either.”

The room fell silent then, fire coursing through Sanji’s blood, burning up all fear—fear that would rise again from the ashes, no doubt, but it couldn’t. Not when, for perhaps the first time in his life, his own inhibitions were losing priority.

After a long moment, Zoro shifted beside him, his eyes full of that same fire when they met Sanji’s.

“I have to warn Amigasa,” Zoro said. “If he’s planning something, I have to—”

“No, you are staying right here, idiot!” Sanji snapped. “Do you really think you can—?”

“Tama is there!” the swordsman shot back. “His wife is there! I can’t just sit back and—”

“I’ll handle it, Zoro,” Sanji insisted.

The swordsman huffed out a breath, staring Sanji down.

“You?” he said sharply after a minute, and yet Sanji didn’t hear doubt in his voice, just concern.

“I might not be able to fight like you, but I can warn them, help get them to safety if I have to,” Sanji assured. “I’ll do whatever it takes! But I’m not letting you go in this state!”

“Even with this, I can do it! I’ll—!”

“No, Zoro! Did you crack your head open too? If you get hurt again, I—”

“And what the hell do you think I’m gonna do if you get hurt!”

The argument screeched to a halt, the two of them glaring at each other as dangerously as enemies.

But Sanji could catch the nuances now. He could hear the stuttered rhythm of Zoro’s breaths as they hitched through his teeth. He could see the slight faltering of his lowered brow, the way his eyes wanted to melt into something warmer, though he was clearly fighting it back.

Sanji growled, looking away to break the tension.

“Can you give us a moment?” he shot over his shoulder at Kin’emon, a little harshly, such that the samurai lifted his hands in surrender before leaving the room.

With Kin’emon gone, that tension returned again, as it always seemed to when the two of them were alone.

He turned back to find Zoro had relaxed somewhat, though he’d set to sulking instead, plucking at the blankets settled over his lap.

“Zoro,” Sanji said, leaning closer. He waited until the swordsman reluctantly met his gaze before he continued with the most terrifying development. “He plans to use a scroll to summon the beast. And you know what that means.”

He saw the flash of surprise on Zoro’s face, and, above all, recognition. Zoro understood what that meant. Of course he did. Sanji knew he’d been there as a boy to watch the Empress escape with the scrolls’ magic during Kaido’s attack.

Sanji had told the wrong Zoro about his knowledge of the swordsman’s history. But this one—the real one—didn’t question how Sanji knew.

Tell me the truth, Sanji urged silently, and he waited.

But Zoro merely clenched his jaw and said nothing.

So Sanji pushed a little more. “There won’t be any escape for it. And there’s no telling what he plans for the villagers.”

A beat, and then he leaned forward even more, enough that the details of Zoro’s face were temptingly close. He lowered his voice further.

“Zoro, you have to trust me…” he murmured seriously, stressing the implication behind his words. “Please...trust me…”

With everything. The villagers. The secret of his Seal. Everything.

Please.

His words hit their mark, particularly when he let his eyes drift down to Zoro’s chest, studying the design of his Seal for a long, meaningful moment before lifting his gaze to the swordsman’s again.

He caught Zoro’s own eyes flicking quickly upward from a lower point on his face.

“I do,” the swordsman eventually replied slowly. “But I won’t risk losing you.”

To harm, he’d meant, surely, but did Zoro really believe he would lose him if the truth came out? Sanji had to break through that wall. Patience be damned, he would do it.

“You won’t lose me, Zoro,” he insisted. “I’m staying right here.”

Zoro looked away to stare out the window, a ray of sunlight catching his features.

“For now…” he murmured, defeat in his voice, and Sanji was surprised to find those words hurt.

He’d been so damn set on leaving Wano. He’d thought he had no hope of safety, fearing first for himself, then for what he’d bring to the country if he stayed.

He thought back to that word Kin’emon had used in reference to Zoro—enamored. It described a lot of things, didn’t it.

Sanji shook his head as he watched Zoro’s face, feeling a smile tug at his lips despite everything.

“I think Wano’s grown on me…” he said, smirking even wider when the swordsman whipped his head to him in shock, before he added with a conceding shrug, “Kinda like moss.”

Zoro stared at him for a long minute, and Sanji could practically see the man’s mind whirring with uncertainty and indecision that he hadn’t seen so powerfully before. He could relate, sure, but the emotions were foreign on the unmovable swordsman’s face.

Sanji took his hand just as he saw his turmoil begin to melt, the wall crumbling with it.

“I-I—”

But Zoro’s words were cut off when Kin’emon came rushing back into the hut, pressing himself quickly against the inside wall, his breath huffing as he risked a small glance out the door. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword readily.

Zoro cursed under his breath at the interruption, dropping his head in frustration, but Sanji jolted with alarm, hissing out, “What? What is it?”

Kin’emon quickly silenced him, a finger to his lips, his eyes trained on something outside.

Sanji shrank back, his grip traveling protectively to Zoro’s wrist, barely breathing as he waited for whatever had caused Kin’emon’s retreat.

And then he heard it, Zoro too when he saw a gleam of ferocity light up the swordsman’s eyes.

It was the sound of hoofbeats thundering through the forest, growing closer, twigs and leaves crackling underfoot.

Sanji’s heart dropped for a moment, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from shifting closer to the window, slowly peeking out from below.

There was movement in the forest, thankfully keeping a distance, but he saw the distinct shapes of three men on horseback, dressed in the familiar armor of the Empress’ samurai, the last rays of sunlight glinting off the scalloped plates of iron adorning their shoulders.

Zoro shot him a questioning look, unable to see what was going on, to which Sanji whispered, “Hiyori’s guard.”

He warily watched them canter through the trees, thankfully moving out of sight, but Kin’emon’s words were far from comforting when he finally murmured, “They’re moving towards the village,” his grip still tense on his sword.

Sanji’s heart knocked hard in his chest. Why were they going there? There were only three soldiers, but without knowing their intentions, Sanji couldn’t help but worry.

There was only one way to find out, and despite the slight tremble that shook his hands at the thought of another potential battle, he knew he couldn’t back down on his conviction.

Kin’emon was already moving though, muttering, “Wait here,” before pushing himself out the door when the sound of the hooves vanished entirely.

Sanji felt a hand grab his sleeve. The swordsman was leaning forward and tugging him away from the window, trying to hide the grimace of pain the movement brought to his features.

Still, Sanji noticed Zoro’s gaze instantly shift to his own swords, propped up across the room, waiting silently for their master’s return to form. And Sanji knew the swordsman was feeling the same frustration as him, perhaps tenfold, as playing it safe went against Zoro’s very nature.

Thankfully, though, it wasn’t long before Kin’emon returned, and he carried with him something peculiar.

It was a tattered piece of parchment, one the samurai explained he’d found on the riders’ trampled path, something they most likely hadn’t meant to drop.

The three men spread it out on the floor between them, revealing the scrawled brushstrokes of a written decree.

‘By order of Empress Hiyori, all in possession of a Seal are hereby summoned to the Imperial Palace grounds at daybreak to assist in the defeat and execution of the notorious Night Beast that has terrorized Wano. Compensation will be provided to the compliant. Those unwilling to offer their strength will be subject to questioning to determine the truth of their loyalties.’

The Empress’ emblem followed, its red ink stark and bold.

Sanji had barely finished reading it before Zoro’s hand shot out, crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room.

The crushed wad hit the wall and bounced onto the pile of discarded bandages, still soaked through with Zoro’s blood.

They didn’t have a plan. They needed one desperately, but as daylight faded and evening began to creep in, so too did Sanji’s worries. The blond recounted his experiences in the Capital to Kin’emon, hoping the man had some further insight or secrets up his sleeve. He’d served the royal family directly, after all.

But the man had little to say, taking in Sanji’s accounts of the true state of things with shock and then glum sadness.

Zoro too fell quiet, and Sanji noticed a dark resignation work its way onto his features, a resignation that slowly morphed into what Sanji recognized as acceptance, perhaps most terrifying of all. He wanted to shake that look off the swordsman’s face, but he didn’t know how, particularly when exhaustion began to mix its way in and Zoro eventually succumbed to a fitful slumber.

Sanji couldn’t let this be his last night. He couldn’t let this happen. Even if there was no way to escape, they could still fight, and that was exactly what he planned to do the moment Kin’emon too had laid down, closing his eyes.

He’d set to work, readying his pack, when he heard Kin’emon speak, not moving from his own sleeping mat, his eyes still closed.

“The boy has slept incredibly well these past few weeks,” the samurai said, Sanji glancing over at the man with mild surprise and perhaps a little frustration. Was that all he had to say, even with everything they were up against?

“He usually doesn't?” Sanji replied, failing to keep a bitter edge from his voice as he pulled his waist sash tight around his sword to secure it. It was hard to imagine, considering the number of times he’d found the idiot swordsman napping in all manner of places.

“He often had nightmares since returning to the palace,” Kin’emon murmured. “Nightmares that resulted in…well…”

Sanji looked his way again when he trailed off, the moonlight casting a pale pallor onto the samurai’s face. He looked every bit the corpse the world assumed he was.

“Did they trigger his transformation or something?” Sanji asked quietly. “At night?”

Perhaps that was why Zoro hadn’t wanted him to stay while he slept before. No doubt why he always disappeared by sundown. He must not have trusted himself.

At this, however, Kin’emon’s face came to life, his eyes shooting open as he pushed himself up to an elbow. “He told you?”

Sanji shook his head, staring back seriously. “No. I saw him transform back into a human when he got injured. But he was unconscious. He doesn’t know that I know. I’m trying to coax it out of him.”

The samurai regarded him for a moment, then he sighed. “I think he is most afraid of your judgment.”

“Why?” Sanji shot back as if he were arguing with Zoro himself. “I’ve told him a thousand times his Seal doesn’t matter to me.”

Kin’emon let out another breath, reaching up to scratch a troubled hand over his goatee.

“It’s not his Seal, but what he’s done with it...” he muttered before falling quiet again.

Sanji’s gaze shifted back to the swordsman with this new knowledge. Zoro’s breathing was, thankfully, in the steady pattern of true slumber, though his brow remained furrowed with tension.

What would it take to pull back all of the swordsman’s veils? What did he have to do to dig deep enough? Could he even do it now that the threat of death loomed large over him?

It didn’t matter, Sanji realized as his hand reached out of its own accord to brush lightly at Zoro’s jaw. It didn’t matter because, slowly, Zoro’s unconscious features relaxed under his touch, his head tilting automatically to press into his palm.

It didn’t matter how much Zoro was hiding from him. He would uncover all those secrets. He would stand by him even if he didn’t. But the first step was to ensure they had enough time to do so.

“I’m going to the village,” he said, his thumb stroking one last time over Zoro’s skin before he got to his feet. “I need to see what’s happening. I’ll check on Tsuru while I’m there.”

Kin’emon’s tired eyes lingered on Zoro for a moment before he nodded gratefully up at the blond as he headed for the door.

“Be careful, Your Highness,” he said, and though the title still sent a chill of discomfort up his spine, Sanji didn’t protest this time. Perhaps he could learn to reclaim it eventually.

He slid the door open quietly so as not to wake Zoro, but stopped on the threshold, looking out into the darkening forest that had so frightened him upon first stumbling into Wano. The silhouettes of the trees were jagged in the growing darkness, but at that moment, they no longer looked like demons come to swallow him whole.

They looked like an army.

“Don’t tell him I know,” Sanji said, staring forward resolutely. “I want him to tell me because he’s ready, not because he feels like he has to.”

He didn’t wait for Kin’emon’s response before closing the door and slipping out to join that army’s ranks.

It didn’t take Sanji long to reach Amigasa, following the path made by the soldiers’ horses not long before. It was surprising to find Kin’emon had settled himself not too far away. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

Instead, a different shock ripped through him as he approached the village.

The forest was alight as Sanji weaved through the trees, and, with horror, he recognized that light flickering off the foliage. It was the unmistakable glow of a fire.

But when he burst forth from the treeline in a growing panic, what he found was a carousing village, rather than a burning one.

The warm blaze of a large bonfire danced in the village center, where Sanji was surprised to find a sizable gathering of villagers, many with drinks in hand, engaged in all manner of discussion. It looked like a downright party, and it was rather jarring after the somber atmosphere of his last few days.

Hadn’t the riders from the Capital come here? Why did everyone look so happy?

He hurried through the village, and it was only then that he noticed the familiar-looking parchment that many of them held. It was the same notice Kin’emon had picked up from the riders. The same summons to defeat the Night Beast…

And they looked damn pleased about it.

He needed to warn them. He needed to warn them about his suspicions, but his confidence was eroding the more laughter and—dare he think it—celebration filled his ears.

If he could at least find Tama and Tsuru…

“Prince!”

Sanji bristled instantly, hearing a grating but familiar voice call him from behind, his mind instantly flashing back several nights to the moonwashed field, to his knees crunching painfully in the dirt as hands shoved him down.

He turned, unsurprised to find Orochi hopping down from a pulpit near the fire, stumbling for balance before swaying up to him with a sneer and a liquor bottle in hand.

The urge to flee was strong. After all, this man had been willing to sacrifice him for his own gains. But Sanji stood his ground, glaring steadily back to combat the man’s staggering steps.

“I see you escaped your people again,” Orochi said, his words slurring. “No hard feelings, I hope. You understand what we had to prove to the Capital.”

Rage stirred in Sanji’s chest. Because of this man, he’d had to relive so much of his trauma, nearly been killed himself. Most horribly, he’d almost lost Zoro because of him. Not to mention…

“People died because of you. And yet, all that violence brought you none of the credit,” Sanji replied curtly, stepping back to avoid the man’s hand when he reached towards him for balance. “Kawamatsu thinks it was the beast’s doing. But I suppose you’re still getting what you wanted, in a way. Some sort of change.”

“Indeed, it’s time for us to get a look at that lovely palace,” Orochi said, grinning and raising his bottle to some women who passed. He managed to refocus on Sanji when they paid him no mind. “Though you may tell your friend, the Empress, that if we are not shown the respect we deserve, she will live to regret it.” He leaned in closer, the pungent stench of alcohol on his breath. “In fact, she may not live at all.”

“Leave her out of this,” Sanji hissed defensively. “This wasn’t her idea. Any suspicion should lie with her retainer instead.”

He didn’t know why he bothered to warn Orochi about such a thing when this man’s motives were clearly suspicious as well. But he knew that the endless instigation had to stop somewhere.

Still, the man didn’t look put off in the slightest, instead reaching into the deep pocket of his robe to pull out the same summons from the Capital.

“Then she should be more careful where she signs her name,” he sneered, dangling the paper teasingly in front of Sanji’s face.

The blond’s gut twisted with nerves, fear for the Empress’ safety now mixing in with the constantly simmering brew of anxiety that seemed to never leave his stomach.

He supposed the only comforting thought was the knowledge that Zoro, even as the beast, would never hurt Hiyori or any of the innocent villagers. Even if he transformed, they would be safe from harm.

But would they even care…? Would anyone stop to think about that before attacking him? His connection to Kaido still damned him on both sides, as wrong as it was.

“Leave him alone.”

Suddenly, another voice, small but defiant, sounded near Sanji’s side, followed by a head of violet hair, stubbornly falling out of its updo as always.

Tama reached out to take his hand, the young girl boldly glaring at Orochi despite the man’s intimidating demeanor, and Sanji realized the girl was defending him.

The blond huffed out a breath as Orochi simply widened his yellow grin mockingly before stepping aside to rejoin his mates, loud laughter echoing when he made his way back to them.

As soon as he left earshot, Tama let out a giggle, her hand squeezing Sanji’s, looking entirely satisfied when she tugged him around to face her.

“Sanji, did you hear what’s happening?” she asked, bouncing a little where she stood. “The Empress wants our help!”

It was her innocent excitement that told him Orochi hadn’t disclosed all the details of the battle to the rest of the villagers. They clearly didn’t know that Orochi and his cronies had instigated.

Was that why they were celebrating? Was it to lull the others into a false sense of security and purpose?

“I know, Tama,” Sanji started to say, but he had to explain the danger. Tama was the last person he wanted to be caught up in the ever-growing web of schemes surrounding them. “But—”

“Did you and Zoro convince her? Where is he? He hasn’t been back to the village,” the girl interrupted, looking up and down the street distractedly. Yes, Sanji was certain Tama knew nothing.

“He’s sleeping,” he shot back dismissively. “Tama—”

Both her hands gripped his, swinging his arm between them without a care, her face still just as bright.

“I’m gonna make all the dangos I can before tomorrow,” she assured. “I don’t wanna hurt the beast! I can finally help! We can be friends, like Komachiyo and Sakanabi—”

“Tama!”

He yanked his hand away from hers and grabbed her shoulders, the girl's mouth snapping shut at his sudden seriousness. He didn’t let up though, even as he saw a flicker of apprehension shine in her eyes.

“I don’t think you should go,” he implored. “You should stay in the village where it’s safe. You and Tsuru and your grandpa—everyone you care about should stay away from the Capital.”

His words seemed to hit her like a physical slap, the girl shrinking back as if she’d been reprimanded.

“But why…?” she argued feebly. “I want to be there.”

Her tone had him sigh, lowering himself to her level where he squeezed her shoulders more gently. She was still a child, after all. Despite the urgency of the situation, he didn’t want to completely terrify her.

“I know you do,” he said, softening his tone. “But trust me, this wasn’t the Empress’ idea. I think her retainer has something bad planned…”

“Something bad…? The Empress doesn’t want our help?” Tama asked, her young features searching his for a semblance of understanding to grasp onto.

“She does! It just—”

“Then why would something bad happen?”

Sanji huffed out a breath, trying to curb his frustration. There were so many answers to her question, some of which involved information he’d vowed not to disclose—Zoro’s secret, for one. He racked his brain for an explanation that might appease her.

“Do you remember how you told me that Orochi is a bad man?” he finally asked. “Well, I just have a bad feeling about the Empress’ retainer… He doesn’t like people with Seals.”

When she only looked more perturbed, her small brow remaining furrowed, he ran a hand back through his hair helplessly.

“I’m sorry. It’s complicated,” he muttered, knowing how little it divulged. “You just have to trust me.”

Tama’s fists balled up tightly at her sides, the girl’s tense features betraying the conflict no doubt taking place inside her mind. He understood the frustration. This was her chance at a better life—at acceptance—and he was effectively stomping it into the dust, after everything he’d done to try and empower her and the villagers.

“I want to be brave, Sanji. Like you and Zoro,” she eventually said, her gaze fixed on the ground between their feet. Her fists clenched tighter. “Even against bad people.”

“There will be other chances for that,” he assured. “Just not now.”

“Then when?” she shot back, her head shooting up to glare at him defiantly, her upset catching him off-guard. “I want to prove that we’re good—and strong! We care about Wano too!”

“You are strong, Tama,” he replied, hating how placating his words sounded. “I know you care—”

“Then we’ll make the Empress see it!”

“You will! But now isn’t—!”

“I’m tired of waiting!”

Her voice rose in volume, enough that a few villagers glanced their way to see what looked like a typical child’s tantrum, Tama’s foot stamping the dirt angrily.

But dammit, he saw the hurt in her eyes, the pain and resentment that came with taking on seemingly endless injustice, all because it wasn’t the right time to change things.

And, yet again, he saw himself when those eyes grew glassy with tears, the girl reaching up to scrub at them with her wrist.

He saw his younger self, heard his sister’s disingenuous words spilling from his own lips, and hated that he could do nothing more than call out, “Tama!” when she inevitably turned and ran off down the street, quickly disappearing from sight.

Sanji watched her go, waiting for his feet to chase after her, but they never did, and he swallowed the lump in his throat when he felt eyes on him, watching from a few paces away.

He turned to see Tsuru’s tall form approaching him. He could do nothing but stare back at her powdered face, every secret he now harbored threatening to burst out of him, not least of which was the truth about her husband.

Her calming presence somehow tugged at him violently, her silence pulling the words to his mouth like a gentle but strong undertow.

It took everything in him to change their tide.

“You can’t go!” he blurted out instead, barely holding onto his control. “I know you want acceptance, but this is too risky!”

The woman stopped before him, the wide sleeves of her robe looking so much like the wings he knew her to possess when she transformed. Wings that wouldn’t help her in a battle that loomed bigger than both of them.

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But more regret may come from not trying at all.”

He was failing at everything he’d set out to do that evening. He’d been so certain he could help, but the people he’d most wanted to convince were managing to defy him. And dammit, he understood exactly how he’d made Tama feel.

But he couldn’t let them walk into this blindly.

“You could get hurt! Or worse!” he tried, a last-ditch effort. “And the beast isn’t what you think!”

He ached to tell her, the truth now crashing about his mind in violent waves, knowing it would be the one thing to make her see reason. Even though Tama had no intention of hurting the beast, even if it didn’t solve the problem at large, at least he could keep Tsuru and Tama safe.

And despite Zoro’s efforts to keep his secret, he had a feeling the swordsman would understand Sanji’s indiscretion if it meant he could protect the ones who’d been so good to him. He trusted them.

“Every journey begins with a single step. And I think all of us here are more than ready,” Tsuru replied through the eye of his indecision, but he knew that the storm was going to win.

He sent a silent plea for forgiveness to the swordsman.

Then, with a wary glance around them, he pulled the taller woman into a narrow alley and let the truth spill out—everything from the night of the battle—Orochi’s plan, Higurashi’s deception…Zoro’s Seal…

He watched Tsuru’s delicate hand lift to cover her mouth, but her eyes soon morphed from surprise to a calculated introspection, as if all he told her was something she’d speculated before, and perhaps she had.

His concerns were alleviated when her hand gently touched his arm, and he remembered her careful dressing of his wound all those weeks ago, the familiar feeling of maternal safety he'd felt that brought a burning to his eyes all over again.

“Where is he now?” she asked, referring to Zoro. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sanji felt a burst of relief in his chest that her first reaction was still so compassionate. His trust hadn’t been misplaced. His heart felt lighter than it had in a while.

“He’s alright—he’s—he’s safe,” Sanji replied. “He’s…”

But his words trailed off for just a brief moment. He’d betrayed one secret, but dare he betray another? One he’d vowed to protect, to the keeper’s face, no less?

A moment of deliberation told him he would rather face the repercussions of that betrayal than see any one of these people physically hurt.

So he let the final flood cascade through that alley.

“He’s with your husband,” he said.

Tsuru’s eyes went wide as those words swept her away.

Sanji’s hand held tight to Tsuru’s as he helped her through the underbrush into Kin’emon’s clearing.

It was dark, the dying flicker of a lantern inside serving as their beacon as they approached the quiet hut, its inhabitants most likely asleep.

Tsuru’s nervous anticipation was clear, though she seemed to steel herself once they reached the door, steadying her features and giving Sanji a gentle upturn of lips.

He squeezed her hand before sliding open the door.

Kin’emon lay where Sanji had left him, the man curled on his side, snoring slightly in a patch of moonlight.

Beside the blond, Tsuru’s breath caught, her hand lifting to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

But Sanji barely noticed because, across the room, Zoro’s bed was empty, though his swords still rested against the wall, untouched.

The weight of dread ripped Sanji’s heart from his chest as his gaze fell on a wrinkled piece of parchment—the Empress’ summons—now smoothed, resting on Zoro’s blankets.

And on the back, a simple message in crudely scrawled handwriting.

