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Zoro was not lost.
Unlike popular belief, he had a good sense of direction. Things around him simply tended to move around when he wasn’t looking, reality shifting and morphing around him until he couldn’t recognize where he was.
The Witch never let him hear the end of it – and Luffy always laughed at that, so he couldn’t really be mad at her mockery for long – but he still held firm. He wasn’t lost. The mist around him had simply-
Moved.
Annoyed, Zoro kept walking forward. He wasn’t one to look back, anyway.
The air around him was still, silent. More living than dead, as though the breath of a slumbering beast.
(If he killed it, Luffy might smile and ask the Shitty Cook to grill the meat. What would an ancient beast of mist taste like?)
It led to another problem with being not-lost; he was temporarily separated from his crew. And ever since they set foot on that last island, to their Captain’s bright delight, their Haki had gone haywire. It had been flaring and hissing and flickering like soon-burnt-out candles, wrapping around them with the embrace of a loved one who had been lost (he could still feel Kuina’s small arms trying to wrap around his waist, her grin pressed against his stomach), and it had made them all question what had been real or not.
Then the mist had arrived.
And there Zoro now was; wandering aimlessly and not-lost. His Haki told him nothing. The steady ghost playing with his calloused fingers, tugging him along this way and that, was his only company. It was the only thing triggering his Haki. Invisible and a breath, dissipating with each exhale.
Zoro was not worried.
Even though he might be not-lost and separated from his crew, he always knew where to go. Always, always, he ended up exactly where he needed to be; in the middle of a fight, protecting the crew, by Luffy’s side.
No, he wasn’t worried. He always found Luffy in the end and his Captain always knew what to do.
(I’ll beat them up.)
It was instinct – more than instinct. Nami would probably make fun of him again if he tried to put it into words and explain. How would one even explain the invisible powers at play, the gravitational forces that tugged him the right way, the sureness of which he took his next step? How could he even describe this instinct that was more than that, that it was the shift of tectonic plates, the righting of realities, the watchful eye of Time itself as he was guided back home?
But Zoro put his trust in that instinct, following the ghost of a dead girl that might’ve just been that ancient beast of mist trying to lead him astray. (Astray was also a way, leading to new places and new experiences.)
He wasn’t like Nami, who only followed the directions given by the clouds she could read, the stars that seemed to shimmer just for her, the spinning of a log pose with a needle sharp enough to tear through waters. (Through the world.)
Like always, he was lead in the right direction, his feet soundless on dirt and then stone. The silence shifting into gunshots and screams, the sounds of battle, the sounds of war. Blood tinted the pale stone, the clear skies, and this was familiar. This, Zoro knew how to handle.
What stole Zoro’s focus amongst the clearing mist and his flaring Haki, was the one thing he always turned to. Bright and burning like a flaring star, a burning sun stretching impossibly wide and claiming its stake on everything its light touched. In the middle of muddled souls – flaring and dying and desperate – Luffy shone like a beacon.
(Zoro always found his way back home.)
How his beloved Captain had wound up in the middle of the battlefield, Zoro didn’t know. It wasn’t his business really; the how’s and why’s were always something Usopp asked in a shrill, panicked voice. Zoro was the one who didn’t have to ask, because it wouldn’t matter in the end.
He already knew his purpose.
Luffy had fallen to the ground – he looked exhausted. How long had he been fighting alone? – and he had his guard down in a way that had become so uncharacteristic, in a way that would get loved ones killed, and his eyes were wide and pleading and scared because there was a shift of someone else trying to get in front of him, to protect him from magma and an agonizing death at the cost of their own life-
It was easy, so very easy, to carve a path towards his Captain. One step, one precise cut with Wado, and he was in front of Luffy, pushing the warm body of a memory behind him. His blade cut clean and sharp through molten fire and the Admiral leapt back as though burned.
“Zoro?”
The voice was but a whisper – bright with relief and hope and tinged with the fear of another potential loss – but Zoro would recognize his Captain’s voice anywhere. Even on this battlefield where he’d never stepped foot before, this battlefield he’d only heard Mihawk talk about when he’d been weak and wrapped in bandages and told that he’d failed as a First Mate. This battlefield where Luffy had lost everything.
(He would regain so much more, another brother who willingly swallowed flames to set the world aflame and whom he had thought lost for years. But that was later.)
“Captain,” Zoro spoke, calm and collected. His back was straight, only Wado drawn in his right hand and he doubted he’d need the others. “Where are we?”
“Marineford,” another voice – Ace, alive and well and baffled – from where the older brother helped Luffy to his feet. “Are you…?”
And Zoro grinned, feral and sharp, watching with his one remaining eye as the Admiral got back up on his feet. The arm that’d been sliced off was regenerating and the man flexed the new hand, curled up in a tight fist.
He shifted his stance, not looking back at the brothers.
“Permission to kill, Captain?”
