Chapter Text
" May your trials end in full bloom."
- So Far Away, Agust D
Explosions sounded in the distance amidst screams of desperation and orders being barked. Swords clashed and guns were fired as soldiers and the world's outcasts struggled and fought surrounded by their fallen fellows. Marineford’s cobblestone pavement would be permanently stained red from that day on and the world would drastically shift consequent to a dying declaration.
But to two brothers at that moment, the battlefield was soundless.
War raged on around them, but to them, it had long ended.
The smell of charred skin and organs was nauseating and Monkey D. Luffy found it difficult to swallow it down. Wide brown eyes were transfixed onto bloody palms; Ace’s blood. It was dark and thick, hot to the touch. Similar to the cobblestone, his hand would forever be dirtied. Whether it was all in his mind or not, that didn’t matter. Luffy would never forget.
Ace coughed, vomiting his insides. Dark red flowed down his neck and stained his younger brother's already dirtied yellow vest to an even darker brown. Drops of blood fell from the tip of Ace’s fingers to the stone below. The plop-plop-plop it made was louder than the cannonballs, only overpowered by the fading thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
He'd made it in time. Luffy was safe.
Luffy was alive and nothing else mattered.
Ace faintly registered his younger brother’s blunt nails digging into the skin of his arm. The sting was forgetful when compared to the destruction of his intestines and lungs. He couldn't feel his legs anymore and breathing was becoming harder with every second. He knew that his life was coming to an end, but no sense of regret came forth from wasting the old man and Luffy's efforts. Not if it meant that his brother survived the war. He wouldn’t’ve ever been able to forgive himself if he’d become the reason Luffy couldn't achieve his dream.
He wouldn't be there to see it happen, but he had faith in his stubborn, younger brother.
After all, he’d never imagined that Luffy would’ve stormed through Impel Down and Marineford for him. Then again, perhaps he should’ve expected it. Luffy had always been the crazier of the three brothers. From the moment he’d met him, the boy had been unyielding. Following Ace no matter what obstacles stood in his way. Even when that obstacle had been Ace himself. In retrospect, the rubber-rubber fruit was truly made for someone like Luffy.
Speaking was becoming too strenuous.
Glory, fame.
No, that wasn’t what I’d truly wanted, he realized. The number of people who’d stormed through what had essentially been a fortress to rescue him — he who had tainted blood — simply because he’d been important to them. They’d loved him, despite being a demon’s child. It was only with his body shutting down that he'd finally found the answer to the question that had plagued his mind for the majority of his life.
But, with the assurance that he'd been loved, he closed his eyes, his lids heavy, and smiled. Unburdened in his heart, he let go.
Everything would be okay.
The last thing Portgas D. Ace felt was his younger brother's rubbery skin slipping from his hold as his final breath left him; his vivre card burnt with the last embers of his life.
☆
There was only all encompassing darkness.
Void of light, sound, heat, and life. A crushing, heavy void. Akin to drowning in the endless sea as the waves dragged its prisoner under. Through the overwhelming emptiness, Ace had the fleeting thought that it'd been a while since he’d felt any semblance of coldness. Eyelids weighted, limbs numb, he couldn’t even pick up the pumping of his heart. Any attempts to move his fingers only resulted in the twitching of fingertips.
Mouth parched, as if he’d trekked through a desert, he couldn’t swallow a breath of air. The metallic tang that’d saturated his gums was gone just like everything else. Logically, he knew that he had a tongue and teeth, feet and toes, but they were phantoms. Where he began and where he ended were obscured lines.
He could remember the pain, Luffy's cries, the rubber arms holding him, and then — nothing.
Only darkness.
His body was light, yet — so heavy. What seemed like days, hours, months, maybe even years, passed by.
Or maybe it was only seconds.
☆
A cacophony of racing footsteps, more orders, and — and the ocean. He inhaled the achingly comforting smell of sea salt, and exhaled deeply. The sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden deck of a ship was familiar. The battering of waves against the hull reminded him of home. Ace drowned out everything else except for the salty breeze that swept over him along with the sun beating down on his exposed skin. Without a doubt, every inch would be covered in freckles later.
But it felt too warm to leave. Oh, how he’d missed the sun.
His mind had yet to catch up with the final events of the Navy’s headquarters. At that moment, Ace was on a boat — likely the Moby Dick, he reasoned. It seemed they’d managed to escape, somehow. Everything had simply been a momentary nightmare. Quiet footsteps neared when Ace finally decided to open his eyes. However, instead of being blinded by the sun's rays, he found himself staring at a familiar worn-out straw hat with a fading red rim.
Luffy.
Luffy.
They’d both survi — except it wasn't. Now that he truly looked, the hat covered bright, red hair.
"Shanks saved my life! He gave me this hat and I promised I'd give it back to him once I'm a great pirate!"
Luffy. Straw hat. Red hair. Shanks.
A very young Shanks.
It was then that reality crushed onto him and Ace startled into a slouching position. Marineford, the execution, Luffy, Akainu, Luffy — dying. Breathing heavily, Ace lifted a hand to his chest. Where a large hole should've been, there was only scar tissue. The skin was raised in some areas, especially around the edges, and breathing in deeply, hurt.
His skin felt tight. It was a healed burn, but that was simply impossible. Even Ace knew that no one could've survived that injury, no matter what resources they had on-hand. Akainu had sunk his fist through his body and he’d fried his insides until nothing remained. His spine — bone, muscles, nerves, everything — had been cinders, the usage of his legs gone — but now he could feel them again. He was whole once more.
No devil’s fruit could do this. And now a young Shanks stood over him.
He heaved, bile building up in his throat. Yeah, he was gonna be sick.
Drowning in his panic and thoughts, Ace failed to notice that the red-haired boy had alerted the remainder of the crew concerning his presence. They gathered around his form as he tried finding an explanation for his situation.
"Shanks, who's this lad?"
"Dunno. Just found him lazing here."
"He don't look in very good shape."
"Maybe someone should call Crocus."
"I the only one who thinks he look like Captain?"
Ace jumped as a rough hand clamped down onto his clammy shoulder. Looking up, he found himself suddenly surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
"Hey, lad, what's your name?"
This question raised red flags in Ace's mind. His face and name would’ve been printed and spread across the seas after his capture and with his impending execution. Only an isolated country like Wano would've remained ignorant of the events. It only served to further confirm what he already suspected. Still, he refused to believe it.
"I — the name's Ace."
The man leaning over him opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a gruff voice asking, "Gaban, what's the matter?" This had everyone turning around and had Shanks shouting with enthusiasm, "Captain! Ray-san!"
Those words brought a sour taste to Ace’s mouth. Turning around, he found two men approaching.
At the front, a man with slicked-back blond hair and a contrasting dark beard. He bore a scar over his left eye and round spectacles — ‘Dark Knight’ Silvers Rayleigh, Ace identified. The other, a tall man with unruly pitch-black hair — far too similar to his own — a mustache that curled up in the same direction as his grin.
Gol D. Roger. The Pirate King.
To Ace, they were men of legends.
To Ace, one of them was his good-for-nothing father.
Their eyes met and Ace felt himself sinking into that abyss once more. No doubt was left. Wherever he was— this was not his time.
It may as well have been hell.
☆
They were preparing to lower anchor on a small deserted island when Buggy had interrupted to inform them that they had a stowaway aboard. The cabin boy led the way towards the quarter deck where a few other crewmates had gathered. Gaban had his hand on a young man's naked shoulder. His back was muscular, but covering most of it was horrible scar tissue.
A nasty burn it was.
His curiosity ever overwhelming, Roger wanted to know everything about the mysterious newcomer aboard the ship. Calling out to Gaban, he kept his eyes on the hunched figure. The stranger didn't immediately turn around, but once he did, Roger realized he was more of a boy than a man.
Eyes met, a mirror of each other. Fascinating. Greasy jet black hair fell on either side of the boy’s face like a curtain, stopping right as it reached the top of his shoulders. His sallow skin glistened with sweat and his gray eyes — what a peculiar color — were bruised purple, but they stared back at him unflinching and full of anger, or hate. They burned bright.
Roger was now very invested in this boy's presence and identity. The resemblance was uncanny and his eyes held so much life — yet Roger had never met this person before. He would've certainly remembered someone so interesting.
"And who's this?" Roger inquired, moving the attention back onto the boy sitting on the deck. Looking closer, he noticed the scattered freckles on his mud-covered cheeks. They dotted the bridge of his nose and apple of his cheeks, and served to only make him appear younger.
"This is the stowaway I told ya about!” Buggy exclaimed. The captain hummed pensively. That was not nearly enough information to satisfy his curiosity. Roger turned back towards the raven-haired, met his gaze once more, and asked, "What's your name, my boy?"
Immediately, there was a change in the air. It rippled with tension. Roger wasn't sure what had caused it, but the boy's expression had darkened even further. His mouth was set in a scowl, his eyebrows furrowed, and he spat out in response, "None of your damn business." The mood amongst the present crewmembers changed as they noted the hostility the boy now exuded in his words and stiff figure. A snake coiled to attack.
However, Roger’s grin widened in response.
Gaban turned to his captain and answered in the boy's stead, "Said his name was Ace." To this, Ace aimed his anger at the axe-wielder. It appeared the boy only had an issue when it concerned Roger, if he’d been more forthcoming with his crew.
"How did you get aboard?" Rayleigh finally chimed in. The Roger pirates had only just anchored. The island was meant to be uninhabited. A multitude of wounds littered the boy's body. His ribs protruded from his sides, hair brittle, eyes and cheeks sunken, and lips dried out — multiple signs of potential abuse, malnutrition, and dehydration. Perhaps he’d been shipwrecked to this island and decided to hitch a ride on the Oro Jackson, but it didn’t explain his malnourished appearance. This island was abundant in game and edible plants.
Ace turned his gaze towards Rayleigh. He hesitated for a moment, biting at his lower lip — perhaps unsure if he should tell the truth. It was hard to fathom why the truth would be a problem to share. After a long hanging silence, he finally answered, "I dunno. I was — fighting and then, woke up here."
"Yeah, right! As if we'll believ —" Buggy was interrupted by his captain's hand slamming into his face, not unkindly.
Roger knew that there was a link between himself and this Ace-boy and the kid didn’t appear like someone who would lie. If he wanted to figure out the mystery that Ace was, he'd need to tread carefully.
"Buggy, go get Crocus. The lad needs treatment," Rayleigh ordered, to Buggy's complaints. The vice-captain recognized the glint in Roger’s eyes. Nothing could stand in his way when he sported that look. It was almost demonic. A single-minded focus. Despite his loud protests, the apprentice left to bring their doctor as instructed.
Everyone's attention shifted back to the stowaway as Ace attempted to stand up by himself. "I don't need your help or pity," Ace stated, voice harsh and breathing uneven. This was his first attempt at standing after losing the usage of his legs. He took a step and stumbled, but righted himself back. Ace refused to show weakness in front of these people. Roger’s men.
"It's not pity, boy. If you wanna die, that's your call," at those words, Ace flinched, "but this island is remote, uninhabited, and filled with dangerous beasts. If you wanna get off here, go ahead. With your injuries on top of malnutrition and dehydration, you won't survive long. No matter how strong you think you are, you're only human." Whoever Ace was, Rayleigh saw his captain in him. It wasn't just in his looks, but also in that stubborn and reckless attitude. Bringing up the boy's potentially suicidal tendencies had struck a nerve for some reason. Hopefully, it would be enough to convince him to stay aboard.
Ace looked as if he was going to argue back for a second. Then he let out a long sigh, before scowling. Visibly, irked, he finally conceded, "Fine. But I'm getting off at the next goddamn island you anchor at." The blond’s eyes drifted to the young man’s fist, clenched at his sides. The knuckles blanched from how hard he curled his fingers. A bit more, and a trail of blood would’ve dripped down his joints.
Rayleigh agreed but chuckled to himself knowingly. They'd just restocked and were in no rush to anchor again anytime soon unless the captain desired so. He was ready to bet his part of the next booty that Roger wouldn't want to drop anchor until he'd figured out how to make the boy stay. Whether that was willingly or through more — crooked — means, that remained to be seen. They were pirates, after all.
The deck groaned as Buggy finally made his way back with Crocus following a little further behind him. The doctor looked annoyed as ever. Perhaps that was because Roger had skipped his check-up that morning. Again. Indeed, Crocus started nagging the ship's captain as he neared. The sight of Roger getting his ass reprimanded stole Ace’s attention and Rayleigh took that opportunity to stare at the boy's back. A large burn covered it, but there seemed to have been a tattoo under it as parts of purple peaked from the sides.
The ends reminded him of a jolly roger.
"Boy, what was the mark on your back?"
Muscles tensed the moment the words left his mouth, his figure literally frozen in place. A sensitive topic. No words were spoken by anyone; everyone had caught the exchange. "I guess the burn covers it up, huh," Ace broke the long silence, voice feeble and pained. The words were mumbled as if he was talking to himself. From his tone, this wasn’t something he’d been aware of before now. How Ace remained unaware when the injury spanned nearly the entirety of his back boggled Rayleigh’s mind. Unless, it was a recent development.
But, the burn was definitely healed.
The web of mysteries that Ace was tangled in only grew in size.
"It was a jolly roger," Ace continued, voice shaky, confirming Rayleigh's suspicion. A jolly roger, the flag pirates sailed under to represent their ideologies.
The boy had been a pirate.
"Will you be going back to your old crew then?" He wondered what kind of crew the boy had been part of. If he were to chance a guess, it would've been a strong one. He looked like the type that wouldn't submit to anyone unless he respected them greatly. If he’d gotten it tattooed on his back, he’d held a lot of pride for that flag. A shame that nothing remained of it.
"No. I don't think I can go back. Not for a long time at least." Rayleigh didn't understand why that was, but he dropped the subject. Only that sentence about his old crew, but the words were spoken desolately. Ace’s words implied that they were still out there somewhere on the seas. Maybe they'd parted ways on a bad note. But the stowaway’s dejected demeanor entailed something much deeper.
Crocus, deeming his scolding futile — a fair assessment considering its recipient — turned to examine the young new arrival. His sharp eyes cataloged the many cuts decorating his arms, abdomen, and shoulders. His scowl deepened and he cursed. A thorough cleaning would be required to prevent any infection from setting.
"Follow me, brat. We got a lot to talk about," the doctor bit out harshly as he spun around and made his way back to the infirmary. It seemed Ace had the common sense to not argue as he followed silently.
Rayleigh and Roger followed his departing figure with their gaze until Ace disappeared around the corner.
☆
Infirmaries had never been Ace’s thing. The smell of antiseptics bitterly cloying at his throat and headache inducing. An awkward atmosphere hung between Ace and the ship’s doctor as they sat facing each other. The only sound for a while was the pen’s nib scratching the paper's surface, the latter too busy taking notes. Of what, Ace wasn’t sure. Bored, his eyes wandered. Striking was the word Ace would use to describe the man’s appearance. Or maybe strange. Definitely a little unhinged as he eyed the growth of hair on his chin and the petals sprouting around his head.
"Alright brat, let's get started. Tell me ‘bout that burn on your chest ‘n back," Crocus finally began. Ace wasn't sure what to tell him. How to explain that someone had plunged their fist through his body and that he'd miraculously survived the blow. Although, he wished he was anywhere but here. Impel Down was less of a torture than being on this ship and in the proximity of Gol D. Roger.
Deciding to divulge some of the truth and get the doctor off his back, Ace rubbed at the now tight skin of his chest. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. It almost didn’t feel like his own body. Yeah, this next part was gonna sound like bullshit to his ears as well.
"It was a magma devil fruit user.”
"Magma? Ya got the devil’s luck or something? Frankly, ya shouldn't even be alive right now,” Crocus stated bluntly as he pulled out a stethoscope, “Imma check yer lungs, because it's unlikely they're untouched if ya got burned by magma." Wasting no time, Crocus placed the diaphragm onto Ace's skin. The boy shivered at the freezing metal. It was a weird sensation — it'd been a while since he'd felt cold. It was similar to when Teach had touched him. Except this appeared to be permanent.
For several minutes, Crocus moved the diaphragm as he asked Ace to breath-in deeply. The doctor was silent, but his expression betrayed his confusion. "Would ya color me shocked. Some deity must want to see ya safe, brat. By some miracle, yer lungs are completely fine," Crocus declared, still visibly perplexed, and Ace felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
Taking notice of the movement and its significance, Crocus added, "Don't ya relax just yet. You’re suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration. Imma give the chef a diet plan for ya — better follow it to the letter or you'll be dealin’ with me."
It was not an empty threat.
"Now while I treat that burnt arm, tell me if ya got any other medical conditions I should watch out for," the doctor ordered, reaching for Ace's arm. It was a 1st-degree burn, not anything severe, but it was better if it was treated than left alone.
"Uh — I have narcolepsy." At that, Crocus shot him a look that said ‘well, tell me more’ so Ace continued, "I'll suddenly fall asleep while eating or talking to someone. Usually, it only happens when I'm relaxed and around my family."
"Any cataplexy? Hallucinations? Sleep paralysis? Insomnia?" Crocus asked as he finished applying balm and bandages to the younger man's arm. Ace shook his head, "No hallucinations or cataplexy, but sometimes I have sleep paralysis and insomnia." The doctor nodded before turning around to write once again. "I'll prescribe ya some stimulants, but for now let's start with regulating yer sleep schedule and add in scheduled naps."
Ace nodded in understanding. It was similar to what he’d been doing before. Crocus was much more brusque compared to Marco's calm yet authoritative demeanor, but it wasn't an unpleasant change.
"What ya waiting for? Get out of my office and ask one of the two brats to show ya to the baths and get ya a change of clothes!"
☆
Showering off the grime and blood that had accumulated from his imprisonment and the war felt like shedding a pound of dirt. He’d gotten dressed with the clothes that Shanks had brought him. They'd been too big, but it’d only been until his own were clean and dry.
While bathing, he'd concluded that his devil fruit ability was well and truly gone.
Now back into his clothes, Ace felt much more at ease. He kept the borrowed light blue shirt to cover up the scar on his back and what remained of Whitebeard's jolly roger. His pride and joy.
He couldn't bear looking at what happened to it, even if his actions had been for Luffy's sake.
☆
In the few days since he'd woken up on the Oro Jackson, Ace had tried to avoid the crew as much as possible. However, it’d proven itself to be a difficult task. The ship’s size wasn't anywhere close to that of the Moby Dick, exploring it had barely taken him an hour, and it seemed that there was always a crewmate wandering nearby.
The giant spotted egg that was kept at the stern invited lots of questions but Ace decided he was better off not knowing. For his own sanity.
With the crew members, he was civilized as they didn't deserve his ire. He hated Roger and no one else. Unfortunately, the captain didn't seem to tire. It was like dealing with a seven-year old Luffy all over again — which was insulting toward his little brother. One was cute. The other, not so much.
Whenever Roger spotted Ace, he'd approach him and attempt to start a conversation. Without fail, every time Ace would curse him and storm off in his anger. He had no interest in getting to know his good-for-nothing father. The man was a criminal, a killer, and he was the reason his mother and Ace had been persecuted by the government.
Nothing could change that.
☆
Despite being on a strict diet, Ace steered clear of the cafeteria, even if that meant skipping a meal or two. Any time he could spend without being subjected to Roger’s company, he would gladly take. The snow fell tranquilly, gradually covering the deck in a thin layer of white. Ace’s exhales of hot air condenses once exposed to the cold weather. He’d donned a red scarf and a black jacket with fur lining the hood. Wearing so much clothing was still strange.
Rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air in hope to warm them up, he heard a door creak open behind him and glanced back. Rayleigh strode towards him, a plate full of boiling food in hand. Ace felt his mouth water as he took in the smell of Western spices.
“You shouldn’t stay in the cold like that. You’re still weak,” Rayleigh remarked. Crouching down beside Ace, he placed the plate of food at his feet.
Stubbornly and a bit petulantly, Ace answered, “I’m not weak.”
The look Rayleigh gave him was all-too-knowing, but the raven-haired refused to admit defeat. Seeing that nothing he could say would change Ace’s mind, Rayleigh left him to his own devices. Once the blond was back inside, Ace reached for the plate. Taking the first bite brought tears to his eyes. This seasoning reminded him of Thatch’s cooking. Memories of himself seated at the Moby Dick’s kitchen counter as the cook prepared him a meal, struck him. The laughter shared and the jokes exchanged until the early hours of the morning. A routine that’d been robbed by a knife in the back.
Even the manner Rayleigh had brought his dinner was bittersweet to Ace. Marco had looked after him similarly during his murderous era and even after then.
He missed being home.
He missed his family.
☆
The two teens sat on the railing of the Oro Jackson, fishing poles firmly in hand and Ace watched them bicker from the balcony. In the New World, anything could bite. Best to keep an eye out lest something too big took the bait.
Visions of two boys fighting similarly kept surfacing in his mind. A chubby and childish version of Luffy boasting about his abilities while an equally as young Ace taunted him. How he’d pull at Luffy’s cheeks, round with baby fat, until they stretched past reasonable human limits and the younger boy struggled to enunciate. It always worked in shutting him up. Still, Luffy would stick his tongue out impertinently.
Unattainable memories.
Fuck. He missed that idiot so damn much.
The soft smile that had started growing on Ace’s lips, soured.
His heart ached, longingly. A life without his little brother's bright and contagious smile felt bleak — was bleak.
Inside, he held onto the hope that Luffy was not angry at Ace for breaking his promise and dying.
He hoped that Luffy could still laugh after everything.
☆
Seasons changed, but Ace barely took notice of the passage of time anymore. His thoughts kept going back to that decisive moment. He considered how his death had affected the ones who’d been present and what had happened to everyone afterward. The old man had already decided that Marineford would be his last stand. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that his crew blamed him. Ace certainly did.
He prayed that Luffy had managed to escape safely.
Inside him, his heart ached when his thoughts strayed to how his younger brother was coping with his passing. When they’d learnt of Sabo’s death, the usually cheerful boy had cried incessantly for weeks and even refused to eat. Worried was an understatement to how Ace had felt watching his last brother starve himself in his grief. Instead, he’d given Luffy the motivation to move on while carrying Sabo with them. A doomed promise made on a cliff.
But, even Ace had chosen death rather than living in a world without his brother.
Lost in self-destructive thoughts, eyes focused aimlessly on the clear waves, Ace failed to realize that his name had been called repeatedly. A rough hand gripped firmly onto his arm, bringing him back to the present. Ace jerked back violently once he saw his good-for-nothing father’s despicable face — he hated how alike they looked.
“Don’t touch me, bastard.”
Anyone would’ve been angered at being insulted without just cause, but Gol D. Roger —
He laughed.
Taken aback, Ace stared bewildered at the captain.
☆
Around a week later, Ace found Buggy and Shanks reading a newspaper together. Their heads were pushed temple to temple, creating a blend of red and blue. The old straw hat hung by its string, knocked over from its perch atop curling hair. The two didn't appear particularly happy at whichever news they were reading. Buggy stood with his hands on his hips as he exclaimed bitterly, "Those Whitebeard pirates again! They ought to be talking about us! We're the ones making all da ruckus!"
Oh.
That’s right. The old man and everyone else also existed here.
Attention piqued, Ace approached the two apprentices to peer over their shoulders. "It's that samurai again," Shanks mused, pointing out a man with heavy eyeliner and pronounced eyebrows. The page also featured a small picture of Whitebeard, but Ace barely recognized the old man. He had unfamiliar long, wavy, blond hair. Only his trademark mustache and grin were a sight for sore eyes. Ace felt warm seeing his captain in such good health.
Then the newspaper was snatched from Shanks' clutch. Ace he glanced up to see Roger browsing the page about Whitebeard.
"Seems like the samurai’s a flashy guy too! Buggy, take notes!" Roger crackled, eyes scrunching until birds’ feet took shape at the corners. Ace scowled at Roger, arms crossed over his chest. He refused to ask for the newspaper back, stubborn as he was. Saying the contrary would be a blatant lie. No matter how much he wanted to read the article in detail and examine the old man's picture some more, he’d never stoop to ask something of Roger.
Said man held no such reservations concerning what he would and wouldn’t do to make Ace compliant. So, when Roger finally noticed the pair of eyes glaring resolutely at him, he smirked, a plan forming.
"What? You want this?" he waved the rolled up paper around and watched as Ace gritted his teeth and grunted. An affirmation. No insults. It was an achievement in Roger’s books. By some stroke of luck, Roger had finally found a hole in Ace’s defenses. The boy reminded him of a stray black cat with its hackles raised and ready to swipe at anyone with sharp claws if they annoyed him. Or touched him wrongly. He was constantly alert and on his guard, as if expecting to be abandoned at any second.
Positive reinforcement was the way, Roger decided, as he handed over the newspaper. And for the first time since the boy had come aboard, Roger saw him smile. It wasn't a big smile, but it was genuine and full of wonder. For whatever reason, Ace was connected to Whitebeard.
And Roger knew Whitebeard.
"Would you be interested to hear some stories about dear ol’ Newgate, boy?"
No matter if he had to play dirty, he was going to win Ace over.
This time, instead of immediately cursing at him, Ace turned pensive. As if weighing the pros and cons of having to suffer through Roger's company or hearing stories about Whitebeard. With every second that passed without a response, the captain grew worried that his plan would go awry. Then, Ace nodded. Albeit, reluctantly.
Grin wide, like that of a Cheshire cat, Roger sat down and began recounting the day he'd met Edward Newgate before he’d grown his famous mustache and gotten his epithet.
Ace sat in his company for hours, docile for the very first time.
☆
Following the exchange between Ace and Roger, things began to shift. Slowly but surely, Ace was integrating himself within the crew. He ate with them in the cafeteria, played card games with the two apprentices — for whom he seemed to be growing fond of — and would partake in battles against other pirate crews and Navy warships they encountered.
Yet, he continued to keep his distance from the captain.
The boy would still curse at Roger at times, but it appeared he’d lost most of his bite. Instead, he’d claim a seat atop of the mast and stare out to the sea for hours or at Roger broodily.
Recently, Ace had started coming to terms that Roger may not have been the man the stories portrayed him as.
Rather, Roger came across as a child. Easily entertained, lacking a sense of danger, always whining. Whenever they encountered hostile crews, Roger wasted no time engaging in a fight with the strongest opponent. He never backed down regardless of the context or the protests, and no matter how many glares Ace shot him.
He was always there to offer help to his friends.
Always there to offer Ace help — despite him not wanting it.
Now, he felt lost.
All his life he’d heard stories about the Pirate King and the atrocities he’d committed, the misery he’d brought upon people’s lives. The Golden Pirate Era that he’d started with his dying words had without a doubt led to the pillaging of more than one town. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had set out to sea to find the One Piece. Anyone in their path was simply collateral to their goal.
In search of an answer as to who he was, he’d learned all too much about Roger. He was scum who’d left the world to fend for themselves against pirates. All his life, Ace had been told that his mere existence was a sin because of whose blood flowed within his veins.
Their sneers and jeers had haunted him until his death.
“If Gold Roger had a child? They’d get their heads cut off, no doubt about it!”
“I wouldn’t be satisfied with just that! How ‘bout we poke them full of holes, one needle for every person who’s got a grudge against Roger!”
“No, we should burn them alive! It’d serve them right.”
