Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Freedom’s a brittle mistress, lambkins. Cruel ‘nd vain, yet sweeter than a jar of honey, seducin’ ye with false hope ‘nd meaningless oaths,” said Makino’s mother, tucking her restless daughter in her comically large bed.

“And what if someone offers me freedom? What if they say: ‘You can be free, I offer it to you out of my goodwill.’ What then?” asked Makino, her large, owl-ish eyes peaking from the edges of her blanket. 

Makino’s mother frowned. The bulky woman pursed her slim lips into a pale line, her eyes growing thoughtful for a moment.

“Freedom can’t be given, lambkins. 'nd if some thick-skulled bloke tries t’ convince ye otherwise,” Makino’s mother grabbed her thick forearm and shook her clenched fist in front of her daughter’s face, “then ye mama bear will give ‘em a piece of her own mind.”

Makino giggled, knowing very well just how mean her mother’s punch could be. Many crude bandits and sailors got a taste of her ‘good ol’ chap Toby’ when they visited their family bar.

Makino’s mother placed a gentle peck on her daughter’s forehead. “The only one who can give you freedom is yerself, lambkins. No one else, but ye, caphiche?” 

“Aye, Mama,” she nodded, before settling her head against the white pillow. “Good night, mama.”

“Good night, lambkins.”

Makino was fifteen when she dreamed of the young lad for the first time. 

She stood upon a deck of a large ship—even larger than Garp-san’s own flagship, the Doggy Voyager—with her feet bare (she must’ve fallen asleep on the beach whilst reading), her slim frame hugged by her favourite light-green dress, the edges of its breezy skirt brushing against her ankles and she walked around, studying her strange surroundings.

Makino walked towards what she thought must’ve been the ship’s Helm—and there! Near the steering wheel stood a man—a boy, really, perhaps around Makino’s age; tall and spindly like a willow with legs nearly twice the length of his torso, he wore a simple, white shirt, barely buttoned up with knee-length trousers of odd colour and even odder patterns—were they meant to be flowers? Makino wasn’t sure. 

Yet the most noticeable trait of the boy before her were his wild curls of scarlet hair—brighter and sharper than the red of blood—trapped under a paled straw hat perched on the top of his head like a king’s crown.

Her mother taught her to be wary of strangers, but whilst she was carefully exploring the ship she saw no one bustling about, making sure this large complex of wood and sails wouldn't sink. 

So, he was probably all alone here, just like her. Not to mention, he didn’t seem hostile, he felt… warm. And free. Like the seagulls she often saw perched on the roof of her bar, capable of flying wherever they wanted.

Makino steeled herself and decided to approach the tall stranger, her steps spry and eyes determined. She tapped him on the shoulder (she had to stand on her tiptoes to do that).

The scarlet-haired boy whipped around, startled and wide-eyed, he resembled a small, grey rat caught in a mouse trap, its tiny mouth stuffed with delicious cheese. 

His left hand immediately shot towards his right hip, where he had a long saber sheathed within a red sash wrapped around his hips, and only now did Makino notice he was armed. 

Despite the knowledge of him bearing a weapon, Makino… she didn’t exactly feel threatened or in danger. She couldn’t explain it, but… his presence was an odd comfort, like a distant memory buried in the outermost corners of her mind. 

She knew him somehow, and he too must’ve had that odd feeling, for when his eyes—dark maroon with speck of gold—first met with hers, the boy’s lips curled into a wide, clumsy grin, his eyes shining with curiosity and something akin to recognition. 

Makino opened her mouth to speak, wanting to introduce herself, but no sound came past her parted lips, her voice snuffed down in the back of her throat like a flame upon a candle. 

Her thin brows furrowed, before she tried again. But she was unsuccessful once more. The scarlet-haired boy’s broad shoulders shook with suppressed laughter and Makino clenched her jaw to resist her more than righteous urge to punch that cackle out of his gut.

The scarlet-haired boy wiped the tiny tear from the corner of his eye, before he opened his mouth to speak as well, and yet he was unsuccessful, just like her. 

She smiled at him, the kind of smile that said: ‘You see? You aren’t able to do this either.’; harboring all the smugness and petty satisfaction of seeing someone else fail.

His shoulders sagged in defeat, his lips pursing in a comical pout.

Makino giggled and reached out to grab and pinch his freckled cheek…

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Makino woke up with a startled yelp. A cold sheen of sweat crept upon her neck and forehead. The loud, ear-wrenching sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Makino blinked away remnants of sleep, before she stood up and put her slippers on (she could’ve sworn she’d been playing with the local children on the beach coast. When did that change?)

She adjusted the long sleeves of her nightgown before she crept towards the door to her room. With a soft click she turned the doorknob to the left, and locked the heavy door behind her. 

With soft, carefully placed steps, Makino walked down the short hallway of the attic, and then down the long and curved staircase of her bar. 

She took extra care to assure herself that she didn't make too much noise as she padded towards the bar’s main door. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Makino jumped back, her back arching as she hissed like a frightened cat, her small hands balled into fists. 

She regarded the old, red door with a wary look.

"Have to be brave. Have to be strong," she muttered under her breath, licking her dry lips anxiously.

She prayed to the Sea Goddess, may the tides be merciful, that whoever disturbed her sleep weren't the mountain bandits.

Her chest tightened at that thought, a thick knot forming in her belly, growing tighter and tighter until it ached.

Once, when she was but a six-years-old girl, a group of mountain bandits raided the Foosha Village. They stole as much money from the villagers as they could carry, and they didn’t shy away from whisking away barrels of good cider from her mother’s bar. Makino's mother managed to knock down three of those wicked lot, before a bullet took her in the knee.

