Chapter Text
The lamps lining the public gardens of Mary Geoise cast a dim glow against the quiet night. Valeria sat on a stone bench, holding the worn journal like a lifeline.
It had been days since she had spoken her brother’s name aloud. Days since her family had fractured at the dinner table. The house had not been the same since. Her father and mother were still at odds, a silent war waging behind closed doors. She had barely spoken to either of them. And right now, she didn’t want to be anywhere near them.
She lowered her gaze to the open pages of Dracon’s journal, eyes scanning a passage she had read over and over again.
Astrea, I know this will be hard. I know how strong a child’s love for their mother can be.
And though Saint Elizandra is neither the best mother, nor the best person, nor a true saint at all—like every Celestial Dragon in this place—she is still your mother. And she truly believed she was doing what was best for you.
But I saw her, Astrea. I saw her conspire with a slave to arrange my assassination. I saw that slave strike me down. And I saw her betray him in the end.
Astrea, your mother killed me.
I’m so sorry. I can’t stand the thought of my little sister being raised by a woman like her. So I ask you this—leave Mary Geoise. Find a family of your own. Find Monkey D. Luffy.
Her fingers trembled against the parchment. It had been two months. And yet, every time she read these words—it felt like the first time.
She let out a shaky breath, lowering her forehead onto the page. She was so confused. Her brother had been right about so many things. But this was different.
Her mother may not have been the most nurturing woman, but she had never hurt her. Yes, she was controlling. Yes, she was strict. But she had always been there.
Could Valeria really believe that this same woman had murdered her own stepson? Could she really accept that as truth? And more importantly, if she did, what would she do about it?
A gust of wind passed through the garden, cool against her skin.
“Saint Valeria? What are you doing out here at this hour?”
Her heart jumped violently in her chest. Her head snapped up, golden eyes landing on a figure standing a few steps away. Figarland Shamrock.
Her grip on the notebook tightened instinctively, her body tensing. It had been weeks since she had seen him. Weeks since she had read his name in her brother’s writings.
And now, she couldn’t look at him the same way. Before, he had been nothing more than a charming mystery. A knight, noble, a man she admired. Now, he was something else entirely. Someone her brother had known and had written about. Someone she wasn’t sure was her friend.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I needed some air,” she said finally, trying to keep her voice even.
He studied her. Then, after a moment, he asked, “May I sit with you?”
She hesitated. Her palms were slick with sweat, her throat tightening. She should say no. She should leave. But she couldn’t find the words. Slowly, she nodded.
He took a seat beside her, the silence stretching between them. His gaze drifted to the notebook clutched in her hands. “What are you reading?” he asked casually.
Her fingers curled around it instinctively, her whole body stiffening. She didn’t answer.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said simply. “That’s fine.”
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a little. Shamrock wasn’t like her mother. He wasn’t like the other nobles. He didn’t demand answers. For some reason, that made it easier to talk.
“My parents have been arguing,” she admitted after a moment.
He hummed in understanding. “That’s normal. Every couple clashes from time to time. They’ll settle eventually.”
She hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, “It’s my fault.”
His brow furrowed. “How so?”
She tightened her grip on the book. “I asked about my brother,” a flicker of something unreadable passed over his face, and she didn’t notice. “My mother never liked him. She said horrible things. My father got angry. And then they fought.”
Shamrock let out a soft sigh, leaning back slightly. “Step-parents rarely like their spouse’s children from another marriage,” he mused. “It’s as natural as the sky being blue.”
Valeria’s expression twisted. “That doesn’t make it right,” she said, frowning. “If I marry someone with a child, I’ll treat them as my own.”
For the first time since she had met him, he smiled. A quiet, amused smirk. She blinked, caught off guard. She had never seen him smile before.
For a moment, she almost forgot everything else. For a moment, she almost forgot who he was supposed to be. Because how could he be dangerous when he smiled like that?
“I’d love to see that,” he said dryly.
Despite herself, she laughed softly. Just for a moment, she let herself live in it. Just for a moment, she forgot the weight of Dracon’s words. And for the first time in weeks, she felt a little lighter.
