Sacred Ground — The Audience Hall
The ceiling arched like a cathedral, enshrined in purity, yet the silence within was heavier than any sermon. Gold-inlaid floors muffled the click of my polished shoes as I stood before the Five Elders — the Gorosei. The true monarchs of this world.
Their faces were ancient, eyes dark with secrets that had watched centuries pass. I was barely a boy to them. But I wasn't here to be seen.
I was here to be heard.
"You're requesting… what, exactly?" asked the bald one with glasses. His tone was not amused.
"A sanctioned voyage," I answered calmly. "Educational. A rite of passage, if you will. As the heir to the Figarland bloodline, it's time I observed the world below our clouds."
"You want to leave Mariejois?" another asked, brow twitching. "You've never even descended the Red Line. And you want to bring two… bonded girls with you?"
"Unbranded attendants," I corrected. "Loyal. Literate. Trained. They represent my house, and will serve only me."
The silence that followed was not disagreement. It was calculation.
"You'll be expected to represent our values," the elder with the katana said slowly. "Even in disguise."
"Of course," I said with a bow. "I would never shame the blood that raised me."
Later – Private Quarters, Estate of House Figarland
I stepped out of the sacred halls with a scroll tucked into my robe — a seal of permission, rare and restricted, granting me limited movement across the Blues under the pretense of "noble observation." I had no interest in diplomacy or discovery.
I simply wanted to move.
In this world, knowledge is shackled by walls. Even for a Celestial Dragon, the Sacred Land is a prison of ignorance. I had seen what I could from the inside. Now, it was time to walk among the pieces I intended to control.
"Raisa," I called. "Mireille. Pack your things."
Raisa appeared within moments, sword strapped to her back. Mireille followed, quieter, her amber eyes unreadable.
"Where are we going?" Raisa asked, her voice tight with hope.
"To sea," I said. "Under new names. For now, we'll pretend to be ordinary nobility."
"Are we?" Mireille asked softly.
I turned to her and smiled.
"No," I said. "But the world needs to believe we are. Just long enough for it to lower its guard."
That Night – The False Ledger
In the heart of The Archive, I inked the names I would wear:
Lucien Vale, heir to the House of Vale — a minor noble family from North Blue, long since extinct but known well enough to be believable.
Raisa Vale, adopted sister, retainer, protector.
Mireille Vale, cousin from a branch family, ward of the estate.
The paperwork was easy. Nobles rarely verify what they already believe. The world is stitched with lies — the trick is choosing the ones no one bothers to question.
I altered the records quietly, using the cipher codes Garling once taught me in passing. I doubt he thought I remembered.
He underestimated how deeply I listened when no one believed I could understand.
Morning – Departure
Our vessel was sleek, discreet, and well-manned — purchased through the black market channels known only to the highest nobles. No identifying emblems. No ties to Mariejois.
As we boarded, Mireille paused beside me on the ramp.
"Why now?" she asked.
I glanced at the Red Line disappearing behind the mist. The sky was overcast, as though even the world hesitated to see what I would do.
"Because the pieces have begun to move," I said.
"A pirate boy has attacked Enies Lobby. Another fights for fishmen rights. A girl of flame rises in the East. History is cracking, and I…"
I turned, smiling at her.
"I intend to step through the cracks."
At Sea – The Vale Mask
Our ship cut through the waters of the West Blue. I read from volumes banned even in Mariejois. Raisa trained twice a day with the soldiers — none of them strong enough to truly challenge her, but that wasn't the point. Mireille spent hours studying social customs, regional dialects, and popular political philosophies.
I trained them not to blend in.
I trained them to pretend to blend in, while holding knives behind their smiles.
In the evenings, I listened to reports from our blackmail network — slaves and servants in Mariejois who still whispered my name with awe and fear. My reach had not lessened with my absence. It had grown deeper.
This world has rulers, yes. But it also has narrators.
And I was becoming one.
A Port Town – Hidden Intent
Our first true destination was a quiet port town in the West Blue — a place known for wine and silence. There, I would begin to test my shadow.
I walked the streets with no guards, no title, no mask but my name.
"Good afternoon," I greeted the baker.
He blinked, surprised at my etiquette. "Aye… good afternoon, young lord."
That's right. Smile at the noble boy. Ignore the way his attendants never look anywhere but you. Miss the way one touches her sword, and the other listens without blinking.
We bought nothing.
We owned enough.
That Night – In the Dark
In our rented villa, Mireille knelt beside the open window, her chin resting on her knees.
"Lucien?" she whispered.
"Yes?"
"…Do we belong anywhere?"
I looked up from the map I was sketching — one marked not with geography, but influence. Nobles. Pirates. Marines. Symbols of alliances and cracks.
"No," I said gently. "But one day, everywhere will belong to us."
She smiled — not brightly, but with that quiet, broken trust only children of the system carry. That's what made her valuable.
That's what made her mine.