“I wanna hear them plead for their life and grovel for forgiveness! ‘I’m sorry I was born, I’m just a piece of trash!’”
For a while, he’d even believed their words. Sabo had assuaged the voices. And Luffy had unceremoniously obliterated them. Then, those dark thoughts had left him, preoccupied as he was keeping his younger brother from dying stupidly.
Now, Ace found himself questioning the legitimacy of those words. It was as if his entire world had been a lie.
How should he act with that notion in mind?
What could he say?
Too many questions plagued his mind.
☆
When night came, sleep never found Ace.
Instead, he’d once again found his favorite seat in the crow's nest to stare out at sea. At night, the ocean felt endless and similar to a black hole when the moon and stars were hidden behind clouds — as they were currently. With the exception of the Oro Jackson's lights, it was pitch dark outside. But, amidst the vastness of the ocean, those lights barely illuminated anything.
Everything felt so quiet and soothing at this height.
Sometimes, Ace forgot how big the world was, journeying in such a limited space with the same people for weeks on end. Staring at the neverending horizon helped to remind him.
He pulled the blanket that he'd brought along tighter around himself. The nights were cold and without his devil fruit, he was now just as exposed as anyone else to the changes in temperature. A door creaked open on the deck below and heavy footsteps followed. Faint voices could be heard, but they were too far below for Ace to discern who was speaking or what was being said.
A few minutes later, a hand appeared at the nest's entrance. A bottle of rum smacked against the wood and Roger was lifting himself into the nest. Ace scrowled as he realized his time alone was being interrupted by the man who’d caused so much confusion within him as of late. "Mind if I join you, boy?" Roger asked, but he didn't wait for a reply before sitting down beside Ace.
"I mind!" Ace refused to let his displeasure go unheard. "Why ask if you're just gonna do whatever you want anyway, annoying old coot." Roger chuckled wholeheartedly at those words before taking a mouthful of rum.
The captain gestured to the bottle, silently asking if Ace wanted some. He refused with a shake of his head.
Finally, blessed silence.
Ace didn't know why Roger had joined him up here, but he wasn't going to take for granted this peace and quiet. The captain often spoke too much for his tastes. He relaxed, comforted by the sound of the waves below and the calm breeze that the blanket blocked out. It was like a parent's embrace. Roger breathed in and out deeply by his side. The only movement was his chest moving up and down.
Then the peace was broken.
"Was 19 when I went out to sea," Roger finally said as he took another swing of rum. Ace hummed, showing that he was paying attention, if only mildly. "Met Rayleigh and convinced him that we'd turn the world upside down together."
Ace huffed in laughter. Turn the world upside down, indeed they had — no, they would. He didn't know why Roger was telling him this. Ace was waiting for the rest of the story, but it seemed to have ended there.
It was another long silence until Roger spoke again.
"Ace," the said boy hummed again as his name was called. It was the first time Roger had used his proper name, "what was your reason for sailing out?"
His reason. He'd realized the true reason as he took his final breath in his brother's arms. But — that hadn't been the only one. "My br — I wanted freedom. At first, I just wanted freedom," Ace admitted as he recalled that moment on the cliff so many years ago. On that cliff, they'd proclaimed their dreams. On that cliff, where Luffy and Ace had buried Sabo in spirit. He wondered if he would've met Sabo in the afterlife or if this was the afterlife.
Taking a deep breath, Ace forced himself to come back to reality.
"But, my true reason for sailing out was that I wanted the answer to a question." Raising an eyebrow in interest, Roger fiddled with the bottle in his grasp.
"A question?" Ace hummed in confirmation.
“Did you ever find the answer?"
"I did," Ace smiled.
"Good."
It ended there.
It may have been at this moment where everything changed.
☆
As more time passed, Ace’s desire to leave the ship dwindled — until it was gone. The boy had unofficially fully become part of the crew. Roger still sought out Ace on many occasions, but the cursing had ceased. At last, Ace had come to terms that the eccentric captain was not as stories told. Far from it, in fact.
He wanted to know the truth.
The truth as to who Gol D. Roger was and how he became the Pirate King.
And why had Roger abandoned Ace and his mother.
☆
The crew had anchored for the first time in over two months. Although they were children of the sea, Ace felt glad to finally be on land again. Forests covered a large part of the island. Some of the largest trees had weird shapes that reminded Ace of broccolis. The island was aptly named Broc Coli Island.
"Ace! Can ya carry those crates over here?" Sunbell called out from the dock. The large fishman along with Spencer and Buggy were preparing to go into town for supplies. Nodding, Ace made his way down the platform with the empty boxes in arms. "Ace, ya comin' with us?" Buggy asked enthusiastically. In the last two months, Buggy had become quite attached to the new addition.
Especially after he'd saved the cabin boy’s life during a Navy attack.
"Sure, why not," the raven-haired shrugged. It hadn't been in his original plans. He’d hoped to stock up on some clothes and weapons and maybe get his fill at a restaurant, but that could also be done later. Walking through the market, the crates gradually got fuller as they went from stand to stand buying fruits, vegetables, and meat. It was a much larger amount than Ace had expected considering the size of the crew.
"This is a lot more than you guys last stocked," Ace remarked as Spencer purchased a boar's meat. The chef laughed before adding, "Of course! Have you seen how much ya eat, kid?"
Embarrassed at being called out, Ace shifted his gaze away and chose to stay quiet. It's not like he could control his hunger.
"Honestly, Ace, sometimes with your manners — ya'd think ya were raised by wolves!" the youngest exclaimed. Ace huffed, amused, "Yeah, you're not far off the mark. Was raised by mountain bandits."
"Well — that explains everything."
The laughter carried down the streets.
☆
He’d gone earlier to purchase some new shirts and jackets that fit his frame and he’d wasted no time removing the oversized clothes that had been lent to him. A black leather vest covered his burnt back, the zipper left open at the front, showcasing his scarred abdomen. Ace had simply gone too many years without shirts to start wearing them properly again. Unfortunately, the sleeves covered Sabo’s tribute. A necessary sacrifice, the mark far too distinctive and identifying.
Too many questions remained unsolved concerning his presence here and what it meant going forward. Precautions were required to prevent any potentially disastrous repercussions. Such as exposing the link between Portgas D. Ace, rookie from the east blue and the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
He’d also found himself a new pair of boots to replace the ones Impel Down had confiscated along with his knife. One thing he’d refused to part with were his cargo shorts and belt. They were his only physical reminder of a time now unreachable.
Pushing open the shop’s door, he found the front desk empty and the space filled. Little light came through the shop’s windows, plunging it into a cozy dimness. Dust particles floated in the air as Ace browsed the weapons on layed out. The store held a variety of blades from katanas of differing grades to nodachis, khopeches and kusarigamas. A sword was definitely out of the question; he’d never trained to become a swordsman. A naginata hung on the wall along with some maces. Although he’d wielded heavy weapons occasionally, such as a giant axe, they were impractical for fighting. And much too cumbersome to carry. Eyeing the bao staves stuffed in a barrel, his mind wandered to Dawn Island and rusted pipes.
Reaching a glass case full of daggers with differing blade length and curves, his mind was set before he’d realized it. The lack of weight at his side was now more noticeable than ever. Scanning the rows of knives, he considered the pros and cons of each and after considerable deliberation, gravitated for a pair of curved blades. Deft fingers twirled unsheathed blades. Handles covered in a dark brown leather offered a solid grip. The sharpness was visible to the naked eye; any mishap and he’d be short a finger.
Upon further consideration, he also grabbed a small set of needle-pointed knives. Daggers were always useful. Small, lightweight, easily concealable, and most of all, versatile. The curved ones would be best for slashing, the straight ones for throwing and piercing.
These would do just fine.
☆
On the seas, there was never true silence. The ocean roared gently or fiercely depending on the weather, the men prattled, sang, boasted, gambled freely. As the orange sun set on the crimson horizon, Ace and Roger shared a bottle of rum in the sanctuary that was the crow’s nest. It’d become routine between the two to hide atop the main mast and share moments of their lives.
Some were insignificant, daily happenings. Others were precious or life-changing events.
The older man barked, laughing with his whole chest at Ace's recounting of his first crew. Through these moments, Roger had learned that Ace was reckless, stubborn as a mule, and loyal to a fault to those that he cared about.
Dry, hacking coughs suddenly cut short the moment.
Roger rasped, trying to catch his breath. A tanned, scarred hand dived in his coat pocket to retrieve a cream handkerchief. Coughing into the cloth, dark eyes traced the surface now dyed a deep red. Feeling Ace’s curious gaze lingering on him, he stuffed the evidence into his pocket. But Ace, who’d seen Whitebeard’s health fail rapidly in his remaining years alive, recognized the signs. This wasn't a normal cough.
"Hey — geezer, you alright?" Ace inquired, tone softer than he'd intended, betraying his worry.
Clearing his throat once more, Roger smiled reassuringly at the boy. "Just fine. Don't you worry your noggin 'bout it, Ace."
Roger wasn’t a liar, yet Ace knew just this once not to believe him.
☆
Rayleigh had been planning their course in the chart's room when Ace confronted him about Roger's coughing. It would be no act of kindness to lie about it, so the first mate’s answer was blunt and to the point.
"Roger's terminally ill."
Ace’s world came to a standstill. One too many times he’d peered over Marco’s shoulder to survey the medical books he read. Terminal was a term he was familiar with. Incurable. Deadly. Seeing the conflicted expression the boy wore, Rayleigh put down the map in his hands to give him his full attention. "He had it diagnosed around a year ago and only Crocus has managed to ease his pain.”
Although Ace still kept his distance from Roger, the ravine that once separated them was nothing more than a stream now. The next words were hard to swallow for anyone who knew Roger, full of life as he was.
With finality, Rayleigh added, "Roger's only got a few years left to live."
Ace felt his stomach twist and sink with dread. Any hope for more time was gone with the wind. It wasn’t old age and failing health like Whitebeard. It was an impending certitude. It would be here faster than any of them knew it.
Ace didn’t know how to act or what to do with this information.
It only brought forth the question: Had Roger truly abandoned Ace and his mother?
☆
Ace found the marines of this time incredibly annoying. They were much more persistent in their chase than he remembered them to be. Throwing one of his smaller daggers, it hit the marine in the forehead and he collapsed, dead. Ace ran across the deck and grabbed his weapon on the way to clash against another officer. Blades slid against each other, sparks flying.
Buggy and Shanks were a little further in front of him, back-to-back, holding their ground against men much older than them. Ace was proud of their competence and strength. He hadn’t remembered Buggy the Clown to be a notably courageous man.
People changed; some for the worse.
Movement in his left peripheral. A brown fabric shifted; the figure, covered with a brown cloak to blend with the cabin’s wooden roof adjusted their rifle. Following the new trajectory of where the gunman was aiming, Ace felt himself boil with anger. The coward was aiming for the apprentices.
Aiming at Shanks, who proudly wore an old worn-out straw hat that would one day be Luffy’s. Shanks who would save Luffy’s life.
A first of magma aimed at his bro —
Unconsciously, his anger manifested into the conqueror's willpower and it was so potent that most of the people in their immediate vicinity passed out, including the sharpshooter. Those who’d collapsed, foamed at the mouth, eyes blank. Realizing what he’d done, Ace was conflicted. In the past, he’d seldom used this ability because it’d reminded him of Roger.
Because of Roger and his lineage, he’d awakened this power, so he’d refused to use it.
Yet, Ace felt no regret this time and no negative feelings.
☆
“Conqueror’s, huh?” Gaban remarked later on as they sat in the kitchen. Ace swallowed his mouthful of rice. “Yeah, what about it?” he asked; conqueror’s wasn’t so rare on these seas and the crew had two members that could use it as well.
Rayleigh chuckled, “We’re curious. It doesn’t seem like you received any training for it. Even knocked our guys out.” The raven-haired hummed in agreement. He’d forwent learning to control conqueror’s because it’d been an inherent reminder of Roger. Now, he was slowly coming to terms that the captain wasn’t the demon the citizens of Goa had described him to be.
“I knew I had it, just never bothered to learn to control it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I — it made me remember someone I disliked,” Ace admitted, if a bit unwillingly. He didn’t delude himself into believing that they wouldn’t make the connection to his past hatred for Roger. Revealing the following information was perhaps jeopardizing his identity, but how did it matter at this point. “I didn’t want to rely on that ability, because it was something I’d gotten from him.”
Although the supreme king’s willpower was inherent to strong-willed individuals, it was also in part due to one’s bloodline. If they’d assumed Ace was talking about Roger, they now knew that the two were related by blood.
Gaban and Rayleigh shared a long, knowing look before the former went, “Well, lots of things suddenly make sense.” Rayleigh stroked at his beard, fingers smoothing out the thick, black hair while Gaban had tilted his head back and bore a hole into the ceiling. Attuned with their mannerism, Ace knew that they were processing the implications of the revelation. After all, as far as they knew, Roger had no siblings.
Lifting his mug, Rayleigh took a big swig of rum. The wooden mug hitting the table, startled Ace.
“Ace, If you want, we could teach you to master it.”
Without missing a beat nor thought, Ace expressed his desire to learn.
He wouldn't let old, meaninglessly grudges weaken him.
☆
The banquet had been in full swing for a while. Drinks and food were passed along and the sound of laughter and music brightened the otherwise tranquil sea.
Amidst all of this, Ace had fallen asleep with his face first in his plate. On the Moby Dick, it had been a daily occurrence which had amused his crewmates dearly, especially the 4th, 12th, and 16th commanders.
Thatch and Haruta loved to seize these opportunities to doodle over his freckled-covered cheeks or to play connect-the-dots. Izo liked to pamper Ace since the fire user didn't and couldn't argue back in those instances.
On the Oro Jackson, it was another story. The moment Ace's face planted itself into his food, Buggy and Shanks jumped back in shock. They’d been having a conversation and suddenly Ace was unconscious.
This had garnered everyone else's attention and the party momentarily stopped, for fear that something bad had happened to their latest recruit. It was only when Crocus merrily explained, "No worries, he's just asleep. It happens," that the ship's occupants relaxed.
"Asleep? He's never fallen asleep like this before," Spencer pointed out. Now that Crocus had cleared Ace to only be sleeping, Buggy scampered to find some markers while murmuring about a flashy revenge and go fish. "The brat has narcolepsy, a condition that's marked by sleep attacks. This is one of them," Crocus explained, chugging his drink.
"How come we've never seen it happen before?" Gaban mused, his attention fixed on the snoring young adult. It was quite fascinating that he wasn't asphyxiating on his food.
"The brat said it only ever happened when he was relaxed and surrounded by family."
Any tenseness the crew members still felt vanished at those words; the implication hitting them all at once. Ace felt comfortable on the Oro Jackson. Safe surrounded by them.
He considered them his family.
It was an unexpected development. Ace was not the type of person that would ever express love in an obvious manner. His love was seen through his banter and his actions.
This, however, was indisputable proof of how Ace felt subconsciously.
Grinning, Shanks exclaimed "C'mon Buggy! Did'ya find the markers yet?" and the crew laughed at their youngests' liveliness.
☆
Blood, screams, death. The battlefield was full of it. Ace saw it all from the platform, chained down and unable to move. He watched uselessly as his comrades were struck down while he waited for the executioners to bring the blades down upon his nape.
Watched as the old man was stabbed and shot continuously until he fell in battle.
Watched as Akainu burned his brother to dea —
Ace woke up in cold sweat, panting.
It was that nightmare again.
Eyes wide in horror, he tried to calm down. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. That every time he'd close his eyes, he'd see images of his family perishing.
All to save him.
Everytime that he remembered that day, the burn spanning his chest came to life. Nails dug into the scarred tissue, attempting in vain to erase it from his skin and everything it implied. For hours, Ace laid in his cot staring unblinkingly at the wooden ceiling and the lamp hanging there. Itching. It swayed to the movement of the waves carrying the Oro Jackson and its passengers.
It was another long night.
The itch never left him.
☆
They made quick work of the marines and the warship that had followed the Roger pirates to this unnamed island of the New World. It was almost unsatisfying. Ace sat arms propped on his bent knees and his back to the boulder where Buggy stood watch. He sighed and looked enviously as Shanks devoured a bar of chocolate.
He wasn't one for sweets, but suddenly Ace was craving some.
"At least bring Sengoku or Garp with you! The lot of you are no fun!" Roger berated a fallen marine soldier and Ace shuddered at the mention of Garp's name. He was glad that somehow he'd managed to avoid that encounter. Meeting the man who'd been his grandfather after what happened during the war — he wasn't ready.
At the corner of his eyes, he saw all the birds on the far side of the island take flight, fleeing from danger.
Buggy then stammered that the Whitebeard pirates had anchored on the other side of the island. His interest was officially piqued. Now that would be a good fight. However, it seemed that Rayleigh disagreed, mentioning they'd just fought.
Ace tried ignoring Roger's response about this possibly being his final meeting with Whitebeard.
Ace felt a strong presence approaching quickly — it was so intense, but it wasn't one he recognized. There were shouts of 'samurai' in the distance and he thought back to the previous 2nd division commander.
Rayleigh and Gaban armed themselves, but before they could move to engage the fighter approaching, Roger stopped them. Ace watched bemused as their captain ran to meet the samurai 's blade with childish glee. He huffed with choked-up laughter.
Gol D. Roger was truly more like a child than a murderer.
The next thing he knew, the samurai — Kozuki Oden, if he remembered correctly — was being sent flying through multiple tree trunks with a single swing from Roger's sword. Then, Whitebeard was crossing blades with Roger. Blackened lighting surged from the meeting point as willpower flew out from the two in waves. Ace was awestruck as he watched the two. "They're not even touching!" he remarked, standing firmly with Shanks and Buggy in his arms, lest they were swept away by the captains' clasing willpower.
He felt the earth trembling beneath his feet and chanced a glance above. The sky was splitting in two. This was a clash between two conquerors; this was Whitebeard in his prime, Ace realized, euphoric. He'd never imagined that he would one day witness it.
He also realized that he'd been in over his head for believing that he could've ever defeated Whitebeard.
"Ace, you look as crazy as Roger smiling like that right now," Rayleigh pointed out beside him. He stood easily, stance firm, as if the energy of the clash was nothing.
"Shut up! This is incredible, alright! I didn't know that willpower could do this!"
Rayleigh chuckled, adding with a wink, "Only a few people can use it like this. You may be one of them, kid." Now that prospect excited Ace even further.
Finally, the energy receded.
Then, it was an all-out battle.
Fighting was thrilling, Ace realized as he shoved his fist in someone's jaw. The bone cracked on impact and his opponent went down. The dull ache in his knuckles was familiar and had been sorely missed. It'd been a while since he'd fought seriously and he was glad that it didn't bring up any memories from the war.
He turned to meet someone's blade with his knife and smiled widely. He would enjoy this fight with all his might.
☆
The battle lasted three days and three nights. Above them, the skies had raged with every swing from Roger and Whitebeard. Now, a cease-fire was in play. Ace had caught glimpses here and there of Marco's bright blue flames and Izo's kimono , but he hadn't had the chance to speak to them.
Finding their resting figures, he gathered the courage to approach. After all, they were merely strangers in this time period. A small, yet familiar, figure stopped him in his tracks and Ace's expression turned scornful as he recognized the claws belonging to Marshall D. Teach.
But — he couldn't intervene.
He didn't have any standing in Whitebeard's crew to accuse someone of betrayal.
A betrayal that hadn’t even occurred.
Reigning in his contempt, Ace explained curtly that he only wanted a chat with the blond and the dancer. Marco — who was very much only a teenager and lacked his trademark tattoo — raised an eyebrow in such a nostalgic manner that Ace felt himself choke up. Seeing that there was no threat, Marco ordered for Teach to back down.
Taking a seat beside the zoan user, Ace was quiet. He didn't know how to begin when the last time it’d been Marco who’d started everything. With sincere words and a kind, outstretched hand.
"So you're the new kid on Roger's crew," Marco drawled out, opening one eye to glance at the raven-haired boy. Still without a word, Ace confirmed the statement with a nod. "Must be strong then."
It felt surreal. Meeting a Marco that was younger than Ace himself was even more surreal than meeting Roger or seeing Whitebeard in his prime. Marco had been his rock when he’d first ended up on the Moby Dick. Without him, Ace may have never had found a family within the Whitebeard pirates. Maybe, he would've never felt loved.
Without much thought, Ace uttered firmly, “Thank you.” The blond’s eyebrows raised even further in surprise. “What for? I haven’t done anything-yoi,” Marco replied amicably. Even the phoenix’s speech habit was something Ace hadn’t even realized he’d missed.
“You’ll understand one day,” Ace grinned and it was returned by Marco. It wasn’t a smile Ace was used to seeing. It was youthful and full of energy that Ace didn’t associate with the much older and self-assured Marco that he knew from the future.
“You’re a weird one-yoi! Definitely one of Roger’s!"
☆
The two crews had begun an exchange of goods when Ace spied the two captains seated atop a boulder at a fair distance from everyone else. He stalked closer and unbothered by the possibility that he may be interrupting, he lifted himself beside Roger.
Whitebeard and Oden immediately paused and shot the newcomer a look, which Ace nonchalantly ignored in favor of examining the large parchment lying between the men. The paper was worn and faded, certainly quite a few years old. On it, black unfamiliar characters spelled out their next adventures.
Whitebeard felt like déjà-vu.
"Oh! Ace! You joining us old men?" Roger exclaimed as he slung his arm around the boy's shoulder, dragging his body closer. The blond examined the two now seated by each other with a scrutinizing eye. The same black curls framed their faces, the same eye shape, and the thin upper lip.
Ace turned to answer Roger and Whitebeard did a double-take. Their side profiles were reflections of each other. It was then that he knew.
The fleeting thought of 'oh great, there are two' crossed his mind briefly and left just as quickly.
"What are these anyway?" Ace questioned as he lifted the parchment, covered in the strange symbols. Thumb smudging at the charcoal at the edges. He'd never seen anything like these before. "Oh! I was just explaining to Newgate 'bout these big, ol’ red stones!"
Seeing that he had nothing better to do, Ace decided to stay and listen. Roger explained that there were four red stones covered in these writings that would lead them to the end of the world, that the reading of these was forbidden by the World Government to stop anyone from reaching that point.
A legend about a massive treasure.
A journey about finding this treasure & becoming the greatest pirate crew in the world.
And Roger — in a manner so very reminiscent to Luffy — proclaimed,
"And then, I'll be —"
☆
“Shit! That was a slip of tongue, shouldn’t've said that! Ace cried to Yamato, tipsy. They’d been sharing some bottles of saké and Ace had drunk more than his fruit could burn through. “Anyway, you can’t laugh! It’s my little brother’s dream!”
Perhaps it had been selfish of him to say that Yamato couldn’t laugh when Ace and Sabo had, but his mind muddled with alcohol saw no wrong in it. After all, they were family.
They had laughed but they did it with unmoving and immeasurable faith that Luffy would accomplish his dream.
Ace couldn’t’ve ever predicted that instead, Yamato would shed tears. He cried as he declared that the journal Kozuki Oden had left behind spoke of a great man that had once proclaimed the very same dream. The unsuspecting Ace had laughed and drunkenly declared,
“Maybe Luffy and I should share a drink with him!”
☆
The puzzle’s pieces now laid out in front of him, Ace finally understood that Yamato had been talking about Roger that day.
“Yamato, why do you let Kaido chain down your heart, too?”
Ace was a hypocrite. For decades, he’d been allowed Roger to chain down his heart as well. Yamato hadn’t been wrong; they got along well, now that Ace wasn’t letting lies cloud his view.
He was free.
After all, Roger wasn’t so different from Luffy.
Roger, who now bowed his head, requesting for Oden to join in his travels. Ace watched him bemused. A king who bowed for the sake of his dream. Whitebeard who’d been laughing was now obviously pissed and Ace snickered as he felt the familiar jostling of the sea, a result of the captain’s power.
The face Whitebeard made when Oden admitted wanting to leave with Roger, caused Ace to wheeze even more.
☆
Their yearning for a fight satisfied, their stomachs full with good food and wine, and their cargo much lighter, the Roger Pirates departed from the island with new passengers. Ace waved back at Marco and Izo as he watched their forms at the shore become smaller with the distance.
Boots stomped on the deck before a firm, rough hand hardened by many battles found its rest on Ace’s shoulder. Grounding and comforting. “We can still turn around if you want to join Newgate,” Roger said and there was no doubt in Ace’s mind that Roger meant each of his words.
Inhaling a lungful of air, he considered the things that had happened in the last year, the bonds he’d formed, and the changes within himself.
“Nah. I’m good,” Ace replied softly, his words carried away with the wind. A gentle and serene smile graced his lips.
“I think I’ll stay here a while longer.”
Roger smiled back in shared understanding and contentment.
The embers burned just a little stronger and brighter.
Chapter 2
Notes:
You read that right: the 2nd chapter is here. You’ll have to excuse the wait. I’m an extremely slow writer who doubts every sentence that I write. And the manga just kept dropping reveals that I wanted to explore (cue, Buggy’s insecurity). Anyway, this chapter is a beast — a whole 33.5K! — so grab a snack, a drink, and maybe some tissues. I wanted the 2nd chapter to be a little more cheerful but it turned out to be angst and more angst. Oops.
Please note that I also re-wrote chapter 1, so I’d suggest reading that one first (as a refresher and also because some details have changed, hehe). Enjoy! Hopefully the wait was worth it!
Chapter Text
Ace followed Roger back to the main deck and was greeted with the sight of the normally fearsome Roger pirates cooing over toddlers. Shrieks and giggles escaped the little boy as Blumarine poked at cold, pink cheeks. Small, pudgy fingers failed to push away the offending hand. Bemused, he watched Roger join the mass. Large hands picked up the little teal-haired girl with a bright, aching grin. Crows’ feet taking shape from how wide he smiled.
The captain hoisted her up high and she squealed in excitement every time he repeated the motion. "Aren't you a cute one," Roger rejoiced, pulling funny faces, to which she giggled. "I haven't spent time with a baby in ages!" Glancing at Shanks and Buggy whispering behind their hands like two accomplices, Ace considered for the first time when the two had joined the crew.
Hiyori cooed, grabbing Ace's attention; he watched Roger play some more with her. Watched as Roger allowed her to pull at his nostrils and mustache. The ease at which he held her. At which he made her laugh. An unfamiliar clenching in his chest overwhelmed him suddenly. Like a hand squeezing at the organ repeatedly. Jabbing sharpened nails into the fragile muscle. Raising a hand near his left lung, he let it rest there for a while. Beneath his palm, his heart drummed at a regular pace, but the pain remained.
Oh.
Longing for something he'd never and would never experience. Envy. As a child, it’d become a familiar companion. It’d embraced him whenever he’d roamed the streets of Goa and was greeted with the sight of a parent holding the hands of their children or a mother wiping her kid's snot with love and care. Deep down, he'd yearned for a semblance of that for himself. To be wanted and loved. That jealousy had persisted for years. Lit the hatred he’d initially felt for Luffy as he’d spied on Garp interacting with his biological grandson. It had reared its head again once he’d learned of Sabo’s family; only for guilt to follow soon after as he’d learned of how unwanted his brother had felt in that home. In that prison.
Ace bit onto the inside of his cheeks, pinching the flesh between sharp canines. Roger was gentle with the little girl and maybe this could've been Ace, if fate had permitted it.