Makino sucked a sharp breath into her lungs. With a trembling hand, she reached out and grasped the wooden handle. 

She opened the door very slowly, allowing herself a small peak through the gap between the door and its thick frame—

—Her fear-struck eyes met with a pair of exhausted and angry gaze of one Vice-Admiral Garp.

Makino’s voice faltered, and her throat managed to gurgle out a strangled groan. She slammed the door open, the cracking sound pushing her out of her momentary shock.

"Garp-san! Wha—Why are you here? Oh, do come in! Come in."

Makino let the bear of a man inside, before poking her head out into the peaceful streets of Foosha village. No windows in the houses on the opposite end of the streets were lit, and no one seemed to care enough to inspect the booming noise. 

Makino closed the door behind the two of them, sighing in relief. Her knees almost buckled under her own weight as she walked after the elderly man. The knowledge that the intruders weren't bandits or simple thieves, or Sea Goddess forbid, the pirates, made Makino’s heart leap in joy.

Garp sank into one of the tall bar chairs without a word, his hunched figure giving Makino a wretched feeling, as if she was looking at a wet, abandoned dog, starving and dying in rain.

The Marine ran his scarred hand through his greying hair, his frame deflating against the bar counter with a heavy sigh.

Makino swiftly stepped behind the bar counter and from the closest cupboard hanging on the wall behind said counter, the lass pulled out a dusty, green bottle and placed it in front of the gloomy-looking man

"This is the new spicy brandy I bought during the Summer markets last year; the finest brand in all of East Blue,” Makino gave the Vice-Admiral with a hopeful smile, trying to cheer him up. “Old man Docks sold it for a fine price, well, not really. Actually, it was rather expensive. Expensive, yes, but it is good. Try it. Go on."

Garp only grunted in response and gave Makino a curt nod. 

He grabbed the bottle by his left hand, and popped it open with its teeth. Makino said nothing to the unconventional style of opening bottles, and watched as the Vice-Admiral took a large swig of the booze. 

The old Marine kept his right arm firmly tucked against his broad chest, which piqued Makino’s interest. Placing her palms upon the smooth surface, she propped herself to lean across the bar counter, curious to take a look at the small bundle the Vice-Admiral tried to hide under his large, white Marine coat.

"Hm? What do you have there, right under your coat, Garp-san?" 

Vice-Admiral Garp's bulky body stiffened for a moment, his tanned, weathered face twisting into a careful blank mask. However, he didn’t keep that long, and a soft smile cracked his façade, the sheer joy quickly spreading across his entire face. 

"Bwahahaha! Nothin’ can escape your eyes, can it, eh, little lass? Oh, since you asked s’nicely. Makino-chan, I want you t’meet someone important t’me," Vice-Admiral’s voice was hoarse and harsh, his laugh great and booming like a storm in the Grand Line. 

Makino liked listening to the old Marine’s tales of his adventures and achievements when she was a babe, even now, when she grew older, she wouldn't mind a tale or two.

From under his Marine coat, Garp pulled out a rather small bundle wrapped in dark-green blankets with strange red patterns that resembled diamonds. 

The grizzled old Marine cooed at the blanket, as an uncharacteristically tender light shone in his light-blue eyes. He gently rocked the small bundle in his great arms, as if it were…

Makino stifled a gasp when she saw two chubby arms push past through the thick cover, small fingers clenching and unclenching as they tried to reach Vice-Admiral’s face.

Her jaw hung open, unable to close as she glanced back and forth between Vice-Admiral's gleeful expression and the babe that the old man embraced against his chest with that roughed-up love he gave before to his son.

Makino’s mouth pressed into a tight, pale line. Dozens of jumbled thoughts flew through her mind, one trying to outrun the other. The young lass was at a loss for words, unable to get out a single sound out of her dried up throat.

She walked up to the Vice-Admiral and peered at the babe from one of his broad shoulders.

A toothless smile, all sunshine and warmth, radiated from the round, flushed face, and Makino felt something warm and fluffy, like a cotton snuggle up in her chest, turning her brain into fuzzy mush. 

The babe’s large bright onyx eyes squinted at her with delight, the babe’s small, button nose scrunching in glee as a soft giggle pierced the heavy silence.

“Makino-chan,” said Garp, “Meet Monkey D. Luffy, my darlin’ grandson."

Makino cooed at the baby—at little Luffy—and reached out to gently shake his chubby hand. 

“Hello, little Luffy. My name's Makino, pleased to meet you.”

Luffy made a small babbling sound, before he giggled, kicking his tiny, bare feet in joy. He wrapped his chubby hand around her index finger and squeezed tightly—his grip was surprisingly tight!

Makino laughed softly, before she bent down and placed a kiss upon the babe’s brow.

"He's so adorable! And so tiny. I know that not all babies are particularly large—at least not human ones—but Luffy, oh, he is so small!”

Makino glanced up at the grizzled Marine, asking: “Was Dragon this small too when he was a baby?" 

Makino's smile turned into a sour grimace, noticing the old man's stormy glare. 

She mumbled an apology before her gaze fell back on little Luffy. 

Even a slight mention of Dragon made Garp this… sad and angry-looking mess. Makino understood why—she did—but she couldn’t help but feel a bit remorseful about their tragic relationship.

Dragon was the leader of the Revolutionary Army, a group of rebels that opposed the World Government and the Marine Corps, whom the old man served and was proudly a part of, hence his rank of Vice-Admiral.

On paper, in ideology and in terms of justice, the two of them were enemies. 