There was a pause, Luffy stilling at the scent of his bloodlust. (The young Captain hadn’t unlocked his own Haki yet, but even he could recognize the hunger of a predator.)
“You’re Zoro,” Luffy said instead, sounding tired but sure. “Even if you’re not my Zoro, you’re still my Zoro.”
And ah, Zoro really loved his Captain. He was ever so observant, always seeing the Truth even if it had been hidden (saw through Nami’s anger and Usopp’s hurt and Robin’s mask and Brook’s loneliness), and Zoro would never hide anything like this from his Captain. If asked, he would tell him everything.
He knew, as sure as anything, that Luffy never would.
(The past was nothing to a god who fought for a brighter future.)
Akainu shifted before him, something guarded in his eyes – full of hatred and magma and injustice forced upon others – and Zoro took it as a compliment. He was perceived as a threat then. Good. Akainu would be foolish to not fear a demon.
“Captain,” Zoro spoke again. “No spoilers.”
It lured forth a brilliant laughter – and oh, how Zoro had missed hearing that, would always miss hearing it when it didn’t fill the air with joy and light – and he could almost feel Luffy’s grin behind his back. But he stood firm, facing away from the sun and casting the necessary shadow.
“He tried to hurt Ace,” Luffy said, still bright and yet so very serious. “Permission granted.”
The white blade of Wado faded to black – swallowing the shadow, speckles of stars against a void, the night sky captured in his hands.
Akainu eyed it wearily, magma falling from his clenched fists, hissing on the ground as it ate through pale stone.
But Zoro was a demon, a blade of Night and Death wielded by the Sun God. And Luffy had given an order. Had given permission.
“Aye Captain.”
The night swallowed the battlefield.
It stretched out like Luffy’s own limbs – fast and dark and dangerous. It blocked out the sun far above, the same way Ace covered Luffy’s wide, serious eyes and carried him to safety under an arm.
It was a monster of its own.
But that was what the night was for. The absence of light, of the sun. It stole all terrible things and turned them sharper, tearing through flesh and bone and decisions that might seem too difficult for brightness to make. It hid all of the ugly, dark things from the innocence of day. Yet at the end, the night persisted through the hours without sunlight, making sure to prepare for when the sun rose once more.
For a moment, Zoro was that night.
No longer not-lost, but found. Exactly where he needed to be. (Where he hadn’t been able to be three years prior. It didn’t matter if this was reality or a memory or a hallucination made out of mist; Zoro would always protect his Captain.)
He cut through magma and pale stone, through flesh and blood and an execution stand. Falling stars followed the souls weak enough to run, swallowing them whole and burning all the while. Akainu tried to fight. Zoro wouldn’t expect anything different. (The man had fought the same way, the last time he’d seen him. Screaming with bright-hot fury and the blood of so many on his hands, his last breath coated with ash.)
In the end, the sun always makes way for the night. And darkness is an unforgiving thing.
Wado slid back into her sheath, once more a calming white. Resting after such an attack.
In the remnants of cooling magma, Zoro could feel the eyes of a hawk on him, burning and calculating and setting off his Haki like a curious crawl over his bared skin. Everything in Zoro wanted to accept the unsaid challenge, wanted to turn to his old master and accept the rematch, to cross blade with the legend once more. Now was not the time.
(The time will come later, when the mist has cleared and an island has been left with a new king, when the marines have caught up and their enemies – old and new – have gathered to witness the Pirate King’s ascension. The hawk and the demon will clash then.)
Zoro turned away. His Conqueror’s Haki flaring, his will powerful and clear, and the marines who hadn’t been swallowed by darkness and stars, fell all the same.
Across the battlefield, Whitebeard stood tall. He was hurt, bleeding, facing off against Blackbeard.
Zoro grinned, grip shifting on his blades.
The night against the pitch-black void. He wondered who would win, who held the darkest power in his hands or blades (his, always his; shadow cast by the most brilliant of light), and Zoro had never been one to back down from a fight that no one else had staked a claim on.
(In a future he’d wandered too far away from, that fight would belong to Luffy. The Sun God against the traitor who swallowed the void.)
And so, Zoro drew his blades.
In the aftermath, Luffy was curled up on the deck of a ship that wasn’t theirs. His head was pillowed on Ace’s thigh, arms wrapped around his brother thrice and refusing to let go. (There was no scar on his chest this time, nothing that would remind him of his greatest failure burned into his flesh.)
Zoro watched his Captain in silence, arms crossed and leaning back against the railing. They were safe, far away from Marineford and any marines who thought to follow them, and the wounds the brothers had sustained had been treated with clean gauze and medical herbs. The worst off was Whitebeard, fighting for his life below deck with a small army of nurses.
(He too would survive this time. There were so many things to live for, after all.)
No, Zoro couldn’t stop watching Luffy simply because he was there. Young and carefree, innocence intact. Curled up in a hug warm enough to radiate over to Zoro.
He was a wonder.
Zoro would never stop being amazed.
