Chapter Text
Shakky's gaze drifted to the ceiling. A spider crawled along its web, eager to claim its freshly caught prey. It was somewhere around noon, the sun high in the sky, its bright light bathing the cell in a warm glow.
She tugged on her chains again. They had begun to feel permanent, their cold iron no longer itching against her skin. She wondered if, like her chains, she would ever grow accustomed to the life awaiting her. She doubted it.
From the hubbub beyond her cell, she gathered the "hunt" was nearly beginning. Guards had been sniggering about it for days, placing bets on which family of Celestial Dragons would kill the most "rabbits."
They weren't talking about animals. They were talking about people.
She'd heard rumors, whispers too grotesque to take seriously. Cruelty on such a scale was a bit much, even for the Celestial Dragons. And yet, here she was. Wrists bound, chained to a wall, ready to be this edition's trophy. She had no idea where she was. Apparently, neither did anyone else. The guards had been all too happy to remind her of that.
All she knew was that the island was unaffiliated with the World Government. Which meant its people had no protection, no rights anyone was obligated to honor. To the Celestial Dragons, they were sport. And she was the reward.
If only she hadn't hesitated that night, then she would not be stuck here. Almost a year, and she still hadn't found a way to forgive herself for it. She closed her eyes and with the darkness, everything of that night came back, whether she wanted it or not.
One year earlier — "Shakky's rip-off bar"
She lit a dingy oil lamp fixed to the wall of her storage room, its tired sheen barely reaching the labels of the bottles and barrels that cluttered each wall. The whole situation definitely called for an upgrade but each time she sought to replace the lamp, she had changed her mind at the last minute.
Three years already since she stepped down as Pirate Empress. Three years since she'd opened a bar on this island. It had been a bold move at the time but she was still glad she had made it. Not that she'd had a lot of options.
The lid on the barrel of whisky plopped as she put it back, the sound hollow in the quiet of the morning. A cheaper variant would have to do for today.
When she opened up at noon, she found all her trusty pigeons waiting in line. Ready to get plucked. Happy to get plucked. She smiled at the sight. She wasn't exactly subtle about the fact that she was ripping her customers off. It was in the name of the place after all. But the fact that they were still lining up for her gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. In a way, she had grown to care for them. Or at least some of them.
Pirate Island was not exactly the place where you'd go for likeable people... but it was her people, and she knew they'd protect her.
Today had been a good day. Ordinary, unremarkable, exactly the kind she liked best. Currently, she was chatting outside with said protection while indulging in her last cigarette of the day, the bar finally quiet. Tonight it was Don Marlon. Speaking with him was more like talking to a wall, his scowl permanently plastered on his face, but sometimes her teasing managed to snatch a reaction out of him, which made the whole game worth playing.
"You know,” she leaned against the doorframe, “you'd scare off fewer customers if you smiled once in a while."
He didn't look at her. His scowl remained firmly in place as he sat with his back to the wall, arms crossed. "I'm not here to entertain. "
She smirked. "Pity. You're missing out."
Silence followed. Clouds of dust coated her tongue, the taste of it familiar. Across the street, shards of glass shimmered in the sand, remnants of a bar fight that no one had bothered cleaning up. She was just about to push again when he spoke.
"Be careful tonight."
A small sigh escaped her. "You say that nearly every night."
"Tonight is not ‘every night’. A lot of people are away."
"Are you worried about me?"
"It's my job," he said, holding her gaze.
A weary smile escaped her.
Then she felt it.
A strong haki.
Marlon felt it too.
Then there was that sound, a sound she'd heard before. In battle. Of steel cutting through the air, too fast to track.
Rayleigh? No. His haki never felt like this.
"Get down!" Marlon shouted as he fired off multiple shots.
They all missed, some by a lot, others only by a hair.
Shit.
The pirates in front of her were dropping down, one by one, like flies before the sun.
Blood splashed on her face.
No.
Marlon.
A tall hooded figure stalked toward her. Then casually paused to brush a speck of blood from its sleeve. Without looking down, it dragged one of the fallen bodies closer by his foot and rested its boot on it, as though settling in.
She had seen violence before. Caused it. But this had been too fast, too clean. Even Marlon hadn't stood a chance.
Her hands wanted to shake. She locked them still.
A hounding gaze dug into her skin, like it was taking inventory of every inch of her body.
"Hmm. Not bad," he said. "You are exceeding my expectations... that in itself is already quite the achievement."
His voice carried effortless authority, the kind that assumed obedience rather than demanding it. She could see his face clearly now. Piercing red eyes. A chiseled mouth that dealt in charm and death with equal indifference. He was unnervingly handsome. Hell, he might have been her type if it wasn't for the warm blood on her face. Or that atrocious hairstyle of his. It was as if his long blonde hair had been licked upwards by a giant cat or dog...
Focus, Shakky. Don't let a pretty face throw you off your game.
She inhaled.
Exhaled.
The smoke did a poor job of quenching the growing unease pooling in her stomach.
"Hmm. Can I do something for you? If you were dissatisfied with the service there are other ways to show it you know?" She drifted toward the door, inviting him inside. "I normally don't do refunds but I'll make an exception. Just for you."