Father and son on the opposite sides of this terrible, endless conflict.

“They’re after ‘im, Makino,” rasped Garp. 

The fact that he’d dropped the endearing honorific he used whenever they had the chance to chat spoke of just how grave this situation was.

“The World Government knows he exists. I don't know how this secret was discovered; say whatever you want ‘bout Dragon, but that brat knows how t’keep a secret. Clever little shite.”

For a mere moment, and it might’ve been just Makino’s own eyes deceiving her, she saw a proud smile etched upon the battle-hardened man’s face. But the phantom of a smile disappeared the moment the Vice-Admiral went on.

“They're all gunnin' for his head,” said Garp, “Two months ago, he turned one-year-old, Makino. He’s just a babe, knowin’ nothin’ about anythin’, lass. He’s a good kid… My kid.”

The Vice-Admiral took a large swing from the green bottle, emptying it in one go, before slamming it back down onto the bar counter, spilling a few drops upon the shiny surface. Makino said nothing.

“Dragon came t’me about a week ago, or so. He was heavily injured, bleedin’ really bad, but by Nika he was happy. Heh, the luckiest man on this planet, he called himself.”

Garp smiled, before he went on: “The Cypher Pol agents were after ‘im, don’t know which number, but… Eh, it doesn’t matter. They're all swimmin’ with the Sea Kings anyway.”

A vicious, bloodthirsty grin stretched across his face. Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes, before it dimmed out like a dying flame, replaced by the sad, dog-ish look.

“Cypher… Pol? Never heard of those. What are they?” asked Makino, her arms crossed under her chest.

“They’re the World Government's deadliest assassins, trained in the arts of killin’ since they were capable of thinkin’. They’re dangerous, bloodthirsty, but also arrogant, which makes them weak and oh so punchable.”

Makino's world turned upside down as Garp finished speaking, and she had to press her weight against the Marine’s shoulder to keep herself from falling. 

The World Government had sent the deadliest assassin group… All to kill one small infant? Just how corrupt is the bloody institution?! 

“But why did you bring him here?” asked the young lass, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her fluttering heart.

“Wouldn’t he be much safer with you? You can protect him, right? Besides, if Luffy turns into a Marine, he’ll be safe from the Government’s plotting—”

“The World Government doesn't care, Makino!”

Garp snapped at her, his blue eyes, almost silver under the moonlight’s cool rays pierced right through her, pinning her down with invisible daggers of barely contained fury.

Makino gasped for air, greedily drinking the oxygen, as a suffocating feeling pushed against the bar from above, as if trying to bury it and them six feet underground.

Tears welled up in the corners of Makino’s eyes as she grasped her throat, choking on the manifestation of Garp’s fury—

—Black lightning sparked beneath Garp’s feet, sizzling and starving, burning with bright, red light. Vice-Admiral's aura, or whatever this was, shifted and enveloped Luffy like a comforting hand or a fuzzy blanket, keeping him warm, shielded and loved.

Luffy giggled, wrapping his tiny arms around himself, as if he was hugging the invisible force of Garp’s love. The pressure and lightning disappeared in a blink of an eye, and natural warmth and homely atmosphere returned into Makino’s bar.

Makino coughed and gasped for air, relieved to feel the ever-so-sweet oxygen freely traveling into her lungs. Garp did not apologize, his gaze—once more shifted into a dim melancholic and regretful stare—settling upon Luffy’s now sleeping face.

“They would kill the boy even if he became a Marine. I overheard Senny talking to Akainu and…” he spat the word Akainu as if it were the vilest of venoms.

Garp threw his head back and laughed, a broken and wrathful sound.

“Well, it seems whatever plans I had for my grandson, they’re all as good as dead. Those bastards would find a way to get rid of ‘im. Send ‘im on some suicidal mission. Or—or create an accident. They’ll never stop huntin' him.”

Makino's eyes slid back down towards Luffy, who was now soundly sleeping in his grandfather's arms. The horrid reality of the infant's almost certain death made her guts twist like a wet rug, the uncomfortable certainty he would die made her squirm.

“I'm not an idiot, no matter how dense I appear t’be. I know that my problems ‘round the brat wouldn’t be solved by ‘im becomin' a Marine like me, nah. He’s too much like my Dragon, even though he was always so… That's why I—"

“—You took him here, into my bar so I could take care of him,” Makino finished for Garp.

“Aye,” came the curt answer.

The prospect of raising a child made Makino’s heart sink. She was no mother, barely a week past her fifteenth year—what was Garp thinking? Makino understood his need to protect his grandchild, but why her? Why not anyone else? 

Makino was afraid, truly afraid. Dread creeped up her spine like a viper, slithering up her spine and leaving cold sweat dripping down her back, ready to part its poisonous maw and swallow her whole…

Her small hands balled into fists, knuckles paling due to the sheer force of her grip. Her nails dug into her fair skin, letting small trickles of blood drip onto the bar's creaky floor.

'I am not ready. I am nowhere near ready. I am only fifteen. Sweet Mother Sea… Give me strength, I can't do it. I can't do it!'

And yet, despite knowing the small infant less than five minutes; the bright, toothless smile and the small button nose and the squishy, gummy cheeks and the sheer joy radiating from his tiny frame made Makino reconsider. 

“I’ll… I’ll do it. Or, well, at least I’ll try, anyway,” she said afterwards, her voice barely audible to Garp's old ears. "I will take care of Luffy.”

She watched as the shadow of doubt vanished from Garp's face, his light-blue eyes regaining their energetic glee. 

The Vice-Admiral gave Makino an encouraging pat on her back, which in translation means he knocked the breath out of her lungs, whilst his shoulders shook through his full-belly laughter. 