‘I’m sorry.’

The Flower Capital was unusually quiet, the clatter of carts and the chatter of conversation strangely absent from what otherwise should have been a typical morning.

And yet, the streets were full as ever. The Capital’s inhabitants crowded along the sides, poking their heads out of doorways and windows, trying to get a glimpse of the strange procession that made its way towards the palace grounds.

A stout, smug-looking man led the large group, strutting his way through the city as if he owned it, his balding head, ringed by tufts of violet hair, glinting like a crown.

Behind him trailed a mysterious bunch of villagers, the likes of whom hadn’t set foot in the Capital in recent memory, and their apprehension showed the deeper they moved into the city. It didn’t help that all eyes were on their chests, on the black Seals imprinted on their skin—clear brands of shame in the minds of most.

The tension in the air was palpable. Though none spoke out about their presence, the disdain was clear in the silence as the Capital folk watched them, some pulling their children closer when they neared, others clutching tighter to the tools they held, as if brooms and baskets stood any chance as weapons. Hardly anyone moved, the city frozen in a state of bewilderment, fast-moving clouds casting intermittent shadows over the villagers’ path. It seemed the sun couldn’t decide whether or not to watch either.

Only one figure cut through the crowds, actively trying to catch a glimpse of the group.

Sanji pushed his way past the onlookers, searching desperately among the dozens nearing the palace for the owner of the three swords now strapped to his back.

But there was no sign of him, and though this should have been a comfort, it only served to make his pulse race faster.

In the hours since Zoro’s disappearance, he hadn’t slept, surely souring Tsuru and Kin’emon’s tearful reunion with his own panic. And while he could hope that the swordsman had run away to save himself, he knew the idiot’s self-sacrificial ways all too well. There was no chance he would abandon the cause.

Sanji’s only consolation was that he couldn’t see Tama either; the group consisted largely of Orochi’s cronies if their sneers gave anything away. Tsuru had elected to stay at the hut with her husband, and Hitetsu too was nowhere to be seen, the old man likely too stubborn to join the ranks.

Still, a handful of robust but innocent-looking men and women accompanied Orochi, seemingly of their own resolve, and even if Sanji wasn’t acquainted with them, it wasn’t fair to let them get caught up in all this.

His search efforts bearing no fruit, he huffed a growl of frustration and tore away from the crowds, his heart in his throat, to make for the palace. With any hope, he could find Hiyori and put a stop to this before it began.

What he found instead was the temple grounds teeming with the Empress’ guard, the sandy courtyard lined with stoic samurai standing sentinel around the perimeter. There was no way Sanji could even pass through to the palace, though it didn’t matter. The Empress herself was already there, her sunset-colored robes skimming the top of the temple steps where she stood, her gaze scanning the grounds.

She spotted him as soon as he slipped in through the gates, her eyes lighting up and her mouth opening as if to call out.

But beside her stood her retainer, and one warning glance from the larger man had her closing her mouth and shrinking back like a child scolded. Her worried eyes stayed fixed on Sanji for a long moment before she dropped them to her clasped hands.

Behind Sanji, the procession of villagers was making its way through the palace gardens, so he pushed his way through the guards and hurried closer to the steps, desperate to speak to the Empress, despite Kawamatsu’s presence. If he could just pull her aside for one minute, he could—

Swords crossed in front of him, hands on his shoulders pulling him back when he neared the foot of the stairs, the guards blocking his path to the Empress.

“Let go of me!” he hissed, shrugging off the hands, and he called out to her. “Hiyori—!”

She looked at him again, but shook her head minutely, lifting a hand as a subtle indication to stay where he was.

He growled in frustration, but it was too late now. The villagers, still led by Orochi, had entered the courtyard, streaming their way in towards the temple steps.

A line of guards marched out to form a wall of blades and muscles between them and the Empress, forcing Orochi to stop his approach, no closer than Sanji had gotten.

The air was silent save for the great creaking of wood as the gates behind the villagers slammed shut. Sanji’s unease mounted the instant he saw yet more guards move in front of them.

The atmosphere grew expectant as Kawamatsu stepped forward beside the Empress, his stance confident compared to her clear apprehension.

The man’s eyes did another sweep of the packed grounds before he spoke, his voice echoing out over the courtyard.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Kawamatsu said. “In recent months, the Capital has faced the ever-encroaching threat of the creature known as the Night Beast. Its hunting patterns have destroyed crops and livestock, stirred fear and uncertainty, and its range has grown closer and closer to the city.”

Sanji could have sworn the man’s gaze landed on him before he continued.

“Three nights ago, the beast claimed its first human victims. The time to dispose of this threat is long overdue.”

There were murmurings now amongst the villagers, and though Sanji couldn’t make out what was being said, his anxiety spiked all the same. He began his search for the swordsman anew, desperately scanning the temple grounds, searching behind every statue and lantern until—

He sucked in a breath when he spotted a figure standing off to the side, in the shadows of a pillar, the white of his bandages seeming to glow like a beacon. A figure who was already watching him.

“Zoro…” he breathed out, barely audible, and when their eyes met, he saw the swordsman’s shoulders slump with a resigned exhale.

“By the Empress’ order, we have called upon you villagers to make use of your powers.”

Kawamatsu was still speaking, but Sanji was hardly paying attention to him, his mind already in a frenzy over why Zoro was here, what he was going to do, how he was going to get the swordsman out of there because there was no way he was safe this close to—

“The beast must die,” Kawamatsu announced, his voice gaining strength. “Today.”

Sanji’s racing heart all but stopped in his chest, and he saw Zoro’s gaze widen and dart instantly to Kawamatsu as the murmuring of the crowd picked up again, the energy of the space seeming to buzz with growing tension. Hiyori’s hands wrung anxiously in front of her.

“However, there is a matter of concern that I refuse to overlook,” the man continued. “The beast was seen coming from the direction of the Capital on the night of its attack. And yet there was no trace of it within city limits. I have reason to believe the beast is, in fact, not an animal at all.”

And then, suddenly, Sanji heard a sound he’d recognize anywhere. It was a core memory of his childhood, after all. The sound of a heavy bar sliding into place, his head whipping towards it in time to see the guards locking the gates, locking them in.

Hiyori noticed too. Sanji heard her murmur, “Kawamatsu,” over his own quickening breaths, but her retainer paid no mind.

“Whosoever bears the power of this beast,” he declared. “I will give you one chance to come forward. Doing so may earn you a punishment more lenient than death.”

Sanji’s gaze found Zoro again, his heart aching with fear as he watched the swordsman close his eyes, a deep breath lifting his chest. He had to do something. He had to stop this, but how?

And then Zoro’s eyes opened to stare directly at Sanji, finding him in the crowd and meeting his eye with a terrifying look of defeat.

Sanji shook his head, silently urging him to stay where he was, to get out of there, run, do something—anything—to avoid getting hurt again because Sanji didn’t think he could take it. There was no way he could get Zoro’s swords to him without being seen—no way to help him when he looked so ready to just give himself in.

He was screaming in his head by the time Zoro began to step forward.

But suddenly, the sea of villagers parted, or rather, stumbled forward as someone pushed through to the front.

It was Tama, her small form bursting out from the crowd to run towards the temple, the girl stopping at the foot of the steps.

“I can tame the beast!” she called up to Kawamatsu defiantly, her fists clenched at her sides. Sanji noticed a bulging pouch tied to her belt, most likely full of her own magical dangos. “I can tame it so it doesn’t hurt anyone ever again!”

But she’d barely gotten the words out before two of the Empress’ guards surged forward to grab her, holding her back roughly as she kicked and thrashed in their grasp.

“Tama!” Sanji cried, instantly rushing towards her, only to be pushed back by guards himself. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t—!”

“Let her go!”

Sanji’s heart skipped a beat, and his eyes flew to the source of that familiar, rough voice, a voice that had commanded the attention of everyone on the grounds.

Zoro had emerged from the shadows, his fists clenched and his body practically shaking with anger, a powerful glare directed at Kawamatsu, who merely stared back at him for a long, tense moment.

Sanji’s heartbeat continued to race as he willed Hiyori to do something, but, to his frustration, the Empress merely gasped, her hands coming to her mouth when she saw Zoro’s blood-speckled bandages.

And yet, the advance Sanji was expecting didn’t come. No guards seized the swordsman, and the men holding Tama made no further moves either. They seemed to be waiting for something.

That something was unexpected, and as soon as Sanji saw it happening, his blood ran cold. Kawamatsu’s gaze stayed fixed on Zoro decisively before he reached into the wide sleeve of his robe and pulled out a scroll of parchment and a golden quill.

He quickly unraveled the scroll and began to write across it, Zoro’s anger giving way to shock as his eyes widened. He clearly recognized what was happening.

“Hiyori!” Sanji cried, unable to stop himself when she was the only one who could stop this.

But it was too late as Kawamatsu’s voice boomed out over the grounds once again.

“Among those with Seals,

Let this casted enchantment

Force the beast’s reveal.”

Zoro’s eyes met Sanji’s one final time in the split second of silence following those words.

The air was still.

And then, Zoro’s back arched against his will, the swordsman seeming to writhe with pain as his skin erupted into a mass of jet-black fur, cut through with jagged stripes of orange. Muscles rippled and swelled, the fabric of his robe shredding and morphing to join his new pelt. He fell forward, but before he hit the ground, two massive paws held him up as his body doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size.

By the time he stopped moving, what stood before the crowd on the temple stairs was no longer a human. In broad daylight stood the Night Beast, its feline form terrifying in its enormity.

But it wasn’t the Night Beast. It was Zoro. Sanji knew that. And now, everyone else did too, without a shadow of a doubt.

Zoro’s heavy breathing was peppered with deep growls, the only sound to be heard in the moments that followed, his sides heaving as his tail flicked and twitched with agitation, teeth bared. His muscles flexed and tensed, as if waiting to spring in self-defense.

Hiyori had stumbled back several steps, overcome with disbelief, but Kawamatsu hadn’t moved, standing almost triumphantly opposite Zoro.

For a moment, Sanji wondered who would move first, or if the scene would stay frozen as it was.

But his question was soon answered by Kawamatsu’s quiet, “Seize it.”

“No! Stand down!”

The one that protested immediately was, surprisingly, not Sanji.

It was Hiyori, her voice shrill with what sounded like a mixture of fear and defiance that came too little, too late. For a tense moment, the guards looked torn between obeying their common sense or their Empress.

But their choice was made for them when Orochi burst forth from the villagers with a shouted order of his own.

“Kill him!”

And then, chaos, as the villagers charged towards Zoro, the hapless guards joining the fray as the crowd descended, all manner of weapons and Seals already drawn or in use.

“No!” Sanji cried, rushing forward himself, and suddenly he was back in that field, back amidst the carnage of his sister’s troops, only this time, it was broad daylight. There was nothing to hide the bloodthirsty intent on the villagers’ faces, all of them gunning for Zoro specifically. They wanted him dead.

There was nothing to hide the fear and the pain in the swordsman’s red eyes as he fought desperately for the very right to live.

And yet, when the swipe of Zoro’s paw made contact with the first attacker, sending the man flying back down the steps, Sanji noticed his claws were retracted. He didn’t want to kill, the only blood falling to the temple steps coming from the wound at his chest, already torn and leaking.

“Zoro…” Sanji panted as he ran up the steps, shoving aside those he could to try and get through to the swordsman. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do, but he had to get to him. He had to be with him.

Ropes flew through the air, some thrown by the guards, some growing out of the shoulders of one of the villagers, Seal aglow with the effort. All of them sought to restrain Zoro.

And they nearly succeeded when Zoro’s paws tripped up on a fallen rope, the guards taking the chance to pull it as hard as they could, Zoro’s body crashing to the temple steps as he stumbled.

Time seemed to slow, Sanji barely aware of the guards trying to keep him from getting to Zoro, pushing and shoving with all his might.

Two men were rushing towards Zoro with swords aimed at his heaving chest as he struggled to get up. Did he see them coming? Could he react in time, even if he did?

“No! Don’t!”

Those words from a young voice screaming in panic, though Sanji couldn’t tear his eyes from the swordsman as Zoro just barely managed to swat away one of his attackers in time. The man rolled back down the temple steps where he hit the ground hard, clutching a shoulder that no longer looked functional.

The other man still charged forward though, and this time, Zoro shakily pushed himself up, his forelimbs trembling with the effort, a puddle of blood staining the steps where he’d fallen.

“No! Stay away from him!”

That same voice again. And just as Zoro swung his paw, more forcefully this time, to send his second attacker flying, a small female form rushed up between them in an attempt to protect Zoro from the man’s blade.

Zoro’s paw accidentally made contact with her on the follow-through, the size of it easily dwarfing her as the force sent her hurtling down the stairs, her body smashing into the ground hard with a sickening crack.

She rolled several times, that familiar green robe dragging up dust and dirt, leaving a smear of blood in her wake before she lay still.

“Tama!” Sanji cried, and he found himself sprinting towards where the little girl had fallen.

His feet wouldn’t move fast enough, it felt like, but he finally crashed to his knees by her side, fighting the urge to recoil when he saw the wrong angle of her neck, the blotchy color of her face, and the blood trickling from her mouth.

Was she…?

But then, he saw her hand twitch, and she inhaled a shallow gasp.

It drew a gasp from him as well, an unmistakable dread filling his chest…dread over the inevitable.

“Tama… Tama, it’s okay. I’m here…” Sanji’s voice was choked as he delicately touched her face, reaching out to squeeze her hand when she tried to lift it.

But her hand was persistent, weakly nudging her pouch of dangos towards him, even though she couldn’t untie it from her belt.

He almost didn’t hear when she spoke, her voice as faint as it was, so he leaned in close to her head.

“Make them…see us…Sanji…” she whispered.

His heart clenched at the words, clenched even harder when her chest stilled, and he looked up to find her eyes closed and her face paling.

He barely registered Hiyori kneeling down on Tama’s other side, her hands reaching out gently to touch the girl’s shoulder.

Numbness overcame him, cold and unforgiving as he watched Tama’s Seal glow, rising up off her chest, its design hovering there for a long moment, but this time, there was no one to put it back. There was no one to reverse this.

The Seal vanished in a small burst, leaving the air empty and lifeless.

“Get him! He just killed a child!”

People were charging Zoro anew, blowing right past the fallen girl, for all their “concern.”

When Sanji lifted his eyes to find Zoro’s again, the swordsman’s were wide, raw with shock, shame, and anguish as he stared at Tama’s body, his sides shaking with quickening breaths despite his frozen stance. His expression was so decidedly human, nothing but Zoro, even in the form of something animal, and the broken halves of Sanji’s heart all but shattered at the sight.

Run… Save yourself, please, because I can’t lose anyone else, Sanji thought desperately. He hoped Zoro would read it on his expression alone.

Something must have reached the swordsman, be it Sanji’s devastated plea or his own sense of self-preservation because, a moment later, Zoro finally turned and bolted up the stairs.

He leaped over the charging horde in a single bound, barreling unsteadily towards the courtyard wall. With the advantage of height, he was able to make the jump, throwing his body over the top of the wall. He scrambled for purchase for a moment, his paws kicking up dust and knocking off shingle panels before he managed to push himself over and was gone.

Sanji’s fingers were untying Tama’s pouch, ignoring Hiyori’s tearful cries of, “Sanji. Sanji, wait!” He was up and running after Zoro before he was even aware.

There was no way to catch him. They were trapped in the courtyard. But still Sanji ran in a mad, nearly hysterical dash, Tama’s dango pouch tight in his grip.

He wouldn’t let Zoro go alone. He refused to lose him.

“Seize the villagers! And the Germa prince too!”

“No! Enough!”

Hiyori’s voice tried to contradict Kawamatsu’s, but it was too late. The guards had already begun grabbing and restraining the villagers, some of them instantly fighting back.

Sanji felt hands yank at his robe again as he pushed through the chaos, but he elbowed his way free on his futile sprint, the dead end of the wall swiftly approaching.

Another pair of arms seized him, this time with blade in hand, his back meeting a broad armored chest as he struggled.

The wall loomed large and impassable before him, standing between him and the swordsman as it always had.

Until, by some miracle, perhaps summoned by his own desperation, the wall, amazingly, began to crumble. For a moment, Sanji thought he was imagining it, but no, a massive golden form was smashing into the courtyard from the outside, the sun itself seemingly coming to give Sanji a way to Zoro.

But it wasn’t the sun. It was a frantic Komachiyo, the huge beast looking almost feral, eyes darting about at a frenetic pace, as if drawn to the courtyard by something instinctive and unknown.

Without Tama and her power, was he still tame…? Had he forgotten how gently he’d played with the girl, how adoring his gaze had been every time she’d squeezed his massive form in the biggest hug her little arms could manage?

She’d wanted nothing more than to prove her strength, create a better life for herself and the villagers. And now…

Sanji’s burgeoning grief stole his breath, nearly rooting him to the spot again. But the guard still holding him had gone rigid with shock at the sight of the beast, and the last shred of his instincts forced him, somehow, to break free from his hold.

Sanji ran for the giant beast with the only plan he had—the small pouch in his hand. The only thing left of a little girl whose future had been stolen.

“Komachiyo!” he called, though the beast didn’t respond, just kept up that wildly searching gaze, distressed growls and whimpers leaving his throat.

But Sanji didn’t stop, pulling out a large dango from the pouch and practically shoving it into Komachiyo’s mouth.

But then, he heard a swallow, and not a second later, the beast’s pupils widened in recognition, his gaze falling on the scene behind Sanji for a moment before he started to push forward towards where Tama had fallen, a sorrowful whine escaping his throat.

Sanji pushed back against his chest, unsure where he was drawing strength from in that moment, unsure how he was still moving.

“No. Komachiyo, please,” he croaked, his voice hardly sounding like his own. “It’s over… There’s nothing we can do. Please, we have to…we have to find Zoro. Please help me.”

He felt silly talking to him like that, as if he could understand, but the torn expression on the beast’s features, as he looked between Tama’s body and Sanji, was decidedly aware.

It was quiet for a moment before he threw back his head and let loose a mournful howl. Then he shoved his short snout under Sanji, practically tossing the blond onto his back.

Sanji scrambled up, just barely able to grab a fistful of golden mane before the beast turned tail and jumped over the rubble of the wall, running in quick strides through the Capital’s streets.

The beast’s paws pounded on the dirt paths, a thunder in Sanji’s ears, though it was his whimpers that were most prominent, whimpers of sorrow and grief that sounded of far more emotional intelligence than Sanji had ever afforded an animal before.

Sanji didn’t think about the scene he was leaving behind, the panic and the chaos, the lost dreams of a little girl.

He just thought of Zoro and the broken, hopeless look in his eyes.

He just thought of Zoro and how he couldn’t let him go.

They left the Flower Capital behind, Komachiyo leaving a path of mild destruction in his wake. But no one pursued them as they made it out of the city, blowing through the rice fields into the forest beyond.

The trees were dark and dense, and they were soon lost in the maze of undergrowth, though Komachiyo didn’t slow, and Sanji could only hope he wasn’t running aimlessly. Was he really on Zoro’s trail?

But it was only another minute before the blond caught a glimpse of movement ahead, nearly a trick of the eye, he thought, the sunlight and shadows flickering past them working well to conceal anything trying to hide in the brush.

But whatever was ahead wasn’t hiding; it was running, and decidedly clumsily at that, not even trying to be stealthy as its paws crushed fallen branches, the loud huffs of its breath joining Komachiyo’s short grunts.

Sanji’s heart jumped into his throat when he saw a glimpse of a long striped tail.

“That’s him!” he huffed, patting Komachiyo’s shoulder. “Keep going!”

Then, louder, he called out, “Zoro!”

Predictably, the swordsman didn’t turn back, just continued his frantic sprint through the trees.

“Zoro!”

Sanji called his name once more, unsure if the swordsman could even hear or understand him properly in this form, but he had to believe he could, even though he didn’t stop. His striped fur provided a surprising amount of camouflage as he wove in and out of the trees. Sanji caught mere flashes of russet orange that mirrored the speckled sunlight before it darted into the shadows once more.

He couldn’t lose him though, and thankfully, Komachiyo’s stocky legs were just as fast, even if he barreled through the forest with far less grace and stealth.

Zoro was slowing, that much was clear; his wound was no doubt giving him trouble, so Sanji urged Komachiyo forward just a bit faster. If they made one last push, they could catch him.

Komachiyo snorted out panting breaths through his short snout, his massive tongue lolling. Still, the loyal beast pressed on until, with a grand leap, he managed to surpass Zoro and thud roughly onto the ground in front of him, thoroughly crushing the underbrush but blocking Zoro’s path.

Instantly, Zoro bore his long teeth with a rumbling hiss, his front paw reaching out to swipe threateningly toward Komachiyo’s face. Sanji had no choice but to duck behind the creature’s huge golden mane for protection.

Zoro’s strike missed, Komachiyo dancing back in time, but he didn’t attack again, simply growled and swiped defensively once more in warning before pivoting to sprint back into the trees.

But Sanji wasn’t letting him escape, poking his head back up when he heard the snap of twigs marking his retreat.

“Zoro!” he shouted, more sharply this time, desperate to make the man beneath the beast hear him. “Don’t run from me!”

Zoro’s steps ground to a halt, the leaves that concealed him shaking with gusts from his breath.

He stayed where he was though, and Sanji knew he had his attention when, ever so slowly, Zoro turned, emerging back into the open, the dark red-orange of his eyes meeting Sanji’s directly.

There was something there, something he sure as hell hadn’t noticed when he’d first encountered those eyes in the night, when he’d been so sure they were the last sight he’d see.

He’d seen an animal then—a monster, the same as Kawamatsu and everyone else who’d set out to hunt him.

What he saw now, as he had just earlier, was familiar—the same eyes that had seen him when no one else had, the same eyes that could be so impossibly fierce and trusting and vulnerable all at once.

Zoro stood before him somehow, his presence overwhelming, even in this form, and Sanji didn’t know how he’d never put it together before the night of the battle.

He supposed he hadn’t wanted to believe that the person who’d so swiftly become his could be taken from him simply for existing. He hadn’t wanted to believe he could lose him too.

“I knew,” Sanji said after a minute, Zoro’s ears pricking at the sound of his voice. “I already knew it was you. I saw you transform in the forest after you were wounded… I should’ve known it was you from the start.”

Zoro didn’t move, as still as a statue, but Sanji saw the heaving of his sides quicken ever so slightly.

So he pressed on.

“You almost died then, Zoro, and I can’t—”

He cut himself off, unsure of what he was trying to say, but he knew it would hold no meaning from where he currently sat. So he slid from Komachiyo’s back, Zoro’s swords tucked under his arm, and moved closer, reaching out his free hand slowly as he approached.

Zoro’s teeth flashed, a soft snarl leaving him, but Sanji didn’t flinch. The sound wasn’t aggressive. It sounded more pained than anything, a feeble plea for Sanji to back away, but that was out of the question.

The blond shook his head just before his hand made contact with the flat expanse of Zoro’s nose, fingers stroking up toward his eyes tentatively.

Then, with a pang of concern, he set Zoro’s swords on the ground and surged forward to hug him properly, burying himself in the soft fur of Zoro’s huge chest, unable to fully wrap his arms around his neck but trying his best as he held on.

