「虎穴に入らずんば虎子を得ず。」

「If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub.」

Thirteen Years Ago...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll give you a ride after dinner~"

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

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

"Yeah!" he assured. "And if no one's watching, I can try and fly again~"

"Fly, eh?"

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

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

"O-Outside!" Momonosuke amended quickly, with a nervous chuckle and a waving of hands. "I won't try it in the temple again."

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

That familiar twinkle of amusement drew a relieved grin onto the young prince's face.

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

The disheveled girl let out a groan.

"What about Momo?" she whined.

"Yes, Lord Momonosuke as well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, Kawamatsu, but…"

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

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

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

Striding into the yard was an odd sight.

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

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

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

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

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

The imposing man continued his slow march, unbothered, until he reached the foot of the stairs where the three stood, dropping the boy to the ground unceremoniously and holding him down with a foot crushed to his back.
"I request an audience with Emperor Oden," the man rumbled, voice impossibly low and gruff. "I was told I'd find him here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hiyori's cries deafened even that.

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

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

"Wait! Wait! Don't leave me here!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Travel without harm,

Away to a foreign land,

Where safety awaits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doe stayed put though, a small relief.

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

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

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

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

"Please," he breathed.

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

It never reached its target.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was, without a doubt, a murderer.

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

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

It was ready for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A flash of blinding light in the darkness.

Then, nothing.

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

Yet, he didn't want to move.

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

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

Somehow, he was alive. He'd survived the-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," the stranger interrupted bluntly. "I saved you. You're welcome."

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

"Wha - I - wait, you saved me?" he stuttered. "You fought that creature?"

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

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

"Would've," the man muttered. "But it ran off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So I'm not insane?" the blond asked quickly. "That beast was - was real?"

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

"It's real," he replied. "You didn't answer my question."

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

"I'm-" he started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zoro," he answered, then stared at the blond expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Sangoro," Zoro repeated, voice thick with skepticism.

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

"Sangoro."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never anyone around to watch me," he mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

"Which is…?" Zoro's voice rumbled behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sangoro shook his head.

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

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

"Where's the nearest town?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here he stood, at long last.

"I take it you've never seen the Capital before."

With unexpected and not necessarily welcome company.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, it's certainly-"

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

"What?!" he screeched, interrupting himself. "Who says I'm from Germa?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Foreigners aren't allowed."

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

The blond paled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Doesn't mean we get many though."

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

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

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

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

"To where?" Zoro snorted. "You've hit the edge of the continent, genius."

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

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

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

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

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

Still, Zoro found the gall to snidely add, "And considering you couldn't even survive in the wilderness..."

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

Kaido's domain…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The disrespect….displaying his Seal so brazenly…"

...

"I can't believe the Empress lets him wander freely…"

...

"...Useless….still hasn't killed the creature…"

...

"You know, I'm starting to think he's actually-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still no answer.

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

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

"Hello? I asked you a ques-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, mister, you sleeping like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I said I'd take him to the Empress!" Toko replied.

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

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

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

"He's said that about fifty times now…" he muttered.

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

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

"I really hoped you wouldn't make this difficult, Your Highness."

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

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

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

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

"Oi, Hiyori."

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

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

A gruff, scolding male voice.

"Swordsman! The Empress must be referred to as 'Empress' - 'Empress Hiyori' at the most casual! Though to you, 'Your Majesty' would be most appro-"

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

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

The blond's stomach dropped.