Hello yes and welcome to my submission for the 2019/2020 OP big bang. the full collection can be found on ao3, run by siojo, if you want to see the other fics ;)

Find my Partner's artwork for this fic at .com!

There were plenty of unexplained things in the world. Plenty of unknowns and undiscovered. Hundreds to millions of variations of a single species, lost and evolved and found over and over– each time as if the first. Humans alone that were so biologically distant as to be a completely different branch of the same people. Fish-men, merfolk, sky islanders, tontattas, giants, minks. Phoenixes.

As far as it was aware, it had been in this form. Blue and flickering. Born air-born and aloft, unable to recall before the sky. Just another species, flying and flying as years passed farther and farther from its notice. Soaring just over the cloud layer. (It had learned his lesson, over a century ago, when its feathers refused to blend into a darkening sky and those thousands of peoples' below the cloud layer tried to pull it down and keep it.

It was not meant to be kept. Nothing about it was– not the years, not its friends.

It had been too long since it had last heard it. The last person to have known it had died maybe a millennia ago, by now, hadn't they? It couldn't even remember their name, much less its own.

The hurt wasn't there anymore. Everything was too old, too far away, to hurt anymore. It had no more space for hurt. Not as long as he kept flying. Maybe if he flew far enough, without stopping, without breaks or pauses, he would find a new horizon to land on.

(Maybe it wasn't flying that would find it that new horizon.)

The clouds brushed by without registering on its brilliant feathers, whistling damp and cold as it blazed below them for the first time in unrecognizable months.

A phoenix is immortal, it reminded himself. The cloud layer broke, parting around its wings. Scattering around its steepening dive. Reborn from the ashes again, and again, and again. Nothing short of spreading the ashes would keep it down– and there wasn't anything fast enough to do so. At least, as far as it was aware.

(It had checked. It had searched. Why were nothing and no one fast enough? An apology was not enough anymore, despite how the roaring disappointment had slowly weakened to a whisper–)

I will burn forever, It told itself. No sword has ever extinguished me. No arrows, or bullets, or devil fruits– it had fought wars and time itself. No amount of action or inaction had claimed it yet.

It hadn't yet tried the ocean. Something about that made it cringe away even now. The thought of succumbing under the weight of water... of going out sudden and quick, as if it had never been there in the first place–

No bleeding dry, no pain. No catharsis. Extinguished so easily. Almost as if it never even died. The most peaceful way it could think to go out. It wasn't what it was looking for. Wasn't the one thing left to want–

It will not help me feel again.

(...But would anything, anymore? It had been alive for so long–)

It could almost hear the waves again, still far below it. For the first time in days. For the first time in months. Blue, and blue, and blue– as far as its keen eyes could see. Untouched as its feathers, expansive and endless–

A man was watching it. A single smear. A little stain, disrupting the waves. It could almost swear it could physically feel the attention of that focus. A ship, breaking among the blue.

Adrift, alone— with a man nearly dwarfing his own vessel. Tall and broad, with long, fair hair; who was watching it.

Almost unthinkingly, its wings flared out. Caught before its talons could even brush the surface, the stop sprayed salty mist into its mouth and across its feathers. Disgusting the cloying. The shock that taste gave it, salt on its tongue after so long, nearly sent it to drown anyway.

For a long moment, all it did was stare back. It hadn't seen a human in a while– not since the last time it had landed. When that actually had been was lost on it. If it tried, it could almost recall the click of a gun, the rattle of the metal hinges of a cage– and then nothing but the fuzzy memories of salty wind and cold, thin air.

It hovered, inches above and before two inclinations. If its luck didn't change would the consequences still be the same? Extinguished, caged, caught– was there still a difference, anymore?

Why had it bothered worrying, all that time? When there was only ever one result, for both of its choices? What was the point of a life made entirely of running away?

(If it spotted the slightest glint of metal, of chains or cuffs or cages, there was only ever one option– and that was deep in the ocean. Existing may have been boring, but at least it was free to be bored. An eternity of enslavement would never be better than to just not exist at all. It knew better than to take its chances anymore. Not when everyone it had known had lived and died, and the stories left of it led people who didn't know it, who didn't care about it to–)

The human was still staring at it. How long had they been in this standoff? Even though it had perfect eyesight, the man's expression was unreadable. Quirked in a way that it couldn't recognize. Humans had quickly become unfamiliar, the longer it had gone without seeing anything but the occasional free-flying bird from its flock.

