The wind was cold, calm. The moon peered through the clouds. Somewhere in the dark, animals made soft, squelching noises as they slept. Owls watched, silent witnesses, as Zoro stepped toward his family's house — his one rare chance to visit them.
He pushed through a thicket of bushes… and froze. The home stood engulfed in fire.
He reached out in shock — but before his fingers could stretch forward, a dark figure clasped his hand between its own.
Blood began to fall from the sky.
"It's too late," the figure murmured. "You've failed as a man."
Zoro jerked awake, drenched in sweat, his arm still raised toward the ceiling.
"Zoro? What's wrong? You really have nightmares like that?" a voice asked from the darkness.
He took a deep, heavy breath. "I must see my family."
"378… 379… 380—" Pippo collapsed, chest heaving.
"Brother… I wanna be strong like you."
"The world hates the strong," Pippo warned softly. "So be careful."
By twelve, Pippo was living in the wilderness with his mother and little brother. Every day he pushed his body further, desperate to grow strong enough to protect them.
A man often visited, bringing food, clothes, and other essentials. He looked disturbingly like the man who had once nearly killed him, yet somehow his mother welcomed him kindly, even warmly. He knew the smiles were fake but understood that their survival was thanks to him.
One night, curiosity broke Pippo. He pressed his ear to the bedroom door, listening. Then he peeked inside.
What he saw froze his blood—his mother sharing a bed with that man. His fists clenched; part of him wanted to burst in, to drag her away. But he was only a boy, and the world forced him to think like a man.
He stumbled outside and vomited. The image clung to him, carved into his skull. Desperate to erase it, he gouged out his own right eye. At dinner, when his mother asked, he forced a smile and lied, "A wolf took it, while I was hunting." He even teased his little brother, though his heart was breaking.
Not long after, Amara—Zoro's wife—discovered she was pregnant. Lying on white sheets, tears streaking her face, she gripped a dagger and pressed it to her stomach.
"I have failed… as a woman."
Before she could drive it in, Pippo's hand caught the blade.
"We're all trying to be strong," he sobbed. "I'm weak—I can't do anything. But every day, I try to smile. I smile for my little brother, and for you… so please… don't leave me!" His tears blurred as he reached for her belly. "Fight mom isn't that what you always say!. I'm scared, Mom. I can't do this alone."
He forced a smile through the trembling in his voice. "I'll be an older brother again. Dad will be proud to know he has a daughter. I'll do m—"
Amara threw the dagger aside and embraced him, weeping. "Oh, my child… I'm so sorry.
The sun scorched the desert, and the dry wind whipped sand across the endless dunes. Scorpions crawled through the shifting grains, though some were swept away by the gusts.
Clouds began to blot out the sun, like curtains drawn over the sky—an unusual sight in these lands. Pippo felt a shiver. Was it his people's anger that a child from another tribe was about to be born?
He ran his usual thirty kilometers, each step sinking into the heavy sand. With a burst of effort, he leapt as a sandborne creature erupted from the ground.
Exhaustion clawed at him; adrenaline barely made a dent. The creature's arm fell first, then its head. Its collapsing body tumbled against Pippo. Blinking through the dust, he saw a man in a black robe, whipped by the wind.
Lightning flashed, revealing a face—half-man, half-ghost in its bearing,he wore a smile yet his eyes looked like those of a dead man. Those eyes who's are they ?he thought.
"Father..."he said finally.
The sand-creature dissolved. Pippo leapt, he threw a rock at him, it hit, He was real, not a specter.
"Why have you come? I thought you were fighting your last war," the Pippo's voice was hoarse.
"I leave tomorrow," the man said. "I asked permission to see my family. You've grown, Pip—"
"Of course I have," he replied, touching the faint scar above his brow. "I had to wear your crown after it fell."
Pippo's gaze softened, yet pain lingered. "And your eye?"
"A sacrifice for wielding the crown too early," he muttered.
Zoro stood silent. His son had grown into a man, bearing burdens he could barely imagine. He reached toward Pippo's face, but the boy turned and walked on.
Meanwhile, Pippo's mother cried out with labor pains. The storm raged. She called their younger son, Tom, to fetch his brother.
Tom stumbled past a scorpion, carried away by the wind, which seemed to hum a lullabyTwinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…
He caught up with Pippo, noticing a figure behind him—the second man he'd ever seen. "Who's that?" he asked.
The man drew closer. Lightning illuminated his face. Tom froze as he saw the resemblance between them thoughthe only difference was in their eyes. "That is your father."
"Dada!" Tom shouted, rushing into his arms. Then he ran to tell his mother the news.
Bursting through the door: "Mama! Dada's back!"
His mother looked pale. She whispered something into Tom's ear. Confused but obedient, he nodded.
Pippo and Zoro approached the house in silence. Rain fell, hammering the parched sand. Tom blocked the entrance.
"Mama said you can't enter," he said, trying to imitate his brother's voice.
"Stop playing games, Tom. You'll catch a cold," Pippo warned voice fragile yet firm.
Despite being only six, Tom looked like a miniature Pippo—tough and determined. Zoro felt a pang of surprise.
"Mama says it's time," Tom added. Pippo paled. Zoro felt fear claw at him, though he did not know why.
"You can't enter, Dad. It's too late…" Pippo's voice trailed off.
"What do you mean? I can't see my wife—Pippo, explain!"
"Knock, and it shall be answered. But you shall not enter," Pippo said firmly. Tom nodded.
Zoro obeyed. He struck the door—and was immediately pulled into his dream blood rained around him he blinked .
"Hey, honey, you kept your promise," Amara said.
"I couldn't… but this is my last war. Afterward, we will remake our Valhalla," Zoro whispered. He said those words as if he doubted, John's words , his philosophy stuck with him even after his death.
"Mhhh!...I see.."
"Amara are you OK let me in!"
Amara bit her lip, tears spilling as she leaned on the door. "I… I'm fine. Just… not in the state to see my husband. I'm sorry."
"I love you either way," he said, crying despite himself.
"That's why I love you," she replied, placing strength and sorrow in every word. "Your son has been strong all these years, carrying your crown —not with gold, but with thorns. I am proud of him… and of you."
Zoro's heart ached. "Amara…"
"Fight, my husband!" Her voice rose with her final effort, the heavens screaming with her tears.
Zoro felt a deep ache in his heart he wanted to burst through the door and embrace her wife buy nonetheless he was obedient to his wife's request.
"AKA",they both said in union.
Their hands met, hers bloody, his broused, on the other side of the door, blocked only by wood. Heads bowed, hearts entwined between two worlds. This made Pippo clench his fist. Both seemingly failed as man and Women but they tried to be strong.
For a while they remained like that as if their bodies were non existent but only their spirit embraced and were in perfect union as they conversed. He shared his dream his burdens and she shared hers. Karl stood there holding back tears , he tried to comfort Zoro but his hand went through.
Zoro departed, sword in hand—crafted from their bond, their shared fight for freedom. Blood seeped through the door, and a crack of lightning silenced the newborn's cry.