Inside waited a transponder snail Rocks had given her. One press and an alarm would blare through the entire Island.
"No need." He cleaned his sword on a body.
"In exactly one year," he said calmly, "you will be my wife. I will have ample time with you then," he stated as if it was the most normal sentence to tell someone you'd just met. She had to admit, most men at least had the decency to pretend it was a request.
"Surprisingly, you're not the first to tell me something like that," she noted. "Why do you think you'll succeed where others — more powerful — have failed?"
"Patience." He readjusted his cloak, smoothing out a tiny crease on its sleeve. "Everything worth having finds its way to me eventually. It is all simply a matter of time."
"Well then you're definitely not from around here." She narrowed her eyes. "You got help from someone, didn't you?"
She was already making a list of who might've sold her out. Wang Zhi? He'd never liked her in the way others did. Stussy maybe? She'd find out later. But a possible traitor would also explain why this man knew to attack right when all the powerful people were away.
"Oh?" Something shifted almost imperceptibly behind his eyes. "You have already deduced that? Let us say I was in the vicinity... and in the process, I made a certain individual wealthy beyond even his most ambitious imaginings," he laughed dryly.
"Then why come yourself? I imagine you're also rich enough then to have someone else do your dirty work."
"I could. But that would defeat my purpose."
His posture shifted. She barely managed to block his attack with her haki armoured leg, the hilt of his sword aimed at the back of her neck. Her leg felt like it had just hit a mountain of cold iron.
"Haki." His voice carried a note of approval. "And quick reflexes"
He smiled.
"Such beauty and potential—" His smile was gone. "and you have spent it here. Among this. These insects."
He kicked the limp body with his boot.
"Remarkable what people will settle for."
He let the moment linger. Every muscle still tensed. Still watching.
Then he stepped forward.
"Come, darling. Let us see how long you mistake this for something you can escape."
She smiled at him. The kind that usually talked pirates out of swords and marines out of their posts.
"Why the rush?" She kept her voice light and unbothered. "Let's talk this through. Over a drink inside. Like the civilized person you so claim to be."
He said nothing. Just watched her with those red eyes, patient as a man who had already decided how and when this ended, no matter what she'd tell him.
That was when she ran.
Come on. Just a few meters left. She'd crossed worse distances in worse conditions. Her fingers brushed the snail phone—
White.
The floor came up to meet her before she understood what had happened. Her ears rang. Somewhere above her, she heard him move. Unhurried. Like he'd already known she'd flee.
Of course he had.
She should have run earlier. Should have run the moment she saw Marlon go down. She'd hesitated and—
She woke up with two marines hauling her into the hull of a ship, her wrists and ankles chained. The sea roiled beneath her, waves hammering against the wood.
Dammit. How could she have been so stupid, thinking she could outrun, or even sweet-talk her way out of this? She'd grown too accustomed to the princess treatment the pirates were all giving her. Now was not the time to save face, but to get answers. She decided to try her luck with the two marines:
"Where are you taking me?!"
Silence.
"Do you honestly think my kidnapping will go unnoticed? They'll come for me. They'll come for me and rip you to shreds," she shouted.
Bingo. A reaction.
"Oh, poor girl!" one of them sneered. "Hey, you hear that? This pirate chick thinks her buddies are gonna save her!"
"Hah! Keep on dreaming, lass. Not even Gold Roger can save you if he has no clue where you are!"
Laughter echoed through the hull. Oh how she'd love to kick them in the balls! If only her ankles weren't chained...
A knot formed in her throat.
"Right," the marine continued. "The location of the upcoming event is currently the world's best-kept secret. Better let go of that fickle hope and prepare yourself for spending the rest of your life as a Celestial Dragon's slave!"
A Celestial Dragon's slave. The words crashed into her stomach, a block of butter. Even Impel Down sounded better than that. First an empress. Now a soon-to-be slave. Damn she'd fallen down the social ladder fast. Hell, this might even be a new record.
She thought back to the guy that kidnapped her, was he one of them? Her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back. They wouldn't get that satisfaction.
"If it's such a secret, how come two nobodies like you know about it, huh?"
"Hmpf. Believe what you want." He shoved a camera snail into her face. "Smile. Your picture will sell for a lot on the black market."
Over her dead body.
She knocked the camera snail on the floor and crushed it with her foot for good measure. They were stupid if they believed these shackles would completely immobilize her.
"You bitch! What have you done?! That was Pedro!"
The blow snapped her head sideways, metal biting into her wrists as the chains jerked tight.
"We'll come back with another snail. And we won't let you crush him! In the meantime, rethink your future. It's going to be a lot different than you imagined!"
They stuffed her into a cell and slammed the door shut.
Tears came easily now.
One year later (Present) - God Valley
Keys rattled as a guard entered her cell without looking at her. Slammed a tray on the floor. Left. The bowl had spilled half its content, making little puddles on the tray.
Not that it was a huge loss anyway, the thing barely had any consistency.