And maybe it was because she had let herself feel too comfortable. Maybe it was because for a moment, she had forgotten who Shamrock really was. Because otherwise—why would she have asked him that question?
“Do you know a man named Donquixote Homing?”
She expected a simple answer. Instead, she was met with silence. When she turned to look at him— Her stomach dropped.
His expression had shifted entirely. There was something unnerving about the way he stared at her, something sharp, something unfamiliar. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Where did you hear that name?”
Valeria hesitated. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the journal in her lap. She forced herself to stay calm. Stay normal. “My brother told me.”
The red-haired’ds gaze didn’t waver. “Your brother.”
She nodded, trying not to let her voice shake. “Eight years ago—when that pirate, Donquixote Doflamingo, stole the Celestial Tribute. My brother told me that Doflamingo was once a Celestial Dragon. That his father, Homing, abandoned his title and tried to live as a commoner.”
Something flickered across Shamrock’s face. It was gone before she could place it. Then, after a long pause, he asked: “And why do you want to know what I think of him?”
She felt her pulse pound against her ribs. He was flipping the question back onto her. She looked down at the journal in her lap, her lifeline, her greatest treasure.
After a long moment, she finally said: “I think… I understand him. Homing, I mean.” The words tasted strange as she spoke them. She wasn’t sure if she was saying them for herself, or for him. “The world of the Celestial Dragons is small,” she continued, voice steady. “Their thinking is narrow, their minds caged. I understand why Homing wanted to leave.” She hesitated. And for some reason—she didn’t finish the thought.
She glanced up— And flinched. Shamrock was staring at her. Not the way he had before. This time, his lips were pressed into a firm line. His jaw was tense. And in his eyes— Disappointment. Not anger. Not suspicion. Disappointment. Why disappointment?
“Where did you hear such things?” he asked finally.”As a Celestial Dragon, you have everything. You world is everything but narrow, you world is beneath your hands.” There was an edge to his voice now.
The brown-haired teenager should have backed down. She should have let it go. But for some reason, some deep, inexplicable reason— She didn’t. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye and asked: “Lord Shamrock, do you believe that we, as Celestial Dragons, possess a divine right over other people?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.” The word landed like a stone in her chest. His voice was as cold as ice. “And I do not take kindly to those who challenge our nobility.”
Valeria’s throat felt tight. But she forced herself to push forward. “Then tell me,” she pressed. “What makes us different?”
Shamrock’s expression darkened. “Different?”
“What makes us different from slaves?” she demanded. “From Marines? From pirates? From fish-men?” Her voice rose with each word. Her heart pounded violently.
Then, before she realized it—she was on her feet. Her arms wrapped around the journal, pressing it to her chest as if it could protect her. “There is no difference!” She told him, voice sharpened with conviction. “We all have the same blood, red. We all die from the same wounds. We are all sons and daughters. Mothers and fathers. Brothers and sisters—”
Shamrock moved. Not abruptly, not with anger. But suddenly enough that Valeria stumbled backward. “Where did you hear this?” he asked again.
She shook her head. Took another step back. And.. she felt afraid. Then, suddenly— His hand shot forward. Before she could react—his grip closed around her shoulder. Not gentle, not cruel. Just firm. Like a warning.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs.”Ah..”
His expression remained calm. “Answer me, Saint Valeria, “ he said evenly. “Or I will find another way to make you.”
His fingers tightened slightly. It hurt enough to make her whimper. Enough to make her realize just how powerless she was. Her grip on the journal tightened protectively.
Shamrock’s gaze flickered downward. “You’ve been clutching that thing all night,” he murmured.
His free hand moved—reaching for the book. Valeria’s eyes widened. And before she could stop herself— She screamed. “DON’T TOUCH IT!”
The words ripped from her throat, louder than she intended. Shamrock paused. For a moment—he simply watched her. Her golden eyes, wide and wet with unshed tears. Her chest, rising and falling unevenly. Her entire body trembling beneath his grip.
Then, after a long moment— He sighed. And finally, he let go.
Valeria staggered back immediately, gasping for breath. Her shoulder throbbed. Her whole body shook.