But, fate was cruel.
Roger was terminally ill. He would die before Ace's birth whether from his disease or by the executioner's blade. Ace's mother, Rouge, would perish following her son's birth.
This would never be for Ace.
It was a futile and fleeting wish. Instead, he’d enjoy the remaining time he had left with Roger.
☆
The glee of having cute children aboard to dote over quickly diminished, as the crew stood, staring down at Kozuki Oden. Deft hands thumbed at their weapons’ handles. Artfully juggling knives or a trained stance, axes and swords brandished threateningly. Their mastery spoke by itself. Any wrong move from Oden and those weapons would turn onto him.
In the meantime, Ace was much more intrigued at the two minks that had snuck on board with the samurai and his family. It wasn't often that they left their island. Ace had only ever heard rumors about their kind; born warriors, their island near impossible to find. Like a wandering ghost. He didn’t know anyone who’d ever been to Zou. He chuckled to himself as he caught sight of the young toddler — Momonosuke, if he recalled correctly — wandering to the minks' hiding place and grabbing at the cat's tail triumphantly.
"The Captain only needs you for your knowledge. Got that, Oden?" Gaban stated, eyebrows furrowed over his shades. He and all the others bore deep frowns. Tension lined their shoulders, translating their seriousness. The crew's attitude was so different from when Ace had first arrived on the Oro Jackson. It was unsettling. If anything, he should've been the one to receive such a greeting — back then, he'd been unapproachable and a downright asshole. He could admit that much.
"Don't ya assume that we're gonna accept you as one of ours!"
The samurai didn't appear fazed by their words. His toothy grin unwavering. Based on the stories Ace had heard of Oden, the man was another man-child like Roger and Luffy; he'd no doubt win their hearts through his charisma, energy, and a never bending will. It was unfortunate that he'd die in a few years, Ace remembered. The seat of Whitebeard’s fleet that’d been left empty for decades. Another inevitability. How bittersweet it was to meet such an incredible man while knowing of his impending destiny.
To know the future sounded great, but reality was much different. It was a burden. Ace couldn't change anything; even he knew that much. Anything that he changed could lead to horrendous consequences. For, everything was connected. Then again, his mere presence in the past might’ve already been catastrophic.
He just had to accept the hand that life had given him. If his existence here destroyed the world that he knew, the universe should've been the one to get the memo.
Approaching the man who'd been the 2nd division commander before him, Ace nudged his side with his elbow. Sharp eyes turned to him, fully trusting. Perhaps, too trusting. The raven haired shot him a small, welcoming smile. Just a slight upturn of the lips. "Glad to have you aboard, Oden,” devilishly, he added, “don't let them bother you, they're actually softies!"
Behind him, shouts of indignation arose.
"Ace! Ya traitor!"
Finding enjoyment in their half-hearted protests and whines, Ace laughed, shoulders shaking.
Yeah, he'd been dealt a good hand.
☆
They lowered anchor at a small, quiet harbor. Unfortunately, the peace didn't last long once Oden set foot ashore. With all that they’d left behind for Whitebeard’s crew to find, they needed to restock on supplies, but it seemed it was quickly turning into babysitting duty. The samurai’s long legs meant that he quickly reached the town’s square and disappeared. Before they knew it, shouts echoed of 'pirates are attacking', and subsequently, chaos broke out.
Gaban and Shanks ran to catch up to the energetic swordsman. The former hopelessly shouting, "Oden! Don't attack civilians!" Jostling through the forming crowd, Gaban barely avoided a blade slashing where he’d just been standing. A local brandished a sharp saber, their grip secure around the hilt. More armed locals appeared, ready to join the fight. A lawless area.
“Oden, forget I said anything!”
There was no need to hold back.
The commotion in town only getting louder, Ace whistled along to Bankuro’s off-beat humming. A few others had joined the fray. They never shied away from a good fight. Deciding that they'd manage just fine without him, Ace continued his chores. But to anyone who looked, his mind was elsewhere. Movement mechanical, as he piled up their empty crates. He hadn't ever been warned not to attack civilians — it wasn't something he'd ever think nor do, unless provoked — but he'd noticed that Roger and his crew were quite accommodating towards the general populace.
The government had truly twisted Roger’s reputation. It was impossible to reconcile the image Ace had heard of the man and his crew and the reality that he now lived.
A demon, he scoffed. What a joke.
☆
Yo-ho-ho-ho-ho, Yo-ho-ho-ho,
Going to deliver Binks’ Sake,
Following the sea breeze, riding on the waves,
Far across the salty depths, the merry evening sun,
The birds sing as they draw circles in the sky,
The eggs boiled as they simmered in dashi inside the pot. The atmosphere on the Oro Jackson had lightened as booze was passed around and the upbeat music rang loud. The sailors slung arms around each other’s shoulders as they sang loudly — although it sounded akin to screaming for some of them. The oden was served in mismatched ceramic bowls and it was as if all the displeasure with Oden’s presence disappeared at once.
Oden’s wife — Toki, from their brief introduction — presented Ace a steaming bowl and he accepted it with enthusiasm and gratitude. Faintly, he heard his stomach growl, famished. After the training Rayleigh had put him through, it was to be expected.
Now that man was truly a demon.
His lessons were turning out to be fruitful, despite the beating he never failed to receive during each one of them. The first mate had decided to take the opportunity to also teach Ace armament and observation after he’d noticed how seldom Ace used them. Remembering Marineford, Ace had shamefully agreed. He’d grown overconfident in his devil fruit abilities and neglected to properly learn these skills and often forwent even using them.
But, it was a miracle he didn't have a concussion after one too many hits to the head. If he ended up with irreparable brain damage, he knew who to blame.
“They are quite a raucous bunch,” Toki giggled as she observed the men clapping and shouting for Oden to dance. Ace swallowed his mouthful — hot, hot, hot! Sometimes, he missed his devil fruit — before replying. “That they are, ma’am, but I don’t think it was any different on the Moby Dick.” He spoke with plenty of past personal experience.
Once drinks were available, it’d quickly gotten out of hand. Marco had needed to break up one too many fights between Rakuyo and Thatch, as they drunkenly argued over who had the highest body count. And every time, Haruta took bets of which unlucky bastard would end up suspended over the sea by the end of the night. It was Marco’s preferred method for sobering them up.
Anyone who said that Marco wasn’t terrifying, didn’t know the man.
The teal-haired woman hummed, her pale and delicate hand covering her mouth. Despite that, her smile peeked through, lips painted red. Her son turned to stare at Ace with bottomless, black eyes.
“You’re different from the others, young man.”
“How so?”
“You’re quite polite. The only true gentleman I met aboard Whitebeard's ship was a young man named Vista.” To this, Ace erupted in guffaw, taking Toki aback at how much younger he appeared as his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched. His freckled cheeks were flushed under the sun’s fading rays and from the alcohol.
Similar to a beacon.
“I can assure you, ma’am, I’m not much different from this bunch of idiots.”
☆
“Shanks, the laundry’s waiting for ya,” Gaban called out, a barrel full of clothes in hand. The contents reeked, but it was to be expected. Days were spent sweating beneath a harsh sun. Groaning, Shanks left the spot where he’d been sunbathing. He knew better than to complain; these were part of the cabin boy’s duties. Gathering the necessary supplies, the red haired apprentice made himself comfortable to soak the clothes and start scrubbing.
The clothespin pinching his nostrils closed spoke volumes.
Out of all the chores separated amongst the crew, cabin boys were typically given the worst ones. Between Buggy and Shanks, they played various games to avoid certain tasks. Namely, laundry day. Seeing his fellow apprentice cringe away from particular pungent garments, sweat stained shirt held at arm’s length by the fingertips, Buggy laughed heartily. His humor didn’t cease even as he was called upon for kitchen duty.
It was, after all, the lesser evil of the two. By far.
Bouncing Momonosuke on his lap, Oden observed the interactions amongst the crew in the early morning. Days blurred at sea, but specific events helped keep track of time. Laundry day happened every ten days, and birthdays were celebrated at the beginning of every month. Large hands engulfed the much smaller ones of his son while Roger played peek-a-boo with the toddler. “Is it common for children to join pirate crews? White-kichi-chan,” Ace choked on the water he’d been guzzling, “also had some younger ones on his crew.” Smacking at his esophagus, Ace tried to redirect the water to the right hole, his other hand motioning that everything was okay.
Or, as okay as could be while actively choking.
Ace had never expected to hear such a cute suffix added to the old man’s name.
Finally, able to breath, Ace considered the samurai’s question. Indeed, Whitebeard’s crew of this time had many adolescents aboard. Teach was just around Buggy and Shanks’ ages, Marco and Jozu were a few years younger than Ace currently was. But, besides that, rarely had he seen pirates below the age of fifteen. He’d even refused Tama’s request to join the Spades; she’d been much too young. Maybe, it was the result of different eras.
“I guess,” embarrassingly, his voice cracked, “I was the youngest in my old crew, but I was never a cabin boy.”
“Oh? Who was your captain?” White-kichi-chan, his mind supplied unhelpfully. But, Ace wanted to keep the distant memories as a brother and as the youngest son to himself for a little while longer. Of warm arms slung over shoulders, of cheers and encouragement as they took turns sparring each other on deck, of a massive, scarred, and wrinkled hand encompassing Ace’s entire being — a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone. Selfishly, they were his alone to cherish. Instead, he gave the bare minimum wrapped tightly in truth, “A great man.”
“Greater than Roger?”
Grin fond, there was no hesitation, “Yeah.”
His response provoked unintentional, but hilarious, consequences. Roger, who'd been busy entertaining the samurai’s first-born, squawked indignantly, “Hey! I take offense to that, Acey!” Roger’s protests and Ace’s quick-witted remarks faded into the background as Oden basked in the comfortable atmosphere on the Oro Jackson.
There were similarities between Whitebeard’s and Roger’s crews, but also discernible differences. His brother’s men were his children and their interactions were colored with that notion in mind. The older ones were responsible and acted as the examples for their juniors. Some, like Marco, held a trace of brattiness befitting his age, just on the cusp of adulthood.
Millet grabbed at Donquino’s front, roaring in his face, saliva flying, but Donquino stood firm. A punch and what had been a friendly game, escalated in a fist fight. But, it was over as quickly as it'd started, with arms stretched across each others’ shoulders. Buggy who’d laughed at Shanks’ misery was now crouched down beside the red hair, furiously scrubbing the wet, soapy clothes. The quicker that Shanks was done, the sooner that they could play.
Roger’s crew went with the tides; a constant up and down. Enemies could just as easily become friends, but even friends held rivalry. Each had their own goals, their own desires driving them forward — the only commonality was the respect and trust they held for their captain. Unwavering faith that he’d accomplish all that he’d set that to do. One exception existed: the apprentices. They weren’t bound by duty or respect, but by familial ties. Aboard this ship, they’d been raised by the pirates into their current selves. High-spirited, unabashed, gutsy dreamers.
And without a doubt they were gutsy, as they meddled with their seniors' clothing for a prank. A fruitless endeavor, as they were in broad daylight. Under those very crewmates’ knowing gazes. The ease at which the two interacted with the higher ups, a passing hand protectively placed over a hat as they cheekily continued their scheme. It spoke of long learned familiarity.
"Red-taro, Buggy-jiro! Want to hear some stories from my hometown?"
“Yeah!” The buckets of dirty water and damp clothes were abandoned in a hurry. But, under his breath, Buggy wondered, "Wait — why am I the second son?"
☆
It was just another day where Roger had missed his checkup, if Crocus’ clenched jaw and curled lip said anything. The men avoided the doctor and his ire desperately. No one wanted to be in Crocus’ path when his patients were being uncooperative.
Ace sighed from where he was lying down on the deck. He’d been hoping to take a nap, but with all the ruckus, it was impossible. It was in times like these that he wished that he could control his episodes of narcolepsy. Shanks and Buggy had already fallen asleep on Ace’s scarred stomach, joined by Momonosuke.
“Hey, brat! Wake up! I’m giving ya a physical, too!”
Rearranging the arms cushioning his head, Ace ignored the doctor. Perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to health examinations, he chuckled to himself. Unfortunately, his attempt to nap was once again interrupted, this time by a smelly sandal flung at his head. He gagged at the repugnant odor.
Groaning in disgust and frustration, Ace would've thrown the sandal back if he didn't fear for his life. Instead, he limited himself to voicing his annoyance. “Are you serious, you old coot!” The words were uttered low, to not wake the children sleeping around him. Crocus shot him a look that sent a shiver running down Ace's spine — not that he would ever admit it. Begrudgingly, he moved to get up while ensuring that none of the kids woke up with the movement.
They continued to snore, oblivious that their pillow had left them.
Following Crocus onto the main deck, he found Roger pouting on a crate. How childish. His left leg bounced incessantly. The captain clearly didn't want to be here either.
"Ace, since ya gave me the least trouble, you're up first," the doctor grumbled as he prepared his equipment. The youngster whined under his breath in protest. "Feels more like a punishment than a reward."
"Sooner I'm done, sooner ya can go back to being lazy, brat."
"... Fine."
The checkup was routine. With Roger's disease, Rayleigh had recommended that Ace be honest with the ship’s doctor concerning his familial ties to their captain. Since then, Crocus had been monitoring Ace's health in the case that he started showcasing any symptoms. For preventive care. If caught early, perhaps more could be done to help the raven-haired boy. It took a while to complete the youngest's examination and Roger found that as an opportunity to complain.
"Why drag me here if you’re gonna make me wait anyway?"
"Well, if it's any consolation to yer time, Ace’s in perfect health," Crocus growled as he readied the tourniquet around the captain’s arm, "now stand still."
Although Ace had been promised the opportunity to leave first, he remained on the side to watch. Their new arrival aboard, Oden, observed with apprehension, arms crossed. His index tapped an anxious rhythm against his bicep. He knew that Roger was sick, but not to what extent. The examination was done underneath a tense veil of silence. It weighed on all of them. Mr Momora at Ace's right was chewing right through the skin of his thumb and Gaban paced a little further behind. Then, Crocus was analyzing the result and loudly declaring, "Well, he's got a year left at best."
Shit.
A year. He had less than a year left with the old man — after all, Ace knew that Roger would make his way to Baterilla before his execution. Beside him, Oden exclaimed his shock at the little amount of time the captain had left.
Ace paid Oden little mind, too preoccupied by the time limit that now felt very much real.
Imminent.
Laughter rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. Roger bellowed with laughter. Unaffected as ever. Ace clenched his fists, stopping himself from crying at the old man to act serious for once. To act like the grown up that he was.
"I haven't got much time left. That's why we're gonna do best of what's left, men!"
At those words, the freckled boy felt the tension leave his body. That's right. He'd make the time left count. There was nothing he could do about Roger's looming fate and if he let himself mull over it uselessly — he'd regret it.
And Ace had promised to live without regrets.
☆
Left. Buggy would throw his knife to the left, aimed at his face. He turned sideways to dodge the incoming projectile. The air whistled, cut by the sharp blade seconds later.
Left again. Rayleigh was about to swing at his head with a sturdy branch, reinforced with armament. He crouched down to avoid the makeshift weapon. “Fuck!” Ace clutched at his head. His ears rang from the blow, his brain pounding from the shock. The wound was already beginning to swell from the strength the crew's first mate had used. The blond, scarred man swung the branch in an obvious display of skills. He showed no remorse for his harsh treatment, as usual. Rayleigh never went easy on anyone; he believed that pain was necessary to the learning curve.
“Ace, you need to work on your speed. There’s no point in knowing when to dodge if you’re too slow to do it.”
“... Yeah, yeah.”
“Cheeky brat. C’mon, get up.”
☆
Rumors of poneglyphs were not limited to the New World, so it was decided that the best course of action was to restart the journey through the Grand Line once more, starting from Paradise. The crew was experienced and had survived decades on the unpredictable seas of Paradise and the New World combined. For such sailors, making the journey by sailing through the Calm Belt and back through Reverse Mountain only took a few days with minimal issues.
Even for Ace, it had taken a few weeks to reach Alabasta from the New World on his Striker. On top of that, in comparison to the Oro Jackson, his small boat was powered by his devil fruit rather than being entirely reliant on winds and currents. Or through the Calm Belt, oars and stamina.
Programming the log pose to an uncharted route, the first few islands were peaceful and bore no result. There was nothing remarkable about them. It was on the way to Jaya that everything changed. Their log pose suddenly began pointing straight above them, in the direction of the ominous cloudy and dark skies. And Ace immediately knew what it meant. Sky islands were rare, but the time-traveler had sailed under Whitebeard; a pirate that had journeyed and explored the world's treasures freely for decades.
"A sky island," Ace uttered under his breath as he watched the log pose's arrow shake, its red tip pointing upward. "A — what now?" Buggy screeched, mildly horrified at the possibility and its implications, because the implications were obvious. Made observable by Roger's growing grin.
It spelled adventure and trouble.
Lots of trouble.
"Exactly what I said. An island in the sky," Ace teased, nudging at the cabin boy. Buggy grasped at his blue locks, chanting what resembled 'we're all gonna die', but the words were too rushed to be sure. Still, Ace thought it was a fairly decent guess considering the speaker.
“There are islands in the sky?” Oden questioned, palpitating with excitement and unable to believe that possibility. “That’s right, Oden!” Roger confirmed, “We’ve encountered some near a decade ago in the New World, but we didn’t know there was one in Paradise! I wonder if we could reach it from the Summit of High West.” The captain contemplated his options, stroking his mustache. The movement curled the ends even more.
The Summit of High West was the most common way to reach sky islands, Ace knew, but it meant that they might lose men on the way. However, they couldn’t travel with their log pose stuck pointing upward and leaving meant the log adjusting to the next magnetic field. “We could use the knock-up stream,” Ace suggested, vaguely remembering Namur’s passionate rambles about various ocean phenomena. The knock-up stream was dangerous; either they would all survive or they would all perish. It was a gamble, but those who were daring were usually rewarded in unexpected ways. He recalled Thatch's fascination that the ocean pressure would lead to a stream strong enough to theoretically shoot an island into the sky.
Instead of the horrified expressions Ace had expected in response to his insane suggestion, he was met with blank looks. Mr Momora looked as clueless as the remainder of the crew.
“What’s the knock-up stream?”
Although it was information that he’d only heard once in passing, Ace trusted Namur’s knowledge. He lacked the nautical terms the fish-man had used in his own explanation, but the analogy of the cave and the ceiling exploding were sufficient. Rayleigh stroked at his beard deep in thought and the gesture felt eerily similar to Roger's prior actions. Finally, he turned to face Mr Momora, and asked for the navigator’s professional opinion.
“It’s definitely a possibility. I’ve never heard about it on the scale that Ace indicated. Then again, this is the Grand Line. It's unlikely that anyone has ever seen all of its mysteries,” the navigator reasoned. Suddenly, it made sense; the knock-up stream was simply a more common known fact in his time. Twenty something years in the future, during the Great Pirate Era. The amount of pirate crews exploring the Grand Line in search of the One Piece was incomparable with the current time period.
With Mr Momora's help, they were able to piece together that the sky island could be found with imperial cumulus clouds. Luckily, with some help from the locals, they were able to confirm that the stream did occur in the neighboring waters. Five times a month. They would have to synchronize the two events for them to safely reach the sky island, in theory. Thankfully, south birds were native to Jaya. With the log stuck perpetually pointing upward, they couldn’t navigate at sea.
"Ya know, I'm shocked that ya know so much about the sea, Acey-boy. We'd never heard ‘bout those streams, didn't 'ven thought they existed. Good thing we had ya with us!" Mugren praised, slapping the boy’s back in a friendly gesture. Stumbling slightly from the man’s strength, Ace fought to keep the redness from spreading to his cheeks; it’d merely been a fluke.
Ace knew things that few others did and he would use it to help the Roger pirates if that's what they wanted. They were his crew now.
His family.
☆
There were no words to describe the feeling of flying. Standing perpendicular to the boat's wooden walls was a strange feeling. They were defying the laws of the universe, according to Mr Momora. Defying gravity itself. There was no greater level of freedom in Ace's opinion.
With the exception of Buggy, who was currently desperately holding onto the mast to not be blown away, all of them were grinning. Delighted at what awaited them at the top. The possibilities were endless.
And it didn't disappoint.
The first thing that he noticed was the color white; it was everywhere. A sea of white clouds and it seemed that now that they'd reached a semblance of safety, Shanks and Buggy had decided that diving into this mysterious sea was a logical course of action to take. Ace envied them. Then, he realized that nothing was stopping him from joining them.
So he jumped.
It was frigid, but Ace had never felt more alive.
The boys splashed around for a while. At some point, Buggy and Shanks ganged up on Ace to dunk him beneath the foamy surface. Despite their combined efforts, it didn’t work. Glee graced their features as they savored these moments isolated from the remainder of the world. Where no marine would impede on their adventure, no rival crew with more bark than bite. Only the smell of adventure and freedom. The closest word that he could come up with to describe how the last twenty minutes had felt was, euphoria.
Then he noticed the trees in the far distance. It was difficult not to, it was the only green in this marvelous colorless wasteland. Then again, calling them trees was an understatement considering the sheer size of the foliage. It was a jungle that reminded him of Mt. Colubo. Ace already knew where they'd be going exploring.
A group of men appeared at the harbor, an old man at the head. His hair and beard matched his robe and the environment in a godly manner. “Heso, travelers. Welcome to Angel Island,” the apparent leader greeted. His demeanor exuded serenity. It was no shock when he presented himself as Ganfall, God of Skypiea.
What a concept, divinity. Ace had never believed in a higher power. How could he, when a self-proclaimed God had stolen his brother.
Sky people exuded a true sense of otherworldliness with the wings at their backs. However, with how rarely they ventured down to the surface, few people believed that sky island existed, much less went through the trouble of journeying there. Therefore, secluded as they were, inhabitants of sky islands adopted peaceful stances towards strangers. It was bizarre — but a welcomed change — how positively their presence was received. A complete contrast of the wary stances and glances they’d be given whenever they disembarked on an island.
Ganfall and his men offered them invitations at the God’s residence for refreshments and a meal. Ever motivated by hungry stomachs, the pirates were quick to accept. An assortment of strange flat fishes were served with juice from conaches, a local tropical fruit. As night fell, the sky people set down shells across various points in the room to provide some light.
“Fascinating! What are these contraptions?” Oden inquired, picking up a burnt orange shell to examine the mechanism acting as a lamp. Ace was also curious. He listened attentively as the locals and some of the crew explained that dials were a daily tool in the lives of sky people. They used them as various energy sources such as light, heat, and air, but also to preserve fragrances and sounds.
Ace eyed the few dials that disappeared in Erio’s bag. His fingers were sticky as ever.
“You use these to power boats?” Mr Momora pressed on the button, triggering a gust of wind that sent the table’s contents careening to the floor. Thankfully, all the plates had already been emptied. Unfortunately, broken porcelain now covered the tiled floor. Those of the crew who’d never wielded a dial before, all stared amazed at the mess. Such a strong wind was stored in a shell that someone could hold in the palm of their hand.
Shanks and Buggy helped the waiters clean up the shards, but it was obvious that they were distracted, much too engaged with the topic at hand. “Yes, that’s correct! We use breath dials to propel boats when there are no winds for sailing, but also for wavers and skates.” Mr Momora and Millet murmured about breath dials and the Calm Belts.
“What’s a waiver?”
“It’s a one-man boat without sails. They’re extremely difficult to maneuver.”
Rather than taking those words as a deterrent, Oden perceived it as encouragement because he enthusiastically asked, “Can I try one?” His dark irises shined with childish wonder. But, the incredulous look that Ganfall shot the samurai said much about what he thought that attempt would look like. A disaster, possibly. “It takes many years before someone has the necessary skills to sail a waver.” Definitely a disaster. At least it’d be entertaining to watch.
“No matter! I still wanna try!” Some of the other men joined in, thrill-seekers all of them. It was not every day that they got to visit a sky island and were offered to use their technology. It seemed the Roger Pirates’ over-the-top eagerness aged Ganfall considerably as he sighed, defeated. “Very well. Let’s reconvene at Angel Beach in the morning.” Cheers rang loud, Ace’s amongst them. Although he’d been quiet, he wanted a shot at using this waver-thing.
He was as much of a thrill-seeker as the rest.
☆
As agreed, those who were early risers found themselves at the beach to try out the infamous waver. Ace — who was decidedly not a morning person — had rolled him out of his cot to join them. After he’d spent a considerable amount of time unmoving, cheek squished against the wooden floor, and a pool of drool forming where he’d resigned himself, Sunbell had finally taken pity on him and carried him to the beach. Mind groggy, he’d barely understood a word of Ganfall’s instructions on how to operate the waver.
It was only as he watched Oden and the rest of the crew fail, one after the other that the fog that lingered over his mind dispersed. No matter how many times they failed and flayed in the cloud sea, the sight never got old. It was a much better wake up call than bitterly cold planks.
Nearly an hour of this cycle, Ace finally had enough mental clarity to take his turn. And hope that he didn’t embarrass himself. At least the lack of devil fruit meant that no one would have to fish his sorry ass out of the water. Bare feet found ground on the waver’s small space. It was unfamiliar to grip at handles and to have pedals. With only a bit of pressure, the waver shot forward at an unexpected speed. The one-man boat was so very light, it held no resistance against the smallest current. It took a lot of effort to control.
But after a particular risky turn, it was as if something clicked inside him. Although the position wasn’t remotely the same — lacking the freedom of movement that his Striker afforded — the concept was. He allowed the wind to guide him just as the fire had. Without his devil fruit, Ace had never considered that he’d get the chance to relieve this sensation that the Striker had provided him. Of being one with the sea.
Oh, how wrong he’d been.
Protests of unfairness could barely be heard over the engine’s noise and the waves splashing as he flew over them. Soon, his shouts of delights joined in drowning out their complaints. He didn’t know how long he rode the waver, but by the time he’d gone back to shore, the sky had turned a pale shade of rose. Ace lost his breath as he gazed upon the previously white landscape now reflecting shades of lilac and a soft yellow.
No sunset in the world could compare to the one on a sky island.
☆
When they’d inquired about the forest north-west of Angel Island, they’d been warned against setting foot there as any and all intruders were attacked by the native Shandians. Least to say, they’d disregarded those words of caution pretty quickly. In one ear and out the other. Quite literally. Nothing could stop pirates from doing what they wanted.
But, it was only once they’d gotten closer to Upper Yard that they realized it was in fact made of earth. Squatting down, Ace rubbed the dirt between two fingers. Once again, Thatch’s theory came to mind. Meeting Rayleigh’s eyes, he silently conveyed what he’d just concluded. This was an island from below. This piece of earth was what the log pose had been pointing at. The growth of the trees and plants in this forest were unlike anything he’d seen before. Mt. Colubo didn’t compare in the slightest that he stood in the midst of it.
With a cry, Roger took the lead and the rest followed, still in awe. The foliage made movement cumbersome; they jumped down gigantic roots, only to climb up the next. When Buggy got too close to some bright fuschia flower, Crocus and Petermoo were quick to warn him and the rest from touching any of the fauna. Comically, Buggy recoiled from the petals he’d reached out to flick. Over two hours into their hike, they encountered an enormous indigo snake.