She left it where it was. Her dwelling and meals had been downgraded a week ago. Before this, she'd spent around a year in a windowless house with thick, soundproof walls — walls she'd tried to kick in more than once, walls she'd screamed at until her throat gave out. Even the air vent had been laughably small, far too narrow to slip through.
Still, it had its perks.
A bed. A closet big enough to pretend she still owned things. A bookshelf she'd read through twice, then a third time out of spite, then a fourth time because what else was there. She'd started making notes in the margins of the last one. Arguments with the author. It had been the most intellectually stimulating relationship she'd had in a year, which said a lot.
This place had none of that. But it did have a steel-barred window, and oh, how good it felt to finally see the sun again, to hear real noises from the outside world.
A high graded marine entered.
She hadn't seen him before. Good. That made three new officers this week. She'd been cataloguing them since the first month; faces, routines, which ones flinched and which ones didn't. Information was the only currency she had left.
"Alright, former empress. You're going on stage. Do not try anything stupid or you will regret it, I'll make sure of it. Just wave, smile, whatever, I do not care. Are we clear?"
"Crystal."
And with that, she strutted out of her cell. Blinding light stung her eyes and burned her skin. They wanted her to put on a show. Fine. She'd put on a show. She did not care. What she did care about was finally getting a good look at the situation on the island. She allowed herself a small, dangerous hope — that it would confirm her growing suspicions.
She knew that a Celestial Dragon's slave did not get rescued. They didn't get found. Even the most powerful pirates in the world looked the other way, because the alternative was a Buster Call — the kind of firepower that turned entire islands into memory.
If anything were to change her fate. It needed to happen now.
As she stepped onto the high podium, her hope paid off.
She kept her chin up. Let them look. She'd learned early that the best armor in a room full of enemies was making them feel like they were seeing exactly what you wanted them to see. So she gave them the former empress. Shoulders back, gaze cool, expression unreadable.
It cost her more than she let on.
"We now present the grand prize of this tournament,... Behold their former empress, the most beautiful woman in the world..." the announcer bellowed.
Far beyond the sea of bubble heads and hideous faces of the Celestial Dragons, she caught a glimpse of the bay.
She almost missed it. Almost let her eyes slide past it. But there it was.
An armada.
Marine ships, more than she could quickly count, sitting heavy in the water. Not tourist vessels. Not escort ships. Warships, positioned like they were bracing for something.
They were expecting trouble.
They were coming.
She didn't let it show. Couldn't. A hundred eyes were on her face and any flicker of real emotion would be noticed, reported, acted upon. So she kept the empress mask firmly in place while something she hadn't felt in eleven months quietly ignited somewhere behind her sternum.
"...The winner can decide whether to take her as a wife or a slave! Since her capture, she's been kept spotless and pristine in every way! She's the very definition of a priceless treasure!..."
These words made her sick to her stomach. Spotless, pristine,..they were all disgusting. She'd rather die than belong to anyone, let alone these excuses of humans before her.
Across the platform, a pair of red eyes found hers.
She averted her gaze. Some doors were better kept shut when you still needed to function.
She was escorted off stage. Back in the darkness of her cell, a familiar face came to mind.
No. The only person she'd ever come close to belonging to was Rayleigh.
A lot of things had happened in Guanhao. Some useful. Others surprising. Most of them infuriating. She didn't want to think about any of it.
What she allowed herself instead was this: near the end, when the battle fractured into noise and smoke, they'd found themselves back to back without a word, moving as if they'd drilled it for years. She took the left. He took the right. She still didn't know how they'd known.
Somewhere in the middle of it he'd made a dry remark "good footwork", she thought, though memory blurred the edges now. It had caused her to laugh at entirely the wrong moment. The nerve of him. That heartbeat of distraction nearly cost her, but he'd shielded her without making anything of it, as if nearly dying on her behalf were an unremarkable Tuesday.
She looked at the striped floor, painted on by the bars in her window. She picked up a handful of pebbles and flicked them one by one. No. A bit to the left. Next one. Nice! Square in the middle of the center stripe. Then, because she was apparently punishing herself today despite her small victory, she let herself remember the other thing.
There had also been that night in Guanhao, the one she'd never managed to forget no matter how hard she tried. She could still recall, with irritating clarity, the sound of his voice in the dark. Letting things go had always been her specialty. But this...
By morning he'd returned to his usual composed, unreachable self, as though the night before hadn't happened in his world.
It had happened in hers.
Come and make me yours.
She had slipped that note into his pocket.
Four years ago.
She had talked herself out of it for years. True vulnerability never came easily to her. Even with her sisters, some guard was always in place. Still, she'd taken a risk she never had before. And for what exactly?
She looked at the bowl. The soup had grown cold. She decided to eat it anyway.
Last time, Roger had passed along the excuse. Rayleigh was ill, couldn't make it to her bar. She still wasn't sure she believed it. Half the world wanted her, and the one opinion that actually mattered hadn't shown. Maybe that said something about him. Maybe it said something about her.
She'd spent eleven months training herself out of hope. Pure survival instinct. Hope made you reckless. Hope made you listen for footsteps that never came.
But she had seen that armada.
Would he really come for her?
And if he did, would it be in time?