Tears of joy ran down his sunken cheeks, his mouth now stretched into his moniker D grin.

“O’, what a relief for my weary soul. Great! I’m glad you’re on board with me, Makino-chan! Don't you worry, though! I'll come over every other weekend to look after ‘im. Marine’s promise!”

Makino sputtered, as she rubbed the sore spot, soon to bloom with purple bruises, no doubt. 

“I’m glad to be of service, Garp-san.”

“Again, I’m eternally grateful to you, Makino-chan. Really, you’re an honourable young lass. Your mother would’ve been proud.”

Bright, pinkish flush bloomed across Makino’s round cheeks after receiving Garp’s praise. There was something incredibly satisfying about hearing people who rely on you be joyous about your decisions and achievements.

“Still, I gotta go. Don’t want anyone to be suspicious of lil’ ol’ me, aye?”

Makino's face grew solemn for a second, but she didn't let herself be overtaken with fears and self-doubts. She couldn’t allow herself to falter and break like brittle steel, not when she was tasked with such great responsibility.

“I understand, Vice-Admiral. I promise to take great care of your grandson.”

She carefully took sleeping Luffy into her arms, not quite sure if she was holding the babe right, she swiftly adjusted his position. She grunted in surprise at the baby's weight. She never imagined for a baby to weigh this much, and when Luffy was so small no less! 

“May the winds always blow in your sails,” Garp called out from the bar’s doorstep.

Makino raised her gaze and gave the Vice-Admiral a small nod instead of a hug or wave of hand.

“May the tides carry your ship beyond the horizon.”

Once Garp left, the atmosphere within Makino's Party Bar grew lighter and the usual warmth and the rich smell of mingling ciders and wines, and sake with it as well.

Makino wasn't a mother, and she probably wouldn’t be for a long time. She could scarcely remember her own mother, let alone her raising Makino. But the young lass was determined to go through this anyway, Government assassins be damned.

Makino went upstairs and from the last door within the attic’s hallway, she grabbed a green, horse-shaped crib that once belonged to her, and took it back into her own bedroom, setting it down in the small room’s centre, letting the soft rays of moonlight caress the sleeping babe’s sleeping face.

Makino gently pushed against the crib, letting it rock from left to right. 

She watched with a small smile as little Luffy slept, before allowing herself to sink into her own bed, letting the dreams of the scarlet-haired lad and a flying ship take over her dreaming consciousness.

That night

the sacred land of Marie Geoise

The Room of Authority

An eerie atmosphere gently swirled within the Room of Authority, swallowing up all possible warmth and hope from the trembling man like a starved out beast. 

Rays of faint moonlight that managed to slither through the tall, arched windows illuminated five, grandiose yet terrible silhouettes, who all sat upon luxurious couch and armchairs, all gilded in gold and bronze; the furniture, the decorations and even the grand tapestries displayed wealth only gods of this world could afford to claim.

The five shadows were unnatural and queer shapes, slithered on the bare walls like serpents, stalking the kneeling prey within an imaginary grasp. One shadow seemed to have large wings, the other curved horns and legs of a spider…

Alfred Moswani decided he would not dwell upon it for too long. The tall, sickly man-child was an honoured member of Cypher Pol 0, the greatest of the sister branches of the entire Cypher Pol organization. 

And yet, despite his status, his skills as an assassin and no small fortune, Alfred Moswani knew that he was going to die.

He—and his colleagues!—had failed, miserably so. Tracking and killing one stupid brat, a child’s play, really. Or, it should’ve been. But that Revolutionary bastard proved to be much stronger than what their intel and spies had suggested—they were simply caught up by surprise! That’s all.

A small stripe of fresh crimson ran down the agent’s sweat-slick forehead, sprouting from a large, unstitched gash stretched across the wrinkly, yellowing skin. He bit down against his tongue until he tasted the slick iron, preventing himself from making any unnecessary noise. 

'Why am I here-wani? Shouldn't the Chief be the one reporting to their Holynesses-wani? Ugh, I just wish I could’ve stayed with the boys-wani! I bet they’re getting all the expensive drinks we all promised to buy ourselves after the mission-wani!’

Alfred Moswani was on one knee before the Gorosei, his head dipped low in reverence. He prostrated himself before the great leaders of the World Government, for that was his duty—to serve any whim the gods might have.

The last time they fought with Dragon was near Vanilla Kingdom in South Blue, pretty close to Sorbet Kingdom as well. Wasn’t that the place Kuma the Tyrant took over after the great giant dethroned the poor King Bekori? Oh, well… 

Their battle happened around a week ago. After killing a few agents, Dragon gained the upper hand and fled into Paradise. They searched for him everywhere and yet… Just like that, Dragon has disappeared, in the blink of an eye, faster than lightning.

“You failed to kill Monkey D. Dragon's spawn. Why is that?” one of them finally asked.

Alfred Moswani bit his lower lip, mind racing with carefully planned tergiversations and whatever justifications his sore throat could muster.

"The intel we were given; you know, the information contained within the secret files provided to us through Fleet Admiral Sengoku-wani? Aye, that intel; well, it wasn't correct-wani.”

“We couldn’t have possibly anticipated the true physical strength of the Revolutionary—which was immense, your Holynesses, believe me when I speak so!—His mastery of Haki is far greater than any of our agent's-wani. Not to mention his devil fruit… or was it his devil fruit, I… I can’t tell anymore-wani.”

Alfred Moswani’s squeaky voice faded into mere whisper, before it dispersed completely. He noticed the shadows that danced upon their visages twisted into ugly, deformed sneers.