“Why’s everything in this place so damn big,” Buggy wailed, scurrying ungracefully to hide behind their captain.
The snake’s bright coloring only spelled bad things. Its hissing, coiled body, and flicking tail were all signs that they were one wrong move away from being attacked by those pointed fangs. And they were proven right. It stroked, missing Doringo just barely. Its large, vicious fangs sank deep into the trunk that’d been behind him. Acid bubbled where its mouth had been. Venomous, how wonderful, Ace deadpanned.
It proved harder than anticipated to knock it unconscious before it made a meal out of their crew. Tough scales prevented any type of lasting damage. Running to avoid its devastating bite, revealed how difficult it was to breathe on sky islands. It made sense. Close as they were to the heavens, the atmosphere was thinner. The fauna and flora’s strange growth were likely a result of it. At some point they acclimatized enough to change in atmosphere to stun the beast and escape.
Out of sight and range, Ace and the other panted to regain their breath. Hands on his knees, Ace swallowed down the bile rising. His heart pounded in his ears and sweat ran down his temple like a river. A canteen was thrust in his face. Parched, he chugged down the water. A calloused hand rested at his nape, running up and down in a soothing manner. “Slow down your breathing, Ace,” Roger instructed, calmly. He counted along for Ace to inhale and exhale. One, two, three, four. And repeat. The time-traveler felt better as he regained his senses.
Crocus, ever precautious, ordered more frequent breaks to ensure that no one passed out. At some point, Buggy had climbed onto Ace’s back. Lanky arms wrapped around his shoulders as his legs hung from either side. It made it more difficult to move, but it was rare that Buggy requested for help this way. It made it hard to refuse him.
Finally, after hours of trekking, they reached an entrance. The ruins still standing took the shape of a snake’s mouth. It could’ve also been a dragon’s. They weren’t completely sure. Ace thought that it almost resembled that enormous blue snake. The descent down the stairs was long. Just a few meters in, they lost all natural light and were plunged in darkness. At that point, they had no choice but to rest a hand on the tunnel’s walls and to use it as a guide. The stones were old under Ace’s palm. He could feel the damp moss covering them and hear the creaking of the structure. It was surprising that this staircase hadn’t collapsed. Erio and Spencer’s voices resonated in the closed space along with all of their footsteps, carrying their conversion of what would be waiting for them at the end of this tunnel.
Theories ranging from logical to absolutely wild were considered. Taro, ever sensible, proposed that the native camp would be found and they’d have another fight on their hands. Buggy, predictably, guessed it’d be riches.
None of them expected how right he’d be.
Nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, a clearing greeted them. And buildings made of gold. Pure gold.
“Ya-hoo!” Buggy screamed at the top of his lungs once the sight registered. The rest were quick to join in his exclamation. There was so much of it everywhere that even filling bags up to the brim would barely make a dent. Shanks and Buggy ran around the ruins of the golden city. Bangles and crowns encrusted with diamonds and gemstones soon decorated their attires. Laughter rang against the walls, bringing life to this abandoned, historical city. Pieces of the temples were broken off, but the most obvious was the pile of rubble at the center of the square. Something humongous had previously occupied this spot. Nothing remained, except for the statue of a bird.
A very familiar bird.
“This is a south bird,” Ace pointed out, recognizing the large heads these avian had, always pointing south. A living replica of this bird was aboard their ship at that very moment. It meant one thing: Jaya. Ace could almost see the gears in Taro’s head turning to analyze this new information. His gloved hand rubbed at this chin, brows furrowed.
“In the story of Noland the Liar, he tells his king that he discovered a city of gold, located on the island of…,” it finally clicked, “Jaya.” The scholar frantically looked around to locate their captain in this maze of treasures. Eyes landed on the tall figure, his vibrant red coat a beacon.
“Captain! Captain!” Taro rushed to Roger’s side, Ace at his heel. “If I’m correct, we’ll find a poneglyph on this island!” His breathing staggered from his excitement. It wasn’t everyday that someone uncovered a myth.
“Oh?”
“Noland mentioned that the Shandians, Jaya’s native tribe, were protecting a city called Shandora. Any historian worth their salt has studied Noland’s travels and there’s little information that remains of Shandora. What I’ve found says that it was destroyed nearly eight hundred years ago protecting a historical text engraved on stone.”
“A poneglyph.”
“Exactly!”
History had never interested Ace, but Roger’s words about the poneglyphs came to mind; the World Government had outlawed the research of the texts. These poneglyphs were shadowed in mystery and lies. What were they — whoever they were — trying so hard to hide. The poneglyphs were also the key to finding the One Piece. Yet, no matter how much he racked his brain, Ace couldn’t see what connection existed between a treasure, the World Government, and a native Jayan tribe.
With Taro’s deductions that a poneglyph would be found on the island, their search renewed itself. Ace had never seen a poneglyph, but those who had, described it as a massive block of stone. Navy or deep red in color. Someone would have to be blind to miss it.
There were only two logical conclusions when everyone failed to find any hint of the stone: either they were blind or it wasn’t there. Realistically, it could’ve ended up anywhere when the island was shot into the sky. Maybe, it’d never even made it up here and had instead sunk deep beneath the waves. Just as they were about to give up, they found something.
“Oden! Over ‘ere!” Donquino called from under the canopy of an archway. He stood facing a wall, not made of gold, but of dark ore. The characters etched on the surface matched those of the rubbing Roger had shown Whitebeard. Donquino re-lit his pipe, blowing a plume of smoke as Oden began translating the forgotten language.
“Keep thy motives in your hearts and speak not of it. We are those who will weave history with the ringing of the great belfry.”
“Ringing? Like a bell?” Millet speculated under his breath. But, the mention of a bell must’ve ignited something inside Roger, because he bellowed his next words without an ounce of doubt.
“I know where it is.”
☆
Farewell to the harbor, to my old hometown,
Let’s all sing out with a DON! As the ship sets sail,
Waves of gold and silver dissolve to salty spray,
As we all set sail to the ends of the sea,
At first, Ace wasn’t completely sure how they’d found the giant golden bell. The grand belfry. Roger had been certain of its location, stating that the ringing and the voices were loud and very distinguishable, but hearing this had only confused Ace even more. He didn’t understand what voices he was referencing. As they climbed higher up the beanstalk, Oden started echoing Roger’s words. They’d simply followed.
It’d been worth it.
The bell was majestic. It towered over all of them, even the tallest members of the crew. The men all debated how to move the gold. After all, they were pirates and it was in their nature to steal treasure. Without a doubt, this was one hell of a find. However, their captain and the samurai appeared more interested in the large black stone encased in the gold.
Ace shuddered as a shiver ran through his entire body. On edge, he approached the two figures and the stone they were so busy examining. “So, this is a poneglyph?” His question was whispered and laced with apprehension. Running his hand over the carved characters, feeling every groove and fissure, he could feel the power surging from it. The voices were faint, but they were there.
Now, he understood.
Roger hummed, “The voices in this one are especially strong. They’re saying something about a great power.” Trying to focus on the muted voices, Ace couldn’t discern any specific words. It felt more like chanting in a different language, but he could recognize familiar sensations amidst the ritualistic singing. The coldness and darkness of the deep sea, vibrations, power, destruction. Wrath. It felt contradictory for such beautiful music to feel so dooming.
It seemed that Oden had finally finished translating the message as he affirmed Roger’s earlier statement. “Indeed, it’s about a powerful weapon known as Poseidon and its location.” The concept of a weapon sounded ominous, but Ace also knew better. A weapon wasn’t necessarily something negative. It could simply be a tool to reach a goal.
Anything could become a weapon and whether it was good or bad was always determined by how it was used.
Remembering the sensation of the deep sea, Ace turned to the samurai. “Does the stone mention anything about the deep sea?” The swordsman's eyes widened, seemingly surprised at his inquiry before he nodded. “It mentions people that understand oceanic life more than anyone else and a country hidden from the sun. I’m not sure if that’s what you meant by deep sea, Ace-taro.”
“No, it is. The people referenced are probably fish-men and merfolk. They can communicate with oceanic life and their island is located deep underwater, far from the sun’s light,” Ace explained. Oden would've likely traveled to fish-man island as part of Whitebeard's crew, but the extent of which he knew of its inhabitants and its history, that was different.
Roger sneaked an arm around the raven haired boy’s shoulder, hugging him close to his side “You heard them, too?” Glancing upward, he found Roger grinning with a familiar gleam in his dark eyes. He nodded.
“Good,” Roger acknowledged. “Now! Oden, carve a message for me!” The samurai didn’t even question the order. Squatting down beside the gold that surrounded the poneglyph, he took out a hammer and a chisel. Patiently, he waited poised for the captain to voice what he wanted inscribed.
“I hereby will lead this passage to the farthest ends of the world!”
Ace scoffed at his old man’s eccentricity, but refrained from commenting.
They would reach the ends of the world.
☆
The bonfire's flames rose in a massive spiral, yet even they barely reached the height of the woods’ lowest branches. For now, they’d set up camp in the middle of what was the infamous City of Gold. Surfaces shone all around them, illuminated by the flickering pyre. It was truly the sight of wonders, despite the vines overtaking what was once a well-loved city. One could even argue that nature dominating men’s creation rendered it more wondrous. Untouched for centuries, yet still standing.
Somehow, it was now abandoned.
Spencer had prepared for supper some of the strange, flat sharks they’d seen circling the abandoned altar along with other ingredients they’d scavenged. Ace wasn’t sure what Roger’s aim had been by offering his catch of frogs to the chef. He’d simply pretended not to have seen anything out of the ordinary and with everything considered, it wasn’t actually unordinary. Although, he was kind of craving some eggs. The one on the ship could’ve easily fed the entirety of the crew.
Then again, perhaps they were keeping it as an emergency food supply.
Similarly to most nights on the Oro Jackson, the crew partied and the mood was joyous. Taro had gained an audience as he began detailing the cautionary tale of Noland the Liar.
“It ain’t exactly a cautionary tale if he wasn’t lying, innit?” Buggy exclaimed, flopping onto his back to stare at the cloudless sky above. Starry nights experienced on a sky island were otherworldly. “I disagree,” Taro began, “in the end, he was framed as a cowardly liar while the king was portrayed as a courageous warrior who fought against the Grand Line’s sea kings. This is the world we live in.”
“Noland wouldn’t have gotten far in the Grand Line if he’d been anything like the stories spoke of him,” Ace concluded. In the end, the ones with power rewrote the narrative to fit their needs.
Taro nodded fiercely in agreement. “With a bit of research, I was able to discover the origin of this tale. It was meant to cover up Lvneel’s king’s screwup. His own greed and cowardice were the reasons for the disastrous ending of that voyage. If he’d taken Noland’s experienced crew, it would’ve ended in a much different way.”
“Still, to think that for 400 years, it’s been right 'ere,” Isaac muttered. Some of them hummed; they’d discovered something truly incredible. Buggy shot up, “Look at the bright side! Now the gold’s ours for the takin’!”
They laughed heartily. Indeed, it was.
At the corner of his eye, Ace caught the fire’s light catching the brim of an old and faded straw hat. Shanks danced and sang with some of the older crewmates. At certain angles, Ace could convince himself that he was looking at a younger Luffy. Just another campfire on Mt. Colubo after a day of training. Ace longed to see his younger brother’s face. For Ace, two years had passed since the war. Since he’d seen Luffy stumbling to his knees, exhausted and on the brink of death.
It would be a long time before the two brothers saw each other again. If ever, a darker part of his mind supplied.
A large, calloused palm landing on his shoulder dragged Ace out of his trance.
“What’re you staring at so intensely, my boy?" Roger, he recognized. He slurred over the syllables and his voice was gruff from the large quantity of alcohol he’d likely consumed. Huh. There was no animosity that arose inside him by being addressed as ‘my boy’ by Roger. How unfamiliar, he chuckled to himself.
“Just… nostalgia, I guess. My little brother always wore an old straw hat that looked exactly like that one. It was his treasure.”
The grip on his shoulder tightened. It was barely noticeable, but it worked. A silent reassurance. While Roger acted like a buffoon on most occasions, he wasn’t a fool and he paid particular attention to anything and everything that concerned Ace.
A brother had never been mentioned before and someone referenced in the past tense was never a good thing.
Taking a seat by Ace, he noticed that the young man’s dark eyes were fixed on the flickering shadows formed by the red haired boy’s dancing figure. It wasn’t the right time to speak of brothers, Roger concluded; instead, he presented himself as bait.
“Aren’t you a bit young for nostalgia to be a thing?”
A glint of life flared in gray orbs. “Calling yourself old, geezer?”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Now, now, I’ve still got plenty of youth in me!” Roger bemoaned, slapping his large palm onto Ace's shoulder. He nearly missed, his aim distorted in his inebriation.
“Whatever you say, geezer," Ace laughed. Roger was quick to join him.
A comfortable bubble settled around them; an invisible barrier that separated them from the ongoing party. Relaxed, in good company, Ace decided to share, to open up. He’d kept his wall up for so many years. There was just so much time left for Roger. It was now or never.
“Have you…,” Ace swallowed, “have you ever thought about having a family?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Roger peeked at Ace through a curtain of black hair. The boy’s eyes were hidden by his own eerily similar tresses of hair. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees and licked at his lips. They were cracking. He’d love for more booze right now.
Roger had never needed courage before. Perhaps there was a first time for everything in life.
“I haven’t accomplished what I’ve set out to sea to do, yet. It crossed my mind once or twice, but with my failing health, I’d never get to actually meet them.”
Gray eyes bore into the captain’s. Ace noted the crows’ feet at the outer corners of Roger's eyes. Now permanently present. In only a few weeks, the man had noticeably aged. At that moment, they were attuned to each other's unspoken truths. “My father died before I was born… and my mother gave her life so that I could be born," Ace admitted, eyes fixed on a pair identical to his own. Roger heard what was left unsaid.
Feeling inadequate and lacking, Ace looked away.
“For a long time I wondered if I should have been alive. If my existence was a good thing." This admittance left him hollow inside. A shell that would break in a million pieces if mishandled.
"And? Did you ever find the answer to that question?"
"I — yeah I did. My brothers, my crew, and the old man showed me the answer, but I realized too late."
Regret.
It wasn't an emotion Roger would've ever associated with Ace. Direct and lively as he was. It felt wrong for regret to plague the conscience of someone burning so brightly.
"Well now you have more time, son."
The smile that graced the young man's lips reassured Roger. Everything would be fine.
☆
A moment of distraction as Ace crackled joyfully at Taro and Nozdon’s silliness while fighting provided enough of an opening for a pirate to plunge a dagger into Ace’s back. His leather vest was no match for the blade coated in armament. Ace had been figuratively stabbed in the back before; now, he could now attest that it hurt just as much when it was literal.
Perhaps it was the sight of his imminent death that allowed him to foresee the attack at the very last second and move accordingly, preventing the blade from sinking into his kidneys. Sincerely, he hoped that it hadn’t hit anything vital. It wasn’t in his plans to die before Roger or before he could see Luffy again.
“Ace-taro!”
His hand hugged across his stomach to apply pressure onto the open wound and stop the bleeding. The movement pulled at the tear in his skin instead. Oden, his brain finally managed to scramble together. Only Oden added the suffix taro to his name. His eyelids felt heavy, but he still registered the swordsman’s towering figure and the familiar sight of his purple and white nio-dasuki.
Yamato had worn one just like that.
Then, it was like the sky was falling onto him, crushing him right where he stood. The pressure was so intense that Ace could hardly breath. There was a piercing ringing shattering his eardrums. He stumbled, unable to maintain his balance. He’d never felt so lightheaded. Bile rose, and he swallowed down the acidity.
His knees hit the floor.
Wood splintered behind him and Ace chanced a glance, fighting to keep heavy eyelids from slipping shut. Every step of the scuffed black boots left a clear crater on the wooden deck as Roger approached. The frown he wore was so prominent that his face was almost unrecognizable. Ace who’d only ever seen the captain smiling whether with joy or thrill, trembled at the foreignness.
Unease gripped him the closer Roger was. It was chilling and gut curling. Conqueror’s rarely took physical shape, but at that moment Roger was cloaked by an aura promising death to any who dared venture in his path.
At that moment, Ace understood why Roger had been called a demon.
☆
Ace woke to a pounding migraine. Mouth dry like a desert and body numb, he moved to get up only to give up, yelping in pain. Screw the migraine, whatever that was, took the cake. Huffing and puffing as if he’d ran a marathon. How pathetic.
“Awake at last?” Crocus inquired, a glass full of blessed water in hand.
A groan. Translation, yes.
Crocus would understand. Hopefully.
“Good.” With the doctor’s help, Ace was able to sit on the bed. Shaky hands cupped in Crocus’ precise ones, he chugged down the liquid. Glass empty, he silently requested for more. It was only after three cups that Ace was able to ask, “What happened?”
“Ya got stabbed. Missed all yer vitals, luckily, or ya wouldn’t be ‘ere right now.”
Talk about a close one. But, yet again, a scar marred the skin of his back.
☆
The world tilted on its axis with the pull of fingers. Explosions rang in the distance and boiling ocean water cooked his brethren alive, yet all he felt was crippling coldness. His lower body was numb, sore from kneeling on a metal platform. Behind his back, his hands were cuffed — they'd robbed him of everything with a single pair of cuffs.
Instead, he was forced to watch as his comrades fell and their lights extinguished one by one. Within him, the only fire that roared was self-hatred. The sight of Luffy falling down onto the battlefield had him ready to spill his insides.
Then — Luffy pierced by spears of ice. Luffy’s chest cavity impaled by a fist of magm —
“No!” Ace sprung forward in his cot. Sweat ran in rivers, leaving him clammy everywhere. Black hair stands stuck to his cheeks and nape, drenched. Trembling fingers gripped at the thin blanket that he’d been covered with. Beneath his scarred chest, his heart thundered and thump-thump-thump echoed in his ears.
“Ace? Ya okay, kid?”
“Hey, hey, give him some space!”
Closing his eyes, Ace anchored himself on the comforting sound of the ocean waves, audible even within their cabin. The salty spray was dull, but calming. Slowly, he re-situated himself. Luffy was alive. He was on the Oro Jackson with his father’s crew. He was alive.
Luffy was alive.
He exhaled a long breath. His heart was still racing, but — everything was fine because Luffy was alive.
A palm landed on his bare shoulder and he jerked back, violently. The sudden movement rocked his hammock and he crashed onto the hardwood below. Definitely the worst wake up call, he groaned. The mostly healed stab wound only ached. Looking up, he found multiple pairs of troubled eyes. Most of the men had stayed in the confines of their covers; Spencer’s eyes were still blearing awake. Based on Yui and Doringo’s proximity, they were the ones who'd tried to pull him back from his night terrors.
Physical contact, while his mind was still muddled with the anguished screams of his brother, hadn’t been welcomed. Wincing at his scraped palms and the bloodied images momentarily forgotten, perhaps the unexpected tumble had been useful.
“Ace? Are you oka —”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, unable to meet their gaze any longer.
Weak. Coward. What did Doringo even do to deserve this treatment, he berated himself. Ungrateful bastard.
“Sorry. I’m fine — Imma go get some air.” He picked himself up, ignoring Yui’s outstretched hand. Moving around the suspended hammocks and the two men, he managed to make his way onto the deserted deck without any additional unwanted contact. Running away like the coward that he was.
Hunched over, elbows resting onto the railing, Ace’s torso was nearly perpendicular with the black sea. One strong wave and his tumble would be to the depths instead of the safe flooring of the Oro Jackson. A recess of his mind wondered what drowning would feel like. Magma had burned hot, hotter than any fire Ace had ever created. It’d left him gaping wide open and motionless. The few times he’d fallen into the sea as a devil fruit user had felt frighteningly similar. Lungs burning, filling with ice cold water. His body stiff from the frozen deep, his fire gone.
Now that his curse as a user had been left in a past life, he wondered if the waters would be welcoming. Perhaps like a mother’s embrace. Secure and comforting, where closing his eyes would be effortless. No more worries, no more loss, no more battlefields. So easy.
“Ace,” his name, spoken with gruff understanding dragged him back to reality. Eyes focusing anew, he found that he’d been leaning over the railing. A breeze away from being lost forever to the raging waves. Bare feet firmly back on deck, he distanced himself from the barrier. The fingers now gripping at the dark wood turned white.
Inhale.
“Of course they told you,” Ace exhaled, exasperated as Roger took his former position over the railing. He was without his captain’s coat, leaving him in a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A half empty bottle of rum in his hand. Ace’s gray orbs couldn’t stray further than the tip of Roger’s hair which touched his shoulders in this position.
Inhale. Exhale.
(Coward. Coward. Coward.)
The captain, perceptive as ever, allowed the boy to avoid his eyes. Much as he cared about the young man, he knew that pushing at this time would only drive him away. Instead, he offered the bottle of rum he’d covertly — if he said so himself — stolen from the kitchen. “Want some?” A peace offering.
“Yeah,” Ace accepted, fingers still trembling with nerves. Nerves caused by the ghosts haunting him. He’d thought that he’d long left his demons behind. Quite literally in a previous life. Yet, he’d been so close to throwing himself into that familiar abyss. He would’ve inevitably tripped someone else along, again. His mother, the old man, Luffy — No! Luffy was alive, he reminded himself. He had to believe that Luffy was alive or this would be the end for him.
But — The other two weren’t and it was his fault.
Perhaps if he’d been the son of a devil as he’d always believed, the fault might’ve been Roger’s. Now he knew better. His mother’s passing was all because of Ace.
There weren’t any such doubts concerning Whitebeard’s. He’d been told to let it go. He’d ignored the old man’s orders. Instead, scoured the seas for trouble and lost once confronted by the traitor. He should’ve bled out on that platform as intended, but instead he’d been bait. Bait for his crew, his father, and to the marine’s surprise, his brother.
So many had lost their lives for his foolishness and bullheadedness.
Now here he was contemplating dousing the flame that so many had died protecting.
(Coward.)
To give up now was to make their sacrifices meaningless. He had no choice but to live for them and to prove that he was worth the life that he’d been given. Fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle until nails dug into his scraped palm, Ace chugged down onto the bitter liquid. The sourness seared a brand into his insides. Eyebrows creased, he coughed to dislodge the self-loathing lodged within him. Tears gathered at the corner of his scrunching eyes.
Ace worried he’d be sick right then, as everything wretched within him was once again brought to the surface. Perhaps it’d be better to let it out and purge it out once for all.
Inhale. Exhale.
“I’ll listen, if you wanna share.”
Sharing meant dismantling the last walls that stood strong. For all that he’d disclosed to Roger, Whitebeard, Sabo, and Luffy; his darkest thoughts had never been verbalized. The closest he’d ever come was asking the old geezer that question all those years ago on Mt. Colubo. To continue hiding behind his own personal fortress would only endanger those he cared about.
“You’re aware of my circumstances, right?”
The phrasing was vague, but Roger understood nonetheless. There were only so many explanations for Ace's mysterious appearance on Roger's ship. A carbon copy of a younger Roger with a few more freckles. A healed scar that marred the entirety of his torso and back. The placement of the scars far too exact to have been anything but a clean hit through bones, muscles, and insides.
No one had ever told Roger, but he'd come to his own conclusion. Somehow, Ace had escaped death and ended up here. Fate had chosen a different path for the boy and shoved Roger right in the middle of said path.
“Before I woke up — well, here — I was in the midst of a war," Ace began, arms crossed. A physical barrier. Blunt nails sunk into a crossed out S. There was a story behind it, but it wasn’t likely that Roger would ever hear it.
Few ever heard of the third brother.
"I’d lost and been handed over to the Marines to be executed. The old man brought the entire fleet to save me." The final word was spat out, as if repugnant.
The old man. Ace had only ever referred to Whitebeard as such. It explained a number of things.
“I’d known that my little brother had broken into Impel Down, but I thought that’d be the end of it. No one ever broke out of there. Imagine my shock when he comes tumbling down from the sky along with a warship and a ragtag group of prisoners he’d helped escape.
“There he is, barely seventeen, fighting through hundreds of marines, facing down three admirals, and even his own grand-father to rescue my pathetic ass. But he succeeds, because of course he does, and I stomped on all of his efforts with my stupid pride.”
Waves crashed against the ship's hull below them. Roger didn't dare interrupt, only nature's sounds accompanied the bitterness that coated each of Ace's words regarding himself.
“The old man ordered us to retreat and I let myself be baited. Luffy, he was so exhausted after everything… he collapsed. That bastard, Akainu, was going to kill him. I took the hit. I… I died," Ace choked out after a moment of hesitation. The incessant tears that were now spilling down his cheeks sparkled in the moonlight.
Dust was all that remained of the walls. To be dust in the wind.
“I died that day. Anyone who sees this scar will know that I was a coward who ran.”
Oh. Roger couldn't help but recognize himself in those words. Perhaps that was why the words came to him so easily at that moment.
"No," Roger's tone was firm. Unyielding. Ace would have no opportunity to argue his words. "That burn is proof of your courage and loyalty. There aren’t many who’d be willing and ready to die for someone else. Be proud; you protected your brother and what you held dear until the very end.” Ace couldn’t help but notice the new wrinkles around Roger’s mouth, set in a straight line. Stray gray hairs mixed amongst the ebony. The captain seldom shared his worries, but they too plagued him.
They were perhaps too similar in one too many ways.
☆
The floating city of Water Seven slowly took shape in the horizon; its world renowned docks after which it was named, the first discernible sight in the distance along with the fountain that crowned it. On Banaro, Teach had asked him to join him in killing Luffy who’d been in Water Seven, he recalled bitterly. The encounter that had sealed his fate as a result of his overreliance on his devil fruit abilities.
He would beat him the next time they fought. That, he swore.
Luffy and he had taken vastly different routes through Paradise. They’d reunited in Alabasta, but that route wouldn’t’ve logged to Water Seven. Sometimes, Ace wished that he could’ve spent more time hearing about Luffy’s adventures. The boy was bound to have gotten into trouble. A magnet for it, truly. Enough to garner Teach’s unwanted attention for his plot to become warlord.
“It’s the north pole!”
“No, it’s the south pole!”
Ah, the ever persistent debate of which pole was the coldest. Ace sighed, resigned. Without even turning around, he knew that he wasn't the only one letting out a deep exhale; this was the third time in the last few months that they’d had this argument. At this point, he almost wished that the two cabin boys would just take a ship and find a definite answer once and for all.
A bigger commotion — which was expected considering that Roger was at the center of it — arose at the rear of the ship. It spoke of their volume that Ace heard it from the other side of the ship despite the strong waves crashing against their hull and the thud of Rayleigh’s fists attempting to knock some sense into Shanks and Buggy’s thick skulls.
“— ones we need the most! Why didn’t y’all say something sooner!”
Closing his eyes, he braced himself against the taffrail, letting the passing breeze spray him with salty mist. It wasn’t often he got a moment to himself aboard the Oro Jackson. Even at night, there was a crewmate or two doing their rounds. The seagulls squawked above, drawing circles in the storm-free skies. There were four road poneglyphs and they’d yet to find a second one. But, in less than a year, disease or execution spears would take Roger. The only one they had was the copy Roger had somehow filched from Big Mom.
Everything would solve itself in due time, he was sure.
He’d just let the wind chart his course and let it carry him.