He could feel the heavy thud of Zoro’s heartbeat pounding against his entire body, another growling whine escaping his throat.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Sanji insisted, fisting his hands in tufts of orange and black. “I never could be, you idiot. Just please…come back to me…”

It took a long moment—a moment during which he squeezed him tighter as if he could drag him back himself.

But then, the air shifted, and he felt the body in his arms shrink, fur slipping through his fingers until what he clutched was fabric, and what he felt was the warmth of human skin and sticky blood against his front.

He stepped back to see the last faint glow of Zoro’s power before his Seal sank into black once more, his wound dribbling blood in places where he’d ripped his stitches.

Sanji barely had a chance to fret over it before the swordsman reached up to push him away, backing up several steps to run a hand roughly through his hair.

His breaths came hard and fast, torment plaguing his features before he finally gritted out, “You knew…?”

Sanji didn’t take his eyes off him, nodding.

“Yes,” he replied steadfastly. “You’ve been protecting me from the start, haven’t you. Why me, I’ll never fucking know, but…”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Zoro was shaking his head adamantly, fingers gripping harder in his hair, pacing. Sanji could practically envision the agitated flick of his tail.

“I just—I killed her—I—f-fuck—Tama—” Zoro stuttered out, his hand sliding down to cover his eyes, an agonized grimace pulling back his lips.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sanji assured, believing his words but hearing the emptiness of them when Zoro merely shuddered and shook his head again.

So Sanji reached out, grabbing Zoro’s arm and pulling him closer.

The swordsman tried to tug free.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled. “Don’t—you have to—”

Sanji didn’t let go because, for all Zoro’s efforts, he heard the opposite desire behind those words. A dangerous hope filled his chest that he wasn’t wrong.

“I meant it, Zoro,” Sanji insisted, shaking the swordsman’s arm until their eyes met. “I’m not leaving you. I can’t. I won’t.”

That same hope flickered through Zoro’s eyes—a warmth and a slight wilting of his features that stayed there for so long that Sanji finally believed it was real. He just had to turn Zoro’s hope into belief as well.

And now, at long last, he had the courage to do it. Because he couldn’t hold back any longer. He couldn’t resist the pull he’d begun to feel so strongly.

His hands lifted, one fisting in Zoro’s robe to drag him in close, the other finding his face. And his lips found Zoro’s, the swordsman sucking in a sharp inhale of shock just before they connected.

Sanji pressed into him, even as he felt Zoro stiffen. He stood there, the pressure of Zoro’s lips new and warm, but above all, comforting. He held on for a long moment, waiting, waiting for Zoro to reciprocate, practically feeling the racing of the swordsman’s pulse through his lips to match his.

He’d just begun to doubt himself, just begun to fear Zoro’s rejection when he felt the tentative brush of fingertips against his waist.

Sanji lifted his other hand to slide through Zoro’s hair, pulled back to whisper, “It’s alright,” in the tiny space between them.

It was alright for Zoro to embrace him. It was alright if he didn’t. It was alright that he existed. Everything would be alright, somehow, if only Zoro would understand just how important he was. How else could he make him see?

But then Zoro melted. His breath left him, shuddering, and his lips met Sanji’s of their own accord, his kiss a rough caress that moved with just as much nervous inexperience as the blond.

Still, there was relief there, and Sanji felt it in the way Zoro’s hands gripped harder at his waist, pulling their torsos flush, his fingers scrunching in the fabric of his robe with desperation.

Zoro wanted this just as much, didn’t he. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the magnetism he’d so hoped for between them was palpably real, wasn’t it. Maybe he truly was deserving of this.

Their lips found a rhythm, an ebb and flow beginning to come so naturally that Sanji wasn’t sure how he’d lived without it before. He wasn’t sure how his lips knew the swordsman—or so it felt—falling into him with such ease, despite all the fear and uncertainty he’d harbored for so long.

But it was fear and uncertainty that emptied out between them, obliterated somewhere in that urgent clashing of lips, that warm, tight press of Zoro’s muscled body against his, and the dampness Sanji felt on the swordsman’s cheeks when he pulled away for breath.

Zoro tried to keep going, kisses meeting Sanji’s jaw, growing shaky when they reached the hollow beneath his ear. And then a broken shudder racked the swordsman’s form, his face finding the crook of Sanji’s neck, where it stayed as his grip tightened and tears stained Sanji’s collar.

Sanji held him, coiling arms around him and guiding him slowly to the ground, allowing the swordsman to slump against him further.

The air was silent, save for the hitched breaths accompanying Zoro’s quiet sobs, and Sanji stared ahead, eyes dry but stinging, his heart throbbing with his own grief. For Tama…for everything they’d lost…

The forest was dark, its foliage trying hard to eclipse the sun, jagged blackness encroaching from every angle.

So he held Zoro tighter, knowing the light wouldn’t return if he was alone.

Chapter Text

The slide of metal rang cold in the air, like a single claw scraping against stone as Zoro drew his blade, lowering himself to one knee in the sand.

They’d made their way to the Scabbards’ Temple, the overgrown grounds still lying dormant and abandoned, deep in the forest, the magic of the place dulled by the overcast sky that seemed to mimic the clouded mess of Sanji’s heart.

Zoro knelt before the line of waterfalls, each erupting from their respective dragon’s mouth. Their carved virtues were almost invisible from where Sanji watched from a distance, near the entrance to the training yard. Komachiyo lay on the ground forlornly beside him.

The swordsman was silent as he laid his blade out before him, then curled over to bow low, his forehead nearly pressing against the sand.

He stayed that way for a long time, and Sanji didn’t disturb him, lost in his own sorrow, his chest physically tight from the weight of Tama’s death. His mind replayed it, over and over again. He saw her face, heard her weak voice no matter how hard he tried to block it out.

His fingers brushed absently through Komachiyo’s fur, the beast letting out small whimpers now and then as he mourned the loss of his human, but Sanji’s eyes stayed on Zoro.

Eventually, the swordsman sat up and took his blade in hand again, lifting it up towards his head.

For a moment, Sanji felt a twinge of fear, wondering what Zoro was going to do in his grief.

But Zoro merely grasped his topknot in his other hand and brought the blade up to slice through it, cutting it clean off, leaving an uneven mess of cropped hair behind.

He left the fallen hair where it was as he sheathed his sword and got to his feet again, heading back out towards Sanji.

He didn’t stop though, just kept walking past until he reached the top of the stairs that bridged the waterfalls below, his shoulders tense.

Only then did he turn his head ever so slightly back over his shoulder.

Sanji took the invitation and made his way to his side.

His body was screaming to reach out and hold him, but he didn’t know what the swordsman wanted right then, so he stood close but apart.

Zoro’s face was stoic, though Sanji saw the torment in his eyes, that warm brown glazed over with pain and sadness. He was no doubt still blaming himself.

Sanji couldn’t let him suffer alone.

“It’s not your fault, Zoro,” he murmured, his voice quiet over the roar of the water.

“It is my fault, Sanji,” Zoro replied with resigned calmness.

He spoke with certainty and finality, but the blond still felt a protest bubbling up within him because he knew the fault didn’t lie with Zoro.

“If Kawamatsu hadn’t forced you to transform... If he hadn’t ordered them to attack you—”

“Kawamatsu didn’t strike her down—”

“But that’s not—”

“Sanji, fucking—please.”

Zoro’s hand gripped his, and Sanji lost any retort he could have mustered as he felt the warmth of Zoro’s calloused skin, his fingers linking with Sanji’s.

The contact effectively lulled him, Sanji’s focus returning entirely to this newfound connection between them, the fluttering of his heart picking up speed as he looked into Zoro’s tired eyes.

“Kawamatsu was right,” Zoro said after a minute. “He was right all along. He was trying to protect the kingdom. Because look what I do.”

Just as Sanji opened his mouth to protest, Zoro’s fingers slid up his wrist delicately, as if the swordsman knew just how much of a distraction his touch had become.

“I’m just as much a danger as Kaido was,” he continued in the silence that followed. “I told you the beast deserves to die—”

But this time, his spell cracked with those words and Sanji tore his hand away to bring it forcefully to the swordsman’s bicep, squeezing hard.

“Do not say that, Zoro!” he growled out, the air between them crackling with tension as his adamance sunk in.

He’d successfully claimed Zoro’s attention, and he needed to hold it for what he wanted to say next.

Sanji brought his hand up to Zoro’s face, no longer hesitant to touch him as he stroked his hand back over his cheek, through his hair to hold him there gently.

“Don’t ever say that again, you idiot…” he murmured, his fingers sliding through the uneven strands of moss. “You didn’t let me think that way, so I won’t let you.”

Zoro sighed deeply, but then slowly lowered his head to Sanji’s shoulder, resting his forehead there. He said no more, and Sanji knew he was listening.

He kept his hand in Zoro’s hair, the other finding the nape of his neck.

“The beast that protected me, saved my life, more than once,” Sanji murmured in his ear. “The man who saved me, who put up with all my shit…tried to train a hopeless case like me. Even if you did berate me at every turn.”

“I just wanted to be around you,” Zoro mumbled, his voice muffled against the fabric of Sanji’s robe.

The blond smirked, unsure when he’d last heard those words…if he ever had to begin with.

“You were the first one in so long who did…” he replied.

He felt Zoro shift, the man’s hands pressing gently against his waist. Zoro tilted his nose into Sanji’s shoulder in a soft nuzzle.

“It was easy with you. You didn’t know who I was,” Zoro said. “Where I came from.”

“And why does any of that matter?”

“You didn’t know…what I’d done…”

Sanji furrowed his brow, but he didn’t pull away or stiffen, knowing it would likely upset the swordsman, who was already tense. When Sanji brought a hand to Zoro’s chest, he felt the man’s heart racing.

He’d vowed to be patient with him, and he would be. But part of him knew that Zoro’s wall need not exist—not with him.

“You said you trusted me, right?” Sanji said quietly, wrapping arms securely around his shoulders, hoping to give Zoro an opening to keep talking.

Zoro didn’t reply for a long moment. He just ground his forehead a little more into the crook of Sanji’s neck, tightening his grip on his waist as if he were savoring the closeness before Sanji could push him away.

Sanji stayed right where he was but, finally, the swordsman took a deep breath.

“I was born with this Seal…” he muttered, not lifting his head. “But for the longest time, it was just a mark. My powers didn’t…manifest right away.

“I grew up on a farm. My parents didn’t even know what the mark was. No one in our village did. It was only when…I was six years old.

“One day, I was out by the river with my best friend. Her father was a master swordsman who protected our village. We liked to spar. I mean, I could barely keep up with her when we clacked shit around, but we pretended we were strong. Um…”

Sanji felt Zoro’s hands twisting slightly in the fabric of his robe as he trailed off. He knew this was hard for the swordsman, perhaps immensely so. So he lifted his hands to his hair again, stroking softly to soothe him.

It worked, as Zoro seemed to muster up the strength to continue.

“So we were out there, trying to toss around the biggest rocks we could. A deer ran by and startled us. And suddenly…my Seal was glowing, and my whole body was ripping itself apart. I didn’t know what was happening.”

He sighed.

“Kuina got scared. Tried to fight me off. She ran away, back to the village. Next thing I knew, everyone was after me, and I couldn’t change back. It’s fuzzy… I just remember being terrified. She was my best friend. And she was looking at me like I was a monster.”

His fingers clenched harder in Sanji’s robe, almost sending their own silent plea for Sanji not to react badly.

“And I remember…” he continued. “I remember Kuina’s face when I lashed out at her. I remember her face when my claws hit her… I remember how it felt. She was injured really bad. I don’t even know what happened to her after.”

Sanji let out a shuddering breath of shock, his fingers stilling in Zoro’s hair as he tried to process this sudden toppling of Zoro’s wall.

Just like that, it was gone. It was what he’d wanted for so long now, and his heart was breaking, hearing the truth of what Zoro went through. Zoro hated his Seal—maybe even hated himself—for something that had been beyond his control, as far as Sanji was concerned.

In that moment of silence, Zoro pulled away, as if scared by Sanji’s lack of response, so the blond instantly grabbed him back, despite his shock. His top priority was to show the stubborn fool that he wasn’t running, no matter what secrets Zoro revealed.

The swordsman still seemed resistant though.

“I meant to do it too,” Zoro said, staring back at Sanji defiantly. “I meant to attack her. I was angry and hurt. I really was the monster she saw me as.”

“You were a child, idiot,” Sanji insisted, sliding his hands back through Zoro’s hair where he gripped firmly. “You didn’t know your own strength.”

“I stole this sword from her! It wasn’t a gift like I told you!” Zoro growled, gesturing to his white-sheathed blade. It was almost an argument now, a stupid one in Sanji’s eyes. As if Zoro was going to force him away after everything.

“Are you trying to test me, Zoro? Because if you’re looking to be punished, I think I can arrange a few ass-kicks. But you’re not getting rid of me.”

It was Sanji’s turn to fix him with a defiant stare, the blond quirking a brow, daring the swordsman to protest.

The look on Zoro’s face was a turbulent mixture of emotions—confusion, gratitude, frustration, grief. And yet, there was a layer of warmth atop all of that, something Sanji couldn’t quite place with his mind, but certainly felt in his heart when it fluttered rapidly at the mere meeting of their eyes.

“Even after…Tama…?” Zoro said quietly, his voice struggling to remain stable.

“Especially after Tama…” Sanji replied, lowering his hand to trace over Zoro’s Seal, his eyes falling to Zoro’s lips.

Zoro let out a breath, turning his head and closing his eyes briefly.

“Something’s wrong with you,” he muttered eventually.

“That makes two of us then, huh,” Sanji shot back, his smirk a little less pronounced than usual, given the circumstances, but Zoro still managed to make it surface.

The swordsman sighed, and though his eyes went to Sanji’s lips too, he merely slumped forward to press his forehead into the blond’s shoulder again.

“I didn’t want to see that same look on your face…if you found out everything…” he murmured after a moment. “I was so afraid you would think—”

Sanji shook his head, fingers brushing Zoro’s cheek.

“I’ve seen real monsters, Zoro. I lived with them. For years.” He stroked his face gently. “I know what they look like. And so do you, don’t you?”

Zoro was quiet for a long moment, but he nodded.

“The villagers captured me…a-after I lost it…” Zoro mumbled. “I was a freak to them—a dangerous freak. They captured me, but my parents begged them not to kill me. So instead, I was sold off to the first band of pirates that came around the island. Kaido’s crew. And then—”

Sanji stopped him, tapping under his chin gently to get him to lift his head.

“I know what came next,” Sanji said. “Wano…Kin’emon…Hiyori…” He met Zoro’s eye when the swordsman finally looked up. “Me… Us…”

He saw Zoro’s gaze flick to his lips again, his heart already beating faster for it. He stepped closer into Zoro’s space, the heat between them increasing tenfold. Zoro’s eyes hadn’t left his mouth.

“Everything we’ve been through,” Sanji murmured because he finally understood now. “It all led to us, Zoro.”

It was sentimental, almost embarrassingly so, but Zoro took the bait, leaning in to crash his lips to the blond’s again, this time with renewed ferocity.

Zoro’s kiss was fire, no longer tentative and unsure. He pushed forward with certainty, and Sanji could recognize the melding of man and beast in that moment, in the most magnificent way. As Zoro’s powerful kiss took over his senses, he felt every bit of the swordsman’s raw emotion, for perhaps the first time. He felt how much he’d been holding back, how truly desperate he was for this connection.

Sanji had to be worthy of it, he knew. He had to prove to Zoro, as much as himself, that this would only make them stronger, would only make things brighter.

And it sure seemed that way when a single swipe of Zoro’s tongue against his made his heart pound with renewed vigor, the swordsman’s grip in his hair stirring heat within him he had never fully experienced.

He’d never imagined he would ever have this. He’d never even allowed himself to entertain a future where someone cared this much for him, where someone touched him with this much reverence and spirit—like his own skin was giving Zoro life.

Zoro’s lips barely left his as his hands wandered to Sanji’s waist, caressing his sides in gentle rhythm. Sanji caught the way his touch kept sliding towards Sanji’s waist sash, though this was where he finally hesitated, approaching uncharted territory.

He pulled back when Sanji’s breath grew a little shaky, the swordsman’s own exhales ghosting over Sanji’s lips in soft pants.

Sanji smiled a little sheepishly, his body feeling flushed, particularly when he saw a flash of a shy smile from the swordsman too, a smile he felt directly in his chest.

But that smile was fading before long, and Zoro’s forehead was against his, leaning there for support.

“You know we have to fight,” Sanji murmured. “For Tama…”

Zoro tensed a little, though he nodded silently in response.

“But we can’t do it alone. We’re going to need an army.”

“We don’t have an army,” Zoro mumbled.

“True,” Sanji replied. And while that problem might have terrified him once, it now only served to make his gears turn. His lips turned up a tiny bit. “But surely the man who trained you is worth several dozen at least.”

Kin’emon’s hut was warm, and Sanji was thankful to have a pot of steaming stew as a distraction, something to keep his hands busy, though they stirred absently, added meat and vegetables almost mindlessly.

Still, it was a distraction nonetheless, that and the sight of Tsuru tending to Zoro’s wound across the small room. The woman was speaking to the swordsman softly as she cleaned away the blood where he’d torn his stitches.

Zoro’s shoulders were slumped dejectedly, but Sanji could tell by the way Zoro’s eyes flicked to her now and again as she spoke that her gentle touches and words of comfort were reaching him. Sanji knew the woman had to be devastated by the loss of Tama, her surrogate daughter in a way, with how deeply she’d cared for the girl.

But her expression, while tired, was ceaselessly patient and kind. Sanji knew she would grieve later, privately, but she exuded quiet strength in that moment, and unfortunately, his recounting of the events at the Capital had created an incredibly urgent problem. It was risky for them to have stopped here as it was, but they’d needed all the support they could get.

Zoro’s eyes lifted to his, causing Sanji’s heart to stutter. The swordsman’s lips pulled up slightly in something that was too pained to be a proper smile, but it was an attempt, and for that, Sanji’s gaze softened.

He itched to touch him again, to have a moment without stress.

To go back to their banter and not worry about anything beyond the feeling of each other’s lips.

Nothing but the contours of Zoro’s body that had somehow become so inviting in ways he’d never allowed himself to imagine before now.

“You say all the villagers were captured?”

To not think about all the lives that were still in danger, including his and Zoro’s own.

“Prince.”

To see Zoro smile without pain and not—

A sudden nudge to his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Kin’emon looking at him.

He blinked himself back to focus, finally tearing his gaze from where it had settled around Zoro’s angular collarbones, watching his broad chest rising and falling as Tsuru worked.

“Hm?” Sanji said, turning to face Kin’emon.

“You said the villagers were captured,” the older samurai said once more, his voice as quiet and patient as his wife’s. “Were all of them taken?”

Sanji sighed.

“The Empress’ guard was after them,” he replied. “When I escaped, there were still some fighting. Though admittedly I wasn’t paying much attention…”

Kin’emon nodded, his thick brows furrowed with concern.

Sanji believed it was wrong for any of the villagers to be captured on Kawamatsu’s prejudiced grounds. Still, Orochi was not to be trusted, and he worried about any retaliation the man would organize if he was released. Retaliation that might very well endanger Zoro even more.

There was only one thing to do.

“You want to go back…” Kin’emon said, seemingly following Sanji’s thoughts.

Sanji nodded.

“We have to. There were innocent villagers among them. We can’t let them be taken on the principle of their Seals alone.”

Kin’emon leveled him with a serious look, and Sanji felt the weight of his judgment.

“I trust that the Empress will do what’s right,” the man replied finally. “It is a wonder that you and Zoro were able to escape. Do you truly wish to tempt fate?”

“That’s the thing,” Sanji said with another sigh. “The Empress was… She had no sway. Kawamatsu wasn’t listening to her. She looked like she’d…given up… She needs us…” Then his own gaze grew more serious as well, looking pointedly at Kin’emon. “She needs you.”

Kin’emon bristled, predictably, his reluctance coming back at full force. His fists clenched over the short stumps of his thighs.

“Your Highness…”

Sanji’s adamance only grew, and he leaned forward, setting down the stew ladle and lowering his voice to speak quietly but fiercely to the disgraced samurai.

“I watched a little girl die today because of this backwards war of prejudice,” Sanji implored. “A little girl who wanted better for everyone in this kingdom. If that alone isn’t worth fighting for, then I don’t know what is.”

Kin’emon’s eyes were tumultuous and torn with indecision over something he’d likely never thought he’d have to face again.

Just then, Tsuru looked up sharply, her head swiveling towards the open window that was letting in some meager sunlight, muted by the clouds overhead.

She tilted her head, her hands falling to her lap.

“I hear horses,” she murmured quietly, despite the fact that the air was completely silent around them. Sanji was about to ask how, when Zoro straightened as well, frowning deeply.

“I hear it too,” he said, and Sanji’s eyes fell to his Seal, half covered by bandages.

Of course. Their powers. Animals could hear far better than humans.

Almost immediately after, there was the sound of cracking branches and shifting dirt as Onimaru and Komachiyo came closer to the doorway, the two giant creatures whining with concern outside.

Kin’emon shuffled towards his wife, taking her hand to ask, “At what distance, my beloved?”

She closed her eyes, her red-painted lips pursed as she listened. “It’s faint. I think, perhaps, they have just entered the forest.”

“They must be looking for us,” Sanji muttered, his heart already picking up speed, stomach twisting.

Zoro was already getting to his feet, his expression stoic and determined as he reached for his swords. There was a hint of that terrifying acceptance Sanji had seen when Kawamatsu revealed his powers.

The blond’s head whipped to Kin’emon, his gaze insistent that he make his decision, but the man’s eyes were trained on his wife, and he didn’t make any moves.

A huff of frustration, then Sanji stood as well, one hand gripping his own sword, the other Zoro’s arm as the two of them hurried outside in tandem without so much as a spoken word.

Zoro passed his three blades to Sanji, wincing a bit when he twisted his torso too far.

“Your wound…” Sanji murmured, flicking eyes to his bandaged chest.

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro replied dismissively. “Just…tell me what the plan is.”

Sanji sighed as he secured Zoro’s swords to his back for safekeeping. “The plan is, we get to Hiyori before anyone can capture us. After that…I’m working on it…”

“Better than nothing,” Zoro mumbled.

Then, without warning, he leaned in to grab Sanji’s face, kissing him hard as if it was the last thing he’d ever do. Sanji didn’t want to believe it was.

He returned the kiss tenderly, drawing the moment out with a few added presses of his own. It was too easy to fall into Zoro’s touch, his fingers sliding into his hair to grip there near the nape of his neck in a spot that was quickly becoming a favorite.

“I should be thanking you…” Zoro murmured against his lips when they parted for breath.

Sanji’s turned up in a proper smile, his chest no longer fluttering with nerves but instead bursting with warmth, if only for a short minute.

“Still can’t say it outright, can you?” he murmured, kissing Zoro’s cheek and bumping his nose there gently.

Zoro let out a small huff, and he said nothing in reply, looking exasperated, but Sanji finally saw a glimmer of a smile on his lips too.

“It’s okay,” Sanji said instead, shifting to trail a thumb over Zoro’s jaw. “It might make my skin crawl.”

The swordsman smirked, and Sanji felt Zoro’s hands slide over his waist smoothly, squeezing him closer.

“Then I won’t,” he said. Then, with one more squeeze and a final peck to Sanji’s lips, he backed up. “Stand back.”

