Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Mortal God won't stop smiling.

Under normal circumstances, Justice would find no quarrel in this. Heaven’s Court is a beautiful place; formed from arching marble and glittering with finery–it is Jinbei’s domain, and thus, the place where pure and unaltered justice reigns supreme. To smile when faced with such beauty was a normal reaction, expected even, but this was far from normal circumstances, and the smile on Teach’s face makes Jinbei’s skin crawl. Teach had almost killed the Dusk, he had brought the world into darkness and the Heavens into disarray, he had hurt the Sun and so the realms had felt that pain. Teach wasn’t someone to take lightly, and the smile on his face was wrong.

Beside Jinbei, Destiny is trying her hardest not to look at the Mortal God. She looks beautiful as always; hair shining like bronze in the firelight from the sconces, dressed in gold and green and sapphire, gems decorating every inch of her skin–it is a wonder one of her domains isn’t wealth. But, like everything in the courtroom, a darkness pervades through her visage.

She clenches her teeth when Teach lets out a snorting cackle, his characteristic “zehahaha” loud in the silence of the court, and the white knuckle grip on her armrests only tightens the longer he laughs. At her side, Sacrifice lays a soothing palm on her arm.

She too is dressed to befit her station. Dark spools of her midnight hair gleam like ebony where they are pinned in elaborate coils out of her striking eyes, the gold and silver pins linking like gears across her crown; a gift, Jinbei guesses, glancing at where Change’s shadow looms beside her. Typically, she would be smiling. If not out of earnest amusement, then at least a show of it, the careful facade built to intimidate those below her. Robin was knowledgeable, it came with her domain, and that was terrifying. The mortifying ordeal of being known, murmured the Hearth when asked, amused despite himself. But now, in this cold, invasive silence, her face is blank, pale features schooled, and that was deeply more unsettling than her typical knowing smile.

On Jinbei’s other side, Love isn't faring much better than Destiny. He has all but chewed through the butt of his cigarette, and the usual pink smoke that hangs around him is tar black. Every few seconds he lets out a litany of curses as the tips of his fingers catch fire, harridly patting them out on the table that's already covered with scorch marks. Change would be having a fit if he wasn't so focused on glaring down Teach where he sits beside Sacrifice, the bulk of his large form intimidating in the low light of the courtroom. His hair is dull today. Not in colour, the striking sky-blue strands wink at Jinbei from down the table, catching the light like prisms, but in style. Franky’s usual obnoxious pompadour is missing–he and Robin really are perfect for each other.

Honour is gently running her fingers through Peace’s fur. She’s seated beside Love, an arrangement that would usually have him fawning over her, but currently it only serves to dye the pale, sky-toned hues of her hair black from the smoke of his cigarette. Peace has all but crawled into her lap, his seat abandoned to her left, and he tucks himself securely into her side as his hooves shake with some indiscernible emotion. Jinbei assumes its fear, or anguish, because everyone in the room knows how this trial will end, and Chopper presides over peace, not death. There's a reason this is his first appearance in Jinbei’s court.

Honour wears a face of pragmatism. It's practised, like Sacrifice’s smile, but it cracks at the corners; her eyes are a little too narrow, her smile a touch too plastic. Vivi clings to Chopper as he clings to her–with a desperate sort of resignation.

Every few minutes she pauses her gentle ministrations and flicks a few loose strands from her face. Her hair is loose, dark with ash, spilling over her pink-clad shoulders and down the slim length of her back. The diamonds and pink sapphires studded in her sleeves catch the firelight as everything seems to.

Jinbei is earnestly considering abolishing sconces from his court.

At the very end of the table is Creativity. His fingers are tracing mindless patterns on the surface of the table and he keeps glancing between Teach and Nami, like he knows she’s going to do something rash but he doesn’t know what it is. Fate mirrors his position on the other end of the table. He's cast in Change’s shadow and the rapping of his bone fingers on the armrests of his chair is quiet and rhythmic. It sounds almost like Binks’ Brew.

Both of them are dressed in dark suits; uncharacteristic for Usopp, typical for Brook. Judging by the fit of the shoulders and the engraved gold buttons, they have both made an earnest attempt to mimic Sanji. It's humorous enough that Vivi would likely crack a smile. But she doesn’t, and neither do they. It's not the time nor place for joviality.

Behind them, sat on one of the twin dais’ at the back of the courtroom, the Sun’s glow is warm on their backs. The other dais is notably empty, and is the only reason the trail hasn’t been called into session.