Shamrock simply watched her. Then, in a voice calm and cool as ever, he said: “What you said tonight— It won’t go unnoticed.”
A violent shudder ran down her spine. He was warning her. Telling her that she had crossed a line. That she had put herself in danger. Tears stung at the edges of her vision.
She turned away, she walked. Then walked faster. Then—she ran.
She didn’t know where she was going. But her body did. Because before she even realized it— Her feet were carrying her to her mother.
Because suddenly, she needed answers. Because suddenly, she knew. She had just made an enemy. And as long as she remained in Mary Geoise— she wouldn’t survive.
…
The mind is a strange thing.
The Red Harbor was as chaotic as always. Slaves, Marines, Celestial Dragons—all moving in their assigned places. Valeria pushed through the crowd, her heartbeat pounding against her ribs.
She barely noticed the Marines who stiffened at her approach, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“Where is my mother?” She demanded.
The nearest Marine—a young recruit—blinked at her, caught off guard. When he didn’t answer, his superior immediately slapped him across the head, forcing him to bow.
“Saint Valeria!” he choked out.
Valeria clenched her fists. “I asked you a question.”
The older Marine hesitated, shooting a wary glance at his partner before answering. “Saint Elizandra is at Column 54, preparing for departure to Sabaody.”
Without another word, Valeria turned and ran. She found her exactly where they said she would be.
Dressed in the signature attire of the Celestial Dragons—a pristine white cloak over an elaborate gown, a large glass bubble secured around her head, ensuring she wouldn’t breathe the same air as “commoners.”
She was standing before a line of about twenty slaves, scanning them idly, deciding which one she would take for entertainment.
You can lie to yourself for years—tell yourself a story, shape it into something you can live with, repeat it over and over until it becomes truth.
Valeria’s stomach turned violently. Her legs burned from running, her breath coming in uneven gasps. But she didn’t stop. “Mother!”
Luxander Elizandra turned, startled. Her icy golden eyes landed on Valeria with confusion and mild irritation. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t give Valeria time to answer. Instead, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in her daughter’s appearance. “And where is your oxygen tank?” she asked sharply. “Do you realize how many Marines and slaves are here?”
The daughter shook her head, still catching her breath. Sweat dripped down her temple, her heart pounding furiously. She stepped forward—positioning herself between her mother and the line of terrified slaves.
Her mother frowned. “Someone bring her an oxygen tank immediately,” she ordered.
But Valeria ignored her. She took another deep breath—steadying herself— And then, in a voice sharper than a blade— “Mother.”
Her mother’s brows furrowed.
“I have a question,” Valeria said. “And I want you to answer me honestly.”
Her mother sighed in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What nonsense are you talking about, Valeria?”
Valeria’s pulse roared in her ears. She took a step forward, her voice trembling, but firm. “Promise me.”
A flicker of something indistinguishable passed through her mother’s expression. Then, after a pause, she sighed again, this time with exaggerated patience. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
The younger’s heart thundered. Her hands shook at her sides. This was it. This was the moment. She curled her fingers into fists, forced herself to breathe. And then, in a voice stronger than she thought she had left— “Did you kill my brother?”
But then, one sentence. One mistake. One moment of weakness. And the whole illusion shatters.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Her mother’s golden eyes widened slightly. A reaction. A flicker of something unexpected. “What?”
Valeria tightened her jaw. “Answer me.”
Her mother slowly brought a hand to her lips, her expression a perfect mask of shock and offense. “How could you ask me that?” She whispered.
Valeria didn’t blink. She reached into her coat. Her fingers wrapped around cold metal. And in one swift motion, she pulled out a gun and pointed it at her mother.
The gasps around them were instant.
Her grip on the gun tightened. “Tell me the truth,” she said, her voice raw. “I need to know.”
I was born a god.
For the first time, her mother’s perfectly composed mask cracked. Her face twisted in rage, disbelief, disgust. And then, slowly, she exhaled, reining it back in. Her voice was calm. Cold. Controlled. “And if I say yes—” she murmured, tilting her head. “Will you pull the trigger?”