One of the Gorosei made a dismissive gesture with his long, clawed—the fingers resembled claws and he couldn’t help but squirm—hand, as if to swat a fly.

“You were all thoroughly trained in the use of Haki since you were but mere children, as was dictated within the Cypher Pol training protocol, or do you deny it?”

“No… no, sir-wani!”

“You and your colleagues as well as any agent of this organization have been taught the art of Rokushiki, do you deny it?”

“No, no, of course, you are right, absolutely correct! I—”

“Silence, wretch! I am not finished.”

The trembling agent lowered his gaze upon his scarred hands, his nimble fingers digging into the purple tiles of the Room’s floor.

“You have eaten a zoan devil fruit once you have been promoted as a new member of CP-8. Do not use these pitiful excuses as an explanation for your failure.”

Alfred Moswani’s mouth opened and closed, yet only a meek whimper managed to tear itself out of his parted lips. 

He tried to form some clever argument, something that would save his hide from certain demise—yet even now he knew, even now the agent understood he wouldn’t see another dawn. 

‘Come on! Please, come up with something, anything!’

Anything to make the Gorosei understand his troupe's failure shouldn’t be thrown upon his shoulders, others were there too! Some of them survived, anyway! Ask them! Ask them, please!

“So, please, indulge me and mine in the tale of your total failure, agent. We are quite eager to hear all about it.” 

The Gorosei's eyes bore into Alfred Moswani, pinning him down like a fly pinned down by a spider.

Alfred Moswani despised voicing out his weaknesses, his failures. He was groomed to become the most perfect killing machine. And to admit that he wasn't perfect in his job was utterly humiliating. 

“We—we weren't strong enough! Why hadn't you sent some admiral? That Kizaru bloke-wani? And—and what about using CP-9 as well! Y'know how powerful Robb Lucci is-wani!”

“Is that a command, agent?” the Gorosei voiced as one, as they asked—no—demanded to know who exactly he thought he was.

Alfred Moswani felt a terrible, all consuming presence crush against his skull, as an unknown Conqueror's Haki invaded his mind, ripping his mind open and consuming him from inside out—

—The agent howled in agony, his light-brown eyes bulging from pain as his body trashed on the floor, his limbs twisting and bending in unnatural angles; he could feel every single bone CRACK and SNAP and it hurt. so. bloody. much.

‘No! I can't die yet! I didn't mean it that way! Please, please, I beg of you! Mercy! Mercy!’ 

"No… no, no, no! Wait! Ple—achgh—ase!”

Alfred Moswani, one of the World Government's top assassins, was dying within the Room of Authority, all alone, forgotten, and unimportant.

Through half-lidded eyes, although that could’ve been hallucination, a dying man’s fading vision of the world, he saw a flash of surprise cross through one of the Gorosei's eyes, before it was sternly switched with a mask of cold, unwavering authority.

‘So… this… this Haki. Is it none of theirs? If that's so, then… then whose terrible claws are ripping my mind apart?’

Terror fell upon his spine and cold sweat ran down his body at the sheer knowledge, the certainty of his impending death, of the invisible arms pulling him towards the blissful slumber at the end of it all made him howl. 

The animalistic scream—no longer human, no longer his—that tore out of his throat and the desperation laced within his voice made the agent’s skin crawl.

Alfred Moswani raised his twisted, misshapen arm towards the five figures, now blurry as tears obscured his vision. 

The Gorosei no longer seemed to have paid him any mind, as they started talking amongst themselves. It was like they couldn't hear the agent's begging agonized howls at all.

“Well, it now seems we had underestimated Dragon’s abilities and we paid for it by losing a few of our own.”

“The agents can be replaced with new ones.”

“Hm, quite right.”

“The Revolutionary Army’s leader is far more elusive and discreet than his father could’ve ever hoped to be. Surely, he has already hidden his spawn somewhere," one of them sighed, rubbing his temples with annoyed sneer on his lips.

“Naturally. Dragon is no fool. He knows the risk of keeping his child by his side, especially when we consider the fact that we have our own spies within the Army as well. That is far too dangerous.”

Alfred Moswani felt the unknown claws slowly fade away, finally allowing him to succumb to eternal rest. He knew that whoever invaded his mind got what they wanted, his memories of Dragon and of his mission were… blank.

“Then where is the child? We know for certain that Dragon…”

All five of the Gorosei grew silent and still like statues.

Alfred Moswani felt his consciousness slowly slip away. His heavy eyelids closed. His already ragged breathing grew even shallower. 

From the remaining minute of his life, the agent managed to hear some snippets of the conversation.

“…send to East Blue…”

“The Fist knew…”

“…Sakazuki shall leave…”

“…Send a Knight instead…

“Master, you must understand…”

The crumpled body of Alfred Moswani grew still. The tears that haven't spilled over his face dried in the corners of his eyes. For some reason, he felt at peace. As if he had accomplished something great. And yet, the terror of knowing that terrible presence in his mind will surely haunt him even in the afterlife, if there was any.

'I really should have stayed with the boys.' 

 Three weeks later

Dawn Island

Foosha Village

Makino stood behind the large, crescent-shaped bar counter, cleaning the last dozen of her glass mugs that were left over by her last bunch of customers. 

She carefully arranged the mugs, pushing them way back into the lowest shelf, just so they wouldn’t fall over and break (like some mugs before). The shelf itself was built in between two large liquor cabins, all of them stuffed to bursting with all kinds of booze and sake, all from East Blue, naturally.

Makino threw the dirty rag onto the bar counter and untied her white apron, which she miraculously managed to keep clean, despite serving day and night in such a rowdy bar.