Sanji did, reluctantly stepping away, giving Zoro space.

The swordsman took a deep breath, met Sanji’s eye again for a brief moment, then, for the first time, willingly transformed in front of him.

It was fascinating, and yes, beautiful to see the way Zoro’s robe seemed to shatter and reform itself in slow motion, like fallen petals that knew exactly where to land to paint the stripes of his fur.

Zoro changed much more smoothly this time, his body morphing and growing with a mere roll of shoulders that came far more naturally than when he’d been forced.

When he finally stood before Sanji in his full feline form, his eyes still looked a little wary, as if awaiting Sanji’s judgment.

But the blond merely stepped forward without hesitance to slide hands through his fur, giving a playful scratch behind Zoro’s ear.

“Is it weird if I say you’re cute like this?” he murmured, and when Zoro gave an affronted chuff in response, he snickered. “Yeah. Yeah, it kind of is.”

Zoro just headbutted him enough to lift Sanji off the ground where the blond was forced to scramble ungracefully onto his back when Zoro practically tossed him up there.

He caught a glimpse of Kin’emon appearing in the doorway, the man’s expression stoic before Zoro bounded off into the forest.

Zoro’s gait was smooth and long, his paws mere light thuds on the ground, far from the rumbling, crashing gait of Komachiyo, though Sanji still held on tight as they raced through the woods. He had to hope Zoro knew the way to the Capital because each clump of trees looked the same as the last. If it weren’t for the sight of the river appearing now and again to their right, he would have assumed they were going in circles.

Zoro’s ears were pricking left and right as he ran, clearly listening for the riders. Sanji still couldn’t hear anything though…

…until, without warning, Zoro skidded to a halt. Sanji was thankful for the thick fur that cushioned the impact when he smacked forward into the swordsman’s neck.

Zoro’s ears were swiveling almost frantically now, and Sanji slumped a little lower behind his head.

“Zoro, what’s—?”

The swordsman cut him off with a low growl, his head turning in a clear warning to be quiet.

Sanji’s hands gripped Zoro a little tighter, his own eyes scanning the trees now for any sign of danger.

Zoro’s body twitched, seconds before Sanji heard the faintest of rustles, and then Zoro dodged as a long arrow came shooting out of the woods, flying straight at them.

It missed, spearing the ground mere feet away from Zoro’s front paws, but the subsequent shifting of the shapes between the trees was enough to give away the enemy’s presence.

Suddenly, those shapes morphed from the shadows his eyes had first discerned, to dozens of riders on horseback, all with loaded bows aimed in their direction.

They began to let fire, and Zoro immediately leaped forward, Sanji’s stomach lurching as the swordsman took off running again.

Sanji held on for dear life, the wind now whistling with the sharp whips of arrows flying past and the thunder of hoofbeats as the samurai gave chase.

Zoro was managing to avoid them, somehow, moving agilely through the trees, but Sanji could hear from his huffed breaths that he was exerting much effort to do so.

“Keep going!” Sanji urged through his own panic. “You can outrun them!”

But then, suddenly, another arrow flew from the front, one that Zoro nearly didn’t see in time.

He jumped left, slamming into a tree by accident, the sharp weapon just barely whizzing past. Zoro took the brunt of the impact in his side, but it was enough to jostle Sanji off his back, the blond flying off with a yelp before he hit the ground hard. He tucked his arms in to protect them, rolling several feet as twigs and dirt scraped his skin.

By the time he came to a halt, he’d certainly suffered a few bruises and scratches, but was otherwise unharmed.

The next thing he knew though, Zoro was over him, his heavy paws on either side of his body and his giant nose at Sanji’s chest, eyes wide with concern.

“I’m okay,” Sanji grunted, lifting a hand to touch the flat of Zoro’s nose. “Really.”

Zoro closed his eyes, tilting his head into Sanji’s chest for a brief moment. But then he whipped his head up and bore teeth ferociously at something behind Sanji.

Sanji pushed himself up, turning to see Kawamatsu’s broad form approaching on horseback, a circle of riders also approaching from either direction. They were surrounded.

The closest rider notched an arrow, aiming it not at Zoro but at Sanji, still on the ground.

Zoro roared, furious, the sound rumbling through Sanji’s chest at such close proximity as the swordsman stepped further over him protectively.

“Change back or we shoot,” Kawamatsu warned quietly, and more than one samurai now lifted their bows, all aiming at Sanji.

Zoro didn’t move though, just hunkered down lower over Sanji’s body to shield him.

The second their aim shifted to the swordsman, Sanji’s heart leaped.

“Zoro, just do it,” he hissed under his breath. “I’m not about to watch you become a pin cushion.”

Zoro released another growl of frustration, though after a moment, he heeded Sanji’s words, and he shifted himself to transform.

Sanji scrambled up as he did, wincing when a sharp ache spread up his side, but he ignored it, grabbing Zoro’s sleeve and pulling him close as soon as he was human again.

He noticed Kawamatsu’s eyes drop to their hands when he reached out to hold Zoro’s, but he couldn’t care about that now.

“None of this needed to happen!” Sanji insisted, drawing Kawamatsu’s attention back to his face, the man’s expression half hidden by his scarf.

“You’re right, prince, it didn’t,” Kawamatsu replied, his voice low. “But I’m afraid we only have the swordsman to blame.”

“This isn’t Zoro’s fault!” Sanji shot back, though he feared his argument would only fall on deaf ears. Still, he pressed on. “It was Orochi who instigated the attack the other night! My sister and some of her troops snuck into Wano in search of me. Orochi thought he would earn your favor by going after her.”

“So he told me…” said Kawamatsu, and then, a mere glance over his shoulder signaled the rider beside him to shift.

The rider gave a tug on a rope he was holding, his horse side-stepping away to reveal Orochi stumbling forward between them. The man’s wrists were bound by that rope, at the mercy of his captors, but he still wore his ever-confident sneer.

“You might have fooled the Empress, whose affection clouds her judgment,” Kawamatsu said, his scrutinizing gaze sliding back to fix on Zoro. “But I was right to be wary of you, swordsman.”

Zoro’s face was stricken when Sanji glanced at him, and yet, the blond wasn’t worried.

“What is he talking about, Zoro?” Sanji asked softly, simply because he wanted to hear it from Zoro, not Kawamatsu, nor anyone else. He knew who Zoro was, could never doubt him again, and he wouldn’t let anyone try to paint him in the wrong light.

But Zoro just huffed out a breath, looking pained, and the second he started to pull away, Sanji grabbed his hand back stubbornly. He wasn’t letting him be alone.

“So you don’t deny that your purpose for serving the Empress was to gain intel for Kaido’s loyalists?” Kawamatsu asked, and it was this that finally earned him a reaction from the swordsman. Sanji finally saw a fiery spark come back to his eyes.

“That’s what he wanted!” Zoro growled, gesturing dismissively towards the grinning Orochi. “When I swore to protect the Empress, I meant it!”

“You agreed to serve her. At my request,” Orochi cut in with far too much glee.

“I–I just—had nowhere else to go—I—” Zoro started to stammer, clearly searching through his frustration for some explanation that wouldn’t damn him.

Sanji reached out to touch his arm, squeezing gently in support before he stepped forward.

“Don’t you see? Orochi was using him!” he nearly shouted, his own inner fire already blazing strong. He only wished it could consume everyone who wanted to hurt Zoro. “If suspicion lies with anyone, it’s him! Not Zoro! Not the innocent villagers! Not anyone else!”

He hadn’t realized how quickly he’d advanced towards Kawamatsu, fury in his eyes, before a pair of swords were drawn in front of him, angled towards his chest.

Zoro tugged him back quickly, moving in front of the blond to protect him.

Again, Kawamatsu’s judgmental stare was drawn to that action, the man blinking slowly before he turned his attention back to Sanji.

“Regardless, the swordsman is, without a doubt, loyal to you,” he replied. “You who apparently led Germa’s troops right to our country.”

“Sanji has nothing to do with any of this,” Zoro growled, and Sanji had to suppress a wince when the swordsman’s grip on his wrist turned painful, as if his fingers would snap his bones unconsciously.

Kawamatsu stayed infuriatingly passive, seemingly expecting the reaction. In fact, he nearly ignored it altogether.

“As we’ve discussed, prince, it is not your place to decide what is best for our country,” he said, though Sanji wasn't put off.

“And it’s not your place either,” he hissed back. “Hiyori is the Empress.”

“And I’m afraid both you and the Empress have much to learn about what it means to act for the greater good and a better future.”

Sanji’s anger mounted, threatening to bubble over in some way that would likely lead to their demise, considering their current disadvantage.

The greater good…a better future… His own father had locked him away in service of those things, and now Zoro was being threatened with the same prospect, or worse.

“A better future for who?” he spit back, words he’d never been strong enough to say to his father but wanted to scream now. No more would he let himself or anyone he cared about be silenced. Never again.

Kawamatsu didn’t answer, and Sanji wondered where the real man was within him. Where was the compassion that had clearly once existed if he’d raised the Empress with such devotion? Was this truly what grief and loss could do to a person? Was this what Sanji himself might have become, in time?

It scared him to think about. And it scared him even more to realize that perhaps Kawamatsu, like him, wholeheartedly believed he was doing the right thing.

“The villagers will be questioned,” Kawamatsu said after a long moment. “And if they are indeed deemed innocent and harmless, then they will be released.”

Then he nodded to the samurai beside him, who suddenly pressed his horse forward towards Zoro, another rider dismounting and lunging from behind to seize the swordsman when he stumbled back, dragging him away from Sanji.

“Stop! What are you doing?” Sanji protested immediately. “I said this isn’t Zoro’s fault!”

“The decree to rid Wano of the Night Beast is still in effect. Signed by the Empress herself,” Kawamatsu said calmly.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Sanji shot back as he felt hands clamp onto him too.

But Kawamatsu was no longer looking at him, his brow furrowed as his eyes fixed on a faraway point in the trees, seeing something that clearly didn’t exist in this place nor time.

“Not at all,” he breathed, a softness to his voice that might have perhaps lulled the Empress as a child, the softness of a man deeply buried. And again, Sanji felt that horrible sinking feeling. That realization that this man had never made it out of his own prison cell of shame and weakness.

“I remember clearly those days of harmony,” Kawamatsu said, his words carrying the weight of a lived history. “I fought alongside many good samurai who possessed the power of a Seal. All of them are gone now…”

His eyes closed for a moment and he dropped his head, his hat dipping low to obscure his features.

But by the time he lifted his head again, his expression had hardened with determination.

“If we are to see that harmony again, sacrifices must be made, and the rotten fruit must be removed in order for this country to grow.”

Sanji barely had time to react before Kawamatsu nodded to his guards again, and they began assaulting Zoro anew.

The blond thrashed, struggling to be free when a sudden impact to the back of his head sent pain exploding outward from the base of his skull. His vision swam as his brain seemed to fill with both cotton and shards of glass simultaneously.

He’d hit the ground before he was aware of it, dirt scratching first his knees, then his cheek.

He registered a moving shape with the white color of Zoro’s robe, shoving the guards off, fighting to get to his side.

Something cold and metallic pressed against the back of his neck, followed by a voice with a chilling ultimatum.

“Fight back and he dies.”

Zoro’s movement stopped, though Sanji could hear him breathing heavily.

He thought he heard another scuffle as his eyes fluttered shut, a shorter form scampering away from the scene with a gleeful cackle, followed by a flurry of boots pursuing him.

But the blond couldn’t be sure because his head was pounding—splitting in half, it felt like—and he only remembered Zoro’s panicked face as he lost consciousness, the swordsman’s last words to him seeing him through the darkness.

“Just hold on.”

Just hold on…

It was what he heard in his mind when he first became aware of a hard, cold floor beneath him.

Just hold on…

When the dank, creeping smell of wetness and mold filled his nostrils.

Just hold on…

When his eyes flickered open to see the looming stripes of bars opposite him, cutting like claws through the dim lighting.

“Just hold on…”

The words came from his own lips this time, his own inner strength, when he slowly sat up to find himself in a familiar-looking place, a place that wanted to stab at his senses, drag him back into the suffocating hell of his past.

He was trapped in a dark cell, and the four swords he’d carried—Zoro’s and his own—were gone.

The air was quiet, save for the steady dripping of liquid, the faint scratching of a rodent. It brought back a hundred swirling memories, ones he could have stayed stuck in if it weren’t for one difference.

Someone else was whispering to him from the darkness beyond the bars.

“Mr. Prince… Mr. Prince, are you awake?”

He squinted into the darkness, trying to force his eyes to adjust as he crawled closer to the bars, searching the cobbled corridor. At the end of the hall flickered a single torch on the wall that barely illuminated anything but the moisture clinging to every surface.

“Over here. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

The voice again, and he turned his head, startling only slightly when he began to make out a tiny form dressed in a short robe. Her smile did more to brighten the space than any of the sparse torches.

“Hi!” Toko chirped, as if his situation were far less dire than it was. The girl stepped closer to the bars and slid aside a small hatch built into the bottom. “The Empress sent me! I brought you food. And maybe something else you’ll like.”

She passed a tray through with nothing but a small bowl of rice and a cup of something that looked too brown to be water.

“Don’t drink the tea,” she whispered. “It’s from the same brew I used to knock out the guards.”

Sanji jolted, raising his eyebrows. “You what?”

“Yeah! If you steep lavender in tea, it makes you real sleepy!”

“How do you know that?”

Toko shrugged. “Us servants all know stuff. In case someone tries to hurt the Empress. Anyway, here you go!”

And with that, she produced a key from the folds of her robe, giggling all the while as she swiftly unlocked his cell.

Sanji found himself rather stunned as she slid the door open, almost in a daze as his freedom was offered so easily.

Still, he couldn’t let the rice go to waste, so he scooped out the meager amount, the undercooked grains crunching between his teeth as he threw the ball into his mouth and hurried out of the cell.

“Where are they keeping Zoro?” he asked as Toko took his hand and started leading him, without a care, down the dark aisle of cells.

“In the dungeon beneath the palace,” she replied with a grin.

“Where are we now?”

“In one of the outbuildings.”

Sanji sighed as they came across a pair of guards sitting against the wall, snoring softly, the shattered porcelain of teacups scattered on the floor nearby.

“The Empress has the master key to the palace dungeons!” Toko said cheerfully, bringing Sanji’s focus back to the girl’s bright smile.

“And where is she?” he asked.

Toko’s expression didn’t waver, but Sanji noticed a slight furrowing of her brow, her voice taking on a disappointed tone.

“That’s the thing. Kawamatsu kinda locked her in her quarters.”

Sanji nearly groaned aloud. It seemed Kawamatsu was past the point of caring about the Empress’ feelings. He was taking matters into his own hands. Sanji could only hope that this would be the final wake-up call that Hiyori needed to realize that her retainer was no longer seeing straight.

“I don’t suppose you can magically produce another key?” he muttered to Toko.

But the little girl merely grinned up at him toothily.

“Nah, not that one,” she said. “So let’s go pick up the Empress!”

“I thought you said she was locked in her quarters,” Sanji replied, confused.

“She is! She sent me to help you.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper then, which almost seemed to echo louder in the cavernous corridor.

“I know a secret way back,” she said. “But you’re gonna have to crawl.”

It was no exaggeration, the girl leading him up and out of the building via a series of unassuming passages and more than a few shrubs once they reached the outer perimeter.

Moonlight now shone over the royal complex, the palace looming before them, thin windows shining with warm light in the darkness.

He wasn’t sure how many guards Toko had incapacitated with her special tea, but their journey was unhindered. It wasn’t until they grew nearer that Sanji noticed the lights of the palace were flickering, or rather being blocked by the silhouettes that continually passed by the windows, guards patrolling the corridors. It seemed they’d mostly been concentrated there. Clearly, they hadn’t deemed Sanji worthy of much surveillance.

“There’s more in the courtyard,” Toko whispered, noticing his line of sight. “That’s where they’re holding the Seal people.”

Still, his stomach now twisted, unsure how they were going to get to the Empress. But Toko didn’t seem worried, the little girl still smiling to herself as she held his hand, circling to the side of the building, where she led him down a set of stairs that descended to the palace’s base.

It hurt his heart to feel her small hand in his, a sudden reminder of the absence of Tama, but he pressed onward, somehow able to trust the child to lead him safely around the guards.

They entered the bowels of the building via an unassuming servants’ entrance. From there, Toko led him through a veritable maze, opening hallway panels that Sanji never would have suspected, taking him through hallways behind hallways and doors behind doors.

This was the half of the palace that wasn’t meant to be seen, belonging to the servants alone. As they made their way, Sanji was reminded once again of the castle in Germa, how these same claustrophobic passageways had been his salvation as Époni led him through the shadows to freedom.

He didn’t know how far they’d been walking before Toko finally stopped in front of a section of wall that was glowing faintly from a light beyond.

She knelt down and knocked in a deliberate pattern, after which a responding knock sounded from the other side.

Then Toko produced another key from her seemingly bottomless robe, one she slid into a small lock near the floor.

And soon she was sliding open the wooden panel, nearly blinding light assaulting them as Sanji realized she’d led them directly to the Empress’ personal chambers.

The room was ornately, but comfortably, decorated with low furniture, even the woven mats seeming to shimmer with gold-like fiber. Patterned tapestries hung from the walls, and Sanji noticed a somewhat messy cabinet full of well-loved books leaning against each other. Beside the cabinet hung a beautifully inked painting of a young boy standing proudly beside a stone statue of a dragon.

“Sanji!” the Empress’ voice exclaimed, and he found himself dragged into the room, tackled by a flurry of colorful fabric and Hiyori’s embrace.

“You’re alright!” she cried, squeezing him tightly. “Toko, you did it!”

“Mmhmm!” Toko replied, crawling forward into the room too. “All the guards are watching you, the dungeons, or the courtyard, so it was easy!”

“Well, they haven’t come in to check on me,” Hiyori mused. “I did shout at them so that might have put them off, but—”

“Hiyori, we have to free Zoro,” Sanji cut in, glad to see his friend was unharmed, but his heart was already pounding anew at the thought of the swordsman in danger.

She stilled, her expression turning serious as she looked away, dropping hands to her lap in a way that was far too similar to her response in the courtyard.

“Hiyori…” he said, his voice taking on a warning tone, his eyes drilling into her.

“Sanji, I…I don’t know what to do…” she murmured, spurring a wave of frustration that washed over him.

“What do you mean?” he shot back. “We have to save Zoro!”

She sighed. “But I can’t just…”

“Can’t just what? You already freed me! You’re the Empress! You can do whatever the hell you see fit!”

He was far beyond the threshold of formalities, but he was just as far beyond the point of caring. He reached forward to grab her arms, forcing her to look at him again.

“Hiyori,” he said adamantly. “Kawamatsu is out of control. This can’t continue. People are dying!”

At that, the Empress flinched, her gaze clouding over with sorrow. She bit her lip softly.

“I ordered the girl’s body be returned to the village…” she murmured, but Sanji shook his head, jostling her slightly again.

“And who will receive her, Hiyori?” he hissed. “Who will be left when Kawamatsu has his way?”

“But he won’t listen to me!” she shot back, her own frustration mounting.

“No! He won’t! Which is why we have to act!”

“There’s only one scroll left!” she insisted.

“So we take matters into our own hands! We don’t need magic to do that!”

She went quiet again and averted her gaze, teeth still worrying at her bottom lip. This was far from the confident young woman who’d mischievously dragged him from the palace not long ago, eagerly leading him through the streets of her city that she knew so well.

He needed that Empress back, the one who would do anything for her people, the one who knew exactly the kind of Empress—the kind of person—she wanted to be, outside her retainer’s shadow.

His voice softened as he lowered his hands to grasp hers.

“You’re the one who history will remember, Hiyori,” he said, and he realized he might as well have been telling his past self. “His actions will be a stain on your legacy if you let this continue. And he seems more than willing to let that happen for his own agenda.”

Hiyori let out a shaky breath again, her pale fingers looking small within his.

“He’s always taken care of me…” she replied quietly. “He’s always been there for me.”

“But now he’s not,” Sanji murmured, not taking his eyes from her face. “So you need to think about whose loyalty, whose interests align with yours.”

Her gaze lifted, fixing on the boy’s portrait across the room, the worry lines on her brow softening a bit as she studied it.

Sanji squeezed her hands again. “Zoro committed his life to you, despite everything. Are you just going to sacrifice him too?”

It took her another moment, but she turned to look at him, and Sanji felt a surge of relief to see conviction back in her eyes.

She squeezed his hands back, gripping tightly as she pulled him to his feet.

“Toko,” she said. “Will you pass me my sword?”

They didn’t bother with the servants’ passageways this time, something Sanji was initially worried about. Hiyori had ordered Toko to stay behind, out of harm’s way, but Sanji was still unarmed himself, and the two of them were racing boldly through the corridors.

But none of the guards near her chambers apprehended them, and he saw the grateful taps she gave to shoulders as they passed by. Clearly she hadn’t lost all of their loyalty.

They made their way through the palace, down and further down to a lower level, wood floors changing to stone, which betrayed their echoing footsteps horribly, until they reached a massive wooden door flanked by yet more guards.

These ones, however, instantly looked perturbed upon seeing Hiyori, both stepping in front of the door.

“Empress, I’m afraid we cannot let you—”

Her sword was drawn before Sanji could register it, the Empress jamming the hilt hard into the first guard’s head, sending him toppling. The second looked shocked, his hand trembling near his own sword’s hilt, though he seemed unsure of whether to use it against the monarch of his country.

“You will let us pass,” Hiyori said simply, and though the man hesitated, eventually, he stepped aside, then turned tail and rushed off down the hall.

“He’s probably going for reinforcements. We should hurry,” said the Empress, her voice straining somewhat as she shoved open the heavy door. Then she took Sanji’s hand and pulled him through the doorway.

They whipped down a steeply spiraling staircase into a larger dungeon that sprawled out before them, almost deeper than the eye could see in the dim lighting when they touched down at the bottom.

The place was silent as death, save for the echoing slide of metal, a blade crossing their path to prevent their entry.

Another guard stood before them, the man saying nothing, but fixing the Empress with a cold stare, a stare that was only broken slightly when Hiyori’s blade cut through the air to clash with his. She parried him back easily, giving Sanji room to slip by.

“Go look for him!” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm and focused, even as another guard rushed at them from further down the hallway.

She reached into a pocket of her robe, still holding back the guard with one hand, and pulled out a large brass key on a ring. She tossed it to Sanji, just before she pivoted gracefully to strike at her second attacker.

He didn’t hesitate, trusting her to take care of them. He’d seen her skill with a blade, after all, so he took off down the corridor without hesitation.

Enclosed cells lined the space, wooden doors replacing open bars, with little but tiny slats to serve as windows. It was impossible to see inside them without wasting precious time to peer into each. Not to mention, those doors seemed to seal in any sound he could have heard from within.

He looked into a few, finding them empty, but soon gave up that idea, instead sprinting further away down the aisle where the hallway branched and turned.

The loud slap of his shoes was deafening. He only hoped there were no other guards waiting, but thankfully, none sprung at him when he rounded the corner, and he kept running deeper into the dungeon. Surely they would keep Zoro hidden far from view.

This was when he noticed, however, a slight glistening on the stone slabs beneath his feet, the flickering of the torches on either side illuminating a dribble of something wet that trailed off down the hallway.