Valeria’s hands shook. But she didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to shoot her mother, how ridiculous. She just wants to scare her enough to tell her the truth
Raised in a palace above the world, untouched, untouchable. I believed the stories they told me, believed I was better—higher—more. That the world was beneath me, that my blood alone made me sacred, that I was chosen to rule over the filth beneath my feet.
They stared at each other.
Then, her mother sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “I didn’t kill him,” she said simply. “A slave did. You remember, don’t you?”
Her jaw clenched. “But you ordered it.”
A long silence. Then— her mother laughed. A low, mocking chuckle that made Valeria’s blood boil. “You really do have an active imagination.”
Valeria’s grip tightened around the gun. “I’m not joking, mother.”
The elder woman’s smile slowly faded. Her expression turned sad. Almost disappointed. “You wound me, Valeria.” she murmured. “How could my own daughter think I was capable of such a thing? He may not have been my son by blood, but I raised him, didn’t I? He was your brother.”
Something inside Valeria wavered. This was her mother. Her mother had never hurt her. Her mother had never—
“There are things beyond your understanding, my dear,” her mother sighed. “You were just a child. Some things were never meant for you to know.”
The brunette swallowed. “Then explain them to me.”
Her mother’s expression hardened. She lifted a single elegant hand, rubbing her temple as if exhausted. Then— “There is nothing to explain. There was no choice.”
And I never questioned it. Because why would I? It was the only world I knew. It was the only world I was allowed to know.
Valeria froze. She repeated the words as if they were foreign. “No choice?”
Her mother’s eyes darkened. “Drakon was a fool,” she hissed. “A half-blood, a filthy commoner’s son.”
Valeria’s breath caught in her throat. Her grip on the gun tightened.
Her mother continued, seething now. “He was poisoning you, Valeria! Filling your head with disgusting nonsense about equality, about lowering yourself to the level of these animals! Can’t you see? I did it for you!”
The world blurred. Valeria’s chest ached, her lungs refusing to expand.
But the walls are cracking.
“So it’s my fault,” she whispered.
Her mother took a step forward, her voice gentler now. “Put the gun down, darling. We’ll go home. We’ll talk.”
Valeria stared. Something inside her snapped, her finger pulled the trigger.
!!BANG!!
The shot rang through the harbor. Blood bloomed across her mother’s stomach. She gasped, eyes wide, lips parting in shock.
Silence. A long, suffocating silence.
The teenager took a step back, the sharp squeak of her shoe against the marble floor breaking the stillness. She could feel it—the weight of their stares. The Marines. The slaves. The harbor workers. All watching her.
“Saint Valeria…” The hesitant whisper barely registered in her mind.
Her gaze was locked onto the blood seeping into the pristine white fabric of her mother’s gown. Onto the woman lying motionless on the cold ground.
A wave of dizziness crashed over her. She had done this, she had pulled the trigger. She had shot her own mother. Her fingers trembled against the cold steel of the gun—her last piece of control.
But she couldn’t afford to collapse now. A future was waiting for her. A future where she lived. A future where she escaped.
Valeria lifted the gun once more, her voice hoarse, unsteady— “Prepare the Bondola.”
The Marine in front of her didn’t move.
Her jaw tightened. “Now.”
The Marine flinched. Then, after a sharp glance at his superior, he hesitated—before turning to follow her orders. The others moved alongside him, a group of officers quickly boarding the transport and readying it for descent.
She exhaled sharply, her grip on the gun unwavering as she turned toward the group of twenty slaves standing behind her. She pointed toward the Bondola. “Get on.”
For a moment, there was hesitation—confusion, even. Then, something clicked. Without a second thought, they obeyed. It was a strange thing—how quickly they followed a Celestial Dragon’s orders. Even now. Even when she was no longer one of them.
Valeria turned to a Marine standing nearby. “Keys. To their cuffs.”
The officer paled. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, snapping into motion, he scrambled away before returning with a bundle of keys, placing them in her outstretched hand.
She shoved them into her pocket. They reached the Bondola entrance. She stepped back, gun still raised, eyes flashing with warning. “Everyone out.”