Confusing, curious. Just what was this person thinking, if not to shoot it? What was he trying to accomplish, floating about aimlessly in the middle of an ocean? It wasn't the first time by far something had frozen at the sight of the phoenix, but this was uncannily… it didn't have the right words. Unaggressive? Shallowly inquisitive?

(How long had it been since it last saw a creature that stared at it with anything less than greed?)

It blinked as firm pressure settled under its talons, unaware when it had turned to alight onto the railing of the ship's deck. The ocean was somewhat forgotten behind it. (Pushed to the recesses, to be considered later. When it had sated its curiosity. When it was bored again.) The man barely seemed to shift. Though his eyes traced the phoenix's form warily, there was no twitch for a sword or a gun at his back. Not even a cautious step back, though his gaze lingered on the massive blue claws latched onto his rail.

The human just met its eyes evenly. Not breaking to blink or to breathe, expression creasing the longer neither of them moved, and –

The phoenix's feathers ruffled. Oh, it realized, something almost embarrassed fringing its thoughts, I am supposed to… to say something. Its beak parted and closed, clicking quietly in the silence. Its throat was hesitant to open, to move. Unused to being used at all. It could barely remember the shape of words in its mouth. Foreign, unfamiliar– When did I last speak? When did it last make any noise? Anything at all? There was no point in singing anymore. No when there was no one to hear. No point in calling out, with no one to greet, no point in–

Its first attempt was garbled and unrecognizable. It winced, unsure what language it was even trying to force out. If it was one still alive, it wasn't said in any way the human recognized, by the way his face scrunched up in confusion. Its second attempt was closer to the ways it remembered it, vowels dripping and clicked out, but it was clear the other still had no clue what it was trying to communicate.

"...I don't understand," The man eventually said, slow and hesitant, and went still when the phoenix practically glowed with realization. The words weren't right, the intonation unstressed and strange in a way its memories weren't– but still...

It took a moment of struggling, of whistling and hissing under its breath as it tried to loosen his tongue. But eventually, it managed to stumble over a fairly clear chirp of "E-Englisc?" that had the man's eyes widening. The old tongue wasn't right. Wasn't exact, the rises and dips and stresses of vowels so abstract compared to the man's easy tone– but it was the closest it had.

Invigorated, it ignored how its feathers rose in a flare of cool light. "Englisc?" It repeated. "Are– sy–" it hissed, clicking to itself in frustration while the human just continued to stare at it in shock. "Gese?" It eventually forced out, leaning so far forward it almost fell.

It hadn't been nervous in perhaps a century– and hearing it in its voice, hearing its voice at all (even if his words weren't right and the man didn't understand him), made it's chest swell with something terrifying and old. Rushed, frenzied–

"Hello," The man breathed.

(–Alive.)

It was just as quickly gone. Vanished in a flash, as if it was never there at all, but knowing it could still– could still feel– it ached.

English wasn't a language he was admittedly too familiar with so far. It was only a couple of centuries old, wasn't it? Not one it had gotten much exposure to. But old enough for it to remember. Enough to have heard it in its fledgling days, back when it still bothered trying to fly low for something resembling company. Before it had begun to truly start flying.

(It barely remembered what from. Barely remembered if it was ever running away, or just started and couldn't stop. Had it really been so long since it had last paused?)

The human still looked a little dumbfounded. It wasn't making any moves to speak beside his one word–– and wasn't that frustrating, to have the only person around who likely knew at least a facet of a language not speaking it–– "hātest þū?" It grit out. Barely a flicker of recognition. Maybe it's pronunciation had faltered. Maybe the language had evolved past his recognition. "Hāte– n-name? Þæs... õu," it paused, considering the human's squinted stare. "...you? Name?"

"Are you… asking for my name?" The human gave it another look that it couldn't understand. Something familiarly fascinated and yet softened with something it hadn't seen before.

(It had. It had seen it before, millennia ago. On the face of a friend, on the face of a loved one, wilting unhealed in the circle of its desperate fire; all singing bones and sagging skin–)

It pushed it all down. Swallowed it like stinging bile, heat racing back down its throat solid and stiff. Stuffed it right back where it belonged, too far away from it to see. There would be no entertaining old stories. It didn't have time for them.