When they made land around an hour later, Ace couldn’t help but note the uncomfortably familiar divide between the junkyard that bordered Water Seven and its concrete walls. Although the air was clean, the unforgettable stench of diseases that plagued the slums of his childhood cloyed at his throat. He resisted the urge to scratch bloody gashes into his windpipe, in hope of tearing it out of his skin.
The haunting odor that defined burning trash, skin, clothes, and hair lingered with him a decade later.
Nails dug into his left arm. The tattoo beneath was only protected by his leather sleeve, preventing him from sullying the tribute to a brother long gone.
He felt like a useless child once more.
He longed for the salty and purifying air unique to being carried by the waves.
☆
“— the south pole!”
“Why do you keep insisting on that, you moron! The north pole is colder!”
And here they were at it. Again.
The argument had been entertaining at first. A question no one had the answer to, as the poles were located at the Red Line. The only way to reach the top was through Mary Geoise or through Reverse Mountain, but the latter option was a one-way trip into the Grand Line and deadly. Then again, death was preferable to anything that involved the world nobles.
It seemed that Rayleigh was also done with the two’s antics as he lectured them.
The argument was quickly forgotten as Marx informed them of an approaching vessel and they prepared to plunder the incoming ship. Buggy’s voice carried over the sway of splashing waves, “— boats are like treasure chests! Y’all don’t give treasure enough value! We’re pirates after all!”
The boy wasn’t wrong. To be a pirate meant doing what they wanted, regardless of who or what got in their way. Whether it was a stolen meal or a stolen chest of precious jewels, both were the same. In the end, the One Piece was just another treasure. Theirs for the taking.
Buggy had taken after Roger in his love of treasure and riches.
Well, it was to be expected. The cabin boys looked up to their captain the most.
The fight was short-lived and anticlimactic. It was to be expected as they were in Paradise and the crews that roamed these seas were ill-equipped to deal with veterans of the New World. They gathered the piles of loot in the mess hall that evening for them to divide. It was a considerable amount. More than Ace had ever seen in his years of pirating. Anyone who wanted a specific piece could take it unless it was already spoken for. In that case, the parties who’d shown interest would partake in a game of chance to decide who’d keep it. Cheers rang loud as jewels and golden trinkets were unveiled one by one.
Crimson caught his eyes and he instinctively dug out a string of bloody red pearls. Flashes of ones so very similarly decorating a broad neck with dry ginger hair curling around broad shoulders. A rough voice scolding him. Coarse from cigarettes.
“Ya keeping those, Ace?”
Thumbing at the smooth, unblemished of the pearls, Ace nodded. They were smaller than the ones he’d worn originally, but also clearly of a much better quality. The color was uniform throughout the beads, not an assortment of junk found in Gray Terminal and painstakingly put together.
“They fit ya, good choice!”
“Ace, catch!” The command came from nowhere and the boy nearly failed to catch the small velvet box that’d been thrown his way. Lifting the cover, he found nestled inside two simple hoop earrings. The gold was faded, taking a more muted hue of yellow. He turned to the captain who’d hurled the jewelry at his face, “What do you want me to do with these?”
“Wear ‘em, obviously!”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, my ears aren’t pierced!”
“That can easily be fixed,” Crocus pitched in from where he was reclining, booze in hand.
Fair enough. He glanced down once more at the earrings. They were nice, if a bit simple. Although Ace was reluctant to admit it, his sense of style was flashy; he’d definitely taken after Roger.
“Shanks!” The red head soared up like a meerkat amongst the piles of gems and gold. There were some white pearls hanging from the brim of his straw hat, along with a bejeweled crown.
“Yeah, big bro?”
“Help me find some ruby studs to go with these,” he pitched the box to the younger boy. Shanks studied the hoops and he complied, diving back into the piles of riches they’d acquired. It seemed their endeavor to find a pair of stud earrings spread amongst the other men, because every few minutes someone lifted a pair for Ace to inspect. It was Gaban’s find that upstaged everyone else's. They were rounded, a deep carmine shade and almost unnatural in its splendor. There was something almost otherworldly of the gemstone until finally, Erio pulled out his loupe and after a moment, declared, “This isn’t a ruby.”
“The surface’s too perfect, there aren’t any scratches or cracks and the cut… It’s so precise.” A long silence where they eagerly anticipated his verdict. “This is a diamond, a colored one. Extremely rare. Only formed under very specific conditions. And the clarity! VVS2 at the very least; what a find!” Erio’s observations were gibberish to Ace who knew nothing about gemstones or diamonds, but he definitely understood when the gemologist added, “these are easily worth ฿4,000,000,000 each!”
As if the words ignited a cannon, all the men gathered cried out in shock. Ace included, because what the fuck! That was almost the price of Roger's head!
“Four — Four billion?!”
“Don’t forget, each, Doringo!”
“How can something that small be worth that much!”
“Ace, you lucky bastard!”
The gemologist handed the pair of diamond studs and large hands slapped at his shoulders and back, cheering him on his lucky find. He closed his fingers around the expensive — really expensive — earrings, lest he dropped them and they fell through the minuscule gaps in the floorboards.
Crocus gestured for him to approach and he took a seat beside the ship’s doctor, who left his seat right as Ace sat down. He watched him leave the mess hall only to return minutes later with a medical kit. “Hand ‘em over, I gotta disinfect ‘em first. Can never be too safe with these things.” The stocky man dropped each individual piece of jewelry in a bowl of hydrogen peroxide before pulling out a sealed needle. “Where do ya want ‘em?”
Well, symmetry was never Ace’s thing.
A dozen minutes later, two carmine diamonds shone in his right ear above a golden hoop. One of his left lobe, a single muted gold earring decorated his skin.
The excitement of the night later shifted to Roger who pulled out a devil fruit, brandishing it up high for everyone to see. Its strange swirls and prune color distinguished it as something otherworldly. It wasn’t a common-find, even on the Grand Line. Involuntarily, shivers racked Ace as he recalled the way Thatch had similarly found one of these cursed fruits. Abilities as varied as people’s dreams and yet, sometimes they only brought misery. Or a knife in the back. But, Ace knew deep down that there were very few fruits that were truly valuable. The vast majority of devil fruits were only as good as their users’ imagination.
Logias, mythical zoans, some paramecia. Those were the rare finds.
“Well, that’s not a bad prize, but definitely not for me. If anyone wants to eat it, go ahead.” He threw the accursed fruit in Mugren’s direction, who only frowned at it. Seemed like it wasn’t for him either. The devil fruit was passed from person to person, but ultimately no one took a bite of it.
Ace included.
Been there, done that.
It was unlikely that he’d ever find a power that suited him the way his flames had. His fiery temper and personality had aligned with the life that inhabited it. On that deserted island where it’d been left forgotten for decades, perhaps centuries, Ace had found a kindred spirit. It had chosen him and he’d chosen it. For those few years as a flame-man, he’d been embraced by the sun in Luffy’s absence.
☆
His ears were sore the next morning. No matter which side he curled up in his cot, his newly pierced lobes got crushed against his pillow. It made sleeping, one of his most frequent and enjoyable activities, difficult.
Not something he’d have ever imagined, all things considered.
He’d lazed around the first hour after waking up, mind groggy from too much drinking. Above, the wood cracked whenever someone moved to the upper deck. It was a comforting rhythm. Lacking the rush that came with ambushes or an incoming storm, unpredictable as they were on the Grand Line. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Although, Marx’s obnoxiously loud snoring also did that spectacularly.
His snoring was nothing in comparison to the commotion picked up outside the sleeping quarters and Ace found himself dragged out of bed. Barefoot and bare chested, a tangled nest for hair — based on how his fingers kept getting stuck in knots. Scratching his lower abdomen, he yawned, eyes squeezing shut. A blessed respite from the sun's bright glare.
Standing by the taffrail, confidently was Buggy and in his hand was the devil fruit from the previous night. "What's up?" He nudged Sunbell with his elbow for information. The fish-man's large body was ideal to remain in the shade. Warm weather was fine, but in the last few days it'd been extremely dry as they likely approached a summer island. And Ace didn't have the same tolerance for heat anymore. Or cold, for that matter.
Ah, the struggles of being a normal human once more.
"Our Buggy's decided to eat the fruit." Now that Ace thought about it, Buggy had been a devil fruit user. In one bite, the blue haired apprentice had swallowed the fruit whole. Smart. Ace would never forget the sickening taste of a devil fruit. Like swallowing a sweaty rag used to wipe vomit. Absolutely nasty. It was better to swallow it down whole; it was over much faster than by chewing.
Buggy didn't even flinch. It was pretty impressive.
Everyone stood still. Until, someone asked, "Do ya feel any different?"
"Nah."
Ace snickered, "That's not how it works." Most devil fruits didn't have an immediate, obvious effect. Logias, and sometimes zoans, manifested not long after eating a fruit, spurred on by emotions. However, those classified as paramecia were a lot more tricky. Until the circumstances called for it, they remained dormant.
There may be other criteria hinting toward a certain ability, such as immunity to blunt force as Luffy had displayed. But, those often weren't enough to properly determine an ability.
"How would ya know, Ace?" He found himself surrounded by many confused faces. That’s right, a different time.
"I was a devil fruit user before."
At this point, most of them knew that Ace had traveled through time, but not the details as to how. This admittance was likely to garner more than a few questions because no one simply lost their devil fruit abilities. Indeed, some of the sharper men shot Ace a look that spoke of their incredulousness. He brushed them off.
"No way! What was your power? How did it feel?"
"Yeah, yeah, Ace! Share with us!"
Encouraged by their enthusiasm, Ace felt no reluctance recounting the extraordinary experience that came with being cursed by the sea. "I was a flame-man. It's…,” he rubbed at his nape, “it’s real hard to describe unless you’ve lived it. When you're a logia user, you're intangible except if you don't wanna be. You become more element than corporeal." Eyes full of childish wonder stared at him. Perhaps it was every boy’s dream to have a superpower or shoot laser beams. It’d certainly been Luffy’s.
But, Ace failed to notice the gleam in Crocus’ eye.
☆
Spencer made ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch and the Oro Jackson’s residents were quick to snatch one before Ace served himself his thirds. They’d quickly learned that nothing could get in between him and a meal. Raised by mountain bandits and all. Legs crossed beneath him, he munched on his snack. At the table adjacent to his, he overheard Sunbell inquiring about Toki’s abilities. Most of that day’s conversation had revolved around devil fruits.
Ace mused on how he’d unknowingly opened a can of worms that morning with a single admission.
He’d swallowed two more sandwiches whole before his mind caught up with what the giant fishman was asking of Oden’s wife.
"So, ya can't send anyone to the past?"
"That's right, it's all set in stone. Nothing can interfere with what has been." She hitched Hyori higher up her side and the men cooed at the baby. Trinkets and toys were presented for small hands to snatch and wide curious eyes followed the offerings. The little girl had the entire crew wrapped around her finger and wasn’t even aware of it.
"But Ace did it."
Maybe he should’ve predicted that was the direction that this conversation was headed. The curious eyes that turned to him compelled an answer out of him.
"... There weren't any devil fruits involved… I think?"
He was mostly sure there weren’t any users responsible. It would’ve taken multiple abilities to regrow his scorched organs while also sending him back to the past. And, at the beginning of the discussion, Toki had stated that anyone she sent to the future would still be in the same location. She couldn’t affect space, only time. But, Ace had ended up in the New World, on the Oro Jackson.
That was too much of a coincidence.
"A Grand Line mystery, then? Not that unlikely on these seas,” Mr Momora pitched in from where he, Crocus, and Rayleigh were playing a game of poker. Crocus was winning, unsurprisingly; that man was impossible to read. It was Millet, science obsessed as he was, that pitched in, "Maybe Ace-boy's simply meant to be here to keep history consistent?"
“After all, it’d be a temporal paradox if Acey’s presence here, let’s say, endangered his birth and anything he says or does could potentially affect that. It’s only logical to then assume that, yes, everything is set in stone, not despite him being here but because he’s here.”
It made a lot of sense, but Ace had no time to linger on the theory as a shout echoed suddenly, disrupting all the daily chaos of the Oro Jackson.
"Buggy!"
Ace shot up to his legs before he’d registered it, his sandwich abandoned just as his seat was. Racing to the right starboard where other crewmates had gathered, he pushed his way past them. Shanks leaned over the taffrail, frantically searching the water’s surface for any sign of movement. He slid an arm around the redhead’s waist, stopping him from jumping overboard without any safety line.
"Shanks! Kid, stop panicking for a sec! What happened?"
"Buggy fell overboard!”
Normally, this wouldn’t’ve worried Ace too much. But, just that morning, Buggy had showcased his consumption of the ‘famed’ devil fruits. The longer they waited, the deeper he sank. Based on everyone else’s demeanors, they didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Forcing the distraught Shanks to look at him, Ace ordered him to stay put as he located a buoy. Buggy would be deadweight once fished out.
Shanks dived, the second that Ace had fastened his safety line and tested its integrity. He’d barely managed to secure his precious hat.
Their two cabin boys below the waves and Ace’s tense form by the railing surveying the water for disturbances of any kind, alerted everyone present that it wasn’t some joke. A joke in bad taste would’ve been better than this. One hand clutching at the life line and straw hat while the other held the buoy, he was ready the second two heads breached the surface, Shanks gasping for air.
The two safely aboard, Ace scanned Buggy over for any injuries. The blue haired teenager had a few bruises on his arms, but no blood or visible cuts.
"Is he alright?" Shanks rasped out.
"He inhaled a lot of water.” Rolling Buggy onto his back, he hovered over his mouth and nose to verify if he was breathing. Nothing. Grasping Buggy’s small wrist, he thumbed the skin to find a pulse. Nothing. Keeping his arms straight, Ace pressed down onto the boy’s chest and let go. Again. And Again.
"I… I don't understand, he's a good swimmer. What happened…"
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
"He ate a devil fruit,” Ace huffed, concentrating on the task at hand.
"That's not just a myth?"
Fifteen . Sixteen. Seventeen.
"Hell no,” he gritted out, “devil fruit users are notorious anchors."
Eighteen. Nineteen. Buggy lurched forward, coughing out the water that’d filled his lungs. For a few more minutes, he hacked, as if ready to vomit out a lung.
"Welcome back, little anchor."
☆
That evening, the sky was a consuming darkness, without a single cloud present. The milky way shone through all so brightly in contrast. Stars were essential to navigation in any other seas than the Grand Line. Here, the log pose was the one thing that sailors could trust and if they didn’t, they’d lose their way.
Perhaps, that was how Buggy felt at that moment.
Ace found the teenager huddled in a corner near the stern, his form curled over himself, arms tight around his legs and head bent. Decidedly, defeated. Had it been himself, Ace would’ve likely driven off anyone who’d tried to approach him. He would’ve raged blindly and snarled at them like a wild animal. In a way, it was what he’d done to Luffy when they’d first been introduced. He’d desperately tried to fend off the rubber-boy. He’d sent tree trunks rolling down a hill his way, pushed him off a bridge down a ravine, left him to fend off beasts of every type. For days, weeks, months, Luffy had continued to chase after him no matter what trial he’d subjected him to.
He dug through Ace’s walls until there was a hole big enough for him to fit through. Until his nails were bloodied and dirtied just like Ace had been.
Luffy never gave up and he’d never allowed Ace to think that he wasn’t worth it.
And, Ace wasn’t going to give up on Buggy.
He didn’t know what had occurred between this time and the moment he’d met the future captain on the Grand Line over twenty years from now, but no matter what it was, Ace would be his friend. Perhaps he’d be snapped at, but it didn’t stop him from dropping down beside the blue haired cabin boy. The noise startled the boy to look up. His eyes were red just like the nose that he was so self-conscious about. Actually, when he thought about it, Ace recalled that the older Buggy had been much more defensive about his prominent nose than this version of him.
A young pirate without the protection of the famous King of Pirates; people had likely thought themselves brave for making fun of a young man and they’d likely paid flashily for it.
Red rimmed, yet they were fierce as they glared at him. His lips were pulled back, exposing his gums, on the edge of lashing out. Buggy’s clenched fists promised a fist fight over petty words; it was uncharacteristic of him. Buggy often talked big and he was quite adept with his knives, but he was definitely not a brawler. Unless Shanks and a trivial argument were involved. But Ace ignored all the warning signs, as he so often did, and grabbed the bull by the horns.
“That devil fruit wasn’t in your plans, was it?”
“Shuddup.” To be expected. But Ace knew how to handle Buggy's solemn mood all too well. Perhaps Thatch hadn't been too far off the mark in his approach.
“I thought it was weird. I know how bad those fruits taste and you didn’t even flinch.” Buggy shoved his elbow into Ace's ribs. He didn't appreciate getting his act called out so blatantly. But, Ace wasn’t here to mince his words. Perhaps he’d learnt more from Rayleigh than spirit. “You’re really gonna shove it in my face? I can’t swim anymore — I’ll never be able to find that damn treasure on the seabed! And I even lost the map!”
“A treasure?”
“We’re pirates! Treasure is the most important thing and now I can't ever explore the world’s depths for all the wealth that could be hidden there!”
Treasure. Pirates loved treasures, but Ace had learned that what defined such a thing varied with every pirate. Luffy’s treasure had been a worn out straw hat. Sabo’s had been his freedom. Whitebeard’s had been his family and the bonds they shared.
For Buggy, it was riches. Simple as that.
“Buggy, why are gold and jewels so important to you?”
“They’re the physical proof that I succeeded, right? If I was the richest person on earth, people would have to acknowledge me!”
That sounded all too familiar to Ace. He’d been like that just a while back; deluded with the idea of surpassing Roger’s legacy. To be the strongest. To do the unthinkable: defeating Whitebeard. Something Roger had never done. Although, now he knew that the two were more akin to brothers than enemies.
"I tried to kill Whitebeard once. Well, a lot more than once,” Ace chuckled, blunt nails scratching the back of his ear. He’d been hotblooded and overconfident; not a very good look. Blood drained from Buggy’s face, leaving him pale as a ghost. His mouth dropped open, aghast. A reasonable reaction to such an admission, but Ace still felt himself redden. From his chest to the tip of his ears. It wasn’t the time to be embarrassed. He needed for the teenager to understand; sometimes, wanting and needing weren’t the same.
“I wanted proof that my existence was worth something. Recognition, glory, fame.” It was all a lie that he’d convinced himself to believe, went unsaid. Damp blue eyes met his. Ace had managed to convey his message. Dragging the teen into his side, he felt Buggy slump, trusting Ace to support him. His next words were whispered between them, only for their ears and the sea to witness.
“I think… that you’re more important than any treasure. And if what you want most is treasure, then as long as you’ve got good comrades, you can overcome anything.” A sob broke free. Salty tears left damp spots where Buggy had buried his face into his shoulder. A gloved hand curled itself around the cotton of Ace’s orange shirt.
“Whe-where will I find them?”
“I think that you already got 'em, kiddo.”
☆
“The wound’s just about healed,” Crocus declared, pleased with how well the gash looked, as he wrapped Ace’s lower abdomen with clean gauze. There were no obvious signs of infection and the cut left by the knife had scabbed over. If Ace refrained from scratching at it, scarring could be avoided. Asking the boy to be careful had been a challenge in and of itself. Clearly something he’d taken after Roger.
“Thanks, doc.” Ace jumped from his seat to pull on his leather vest. Keen eyes followed the rushed movement. Despite the professional and safe setting they were in, Ace was noticeably uncomfortable showcasing his bare back. His leg had bounced the entirety of the checkup and still, his arm jerked as he flung on his shirt.
“Remember, nearly healed don’t mean completely healed,” but despite these words, Crocus’ attention lingered on Ace’s broad back. The issue wasn’t turning his back on people, but rather revealing what covered it. The defilement of a jolly roger, especially on one’s back could lead to many conflicting emotions. Remorse and shame, to name a few. There were many ways Ace’s back could’ve gotten branded as it was.
Knowing the boy, Crocus refused to even consider cowardice.
But the end result was the same no matter the reason.
“Ya died, didn’t ya?”
Breath caught in his throat, Ace froze in his tracks. Heart pounding in his ears, he fingered the hem of his jacket in hopes of regaining a sense of self. Of stability. But the shaking of his hands made the task difficult. It was suddenly much too hot under the artificial lights of the infirmary.
Ace needed air. And space.
Grounding touch led him gently to the cold floor. A wall at his back, wood beneath him, rough but familiar palms. Panic rescinding, thoughts settling and clearing of the sounds of artillery and the metallic fog that’d permeated Marineford. He swallowed down the stench of burning skin and entrails, and forced himself to forget the way Luffy had screamed himself. Screamed until he was hoarse. Fighting against insurmountable obstacles and odds.
“Back with me?” Crocus’ gruff voice was softer than Ace had ever heard it. “I brought back some bad memories, sorry kiddo.” The hands that had pulled him back from the darkness, rubbed at his forearms. Tension left his muscles as he allowed himself to be rooted back onto the Oro Jackson. Where it was safe.
Where his family was.
“I’m okay now.”
It’d bothered Crocus from the moment he’d examined it. The symmetry of the burn on his back and chest; the only logical explanation being that it was a clean hit through. But, that would’ve killed anybody. Yet, Ace’s lungs and heart were in good condition, Crocus had made sure of it. Learning that the boy had been a devil fruit user, and a fire logia one at that, had only opened a floodgate of questions.
How could someone intangible be scarred, how could fire be burned, how, how, and more hows.
Ace had made himself tangible. It was the only explanation. And for Ace, who’d proven himself a mirror image of Roger time and time again, only one objective could unravel this mystery.
“Who were ya protecting?”
“My little brother.”
“They alive?”
The answer that came was mumbled, the vulnerable voice of a lost and broken child. And Crocus regretted asking.
“...I don’t know.”
☆
Crossing the Calm Belt to reach the east blue had been surprisingly easy. The Navy had — with the aid of the infamous Vegapunk, no doubt — engineered paddle vessel's with the keel and hull coated in sea prism to safely cross the belts that isolated the Grand Line from the remainder of the world. Roger's crew had paddled through it with sheer force and willpower.
Ace tried convincing himself that the voices he heard at night were just his imagination. Corners of his mind better left untouched.
They'd made a quick stop at a deserted island named Rusukaina. The beasts roaming its wild vegetation were stronger than those that had dwelled atop Mt. Colubo. Rayleigh had explained that the forty-eight seasons that Rusukaina cycled through had ensured the survival of the fittest. It was how the lifestyle Luffy and Ace had adopted on Dawn Island. They’d foraged for their next opponent every day. Testing their might, until nothing stood above them anymore.
The idea of the east blue had excited Ace at first. It was where he’d grown up. But, nothing could've prepared Ace for Tequila Wolf. They'd followed the incomplete bridge for miles, until they'd reached the latest settlement and the end of the bridge. Hammering had shuttered through, louder than the waves. Hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves focused on a single task.
For whatever reason, the World Government had ordered its construction. Over 700 years ago, Taro had said. The descendants of the world nobles who'd ordered the building of this bridge had likely long forgotten about it. What did it matter to them that thousands of humans slaved away with only death as the means to liberation?
It didn't. They were like ants under their heels.
It left a bitter taste in Ace's mouth even now.
It would've been Ace's fate, had the Navy ever caught him. The child of an infamous pirate and criminal. In the world's eyes at the very least; he would've been deserving. He'd heard enough of what he deserved in the streets of Goa. Seeing evidence of the world nobles' continued influence and power, the way they'd robbed generations after generations of their freedom, formed a different opinion of the Revolutionary Army and its leader. Monkey D. Dragon. Luffy's father. Typically pirates and revolutionaries didn't interact, but Ace had a vested interest in the man.
Still, little was known about the army and its members outside of its leader. It was only at Marineford that Dragon's full name had been revealed. Something Garp had worked hard to keep hidden, erasing the obvious connection existing between a young boy raised in Foosha village and the world's most wanted man.
They'd grown up on these very seas. They'd fought and survived. It was where they'd set sail searching for freedom and their dreams. And right next door, thousands worked day in and day out for the whims of men. Of scum.
A veil lifted. The rosy tint of innocence that had shrouded over a younger Ace's perspective dulled.
Those days were long gone.
“Yer lookin' nostalgic, Ace! Thinkin' 'about home?" Roger slurred, cheeks flushed from the hot, blaring sun. And likely from the nearly empty rum bottle in hand. Tact lost with the little inhibitions that he had.
The crew had moved on easily from the glimpses of Tequila Wolf to party the night away. Ace simply couldn't.
Home.
The answer as to where Ace's home was varied drastically over the years. Before meeting Sabo, home had been a nonexistent concept. Then, it was by his brothers' sides. Once he'd set sail, that answer hadn't changed, but the Spadille had shaped itself into becoming a second home. With an outstretched hand, Ace had found a new home as Whitebeard's son aboard the Moby Dick.
Now, home was on this very ship, surrounded by a mismatched set of crewmates. Each of them lunatics in their own right, ready to follow a dying man to the ends of the world.
The east blue itself had never been home to Ace. Not when the entire world was after his head because of whose blood flowed in his veins. He was unwanted. No, his place — where he belonged — was with his loved ones.
Luffy, Sabo, Dadan, Makino, Dogra, Magra, the old geezer; they were all from the east blue.
It was the same, yet different.
Luffy and Sabo weren't born. There was no blond noble running away from home. No crying rubber-boy chasing after two older brothers and a seemingly impossible dream. No mountain bandit who'd raised the spawn of the Pirate King. No marine who'd forsaken duty for a newborn.
Ace had changed.
He'd seen the world. He'd matured.
It wasn't the east blue that he knew. To this version of himself, it would never be. But the memories remained; the good and the bad.
No, this wasn't home. But in a different life, it was where he would gain his first one.
So, Ace remained silent and Roger accepted it for the answer that it was.
☆
Going to deliver Binks’ Sake,
We are pirates dividing the seas,
The waves are our pillows, the ship our roost,
Flying the proud skull on our flags and our sails,
Wind ruffled Ace's hair, baring his face. Cheeks resting over crossed arms, he sighed. At peace. The seas of the east were tranquil, a sharp contrast to the Grand Line. Here, they only needed the bare minimum of hands for the ship's proper functioning. The experienced crewmembers of the Oro Jackson could've easily sailed the blues blindfolded.
Humming to an unknown melody, ingrained within his soul, Ace closed his eyes. The rhythm had been with him for as long as he'd been alive, but its origin escaped him. Every time, the same refrain on loop. It helped drown out the echoing of hammers.
Yet, something nagged at the back of his mind that this was a song he should've recognized.
Two slaps of a palm on wood, forced Ace to open the eyes he'd unknowingly closed.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Eyelids falling shut once more, Ace huffed. Yeah, right. “Ray-san, you’re the stingiest person I know. It’s not good to lie, ya know?” The next slap hit the back of Ace's head. It was gentle. A reprimand, but not one loud enough to break the calm of the moment.
Loneliness. Ace was well-acquainted with it. Even with Sabo fighting and running by his side, it'd seized at him. After Luffy, those moments were fewer and further in between. Its ugly head had reared itself back more predominantly when Ace had been all alone on his dingy at 17 or when he'd first woken on the Moby Dick, and then the Oro Jackson. Stuck with only his thoughts as company, it'd been the worst in Impel Down.
“It feels — weird. To think that two years have passed since I've seen my brother. I miss him and…" he still couldn't speak of Sabo, "and my old crew, but I’m not lonely.”