“Where is Asura?” asks a sharp voice, breaking the stagnancy of the room in characteristic crudeness. Kidd stands without his usual arrogance, the crimson of his cape like blood against the midnight shades of his clothing, and he cocks his head with a deep furrow between his brows. Beside him, Killer sighs.

Of course the God of Rebellion would have the audacity, bemoans Jinbei in the privacy of his mind while he projects a face of impassivity.

It’s the first time the Heavenly Court has been called in centuries, and it's the first serious trial in twice as long. For Asura to not be here, it's not only surprising, but downright insulting. The Jury, made up of Minor Gods and Goddesses, seems to rumble in support of Kidd’s query, and Teach lets forth another bout of unrestrained cackles. Whitebeard frowns from the audience.

Jinbei glances back at Nika’s form; unnaturally still, the white of his hair dulled and the glow of his skin diminished, holy ichor staining the tips of his fingers. At the mention of the Moon’s absence his frown deepens.

Beside him, Nami unsubtly jabs her elbow into Jinbei’s side, and casts him a look that somehow communicates “make him shut up” and “hurry before Luffy implodes and kills us all”. He swallows and raises a palm.

“The Moon has many duties,” Justice rumbles, casting his gaze imploringly around the room, “for him to up and leave them is an… unwise course of action”

Sanji snorts.

“Like that hasn’t stopped him before,” he mutters scathingly and Vivi smacks him on the arm.

“Regardless,” Jinbei hastens to say, “he shouldn’t be much longer. I implore you all to exercise your patience for just a little while longer.” His voice carries around the room and soothes the bruised egos of the minor gods; settling them. In the jury, the Hearth shoots him a smile.

Kidd scowls but relents. But as he sits down, Killer practically yanking him back to his seat with the air of a resigned parole officer, the great marble doors at the front of the courtroom swing inwards, and, as one, the court turns to stare at the entrance.

Three figures stand on the threshold. Teach erupts into wheezing laughter.

“I'm afraid you would be incorrect,” says Punishment as he strides into the room, flanked on either side by Mercy and Judgement and trailed by a pack of snarling hounds. He’s dressed in his usual coat and hat, feather boa bobbing as he walks, heels clicking against the marble floor as he approaches the Heavenly Court. His hawk-like eyes slide towards the Mortal God, and a frown creases the elegant line of his brow before he smooths it out into impassivity. Dracule Mihawk slows to a stop in front of The Nine and inclines his head politely. At his heels, Sandai Kitetsu snaps his jaws, drool seeping from between his fangs.

Judgement and Mercy are quiet. It's telling, in the now silent courtroom. Their eyes are fixed on the grinning form of Teach, Judgement’s grip on his ōdachi tight, Mercy’s usual plentiful babbling absent as she sways on her heels, the pink curls of her hair swinging like a metronome, back and forth, back and forth. Wado Ichimonji prowls before them, her maw bared and fur washed golden in the firelight. Enma follows her with his eyes but stays sat next to Shusui, the twin hounds like shadows at Judgement’s side, and Yubashiri whines pitifully as he circles Mercy, her fur silver and blue and grey like the moon, like her master’s gaze, and his absence is even more evident with the hounds present.

It's unheard of for Asura to be anywhere without at least one of the hounds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jinbei see’s Nika straighten.

The rapping of bone fingers halts.

“Hawk Eyes,” Destiny greets cordially. Her face is stony, the crease in her brow deepening and her fingers leaving gouges where they sink into the wood of the table, nails reinforced with gold and diamond. The air crackles with ozone.

She never did like Punishment. Jinbei wonders if seeing him here, instead of Asura, is opening old wounds, but he derails that thought before it could fully form. If anything, Nami’s irritation has been building since the sky dimmed. Punishment is just the unlucky bastard to trigger her.

However, Mihawk seems largely uncaring of the heavy atmosphere, and turns his frightening gaze to stare down the Goddess of the Tempest regardless of her status. He’s never cared for The Nine, loyal only to Asura and the domains he precedes over, of which the storm is not one. Lightning crackles over Nami’s skin and casts the assembly in a blue glow, but it vanishes as quickly as it came, and she sinks back into her seat with a scowl. Kitetsu snarls at her.

Beside Punishment, Judgement sighs. Water Law flicks his tired gaze across The Nine, giving Jinbei a nearly imperceivable nod, and the jury, hesitating for a moment on the Hearth, before finally fixing onto Nika, who blinks down at them.