The man shifted in a move decidedly less stiff. It watched, eyeing the smooth way his skin pulled and joints moved silently. "My name is Edward Newgate," the human responded, all looping sounds and easy vocalization, and it snapped out of its thoughts violently. His brown eyes regarded it coolly, calm and unaware of its thoughts, and the phoenix relaxed in response without really giving thought to when it had stiffened. "Can you understand me? I am a pirate, though I appear to be rather lost."

It tasted the sound, the name, on its tongue. "N...ewgate…" The thought of a name was almost dizzying. The idea that it knew a name, that it could say it and its owner would answer…

It hummed in irritation, shaking out its plumage as if to brush off invisible dust. Half of those words were lost on it. It had no idea what a "pirate" was supposed to mean, but it did recognize the word "lost". That was a word the few humans it did see use all the time– humans it found small and stumbling, along the cliff faces and forests it had perched in for a rest.

"Lost," It repeated thoughtfully. How to respond was escaping it. It left it to shift uncomfortably in its makeshift perch. "You lost?" Separated from older humans. Seperated from nests. Humans who could not find their way. It must have been easy to get lost if you couldn't see the stars. There was no map in the human's hands, no hints of lined paper in his pockets, or the waistline of his pants.

It knew the way. It always did. There was not an ounce of ocean it had not yet touched. it didn't matter which part of it this human was looking for.

Would it help though? It had better things to do, didn't it, than to help some random human? Than to try and speak a language unfamiliar and awkward on its tongue, than to direct towards land when the man could just as easily turn on it at any point? Maybe the man had friends waiting on the closest island. Maybe they had guns and cages. Maybe it had been spotted glowing even through the clouds. Maybe they were anticipating its curiosity.

...Maybe it didn't matter.

It would be something interesting, at least. Something breathtakingly new. Something it hadn't tasted before– at least not in a long, long time.

(There was always the ocean, in all the miles between here and whatever was waiting.)

It seemed it didn't have to struggle to voice all of that, with the way Newgate seemed to regard it in a new light. "Will you help me?" It was asked. That was a lot of noise to parse through, and barely any of it was remotely recognizable. "I have food, if you want that."

Help, food, want. Those weren't so unfamiliar. Those it swore it had heard within the last few centuries, yelled between humans edging to close in on it. Passed over mouthfuls and shared greed.

The human frowned when it shook its head. It did not need help. There was nothing the addition of more humans could do to improve its existence. Food didn't matter– it couldn't even remember what any of it tasted like anyway. Want…

It just wanted to not be bored.

(Just wanted to feel something, if only for a moment. To thaw out, as if all its flying had chilled its nerves to numbness and ice. There was no better reward, and it would be getting it either way.)

"H-help," It promised, spreading its wings. "Eowland feorbúend. I help." It had no idea why it was even bothering– but at least it was something to do. If anything, it weighted its wings with a purpose. All it would need to do was a quick check, just a brief flight back above the clouds to see the stars.

"Wait!" It froze when Newgate thrust out his fleshy hand. It was withdrawn just as quickly, jerked away before it could even hiss. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you" The human said, quieter this time. Something in its voice was strangely rushed, forcing it to carefully focus just to catch what he was trying to say. "Can I know your name, first?"

Name. Your.

It's own name.

Of course– right, shouldn't it have expected that? Newgate had given his name, and it would only be polite to– to–

The silence was stifling. Newgate's expression hadn't changed. The longer he waited for an answer, the more it deepened, darkened. Something cold welled up in the phoenix, strong as a deep-water current.

Has it really been so long, since I had someone to call me by name? Newgate was still looking at it– still staring with that same expression–

"I… name," It said instead, because what else was there to say? At least this way it would have the illusion of being known. At least this way Newgate could never hope to claim it, to name it for his own like some sort of pet. He had a name, somewhere. Even if he couldn't remember it. It refused to die nameless. Even if there was no one left to speak it. Even when there hadn't been anyone alive to speak it in an unknown amount of centuries.