A closer inspection confirmed his fears. It was blood.

But it was a blessing in that moment, as he followed it all the way to the end of the adjacent hall where the splatters abruptly stopped in front of one cell.

Sanji let out a shuddering breath and fumbled with the key Hiyori had tossed him, his hands practically shaking as he struggled to get it into the lock.

Finally, he managed, giving it a forceful turn. He heard the heavy clunk of tumblers within. Then he slid the unlocked door aside and was met with firelight glinting off a pair of eyes that lifted to his dangerously, but then immediately widened and softened with relief.

“Sanji,” Zoro huffed out.

“Hey, mosshead,” Sanji breathed, and he ran to him, his eyes roving over the swordsman’s form frantically.

Zoro was kneeling in the center of the cell, but clearly not by choice, his arms wrenched behind him painfully, shackled and chained to the floor. His robe was stained with blood, as were his bandages, but he didn’t seem to have any new injuries.

Zoro looked just as frantic as Sanji felt though, fixated on the blond when Sanji brought his hand to the swordsman’s face.

“Are you okay?” Sanji asked. “Did they hurt you?”

Zoro just shook his head, tilting his nose into Sanji’s hair when he came close. “I’m fine. You? Your head…”

“I’ll live.” Then, with another huff of relief, he leaned in to hug Zoro tight, feeling the swordsman’s heart pounding against his, almost vibrating his whole form.

He’d been so panicked, but time seemed to slow the instant they were together, and despite the fact that Zoro was chained and the guards could come back at any minute, Sanji took that moment to appreciate that they’d made it back together yet again.

They wouldn’t get separated anymore. He had to believe this. He didn’t think he could take it if they did.

“My swords?” Zoro mumbled, his face now buried in the crook of Sanji’s neck.

“I don’t know,” Sanji answered apologetically, sliding his fingers through Zoro’s hair. “But we’ll get them back.”

He felt Zoro nod, still nuzzling close, his lips brushing against Sanji’s throat tenderly.

That was when Sanji heard a footfall behind them, and his heart jumped, fully expecting an attack when he whipped around.

But it was Hiyori, still clutching her sword, her face a little flushed, her hair disheveled. She’d averted her eyes from them, studying the fascinating workmanship of the door.

When Sanji noticed her, she looked a little sheepish, but she held up another metal ring, this one with multiple dangling keys.

“I’m afraid they need to train more,” she said primly.

Sanji wilted a bit, his lips turning up as she entered the cell.

Zoro had pulled back, watching her a little anxiously, as if awaiting judgment—over his Seal…what he’d done to Tama…perhaps all of it at once.

But Hiyori didn’t say anything, merely circled around to kneel behind him, her fingers gently touching his arms to get a better look at the chains.

Sanji sighed, meeting Zoro’s eye with a tiny smirk before settling beside him again, still stroking his hair.

The air stayed silent as Hiyori fiddled with the old padlock and started trying keys.

“You know…” she eventually said a minute later. “The first time my brother transformed, he knocked over an entire bathing tub in our family’s quarters, nearly flooded the entire tea room.” She smiled softly. “It smelled like moldy tatami for weeks afterward. But my father was so proud.”

She trailed off, falling quiet again, her gaze on the open air for a moment before she shifted so Zoro could see her.

“I’m sorry, Zoro…” she said, touching his shoulder. “To you and to everyone in the village. I should have done more. I should have always done more. I’ll see to it that the villagers are freed. And the girl…”

“Tama,” Sanji cut in.

Hiyori met his eye and nodded softly. “Tama… She will be properly honored. I will lead the effort.” She let out a breath then and shook her head. “I just…wanted so badly to believe that Kawamatsu would do the right thing.”

The wary look in Zoro’s eye had gone away, the tension leaving his shoulders as he gave her a small nod in return.

Sanji’s fingers ran over Zoro’s earrings gently, Hiyori’s words bringing another question to mind.

“Where is Kawamatsu now?” he asked.

“Orochi escaped in the forest. As far as I know, he’s leading a search effort,” Hiyori replied, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment before she lifted her head again. “If you’re both with me…maybe I won’t be so afraid to confront him.”

Sanji leaned forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

“You are the Empress, Hiyori,” he implored. “Don’t forget that.”

She gave a deep sigh, nodding as if to convince herself.

“Maybe so,” she murmured. “But…when all this is over, I think—”

Suddenly, a banging and then a clamor of footsteps echoed through the dungeon, growing louder as they neared the bottom of the stairs.

Panic filled all of their eyes, and Hiyori renewed her efforts, her fingers fumbling faster and more desperately as she shoved key after key into Zoro’s lock.

“Here, give them to me,” Sanji hissed when it became clear they wouldn’t make it in time, the footsteps fast approaching. “Get your sword.”

He took over the unlocking effort, Hiyori getting to her feet with her sword at the ready as those footsteps drew closer and closer. There was no escaping now.

The torches flickered as the pounding of boots came to a stop outside the cell. And it was Kawamatsu’s silhouette that filled the doorway, joined by two other guards, including the man who’d run off at the entrance to the dungeon.

But Kawamatsu merely sighed, a disappointed sound, particularly when he laid eyes on Hiyori, whose sword lowered automatically, though she seemed to want to fight that instinct.

Kawamatsu didn’t speak, merely jerked his head, and then one of the guards lunged into the cell to grab Sanji, the blond dropping the keys in the struggle.

“No! Stop!” Hiyori cried, and Sanji felt a surge of pride when she aimed her sword directly at the guard holding him.

“Let him go,” she ordered, and though the guard looked back at Kawamatsu, he ultimately did as told, dropping Sanji’s arms.

Kawamatsu was still in the doorway though, blocking any other escape.

“Kawamatsu, we must release him,” Hiyori said, her voice surprisingly level. “We must release them all! They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You gave your word,” Sanji cut in harshly, glaring at the man, putting himself between the guard and Zoro.

“And I will not go back on it,” Kawamatsu said. “The villagers will be released if they are deemed innocent.”

“Then release Zoro too!” Hiyori cried.

He turned to face her, and Sanji hated the way he looked at her. As if she was being a petulant child, defying his will, rather than an Empress with authority.

“The swordsman is the Night Beast, Empress,” he said slowly, with almost infuriating calmness. “Your decree for his execution is in effect.”

“Then I revoke it!” she shot back. “I didn’t know it was Zoro! This was your plan from the start!”

She stepped closer to Kawamatsu then, and Sanji could see the sheen of tears in her blue eyes, her chest hitching slightly with her breath.

“What happened to the man who defied Kaido?” she asked, her voice wavering. “The man who told him that humans will never be currency in Wano. What happened to the man who loved my family as they were—Seals and all!”

“It is in their honor that I protect this country—and you—every day, Empress,” Kawamatsu replied with near exasperation.

“Then why—?”

Sanji cut the Empress off gently, holding a hand out as he too stepped closer to the man.

“We’ll leave,” he said, resisting the urge to sneer as he said it. “Zoro and I…we’ll both go. We’ll leave your country and you can be at peace.” He turned his head subtly, glancing down at the swordsman in a silent request for him to go along with it.

Zoro met his eye, sighing slightly, but said nothing.

He’d drawn Kawamatsu’s attention, the man’s eyes narrowing.

“And become a danger to another country…” he said. “Or a weapon against ours.”

“Kawamatsu, enough,” Hiyori insisted, but the man simply rounded on her.

“It is better to be rid of his power entirely.”

“I won’t let you harm him!” she cried, her stance straightening, and Sanji heard the strength returning to her voice. “You will spare him, and Sanji! That’s an order!”

Kawamatsu was silent, and Sanji wondered if he would object further, if that soft spot for the Empress had truly hardened over completely.

But after a tense moment, he merely sighed heavily, his gaze flicking briefly to Sanji and Zoro.

“I was afraid it would come to this. I strongly disagree with that order, Empress,” he murmured, lifting a hand to rub over his face, though he looked at her a second later with some measure of defeat. “But I will not disobey you. To do so under these circumstances would only stir more dissent than has already arisen.”

“At your own fault…” Sanji muttered, though he reached out to subtly touch Zoro’s shoulder, wanting to share this small victory.

The swordsman was staring solemnly at the man though, still tense, as if he continued to sense some impending danger. Yet again, Sanji noticed the way Kawamatsu’s eyes flicked to his and Zoro’s point of contact. The man had to be mentally noting something.

“There are other ways to protect our country that do not involve further bloodshed,” the man was saying, but Sanji only saw Zoro’s eyes narrow further at that, despite Kawamatsu’s words.

He wanted desperately to ask Zoro what he was feeling.

“I swore to protect the Empress and Wano,” the man continued. “No matter the cost.”

“So did Zoro—” Sanji started to say, but Kawamatsu interrupted, anger flaring now.

“My duty is to my country!” he declared sharply. “My home! Those I love! What home—what love—does he have?”

He pointed dismissively at the swordsman, who flinched almost shamefully. Sanji slid his hand to the nape of Zoro’s neck to comfort him, feeling Zoro lean into his touch.

He hated the way Kawamatsu’s eyes flashed at that gesture, but he couldn’t care. If he realized what Zoro was to him, so be it.

Hiyori’s gaze was devastated as she looked upon her retainer, and Sanji’s heart ached for her, having to hear this coming from someone she’d always trusted and revered.

After a long moment, Kawamatsu spoke again, almost to himself now with eerie restraint.

“It is a burden those with true honor must bear,” he murmured. “The Empress’ own mother shielded the world from her power for years to keep invaders from trying to steal it. She understood the meaning of sacrifice.”

His voice was soft when he addressed Hiyori, reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek.

“Empress, I am truly sorry it has come to this. I never wanted to earn your anger. But we must do what’s best for our country. Perhaps one day you will understand.”

She shook her head, backing away from his touch.

“I ordered you to spare him,” she replied, her breath shaky as her voice turned to a near whisper. “Kawamatsu, please. Forget duty. Forget everything. If you cared about my family, then spare him…for me.”

Kawamatsu sighed again, closing his eyes for a long moment. Then he turned his head slightly to nod at the remaining guard, who hurried into the cell and restrained her, wrenching her sword from her grip.

Sanji was about to rush towards her when the other guard grabbed him, locking his arms behind his back as he struggled.

In the meantime, Kawamatsu had reached into the wide sleeve of his robe, producing a familiar-looking scroll, one that seemed to shine with untold magic within.

Sanji’s heartbeat stuttered, then started up a rapid beat in his chest, his eyes widening.

“Kawamatsu! You can’t—!” Hiyori was shouting, fighting against her own captor.

But Kawamatsu’s hand was already scrawling across it, the golden quill gliding smoothly. Sanji could see the ink glowing golden through the parchment before the words sank in.

He couldn’t move, an icy cold cracking apart his chest.

“No!” Hiyori cried.

Zoro’s panicked eyes met Sanji’s for one final moment, and Sanji could sense his own name unsaid on the swordsman’s lips. But then, without warning, Zoro’s eyes fluttered shut, and he started to slump forward, as if he were losing consciousness.

With a burst of strength, Sanji tore his way free from the guard’s grasp, bolting forward to catch Zoro before he could fall, though he almost recoiled when his hands touched the swordsman.

Because when he did, light suddenly filled the dank cell, ripples of shimmering gold emanating over Zoro’s form from where Sanji’s hands had made contact with his body. He couldn’t feel him properly, couldn’t feel his warmth, that strange golden barrier that coated him preventing it.

Sanji’s breaths came unevenly, Zoro’s body heavy and limp in his arms, the ripples of magic spreading with his touch when he brought his hand desperately to Zoro’s still face.

“Zoro…” he murmured, trying to wake the swordsman to no avail. “Zoro! Zoro, wake up!”

Nothing.

He vaguely registered Hiyori’s voice, high with panic.

“What did you do to him?!”

“I kept my word, Empress. I spared him.”

But Sanji’s eyes couldn’t leave Zoro, his hand still desperately stroking his cheek, trying to coax any sort of reaction from the unresponsive swordsman. Nothing…nothing…nothing.

He couldn’t feel him breathing, couldn’t see anything beyond the singular focus his frantic gaze had on the swordsman’s closed eyes and slack lips.

There was some sort of scuffle happening to the side, Hiyori’s robe in his periphery as she wrenched the scroll from Kawamatsu’s grip. Her shocked fingers dropped it the instant she read it.

The paper floated slowly to the ground like a leaf torn from a branch, landing in the warm glow still cast by the magic coating Zoro’s still body.

It was perhaps the only thing that could have grabbed Sanji’s attention in that moment, the blond numb with fear and shock as he read the golden writing scrawled by Kawamatsu.

Eternal slumber,

This swordsman remains until

His one true love’s killed.

Sanji’s heart beat traitorously hard in his chest, and it brought him no relief—the realization that Kawamatsu would truly spare him from death now too.

Chapter Text

Sanji’s hands left shimmering imprints on Zoro’s body as he kept the swordsman’s head and shoulders secure on his lap. Despite the cushions, the blond’s back jostled slightly against the walls of the covered cart, bouncing unevenly across the bumps in the moonlit road.

Hiyori drove the horse faster through the night, her hands gripping the reins tightly, pale skin almost ghostly.

She’d shed her formal robes, which lay crumpled unceremoniously in the corner of the cart, leaving her clad in her undergarments—loose-fitting cotton pants and an open shirt tied closed by a thick sash at her waist. Its muted neutral color left her less recognizable as the Empress, though her hair was still a dead giveaway, no matter how tightly she pulled it up.

But Sanji couldn’t care about their conspicuousness, or lack thereof. He could only think about the heavy weight of the swordsman’s limp body in his arms, his closed eyes and unmoving chest that led Sanji’s fingers to touch his Seal constantly, just to make sure it was still there—proof that he was still alive, somehow.

“I trusted you… I trusted you!”

The memory of Hiyori’s pained voice rang shrilly in his ears, his mind replaying broken moments of their escape that he’d felt barely present for.

“We will keep him safe within the inner sanctum of the—”

Hiyori’s words cut off Kawamatsu’s.

“No, you do not get to decide anything any longer!” A bitter cry and a threatening flash of her sword. “Go! Leave us!”

“Empress, you must—!”

“Go!”

Sanji leaned in, brushing his lips against Zoro’s forehead, the subsequent glow from their contact bringing no warmth.

He remembered Zoro’s deadweight, heavy against him as he and Hiyori dragged the swordsman up from the dungeon, struggling to keep him upright with his arms slung over their shoulders, only to be cornered by guards.

“Kawamatsu has ordered all palace exits to be blocked.”

Hiyori’s stern response to the man. “Your Empress overrules his order.”

But then another guard had appeared with Zoro’s three swords in tow, and it became thankfully clear where their loyalties lay. The men had helped them sneak Zoro out via a servants’ entrance, into a palace cart that was small but far too opulent to pass through the city unnoticed.

Still, it was the best plan they’d had, and Hiyori had driven the three of them away quickly, the cover of night aiding them as she took detours through narrow side streets and skirted around the Capital’s perimeter where it was empty and dark.

Sanji didn’t know where she was taking them, only knew from the way her hands shook at the reins that she was likely being fueled by pure panic and adrenaline, just as he was. His mind felt cloudy and his body numb—nothing but the horrible tightness in his chest reminding him that he could feel anything at all.

It was a restricting tightness, the same he’d had when his mother had passed, that feeling that he’d lost something unspeakable and couldn’t get it back. Only this time, it was worse.

Because he now knew that, thanks to Kawamatsu’s curse, every beat of his heart marked a second he could have saved Zoro…at the cost of his own life.

Time went blank for a while, the landscape outside passing in a shadowy blur of silhouettes as they left the city limits and entered the countryside.

He was only aware that they’d finally stopped when he smelled a salty breeze in the air and realized Hiyori’s hand was on his arm.

“Sanji,” she murmured, and he looked up, blinking back from his stupor.

Only then did he see that they’d arrived at the edge of an ocean cliff, the roar of waves far below and the dark, angular shape of a stout pagoda before them.

The building was perched precariously close to the cliff, facing the ocean as if lost in time, waiting for something on the horizon. A flat, tiled platform stretched wide near the edge, adorned with a colorful mosaic of what looked like some sort of mythical clock.

A short set of stairs led to the building’s entrance, flanked on either side by stone statues of fierce animals that resembled Komachiyo. There was naught but a small stone barrier on the perimeter to protect from a sharp plummet to a watery grave.

Sanji might have had questions if his mind wasn’t so broken.

Hiyori’s eyes followed his gaze as he peered out of the cart.

“My father had this temple built as a tribute to my mother. My brother and I used to come here to watch the ships in the harbor,” she murmured. “Back when there was one…”

Sanji’s gaze flitted downward, where he could see a few sparse lights bobbing on fishing boats in the cove far below, small vessels not meant for long journeys.

“We would wait for my father to return from his voyages,” Hiyori continued. “I haven’t been here since…”

She trailed off, but Sanji said nothing, simply couldn’t find a response. Hiyori thankfully only sighed and shifted to help him get Zoro off the cart.

Together, they managed to bring the swordsman up the stairs to the entrance of the building, huge wooden doors looming before them with no discernible knob or way of entry aside from a circular plaque in the center. Etched in the plaque, the grooves of an abstractly curved symbol glinted silver in the moonlight.

“My father used a scroll to build this so that the doors will only open for one with a Seal,” Hiyori explained when they paused before the doors, gazing up at the temple.

A shake of her head and a shadow of remorse crossed her face, as if she were remembering what was now lost thanks to her retainer—generations of magic, gone.

“A wasteful use of a scroll, perhaps…” she eventually admitted. “But he’ll be safe here.”

And sure enough, when they brought Zoro closer to the doors, his Seal glowed for a short moment, answered by the similar illumination of the plaque.

Then the doors gave an almost protesting creak, far too comfortable in their dormant state, before they began to slide open heavily on their own, grumbling and groaning until they finally reached a halt.

The interior was too dark to see clearly at first, but Sanji smelled the distinct scent of old wood and incense within. Hiyori let go of Zoro, making sure Sanji had a good hold on him, then hurried to clear space on a stone altar that formed out of the darkness.

She returned to help him lift the swordsman, the two of them straining to get Zoro’s heavy body laid out on the flat surface. His swords they set reverently beside his prone form.

Eventually, Sanji found himself leaning heavily over the altar, his arms quivering and his breaths just as shaky in the silence. Hiyori lit some candles and a lantern outside the door, seemingly keeping herself busy, though her glances kept landing on him.

He was vaguely aware of the statue watching them from its position behind the altar, a human form wearing a serene expression, framed by nine arms sprouting from its back like wings.

It must have been some sort of guardian deity, but Sanji hardly felt protected by anything but his own numbness, that left all but his throbbing heartbeat in a state of dulled despair.

He flinched when Hiyori’s hand met his shoulder, and he noticed her fingers retract, her mouth working soundlessly for words for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, Sanji. I’m so sorry, I…” she finally managed, her voice quivering, and when she trailed off, sniffling, he knew tears had to be welling.

He couldn’t look at her though, couldn’t move, just stared down at Zoro, willing the man’s chest to lift with a breath, begging him to open his eyes.

“I’ll stand watch…” Hiyori said quietly.

He heard the doors slide partway closed, and he was alone with Zoro, the small room now bathed in the flickering candlelight, mirrored by shadows that seemed to loom far larger than the weak flames.

Sanji’s hand met Zoro’s chest, fingertips creating five ripple points of golden light that moved and morphed when he slid his palm more fully up the swordsman’s sharp collarbone and shoulder. He didn’t want to feel the unnatural stillness where his heartbeat should be, so he didn't linger.

The texture of Zoro’s skin was the same, but the scroll’s magic was like cold marble under his touch, as if he were feeling something strangely inhuman and holy.

He almost snorted at that thought, as if the crude swordsman could even hope to approach holiness.

And yet, hadn’t he somehow become everything to Sanji? Hadn’t he swiftly become his reason for fighting on? The person his mind turned to during moments of indecision? His mind had barely begun to put the pieces together himself, and yet it made so much sense.

It must have been obvious, the depth of his devotion. After all, it had been obvious enough for Kawamatsu to see it and curse them to this. Ever since he was a boy, there had always been consequences for his feelings, hadn’t there. He’d always been shamed for caring too much. And perhaps that was why…

“I’ve never loved anyone before,” he realized aloud, a choking sadness brewing in his chest. “I thought I did. I thought I loved my mother, but…I think I loved the idea of her more. The idea of someone who cared about me unconditionally. Who really knew me. I couldn’t let myself fall any deeper, or I’d just get hurt.”

Sanji’s hand slid through Zoro’s hair, the sensation off-putting as the spell left that same chillingly smooth sensation on his palm that was so unlike Zoro’s soft strands of moss. He didn’t let it deter him though, still stroking with any futile hope of waking him.

“You told me I was the only one who saw you,” he murmured. “Well, you were the only one who saw me…who saw the person underneath every weakness I’d fallen to and knew from the start that I could break free. That I should break free.”

He sighed, studying the soft bow of Zoro’s lips, recalling their warmth, how alive Zoro’s kiss had felt, the swordsman giving as much as he took. He’d barely even gotten the chance to know Zoro that way, but even the memory of those all-too-short moments…the intense look in Zoro’s eyes, like Sanji was the answer to everything…

“I don’t know how deeply you feel about me, Zoro,” Sanji said. “But that was enough. That was enough for me to realize it was you. I’d been found by the person I’d needed to find me. Which is ridiculous because you’re such an idiot...”

A sad exhale that was laced with pain, and he stroked Zoro’s face more desperately, as if he could bring him back with his touch alone. Zoro looked asleep, his expression peaceful, but it was too quiet. There was no raucous snoring or errant twitching. He wouldn’t wake up, and yet the answer to breaking the spell was right there, Sanji thought.

“And now the only way to save you is for me to die, isn’t it. Unless you’ve got another true love somewhere out there.”

It was the first time he’d acknowledged the truth out loud, and the words became all the more terrible for it. Zoro would never want him to give in. Zoro would want him to keep living. But was he really willing to trap the swordsman in such a state for as long as he lived? Was this truly what they were doomed to? To be apart no matter what they did?

Sanji’s laugh was quiet and broken as his thumb brushed Zoro’s temple, struggling to hold onto any semblance of strength he had left within him.

But he couldn’t keep it together, couldn’t hold himself up when it felt like all he’d worked for, all he’d built during his time in Wano was crumbling.

He’d fled Germa to ensure he’d never be imprisoned again. But now his heart was breaking with the realization that it was inescapable. He was his own prison, and Zoro’s now too…

He couldn’t take it. His heart all but caved in with the pressure of it all, forcing hot tears to his eyes and his head to Zoro’s chest as he shook with powerful sobs.

Sanji climbed onto the altar shakily, pressing himself against Zoro’s side and clinging to his robes, receiving no warmth in return. His lungs felt small as the darkness seemed to close in on him from every angle, a horrible drowning feeling that sucked him down into its depths. A feeling that was unfortunately familiar, almost nostalgic.

He didn’t know how long he floundered there, unable to claw his way out, until suddenly, a flicker of the candlelight pulled him back out of that oppressive space, accompanied by an urgent hand on his shoulder and his name in a worried voice.

“Sanji. Sanji! Wake up!”

His heart was pounding in his chest, and his body was tense as he realized he’d passed out for some time. And there was Hiyori, leaning over his shoulder, panic on her features.