She neatly folded the pristine apron and walked up the curvy stairs and down the hallway of the attic, right to her bedroom.

With a twist of a wooden door knob, she pushed the wide, oak door open and stepped into a small, yet somewhat spacious room and placed the apron onto a small, oval table standing under a single square-shaped window.

There wasn't much furniture, so that may have caused the impression of greater space. 

Her bed stood in the corner with a striped white-and-red pillow and blue blanket, all of them stuffed with freshly plucked goose feathers. Then there was the tall, imposant cabinet from yew wood where all of her clothes and boots were. It was right next to the door to her room, on the right. The thick walls built out of trunks of old oaks were bare, as was the floor. No pictures or photos of her loved ones, not that she had any left. 

Makino sighed softly, rubbing her weary eyes with the back of her hand. 

She took her checkered yellow-and-red sweater off, and hung it next to the other clothes within the cabinet. Then came the pretty, floor-length, green skirt she bought last season. It was pure green silk and it was one of the nicest and most expensive things she had ever owned.

Makino put on a white, knee-length dress with black buttons and thick sleeves. They served well enough as pajamas. 

She stepped towards a green, horse-shaped crib where a one-year-old babe sat, his chubby hands clinging onto the crib's railing. 

Luffy's large eyes lit up, and he gifted Makino with one of his gummy smiles. Her heart melted at the sight. 

Luffy has brought joy into her life, yet sometimes he was also her worst nightmare. 

A bundle of endless energy, the babe had already learned how to crawl on his four, which left Makino chasing after him through the whole place, giving her occasional headache.

Naturally, he wasn’t allowed into her bar when it was still occupied by her customers. 

No one but her knew about Luffy's existence, and she tried her best to make sure it stayed that way.

Makino patted Luffy's head, ruffling the strands of soft, inky hair. 

“You are a little trouble maker, aren't you, Luffy?” she chuckled fondly, listening to Luffy's nonsense babbling.

Makino let out a fond sigh as Luffy's belly rumbled once more. Only this day she had fed him over eleven milk bottles. But despite drinking a lot, Luffy never seemed to grow too much, which did baffle her. 

Knowing Vice-Admiral Garp and the way his stomach seemed like an endless pit that could never be sated. Makino assumed it was the Monkey D. genes.

“Don't worry, Luffy, I'll get you something soon enough!”

Luffy giggled and clapped his chubby hands as Makino departed with a gentle kiss upon Luffy's brow.

She locked the door behind her. She always does these days. Makino couldn’t explain it, but… Something was coming. Something terrible will soon befall the boy and she… 

Well, it doesn't matter. 

She double checked the door, just to be sure, before she went down the staircase. 

Underneath the crescent bar was a green box filled with fifteen milk bottles. She bought them just yesterday from Mrs. Marshmallow.

Makino picked up three bottles very carefully, hoping they would be enough for the endless maw that was Luffy’s stomach.

When Makino stood up and smoothed the skirt of her dress, she felt a prickly sensation at the back of her brain. 

Her brows furrowed. Something was wrong. 

Turning her head, her eyes locked with the staircase.

Makino's eyes widened in shock as she noticed swirls of hoarfrost blooming upon the steps of the staircase like fallen pine tree needles, or flowers of ice.

Loud cries echoed through the bar and the smell of death and blood made Makino’s small nose scrunch with repulsion. 

“Luffy!” she cried out, letting the milk bottles clatter upon the floor.

She ignored the shattered glass and spilled milk in favour of her ward’s wailing.

Makino dashed upstairs, running through the narrow hallway towards her room.

The hoarfrost covered the walls and floor and  even the ceiling. The closer she got to her room, the colder the air grew, until it pierced her lungs like a hundred needles…

The stench of blood grew stronger and stronger, and death was present with every step she made.

'Luffy! Oh, Luffy! Please, be okay! Please, be alive!'

Makino panted loudly, cold tears that burned her skin welling up in her eyes. 

Tiny puffs of white mist appeared before her parted lips. She could feel the unnatural cold creep up her skin, numbing her muscles and slowing her down.

“I… I won't m-make it in time. Luffy! Oh, Lu… Luffy!" she wailed in despair, her teeth chattering.

Makino's rosy skin soon turned paler than snow. Her lips went from rosy-pink to light-purple. 

She felt so, so tired. Incredible fatigue washed over her, pressing against her shoulders, weighing her down, down, down. 

If she just… If she just took a little nap… Perhaps then…

'No! I can't! Mustn't fall asleep! Mustn't fall asleep. Mustn't… Fall… Asleep.'

Makino's head spun from unknown pain. 

When her slowly numbing, red-ish fingers pressed against the cold oak wood of the door, a burst of energy rushed through her body, as if she was being soaked in a hot tub during cold winter nights.

Makino gritted her chattering teeth together. Her quivering fingers pressed against the door knob, also covered in hoarfrost.

"I… I must p-protect Luffy! Can't die no… now! Not when Lu… Luffy’s in danger!"

She pushed the wide door open with all her remaining strength and stumbled inside.

Foosha Village was a small, shabby place with very few houses and miserable-looking shops, all of which were located near the coast of Dawn Island. It was a port town… or maybe not. Hm, that didn’t matter to him.

He waited 'till midnight. 

He and his colleagues debated on how they should proceed with this operation. Why did Warcury task the Cypher Pol of all agencies with this particular mission was beyond him. The Holy Knights were far more reliable. They could at least get the job done properly, without any complications. Most of the time. 

Tsk, his thoughts were wandering again. 