It didn't matter. What did it care that it couldn't remember its name? It couldn't remember lots of things. What was a name in the grand scheme of hundreds of thousands of lives, of deaths and rebirths, of–

"That's fine," Newgate said quietly, and the suddenness of the words almost made it reflexively crunch the wood under its talons to splinters. "You don't have to give me your name if you don't want to. You're already helping me, after all."

The phoenix was left silent. Gauging the human before it as best as it could, with its limited memory and experience. Stopped short in the face of the simplest, clearest respect it had gotten in millennia.

It had no idea how to bridge that gap between known and forgotten. No idea what to expect. Just how different were humans now, from what little it remembered of them a handful of centuries ago? From the brief interactions it had over the years, between milliseconds-worth of pit stops and pauses; what was it supposed to anticipate from the man in front of it?

It didn't know, and the longer it thought about it the less it realized it cared.

(The tiniest tingle of curiosity, of confusion, winked out with the same ease of a wick in the water. Inconsequential and forgotten. This was a brief experience, after all. It wasn't worth more than what energy it was already expending.)

Newgate didn't do anything more than watch, that same look on his face, as the phoenix fled up above the clouds.

"That's rather handy," Newgate greeted it when it returned. It seemed the human wasn't willing to let names and tension stop him from trying to talk. He seemed plenty content just to have it alight back onto his ship railing, leaning onto the wood beside it. Without the glint in his eyes that it recalled of most humans, he just seemed… relieved? It wondered if he wasn't used to the silence. Only a human would do weird things like sail off alone. It wasn't it's business though. "Must be nice not to have to use a map or log pose."

It had no idea what either of those things were. One of the words was vaguely familiar, but in the way that a song from a distance was still somewhat recognizable. Close to another word in another language that it had not heard spoken in a long time.

The human paused. His face fell a little, mouth thinning as he seemed to see something on the phoenix's face. Without a word, he ducked down and began to do a strange little dance– patting his large hands over his clothes and humming quietly with each little tap. Left the phoenix just watching, somewhat bewildered, until he muttered "Oh, there–" and pulled a crinkled and water-stained little paper out of an inner seam from his vest. A comically tiny thing, nestled oh-so-delicately between Newgate's fingers. Dirty and just beginning to yellow, with odd little dash lines and drawings...

"M-map," It realized, craning its head closer.

(The word sparked something quiet in it, for just a moment. Like flint and steel, a brief flicker of light and warmth among the cold. Familiarity always did, these days. It so rarely had it to lean on.)

Newgate dutifully held it out for the phoenix to better inspect. Didn't twitch or pull away. even as blazing flight feathers stretched outwards to just barely brush faded ink.

(Its flames did not burn, but surely this human did not know that. Surely wasn't aware that his precious little paper, so fragile, so attentively nestled in his hands, was in no danger. The warmth whispered again, ignored and unnoticed.)

The paper rustled lightly when it nudged at it with his beak. "It is a map?" It asked quietly. Newgate's face twisted oddly when it glanced up at him for confirmation. Whatever he felt, it made him hesitate. His mouth quirked up at the corners and his eyes squinted, crinkling at the corners. It was not anger, though, it knew– and the "map" remained in a still and relaxed hand between them. Anything else came secondary to that; it turned back to the map.

"This is a map, yes," Newgate finally answered. "It's not here, but it's the only map I have right now. See this?" His finger tapped lightly at one of the little blotches of ink. The words around it were smeared to illegibility even to the human, but Newgate knew he would never need to read it to know its name. The words came out slowly, but it wasn't entirely sure that it was for its benefit. Not with the way the human traced his touch against the ink, grazing unfamiliar shapes with the same sort of reverence it used to feel. "This is my home island. I came from here."

The phoenix squinted at the tiny smudge of text. "Home," It mumbled. Slowly saying the word, clicking it beak as if it was trying to taste it. "You... from "home" island?" It was a strange name, for an island. Not said quite right, awkward even to its inexperienced ears– it was near certain he had heard that word elsewhere.

(Tangled and unrecognizable, slurred through a dozen different languages. Home. it was sure it had heard it somewhere before, whether on the cries of a passing child or the snarl of a hunter passing below it.)

(Where was it messing up?)

"Home. Where you from?" It still didn't sound correct. Still fumbled on its tongue, caught in the back of its throat. Such a short word, for the length of smeared letters on the little paper. Had it really been so long, since it had last read anything? It wasn't sure whether it was itself or the text that had changed to be so unrecognizable.

