Zoro enjoys the dip of weight on the other side of the bed, and listens to the rumbling snores.

He looks up to the ceiling – the room is dark, and the walls are covered in splotches of flickering light that shimmer in through the open window with the aid of street lights.

They are almost there.

He knows that, but does not regret it. He holds up Wadō Ichimonji – mouths 'sorry' because somehow some promises had lost their shine over time, lost the sensation of the soft night breeze, the smell of bitter defeat, and the taste of a friend's tears.

His wounds ache.

He grins when he thinks of Chopper's reaction when he tries to move – no no Zoro you can't you're still injured – and despite it all, Sanji's barely hidden smirk, Nami's joy, Ussop almost-hysterical laughter, Robin faint smile, Franky's tears, Brooke's chuckle… his captain's eyes telling him – see, you did it.

He is now the Greatest Swordsman in the World.

Zoro eases away the rubber arm flung across his chest, sits up, ruffles his captain's hair. The straw hat lies on the pillow next to his captain's head, and the ratted thing seems to glow brighter than the white sheath of Wadō Ichimonji.

The things that dreams are made of.

Zoro steps out of the room, and as he walks by each closed bedroom door (Ussop and Chopper, Nami, Robin, Franky and Brooke, Sanji), he imagines feeling the cool sea spray whipping across his cheeks.

When he strides out the inn, he can feel Sunny-go's ever-open eyes boring into his back, all the way from the docks across town.

His grip is hot against the cool of Wadō Ichimonji.

He looks up at the shadow that looms over him.

"Are you ready?"

Zoro replies without a hint of doubt because this was a promise, and he always stuck to his word. "Yes."

Royal Shichibukai Bartholemew Kuma nodded.