(And he would never stop protecting that wonder, that bright smile, the freedom he brought to everyone who deserved it – and didn’t they all?)
While Luffy was fast asleep, drool soaked up into his brother’s shorts, Ace slowly treaded his fingers though dark, messy curls. Shifting so carefully under a beloved straw hat. His eyes focused on Zoro, glinting in the setting sun like a tiger’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered, low and intimate. His words were colored red and orange and yellow, just a hint of a darkening blue. Zoro shifted his gaze to meet his. “You didn’t have to, not for me- but you did. It’s good to know that Luffy has such a good First Mate at his side.”
Shrugging, Zoro relaxed further against the railing at his back. His swords clinked together at the light shifting, a melody – an agreement – of their own. “You’re important to Captain. He never forgave himself.”
Something sharpened in Ace’s gaze then, and Zoro realized his slip too late. It would’ve been better if anyone else – anyone but him – had wandered into the mist and onto the battlefield. They would know better what to say. (Though, they wouldn’t have been able to slice through magma and void quite the same. There were no regrets to be had.)
For a moment, one long moment that dragged out until the sun had completely dipped below the horizon, stealing all the colors and leaving them in the comfortable darkness of night, Ace only stared at the First Mate. Then, he smiled. Small and soft and grateful.
A treasure, a truth, a secret just for Zoro’s eyes.
“I know you said no spoilers, but,” Ace spoke, fingers trailing over a rubbery cheek. “Will he be alright?”
Zoro blinked, a pause stealing his voice for but a moment. A soft chuckle he couldn’t hold back. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Needs some training, but he’ll shine bright.”
(The Sun God could do little else but to shine, after all. Spreading warmth and freedom was in his nature.)
Then Zoro’s gaze sharpened, his grin a match. A challenge, a threat, a warning. Ace stilled under that gaze, that grin, eyes wide and watchful.
“You better be there when he reaches the end.”
(So don’t you dare go die before then.)
A short nod, eyes softening with a gratefulness that felt misplaced when directed to Zoro, and then all the tension Ace had carried with him seemed to dissipate.
“Will you be able to find your way back?” Ace asked. In his lap, Luffy shifted, nuzzling into soft fabric with a soft snore. His chest steadily rising and falling with each breath. “Wherever – whenever – you’re from?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Zoro huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The Ace before him was younger than him now, and it wouldn’t do to have his Captain’s brother concern himself with this. Over someone who shouldn’t even have been there to begin with. Over someone who had just changed everything in this dream-memory-past-reality.
He looked out over the endless black stretching out below the ship. A reflection of the millions of stars twinkling above. Awaiting the sun’s return.
“I’ll find my way.”
(He always found his way back home.)
The ship sailed into the morning mist without a sound.
The clouds embraced them all in a teary welcome, a teary farewell.
And the mist was gone as soon as it had arrived, stealing back its traveler who had somehow gotten lost within its clutches.
(The ancient beast yawned before settling back down, eyes like moons falling closed once more.)
“Zoro! Hey Zoro!”
Waving away the mist from his face, the First Mate looked over at his Captain. His gaze was drawn to him like the sun, like the needle of a compass.
And his Captain was waving at him, the rest of the crew waiting just behind him, the remnants of mist clinging to their clothes and hair. It made the Witch’s hair curl at the ends and the air was damp enough for the Shitty Cook to struggle lighting his cigarette.
But Luffy was smiling and shouting happily at him, vest open in the gentle breeze and his scarred chest bared for the world. The mark of a failure, burnt into his skin. (The mark of change, of strength, of things lost and gained, healed over with new tissue. The pain would fade with time.)
“Did you get lost again?” Nami huffed at him, sounding irritated even though she was worried, when Zoro joined them at the ridge of the cliff.
From above, the valley they had been walking through didn’t look that large. Covered in mist hiding its secrets from prying eyes, but just beyond, Zoro could still see their Jolly Roger waving from the Thousand Sunny. From one end to the other, to the cliffside they were now standing at, the walk wouldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes.
“Nah,” Zoro answered, grinning sharply at Nami before turning to his Captain, to his best friend whom he couldn’t save from heartbreak in this reality. His grin softened into a genuine smile. Rare and precious, only given freely to Luffy, who matched it with a brilliant one of his own.
And no, this Luffy – his Luffy – hadn’t been saved by a not-lost Zoro who appeared at exactly the right moment. But somewhere out there, within the breath of an ancient beast and clouded by mist, a shift of tectonic plates and a reality away, a young Luffy would wake up in the lap of his older brother, weary and aching after a war but so very alive.
And that would have to be enough.
“Zoro got lost!” Luffy laughed, that soft shishishi of his that always tugged at Zoro’s heartstrings. “Silly Zoro!”
While the crew laughed and threw light-hearted taunts that only a chosen family could, Zoro kept the warm gaze of his Captain. Soaked it up like the shift of dawn and twilight, when the day and night shared the space as one.
“No,” he said once more. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”