“Sanji, there’s something happening in the Capital!” she said.

“What?” he mumbled, trying to drag himself back to some semblance of awareness, but his mind was fuzzy and all he could see was Zoro’s still body beside him.

But Hiyori was pulling him, urging him to follow her, so he stumbled off the altar, following her out the open doorway where she pointed behind the pagoda at a blood-orange sky smeared over the Capital.

For a moment, it seemed dawn was breaking, but rarely was the sunrise so bright, and never did it bring smoke.

Sanji’s heart stuttered when he saw another concentrated blaze pop up on the horizon, bringing with it the sound of faint screams.

The Capital was burning. Why? Was it Orochi?

The Capital was burning, and yet, he was torn.

He’d thought he’d changed. He’d been so determined to go back there and fight, so sure that he could change things now by his own hand, but everything was broken. He’d already lost Zoro, and he was back where he’d started, immobilized by fear, despite trying his hardest to do the right thing.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, trying desperately to keep filling his lungs with shuddering breaths, until he felt a hand on his.

The blond looked up to see Hiyori looking at him with ferocity in her eyes, the ferocity he was now lacking.

“It’s alright,” she said decisively. “I’ll go. You’ve done more than enough for me already. It’s time I take the reins myself.” She squeezed his hand. “Stay here. Protect Zoro.”

He couldn’t react beyond a numb nod, his will to fight fading quickly.

But Hiyori swept him up in a tight hug, and it was this that drew a response, his trembling arms lifting to hold her back, chest hitching as tears threatened to fall again.

“We’ll get him back, Sanji,” the Empress murmured in his ear. “We’ll find a way. We will save him. And I will save Wano. Even if I have to wrench open this country’s closed doors myself.”

He felt her fingers digging into his robe, the strength behind her grasp.

“If Kawamatsu won’t fight for what my family would have wanted, then I must,” she continued. “Thank you for helping me remember that.”

Sanji didn’t want to let go. He wanted that embrace. He was a grown man now, but he still longed for someone to make everything fine, to take away all his pain. He couldn’t lose anyone else.

But he knew she was right. He had to let her go, so he gave her one last squeeze and kissed her cheek.

“Be safe,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

“You too,” she replied.

Then he helped her back up onto the cart, watching as she drove the horse off at a fast pace, her silhouette soon lost to the dark fields, swallowed by the thrashing grass.

He stood there for a while yet, watching that blazing horizon, wishing the grass would consume him as well.

There was nothing he could do now. Nothing but protect Zoro.

And yet, the longer Sanji sat there alone with the swordsman, the more anxious he became, the more his feelings of defeat started to twist and morph within him, as if the strength he’d built over his time in Wano was still actively fighting.

He knew indeed that, logically, there was nothing he could do. His combat training wasn’t enough. How could he possibly hope to join a battle?

But he soon found himself pacing back and forth, eventually heading outside to watch the fire-limned Capital.

His mind seemed to rip itself in two, warring with itself in heated debate.

He had to go back, but how could he help? He couldn’t just sit here, but would Zoro be safe if he didn’t?

Eventually, he ended up leaning over Zoro’s body again, his shoulders hunched and tense as he gripped the edge of the altar.

“What should I do? What the hell should I do?” he gritted out, as if Zoro would open his eyes and give him answers. “I have to help, but what can I do anymore? I have nothing now.”

Predictably, the swordsman remained still and silent.

Sanji let out a shuddering breath of frustration, his lips close to the swordsman’s.

“Please wake up. I need you,” he whispered, just before he leaned in to press lips to Zoro’s desperately.

A burst of that shimmering light came from their contact, and for a moment, it seemed like a spell breaking. Wasn’t this how so many fairy tales went? With true love’s kiss breaking the curse?

But no matter how long he held his lips there, waiting for a breath, waiting for some movement, anything…nothing happened.

He might have broken down again if it weren’t for the faint sound of hoofbeats thundering outside, swiftly approaching. It was perhaps the only thing that could have forced him away from Zoro in that moment, the thought of Hiyori approaching with news.

But when the rider dismounted outside, the landing was heavy, as were the footsteps that rushed for the door, a wide hand sliding the doors open further to accommodate the sudden appearance of a broad figure.

Sanji whipped around to shield Zoro instinctively when he heard the metallic sound of a sword being drawn.

Kawamatsu’s voice was low as he growled, “Step away from him, prince.”

Sanji’s lungs fluttered with rapid breaths, his hand fumbling behind him to land on one of Zoro’s swords.

“What are you doing here?” he huffed. “Haven’t you done enough?!”

He struggled to block Zoro from view as best he could, trying to muster even an ounce of the defiance he’d shown before. But his heart was pounding too fast, and his hands were shaking too much to come off as anything more than a leaf in the wind.

Still, Kawamatsu must have seen something in the way he sought to protect the man because his gaze was ever-calculating, ever-observant of the way Sanji’s hand seemed magnetized to Zoro’s.

“So it seems my assumptions were correct,” the man said quietly. “I’ll ask you once more. Step aside.”

But despite everything, Sanji just shook his head with disdain.

“I’ll die before I let you near him again,” the blond gritted out fiercely, though an almost delirious smile twitched at his lips. “And if I die, he’ll wake up. And he will finally put you in your place.”

Kawamatsu’s patience had worn thin though, and Sanji wondered how long he could keep this up. How long could he stand here and stall, forcing Kawamatsu to justify his horrible actions?

“My place is to protect this country, and I will not fail again!” Kawamatsu cried, his livid voice rumbling through the small space. “The Capital is under attack because of what he brought upon us! This plague of pirates will not destroy us a second time!”

“And what will killing him solve!” Sanji shot back. “You’ve already cursed him to this! You’d be betraying the Empress further and—”

But Sanji stopped himself short as it hit him, the terrible truth slapping him right in the face as he took in the other man’s heaving chest, bare beneath the open neck of his robe.

“His Seal…” Sanji realized, absolute hatred and disgust filling him as it all clicked into place. Kawamatsu wanted Zoro’s power. “After everything you put him through! After the hatred you instilled against him! And now you want the very same thing you ostracized?”

“There are no longer any other options to protect this country,” Kawamatsu hissed. “And I will no longer let anyone stand in my way.” He took a step closer. “I have already lived with far more guilt than you can imagine. A trifle more is a small price to pay.”

“The Empress will find out!” Sanji cried, now focused on shielding the swordsman’s chest.

But Kawamatsu merely shook his head slowly. A chill ran down Sanji’s spine at his tone when he spoke, a tone of eerie certainty.

“When I arrived, the deed had already been done,” he stated, playing out the story he would no doubt present as truth. “He was dying already. I was forced to take his Seal to protect it from falling into the wrong hands. A deceptive prince of an enemy kingdom who had already—”

“No!” Sanji interrupted frantically. “You’re delusional! You have burnt down your own country! You are no better than Kaido!”

He was fumbling to say anything, anything that might delay the man a moment longer, give someone—anyone—a second more to reach him and save both him and Zoro.

“I will be stronger than Kaido. Finally,” Kawamatsu assured. “Wano will never be threatened again. We can live in peace. That is all I’ve ever wanted. That is all the Kozuki family ever wanted…”

But no one was coming. No one was coming to save him, and as the man stepped ever nearer, Sanji’s panicking brain finally stilled with acceptance.

No one was going to save him—save Zoro. No one but himself.

Sanji’s hand landed on a round incense jar behind him, and before he had time to snap out of this decisive state, he whipped it around, throwing the ashy contents directly into Kawamatsu’s eyes.

The man cried out and stumbled back a few steps. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to give Sanji an opening. He unsheathed Zoro’s prized white-hilted sword and swung it wildly at Kawamatsu.

Given the man’s skill, he’d half expected the block, but Sanji hadn’t anticipated the precision with which Kawamatsu’s blade clashed with his, particularly while the man continued to rub frantically at his eyes.

Still, Sanji swung again, pivoting his body in the way Zoro had taught him to gain more force.

Again, Kawamatsu stopped his attack, though clumsily this time as the man’s foot stumbled against the raised threshold of the doorway.

Sanji shoved forward with all his might, forcing the man out of the temple’s inner chamber entirely. He turned and slammed the doors shut behind him, that magical carving on the wood glowing for a brief moment before it sank back into darkness.

The door was locked. Zoro was protected, but now, that left nowhere for Sanji to hide.

Kawamatsu seemed to realize this because the man was coming at him again, his feet sure and quick despite his hefty size. His eyes were open now, focused, and he rushed at Sanji with quick, practiced slashes of his blade that the blond just barely managed to block.

Several times the blade nicked him, a series of red slashes beginning to line up on his forearms, and true terror burst through him when his back rammed into the closed doors hard, cornering him.

Kawamatsu spun, meeting his blade deliberately this time and hooking his swing, sending Sanji wheeling off-balance. A second later, Kawamatsu’s hilt rammed into his side, and Sanji sprawled to the ground, hitting the tiles hard and dropping his blade.

He gasped for breath, ribs throbbing, and he heard the telltale clatter of Zoro’s sword being kicked out of his reach. His eyes opened to see it tumbling down the steps out of sight.

Sanji had nothing left, with the remaining swords locked inside the temple with Zoro. He had no weapon, no protection, nothing but himself to rely on.

‘Your legs, idiot.’

Zoro had told him to fight with what came naturally to him. It was one thing when they sparred though, without any real danger, but now there was a man with intent to harm rushing him and—

The adrenaline kicked in, and he shot his leg out, the sole of his boot clashing with the flat of Kawamatsu’s blade.

But Kawamatsu wasn’t holding back, and Sanji lost his balance when the man dropped his sword and came at him from a different angle.

Sanji stumbled and barely managed to pivot, twisting himself to launch a kick with the other leg, but again, Kawamatsu was too strong and too fast. This time, he kept pushing, sending Sanji’s leg buckling.

He tumbled to the floor again, hissing when his hands scraped the stone painfully, the impact singing through his elbows.

Blood marred the heels of his hands, and he pulled them in close to his chest with a wince.

A shadow fell over him, undulating with the torch light nearby, and Sanji was all too aware of his pulse rushing in his ears, his breaths unsteady as he turned to glare over his shoulder.

Kawamatsu was looming over him, his expression cold.

“I won’t rid this country of you, prince,” he said, as if doing Sanji a kindness. “Not yet. Not until I’ve dealt with your swordsman.”

He moved to the temple’s door then, giving a hard tug, and Sanji felt a brief surge of relief when the door didn’t budge, the protection spell holding strong.

But he barely had time to revel in that relief before Kawamatsu grabbed the burning torch instead, bringing it towards the door with clear malicious intent.

Sanji’s protective instincts kicked in, quite literally, when he shoved himself up, stretching his leg out to kick the torch away with all his might.

He missed the torch’s handle, which he’d been aiming for, hitting the wick instead, flames licking up the sole of his boot when he knocked the torch from Kawamatsu’s hand. His foot flew down, the fire catching onto Kawamatsu’s scarf instead.

Hurriedly, the man flailed to put it out, and Sanji acted on that split second of distraction.

He spun, swinging his leg with all his might, harder than he ever had yet, a new and foreign desire to draw blood filling him. He managed to land a kick directly into the man’s head.

It was enough. Kawamatsu stumbled and staggered, tripping when he backed up too far. He tumbled backward down the steps, his agility rendered useless when he couldn’t right himself.

Down he crashed, and despite everything, Sanji still felt panicked when he realized the man was tumbling straight towards the edge of the path.

He hit the barrier, but with enough force for the weathered rock to crumble. He rolled over it, barely catching himself on the edge of the cliff, his short arms scrabbling for purchase.

Sanji ran down after him, unsure what he was going to do, only for Kawamatsu to grab for the hem of his robe, slipping further when Sanji danced out of his way.

And it was then that Sanji stilled for a brief moment, a vow bursting through his mind.

He wouldn’t die. Not like this, not by this man’s hand. Even if it would save Zoro, Sanji realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Zoro alone after everything.

Hiyori was right. There had to be a way. There had to be a way for them to be together again, and they would figure it out. But not like this.

And Sanji felt a solemn hardening in his heart—the same as when he’d left his family—when he admitted to himself that it could never happen while Kawamatsu still lived.

The panic left his eyes, replaced by a stony decisiveness when he knelt down to where Kawamatsu’s hands barely clung to the rock, straining white as they searched desperately for any grooves or cracks that might hold him.

The frothing ocean receded far below, bearing jagged, rocky teeth one by one.

Sanji was silent, letting his mind go blank. His hands reached for Kawamatsu’s and started to pry the fingers up with cool focus, one by one.

Kawamatsu’s eyes flashed with rare fear, no doubt realizing what was happening, but Sanji didn’t stop, wrenching with more and more force. This was for Zoro. So no one would ever harm him again.

A glimmer of awareness and remorse crossed Kawamatsu’s face, his remaining fingers trembling uncontrollably as they struggled to stay clamped onto the rock.

“I loved the Empress and her family,” he gritted out through the effort, his shimmering eyes not leaving Sanji’s.

“I don’t doubt that. But your love has blinded you,” Sanji replied, his voice flat, fierce, dangerous. It almost didn’t sound like his own.

Kawamatsu seemed to recognize the change as well.

Sanji knew he wasn’t the same inexperienced prince who’d barely known anything about the world around him. Now, he was free of his cage. And he knew exactly what was worth fighting for.

Kawamatsu’s eyes closed with acceptance.

“May that yours doesn’t,” he replied quietly.

Sanji nodded. Then, before he could stop himself, his hands released the man with a hard shove, letting Kawamatsu drop from the cliff.

He looked away, unable to watch his silent plummet, thankful that even his splash several seconds later was barely discernible from the sound of the already-crashing waves.

He finally glanced over the edge a minute later to see a surge of red water churning around the rocks, but there was no sign of the man, save for his scarf, floating alone, twirling and twisting with the tide.

Sanji sat back, kneeling there as his eyes fixed on the brightening horizon in the distance. The moon was still visible, the fully-round disc like an eye opened wide to witness what he’d just done, reflected in the ocean below. The air felt thick, the scent of smoke tightening his throat uncomfortably.

It was hard to know what to feel. The thought of it was horrifying, that he’d just knowingly pushed a man to a watery death, but what was the alternative?

Watch him kill Zoro, and then suffer the same fate himself?

He was safe now, and it had been that easy…that lucky… It had been as simple as prying desperate fingers off a cliff, as familiar as dissociating, letting go of himself for that one moment to put an end to another life—

It was a perilous slope.

Sanji felt his breath hitch as a sick feeling rose up his throat, a sudden dizziness overcoming him that had him scramble back from the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, his justifications seemed senseless. He’d saved Zoro, but he’d just killed a man. Was this what Zoro would have wanted? Hadn’t he just traded Zoro’s life for another’s?

And yet, Zoro still wasn’t here. He was alone, and this only made his heart pound faster, his breaths shaky and fast as he curled in on himself, his mind threatening to shut down in its shock.

He couldn’t do this alone. Not anymore. He needed Zoro. He’d just killed a man and—

Suddenly, a faint light appeared behind him, illuminating the rocky ground where he knelt. A sound followed, heavy doors sliding open, and his heart froze.

Sanji didn’t move right away, almost scared to, just listened to the low, ominous slide of wood, his chest clenched.

He heard a footfall and a creak, and his eyes closed for a moment, preparing himself for whatever he would find.

Then he turned, daring to look back at the temple where a figure stood, shadowed by the dim light, ghostly in a white robe.

It took a moment, the figure’s head swiveling to take in the surroundings, and Sanji heard the sound of heavy, confused, familiar breaths.

Finally. Finally. He heard them again.

The blond could barely make out the other’s eyes, but he knew the moment their gazes locked when he heard a low, hopeful voice.

“Sanji?”

Eternal slumber

This swordsman remains until…

A moment as decisive as prying desperate fingers off a cliff…

As comfortable as dissociating…

Releasing himself for that one moment to put an end to another life…

His one true love’s killed.

Sanji scrambled to his feet, running up the temple steps as fast as he could.

Strong arms caught him.

He collided with the swordsman’s chest, his legs nearly giving out, but Zoro held him up, and then he was kissing him like he never had before, as if he’d lose the chance all over again. His hands pulled Zoro closer, one fisting in his hair, the other caressing the angular slope of his jaw.

Sanji felt Zoro’s bewilderment in his soft gasp before their lips crashed together, in the rapid flutter of his heart—his heart that was finally beating again.

He was moving. He was here, alive and solid and responding with equal abandon in Sanji’s grasp, his lips parting to slide his tongue against Sanji’s deeply, hands capturing the blond’s ribs in a warm press of his calloused palms.

Sanji didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to let go of Zoro ever again. He wanted to lose himself in him until there was no way to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Zoro was safety, strength, a future that he desperately needed when, for so long, it had felt like he didn’t have one.

Zoro pulled out of the kiss first, his breaths ragged over Sanji’s mouth as a wince marred his features, his wounds no doubt paining him.

But their bodies were still pressed close, a hot line of contact between them as Sanji clung to the swordsman.

It was all rushing back to him—the unspeakable things that had just transpired, the fact that Zoro was even here with him enough to prove that they had.

The blond was sure his own trembling had triggered Zoro’s confusion when the swordsman asked, “What happened? What’s—where are we? Are you okay?”

Sanji shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to take comfort in the feeling of Zoro’s chest moving against his.

“I-I…” It was hard to say, still hard to fathom what he’d just done. A man was dead because of him. Regardless of Kawamatsu’s actions, Sanji’s very being still recoiled from the thought. But he forced himself to admit it.

“Kawamatsu’s dead,” he finally said, his voice quiet but level, despite his vulnerability. “I just killed him…to protect you. And that…broke the enchantment.”

He felt the hitch in Zoro’s breath, the swordsman’s eyes widening in disbelief as he lost his words for a moment.

“You…you just…” he stuttered, and when Sanji nodded, Zoro made a soft sound. “To protect…me?”

Again, Sanji nodded, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Zoro’s robe anxiously.

Zoro still wore a baffled, almost incredulous expression, staring at Sanji as if he were someone he didn’t recognize. But there wasn’t judgment, just…awe, if Sanji dared to assume.

“Why?” he finally asked, almost cautiously.

But Sanji couldn’t handle him not knowing. Sanji could no longer let this stupidly wonderful oaf go another second without realizing what he was to him.

He took Zoro’s face in his hands roughly.

“Because I love you more than anything, you idiot.”

This seemed to absolutely stun the swordsman, enough that Sanji almost laughed. Zoro’s body went rigid, his breath hitching, though his eyes didn’t leave the blond, watching Sanji as if he would retract his words, or maybe even disappear from his grasp at any moment.

But when Sanji merely waited, Zoro finally whispered, “You do?”

This time, Sanji did chuckle, his thumbs tracing a line over the other man’s jaw.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked.

Zoro still didn’t move, so Sanji let out an anxious breath.

“You don’t have to say anything, Zoro. I just needed you to know,” he said. “Before either of us gets put under any more spells—”

But then his words were swallowed by Zoro’s lips, slamming into his again with the force of a dam breaking.

Sanji finally felt it. Every last obstacle between them was down. Everything he—and Zoro clearly—had been scared to admit was right there in the open, and Zoro was kissing him as if he wanted to consume those words. Consume and make them part of himself.

“I thought…I couldn’t love you because…I was just going to lose you,” Zoro murmured, barely getting the words out between repeated presses of his lips.

Sanji smiled, returning those kisses.

“I know… It was the same for me. But you won’t lose me, Zoro.”

He wasn’t even thinking about the difficulty of that promise, given all they’d been through, how they very nearly had lost each other.

But when Zoro took his face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Sanji’s, none of it mattered. Zoro’s eyes were closed, as if savoring their closeness, his breaths warm as they mingled with the blond’s.

“Then I’ll love you,” the swordsman whispered, another gentle kiss drawing a smile back onto Sanji’s lips.

Then he tugged Zoro into a tight hug, resting his head on the swordsman’s shoulder and closing his eyes too.

He felt Zoro’s fingers in his hair, the other hand sliding up and down the small of his back, the feeling sweet and comforting.

They stood that way for a long minute, the two of them a single statue, joined and immovable.

When Sanji’s eyes opened eventually, his head turned to see the first glimmers of the morning sun beginning to dust the ocean that stretched out below them.

He breathed deeply, watched those slinking white lines of the breaking waves, the soft rush of their approach like a breath unto itself before the water showered over the rocky cliffs and retreated once more, over and over. They concealed what they’d swallowed, a soothing blanket, an unstoppable cycle.

Sanji let out a quiet chuckle, tears in his eyes, as he realized something silly, far too late.

“What?” Zoro murmured against him, his voice vibrating Sanji’s chest.

“Before this…I’d never seen the sea…” Sanji replied, and he felt Zoro’s grip on him tighten, his lips meeting Sanji’s hair.

Just then, the moment shattered when they heard a distant boom, and they both turned to look back toward the Capital, Zoro’s eyes widening when he noticed, for the first time, the fiery horizon line.

Sanji huffed, heart beating with renewed adrenaline, and he squeezed Zoro’s biceps.

“We have to go,” he muttered. “The Capital is under attack. It must be Orochi. Hiyori’s already there. We have to help her.”

Zoro nodded, but neither of them moved immediately, and Sanji’s eyes lifted to find the swordsman looking at him.

Zoro’s hand was threading through Sanji’s hair again, and before either of them could help it, their lips had met for one more kiss. They were together again; they had to take strength from that.

Still, the debilitating fear was all too fresh, quaking Sanji’s voice a bit when their lips parted.

“I was so afraid I’d never see you wake up…”

Zoro nodded, letting out a breath through his nose. “I thought he was killing me.”

Sanji shook his head.

“No one’s ever touching you again…” he insisted. “Except for me.” The words came out a little unexpectedly, his cheeks reddening, though he smirked.

Zoro laughed, an uninhibited sound that went straight to Sanji’s chest, and his forehead met Sanji’s again, the swordsman closing his eyes as he murmured, “I love you.”

Sanji’s lips turned up even further. “It’s still not a thank you, but I’ll take it.”

“Asshole,” Zoro muttered.

“The asshole you’re in love with,” the blond replied, whacking him gently. “Now come on. Let’s go save our home.”

At those words, Zoro let out another disbelieving sound, fingers scrunching almost desperately in Sanji’s hair.

But when he pulled away, his eyes blazed with determination. He nodded and squeezed Sanji’s hand.

There was a clear path of destruction when they neared the Capital, Zoro bounding up to the outskirts in his beast form with Sanji on his back, Zoro’s swords strapped to his.

Already, they could see buildings burning along the main street, the wooden structures not standing a chance, some completely charred and blackened, quickly reduced to rubble, others still smoldering. The trail was leading directly to the looming palace in the distance, much to Sanji’s horror…

The smell of acrid smoke filled the air, as did the shouts and cries of people trying to control the fires or pull others from the destruction. But with little more than buckets and nothing in the way of protection, most stood in utter terror and despair, milling about the streets in shock.

“We have to help,” Sanji murmured, patting Zoro’s neck to urge him forward, but the swordsman didn’t hesitate. In fact, he sped up, running straight into town without care of who saw him.

Sanji heard the initial gasps and shrieks as Zoro’s giant form drew near, but his ears were pricked steadily forward, ignoring their reactions. He instead ran straight for the first plot of land, rearing up and deliberately trampling over the flames with his massive paws, effectively stamping them out.