The Marines scrambled to exit.
When the last one was gone, she slammed the door shut. Her breath came fast and uneven as she turned toward the controls, her fingers hovering over the launch mechanism. Then, instinctively—she looked back. And her eyes met her mother’s.
A mistake.
The voices I was taught to ignore are screaming now. The truths I was told to forget are clawing their way back to the surface. My hands are clean, my dress is white, my skin untouched, but I can feel it—I can feel the blood. Staining me. Drowning me. Pulling me under.
The golden eyes she had inherited were still alive with expression—but not with rage. No. It was something worse. Hurt. Disappointment. Betrayal.
Valeria couldn’t take it. Her hands flew to the controls, and she slammed the speed setting to its highest.
I let it happen. I watched and I laughed and I turned away. I played the part they wanted me to play. I held my head high as they begged at my feet, and I felt nothing.
The Bondola lurched violently. The slaves screamed as they plummeted. Her gripped the edge of the console until her knuckles turned white.
And then— A splash. A jarring impact against the water.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the ocean. Then— Valeria exhaled.
I thought that made me strong.
It wasn’t over yet.
She stumbled out first. The dock was quiet, but it wouldn’t be for long. She had no time. They needed a ship. Any ship.
But my brother— Dracon was strong. Strong enough to see the truth, strong enough to reject the world that created him, strong enough to fight for something more. And they killed him for it.
Her eyes darted toward the nearest marine vessel. That would have to do. Without a second thought, she ran toward it. The slaves, still in shock, hesitated before following her.
She climbed onto the deck— There was already someone there. A broad-shouldered figure, his back turned, dressed in a fine Marine coat. A high-ranking officer. As if sensing her presence, he turned.
Their eyes met.
He was older, taller, and built like a mountain. He was surprised. A single brow lifted. “Huh.” That was all he said.
Valeria didn’t hesitate. She lifted the gun. “Get off the ship. And take your men with you.”
They killed him because he dared to believe that a better world was possible. They killed him because he dared to think that our kind—the untouchable, the divine, the gods of this world—were just men wearing stolen crowns.
The tension thickened.
Then, to her utter horror— The man smirked. “And why exactly should I do that, little miss?”
Her stomach twisted.
And my mother— My mother made sure it happened. She planned it. She orchestrated it like it was nothing more than a game, a simple problem to be solved. And then she sat across from me for years, smiling, pretending she was my mother. Pretending she loved me.
She gritted her teeth, raising her voice. “Because I am Luxander Valeria, a Celestial Dragon, and I am giving you an order.”
The man let out a low, amused chuckle. “That so?”
She tightened her grip on the gun. “Get off. Now.”
A second Marine—a man in a formal suit and a black hat— stepped forward, eyeing her warily. “Vice Admiral Garp…” he muttered. “She’s serious. That’s Saint Valeria. I escorted her to Sabaody once.”
The old Marine scratched his nose. “So what?” he said bluntly. “Doesn’t mean I’m handing over my ship on a silver platter.”
Valeria’s brain short-circuited. What? What?! Had she lost her authority this fast?
The man in the black hat, hissed, “Garp-san! Take this seriously!”
Garp ignored him. Instead, he stuck a finger in his nose, picking at it absentmindedly. “You don’t look much like a Celestial Dragon, kid,” he mused. “Where’s that dumb fishbowl thing y’all like to wear?”
Her twitched violently. That was it. She exploded. “You— you stupid old bastard! Listen to me! I don’t have time for this bullshit! Damn you!” she raged. “If I get caught and dragged back to Mary Geoise, I swear on every godforsaken star in the sky, I’ll make sure your fucking head is the first one on the chopping block, one way or another! Now get off this goddamn ship if you don’t want those slaves to die, or else, I will—!” She panted multiply as she cut her self out.
Everyone stared. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then— Garp pulled his finger out of his nose. And laughed. Loud, booming laughter that shook the entire deck.
Valeria’s face burned. She had never been more humiliated in her life.
Finally, wiping a tear from his eye, Garp turned to Bogard. “Alright, alright. Get the men off the ship.”