From what intel the spies stationed in the East Blue had managed to gather, Garp gave away his grandson to a fifteen-year-old girl who owned this bar. When was the last time he was in a bar.  And why aren't there any bars in Marie Geoise? That’s just plain stupidity. Honestly, he should’ve stayed in Wano a bit longer.

He watched from the shadows as the young barmaid took out a bunch of empty boxes and went towards a trash can to throw them in. Due to her smaller stature and the weight of the boxes, which made her task more difficult, it gave him enough time to enter the bar without being noticed.

The bar itself was a large, homely place, stacked with a dozen of small, round tables, each table harbouring four chairs each. Cupboards, certainly filled with high-quality alcohol—he knew how to recognize a good bar, thank you very much—and shelves with empty glass mugs hung low in between above the crescent-shaped bar counter. The lacquered wood glittered under moonlight's shine, and the smell of fresh paint mixed with yew and faint hint of sake made him sigh in content. Aye, this was a really nice bar.

His eyes met with the curvy staircase and his gaze slid up, watching the stairs curve up and up.

He quietly walked up the staircase and through the narrow hallway like a shadow of death. 

For tonight he was an executioner, and his blade thirsted for blood.

Hoarfrost bloomed under his every step. The air grew thick as he let his presence swallow up the entire hallway. In the back of his mind, he could hear the faint clip-clop of Bakotsu’s hooves as it pranced around, neigh-ing with delight.

From the last room, he felt a very faint Haki signature swirling in the air, stretching far and wide like warm rays of sunlight reaching out to the world.

He gracefully unsheathed Shodai Kitetsu and grasped the smooth hilt into his left hand.

The other hand grabbed hold of the round doorknob, letting the hoarfrost paint the wood in white. 

He turned the door knob to the left. A faint click came from the other side.

He stepped inside, taking in the cramped up surroundings. He found the target sitting in a green, horse-shaped crib.

The babe watched him approach with curious light in his ink-black eyes, chubby hands gripping the thick railing with an unwavering strength. 

At least, that was until he raised Shodai Kitetsu above his head.

Dragon's spawn opened his toothless mouth, and a loud shrill sounded in the room, as tears welled up in his large eyes.

He grunted in irritation, his mind half-set to snatch the babe by his throat and strangle him right there and then… 

…The door slammed open and the barmaid—when did she get in here?—appeared, exhausted and trembling as she leaned against the doorframe for support.

“LUFFY!” she gasped out, rushing towards the crib.

“Oh, Ryuma, save me,” he half-groaned half-sighed, and with a swift side-step he appeared right beside her. 

With the blunt edge of his blade he slashed against her spine.

The barmaid's eyes bulged, before she collapsed on the floor like a broken marionette.

The babe started wailing even louder, stretching out his chubby hands towards the unconscious barmaid, crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks. 

He cursed under his breath—why couldn’t Mars deal with this instead?—as windows from the other houses lit up with life.

He turned towards the Revolutionary's spawn, raising Shodai Kitetsu above his head once more. 

He must finish the job before the villagers get in, and he was in no mood for—

S T O P

This single command made the blood freeze in his veins.

Master.

"Bring the child to Marie Geoise, unharmed. Mu has great plans for this one."

With reluctance he sheathed Shodai Kitetsu back against his belt, and grabbed the infant by the scruff of his cream onesie, like one would lift a scruffy kitten.

He tucked the Revolutionary's spawn, who was still bawling his eyes out for the barmaid, under his white kimono.

With a flick of his wrist, a flash of black lightning burst under his feet. A large pentagram appeared and scorched itself into the floor. 

The Abyss was always a grand sight to behold.

'What does the Master want with the child?' he pondered as he stepped into the darkness.

That night

The sacred land of Marie Geoise

Pangea Castle

The wheel of time turns, the unstoppable marching of its spokes always drumming against the crust of this Universe, changing and corrupting the billion worlds it holds within its grasp. The Immortals observe; unchanging, untainted, perfect. Mu being one of them. The world is as the creator wills it, but Mu is no creator.

“Imu-sama, they have arrived.”

Mu's loyal subjects, summoned by their Master, bend their knees, prostating themselves under Mu’s radiance and power, their heads held low and eyes attached to the red carpet like blood trailing beneath their feet.

Mu climbed the stairs without hurry or care, the destination clear before Mu’s eyes. 

The King sat down upon the Empty Throne—their throne—gloved hands caressing the golden mane of the lion statues, as if the felines were alive.

Mu's presence enveloped the great hall, his eyes, crimson like blood and burning under their thin veil like two embers, digging into the hunched figure of Nusjuro, who knelt in the far right.

“Your Grace, I have brought you the boy," Nusjuro said, feeling his Master’s gaze upon his person.

Mu merely waved their hand. 

“Let Mu beholdeth the face of the one whose father dareth to blow the horn of war and curse Mu’s rightful rule of this world.”

The King rose to his feet, and the world held its breath. Mu descended the staircase, the great pitch-black robes he was clad in; all of which were satine, silk and thick layers of velvet, glided behind him like a river of tar. 

Mu could feel it in the air. The shorter the distance between the King and the babe, the clearer the light of his drums became, enveloping the babe like a cloak, nay, a garb of holy light—yet the child himself was no deity—before only mere star too far out of Mu’s reach when Nusjuro took the babe into his arms. 

Mu saw themselves as Icarus of old, the boy with wings of wax that soared higher and higher, closer to Apollo and his sun.

But unlike Icarus, Mu did not burn. Nay, he would not burn, for the Apollo of Mu’s story was a desperate, freedom-seeking child, deity or not, and Nika would never wrought harm upon his elder sibling.