Memories of them accompanied him everywhere and he missed them more than words could describe. It stung how couldn't quite recall the exact shade of blue Sabo's eyes had been, how his voice pitched higher as he burst out laughing, or how the stitches below Luffy's right eye disappeared when he smiled wide. But, he wasn't lonely. He had a family here, too.
A home. There it was again, that word. That idea.
“That’s good. No one deserves to be lonely in this wide world, Ace.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.”
☆
Their side quest to the east blue was over nearly as soon as it’d begun and the next course was set for fish-man island. The power to destroy the world could be found there. To be awakened. But before venturing to crushing depths, they'd have to stop at Sabaody. Just like Tequila Wolf, it brought a sour taste to his mouth. Nobles from every corner of the globe convened at this point to cross the Red Line through Mary Geoise. A tourist spot where slaves could be acquired easily, thanks to the Celestial Dragons’ business.
At first, the island looked just as it had the first time Ace had anchored there with the Spadille. Unloading empty crates to stock, he’d jumped at every noise, on edge. But there was nothing. Only overactive imagination. Map laid out, Mr Momora circled the groves 10 to 29 as lawless. Weird. Ace distinctively remembered groves 1 to 9, warning off the marines from the neighboring groves. A skeletal body swaying with the wind, decomposing white and navy uniform hanging onto bones. It seemed that the Golden Era of Pirates had more repercussions than anticipated.
It made Ace less reluctant in allowing Shanks and Buggy to head-off towards Sabaody Park alone.
With some of the crewmates, Ace made his way to grove 13 where they’d be meeting a contact. A woman known as Shakky. It was Blumarine who informed him that Shakky was a former pirate captain who’d been active over a decade ago. The image forming in his mind was that of a middle-aged woman, some stray gray here and there, robust build. Perhaps a bit manly, similarly to Dadan.
The bar that she ran was in a state of despair. Moss covered a majority of the structure, wood peaking through and there; it looked like it was a breeze away from crumbling apart. Hanging by the skin of its teeth was a sign spelling out, ‘Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar’. A promise for an interesting encounter. Their large figures filled up the small bar quickly and the image Ace had built, shattered. Shakky looked much too young to have been active on the seas over two decades ago. But the ease in which she leaned over the counter, dragging Rayleigh over by the chin to press her lips to his, spoke of long learned familiarity.
Blushing, Ace averted his eyes. He would’ve never pegged Rayleigh as a taken man.
“Welcome back, boys. How may I be of help?”
Any woman who could tie down a man like Rayleigh deserved to be feared.
☆
Nothing quite compared to the moment a coated ship submerged. The buoyancy of the vessel now being lower than water, it sank steadily until the world that they knew vanished. Everything became tinted in various shades of blue and green and hints of sunlight peeking through. Truly beautiful, in an otherworldly manner. Everything was so very quiet. The water density muffled the cries of seagulls and the popping of bubbles so distinctive to Sabaody. Rays of sunlight filtered through the surface, illuminating the gigantic roots of the mangroves. Ace watched schools of fish swim by, unbothered by the drifting ship and at the corner of his eye, a large tail disappeared behind a mangrove.
As a sailor, it was understood that many things lurked at all times below the hull. No one truly knew the expanse of what lived beneath the waves, for all that they knew, it could’ve been things of nightmares. It was best not to stare too deep into the sea for fear of what might show itself.
Here, it was all in plain sight.
But despite all the sea creatures that could crush them with its enormous jaws and the dangers surrounding them, the calm that embraced them existed nowhere else. Once below the tides, there was little they could do as the ship cruised along the surface sea currents. Instead, Ace found himself a place on the deck. Arm below his head, acting as a pillow, he lounged. It was perfect to admire the sights. He welcomed the younger ones to pile at his sides; their arms were warm against his and their closeness comforting. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them.
He’d only done the trip once with his first crew. Perilous as it was, experienced sailors found ways to avoid it. Even Roger’s crew preferred traveling through the Calm Belts. Underwater, whether the crew survived or not wasn’t a matter of guts or trust, but rather depended on a good coating job, their navigator, and luck. Lots of it.
The coating engineer they’d hired was reputed, so Ace didn’t worry too much about it. Its stability would be tested at the lower depths and in which case, if there was an issue, it would be out of their control. This was not Mr Momora’s first voyage to fish-man island, which meant that he knew what signs to keep a lookout for. As long as they avoided obstacles that would endanger the ship’s structure and remained clear of sea kings, they only needed to be carried by the currents.
As for Luck… Roger made up for it in abundance.
Releasing a deep breath, he closed his eyes. It would be a while before they reached the seabed, so he expanded his senses and tracked the voice of every creature that entered his observation range. From the nearly imperceptible plankton drifting to the familiar dominating ones belonging to conquerors. But, the three’s spirits were so loud that they smothered nearly everything else. It was good practice for Ace to deafen their presence and focus on what was being stifled in the background.
Centering himself, he fell deeper into the mental scope mapping his environment. Large shadows were positioned within striking distance of the Oro Jackson, but they lacked any aggression. Alongside, marine life of every size accompanied the monstrous creatures. No agitation to indicate any semblance of fear; the sea life trusted the sea kings not to attack.
Thunderous, distorted voices touched the edge of his scope and unease gripped him as each syllable sunk under his skin. Ace hugged the small forms of the children closer. If only not to feel so insignificant. Shanks glimpsed up at him with confusion, likely sensing his sudden trepidation. His chin dug into his sternum, grounding him to this moment. Shaky fingers ran through curling red strands. He exhaled and tried convincing himself that what he’d heard was just the twisted product of his mind.
Yet, they resonated like a tone dial stuck on replay.
Our s̶̛̫̆̚o̸̳͎̲̾͛͠v̵̮͎̾̓͝e̵̘̓̊̕r̸̯͎͊ẻ̵͖i̸͍̯̺͆g̵͇͈͝n̶̖̽ͅ will be born ̷̱͉̒̆s̴̡̀̃̅͜ͅò̸͍͖̇̀o̵͍̖̮͝n̶̯̺̐̽ͅ.̷͉̈͘
̶̘̂Ä̴͚͍̥́n̶̟̄o̸͓̙̻͐́ṱ̵̹̄̀ͅh̴̟͎̽e̶͙̥̎̉͗͜r̶̠̀̋̆ ̷̢̜̟̈́ in a distant sea. The whales are waiting with anticipation for the day ̵̛̼͒t̶͈̞̟̔h̴̯͛͋̅ͅȅ̴̯̱͂ ̸̰̻̈́̏ṱ̵̳̳̀̈͝ŵ̷̱̥͉͆ö̵̠̤ ̶̯̝̿̕m̵̬̲̠̏ę̶͉̫̚ẹ̷̯̐̽͆t̶̻͕̊͑ ̷̬͖̀a̴̛̯͊ģ̸͌̽͝á̴͚̗̕͘ȋ̵̥͑ṉ̴̈.̶̛̜̙̮̍̑
We’ve been waiting for so long. Surely, everything will go well ̴͉̈́̅t̵̰̽h̸͕͙͉͐̌i̶̠̻̝̐̌̋s̷̯̣͌͐͝ ̸͓͔̳̄̄͝t̶͖͝ī̷̝̗͒͐m̷̜̜͙̋e̴̠̍̓.̷͈̪̲̑
Just ̸̟̾̔t̷̖͇̺͘e̸̯͖̠̎̊̅n̷̬͔̮͐̿͋ until the birth. Another fifteen to grow.
Shivers raked his body, but he couldn’t tell if it was a result of the colder waters they were now cruising along or because of the conversation his mind had conjured. Hair raising along his tanned arms, he tried erasing the garbles that could’ve never originated from human vocal cords. A blanket landed atop their pile as Mr Momora instructed everyone to cover up. They were reaching the undersea waterfall. But, any reassurance he felt shattered as Roger asked his first mate, “Rayleigh, did you hear that voice?”
Ace wished he could’ve deluded himself a little longer.
He couldn’t ignore the feeling of something watching them as they ascended into the darkness below.
☆
Thousands of meters below the surface, the very bottom of the oceanic trench, yet the sand below sparkled as if under the very sun itself. But, it was only a mockery, as there was barely any warmth. None of the freedom and the snug comfort of its embrace.
They were stopped at the gates by royal guards, a large merman who rivaled the size of the Oro Jackson at their lead. Ace thought it was unusual. Although the royal guards patrolled the island, they didn’t directly involve themselves with screening new arrivals at the gates. Something must’ve happened. Titling his head from where it rested on his crossed arms, he observed the many mermen that surrounded their ship, tridents pointed threateningly at them. If push came to shove, a fight could go either way. Merfolk had the advantage in mobility. In a few quick strokes, they’d be onto them, just as suddenly as they’d appeared. Their weapons would easily pierce the resin that coated the boat, endangering its structure.
If they wound up in the sea, they’d be crushed under the pressure before any of them realized it,
“Halt! State your purpose, surface dwellers!” the bearded merman ordered, vibrations echoing through the dense waters. Looking closer, Ace noticed that he had incredibly hairy arms. Orange curls still peeked through the top of his chest armor.
“Wait, Neptune!” their captain called out, “It’s me, Roger! Don’t you recognize me, old friend?”
“Roger? Oh, it all makes sense now. You’re here to fulfill the prophecy-jamon.”
At the mention of a prophecy, the crew shared a look of confusion. But as the guards led them through the gates, they figured that it wasn’t of any importance. The ship moored, Sunbell took charge to divide the tasks for re-supplying. However, King Neptune and his sentinels were still waiting for them by the time that they were done. It garnered a lot of curious looks. Royalty often didn’t mix with the common people; at least, that was what Ace had observed in Goa. Where those from the upper echelons of society sneered at the ones below as if dirt. Granted, Whitebeard and his brothers had always spoken fondly of Neptune. A king of the people.
A young fishman came up to the king, webbed hands outstretched to offer a shell. A gentle smile graced the king’s lips as he accepted the gift. Large fingers delicately plucked the shell from the child’s hands, careful to not break the small trinket.
“So, what’s this whole deal ‘bout a prophecy, Neptune?”
“We were told that someone would destroy the gates and now you’re all here, so logically you must be responsible.” Ever dramatic, Roger gasped, hand to his chest. As if the accusation was unbelievable. Or farfetched.
“I didn’t take ya for a man who’d be afraid of a lil’ prophecy,” rolling his mustache’s curls between fingers, mindlessly shaping them, Roger defended, “Anyway, we ain’t up to anything!” Eyes nearly rolling, it was obvious the king didn’t trust Roger in the slightest concerning the matter at hand.
“You say that every time and yet,” Ace perked up, ready to hear what ridiculous bullshit Roger had committed in the past, “the last time that you were here, you cau —”
“Your majesty! A sea king bit through the gate!”
The raven haired groaned as the king was interrupted and the topic was promptly forgotten in favor of the guard’s report. Eyebrows wiggling up and down and with a smug grin, Roger wordlessly conveyed ‘see, told you so’. Neptune’s massive figure slumped in defeat, as the soldier reached them to further explain the situation. Despite their best efforts, they were unable to prevent nature from doing its work. Trident in hand, the king’s posture straightened as he adopted an air of authority to relay orders for sealing the breach in the gate’s outer bubble.
“It’s difficult to believe the gentle sea kings would attack the island-jamon.”
Gentle was not an adjective Ace would associate to the ferocious sea kings. They ruled the seas not only because of their size, but because of their destructive power. Seafarers could handle the stray sea king in the right circumstances, but one bite was enough to total even a galleon. Anyone who fell overboard could easily become their meal. Gone in one bite. Thankfully, sea kings were not pack creatures and hunted individually. There was a reason anyone with common sense avoided the Calm Belts.
The Roger Pirates obviously lacked that common sense.
“Neptune! I was wondering —”
“No-jamon.”
“Ya didn’t even let me finish!”
“I know that whatever you’ll ask will mean trouble for us.”
“Have some faith in me, old friend!”
Crates in tow, they trailed after Neptune and his men to the plaza connected to the port. They could restock their cargo there while the captain tried convincing the king to listen to his request. Neptune finally gave in as Roger’s arms’ movements got wilder.
Fish-man Island was always a sight to behold with its vibrant coral reefs and just as varied inhabitants. Tails of every shape and pattern. Striped navy, white, and yellow of a moorish idol mermaid or the vivid orange of a clownfish merman. The long and stiff gray fins which belonged to various species of sharks. Humans were few and far in between in Coral Hill. More than one look of suspicion was sent their way. Discernable in the way that the merfolk gripped tighter at their child’s arm to ensure that they wouldn’t stray away. Or the way that continuously looked back as they left. Not many would leave their back open to who they perceived as untrustworthy.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight.
Ace knew that the relationship between fish-men and humans would only continue to head south. The Golden Age of Piracy would send hundreds of crews to cross the Red Line; those greedy enough, would kidnap mermaids in hopes of making a quick buck. Whitebeard would eventually declare it his territory, but hot-headed rookies like Ace would only take the proudly displayed flag as a challenge.
Murmurs of the sea kings that’d bitten through the gate were gradually spreading through the plaza’s crowd. Even the general populace refused to believe that the docile sea kings would do such a thing. Theories as to the cause of this odd behavior flowed with the conversation. Until, “The sea kings are restless. They’re waiting for the mermaid princess to be born.”
It was outlandish, yet spoken with absolute certainty. Ace didn’t see what connection existed between the sea kings and a mermaid princess. However, everyone who’d heard the words turned to the young mermaid and her crystal ball. A vibrant blue shark tail flicked behind her.
“Another prophecy, Shyarly?”
That word again: prophecy. Events fated to happen. By everyone’s enraptured eyes, there was some measure of truth to her words. Neptune had been sure of the gate’s destruction and used the word prophecy in reference to the incident. Clapping merrily, a woman exclaimed, “His majesty will have a child? What wonderful news!” Agreements rang, as if the child’s words were fact. The ability to tell the future sounded horrifying to Ace.
Where did freedom exist, if everything to happen was already pre-decided for them.
☆
Two blocks of stone awaited them deeper into the sea forest; one the color of the deep sea, the other of blood. It was the first time Ace had ever seen a road poneglyph and its crimson shade wracked him with shivers. Death lingered around this stone. Wars had been shed to ensure its protection. Death awaited any unprepared for the journey it promised.
Hands settled on his hips, Oden was silent as he read the first stone. “This one isn’t very important. It’s just an apology letter from someone named JoyBoy.” The king’s tail twitched, startled. “You can… really read this script?” The samurai nodded, moving on the second poneglyph. Gaban readied a large sheet of papyrus, a cloth, and a jar of charcoal to transfer the red stone’s content. Reverently, Neptune brushed his hand over the navy stone, his blue eyes just as transfixed.
“What about the ancient weapon Poseidon? Can it really be found here?” Roger inquired, either to Oden or to Neptune. Adam’s apple bobbing, the king seemed to reach a life-altering revelation. “... Honestly, the prophecy Shyarly spoke of the mermaid princess sent shivers down my spine-jamon. It’s said that every few centuries, a mermaid is born with the ability to communicate with the sea kings.”
The power to destroy the world.
Water lapped at the coastline of islands and monsters roamed the seas. An army awaited word to turn calm, azure waters into raging ruby. The only ones safe would be the nobles out of reach atop the Red Line. Restless in anticipation for their queen’s arrival, the mermaid princess: Poseidon. Weapons could easily fall into the wrong hands, a mermaid could easily be kidnapped; but a person's will was much harder to break or manipulate.
Perhaps it was better this way.
☆
All of the prophecies spoken by the little shark mermaid had come true, so their next step was gathering more information. Neptune informed them that she couldn’t provoke a prophecy on demand, but additional information could be perceived if it’d already been shown to her. She was where they’d last seen her, in the port town’s busy square. Her little crystal ball was perched atop a dark violet tablecloth. Unceremoniously, Roger took the seat facing her and asked bluntly, “Shyarly, when will the mermaid princess be born?”
Blue irises peered into the reflective globe, hands hovering on either side. Ace leaned over to catch a glimpse of whatever she saw. There was nothing. Only her own blurred reflection greeted him. But, she must’ve seen something, because she confidently answered his captain, “Ten years!” He couldn’t help but wonder if this ability was the result of a devil fruit or a natural ability. Perhaps a form of observation only awakened in a few. He’d heard of pirates capable of seeing into the future. Then again, not to this extent.
There were too many inexplicable phenomena in this world. Ace’s travel to the past one of them.
As if summoned by that very thought, curious eyes shifted toward him. They hovered over his face and bore into his soul. Once again, she must’ve seen something because as the others’ topic of conversation shifted, she ominously added for Ace’s ears only to hear, “Death greets you, cheater.”
☆
No one knew why the islands in the Grand Line were so… screwed up. For lack of a better word. Everything that the human psyche could conjure up probably existed. Where running on air wasn’t just a child’s fantasy and prehistoric jungles catered to an adventurer’s craving awaited. Totte Land, the paradise of big eaters, was tame in comparison.
They were worlds of dreams. Similar to devil fruits in a way; just as limitless.
Nothing was impossible on the Grand Line. If it wasn’t recorded somewhere, that was simply because it had yet to be explored.
But out of all the infamous islands of the New World, Raijin was well reputed for its yearlong thundering rain. Only batshit insane pirates or incompetent navigators followed the log pose to its shores. Ace was ready to bet his hand that Luffy would have willingly ventured to it, just as Roger had. To Mr Momora’s objections. Reasonably so. He was very vividly reminded of his humanity as lighting smote the sand, turning it into glass. No umbrella could survive a hit from that. Shanks didn’t seem to share the same reluctance as he cheered to the prospect of exploring.
Somehow, Buggy also found himself dragged ashore — very unwillingly, Ace might add. Again, reasonably so.
“Are ya ready, kids?” Roger called, ever enthusiastic. Even as he chased death.
And while a combined, “Aye, aye, Captain,” was uttered, one was indisputably more in tune with the captain’s tone.
Ace prayed for Buggy’s sanity.
☆
Seagulls flew in circles above the Oro Jackson, feathers blending with the overcast sky above. They’d conquered through a storm the night before and avoided a Grand Line cyclone. It left Ace on edge as the sea greeted them back from their adventures from Paradise, reminding him of why it was known as the pirate’s graveyard. No one doubted that the seabed was covered in debris of wrecked ships and the bones left by their crews. But, their escape had felt unnatural. As if the heavens were looking out for their survival. Winds blowing in their favor. Ace couldn’t help but recall the famous Edd War and the rumors that had flown surrounding Roger’s mysterious victory during a storm that’d destroyed half of Shiki the Golden Lion’s fleet.
This morning, only a slight drizzle fell. A rare occurrence in the New World where the winds raged furiously on a good day. No island on the horizon and no chores on the roster, Shanks had proposed fishing to pass the time. Bored out of his mind, Ace had agreed. A bare left foot dangled from the taffrail, heel ever so slightly hitting the starboard as gray irises bore where the fishing line pierced the water’s surface. Heavy eyelids closed repeatedly over the hours they sat there. Each time, Ace jerked awake. Ripples and foam indicated movement below every so often, the only sign of a potential catch. But, nothing so far.
Every so often, a passing crewmember would inquire about their haul. Or rather, the lack of one.
“Anything bite, boys?"
“Nah,” Shanks would drawl, elongating the single vowel, his chin perched on curled knuckles. Once, someone teasingly pitched in, “Coulda guessed dat from how Acey-boy’s ‘sleep.”
God, he’d forgotten how tortuously boring fishing was. He couldn’t be blamed for falling asleep.
Hunting was much more his forte. The brush of wet stalks against bare arms, narrowed eyes roving over muddy prints to trace the path of prey. Cries of birds and the buzz of insects, constant companions in the long, sweltering summer days. Luffy would try to be discreet, only to step on a brittle branch, nipping in the bud any successful attempts at an ambush. Or he’d shush at them, finger over his lips, only creating more noise. Before Sabo’s death, the blond had been quite efficient in preventing Luffy’s numerous blunders.
It hadn’t stopped the rubber-boy’s innate talent of ending up in their prey’s toothy mouths one time too many.
Before he knew it, Ace had gone into dreamland once. The familiar forests of Mt. Colubo awaited him along with the ringing laughter of two boys, a ragged blond and smaller one wearing an old straw hat. Empty faces greeted him. Except for a wide smile. One was missing a tooth.
For the residents on the Oro Jackson, the only indication that the raven haired had fallen asleep were his slumped shoulders and head. Chin resting against his collarbones. During his narcolepsy attacks, Ace’s muscles often froze. An arm would remain in the air, fork still clutched firmly, or his a fist clenched mid-spar. There was no risk of his fishing rod being lost to the waves below.
The same couldn’t be said for Ace.
Despite the sailor’s seemingly easy-going demeanors, they were always on alert. Any sudden weather change required immediate reactions. A large enough wave combined with an unfortunate gust of air meant an overboard body. And with the younger ones so close to the edge, their senses were attuned to any minutiae change. Instantly, as Ace’s form began lurching towards the water, a hand reached to grab at his collar and another reached across his torso. Donquino transferred the fishing pole from Ace’s hand to his own while Isaac lifted the young adult to deposit him onto the deck.
He slumbered, still deeply in Morpheus’ embrace.
☆
They had two of the four red stones; one that Roger had stolen from Big Mom years ago and the one from fish-man island. The remaining two pieces of this puzzle were nearly in sight as well. Ready to be slotted in their respective spaces to complete the picture.
Log set for the isolated country of Wano, they readied themselves for the tumultuous currents and weather that protected the island, day after day and century after century. Avoiding the pillars of rock and shipwrecks was only manageable in part to Mr Momora’s experience and brute strength. Biting cold wind swept through from the west, gaining intensity and power the closer they got to the waterfall that’d take them to Wano. Below, the tides rose higher.
“Toki!” Oden shouted, catching his wife. Her cheeks looked cherry red in contrast to her pallor. Ever well-mannered, her hand covered her painted lips as she coughed. In the days leading to their travel to Wano, she’d grown weaker and sicker. Her long voyage had finally caught up to her. The samurai carried her frail body to the infirmary, Crocus close on his heel. They couldn’t spare many men; the waters much too perilous. Whirlpools threatened to ensnare the Oro Jackson into a downward spiral to the bottom of the sea. It churned, back and forth rapidly.
There was nothing natural about these currents. No wind pattern or weather could result in such treacherous tides. If Ace had believed in the all-mighty, he might’ve compared it to the fury of a God.
Vibrations pierced the sea’s wrath as the hollow rumbling of a drum echoed. It was a noise he’d heard before. Back when he’d landed shipwrecked on Wano’s shore with the Spades. “Hurl the sails!” Ace cried urgently, for anyone to hear. Rushing to climb the mast, he trusted that the others were doing the same. Pirates knew to trust their guts. Moments later, Millet, Isaac, Mugren, and Ace had finished binding the deep red sails of the Oro Jackson just as massive carps breached the water’s surface. The ship gained speed as it followed the water’s flow.
Creaking, the boat just barely missed one of the many rock formations. With a sharp turn, the boat changed directions again, at the sea’s mercy.
“The water’s so clear we can see the fish!”
“Ain’t carps freshwater fish?”
“They are,” Ace confirmed, “but you should get ready for even crazier.”
It was time to go up the waterfall.
☆
Unfortunately, even Wano's natural barrier was rendered useless as enemies were invited by the usurper.
Distinctively, Ace remembers how the Spadille had washed ashore. The starved bodies of Wano’s citizens. Collarbones protruding, yet stomach bloated from ingesting water polluted by factory fumes and waste. Loud gurgling, flaking skin, and shaking hands devouring stolen supplies. Delirious from hunger, they’d attacked the Spade Pirates, weakened by the sea and disoriented, but still aware enough to allow the villagers to capture them. In the weeks that he’d stayed there, he’d learned a great deal about Wano, their lifestyle, traditions, and history.
Kurozumi Orochi, the shōgun who brought famine, terror, and death to his country. Vile hands tainted by greed, coiled to welcome misfortune upon others. The villagers of Amigasa couldn't tell Ace why their ruler was set on destroying their country. Of what grudge he held. What they knew was that the Kurozumi were once one of Wano’s most influential families, until the head of the clan was sentenced to honorable death by seppuku. It’d been revealed that he’d poisoned the daimyōs in hope of gaining the shōgunate. But, they’d judged that he’d repented for his crimes with his death. What drove Kurozumi Orochi in exchange was a mystery; he already had the position that his ancestors had coveted.
Then, he learned of Kaido’s alliance with the shōgun.
With his backing, he’d created factories to farm the mineral exclusive to Wano: sea prism. Unique in its durability and its properties allowing its contact to disarm all devil fruit users. It was an invaluable resource. With the right handling, it was infinitely versatile. Shackles, boats, bullets, weapons. There were many things that could be made with sea stone. The Navy had always appeared to have a monopoly on the mineral, but the true threat had been Kaido and Orochi. The vendors.
How profitable it must’ve been for them.
And it’d all started here, Ace realized as dark plumes of smoke engulfed the skyline. Towering pillars gushed out ash and toxins into the air. Tar adhered itself to his windpipe and lungs, the air heavy with it. He could only imagine how atrocious a rainy day would be. Fists clenched and jaw clenched, Ace forced himself to turn his back on this country once more. Roger had a dream to achieve; he needed Oden for it. A nearly empty hourglass hung over their captain’s head. They had no time to spare for a collapsing country.
Ruffling the young Momonosuke’s hair one last time, Ace gave the boy a gentle smile and held in the tears that threatened to overflow as he recalled grave markers. One for each of the Kozuki present. One for each of their retainers. Then, he pressed a kiss to Toki and Hyori’s cheeks; another goodbye. His heart felt heavy seeing them disembark.
Ace vowed, once more, to defeat Kaido and free Wano.
☆
Ace had never explored Zou before. Minks didn’t often leave their home island and considering that the only way to reach the wandering isle was with a vivre card, it explained how so few ever reached it. When Nekomamushi and Inuarashi had handed over the piece of paper and detailed that it was the key to finding Zou, Ace hadn’t truly understood. Until now. Even as he stood atop the elephant’s back, he could barely accept that it was reality.
Truly, nothing was impossible on the Grand Line.
Surprisingly, the Minks were a welcoming tribe. A warm, “Garchu! ” was uttered by every inhabitant they came across along with an affectionate rubbing of cheeks. It appeared that like the sky people, the Minks had retained a positive image of humans through their isolation. An image undistorted by slavery and suffering. With what he knew of the world, he was reluctant to think of it as good. It only made them more susceptible to the world’s cruelties.
With a single letter, they were led to the towering whale tree where the final road poneglyph was kept. Trekking up a narrow passageway, it took a few hours to reach the top. A single wrong step and they’d have a long fall down before going splat like an egg. But, concentrating on where his foot landed was difficult with how unnerved Ace felt. As if something massive was watching his every move.
Ace refused to remember the voices that he’d heard underwater.
The entrance was concealed by moss, blending with the rest of the whale. Roger’s victorious cry was heard before Ace ever saw the poneglyph. It was as bloody red just like the one on fish-man island. But the voices that came from it were different. Layering atop of the sensations of war and suffering, was regret. Regret for one's actions, guilt for the consequences that were brought forth, repenting to one day earn forgiveness. A sea of emotions raged inside Ace, none his own. Dam overflowing, tears slipped free despite his best effort to contain it all within him.