Jinbe clears his throat. “What purpose does the Court of Death have in a Trial of the Living?” He quereis, uneasy under the steely eyes of the Trinity, uneasy in this halted trial, uneasy as the Mortal God grins ear to ear.

Wado growls low in her throat, body’s corporeality fluctuating, while Kitetsu snaps his jaws. Creativity leans away from them with an uneasy smile and Chopper subtly nudges him upright. He’s absconded Vivi’s lap, had done so the moment the doors swung open, but he shifted his chair to touch Usopp’s, and is in the prime position to prevent him from making a fool of himself.

“Balance is failing,” says Punishment simply, the timbre of his voice heavy in the echoing hall, apparently ignoring the unease of the court. “The Moon has faltered.” The sconces flicker ominously and shadows shift as Mihawk’s words settle in the air, thickening it with meaning, and entrenching the uneasy audience with the cloying molasses that is suspense.

Jinbe’s heart stutters and the warmth behind him spikes tellingly.

Love snarls and slams his hands onto the scorched table before him, launching himself to his feet without his usual grace and leaning forwards imperceivably to scrutinise The Trinity. “What are you speaking of, Hawk Eyes? That fool hasn’t bothered to leave his domain since the Heavens were established unless called upon. What could he have possibly done to upset the balance?”

Punishment blinks at him, face set in stone. Kitetsu, however, growls low in his throat, harmonising with the call of his sister as Wado prowls before the court. The snapping of her jaws, the drool seeping from between her fangs; it was unbecoming of her. Wado was revered as The Moon’s stagnancy. For her to be unsettled was unheard of.

Jinbe watches the proceedings with pursed lips and a furrow between his brows, eyes tracing the unsteady movements of Asura’s hounds. Wado’s form stutters and flickers, the white silver of her fur melting into shadow and quickly reshaping. Yubashiri hides in Mercy’s skirts, but his snout is flecked with dimming stars, and the glint in his eyes is eclipsed by his largening pupils.

Fate tilts his head and chuckles curiously, quietly, “yohoho”, and Jinbei hates how observant they both are.

“Asura let someone walk free from death,” responds Judgment to Love, his eyes, near luminous in the glow of the braziers, flicking towards the jury then back. His brow furrows at the silence that reigns after his declaration. His white knuckle grip on his sword tightens incrementally.

Enma’s tail flickers out of existence for a second, and his ears press into his skull. Jinbe sees it all.

“Asura?” says Change at last, the incredulity in his voice melting into amusement, “Asura let someone walk away from death?”

Sanji falls back into his seat with a scoff and takes a drag from his cigarette.

Change snorts and waves a massive hand, “Now I’ve heard it all.”

“Yeah,” Creativity nods brazenly and leans forwards on his elbows in a practised facade of confidence, “Asura’s the most cutthroat guy, like, ever! He wouldn’t directly disobey the Great God Usopp–”

Vivi smacks him over Peace’s antlered head and he backtracks swiftly.

“–he wouldn’t directly disobey the laws like that! It's Asura!” Usopp waves his hands as if making a point and The Nine, alongside a number of Minor Gods in the jury, nod solemnly in understanding. Perona nods as well, but catches herself mid-action, and freezes. She avoids the irritated gazes of Punishment and Judgement. “The only thing more important to him than upholding Luffy’s honour is keeping Luffy safe! He can’t do that if he throws the Balance into wack!”

The Trinity exchanges uneasy glances.

Well, Mercy looks uneasy. Punishment’s face is as inscrutable as ever and Judgement’s eyes are hidden beneath the brim of his spotted hat. But they shift regardless, stances tensing, and the air in the court feels cold despite the presence of the Sun.

Destiny narrows her eyes at them before sighing, slumping back in her chair to glare at the ceiling. “Is this his idea of a joke? We haven’t heard from him in forever and now he’s sent his cronies–”

Perona makes an offended noise that Yubashiri echoes.

“–to tell us he made a mistake.” She casts an annoyed glance at the Sun, “Oi, Luffy, go knock some sense into him and drag him back here so we can get on with the trial.”

But Nika isn’t looking at her. His eyes are fixed on the cackling Mortal God, knuckles white where they’re curled around his arm rests, a nearly imperceivable furrow between his brows. He glances back at The Trinity and purses his lips.

“Hey, Torao,” says Nika. Water Law doesn’t even twitch at the overly familiar nickname, “who did Zoro let live?”

Judgement’s smile is grim.