If it hurt him, Sanji couldn’t tell, though he smelled singed fur as Zoro worked.

He then deposited Sanji back on the street, the blond sliding off his back to assist as well.

He rushed to carry buckets and help others to evacuate. Zoro hurried to physically put out what flames he could, the swordsman lifting heavy tubs of water with his teeth when he couldn’t, a thrash of his head enough to send the water flying where needed.

All the while, Sanji was aware of the murmurs, “It’s him” most often peppering his ears as the Capital folk eyed Zoro warily. But soon, the comments died down when the swordsman did nothing but help, and the townspeople’s pace picked up with renewed vigor, as if waking from a dream. They had worse things to worry about now.

They worked their way down the street until they heard a more urgent cry for help a few houses down. Someone was trapped under the debris.

Sanji poured the last of his bucket over the simmering embers of what used to be someone’s front entrance before he rushed off down the street towards the cry.

Zoro was already there, he saw, in the rubble of a destroyed house, shoving aside heavy beams with his nose to free someone stuck underneath.

Sanji ran closer, watching as, eventually, Zoro’s teeth gripped the sleeve of an ash-covered robe, as gently as could be. An old woman rose haggardly from the burnt wreckage, and Sanji realized it was the very same stall keeper who’d insisted Zoro was impeding her business. Her stall lay in ruins not far away.

She staggered out from the rubble, leaning heavily on Zoro’s nose, to where a small crowd was gathering, watching the rescue.

The woman eventually let go of Zoro when a younger man rushed to her, her hand swatting at the swordsman halfheartedly until Zoro backed off. Her movements were shaky, and she was filthy with ash and soot, but seemed otherwise unharmed.

There was an air of uncertainty in the silence that followed as Zoro stood there, his ear pricking towards Sanji when the blond approached his side.

“Zoro,” he murmured. “Human form maybe.”

The swordsman gave a soft chuff of acknowledgment, glancing behind him to see a small child poking at his tail curiously. He carefully withdrew it, then a roll of shoulders and he started to shrink, smoothly shifting upright, fur melding and lightening back into the white fabric of his robe until he stood as a man once more.

The crowd was still watching them, huddled there in the street with haunted eyes.

“What happened?” Sanji asked, scanning the group for an answer.

It was the old woman who replied, her voice creaky but her expression fierce.

“There were…only a few dozen or so, but they were enough,” she recounted gruffly. “They had no weapons, just…their Seals. One was ripping up the road with his bare hands, another set fire to my apple cart—with his eyes! They were on their way to the palace! Their Seals will destroy everything! Nothing but horrible, good-for-nothing, devilish monst—”

“What the hell was your prince then?! Or the Empress' mother?”

Sanji’s heart jolted a bit, turning to look at the swordsman, who’d suddenly spoken. Zoro’s fists were clenched tight, his chest shaking with his breaths. Sanji realized, with some surprise, that he’d hit a breaking point, finally. A surge of pride swelled his heart.

The crowd was dead silent, all eyes on Zoro now, whose gaze was sparking, seeming to crackle right along with the flames burning their livelihoods.

“You’re right,” Zoro gritted out, looking sharply over the crowd, now that he had their attention. “That’s who they are. But it’s the choices they’ve made that turned them into monsters. We could all walk that path if we wanted. With or without Seals. Trust me, it wouldn’t be hard.”

His words were bitter, and yet Sanji could hear his voice growing in strength. He was speaking to the crowd, but Sanji knew this was bigger than that. He was speaking to himself.

“All my life, I’ve had my path set for me,” Zoro continued. “Other people dictated who I was. Including some of you. And I let it happen. But if I keep that up for the rest of my life, then your prejudice will only lock me into what you say I am. So I’m done listening.”

His hand reached back shamelessly to take hold of Sanji’s, the blond practically feeling the adrenaline racing through Zoro’s veins, the man’s pulse beating hard but steadily at his wrist.

“I’m taking Orochi’s head,” Zoro insisted. “If that makes me a monster, so be it.”

It didn’t matter if his words did nothing. Zoro had freed himself. No one would have any hold on him ever again.

The crowd shifted then as a young man stepped forward, his grip white-knuckled on a crude-looking hatchet. Others moved in beside him, men and women both, holding various makeshift weapons, and though some looked hardly capable of combat, they all wore determined expressions all the same.

“Justice for the Kozuki family!” a voice shouted, followed by a resounding cry of agreement.

And suddenly, the crowd was focused on Zoro again, some more reluctantly than others, but no longer were they stares of mere judgment. They seemed to be looking to him…for direction.

Zoro glanced back at Sanji, looking a little bewildered, but Sanji merely grinned confidently, squeezing his hand.

Zoro held his gaze for a moment longer before he nodded.

“Stay behind me,” he said to the crowd, his eyes set on the blazing path to the palace.

With a roll of his shoulders, he let the beast take over.

They followed the destruction, picking their way over the disordered streets—broken houses spilling into their way, scalloped roof tiles strewn about, crooked market stalls with scattered wares, the wind blowing thick smoke in their path as more fires blazed.

But Zoro’s gait never faltered, his paws leaving imprints in the dusty road, always gingerly avoiding the fallen debris, despite his gaze remaining fixed on the palace ahead.

The crowd seemed to grow, Sanji noticed, as they walked, following silently along. He stole glances left and right to see battered but determined faces marching ahead, some empty-handed, but others carrying all manner of crude weapons. The Capital folk were far from fighters, but they wore the blood, dirt, and soot like war paint.

By the time they crossed the final arching bridge, the temple walls looming ahead, the crowd stretched far behind Zoro, most of the able-bodied joining them.

The temple gates were already open, one with a large crack as if someone had rammed it, and Sanji saw, with dismay, that the courtyard was occupied.

In front of them, Orochi and his gang had already arrived, at a standoff, it seemed, with Hiyori, who stood bravely in front of the previously captured villagers, sword drawn, their backs to the temple.

Sanji heard a chorus of gasps again when Zoro stalked into the courtyard ahead of the Capital crowd, his shoulders hunkered low and his deadly eyes fixed directly on Orochi, locking onto his prey.

Hiyori too wore shock clear on her features upon seeing Zoro, but only for a moment before tearful relief took over, her gaze meeting Sanji’s.

The blond nodded back at her with determined confidence now, and Hiyori seemed to sense that he was back, no longer beaten and weak. Explanations would follow, but for now, they had to focus.

Zoro was way ahead of them. He hadn’t taken his furious gaze off Orochi, who wore an ugly grin, not looking surprised in the slightest when he turned to see the swordsman’s giant form.

“Roronoa, nice of you to join us,” he said, his cronies parting to provide him a clear line of sight. “I was just having a bit of negotiation with the Empress.”

Sanji’s anger bubbled in his chest, particularly when he saw the smirks that graced the faces of Orochi’s men. They looked so small, far outnumbered, and yet, they’d just passed through the wake of their destructive powers. They were not to be underestimated.

Zoro seemed to know this too, a low growl escaping him. But then, he shifted and transformed, morphing back into a human.

“Over what?” Zoro gritted out in reply, though it came out less as a question than a threat.

His eyes didn’t leave the man, still with that same predatory glare as he wordlessly took his swords from Sanji, securing them to his sash and drawing two slowly.

“What else? Over this country,” Orochi answered with a flash of teeth. “Over whether she’d like to do this peacefully or not.”

“Peaceful is out of the question when you’ve already destroyed half the city,” Zoro said, stepping closer, putting himself between Orochi’s supporters and the Capital folk.

Orochi sneered in return, noticing this move, his beady eyes flicking with disdain over the crowd.

“Roronoa,” he growled. “Are you really foolish enough to take the side of our oppressors?”

Zoro merely shook his head, shifting both blades to one hand as he reached for his white-sheathed sword, thumb pushing out the hilt.

“I’m strong enough to fight for the future I want,” he said over the slide of metal. “Whoever wants that same future can join me. Or get out of my way.”

Then he clamped teeth down on the hilt and sprang forward, lunging straight for Orochi, who just managed to block him with his own blade.

The attack brought bedlam, a sudden free-for-all, Orochi’s men quickly fanning out to rush for the Capital folk, the Amigasa villagers hurrying to stop them.

The grounds became a frenzied rush of bodies and weapons, shouts and cries of fury, pain, and everything in between.

Sanji tried to keep Zoro in his sights, but it soon became too difficult while remaining safe himself, so he took the opening to skirt the perimeter, running to Hiyori’s side.

He’d barely reached her before the Empress grabbed his arm and pulled him away from two clashing axes.

“Sanji!” she huffed, her attention torn between her relief and protecting them both when another attack came far too close. “Zoro’s—how did you—?”

“I’m sorry, Hiyori,” Sanji blurted out. “Kawamatsu’s dead.”

This had her freeze, despite the chaos around them, her breath hitching and her sword nearly dropping from her grip as she stared at him.

Sanji could only stare back grimly, his heartbeat loud as a drum in his ears. He could count each beat.

“I wish there had been another way,” he said. “But I had to. To protect Zoro.”

He saw the realization hit Hiyori, that he had done the deed, and though he felt some fear that he’d lose his friend over this, he had to be honest.

She looked lost, her eyes shining and her mouth working for words, but then the moment shattered with a loud cry, a blade and a reckless form rushing towards them.

Again, she protected Sanji, her reaction time still surprisingly good as she pushed him behind her and parried their attacker away with quick slashes, the last of which drew a long red slit through the man’s stomach and a strangled cry from his throat.

Distracted by the violence, Sanji was caught off-guard when a sudden wind of freezing cold air stole his breath and sent a sharp pain through his arm when he felt the power sear over him.

He turned just in time to see another man rushing him with a spear in hand—a spear forged from ice. Sanji had no choice but to react, that same fluttering panic filling him as he swung his leg out of instinct, cracking his attacker straight in the ribs beneath his Seal.

Sanji’s shock was palpable when the man actually went down, his spear shattering with the impact.

He drew back his leg again without thinking to kick the man hard in the side, enough for him to black out, limp at his feet.

Hiyori’s back bumped into his as she clashed with a pair of sickles growing directly out of human wrists, Sanji’s eyes flicking between the Empress and the fighting crowds in another attempt to find Zoro.

There. He spotted him in between the shifting bodies, saw him twisting and moving fluidly, almost dancing through his enemies with a swift, controlled precision that never ceased to mesmerize Sanji.

He saw Orochi too, stumbling, struggling to keep up the same speed and stamina as he fought back with his own blade. Sanji saw the sheen of blood standing out on his face, his arms, staining his robe. Zoro had landed more than one hit.

There were bodies hitting the ground left and right, and Sanji realized they were doing it. Everyone was. Orochi’s cronies were outnumbered, and their desperation was becoming more and more clear.

He was forced to duck to avoid another flying ax, shifting almost in a daze when Hiyori yanked him protectively out of the way.

But he couldn’t stop watching as Zoro leaped up high, his swords crossed over his head before he swung them down hard, a howl of pain following.

He had Orochi pinned now, the man bleeding from his torso beneath Zoro’s foot.

“Give it up!” Zoro growled, his voice loud and clear, even over the chaos.

And for a moment, Sanji thought it was over. He thought he was about to finally witness Orochi’s demise.

But instead, a low cackle escaped the man, building and building to crazed levels.

And then, without warning, his back arched as his own Seal abruptly activated, forcing Zoro to stumble back when Orochi’s body suddenly writhed powerfully.

The battle around them seemed to pause, all heads turning as Orochi’s form started to morph, his robe ripping away violently, dark green scales bursting forth from his skin in grotesque fashion. Legs and arms twisted and mangled their way into four jagged appendages, long claws scraping in the dirt.

A tail began to form, and from his neck sprouted seven long stalks, all of which lengthened and grew into identical reptilian heads, right along with his original one. The eight sneering heads bared teeth menacingly, their purple forked tongues darting in and out.

Orochi towered over the crowd now by several body lengths, his mad laughter sounding deep and distorted from where it rattled deep in his multiple throats.

Sanji felt Hiyori’s hand gripping his sleeve tightly, though he couldn’t look away.

Zoro had fallen back a few paces, but if anything, his eyes looked even fiercer, even more determined and focused with predatory intent. Slowly, the swordsman shifted his body back into an attack stance, blades at the ready.

“You’re not going to fight me with your true power, Roronoa?” Orochi baited, his main head bearing yellowed teeth, easily the length of a forearm, dripping with saliva.

But Zoro merely stared at him, pivoting his back foot ever so slightly.

“Watch me,” he replied.

And then he sprinted forward, almost faster than Sanji could perceive, lifting his swords and slicing clean through one of the writhing heads.

It fell to the ground with a sickening spurt of blood and a dull thud, the dead head’s red eyes staring blankly into the void.

This drew a loud screech from the other seven heads, a grating chorus of wails. But none of them were felled.

In fact, their fury seemed to increase, and soon, Orochi’s heads had begun lashing out at anyone in the proximity, the chaos of the battle starting anew.

Sanji felt himself jostled away from Hiyori, having to wrench himself from an attacker’s grip, kneeing them as hard as he could to free himself. He lost sight of his friend, and his panic rose when he saw three of Orochi’s heads had their sights set on Zoro, whose blades now clashed with rock-hard scales and razor-sharp teeth, completely on the defensive.

The heads were snapping viciously as Orochi crawled after him, his short hooked legs moving with surprising speed. Zoro was forced backward, ducking and dodging, but every time he escaped one head’s range, another came at him.

The villagers and the Capital folk had all begun to retreat in fear, though a few lingered, as if debating whether they were capable of assisting.

In the end, Zoro merely looked terribly alone as he fiercely tried to regain the offensive.

Suddenly, Sanji heard a shrill call overhead, and he lifted his gaze to see the slim cross shape of a lone crane soaring into view over the roof of the temple.

He stared for a moment, wondering if maybe…

But then, an unexpected rumbling from behind, and in through the temple gates crashed a familiar golden beast, Komachiyo letting out a roar as he burst onto the scene. Close behind bounded another giant creature, Onimaru soaring over the crowds like a cloud limned by the sun, a ferocious snarl on the fox’s face.

The slash of a blade, and suddenly two of Orochi’s heads had fallen to the ground at once, wriggling and writhing for a few seconds more before lying still.

Kin’emon was atop Onimaru’s back, his robe billowing and his blade practically smoking from the force of his cut.

Sanji couldn’t help but let out a laugh, relief flooding him.

“Is that…?”

“It can’t be…”

“But all the Scabbards were—”

Murmurings of disbelief and confusion stirred through the crowd, the battle still seemingly paused.

A quiet moment, even the air itself going stagnant with shock before it all came back in a rush, bodies moving again in a great whirlwind. There was a glimpse of teal in Sanji’s periphery, and he caught sight of Hiyori dashing through the crowd towards Orochi, her sword drawn.

The blond followed her, weaving through the chaos to the outskirts to try and keep sight of her.

He saw her leap, her hair coming loose from its bun, a waving banner of saturated color as her sword sent a powerful aircut directly towards a fourth head.

There was a squelch, an inhuman cry, and then that head too thudded to the ground, drawing up a cloud of dust.

But there was no time to celebrate as the dust seemed to suck in on itself rapidly. Another head struck through the cloud, its speed like a cobra, followed by a very human scream of pain.

Orochi’s head lifted above the crowds, dragging Hiyori with it, the Empress clamped between sharp jaws, blood blossoming over her shirt.

“Hiyori!” Sanji cried helplessly, his heart in his throat, though Zoro acted fast, the swordsman rushing to slice through the neck, the head dropping swiftly.

Zoro caught it beneath the jaw, the swordsman straining to hoist it up so Hiyori, still trapped in its grasp, didn’t hit the ground hard.

Sanji took that chance to run over, both he and Zoro working to pry those massive jaws apart to release her.

He slammed his foot as best he could into a gap between teeth, Zoro taking hold of the long, slick upper fangs. When they had enough space, Sanji grabbed hold of Hiyori, sliding her out as carefully as he could.

She was groaning, holding her stomach, where red rippled out from several puncture wounds, her face pale and her lips flecked with blood as well.

But instead of falling limp, she made to stand, her breaths coming out tightly through gritted teeth. Her gaze, though glassy, stared through the clearing dust with the ferocity of a warrior.

Orochi’s form was staggering towards them again, five bloody stumps like plucked flowers where the fallen heads used to be. And yet, the remaining three looked even more hellbent on slaughtering them.

“Hiyori…” Sanji murmured, still trying to hold her back. “Hiyori, you need to sit down.”

But she pushed off of him, gently but firmly as she shakily turned towards Onimaru when the fox reached their side.

“Kin’emon…” she huffed. “I-Is it really you?”

From atop the fox, Kin’emon’s eyes shimmered with emotional admiration, and he bowed low.

“I am at your service, Your Majesty,” he said. “As I should have been…for all these years.”

She barely had time to smile weakly before movement snapped their way, Kin’emon, Zoro, and Hiyori each forced to parry one of the heads to defend themselves.

Sanji’s nerves skyrocketed when he heard the Empress’ pained grunt, her muscles straining to push her blade against sharp teeth.

Sanji didn’t know what was keeping her going, his own fear mounting, eyes unsure where to land as three people he cared about fought for their lives in front of him. His heart pounded hard and fast when Zoro narrowly missed losing his arm to the beast.

He had to help. He had to do something. The three were working together, Kin’emon still atop Onimaru, but they needed another opening.

That was when Sanji saw a glimpse of gold fur like a beacon in the dusty air.

Without much thought, Sanji bolted towards Komachiyo, who was busy making quick work of a handful of Orochi’s goons with hard swipes of his paws and a toss of his huge head.

The moment he saw Sanji approaching, the beast’s ferocious eyes widened, pupils dilating with recognition.

“We’ve gotta help them!” Sanji cried, the giant creature seeming to understand immediately, boosting Sanji up onto his back with a nudge of his nose.

“Let’s finish this,” he said, leaning in close to Komachiyo’s ear. “For Tama.”

Komachiyo let loose a wailing howl, then took off across the grounds, unafraid to trample those in his path who tried to stop him.

Sanji pressed him onward.

Orochi was still attacking, his heads switching angles and targets to try and confuse the three battling him. Zoro’s attention was torn, Sanji could tell, between Orochi’s heads and Hiyori, who looked to be struggling, cold sweat dotting her forehead, her shirt even more soaked with blood. It was a mystery how she was standing, let alone moving.

Sanji saw Kin’emon trying to drive Onimaru around to Orochi’s side, though each time he did, one of the heads lashed out to block his path, and the fox was forced to dance back. The three were well and truly trapped where they were, dangerously nearing the far wall where they’d be cornered.

This was Sanji’s chance.

“Pin him down, okay?” he said to Komachiyo, the golden beast giving a little grunt of acknowledgement before he leaped up high, claws beared as he came down atop Orochi’s back from behind.

His back was a blind spot, the necks unable to swivel far enough around to reach his attacker.

Orochi gave a pained roar when Komachiyo dug his claws in, pushing the other beast into the dirt with a loud thump. Their size was comparable, but Komachiyo’s heavy weight was an asset.

Orochi struggled, his short legs straining to gain traction to push himself up again, his heads thrashing every which way as they tried and failed to bite Komachiyo.

Sanji tried to peer over his head to catch a glimpse of Zoro, Hiyori, and Kin’emon.

He saw the moment they’d made eye contact with each other, each nodding decisively. They seemed to know what to do, even in their silence.

Then, as one, they rushed forward, swords held high, each every bit the samurai they were meant to be. The heads were flailing and thrashing every which way, but there was no escape when their simultaneous attacks sliced through the air.

The earsplitting screeching of the heads stopped abruptly, grotesque fountains of blood shooting out like fireworks.

And then the heads fell and suddenly the body beneath Komachiyo began shrinking. Komachiyo stepped away, revealing the headless body of Orochi there in the dirt. The beast gave Orochi a final kick and a growl, the body rolling over in time for them to see the glowing Seal that lifted off his chest, disappearing into the air.

It was quiet for a moment, all of them staring at the gruesome sight, heavy breaths the only sound of their triumph.

But it was short-lived. The clattering sound of a blade hitting the ground, and Sanji saw the hilt suddenly slipping from Hiyori’s fingers. Her breath faltered and she staggered, her eyelids fluttering.

Zoro shot out to catch her before she could collapse, her body falling against him instead.

“Hiyori!” Sanji cried, and he quickly slid off Komachiyo’s back to rush over to them.

She was pale and unconscious in Zoro’s arms, her shirt sticky and saturated with blood. Her breaths were light and gasping.

Sanji nearly recoiled when he took her hand and found it ice cold.

He was vaguely aware of Kin’emon and Onimaru hovering close, even Tsuru flying down from the sky to change back into her human form.

Zoro’s eyes met Sanji’s with stricken dread as he held the Empress, his chest heaving unevenly.

“Come,” Tsuru said gently. “Let’s bring her inside to safety.”

The hall outside Hiyori’s quarters was quiet, just Sanji and Zoro waiting near the closed doors. Sanji had wanted to do anything to help, but to protect the Empress’ modesty, only female attendants had been allowed inside, leaving him and the swordsman with nothing but their anxiety.

Sanji stood near a narrow window, his head resting tiredly on the frame, feeling like he could fall asleep, even with the bright light of day warm on his cheeks. He couldn’t get the feeling of Hiyori’s cold hand out of his head.

Zoro stood behind him, his hands around the blond’s waist, holding him close. Sanji could feel the man’s nose and lips against his shoulder now and again, and he slid his hand over Zoro’s, linking their fingers over his own stomach.

He watched the temple courtyard, visible in the distance, still full of people. Groups had formed, some clearly assisting the wounded, using the open space as a makeshift infirmary, others processing up the temple stairs with solemn reverence, disappearing into the interior to pray. Still others were moving the dead, carrying makeshift stretchers and carts out of the area.

Occasionally, the sound of a bell would reverberate throughout the grounds, snapping Sanji out of his drowsiness.

But he couldn’t help but notice the way the groups were mixing, the more opulent robes of the Capital mingling with the simple neutrals of the villagers. He supposed bloody fabric was bloody fabric…

“Zoro, look at this,” he murmured, nudging the swordsman until he looked up as well.

Sanji turned to watch Zoro’s reaction, seeing his brow furrow as he took in the scene with measured breaths, his lips slowly parting the longer he looked…when he realized what he was seeing.

“I didn’t think there was any way to change things,” Zoro replied quietly after a minute. “I didn’t think there was any point.”

Sanji pulled Zoro closer by the hips, sliding his hands more firmly over the muscles of Zoro’s back.

“I’m sure there’s still a long way to go, but…there’s always a point,” Sanji said.

He kissed Zoro’s temple when the swordsman nodded and lowered his head against Sanji’s again.

They stood together for a few minutes, just breathing, until they heard the sound of palms slapping against the wooden floors.

They turned in time to see Kin’emon coming around the corner on his hands. The samurai had stayed outside earlier to lead the relief efforts, but was now slowly taking in the palace’s interior with a sense of reverence.

He caught sight of Sanji and Zoro by the window and sighed, his expression weathered, but relaxed.

“It’s been so long since I’ve entered these halls,” he said to the two, settling on the ground near a long scroll painted with calligraphic script.

“How does it feel?” Sanji asked, turning to face the man, though he kept a hold on Zoro’s hand.

Kin’emon merely smiled, and it reached his eyes, taking years off his face.