"Yes, a home can be where I came from."

(Not an answer that truly filled in the blanks. It still had so many questions, and no idea how to ask any of them.)

"Anyway," Newgate began, and the phoenix was almost reeling with the sudden shift in conversation. "Which way is the island? We go before GrandLine weather gets us."

The human watched it for a response until it nodded slowly. The need to fly was abruptly overwhelming, almost– it hadn't realized it had quieted at all until Newgate had spoken.

(Hadn't realized it was a need at all, until it was gone and back. For how long had it felt nothing but the pressure to keep running? It couldn't even remember where he had been trying to go.)

(Maybe there never was a destination in mind.)

"... Ne… No Feorbúend ," It finally admitted. The closest island wouldn't take more than an hour to fly to– maybe even for a round trip. From the look on the human's face, it doubted it's intent was clear enough, but that didn't matter. He'd understand when it was back. Probably. "I go?" Newgate bobbed his head and for a long moment they just stared at each other until it realized the gesture was likely meant as some sort of approval. At least, it hoped so. At best, it was a neutral acknowledgment that it supposed could be perceived as approval. It still wasn't really able to differentiate between what made a negative or a positive reaction yet– just ones made up of anger.

It didn't need to learn anger again. It simply never forgot.

How could it, when that was all the interaction it had gotten in the past countless days, years, decades? The furrow of a brow, when a wound didn't last. The shouted orders, the screams when it dragged itself just out of reach– hands and ropes and chains falling short; of course anger was all it ever knew. It wasn't mad himself, of course. It was just another thing to run away from.

(What did that make it, then?)

The atmosphere was suddenly stifling.

It spread his wings. Cast a last long glance back at Newgate, searching for a second nod, for anything possibly marking approval– and listened to the human yank at the ropes and rigging behind it as it glided a path forward. It just had to keep flying. That's all it was doing. Fly to the next island, and then when Newgate had had enough of it, and it was bored again– then it would fill the emptiness elsewhere.

It would be so easy. First, though, it would milk all it could from this last experience. this last interaction before it stopped trying to tug at chances.

The ocean wasn't going anywhere.

Newgate had been quiet since the island came into view.

Neither of them made a move to leave the ship. The phoenix was plenty occupied with remaining perched on the rail. It wasn't as if there was anything there to bother with on the land. A tiny little land-mass, with little to its name but some scraggly cliffs for sea-birds to nest and a few windy plains of grass. Completely uninhabited, at least of humans.

It was just another one of its pocketed islands that it knew was safe. That no one and nothing was alive on it to bother it besides maybe some poisonous plants or cliffs to fall off of.

How boring.

"Well," Newgate eventually piped up, "This is… something, yes." There was a strange, almost flat quality to the usual timbers of the human's voice that made the feathers on the phoenix's back lift subconsciously. The pause in his voice left room for tension. Time enough for the ropes in its ribs to pull tight. "You know, when I asked for directions, I had more… more people in mind."

People. He wanted people ? This human wanted other humans?

Well, that was unfair. How was it supposed to know that? Weren't humans supposed to say these things, if they wanted something specific? "Not say," it responded. This would have been so much easier if he had just said something. Was it wasting its time? Something bubbled in it, hot like a spark and extinguished the next breath.

It wasn't bored. It was hot, and tight, and was starting to genuinely eye the waves for a new reason— but it wasn't bored yet. " Not say. Why?"

"I honestly assumed… well, it doesn't matter." The human made a strange expression, the skin on his face pulling upwards.

(Hadn't it seen that before, somewhere? On blurred faces and in vague memories, fuzzy beyond recognition… It was sure it had heard it even before. Over and over and over again, and well, that just didn't add up.)

Newgate's face only seemed to pull more when he turned the look towards it. "I need to find more humans," he admitted, "to have a family ." The most important word was clear, with the layers of emphasis the human seemed to articulate– an effort lost on his only audience. It doubted its expression had even twitched in response, and yet Newgate took one glance at it and his face did another odd quirk. The skin and muscles seemed to sag downwards. It was fairly certain it still wasn't anger, but still something about the way it moved made something infinitely colder in its chest. "My crew will be my family," Newgate elaborated quietly, "Full of humans I want. Humans I want to stay with me. They will be with me because they want to."