Before he can answer, Teach lets out another burst of mad laughter, all but falling over in his chair as the sunlit chains binding him strain against his weight. His eyes flicker across the amassed audience, lingering on the two empty seats to The Nine’s left and falling past the bulk of Whitebeard to stare at the pale-faced God of Harvest before settling finally on Nika.

“Who did he save?” He asks, wheezing with mirth. Judgement scowls at the interruption, but doesn’t voice his grievances, merely settling back into a facade of nonchalance and hoisting his ōdachi higher on his shoulder.

“Who did he save?” The Mortal God repeats and collapses into another round of cackling laughter.

Whitebeard moves to stand, reaching surreptitiously for his naginata, but halts as Destiny raises a palm.

Her face is furious. The gemstones inlaid into her skin wink as blue lighting trails across her limbs, ozone thickening the air as Zeus manifests at her shoulder, the cloud dark with promise. Her hand trembles in the air for one moment, two, before she slams it onto the table and tears her gaze away from Teach with a forceful exhale.

Robin rests a disembodied hand on her shoulder and tilts her head where she's sat beside Change, the shadows in her hair dancing as she regards the court cooly. Nami doesn’t physically relax, but the lightning dims. She sets her glare back onto Teach and bites out her command, “Speak clearly, Mortal God.”

His cackles subsides and he leers at her, but his silence is steadfast, and he doesn’t answer.

Sanji curses again, aggrieved, as Honour narrows her eyes at the court. Peace is all but trembling at Creativity’s side, his wide-eyed gaze terrified as he peers down at Teach, the Trinity, the court like it had stolen something precious from him. And isn’t that jarring. Jinbe’s frown deepens, he casts his mind back to the gentle hands and small smiles Asura had sported when Chopper danced around him, casts his mind back to aeons ago when the Heavens were a dream and The Nine was made up of eleven, when Asura had still wandered through the world with a grin.

Peace hadn’t seen Asura since the establishment of the Heavens and Asura's resulting isolation. Jinbe had. He’d seen the warmth surrounding the Moon fade, his smiles dull and his eyes lose their joy. Justice had watched Zoro collapse under the duty of being Death, and he wonders, idly, as Chopper’s eyes grow wet, if ignorance really is bliss.

Mercy’s eyes tighten before she sighs angrily and crosses her arms. “Isn’t it obvious?” She snaps, “Why else would we interrupt his trial?” She gestures rudely to the unsettlingly silent, chain-wrapped figure that almost killed Dusk and clicks her tongue.

Perona scowls at The Nine. “Who would Asura go to war for?”

Jinbe’s throat tightens. Brooks' head tilts down incrementally. Franky shifts back in his seat, large hands twitching, as Robin leans forwards and laces her fingers before her face. They are all utterly silent.

“Its Ace,” whispers a terrified voice in the audience. Whitebeard straightens and turns to regard the God of Harvest, his son, with a grim expression, even as Thatch hauls himself unsteadily to his feet. “It's Ace,” he reiterates to the court, eyes never leaving the grinning face of Teach, “Asura saved Ace.”

Chapter Text

Destiny didn’t like to think of before. 

She was a creature of habit, and had spent too many years casting her mind back, farther and father each time, grasping for the memories of giddy youth; of tangerine trees, and sun warm hammocks, and salt sea spray, and the freedom of living and being and existing with nothing but herself and her family. She relied upon them – those far away snippets of what had once been and what was no more – to breathe, to exist in the endless blue of the sky. To live at a gilded table, with her skin dressed in fortune, and lay her keen gaze upon the world she had helped to create. 

She doesn’t anymore. 

Can’t.

Nami had reminisced to the point where she didn’t see the present as a gift – didn’t see her position and family as the wealth of love they were. She chased shadows that weren’t there and lost herself to the longing of youth. 

(How very ironic for Goddess of the Tempest to cling to the past when she commands that which exists in a singular moment. Lightning is fickle, instantaneous; existing in the present alone. It does not hold memory) 

Once, before the sky was united and the heavens established, Nami had a grove of tangerine trees. 

She spent every moment she could basking in the sun, surrounded by the biting tang of citrus and the chorusing laughter of her family. 

Luffy had taken an explicit liking to the fruit, much to her irritation, and would sneak between the branches and fill his arms with their bounty. When caught, she would make a huge scene out of screeching at him, lunging to drag him from the branches, biting back giggles. He would scream with laughter of his own and evade her with a scrambling manoeuvre, dropping his bounty in his attempt to get away. He would always, without fail, run to Zoro; ducking behind him with a petulant whine and a profession of his false innocence. 