“Like perhaps I’ve neglected my own home…” he answered.

Sanji smiled too, feeling Zoro’s fingers link more securely with his.

“The bodies have been removed from the palace grounds,” Kin’emon said after a moment. “And there are ongoing efforts to put out the remaining fires in the city. A mysterious giant fish created a mild tsunami from the canal that sped up the job.”

Sanji saw Kin’emon’s eyes land on the swordsman then.

“Many are asking after you, Zoro.”

Sanji heard the swordsman’s disbelief in his breathing.

“Me…?”

“They wish to thank the one who fought for them so valiantly,” Kin’emon said seriously.

But Zoro still seemed unsure, shaking his head and looking away before muttering, “There’s no way…”

His vulnerable eyes found Sanji’s, but the blond merely smirked knowingly at him, patting his cheek.

Just then, the doors to Hiyori’s room creaked, slender fingers sliding them open before Tsuru slipped through into the hallway.

The woman’s face was tired and drawn, and it didn’t brighten upon seeing the three in the hallway, as Sanji had hoped.

“The Empress is conscious now, but…” the woman said, then sighed heavily, a sigh that seemed to freeze the air around them.

Sanji shook his head minutely, and he felt Zoro’s fingers clench in his.

Tsuru said nothing more though, her hands clasped in front of her. “She would like to see you both.”

Sanji shared a worried look with Zoro, holding onto him for strength as they both slowly made their way to the door.

Tsuru tried to manage a tight-lipped smile, her normally red lips looking pale without their usual paint. She moved across the hall, kneeling down gracefully beside her husband, who wrapped his arms around her in turn.

Sanji and Zoro entered Hiyori’s quarters where they found a pair of female attendants kneeling in the tea room, both looking sorrowful as they prepared a medicinal brew. They cast glances at the two men, but quickly averted their eyes again as they padded past.

Sanji felt Zoro’s touch on the small of his back as they slid open another door and moved into the sitting room that Sanji remembered. The painted eyes of the murdered prince watched them pass through to the other side of the room.

Another door was cracked open, and Sanji could hear Toko’s cheerful voice.

Sanji led the way through, his heart pounding uncomfortably, slipping through the doorway to find a large bedroom, a raised bed in the center with an ornate wooden canopy, carved designs painted gold, red, and teal around its posts.

Toko was perched on the bed, the little girl chattering away with a smile on her face, though Sanji could hear a slight waver in her voice.

And nestled amongst a sea of satin embroidered blankets lay the Empress, her sickly skin highlighting dark circles beneath her eyes. Bandages criss-crossed her torso beneath her robe, barely peeking out from the blankets.

Sanji felt Zoro tense beside him, but he still stepped in after a gentle knock.

Hiyori’s gaze slid to them as they entered, her pale lips quirking slightly.

Sanji approached the bed as tentatively as a child, and indeed it was as if time had blurred. He felt small, and the tightening in his chest was all too familiar. This bed could have easily been his mother’s. If Zoro’s hand hadn’t anchored him, he might have believed it.

He didn’t know what gave him the strength to move closer because even Zoro hung back, stopping a few paces away, his brow furrowed and his chest lifting prominently with shaky breaths.

Sanji continued though, letting go of Zoro finally and lowering himself to the mattress beside his friend.

He took hold of her hand, noting how cold it still was, his other lifting to brush some sweaty strands of hair off her forehead.

“Hiyori,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

Her lips tilted up, but she didn’t reply, and Sanji’s heart stuttered when he saw the exhaustion in her glossy eyes, a look of acceptance, the same placating smile his mother had worn…

“Sanji…” she eventually said, her voice quiet and breathy. “You’ve been…the best friend I could have…ever wanted. I only wish we could have had…more time to grow together—”

“Don’t.” He stopped her a little harshly, but he didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t bear to go through this again. “Who says we won’t. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. You just need to rest.”

She squeezed his hand gently.

“You’re right,” she replied. “I think I do.”

The room fell quiet, save for the sound of her uneven breathing. Even Toko managed to look forlorn, as if struggling to maintain her positivity.

Hiyori’s eyes were fixed on the bed canopy where a design of long dragons coiled gracefully over snow-capped mountain peaks and valleys.

“The path forward…was always…so unclear to me,” she murmured. “I wanted…to lead Wano, but…it simply…wasn’t my calling. But now I know…how we can change this country. And…it’s thanks to…the both of you.”

She shifted her head to look back over at Sanji and Zoro appreciatively.

Her words were soft, and yet Sanji felt a combativeness rising in his chest, one of denial.

“And you can tell us all about your plan once you’re healed,” he insisted, gritting his teeth to keep his jaw from trembling.

“Sanji…” Hiyori murmured, squeezing his hand weakly, and he let out a hissing breath.

He knew. He knew this time, but he couldn’t admit it. He was facing this pain and heartbreak all over again, and he was terrified.

The blond dropped his head, looking away, but then he felt her fingers lift shakily to the nape of his neck. He shook his head against the tears that threatened to fall. Hiyori was pulling him gently down to her chest, and he was fighting the sorrow, but it was too much.

It felt like his own chest had cracked open, his body shuddering with grief as he pressed his forehead to her collar. He closed his eyes when he noticed blood slowly creeping up her bandages.

Her lips pressed to his hair.

“My family…is waiting for me…” she said. “I’m not afraid.”

He trembled hard again, almost unable to breathe.

“You were my first friend…” he whispered.

“And I am far…from your last…” Hiyori replied. He could hear the smile in her voice.

She held him like that for another long minute while he tried to control his breathing. Then he felt her fingers shifting, sliding over his jaw gently.

“Sanji, Toko…if I may…speak to Zoro…alone…” she said.

Sanji looked up to see her hand stroking Toko’s hair now, pulling the little girl down for a gentle kiss to her temple. The girl’s smile was watery, her eyes full of tears.

“Keep smiling, my sweet little sister,” Hiyori said to her, holding her gaze for another moment.

Then she looked back at Sanji, and he knew this was it. He was painfully aware this was their last moment.

But the Empress’ expression was calm, almost determined, certainly not weak.

“Do great things, Sanji,” she said, a fire in her gaze. “You were born for them.”

And with that look in her eye, Sanji somehow managed to steel himself for the moment to come. He bowed low before her, in a manner of deep respect, and lifted her hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

“So were you…” he replied.

Then, before he could hesitate, he set her hand down gently and stood, helping Toko off the bed and hoisting the little girl up into his arms where she immediately clung to him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He felt her hot tears on his skin.

He turned, and he didn’t look back because he knew he’d break down again. He only stopped for a brief moment beside Zoro, taking a shaky breath.

“Come on,” he murmured to Toko. “Let’s go out to the gardens.”

And then he pressed forward, knowing that this time, he was needed. He was needed by others who would have to carry on through this tragedy. His strength was needed, and that was evident in the little girl clinging to him desperately.

That was evident on the faces of Tsuru and Kin’emon when he passed the couple in the hallway… In the eyes of the villagers and Capital folk alike who recognized him when he moved out to the gardens, rubbing Toko’s back soothingly as he walked slowly beneath the trees.

He was needed and cared for now, and that was something that even his mother hadn’t fully understood he’d been lacking.

It didn’t dull the pain though, when, sometime later, Tsuru approached him amongst the falling blossoms, her expression solemn.

It didn’t keep the shock from hitting when she murmured, “The Empress has moved on. The Kozuki clan has been reunited.”

And it didn’t stop him from feeling terrified and alone when she took Toko off his hands and left him.

Despite everything, he still crumbled all the same.

Zoro was nowhere to be found by the time Sanji picked himself up and returned to the palace. He wanted to be with him desperately, but Hiyori’s quarters were closed off, and the palace was quiet.

And they stayed that way for another day. The attendants he did pass in the halls, now dressed in robes of black, were quiet, moving with purpose, and he was met with mere shakes of heads when he asked for Zoro.

He hadn’t caught sight of Kin’emon either, and though Tsuru had assured him at their halfhearted breakfast that Zoro and the samurai were helping with the funeral preparations, Sanji couldn’t help a selfish desire to keep the swordsman with him.

Still, there was nothing left to do but stick close to Tsuru and Toko, who were tasked with completing an elaborate flower arrangement to which Sanji contributed, if clumsily.

In time, he found himself wandering the streets, which were eerily silent and empty now.

The destroyed carcasses of buildings lay in various states of decay, their spared neighbors now standing sparse and lonely amongst the charred remains of the blocks. The evacuees had been moved to these surviving houses, some setting up a makeshift camp in the main square. Others headed out of the city on carts to settle in Amigasa, an integration that should have been inspiring had it not been borne out of such desperation and despair.

Other than a few people picking numbly through the rubble for belongings or lost loved ones, all was still, as if Hiyori’s death had sucked the life out of the rest of the Capital too.

The day passed, slow and listless.

On the second day, there was a notice sent out to the citizens. The Empress’ funeral would take place the following dawn, and yet, there was still no sign of Zoro.

Sanji chose to spend this day inside the palace, the faces of those he’d lost whirling around his mind as he lay in the guest quarters.

He waited all day for any sign of Zoro, but there was none, and it left a hollow ache in his chest. What had Hiyori said to the swordsman? Was he just as broken as Sanji?

That ache was persistent in his chest by the time night fell, accompanied by a gnawing dread for the following morning.

He lay awake in the darkness for what felt like hours, listening to the creaks of the building, the crickets outside. He’d dreamt of the beast—of Zoro—here, remembered the way his heart had threatened to burst with anxiety, every sound a potential threat.

Now, on the edges of his consciousness, he heard the door to his room slide open quietly, and this time, it only brought tears of relief stinging his eyes. Soft footsteps entered, and the next thing he knew, a warm body silently pressed against his back, a strong arm sliding over his waist to hold him tight.

He shuddered, lifting his hand to squeeze Zoro’s.

Then he turned around to find Zoro’s lips right there waiting for him.

He didn’t hesitate, capturing the man’s mouth in a long kiss, shifting automatically to hover over the swordsman, pushing him gently onto his back.

Zoro settled there easily, his lips working tenderly, as if savoring every second.

Everything was heightened in the dark, in this intimate space. Sanji could practically feel how much Zoro had ached for him too, his heartbeat throbbing slowly but powerfully beneath Sanji’s palm. And though he didn’t know what had kept the swordsman from him, it didn’t matter now.

Zoro’s touch became everything, all he could feel, those points of contact on his hips searing straight through him, as if the only parts of him to exist in the night were the places where they touched.

He imagined those points shimmering with the golden light of the scroll’s spell once more, lighting up, shifting, rippling with the movement of their bodies. Only this time, there was life there.

Sanji let his lips wander lower than they had before, exploring the contours of Zoro’s throat, feeling the muscles shift when he swallowed and breathed. Zoro’s pulse fluttered faster beneath his lips, alive and warm.

The swordsman had done away with his bandages, Sanji realized, the wound on his torso standing out against the rest of his skin.

The cool slide of Zoro’s palms slipped beneath his robe, his fingers tracing the smooth ridges of Sanji’s ribs as he kissed a slow line over his jaw. The feeling was intoxicating, and Sanji shifted further on top of him, straddling Zoro’s hips now as his fingers slid through the loop of his own waist sash.

His lips met Zoro’s again, almost to distract himself from the bout of nerves that came with the complete shedding of his robe, bare skin exposed to the rectangles of moonlight draped over them.

But when Zoro pulled away, his eyes falling over Sanji’s form, all of him, it was with nothing but reverence and adoration. Sanji felt his nerves slowly peel away to a more primal core that wanted nothing less than the very essence of Zoro’s soul in that moment.

A soft nod of consent was all they needed between them.

No more fear, no more reservations. Just the love they would no longer deny.

Sanji lay curled over Zoro’s bare chest, finding the soft spot beneath Zoro’s sternum where his heartbeat could flutter against his fingertips, still thrumming fast.

Their breaths naturally found an opposite rhythm as they came down, an inhale against an exhale, their air moving back and forth, and Sanji didn’t think he’d ever felt so comfortable in his life.

He felt Zoro shift, nuzzling against his sweaty hair, his lips brushing ever so gently over Sanji’s forehead.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here…” Zoro murmured, his voice seeming to rumble through Sanji’s chest.

Sanji just shifted, the shake of his head more of a nuzzle itself against Zoro’s collar.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “There’s…so much to deal with right now.”

“That’s why I should have been here,” Zoro justified, his hands splaying possessively against Sanji’s lower back.

“You’re here now,” was all he responded with.

Zoro let out a dissatisfied exhale, but he fell quiet again.

Sanji closed his eyes, content and warm in Zoro’s arms, enough that he’d begun to drift off to sleep when Zoro’s voice broke through the cloudiness.

“Kin’emon needs me early tomorrow.”

“It’s alright,” Sanji mumbled, still on his way out of the waking world. “I figured…”

But then he felt the softening pace of Zoro’s heart pick up again beneath his hand, his breaths falling out of rhythm as he shifted somewhat tensely.

It pulled Sanji back from his drowsiness, the blond opening his eyes and lifting his head to look down at the swordsman.

“Is…everything alright?” he asked, unsure what to expect when he saw the slight sheen to Zoro’s eyes, the swordsman watching him with a desperation he couldn’t quite place.

It took him a moment to answer.

“It will be if you stay by my side,” Zoro murmured shakily after that moment.

Sanji didn’t know where his nerves were coming from, but he was determined to make them go away.

“There’s no getting rid of me, Zoro. I know you’ve got a lot of mold to contend with up here, so I’ll tell you as many times as I need to,” he assured, sliding fingers through Zoro’s hair and giving a gentle tug.

Zoro gave an exasperated sigh, and Sanji could tell he was still serious when he didn’t quip back, just pulled Sanji back down against his chest.

The swordsman was quiet for a long minute before murmuring, “The scroll’s magic… You never told me what it did to me…”

Sanji’s touch played over Zoro’s collarbone, tracing the soft dips and curves of his chest.

“It put you to sleep. Until ‘true love’s killed.’”

He could practically hear Zoro’s mind whirring as he swallowed, clearly trying to work through the wording and the events that broke the enchantment. Sanji tilted his head, smirking slightly to see an almost-scowl on Zoro’s face, the result of thinking too hard.

“Would you have…tried the other option…?” he eventually asked, putting it together.

“It crossed my mind,” Sanji admitted. “But I don’t think I could have left you alone, Zoro. I would’ve tried to figure something else out before I…went that far.”

Zoro nodded, swallowing again before he sighed, his expression relaxing into a slow smirk.

“True love…” he murmured, wrinkling his nose a bit in a teasing cringe.

Sanji snickered, rolling his eyes, pushing against Zoro’s chest. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Zoro smiled, kissing his lips once more to make up for it, then settled down again with a slow exhale.

“I love you…” Zoro breathed, and Sanji couldn’t help the explosion of warmth and contentment that drew a smile to his lips, embarrassment flitting quickly away when the proud swordsman admitted such deep feelings.

“I love you too…” Sanji murmured, relaxation washing over him. He tilted his head to press lips to Zoro’s Seal. “Just rest…”

And then silence stretched between them for good, Zoro’s fingers trailing up and down Sanji’s spine, his breathing slowing with it and his mind drifting once more.

Hours later, Sanji felt his body being shifted, gently as could be. A tender kiss captured his lips, fingers caressing back through his hair.

He wasn’t fully aware Zoro was gone until his warmth began to fade from the bed.

Processions of black flooded the streets the next morning, making their way to the temple grounds slowly, dark robes billowing like the smoky clouds that had engulfed the city just days before.

Sanji stood beside Tsuru and watched them enter the sandy courtyard, Toko between them, the little girl’s hand squeezing his tightly as the three stood to the side. Lines and lines of people passed them, some faces somber, others streaked with tears.

Some chests bore Seals. Others didn’t.

Regardless, they all stopped at the foot of the temple steps, clapping hands together twice before bowing their heads in prayer, some lowering all the way to the ground to do so.

Between the temple’s great pillars, surrounded by a sloping sea of white flowers that tumbled over the stairs, was a magnificent portrait, stretched over wood on a delicate scroll. The Empress’ visage was painted in vivid strokes and washes of ink, somehow capturing, in simple lines, details Sanji never wanted to forget.

The spirited tilt of lips played against a regal posture. Blue eyes pierced with a proud gaze, but still managed to shine with kindness and mischief.

And there, behind the portrait, stood a portable altar, a brilliant golden shrine, the roof of which towered above a similarly golden coffin. He couldn’t read the symbols etched onto the side, but he had to imagine the words were beautiful.

Offerings were left, a growing arrangement at the foot of the stairs—more flowers, bottles of sake, incense, small dolls with white-painted faces in the Empress’ image.

It was overwhelming to see the sheer number of people who had come out to pay their respects…overwhelming and yet inspiring, heartbreakingly so.

Hiyori might not have felt called to lead her people as a monarch, but she certainly had not failed in doing so. This was what it was to be beloved by a kingdom, something Sanji would never have witnessed had he not fled Germa.

Time slid by, Sanji taking in the scene with a certain amount of numbness in his heart until, eventually, there was the sound of a bell reverberating over the grounds.

The crowds paused their procession, heads turned expectantly up at the temple.

A moment later, Kin’emon emerged from inside, dressed in a short black robe, cut to his size. His sword was at his hip, shoulders and chest adorned with the full armor of the Scabbards, though his neckline left space for a glimpse of his Seal. He pushed himself into the morning light on his hands, moving to situate himself in front of Hiyori’s portrait so he could address the crowd.

He looked out over the sea of people, his expression stoic, then bowed low, Sanji hastily following suit a beat later when he noticed everyone else bowing in response.

He knew many, particularly the older folk, were aware of Kin’emon’s status, and though some seemed lost in their grief, they all seemed to look at him with some degree of hope.

Kin’emon regarded them back, his eyes scanning the crowd, where they lingered on his wife for just a second longer.

Then he cleared his throat.

“People of Wano,” he called out, his voice carrying easily over the grounds. “In this time of great tragedy, our country has lost its guiding light. But, in the way of the samurai, it is during these times that we must hold our heads to the sun and stride forward bravely. This is something I failed to learn when it mattered most, but nevertheless must try to emulate now.”

He paused, gathering himself, though Sanji could no longer sense the shame that had once tinted his words. This was a man with renewed perspective and focus.

“I stand before you as the last to have served all members of our country’s beloved royal family,” he continued. “And it is I alone that must honor and see to fruition the Empress’ wishes for the future of Wano. I realize there is much sorrow and uncertainty, but rest assured…

“In the wake of her death, Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Kozuki Hiyori, has left one final decree, naming the successor to the Imperial throne. Listen and prepare to usher in a new age.”

The crowd, who had remained silent, suddenly seemed to shift, rippling with movement now as eyes met and words murmured ever so quietly, anticipation brewing.

Sanji too felt his heart skip a beat, his mind stirring.

A successor…?

His eyes quickly scanned the shadows for any sign of Zoro, hoping to catch sight of his hair at least in the endless sea of black.

Kin’emon was reaching into his robe sleeve, from which he pulled a small scroll. He unfurled the paper and began to read what were clearly the Empress’ words.

Sanji closed his eyes, the memory of Hiyori’s voice overlapping Kin’emon’s.

“Since the murder of my family, this country has lived in fear. Fear of the power of Seals, and the paradoxical vulnerability that power brings to our lands. But that fear was misplaced. My brother’s power was stolen upon his murder, and without a Seal of my own, I cannot hope to wield the strength necessary to overcome that vulnerability.

“Thus, in the event of my death as the last of the Kozuki clan, let a new dynasty shine unto Wano, one in which those with Seals are no longer feared nor oppressed, and birthrights are fully embraced and respected once more. Where equality for all reigns supreme.

“As Empress, hear my last decree.

“The tradition of the monarchy dies with me. Let the leader of this country henceforth be not of noble blood but noble virtue.

“I hereby bestow the gift of the blade Enma, meito of the Kozuki clan, to my successor, my friend and most trusted warrior, Roronoa Zoro, Shogun of Wano.

“My people, may you follow him into a new era of prosperity, strength, and tolerance.”

Sanji’s heart was pounding fast and hard, his eyes opening almost in a daze.

And there Zoro was, standing beside Kin’emon in a resplendent emerald robe that engulfed his entire form, the sleeves wider than any Sanji had ever seen, subtle patterns catching the sunlight where they glinted like scales over the satin fabric. It flowed open over his chest, his Seal dark and whole over his heart.

On his head sat a black lacquered cap, its back adorned with a tall rounded attachment that resembled a topknot. A long, silken ribbon cascaded from the headpiece, down his back in a golden trail.

Hiyori’s sword, Enma, was fixed at his side, along with Kuina’s, and Sandai Kitetsu, the red-sheathed blade he’d often said was bloodthirsty.

He was stunning, every inch of him, so much so that Sanji could barely breathe, taking in Zoro’s form as if seeing him for the first time.

The man he saw before him, Sanji realized, no longer belonged exclusively to him.

Zoro’s gaze was fixed straight ahead, over the heads of the crowd, his expression serious and unwavering, though Sanji now knew the subtleties that betrayed his emotions. The way his chest clenched tight with his breaths, the flexing of his jaw muscles, the way his grip traced the hilt of Kuina’s sword over and over.

He was waiting. For acceptance…rejection…whatever came from the hushed crowd that had hardly seemed to move since Kin’emon’s announcement.

Sanji understood now. This was why Hiyori had wanted to speak to him. This was why he’d been absent, why he’d been so nervous the night before.

And this was why fate had sent Zoro here.

Zoro was Sanji’s. Wano’s.

Please. See him.

The air remained silent for an agonizing moment, palpable shock rippling through the crowd.

But then, slowly, that ripple morphed into something else.

It started with a few, lowering to their knees and leaning over, foreheads nearly touching the ground as they bowed without question.

Kin’emon followed, and Sanji felt Toko’s hand slip from his as she and Tsuru beside her knelt and bowed as well.

Sanji’s breathing picked up speed, watching with amazement as that field of black started to flatten, as if an invisible wind had swept through, more and more and yet more lowering themselves. Guards, men, women, young and old, with or without Seals.

It was slow, and some seemed to debate it, but one by one, every single figure knelt before Zoro until it was only the two of them standing in the entire courtyard. Just him and Sanji.

Zoro’s eyes met his, his stoic mask melting instantly into a look of wide-eyed incredulity.

It was a look Sanji had seen countless times, a look of astonishment in response to the blond’s teasing, his strength, his love.

That uncertainty was justified. This wouldn’t be easy. There would still be pain and dissent, lingering prejudice to contend with. There would be every difficulty and pressure Hiyori hadn’t wanted, thrust onto Zoro’s shoulders now.

But Sanji knew Zoro could overcome it. They would both overcome it. Together. Because this was where they both belonged. They were allowed to exist as they were, as they wanted to be. And no one would ever tell them otherwise again.

He held Zoro’s gaze for a long moment, a smile of sheer pride spreading across his lips. He waited until his smile sent a spark back to Zoro’s eyes, the swordsman’s head shaking slightly with disbelief as he let out a breath.

Sanji slowly sank to his knees as well, folding himself into that low bow, though he kept his gaze fixed on Zoro.

The swordsman’s eyes were still on him as well, and when he grinned—confident, beautiful—the former prince of Germa saw his future, no longer eclipsed, but bright and boundless. Waiting for him in the smile of a man who’d shown him who he was meant to be.

They were free.