She nearly collapsed in relief.
The man with the hat looked deeply disturbed. “Garp-san?”
Garp grinned. “What can I say? A Celestial Dragon gave me an order.”
I wonder if she ever planned to kill me too. Or maybe she never had to. Maybe she knew I would become exactly what she wanted. Maybe she was right. Because I did. I became her.
As Garp passed her on his way off the ship, he paused briefly. He gave her a look—long, knowing, unreadable. “Luxander Valeria, huh?” he mused. “Good name.” Then, as if it was an afterthought— “I wonder how you’ll turn out. Like the last one? I hope not.”
Valeria froze.
…
The ship drifted farther from Red Harbor, its white sails catching the wind as it carried them toward the unknown. Valeria stood on the deck, gripping the wooden railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She had done it. She had shot her mother. She had taken a ship. She had escaped. Her breath hitched as the weight of it all crashed over her at once.
She turned sharply toward the deck where twenty former slaves stood, their wrists still shackled, their expressions a mixture of shock, confusion, and fear. For the first time, she was truly aware of them. They were waiting for something. Waiting for her.
I hurt. I ruled. I controlled. I played my part perfectly.
She reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around the cold metal of the keys. Without a word, she tossed them toward the nearest man.
The keys clattered against the wooden deck, landing at his feet. “Unlock them,” she ordered.
The man didn’t move. He was bigger than the others, his frame thick with muscle. A deep, jagged scar shaped like an X cut across his cheek.
He stared down at the keys. Then at her. His dark blue eyes held a quiet suspicion.
“Go on,” she pressed, forcing steel into her voice. “You’re free.”
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group. Still, no one moved. Then, after what felt like an eternity— The scarred man slowly knelt.
He picked up the keys, running his fingers over them as if trying to decipher whether they were real. Then, with careful precision, he unlocked the shackles around his own wrists.
The iron cuffs clanked onto the deck. He flexed his hands, staring at his bare skin as if he had never seen it before.
A breathless sob broke the silence.
Then another.
One by one, the others rushed forward, grabbing the keys and freeing each other. Some laughed. Some wept. Some simply stood there, dazed, as if they couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.
Valeria turned away, her chest tight.
She walked toward the edge of the ship and placed a hand on the railing, staring back at the sea—toward the direction of Mary Geoise.
Where her past still lingered. Where her mother’s body lay bleeding on the harbor floor. A sharp wave of nausea rolled over her. Her breathing became uneven. Memories flashed violently behind her eyes—
Her mother’s stunned face as the bullet pierced her gut. The way her knees buckled. The sound of her body hitting the ground. The look in her face.
And the blood. So much blood. Just like before. Just like him.
Her brother, bleeding out in her arms. Her brother, whispering his last words. Her brother, seeing something she couldn’t—
“I’ve seen it, Astrea… The sea, the sky… the world itself… They’re all waiting for the dawn.”
A choked gasp tore from her throat. Her stomach twisted violently— And before she could stop herself, she fell to her knees and vomited.
The bitter taste burned in her throat. Her body trembled. Her hands shook against the deck.
But it ends now.
“Tch.” A voice. Low. Rough.
Valeria barely had time to react before a searing pain tore through her back. Something sharp. Something deep.
Her vision blurred. A strangled gasp ripped from her lips. Her body lurched forward, her fingers clawing against the wooden planks. She turned her head—just enough to see the blade of an axe lodged between her shoulder blades.
And the man holding is a fishman slave. Was. He yanked the weapon free.
Her breath hitched violently. Warm blood gushed down her back, soaking through the fabric of her clothes. Her body wavered. Her limbs refused to move.
“Just because you freed us…” the man muttered, gripping the axe once more, “doesn’t mean you’re any different from the rest of them.”
The words barely registered.
Pain.
All she could feel was pain.
He raised the axe again. She saw it. She saw the way it glinted under the sunlight. She saw the way his grip tightened.
This was it. She was going to die. Here. Now. Alone.
A bitter thought flickered in her fading mind— Maybe I deserve it. She closed her eyes, and waited for the blow.