The crew would laugh – they always laughed, then. 

Zoro would be bright with mirth, his form heaving with gasping laughter. Luffy would always stare at him. He wound himself around the other’s torso, burrowing his hat-adorned head into his partner's back, but would pop up and tilt his head to stare as Zoro laughed. 

Nami would lunge for him then, dragging him away by the ear as Zoro offered no resistance despite his partner's petulant whines. 

And he always had a tangerine, too. Luffy would place it on his head, amidst his locks of green, and remark upon how ‘ Zoro’s a tree now too, shishishi!’

While Nami berated the Sun, the Moon would peel his bounty and split the segments between their family. Most of the time, Luffy would catch the movement and yell about how unfair it was that they could eat her tangerines and not him. Nami would then give up on scolding him, he never listened anyway , and instead sprawled down next to Zoro and demanded a piece. 

“They’re my tangerines. You should be glad I’m not charging you for it.” 

Sanji often trilled his agreement. Zoro would make to lunge at him amidst the group's laughter.

But he would pass one over with a grumble, acting put upon despite the warmth in his eyes. It was always the same: Luffy would launch himself at both of them (only ever after she had eaten her share), demanding one for himself. She and Zoro would both huff in annoyance and exchange fond looks, and Zoro would wrangle Luffy into his side and steadily feed him the last few segments.The last one Luffy would pluck it out of his fingers and jab it into Zoro’s cheek until he got the hint and ate it out of his hand. Then, Luffy would complain about Zoro eating the last segment, Zoro would shove him off with a yell, and the two would wrestle amongst the grass. 

The orange peels would sit beside her, undisturbed. They had faint gouges where Luffy had gripped them. Crescents.  

It was a common enough scene for her to sigh, annoyed, and turn to Robin and Vivi for actual intellectual conversation. 

(She asked him about it, once. 

They were sat together in the hollow of a great oak tree – one of Robin’s. Sunlight dappled the grass gold and yellow, and it caught on his earrings; the three gold teardrops winking at her as he turned his head. 

The rest of them, their little group, were huddled together in the meadow. Usopp was wearing Chopper’s hat and was narrating some great tale to his entranced audience, which was really just a starry eyed Chopper and Luffy, who was stuffing himself with braised meat. Not far from them sat Robin, her face pillowed in her hand, and Franky, his usual exuberance tempered by their conversation. Every so often he would turn to cheer on Usopp at a particularly exciting part of his story as Robin chuckled at them. Sanji was parading around the group with a platter of assorted dishes. He dodged around Luffy’s sneaking fingers and Jinbei’s bulk, who was sprawled not inelegantly amongst a patch of pink wildflowers, to serve his “wonderful ladies”, and would sometimes cast baleful looks at Nami when he had realised she wasn’t amongst them. Brook had been playing a jaunty song that rose and fell with Usopp’s tale, his musical laughter a soft backtrack to the scene, while Vivi chuckled quietly behind a dainty hand, her eyes shining with mirth. 

Nami watched them with warmth in her chest, and Zoro turned back to the scene with a wry smile. 

He asked her what she meant.

She clarified: “Luffy– he always gives you tangerines, but he drops all the rest. They’re my tangerines and he only has to ask. It’s not like I’ll say no.” 

Zoro had laughed at her, loudly, and she had cuffed him over the head. 

“He’s Luffy , ” He then murmured, so low she could barely hear it, and glanced at her with a soft, knowing expression, “You know how he is. I don’t try to decipher his actions; that would be a waste of time. But,” He paused, unsure. “But he knows I like them. The crew does too. It’s a… gift, of sorts. I guess.” 

Then he shrugged and rolled to his feet, offering her a hand and gesturing with his head to the now rambunctious group. From Sanji’s yelling, and the mess across Jinbei's chest, Nami deduced wryly that Luffy had upended the platter in an attempt to grab it. Usopp was practically rolling on the floor in his mirth, story forgotten, and hat placed securely back on Chopper's fuzzy head. 

“But what do I know,” Zoro chuckled as he helped her to her feet. From the meadow, Luffy called out to them excitedly, and Sanji’s yelling ticked up a notch. “He’s like that sometimes.” 

Nami watched him walk towards the group and get intercepted halfway by a joyous Luffy who all but tackled him into the grass. Sanji stomped up to the pair and grabbed Luffy by the collar, hissing something too quiet for Nami to hear, and Zoro had shot to his feet with a growl and lunged at the blonde. Luffy was forgotten amidst their bickering, and Nami watched in amusement as he snuck to Jinbei's side and picked the meat off of him, making Usopp’s laughter increase and Chopper to flutter around them, giggling. When Sanji realised his ire was directed at the wrong person, he turned and shrieked at the scene, lunging at Luffy while Franky cackled.