Nothing registered past the anguish. These were years, decades, if not centuries worth of agonizing over ceaseless pain and grief.
And Ace could do nothing but endure it.
☆
Something slammed against the wooden panels of the captain’s quarters, causing the deck to quieten down. Then rattling coughs. Ace could picture the viscous blood dribbling from Roger’s lips, staining his chin and the stubble there. A faint wheezing followed, the captain’s lungs struggling for a semblance of breath. None of them moved — not for a lack of caring, but out of respect towards the man who led them. He’d refused to let this illness stop his journey, to stop him from living the most of every second he had.
They wouldn’t treat him any differently for it.
Reassured that their captain hadn’t fallen and lost consciousness, they resumed their duties. The ship was busy once more as the cabin boys mopped the upper deck. Mr Momora examined a map with Rayleigh and Sunbell near the helm to chart out their next destination in accordance with the log pose. From where Ace was mending another hole in a worn shirt, he eyed the tension that lined their figures despite how nonchalant they appeared. Cursing, he shoved the finger he’d pricked into his mouth. Gray eyes darted back and forth from the clothes he was fixing and the captain’s cabin.
Blood welled up where he’d stung himself a second time.
Fuck it, he was too distracted for this, Ace decided. Clothes were soon abandoned on the crate that he’d occupied. But now that he stood in front of the quiet door separating Roger’s cabin from the main deck, his raised fist remained frozen. A few inches more and it’d be done. He just had to knock.
This wasn’t the time to hesitate. Time was running out.
With a deep inhale, Ace forced his hand to move. Knuckles rapped against the door before he was conscious that he’d done it. Well, it was now or never.
“Hey boss, can we talk?”
The answer came, muffled by the barrier. A simple wooden door. Made of Adam wood perhaps, but ultimately, just a door. It felt like much more. An insurmountable, indestructible wall.
“Ace? Of course, son, come on in.”
Door closed once more, the natural light was shut out, leaving only a small lamp to illuminate the space. The lights’ angles casted shadows that only served to accentuate how sickly Roger was. His cheeks were losing their fat, sinking at the bone. The skin below his eyes was wrinkled and bruised, aged. His lips which tended to be pale nowadays were the only bright aspect now. Tinted red from the blood he’d hacked out. A smidge was still noticeable near his chin.
“I — I need to tell you something.” Twisting and pulling at the hair that framed his face, Ace tried to recenter himself. “Please… just listen for now.” It wasn’t a word he’d used often for himself. Rather, it’d be solely used in regards to Luffy. Please take care of my younger brother, please look out for him, please, please, please. Words of politeness that he’d been taught by Makino. All for Luffy.
He hoped that it translated how important it was for Roger to simply listen.
“My mother’s name was Portgas D. Rouge. She died giving birth to me.” It was the first time Ace had ever spoken her name, much less about who she was. What she’d done. He’d refused to taint her memory by speaking about her. Not when he’d been the child of a demon. But now he knew — Roger was no demon. His blood wasn’t dirty. It was likely that Rouge and Roger had shared something special, just like any other person. Time had been their enemy, the world as well, but they were just people. People who’d turned the world on its head.
“Because of who my father was, the government tried erasing everyone who was related to him… They killed any babe that was suspected of being connected to him. Their search went on for months after his death.”
His knowledge of the purging of Baterilla was limited to what Garp had told him and what Sengoku had revealed to the world on the execution stand. Something trivial as the color of a newborn’s hair color could’ve meant their death. So many babes had been slaughtered in cold blood because of fear. All for nothing. Because Ace had lived despite everything. And not a hint of remorse laced Sengoku’s words and tone as he revealed this brutality to the world.
“Mom extended her pregnancy until it was safe to give birth. But the strain she’d put her body through was too much. I grew up, right under the government’s nose and became exactly what the world had feared; a pirate. Another outlaw, just like my father.” He hadn’t accomplished what his father had, but his name and reputation had brought terror to those who despised pirates. In the Golden Age of Piracy, it was all unaffiliated islands.
“I lived and died, hating my father. I hated him for dooming mom and me.”
I hated myself for taking her life.
“But now, I realize that I was wrong. If things had been different —” inhale, “you would’ve protected us.”
Breath caught in his chest, the silence that rang between them was heavy. Ace had laid himself bare, exposing his vulnerable heart and taken a deep dive into the abyss. He’d peered down at the endless void time and time again, envisioning the long and fatal descent. Now he’d stepped off the ledge.
And Roger was there to catch him in his free fall.
“Your mother must’ve loved you very much.” A calloused palm cupped at his cheeks, lifting Ace’s face, revealing a soul that had gone through too many hardships for its young age. A child demeaned from his birth and whose death had been celebrated worldwide. Enough suffering to fill an ocean’s worth. He’d endured on and on, when a few words of affirmation could’ve lightened that suffocating self-hatred. His loathing had clouded what his mother’s sacrifice had meant, so Roger took it upon himself to clear that ever lingering cynicism.
“If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t’ve gone to such lengths to protect you.”
Rouge had loved Ace.
The meaning of his life had been shaped by Luffy, Sabo, and his crew’s love and acceptance in a past life. Now, it was shaped by the reassurance that he’d been wanted.
He hadn’t simply been a parasite dooming people; a carrier of bad omen.
He’d been wanted.
☆
“Sure that you’re my son? You’re pretty short, is all I’m sayin’” Roger smirked, reaching for the boy’s head. His comparatively large hand encased Ace’s head fully as he ruffled messy, wavy black hair. What was left could’ve easily passed for a bird’s nest.
Roger’s head looked exactly the same when he took off his bandana.
Embodying all the brattiness that he was, Ace snarled, “Go screw yourself, damn geezer.”
And together they laughed.
☆
Four massive unrolled poneglyph rubbings covered the deck. The papyrus curled in the corners, so the crew had found random items lying around the ship to act as paperweight. Some made sense, such as the sealed pot of viscous black ink. Other, less so. Ace particularly side-eyed the spiked mace that was sure to leave holes in the paper and scratches on their precious ship. Finger prints littered the paper’s surface wherever someone had brushed over the charcoal. It made reading some of the characters difficult for Oden. And it was obvious when he stumbled over such a character, because he’d pause for a long time as he probably contemplated what was written. Or had been written.
Sometimes, he’d ask for their opinions.
“Does it look like this line stretched upward or to the right?”
It quickly became a group effort deciphering the coordinates to the final island, but their responses were seldom helpful. In fact, they probably only served to further confuse the samurai. They were pirates, not scholars. Especially when it incurred answers like, “It looks like a lil’ human statue takin’ a shit.” At least, it’d garnered numerous laughs.
On the side, Taro sat with a pad and pen in hand, nib ready to write down Oden’s translation. The rigidity in his shoulders spelled out his eagerness. As if this was something sacred to him. Well, considering his love for history, it might’ve well been the case.
There was always an exception to the rule.
After many hours of back and forth between scrolls, Oden concluded the translation complete. Whoever had left behind the stones, had truly made it a necessity to gather the four road poneglyphs. Hidden within each were riddles with answers that could only be found in its adjacent. But the translation was only a fourth of the work done, as the notes were then passed along to Mr Momora and Sunbell to chart a course in line with the cryptic coordinates
Arguments rang as they debated over each line and what they referenced. Sunbell provided a vastly different perspective as a fish-man, linking descriptions to underwater ruins and locations. In fact, there were so many that Ace began to consider how much of the world remained unexplored because it had sunk beneath the waves. It made Water Seven, not an exception, but the norm. Just another of many. It brought along questions such as, how long had the world been sinking? What could be done to prevent it?
It also brought along answers. Such as to why the Red Line was so sought after and why it was considered a holy land. Not because its residents were self-proclaimed Gods, but because in the event that the rest of the world sank fully, it would remain safely out of reach of the rising tides.
Finally, their course was set.
They would accomplish what no else had ever done: the complete exploration of the Grand Line.
It was unfortunate that right as they were prepared to lift anchor, Buggy came down with a virus and Crocus ordered immediate bedrest. On dry land. So, they booked the cabin boy a room at an inn in the port town. Feverish, the apprentice had begged through his coughs to accompany them on this final journey. Nothing he said changed the doctor’s mind. It seemed that Crocus’ dry, “What’s the point of goin’ if you’re only gonna die from the journey there? Ya might not even see the treasure ‘fore that.”
It seemed the true possibility of death finally managed to placate Buggy. At least, enough that his ensuing protests were muttered below his breath.
From where he sat, reclined against the inn’s walls and arms crossed, Ace mused about the devil fruit user’s horrible luck. All those years aboard Roger’s ship, only to miss out on the reveal of the legendary One Piece. But, with the apprentice bedridden, came the next dilemma: who would be staying behind to take care of the sick boy. And pirates were seldom ready to abandon an adventure, much less one of this magnitude.
“I’ll stay with him,” Shanks declared, without hesitation. None of them were shocked at Shanks’ loyalty towards his friends, but it felt necessary to ask, “Is that okay? You’ll miss out, too.”
“That’s fine. We’ll go with our crew one day.” Somehow, those words had also appeased Buggy, who ceased his grumbling.
Yeah, they’d be just fine.
☆
Now comes a storm through the far-off sky,
Now the waves are dancing, beat upon the drums,
If you lose your nerve, this breath could be your last,
But if you just hold on, the morning sun will rise,
Ace would've never imagined that he'd sail to the end of the world, much less with current company a few years ago. Yet, here he was. The legendary treasure known as the One Piece. It was much different than its name suggested, but quite literally one piece.
And Ace would never look at the world the same way. A lie. Everything he'd ever known felt like a lie. Despite his lack of knowledge concerning various subjects, Ace lived in this world. It shaped his surroundings whether he liked it or not. From the constricting blood stained continent that separated their world in two to their technology.
Two sides of the same coin aimed at control.
What better way than to rule the world than by limiting resources and information? Revolutions were impossible if oceans stood in the path.
And the winners wrote history.
Calloused fingertips ran over the cool stone, cold like the seas' depths. He followed every ridge, cut, and imperfection that had been inscribed onto the immense block of seastone. Over 800 years ago, people had fought for freedom and left this message until the right time came. Until came a day where barriers could be broken and oceans could be made into one. Where no boundaries would remain between people; no races, no social classes.
Simply one, united under one sun.
It wasn't the right time, but it would be. The mermaid princess was to be born in ten years. The drums of liberation would echo across the seas once emerged the inheritor of JoyBoy’s will, passed on through an awakened mythical zoan fruit. Someone who’d carry hundreds of years of history onto their back. It would manifest in a person who relentlessly strived for absolute freedom to inspire the flames within others back to life.
To spark it alive once more.
☆
"I thought it was dessert,” Luffy whined, lips set in a childish pout as Sabo’s fingers pulled at his cheeks. They stretched accordingly; it made for a particularly strange sight. "How stupid can you be, Luffy?" Ace admonished from where he hung upside down on a sturdy branch.
A snicker escaped Sabo, along with the question, "Was it a good dessert at least?"
"No way — it was nasty!"
"So you lost your ability to swim to become something dumb like a rubber man and it didn't even taste good?" the curly blond confirmed. He’d finally released Luffy’s scarred cheek, but his focus was now on the boy’s fingers. They, too, stretched. Bone and all.
"Yeah!"
The two older brothers sighed in agony. They truly had their work cut out for them. "Someone please help this dumbass."
☆
A zoan fruit that granted its user absolute freedom with only their imagination and will as limits.
Growing up with Luffy, he’d seen the infinite ways his younger brother had thought to use his strange powers. With some refining, his absurd ideas could lead to ingenious moves. Of all the devil fruit user Ace had encountered over the years, none had ever shown such versatility.
If Monkey D. Luffy had, as Ace now suspected, truly eaten the most absurd devil fruit in existence — someone help them all.
☆
The moment they touched land where they’d left the two apprentices, they were greeted by cheerful cries from the them. Neither wasted a second, rushing to welcome them back. Stepping on a cobbled street after what had been Laugh Tale, felt bizarre. What they’d experienced, seen, and learned had made no sense, and yet, so much all at the same time. Ruffling at Buggy’s head, toppling his beanie, Ace laughed at the boy’s whining. It was good to see the boy in better health.
Choked back sobs came from behind and Ace recognized Shanks’ voice. Forcing Buggy into a hug, he pushed his head into Ace’s chest. Shielding the sight of Shanks sobbing to Roger from his view. It was a private moment. As much as the two were two peas in a pod, some things were better kept to themselves. This was a moment of vulnerability from the red haired teenager. One of his final moments with the man who’d raised him.
He deserved some privacy.
☆
Word about how Gol D. Roger had conquered the Grand Line spread across the world overnight. Newscoos brought the breaking news to each of the seas, no matter how far. A feat no one had ever accomplished in recorded history. This earned him the title of King of the Pirates.
They all took note that his last name was now spelled Gold, concealing the seemingly unassuming D. initial. Sworn enemies of the Gods. Carriers of the dawn. It’s be disastrous for the World Government if the surviving allies of the Ancient Kingdom allied themselves to the D. once more. It made sense that they’d camouflage the initial into Roger’s last name.
“‘Pirate King’, huh? I like the sound of that.”
The man that the World Government fears, everyone, Ace snickered. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Don’t plan on inheriting my title, Ace?”
Ace choked. He didn’t even need to consider the question, before replying. The title of Pirate King had never appealed to him. “No way, you crazy old coot! The one who’ll be the next Pirate King is Luffy!”
“Oh? Tell me more, son.”
Unknowingly, Roger had opened a can of worms. If there had ever been any consensus aboard the Moby Dick, it was that Ace would never shut up about his younger brother and his antics. Once he started, there was little that could stop him. Not a call for supper — he’d simply continue his tirade, cheeks bulging and mouth full — not a typhoon. The only exception being his narcolepsy attacks. In fact, they became even more frequent, relaxed as he was.
From the unreasonable number of times Luffy had been swallowed whole by a creature of some type — the local sea king, crocodiles, snakes — to how he’d accidentally eaten a devil fruit believing it to be dessert. His fascination with bugs. The endearing quirk Luffy had where he wouldn’t remember people’s names, but he could accurately identify every single beetle they’d found atop Mt. Colubo.
Ace kept Luffy’s dream close to his heart. He’d only ever revealed it to Yamato; a moment of weakness under the influence of alcohol and good company. Yet, at that moment, the words were easy to utter.
"You know,” he ran his tongue over his dry lips, “the kid has the same crazy dream as you. I have faith that he'll accomplish it.” Roger’s eye caught the light just so and Ace knew he’d roused his intrigue. A dream so childish and absurd that people found themselves stumped at its reveal. Only people like Roger and Luffy could come up with something so outrageous, yet inspire absolute confidence with their resolution.
One regret lingered from Marineford. It reared its head once more and his hand instinctively found its way to his bicep. Sometimes, Ace wished he could have felt the texture of his tattoo. To physically feel Sabo’s tribute, to feel his brother by his side through thick and thin. “I wish I could’ve seen it happen."
Roger’s response had his head spinning.
"And why couldn't you? You're alive aren't you?"
Alive. He was alive. Somehow, he’d been given a second chance at life. Given the opportunity to meet his father, the man known as the Pirate King, the man who’d forevermore changed the world they lived in at his death. Who’d left such a mark that the World Government had expended an unreasonable amount of resources finding his unborn heir and fought a war to execute him. They’d succeeded.
Or at least, they would’ve if not for the universe.
Ace was alive, despite their best efforts. Over twenty years separated him from his brother, but that was just time. Death was much more insurmountable and he’d already cheated it twice. He only had to be patient. But he was alive. He'd one day get to witness Luffy accomplish his ridiculous dream.
“Yeah,” Ace exhaled, “Yeah, that’s right.”
Buggy’s hand yanked at Shanks’ collar as the redhead wiped his eyes free of tears, the other hand holding hanafuda cards. It seemed that the devil fruit user had lost again to Shanks immaculate luck. Tousled red strands of hair peaked out under the boy’s precious straw hat. Whenever Luffy had felt unsure or on the verge of tears, he’d clutched onto the fraying rim. As if the touch would lead him to the right answer. The right path. He’d seldom allowed even Sabo and Ace to touch it.
That hat meant the world to Luffy. The physical reminder of his promise to Shanks.
Ace had met Shanks, captain of the red haired pirates. And while the man had retained a laid back and carefree attitude, strength had lined his shoulders and posture. One arm short or not, the residuals of the man’s spirit had nearly taken out his men from sheer exposure. He was intimidating, but no such demeanor remained once he’d discerned that Ace lacked nefarious intentions.
As an emperor of the sea, Shanks was well-known for protecting weaker crews in the New World. Unlike Whitebeard who sought outcasts, Big Mom’s crew which consisted of her numerous offspring, or Kaidou who sought strength above everything else — Shanks was a guardian. Luffy’s savior. Once Luffy had torn down Ace’s walls, it’d taken little for him to declare them brothers and to devote himself fully to Luffy’s wellbeing. It wasn’t that far-fetched to imagine how Luffy would have endeared himself to an infamous pirate. To a point that he’d sacrifice an arm for a pudgy, village boy.
To a point that Shanks would entrust his most prized possession for safekeeping.
"I’m thankful to Shanks.” Without a doubt, it was a strange declaration. Spoken out of the blue relative to the previous topic. “Shanks, he saved Luffy’s life. Gave him his hat as a keepsake. I never saw him without it.” Roger noted the fondness that lined Ace’s features and tone every time he spoke of his younger brother. A person worthy of such esteem would achieve greatness. Roger could’ve seen himself caring for a bouncy child like a son. Bright smile that stretched wide, looks vaguely resembling Ace’s — unruly dark hair, sun kissed skin, and freckles dotting the bridge of a nose — a straw hat perched atop a boy’s head as he looked up to Ace with admiration and wonder.
Roger was glad that his hat was in good hands.
☆
Another cannonball landed in the water by the stern and seawater sloshed at the impact. The few stationed in the gunport retaliated at a much slower pace. Monkey D. Garp's aim and speed was far more terrifying than regular artillery, Ace realized. There were no limits in range, nor in distance. His throw, practiced as they were, nearly blew holes through the deck on multiple occasions in the last minutes. Rayleigh, positioned close to the stern, swung his blade to derail another attack.
He'd never encountered the old geezer as a captain or as 2nd commander and he thanked whichever deity had allowed such a miracle.
Stories of his accomplishments had always been in abundance. Garp the Hero; it wasn’t a title accorded lightly. He’d fought Roger on multiple occasions and eventually captured him. At least, the Navy had claimed. As a rookie, Ace had heard plenty of pirates proclaim with relief that the old marine was less active on the seas, busy as he was training new recruits. Once he’d joined the Whitebeard pirates, he’d been regaled by a few encounters his seniors had survived through. Until now, he’d always believed the tales were bogus. A way to instill fear and respect amongst the new recruits. After all, Ace had grown up with Garp’s sparse visits. Violent as he'd been, and painful as his fist of love had been, Ace had never seriously felt that his life was in danger.
Until now that was.
Garp was terrifying.
There was no arguing against this fact. The distance between their ships closing, Ace began to feel true fear. Was this how Roger was captured, was this the day everything came to end — No — It couldn’t be. Roger still had to make his way to Baterilla and meet Rouge. There was no need to worry, for now that was.
He desperately wanted more time. Every moment felt like it could be the last one that they shared.
Seated crossed legged in the safety of the crow's nest, Buggy had the spyglass fixed on the approaching marine warship as he exclaimed, "They're in boarding distance now, Captain!” Ace broadened his sight to locate Shanks. Although the redhead was now a teenager capable of handling himself in battle, Ace was reluctant to leave him fending off opponents on his own. Perhaps the rest of the crew weren’t too farfetched in nicknaming him a mother-hen. But he’d sooner face Garp head-on than admit that to them. Recognizing Shanks’ distinctive voice not far from Roger, he joined them where they awaited for the marines to board, their sabers in hand. Neither of them looked particularly troubled.
Both sported wide grins that were synonymous with the games they played while off-duty.
Their expressions were misplaced.
In fact, every crewmate Ace had encountered since the cannon balls had begun rocketing their ship, had worn a similar face. “I feel like I’m missing something here,” Ace stated, the tension in his shoulders still present. Glancing around, no one else held themselves in anticipation for a decisive battle. It was reminiscent of their encounter with Whitebeard’s crew. A sharp snicker escaped Shanks, the sounds still youthful as the teenager hadn’t fully gone through puberty.
“Captain and the old dog are like a divorced couple! It’s pretty hilarious!”
“... That’s kind of disgusting.” A shiver overtook Ace at the imagery. He’d need to bleach his mind later. “I’m more concerned by the fact that no one is taking seriously the fact that the Hero of the Marines is about to board our ship for a fight.”
“Garp only ever has eyes for the Captain and the rest of his crew are just as eccentric as him. They’ll fight us, but they know that they can’t win without lots of casualties on both sides.”
And exactly as Shanks had predicted, the moment that Garp’s crew boarded the Oro Jackson, Roger didn’t waste a second to meet his strike with this blade. Garp’s lack of weapon wasn’t a deterrent as his specialization for armament evened out the field. Roger howled with glee as he danced around Garp, unrelenting in his attacks, forcing the vice-admiral to maintain the defensive.
It was strange seeing Garp. Contrarily to Roger who was noticeably getting older, Garp was much younger than the last time he’d seen him. Garp’s face was still tanned and dotted from hours at sea, but his skin lacked familiar wrinkles. Gone was most of his gray hair, only his sideburns and parts of his hair suggested his age. He was younger, but not young. This was the man Roger had entrusted his child to. An enemy, technically. Yet, Roger had judged what he’d known of Garp as trustworthy. Someone who wouldn’t’ve deemed the offspring of the Pirate King to be a threat to the world simply for its father’s sins.
Roger had bet right.
But Ace had turned out just as his father had.
“I got no sympathy for pirates… but for family, I do.”
And for all that Ace had argued and struggled against Garp, he’d loved that old geezer. He’d been his family, too.
He couldn’t fight him. Not now, not yet. Ace didn’t understand how Luffy had garnered the strength to do it at Marineford — and perhaps with his brother’s life on the line he would’ve been able to muster up the courage to fight. Or maybe he was simply a coward. Either way, at this moment, Ace turned his back to Garp and to Roger.
Silently, he put his faith in Roger to watch his back.
☆
“I don't like the look on your face, Vice-Admiral," Bogard remarked from his post. In the years he'd served as Garp's right hand, never had he seen such a look of contemplation. His superior was known for his childishness and eccentric tendencies; this was unprecedented.
The graying marine grunted, leg bouncing relentlessly. His subordinates feared he'd eventually sear a hole through the wood and that they'd be the ones responsible for repairing it. As it was often the case.
"No quip? Now I'm really worried, sir."
This time, Bogard was met with a snort. Better, but still worrisome.
"There was something about that boy."
"The boy? You mean the red haired apprentice?"
Wrinkled hands fanned at the air. Those hands had brought countless criminals to justice. They’d punched through mountains — figuratively and literally — yet, they looked so different outside of battle. A little calloused, unused to weapon handling, dark and freckled from days spent under the glaring sun, wrinkled with age. Hands that spoke of experience and a long life.
"No, no. The one they called Ace. Youthful, heavily scarred chest."
Ah. Bogard had indeed noticed the boy. A new face amongst the Roger Pirates. There had been rumors, but in the last two years, they'd seldom encountered Roger and his men. It was only with recent developments that orders from higher up started demanding his immediate imprisonment. And with him, the arrest of his entire crew.
He recalled the way that the boy had stood protectively over his crewmates, even those taller and seemingly physically stronger than him; a wild grin showcasing sharp canines akin to a wolf. But his movements were agile like a lynx’s. He’d been quick on his feet, fingers skillfully juggling knives. Amongst Roger's crew, he’d been comparatively quite short. He’d deftly dodged everything headed his way, whether or not it was in his viewing range. Proficient in observation, which was expected to survive in the New World.
In this sea, the biggest players fought over territories and loots and the Navy undertook the arduous task of arresting them. It was a treacherous sea in more ways than one. Then, there was the lingering aura encompassing him.
The qualities of a ruler; one who stood above others.
"Ah yes. There were residuals of the king's spirit around him."
"Conqueror's isn't uncommon in the New World, but it's out of the norm for a no name crewmember. The boy's young, but there are no rookies that come to mind named Ace. He wouldn't've gone unnoticed with his spirit.” What was left unsaid was the terrifying potential if the boy in question mastered the willpower of the supreme ruler. It was what the Navy feared most.
Those who mastered it were considered a league of monsters.
And anyone with some observation skills could notice that such a skillset was sorely lacking within the navy. Conqueror’s predominantly manifested amongst those who disregarded laws. In order words, criminals.
Pawns could never be kings.
“Then, there's his resemblance to Roger. It's uncanny."
He recalled the brief moment that Roger and the boy stood back-to-back, profiles facing in opposite directions. They were mirror images, if Roger was de-aged by some thirty years. Uncanny, indeed. The Roger Pirates had been active for over three decades and while Roger was old enough to have fathered a boy Ace’s age, it seemed unlikely considering his blatant love for adventure. The man was married to trouble.
A family and a quiet life with a quaint little house didn’t fit Roger at all.
And the result of a night of pleasure would’ve never even known to seek out the man.
It failed to provide any explanation for Ace’s likeness to the King of Pirates or his sudden emergence as part of the crew.
"You think that he'll be a problem?"
"If there's one thing I’ve learned over the years, Bogard, it's to trust my guts. Contact reconnaissance for a photograph and a background check. And HQ to issue a bounty."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Get me a bag of rice crackers, my guts’ telling me they want a snack!"
"Of course, sir." Eccentric as ever.
At least some things never changed.
☆
"Ace! Ace! Big bro-Ace!" The two apprentices were practically bouncing off the mess hall’s walls with how enthusiastically they rushed toward the seated raven. The many heads turned to look at their crew's cabin boys. Some with more attention than others. Sunbell, Millet, Taro, and Ganryu dropped their cards onto the table, game forgotten in favor of possible entertainment. At another table, Erio continued his carving of a man — a woman? — no one was completely certain of the subject. Everyone kept themselves entertained somehow.
There was only so much one could do on a ship.
Spoon abandoned in his stir fried rice, Ace turned on the bench to welcome the gangly teenagers. Shanks draped himself over a shirtless scarred back, arms wrapping around broad shoulders. His worn and faded straw hat hung from his neck by the string. It seemed that unlike Ace growing up, Shanks sought out physical contact. Ace found himself reciprocating the affection just like he’d done for Luffy. Surprisingly, it was Buggy who reminded the time-traveler of himself the most. Although the two were still attached to the hip, Buggy was slowly but surely becoming more and more distant.
"Woah, calm down. What's got you two jumping around everywhere?"
A floating hand, muscles and carpal bones exposed and all, appeared. A piece of paper was held afloat. If Ace wasn’t so accustomed to gore, he might’ve puked his meal back up. "Look, look! Ya got a bounty!"
The word bounty efficiently stole the attention of everyone present. Similarly to their captain, the rest of the crew proved themselves quite immature at times. And bounties were often the source of such displays. There was an entire board in the cafeteria dedicated to rankings of bounties hanging a few meters from their table. At the very top, undefeated, a picture of Roger with the latest reward for his head. All of his previous bounties were also there; documenting his growth and the rest of the crew’s in relation to their captain. A way to measure their achievements.