Mu stopped in his tracks once he stood face to face with the disgraced samurai. 

The child's tear-filled eyes gazed upon Mu with great interest. And yet, his chubby hands held onto Nusjuro's wide sleeve in an unwavering grasp, unwilling to let go.

The King slowly reached out for the child. 

Nusjuro gave up the boy without a hint of complaint, perhaps even relief, as Mu's hands coiled around the babe's small, round body like two serpents, ready to latch onto his meat and feast.

"Mu demandeth this one's name,” he ordered without letting his gaze flicker away from the babe's liquidy, black eyes.

“Monkey D. Luffy, Your Grace,” Warcury answered.

“Monkey D. Luffy,” repeated Mu, savouring each syllable upon their tongue.

The babe’s—Luffy's—eyes glimmered with faint, golden light, as his lips stretched into a toothless smile. 

‘Nika?’ Mu blinked in faint surprise, pulling the wriggling babe against their chest.

The boy squealed in delight. Chubby hands grabbed and pulled Mu's cheeks. 

His touch felt warm and quite gummy, just like the little deity that terrorized the world in the olden times. 

Upon leaning closer, Mu caught a whiplash of very distinct scents; sea salt, freshly cut grass during spring and… straw. Not the queerest of combinations.

"Monkey D. Luffy is dead,” Mu proclaimed, his crimson eyes shifting towards the Gorosei. 

“From this eve forth, the babe shall be knoweth as Saint Luffy of House Nerona.”

Mu’s black pupils narrowed into slits, cruel satisfaction shining within their eyes’ crimson depths. He watched as his subjects' faces morphed and twisted into grimaces of barely contained obfuscation, outrage and disgust.

“Your Majesty, this could prove to be dangerous. He is Dragon's son! He carries the D. initial within his name! Why should he be allowed to live?”

Mu gave the Warrior God of Agriculture a long, stern look. The tall, blond man lowered his head once more, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. Ju Peter should have known better than to open his mouth when not ordered to.

"Mu hath two reasons: First; the Sun God’s devil fruit hath been thwarting our chances of gifting Nika’s powers to a mortal whose soul and life hath been boundeth to us; wandering from island to island, desperate to find itself in grasp of a user suited for my brother’s tastes. Eight hundred years, and it all ends tonight.”

Nusjuro dared to gaze upon his Master’s divine visager, a questioning glance. 

Mu’s lower lip ticked upwards, as they resisted the intense urge of throwing these fools out of the highest spire of Pangea Castle.

“The babe’s Haki signature feels somewhat familiar. Does it not, Nusjuro?”

The disgraced samurai glared at Luffy, who only had his large eyes for Mu—as it should’ve been. 

The Gorosei extended his Observation Haki towards the infant, his will pressing against Luffy’s mind.

Nusjuro grunted in surprise. “It cannot be. Impossible!”

“Mu assures thee, Dragon’s son is not our foe come again. Their Haki signatures are nearly identical only on the surface. Their inner cores, however, are complete opposites."

“Your Majesty, is it truly safe to use this… child, as bait? What if the boy consumes the fruit? What then?”

“That is Mu’s second reason; having the boy consume the devil fruit is a necessary evil we must agree to let pass.”

“A Joyboy that serves the World Government and is loyal to our cause,” Warcury stated, giving Mars a cold look.

“Aye,” Mu nodded. “Turning our old foe into our most formidable ally.”

“Then, who shall this boy be given to? The Donquixote family?”

Saturn shook his head, the grip on his cane tightening. “Those traitors would only corrupt the boy's mindset. We have to keep the boy loyal to us, just look how Doflamingo had turned out, not to mention the fool that was his father.”

“Saturn is right,” Mars admitted reluctantly, as if merely agreeing with the Warrior God of Science and Defense made his stomach turn.

“Giving him to Donquixotes wouldn't be wise. Saint Mjosgard is already displaying signs of… rather rebellious behaviour.”

“Manmayer family?” Warcury suggested.

“No,” Ju Peter said sharply.

“Then, how about Garling ? He is loyal to us and—”

"He shall be raised by the five of thee," Mu's lips curled into a light smile as he spared Luffy a look. 

The babe was resting his head against the King's shoulder, already asleep.

Through the Mind Strings Mu had shared with each of the five men, oh, so long ago, Mu had been granted access to their minds. 

Now he was prone to listen to their raging thoughts. None of the Gorosei had noticed their mind shields weren't raised.

'I don’t understand. Why bother with raising the boy? I understand the Master's way of thinking, but the babe is still a D. He is dangerous to us and our peace. He should be dealt with.’

‘If we execute the boy publically, we will not only have Dragon banging our doors, but Garp as well. We mustn’t forget he is the child's grandfather, and as far as our knowledge reaches, his true loyalties lay with the boy. Then again, we can use the boy as a bargaining chip against Dragon. Hm, the possibilities are endless.’

'The Sun God’s devil fruit can be claimed by someone truly loyal to us, a Holy Knight in training—Shamrock, perhaps?—or a Marine Vice-Admiral.'

‘No, we can't. The fruit is sentient just like every zoan, and we’ve been chasing that fucking fruit for over eight hundred years—’

‘Language!’

—And I’ll be damned if we let our greatest chance slip by. There's simply no other way out of this one.'

'We can raise him, yet that doesn't mean we have to grow attached to him. He is nothing but our weapon, meant to be used against our enemies.'

They all raised their heads as one, five pairs of eyes reverently glued upon their Master.

“So shall it be, Your Grace,” they said in unison.