Zoro looked back at her, then, amusement dancing in silver eyes. He gestured for her to hurry up, and she jogged over to them with an exhausted but fond sigh.)

Now, there was no laughter. Their rambunctiousness tempered by years of duty and responsibility, no matter that Luffy was freedom incarnate, no matter what he had insisted, aeons ago, when the Heavens were new and Zoro’s absence a gaping wound in their side. 

Destiny had stopped reminiscing after the first serious trial, after her first glimpse of the Moon after many, many years. He was clipped with them, with her, his eyes steely, his voice cold, his presence dull in the presence of the Sun. 

She had watched him, wary, for some reason, as Luffy had all but launched himself at Zoro,  clinging to him like a baby monkey, wrapping him in a tight embrace, and whispering into his ear with a bright grin. 

Zoro hadn’t stiffened, not really, but his shoulders tensed and he had to physically relax into Luffy’s embrace. 

He had whispered something back, too quiet for even Brook to hear, if his tilted head was any indication, and gently removed Luffy from his form. He unwound his arms, legs, gently nudged Nika to sway back and out of his space, and, when he was free, Zoro’s expression eased ever so slightly.

Like he was glad. Like he was relieved. 

Like being free of Luffy was a balm, and Nami’s hands had curled into fists at her side. 

She stopped reminiscing after that. The contrast between the Zoro of before and the Asura now had made her blood curdle and mouth sour with some inexplicable emotion. 

(Maybe it was grief. 

She didn’t want to know. She couldn’t stomach it.)

Destiny hadn’t seen Asura for another few aeons after that, not until he was called again for another trial, something he was required to attend. 

That's the only time he visited the heavens of his own volition. Nika did, he always would, from the beginning to the end. It wouldn’t be so bright without him. 

When Asura was there, it was like the Heavens were cool, still, quiet. He brought with him a stagnancy that stifled Luffy’s glow.

Nami would have loved it. The ability to bring quiet to the constant movement and noise of the Heavens, of the Sky, would have thrilled her. It would have freed her from the volume of her duties. But Asura didn’t visit . He came, to attend his duty as the other half of life, and he didn’t linger. Chopper hadn’t seen him since the Heavens establishment, aeons ago, because Peace had no place in the trials of the Heavens. 

So Destiny sort of hated the silence. 

His presence. 

She missed him, but the wound was scarred over, dull with time, and she felt Zoro slipping further and further away every time she saw him. 

She hated the silence he brought – thought it stifling, even – and watched Asura with wary eyes until he vanished into his domain and released the Sun’s glory again. 

The silence that pervades the court now is familiar in that way. 

Maybe its because Dusk had been hurt, and the Sun dulled, and the Court of Death is standing in front of the Nine, in front of her , professing that Asura had betrayed the balance, while the God of Harvest is pale faced and shaky, agreeing with them and their judgement and their announcement. They say it like its real, and all she can feel is the weight of dread in her belly, and Nami can’t – 

“What,” says a voice to her left, and Nami glances down the table to see Usopp, frozen in his seat, “do you mean ‘Ace’? ” 

Thatch looks positively horrified, and Whitebeard lays a steadying hand on his son's shoulder, concern wrinkling his aged features. The silence is there again, stifling, and Nami feels it crawl into her skin and nest in her bones. 

It's parasitical; pervasive. Unsettling in a way she hasn’t felt before. 

She glances at Teach, his mad grin wide, then to Jinbei at her side, and back to the court and jury, scanning their faces for bluff or lie. 

She lingers on Hearth, because of course she does. He’s a welcoming presence, steadying, but even he looks pale as he scans Judgement, disbelief melting into horror slowly but surely. She looks away because she can’t –

Nojiko catches her eyes. She’s steady, but ashen, and visibly fighting back the terror shifting behind her expression of mild calm. She gestures, so subtly no one else would catch it besides Nami; a reassurance, because Nami feels herself slipping from disbelief into grief, and she can’t break in front of the court. In front of her family. 

Nojiko purses her lips but tries to smile anyway, and Nami is reminded, startlingly, that she hadn’t visited her sister in centuries. 