"What's that I hear? Our Ace got himself a bounty?"
Floating higher, the severed hand brandished the poster for everyone to examine. The image was grainy, the quality of images not as advanced as those from Ace’s time. The colors faded. Black wavy hair, unobstructed by his old orange hat, framed feral and fierce eyes that shifted to the left, observing something outside of frame. His hand, busy wiping off blood, covered the bottom of his face. Only the lift of his cheeks indicated a grin and a few freckles peeked through. Below in large, capitalized letters was his name Ace . Simply Ace.
And once more below that was the reward for his capture, dead or alive: ฿230,500,000.
"Our boy can finally call himself a real pirate!" Ace refrained himself from correcting Spencer that this wasn’t his first bounty, nor was it his highest one.
Nozdon, the tallest present, snatched the wanted poster from Buggy’s clutch to read the footnote.
"Pá… llas?"
“Huh? What’s that?”
“Ace’s epithet. It’s Pállas.”
Nothing came to mind when Ace thought of Pállas. There were many options of what it could mean: a place, a descriptor, a thing. In any case, it sounded nowhere near as interesting as Fire Fist.
Kind of lame , the childish and competitive part of himself supplied.
"What’s a Pállas?"
Well, at least It seemed that everyone else was just as lost as Ace.
"Not an a, but rather a he. Pállas was a titan God of war, brandishing a spear or shield,” Taro explained. Shanks let out a snort before falling apart into crackles. The others were quick to join in, and the laughter increased in volume as Millet conveniently added, “So, Acey-boy’s being compared to a God? Let's not inflate his head too much!"
He joined in their ridicule of himself. Life was too short to let stupidities rile him up.
But it was curious.
A God.
Sun God Nika was a mythical figure that had manifested through a devil fruit. He wondered if a mythical human fruit, model Pállas, also existed. Or if there were many other mythical devil fruits based on Gods.
The excitement finally died down and in a much more devious tone, Ganryu remarked, "But two hundred and thirty million — that’s a pretty good startin’ price. Higher than quite a few of ours!"
“Yeah! Ace’s gonna dethrone us at this point!”
Scratching at his nape, he chuckled nervously. "Honestly, I would've been fine without a bounty. I feel like this will bite me in the ass someday." The Roger pirates had been inactive for over two decades by the time Ace left Dawn Island and took to the seas. In the few years that he'd sailed, he'd met a number of pirates who'd faced Roger and his men. Squard still held onto his grudge when Ace had met him.
He'd plunged his blade into the old man without hesitation, blinded by his resentment.
And many more hated Roger and his allies for similar reasons. Yet, no one had ever alluded to recognizing the name Ace or linked it to a wanted pirate. A piece was missing in solving this puzzle. Unless he suddenly found himself flung back to his time — where he was very dead, might he add — Ace had no choice but to continue watching things unfold. However, fate decreed.
"When you put it like that — Hey! Buggy where ya goin’ with that?"
"It's lacking some much needed flashiness!"
Whatever happens, happens, the raven haired concluded. In the meantime, he’d enjoy the boys’ antics while they lasted.
A storm was approaching.
☆
There was something nauseating about the smell of blood. It lingered on the tongue like biting on a metal coin, it soaked through clothes and stuck to skin so viciously that it buried itself under your skin. For Ace, it sometimes brought back unwanted memories of a battlefield and magma. Scorched organs and a river of blood pooling under him. He hadn’t been able to feel it, but he could taste it.
Blood was present whenever they fought. It burned inside Ace’s veins as adrenaline pumped through him. That was the thrill with fighting. The sense of high. His muscles relaxed, he acted on instincts as he dodged and threw his knives, allowing euphoria to take over. Everything became brighter in those moments, especially the red so synonymous with blood. Ace wondered if the taste of metal was also permanently etched onto Roger’s taste buds; the captain coughed more than ever before. It wouldn’t be long now. For all that he loved what they had aboard the Oro Jackson, Ace knew that it was coming to an end.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another pirate fall, a knife lodged into his kidney, a dismembered hand attached to it. Buggy was growing into his power. Proud of the apprentice, he lunged forward. Cutting through a distracted pirate’s trachea, Ace grinned, canine stained in the spraying blood visible for anyone who looked. To their opponents, he looked like the incarnation of a demon.
And that was just fine in his books.
He was the demon’s son.
☆
The air was humid, the high pitch of cicadas ringing incessantly. Ace tried to blow away his frizzy bangs, but they were so damp they remained stuck to his sweaty cheeks. His shirt also clung to him like a second skin and it was nasty. He hated the feeling of damp clothes. Literal stimuli of hell. Groaning, he trudged back to the ship and cursed every step he took on the burning sand. Like hot coals beneath his soles. Forlorn, he glanced back at the boots he’d kicked off earlier when the heat had been too much. Yeah, he preferred the mild burns rather than the sweat.
The deck was just as hot, anchored under the scorching sun for the last few hours. He tried tip-toeing to the men’s cabin, unsuccessfully. Ace was glad that the boat was empty — they’d gone for the day to explore the tropical forest. No one was there to witness his embarrassing display. Ace had fervently denied accompanying them. He had far too much experience with that to subject himself to the atrocious ordeal that was hiking a jungle on a summer island.
Mt. Colubo had been bad enough.
He sighed with relief once he was finally inside, far from the sun. He was glad he’d taken Crocus advice and covered his exposed skin with cream. His shoulders were beginning to turn red despite it.
After some rummaging through Spencer’s personal chest box, where he knew the cook kept his hair accessories, he found the familiar velvet bag. Yelling triumphantly, he pulled out a hair tie and some hair clips and tied his bangs. The hair was barely long enough to make a small tail. He dealt with the stray stands with the clips. Glancing at the mirror hanging on the wall, he snorted.
He looked ridiculous.
Refreshing himself in the bathroom, he splashed the cold faucet water onto his face. It helped, but not a lot. The air was stuffy even aboard the ship. The only reprieve was the shade. Damping a towel, he draped it over his nape.
A faint, "Big bro-Ace?” came from the men’s quarters next door along with a knock.
“Yeah?” he called back. Buggy pushed the door open, mouth opening just as he caught sight of Ace. Pale gray-blue eyes followed the ponytail bobbing with every movement Ace made. Like an apple’s stem leaf. “...Why’s your hair like dat?” Seizing the opportunity, Ace struck a pose. Fingers pointed in the shape of a gun, he placed the curve of his hand below his lips as he smirked a toothy grin.
“What? You don’t think that I look charming? Handsome?” and winked. The cherry on top of the cake. Snorts and snickers filled the bathroom as the two boys guffawed, hysterically. Almost as if possessed. Hands clutched at their stomachs as tears freely flew down their cheeks. Every time the blue haired boy saw the bobbing ponytail, he lost any of the composure that he’d regained. After minutes of this, Buggy started begging, ‘stop, please!’ — his abdomen hurting from how much he’d laughed. Ace wasn’t faring any better.
Face flushed, a mixture of the heat and their outburst, Ace leaned back against the counter. Arms propped behind him, he asked, “So, what’s up, lil’ anchor?” His nickname for the teenager flowing easily. Buggy’s response was not one he would’ve ever expected.
“Can ya train with me?"
Brow furrowed, Ace regarded him with apprehension. It made sense that Buggy would come to Ace for training over another member of the crew. The majority preferred swords and large weapons like hand-axes, maces, a harpoon — because Crocus was weird like that — while they utilized knives. Their fighting styles were similar, minus the fact that Ace rushed head-first into any confrontation, whereas Buggy ran the opposite way. Which was the exact reason as to why Ace was surprised.
Buggy preferred subterfuge over direct fighting.
Gray eyes skimmed over how gloved fingers tugged at a sleeve anxiously.
“Any other day, I would, kiddo. You wouldn’t even have to ask.”
“But…?”
“Have you seen the weather?” He’d deny till his dying day that he’d whined the words, if Buggy ever betrayed him to the others. He enjoyed the sun on his skin like any other person, but humidity was his eternal nemesis. The three years he’d spent as a logia user had been a blessing, if only because he’d become impervious to all temperature changes.
“I guess it’s a little hot.”
He gasped, dramatically, “A little? It’s literal hell!” A giggle escaped the teenager, which Buggy tried to hide by clamping his hands over his mouth. But it was too little, too late. Satisfied that he’d managed to ease any doubt on Buggy’s mind, Ace grinned.
"What's with the sudden drive to get stronger?"
"Shanks said we'd go to Laugh Tale with our own crew… so I gotta be able to keep up with 'im."
Perhaps he’d been worried for nothing. Buggy simply wanted to be a good partner. To become someone dependable. "It's good to be strong, but you also have different strengths than Shanks. I think that it's more important for you to compliment him. Think about his weaknesses and make up for them. He'll do the same for you."
Buggy’s response left him stumped once more.
"What weaknesses does Shanks have? He's prodigious… Captain taught him swordsmanship, he's got the basics for observation and armament when I can't figure out either of them, and he's never scared of anything. Not like me." He’d seen the distance growing between Buggy and Shanks, but he would’ve imagined that this was the reason why.
"... Kiddo, how long have you had these thoughts?"
"Huh?"
"You think that you're inferior to Shanks. Why's that?"
"Other than everything I just listed? Everyone knows that Shanks is better, that's why even Oden calls him the first son."
Yeah, enough of that. It was time to knock some sense into Buggy. “Ouch!” Buggy rubbed the spot Ace had smacked, “What’s dat for!”
“You were being stupid,” the raven haired scowled, fist poised to strike again if the teenager blurted something idiotic like that again. “First, second, third son — who gives a fuck. That doesn’t say anything about your strength. Oden calls me the first son just like Shanks, does that mean we're on the same level of strength and experience?”
“... No.”
“Exactly. You being the second son simply means that you’re our little brother, that you’ve got us to watch your back. No matter what.” He flicked his fingernail against the boy’s forehead, fingertip coated with armament. “Got that through your thick skull, kiddo?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I’m still gonna make you eat dirt. Just not today. You get a free-outta-jail card, today.”
“Aye, aye.”
☆
Going to deliver Binks’ Sake,
Today, tomorrow, our dreams through the night,
Waving our goodbyes, we’ll never meet again,
But don’t look so down, for tomorrow night, the moon will also rise!
A sullen and loaded atmosphere fell over the crew that day, as if in dread of the words they all knew were coming. It was inevitable at this point. Their quest to explore the entirety of the Grand Line was over and done with. Roger had attained wealth, fame, and power. He’d obtained everything this world had to offer.
With one exception: the childish, absurd dream at the end of his journey.
Unable to achieve it within his own lifetime, he was betting on a new era. One person who’d carry his will; no matter the time and space which separated this person and him at this moment. Someone, one day, would follow in his footsteps and find that legendary treasure. Carrying on his legacy, they’d flip the world on its head.
And Ace knew just who it would be. There’d never been any doubt about it.
But knowing what was to come didn’t make it any easier as Roger gathered all of the crew onto the main deck. Seated on barrel, coat flowing with the wind and with a slight upturn of the lips, Roger was silent. The weather was moderate, a rare occurrence in the New World. The Oro Jackson’s captain was not a man who wasted time on minutiae. Eccentric, rash, and perhaps immature at times, nonetheless, Roger was aware of each of his flaws. Hesitation didn’t factor when he bowed, asking for help or thanking someone.
But, this time it did.
Ace had huddled himself to the side to lean against the taffrail, hidden behind everyone’s frames. Gray eyes followed closely as the ship’s captain examined each of his men, spending up to a minute just looking. Taking in each of their features, as if for the last time. They all knew that it was. The one year Roger had left, was now practically gone. Only a few months left, maybe less. Time had escaped them without their notice.
Then, dark eyes fell onto Ace.
Although he refused to meet them head on, Ace could feel the hovering of Roger’s intense scrutiny. Shuddering slightly, the hair on his arms raised. But he wasn’t cold. Night was approaching quickly, the evening sky a vibrant dark blue fading into orange. Pieces of purple mixed between the two. Cowardice gripped at Ace’s being again as he fled his father’s gaze.
“Ace.”
Breath hitching is his throat, his nails burrowed themselves into the railing's durable wood. A child clinging onto his last safety net. Called out, he forced himself to look. Gentle, understanding eyes met his, perceptive as ever. Inhaling deeply, Ace gathered some courage and with an exhale, relaxed his iron clutch.
“Everyone, despite the looming time limit hanging over my head, we achieved what had previously been impossible. My journey lasted 34 years, and some of you have been by my side from the very beginning,” a secretive look shared with Rayleigh. “Over the years, we’ve lost many good men to circumstances and welcomed aboard many more. Gratitude is not enough to express the respect I hold for each and everyone of you.”
“Woah! Woah, Captain!”
“What’s with these sappy words outta nowhere!” Gaban’s already dark complexion, darkened with his embarrassment, hands gesticulating wildly.
“Yeah! It’s too sudden, you’re gonna make us blush, Captain!”
Contrary to the gloom that had persisted through the day, the men’s reactions were flustered and joyous. With just a few words, Roger had managed to appease his crew. Tension lining his shoulders, Ace braced himself for what he knew came next.
“Well here it goes, men.”
“We’re ready, boss! Lay it on us!”
Ace wasn’t ready.
“I am hereby disbanding the Roger Pirates!”
None of them truly had been ready.
☆
Roger caroled, merry as ever, mug in one hand, the other wrapped around Oden's shoulder. They swayed together to the beat they'd invented. Cheering on for the sovereigns, which caught the attention of those present. It was Rayleigh who voiced everyone's confusion.
"When we were headed to fish-man island, there were voices. Shyarly said that the mermaid princess would be born in 10 years; it fits what we heard. The other is to be born in a distant sea."
Ace had buried the voices that he’d heard. Echoes haunted him, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. They’d been incomprehensible to his ears. He’d been fine not knowing. With all of his might, he'd forced himself to chalk up his experience to a mild hallucination. Not an uncommon occurrence when plunged in deadly silent darkness for hours. But, he knew better.
"I thought we'd already established that nothing could've spoken at those depths."
"But Oden heard it, too! And — and, Ace! Ya heard it as well, right?"
He’d rather have not.
Although, rather than any talk of sovereigns, Ace remembered the mentions of whales. The whales waited with anticipation and his mind strayed to Laboon. The heavily scarred island whale was well known to any new arrival in the Grand Line. Along with its mission to destroy the Red Line. If one took the time to converse with its caretaker.
Huh.
The elderly doctor who’d cared for the giant sea creature had been Crocus. White hair, all too bright under the sun. A sharp contrast to his now pitch dark head. But, it’d been the now familiar doctor nonetheless. The strange look the Cape Twin's inhabitant had shot him all those years ago suddenly made a lot of sense. Crocus had recognized him.
“I’m sure that the voices we heard were speaking the truth,” Roger persisted, “someone'll be born and surpass our accomplishments.” Dawn was fated to come, spearheaded by the one carrying JoyBoy’s will. The sovereigns, the ancient weapons, Zunesha. The day the whales awaited required all the players. Poseidon would only be born in 10 years.
They were too early.
Yamato had quoted passages from Oden's journal. How a new generation of powerful pirates would swarm the New World, bringing a storm along with them. Whether then or now, there was no doubt in Ace’s mind that Luffy would be at the head of this titanic event. The world would never be the same.
“I wonder who’ll be the next to find it…” Taro crooned, eyes closed and swaying from where he sat crossed legged.
“It’ll be my son, of course!”
Oh, for the love of — “I already told you what I thought about that!”
Rumbustious laughter shattered the somber mood that’d settled as they discussed a faraway prophecy. They all knew; their beloved captain would never get to witness the dawn.
“Don’t ruin my fun, Ace!”
But, Roger wasn’t discouraged. Not with the assurance that someone would come. And if he’d taken Ace’s ramblings seriously, he’d know that it was a lanky, fearless man sporting a straw hat, an absurd fruit, and a dream just like Roger’s. A seeker of freedom. A crybaby who’d clung to Ace and forged him into what he was.
Ace wouldn’t exist without Luffy.
“That being said, it’s time to party! A final one for the books, lads!”
And a party for the books it was. Sea shanties from across the world were sung that night, recipes that spoke of a well-traveled chef and crew graced their plates. Mountains of plates and just as much liquor. A banquet fit for a king. Not a second was wasted. Games, conversation, laughter filled the bubble that was the Oro Jackson; nothing in the world at that moment could have ruined this moment for them. They wouldn’t allow for it.
Dawn broke through the skyline; yellows leading to a light blue. It promised a sun filled day. The sun's rays made the tears that everyone shed that glisten and sparkle. Within them, it poured until it flooded. Ace swallowed down the lump that'd formed in his throat and wiped away the wetness in his eyes.
Clamping down a hand onto Rayleigh's shoulder, Roger said something to his first mate. Whatever was uttered between the two, led to Rayleigh biting down onto his sorrow and hiding behind his palm.
Certainty tormented Ace that this was it; Roger had told them all he had to say and now he’d parted his last words with his partner. But as always, Roger was sharp. From the moment they’d met, he’d figured out how to get past Ace’s walls, he’d discerned the hardships burdening Ace’s conscience and what led past them. This time was no different. Protests clinging to the tip of his tongue, the time-traveler found himself unable to word his needs.
Desperately, he wanted Roger to stop. To look at him just one more time.
To Roger, the boy must’ve been an open book, because he took a step and another.
The only warning he got was, “C’mere.”
Muscular arms wrapped around his much smaller frame. Ribcage expanding with a cold inhale and breath caught in his stiffness, he buried his face into a marine, cotton shirt. Any other day, Ace would’ve sworn that Luffy gave the best hugs: tight, all encompassing with his extendable limbs, warm like the sun. But this one was different. He’d been oblivious to how much he’d needed to just let go; to trust a sturdy frame to carry all of that’d weighed on him. For just once, to simply be.
Shaky arms reached up to return the embrace, fingers tangling in the captain's coat. Musk, sea salt, and a little bit of sweat were the distinctive scent he associated with Roger. Here, time came to a standstill, but Ace's mind was a jumbled mess. How much time had he wasted? Why hadn't he acknowledged Roger earlier? Why did this have to be the first and last time that they could be like this?
He refused to let go; he wanted to get lost in this blanket of Roger's creation. To soak in the protective, tender yet powerful arms that held him up. Against his will, tears overflew, trailing down to his chin and leaving damp spots on Roger's shirt. Beneath his ear, a steady heartbeat went thump-thump-thump. A proof that Roger was alive. He'd be alive for as long as Ace held onto him. His fingers refused to move.
Large fingers ran through his locks, nails scratching at his scalp in a soothing rhythm. Makino had caressed his hair once the same way. Thatch and many others on the Moby Dick and the Oro Jackson had preferred to ruffle it until it resembled a bird's nest.
“Ace," Roger whispered to only his ears, "there anything you wanna tell your ma?”
That's right. Roger would make his way to the south before he'd be executed. Although he didn't know who would give birth to Ace, the fact that he existed at this very moment meant that Roger would meet this person. Rouge. The mother Ace had never met but who'd love him enough to give her life for his.
His tongue was numb in his mouth, as if he'd drank too much. Speaking felt like choking.
"Thank you for giving birth to me… thank you for giving me life and… thank you for loving me." It went unsaid that this gratitude was also for Roger. Ace was sure that he knew.
A thumb rubbed circle at his nape and he felt the light pressure of lips against his crown. Ace inhaled, finally ready.
"Bye, dad."
"Goodbye, my son."
And Ace let go.
☆
Roger was the first one off the ship, closely followed by Oden. The waters of Wano were cluttered with shipwrecks, ripped sails fluttering with the wind and the haunting wails of ghost ships. The abandoned remains were another obstacle to navigate around in order to reach the shores of Wano. Oden's departure was accompanied by a flurry of tears, just as Roger's had been. Wishes of meeting again echoed in Ace's mind. That day would never come. Oden would die at Kaidou's hand and his country would remain enslaved for the coming decades.
Withdrawing steps followed the Oro Jackson's final voyage as its residents left one by one. With every back Ace watched waving goodbye, he considered his own options. The home he'd built amongst these people was gone. His brothers would not be born for another few years. Three for Sabo, six for Luffy.
Then, there was himself.
At this time, Roger had likely found his way to the sunny beaches of Baterilla. Met Rouge. A beautiful strawberry blonde woman, according to Garp. Ace got his freckles and eye color from her. Child conceived, he'd give himself up to the Navy to be executed at his birth place.
A statement, if there was ever one.
Killed on the streets in which he grew up, for all to watch. For all to admire. For all to be warned. But all their plans would be foiled by a few choice words from the King of the Pirates.
Mangroves sprouted towards the heavens. The unmistakable popping of bubbles native to Sabaody Archipelago greeted what remained of the Oro Jackson. This was Rayleigh's stop. Only ten or so remained now, including the cabin boys and Ace. Out of those who were left of the crew, only Crocus had a set destination: the Twin Capes, where Laboon awaited.
With every goodbye, another drop added itself to the dam. Soon, it would overflow. Nights were long, spent tossing and turning with stewing concerns of belonging. Or rather, estrangement. With the dissolution of his crew — and family — Ace was left with no place in this timeline. No goal or purpose. Just time — lots of it. It preyed on his mind to a point that he could barely stomach one of Spencer's meals.
The scuffing of heels against the gangplank came to a halt, Rayleigh casting off a final glance to those he'd spent the past few years with. For some, it was decades. Dark eyebrows furrowed slightly, lips pursed as he mulled over something. A scarred eye flicked over the Ace and Rayleigh's voice thundered, "Ace, you comin'?"
"Huh?"
"Well, I can't simply leave my student behind, now can I? I've got much left to teach you."
A purpose.
Hurrying after Rayleigh, his mentor and a third-father figure at this point, Ace waved his goodbyes just as the others had done before him, rucksack hanging off an arm with all of his belongings. Tearful faces greeted him back.
They would see each other again one day.
☆
News of Roger's execution date came with the change of the seasons; in a few weeks time, their former captain would be made into a public example. In the square of Logue Town at noon, his reign would end. Rookies and established pirates would gather to witness the coming of a new era.
The article sang the Navy's praise, crediting Garp the Hero for the effective and prompt capture of the Pirate King. It was Rayleigh letting out a strong and chilly guffaw that clued him in on the claim's absurdity. Garp and Roger had fought a number of times on equal footing. For all that the vice-admiral wanted to rid the seas of pirates and fought for justice — Roger was not a measly prey, even nearing his deathbed.
Right as the deadline Crocus had given Roger arrived, the newscoos also came with big news: the One Piece was free for the taking. For whoever found it. Crews stationed at Sabaody wasted no time finding themselves coating engineers, thinking themselves worthy of Roger's title and legacy. Contrarily, Rayleigh and Ace had taken permanent residence that night at the bar. The newspaper which had brought the news of Roger’s passing from across the seas, laid out flat between them. Their elbows had creased the paper in numerous areas. Some of the ink had smudged from drops of alcohol they’d spilled and escaped tears.
Tears of joy accompanied by laughter as they recounted Roger’s life. Ace soaked in every moment that Rayleigh shared of their adventures. His memory wouldn’t be tainted by sadness. Roger had lived a good life; surrounded by family, filled with laughter, and love.
"His last words to me were, 'I'm not gonna die, partner,’” the blond, bearded man slurred. His damp cheeks were flushed with intoxication. Ace had never seen Rayleigh tipsy, much less wasted; a tolerance he’d only seen from Whitebeard. These final words shared between captain and first mate were private and Ace wasn’t entirely sure Rayleigh would’ve ever shared them if it wasn’t for his weakened state of mind.
Immortality; it was a frightening concept. The idea of living forever and witnessing the passing of each of his loved ones. An eternity of loss. Roger’s version of immortality was much more palatable.
To never be forgotten.
Ace would never forget the man Roger had been.
Chortling, Rayleigh raised his glass for the nth time to toast his captain. "Nothing short of global genocide could erase his legacy. A true middle finger to the World Government.”
“Dad… he never did things in halves, did he?”
"No, that he didn't."
And in his honor, they drank and cried. They drank and laughed.
☆
Going to deliver Binks’ Sake,
Let’s all sing it with a DON! A song of the waves,
Doesn’t matter who you are, someday we’ll all just be bones,
Never-ending, ever-wandering, our funny traveling tale!
A few weeks had passed since the execution of the King of the Pirates at Logue Town. The city of beginning and end, it’d be known as, if it wasn’t already. The Golden Age of Piracy had begun and those residing on Sabaody could feel its ripples. Where pirates setting out for the Grand Line had been few and far in between, they now flocked to the archipelago. Many, ill prepared. Deluded by ideas of riches and grandeur.
Lawless zones were rampant, despite the proximity of Marineford. The coasts were flooded with wreckage.
It’d taken Roger over a decade after reaching Lodestar to find the true final island of the Grand Line. These people were not the man Roger was waiting for; they were simply sparks of the fire lit by dying words.
Ace stayed away from the human shops and the crowds they gathered. Those scums only brought back memories of burning trash heaps. Their stench was worse than Gray Terminal; Sabo had died suffocated by it. Then, there were the world nobles. Against them, strength meant nothing. And Ace was self-aware enough to know that he lacked the self-control needed to stop himself from murdering any that crossed his path.
They spelled only trouble. The bad kind.
Fortunately, whenever a Celestial Dragon gathered enough courage to brave the land of commoners and its impure air, word spread. The locals knew to steer clear. The unfortunate tourists or pirates that didn’t, found themselves stripped of their humanity.
Ice clicked against glass, scotch sloshed against the rim as Ace twirled his drink. If Gaban saw him, he’d probably call him pathetic. He’d never been one to mince his words. He certainly felt useless at this particular moment. A trip across the Calm Belt and he would be in the South Blue. And from there, on a small tropical island, a woman was hiding her pregnancy. A little over a year left before the son of the Pirate King would be born to the ignorance of the entire world.
The thought of visiting Rouge had reared its head a multitude of times since the dissolution of the crew and likely would continue to do so for the foreseeable future.
But Ace knew that involving himself with Rouge would plant a red mark on their heads.
So, he abdicated.
Instead, here he was drinking himself into a stupor.
Ace wasn't sure of his place in this world anymore. Rayleigh had given a purpose: to get stronger. Pass that, there was not much going on for him. He was an extra piece to a puzzle already completed. Everything was set in stone; his addition to the past apparently hadn't changed anything. Perhaps, as Millet had theorized once, Ace was meant to be part of the past. Everything had happened as it should as a result of him being there rather than despite it.
A causal loop, so to speak.
But no one, not even Ace knew for sure. Only the gods who'd decreed the impossible did. Either way, he’d been given a second chance and he wasn't about to waste it. Fate was out of his hands, but he prayed that his younger self would experience the love gifted by two brothers in a forest far east. That nothing would ever change that.
A deep exhale left Rayleigh, seated beside him. He dropped the newspaper he'd been reading. He raised his own glass to his lips, fingers loosely gripping the rim.
Rayleigh, too, had been indulging in booze more often.
"What are you going to do now, Ace?"
He shrugged, "I guess we’ll see." Fate would lead him wherever he was needed. As long as he got to see Luffy again one day, nothing else mattered.
Rayleigh lifted his whiskey, "Cheers?"
And they toasted to freedom.
“If you’re afraid of falling, I’ll gladly catch you.”
- Snooze, Agust D
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