Family… a group of humans who want to be together?

"This is my dream," Newgate admitted to it. "I want to have a family." The human seemed to stall for a moment, watching the phoenix oddly– but just as it always it had no idea what Newgate might have been looking for. Whatever it was, the other didn't seem to find it– or maybe he did– because barely a second later he was back to fiddling with the strange wheel by the front of the ship. "I want to have a family," He repeated, "A large crew. As many as I can find."

Family... people that would make up a family. If Newgate had to find them, they would be strangers, wouldn't they?

It didn't make sense. Maybe that was what made it keep listening.

"How you find?" It asked. "You fly?" Like me, it didn't say. Endlessly running. Endlessly reaching.

But Newgate was the type to stop, it seemed. There was an intensity of intent that the Phoenix could barely understand. The human was finding, when all it had been doing was flying. The more time it spent with the man the more it realized there was a difference between the two.

"I don't know. I will just have to keep looking. Talk to as many of them as I can, and take who will take me in turn." There was that new expression again, a face full of curves and creases that made it feel strange. "I hope to find a family full of people like you. If I can do that, I will be happy, don't you think?"

I don't understand.

Newgate made a loud rumbling sound, the noise bursting out of him like a vibrating song. "Since we didn't find any humans, maybe you can take me a little further?" Despite the lack of influx to his tone, his eyes refused to stray from the phoenix. It pinned it, made it feel almost naked under its feathers. "Stay with me a bit longer," Newgate asked voice quieting, "Maybe you'll find something yourself."

I don't understand.

The boat was turning, pulling away from the tiny little rock in the middle of the sea– and he Phoenix with it. It remained rooted, talons curled unmoving from the wooden rail. Listening to Newgate humming as he worked. Filling in the silence.

I don't understand. But maybe I could, eventually.

That would be interesting, wouldn't it? Almost like flying. Almost like running. Maybe this time it wouldn't be so alone. Maybe it would begin to close the gaps. Bridge something between the mild flickers of focus that pulsed, warming and chilling like a second heartbeat in his ribcage. Maybe it could attempt to fill in the all-encompassing nothing.

Eventually, it seemed the silence stretched too far for the human. "So," Newgate began. The phoenix cast him a sideways glance, watching as the human tugged at the rigging in a way almost familiar to it. "Why help a random stranger like me? I'm sure a giant bird made of fire has better things to do?" Even as he said it, that strange glint refused to leave the man's eyes. There was, as always, something it was missing in what the other was asking of it– and just as always, it had no idea what that might be.

Although, it wasn't as if it had the greatest amount of understandable vocabulary at its disposal, either– "Fly," it answered instead. Short. Sufficient. True. "I will... would fly."

"Only?" The glint darkened. It seemed to shadow the dips and lines in Newgate's face, leaving his gaze pointedly attentive. Intensely focused in a way it knew should mean it should step back. "Nothing but flying?"

It didn't understand. What else was there? There was flying— or there was falling. Crashing into the water, or crashing into a cage. There was always something vying to catch up to it. There was always only one choice. "Only flying."

Newgate didn't seem ready to answer that just yet. They lapsed into silence, watching each other without bothering to hide it. "Well," Newgate finally started again, "Now you can say that you're doing more than flying." Whatever look it gave the human only gained it a strange expression in return, softened at the edges in a way that only managed to confuse it further. "Do you want to see what I'm doing? I'll explain it to you as best I can if you come here."

Its feathers fluffed up a little, something quietly indignant bristling in his chest before falling flat. It may have been a long time since it last came anywhere near a ship of any kind, but the motions were vaguely recognizable. It was certain it had known this, once– known in the way it had once known its name. It wasn't some fledgling that had to be shown the ropes and how to tie them.

Newgate's body language remained lax and open, waiting not-unkindly. "When we're done, we can go and eat dinner." Still so softened, around the corners of his eyes. "I know you said you don't want food, but I have some rare fruits from the last island I was at you might like?"

It didn't bother responding. Newgate didn't push it. He was quiet as it carefully moved to settle on a closer railing, not bringing up how it kept its eyes pinned to Newgate's hands just to avoid the way the human looked at him.

Just to avoid acknowledging that the human was the first thing that had been able to fill in the empty spaces in it at all.