(Her tangerine grove had died, shrivelled into husks without her steady supply of rainfall and Robin’s tender care. When the Orchard had brought it up, Nami had bitten her lips raw and confessed hoarsely that she just didn’t have time to care for them anymore. 

Not as a member of the Nine. Not as a Goddess of the Heavens who presided over the vast blue skies. 

But Nojiko only nudged her gently, offering a pleased smile, and gently insisted that she could tend to them in Nami’s absence. “Goddess of Orchards,” Nami had begun with a growing smile, “Would you do me the honours of caring for my tangerine grove in my absence?” 

Nojiko had laughed and shoved her, but the next time Nami visited her, she had burdened the Tempest with baskets of sun-bright citrus and shot her a beaming smile. )

Like everyone else, Nojiko is stone-faced and shaky, visible tremors wracking her frame and uncoiling her vibrant, pinned back hair. But her dark eyes are steady, and she nods minutely at Nami, a show of support and love and concern all in one, and Nami could cry because how could she forget Nojiko? How could she forget Zoro and his bright smiles and startling insight and adoration of her and their group and Luffy . 

The Sun and the Moon. Always and forever. Locked in an eternal game of hide and seek with each other. 

“He’s Luffy. You know how he is.” (And you know how I am , was left unsaid, hanging between them on that sunny day, nestled in the hollow of one of Robins trees, watching their family tumble together in a meadow; peaceful, happy) 

Hawk Eyes is speaking again, and hate sours her tongue. She snaps her eyes away from Nojikos and settles them on the man who dogs Asura’s– Zoro’s heels like he too is a hound. “It’s as the Harvest God says: Asura turned Dusk away from death, and by doing so, tilted the balance.” His luminous eyes flick across the assembly, unreadable, just like his voice and stance. “Nika, your brother is alive, no?”

The heat behind her is still. The glow steady. Even so, Nami feels her heart jump and she digs her nails into the tabletop. They sink into its surface like shark teeth into a fleshy underbelly, death ( Zoro, Zoro, Zoro) and she wrenches herself out of her seat with a breath simmering with sparks. 

“Do not address the Sun so casually, Hawk Eyes .” The Tempest spits, “And do not speak of things you have no place in!”

She doesn’t think she’s overreacting. Far from it, even. 

The court is silent except for her haggard breaths and the sound of tapping claws as the hounds pace. She doesn’t know two of them from sight alone, but the others are as striking as she remembers; Wado Ichimonji, Sandai Kitetsu, Yubashiri. 

Yubashiri, who's hiding in Mercy’s skirts, irises a thin band of grey around her large pupils, is pawing at her muzzle and glittering with dim stars and faded constellations. Nami’s eyes narrow on her, but Mercy’s skirts swish and the hound is concealed beneath layers of ruffles and chiffon. The pink haired ghoul meets her challenging gaze sternly.

Nami can almost see herself in Mercy. The indignation, maybe. The protectiveness well concealed beneath layers of false irritation and annoyance. 

“Don’t I?” Says Mihawk, and he tilts his head minutely, more catlike than avian. 

“Asura is the God of Death, and we are his Court. You, Tempest, are the one overstepping in this exchange. What stakes do you have in a conversation between the living and the dead?” 

Wado growls ( Wado , who was Zoro’s first. He had paraded her around, pride shining through his grumpy visage, none-too-subtle in his bragging about her stark white fur and shining fangs) and Destiny slumps back in her seat, burying her face in her palms and heaving a shaky breath out through her nose. Sanji picks up where her rage is strewn across the table.

“What do you mean, Hawk Eyes!?” He heaves out, and Nami can almost picture his trailing smoke curling around his irate features. It's telling, that he doesn't leap to her defense as he usually would. Sanji has always known Zoro better than most. “That bastard mossball – what? Let Ace just waltz through his court? Dismissed him outright!? He knows– he is balance, that’s his fucking domain, why do something so, so– ” There's a scraping sound that she vaguely recognises as Brook before silence falls again. Hawk Eyes lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“Should he have let Dusk die, then?” Mutters Water Law, just loud enough for it to echo uncomfortably around the Court. There's the sound of snapping teeth and a drawn out whine. Silence again.

The heat at her back grows stronger. 

Then a gravelly voice speaks up, all but trembling in withheld laughter. “Are you surprised?” says Marshall D. Teach and Destiny drops her hands to stare at the Mortal God. 

He still has that unnatural grin on his smug face and Nami’s fingers itch to wipe it off. 

“Asura’s smart. He’s a Celestial, the Other Half of Life ,” and his voice hitches up a notch, mockingly, “He rules over balance just as he does death. He’s as old as this world, and he’s smart . So are his cronies.” The Mortal God glances at the Trinity who are statuesque in their stagnancy. The Mortal God of Darkness , Nami hisses in her mind, is one of trickery. He’s clearly building up to something. 

“But are you surprised? Asura’s loyal like a dog – we all know that much! Lapping at Nika’s heels, chasing every whim he’s got. Bound to happen, wasn’t it?” He lets the words settle, savours them like a feast, and shrugs as if it's the simplest truth in the world, the amusement only barely concealed in his voice. “The mighty God of the Moon, casting his precious balance aside… for what? He’s devoted to that so-called King of the Heavens. He’d go to the ends of this world, any world , to the very bottom of the Abyss, just to keep his sun shinin’.” 

The bastard chuckles, low and sinister, like he isn't restrained and at their benevolence. “He’s chained himself to the very god he’s meant to balance, keepin’ the skies in check but throwin’ his own judgement to the wind! You call it devotion–”

There’s a hiss as Judgement unsheathes his ōdachi.

“–but I call it a weakness ,” he sneers. 

Nami rears up again, anger flaring and lightning crackling through the Court as Zeus materialises at her shoulder. She hears the screech of chairs pushed back in haste, the others , but they’re all too slow. 

In an instant – one hitching breath, one piercing howl from Wado – Judgement has his blade pointed squarely at Teach’s throat. Punishment is behind the Mortal God, his massive, black-bladed greatsword poised to cleave him in two, and Mercy hoists a rapier over her head, its point hovering inches from Teach’s left eye. 

Each of their swords gleams with something unnatural. Something dark, and evil, and keen at slicing through the Mortal God of Darkness even as he cackles at them. 

Kitetsu and the two other hounds are pacing and snarling. Their dark fur glistens like wet blood in the fire from the sconces and the Suns own glow. The saliva that drips from their knife-sharp teeth splatters on the floor mutely and sizzles slightly where it eats into the marble. Wado barks, and they yip back at her, while Yubashiri curls up to the side, hiding her patterned muzzle beneath her tail and gazing, uncomprehendingly, at the spectacle. 

Hellhounds , Nami remembers distantly, rage still simmering in her blood, and looks too at the Court of Death. 

Hellhounds.

Teach’s wheezing laughter hitches slightly as Perona tilts forward, her cruel blade inching towards the vulnerable surface of his eye, but it doesn't cease. 

“Even ambition bows to the sun, don’t it!?” He crows. “Seems to me that Asura’s tripped over himself, forgotten he’s supposed to be the Moon, supposed to be cold and distant, keepin’ things fair and balanced! He let one free from Death, risked everything, just for the smallest smile from the Great Nika !” 

From the corner of her eye, Nami spots Robin, face shadowed by her inky fringe, still and silent as a statue, but with her arms crossed and poised for action. Franky too is positively looming; the metal links in his flesh shining like beacons in the light of the Sun, who is bright – too bright, really, his luminance making her head swim and Zeus tremble as he hovers over her shoulder. 

Down the table, Vivi, fingers melting into golden sand, clutches her long, blue-green khopesh, the blade trembling from rage. (Zoro had given it to her–named it Kujaku no Hane jokingly because of its colour. But the name had stuck, to his derision, and Honour used it still. Nami suspected she always will. It was the Vicious Blade of Duty now, mortals and their epithets, but the Nine still referred to it fondly as Vivi’s Hane.)  

Chopper is large; his form long used to shifting and melding to his whim, and beside him Usopp is gripping the Kabuto with a white-knuckle grip, anger and hate and terror exuding from his unusually suit-clad form. 

Sanji is wreathed in thick black smoke, his fingers encased in flame and his eyes burning with it. Jinbei stands like a pillar. He is quiet, still, assessing in only the way he and Brook and Robin can be, and the God of Fate mimics him, hollow eyes unnervingly empty as his head twitches from one God to the next. 

The Trinity breathes as one, and Teach keeps talking. 

“And now,” he concludes, almost pityingly, but still grinning madly and speaking too loud, too fast, too gratingly for the Heavens Court, “he pays the price for his little lapse in duty, all for a brother who fell from grace. Balance!? Asura’s thrown it all away for somethin’ as fleeting as his devotion! ” He cackles madly – zehahahahaha – and Nami twitches and Jinbei stiffens and Robin’s pale fingers tremble–

“Hey,” says the Sun, “What did you say about Zoro?”