Ten Years Before the God Valley Incident — Holy Land of Mary Geoise
Within the immaculate halls of the Holy Land's royal hospital, Saint Garling Figarland—Supreme Commander of the God's Knights—paced restlessly through the corridor. A man revered across the world as one of the greatest living warriors and a paragon of noble heritage now bore the countenance not of a fearsome general, but of a troubled husband.
Despite his legend, in this moment, Garling was not the venerated commander of an elite order blessed by divine authority. He was simply a man—anxious, expectant, human—awaiting the fate of his beloved wife and their unborn child.
Inside the delivery chamber rested Saint Maria de Van Astrea, firstborn daughter of the renowned House of Astrea. Her bloodline stretched back to the dawn of the World Government, a lineage known for producing unmatched swordsmen and women long before the throne had even been built. Maria herself—hailed as the Sword Saint—was the pinnacle of that legacy. Her mastery of the blade was such that even Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro, one of the Five Elders and bearer of the Supreme Kitetsu blade, once conceded: she was the greatest swordmaster the world had seen in over eight centuries.
A faint but heartfelt smile tugged at Garling's lips. Yes, he had concubines—political alliances, coping mechanisms—but his heart, his soul, his truth belonged to Maria.
With his Advanced Observation Haki, he glimpsed the moment just before it occurred—the precise instant a nurse would emerge bearing joyous news. He blinked—and as if on divine cue, the door opened. A nurse stepped out, smiling radiantly, and bowed low with reverence.
"My Lord, the delivery was successful. Both Lady Maria and the child are healthy and well."
Garling nodded, the breath he'd unknowingly held finally escaping his chest in a slow exhale. Relief washed over him like a gentle tide.
Moments later, he stepped inside. There she was—Maria, radiant even in her exhaustion. Her golden hair spilled like silk across the pillows, her luminous eyes locking onto his the moment he entered. She offered him a warm, tired smile.
"Come here, dear. Someone wants to meet you."
Garling approached with steady steps, the weight of countless battles nothing compared to this single moment. At her side, he gazed upon the delicate bundle in her arms. With motherly care, Maria shifted to reveal the child—their son.
Wrapped in soft, snow-white cloth, the infant bore tufts of golden hair that mirrored his mother's. Garling reached forward, lifting the boy gently into his arms. As he cradled the child, the newborn's eyes slowly fluttered open.
And the world fell silent.
Eyes like twin suns—brilliant, golden, radiant—met his own. Eyes that pierced through flesh and bone, reaching deep into the soul itself.
"He's beautiful," Maria whispered, her voice soaked in love and awe.
"Indeed," Garling murmured, a rare, unguarded smile blooming across his face. "After all… he's ours."
Maria giggled softly, resting her hand atop her husband's.
"So, dear… what shall we name our little 'Sun'?"
Garling gazed down once more, those radiant eyes reflected in his own.
"Robert," he said at last. "Robert Van Figarland."
-----------------------
News of Saint Robert Van Figarland's birth swept through the Holy Land like wildfire. A grand banquet was held in celebration. Nobles from every corner of power arrived, eager to witness the boy said to be born under a star-blessed lineage—destined, perhaps, to command the God's Knights himself one day.
Even the Five Elders graced the occasion with their presence.
The banquet hall brimmed with light, laughter, and music. Maria sat gracefully, holding Robert with the poise of a queen, surrounded by family and old allies. Not far away, Garling exchanged pleasantries with other God Knights—until a hush suddenly fell upon the hall.
The Five Elders had arrived.
Saint Topman Warcury, bald and dressed in formal garb, stepped forward with the authority of centuries behind his eyes.
"Commander Garling," he said. "A word."
Garling's brow lifted, but he offered no resistance. He followed them to a private chamber.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The Elders seated themselves without delay. It was Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, hunched over his cane, a scar carved across his face, who broke the silence.
"We know why we've gathered. Let us not waste time."
Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, tall and sharp-eyed, nodded solemnly.
"As you know, it is tradition—every child born into elite bloodlines must undergo the sacred rite. They must be baptized by our Immortal Lord, and marked."
Garling inclined his head. He was well aware—this was a rite hidden from the lower world, known only to those who stood atop it.
Saint Marcus Mars, his long hair framing a regal face, continued, "After the banquet. Outside the throne room."
And with that, they departed.
Garling returned to Maria and explained what was to come.
Later that evening, once the final toast was made and the last guest departed, the Figarland family stood before the towering gates of Pangaea Castle's throne room. The Five Elders, already in place, opened the ancient doors.
The Figarlands entered, immediately kneeling.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber.
A cloaked figure emerged—tall, regal, crowned. They moved with silent purpose, ascending the dais to the Empty Throne. Gloved fingers brushed its cold surface—then they sat.
"You may rise," the figure said, their voice raspy, cracked like old stone.
The Elders and Figarlands obeyed.
"Maria de Van Astrea," the Immortal Lord said. "Bring forth your son."
Maria stepped forward and gently offered the child.
"My Lord," she whispered.
The cloaked figure took the infant, lifting him to eye level. Their red-ringed pupils locked with golden eyes—an ageless gaze meeting raw potential. They stared for a long, weighty moment.
Then the Immortal Lord spoke.
"This child is strong. I see no fear in him. He will be a great asset. He will change the world."
Pride surged within Maria. Garling remained silent, but his eyes burned with restrained fire.
"Let the ritual begin," the Lord commanded.
Unwrapping the child, they pressed a finger to his chest. A small wound opened just above the heart—blood flowing freely. Dipping their finger into the crimson stream, they drew a glowing pentagram upon his abdomen. Then, pricking their own hand, they mixed their blood into the sigil and etched a final star at the center.
The symbol glowed deep red—then vanished.
The wound sealed itself. In its place, a faint cross-shaped mark appeared on Robert's right arm.
The child was now marked by the Abyss.
----------------------
With the ceremony complete, the Elders and the Figarlands remained behind to discuss forthcoming military reforms. When the final words were spoken and the future charted, the Immortal Lord quietly departed, vanishing into the shadowed halls of Pangaea.
"Well then, Commander Garling," said Saint Ju Peter with a measured smile, "our Lord has foreseen greatness in your son."
The others nodded.
"We look forward to what young Figarland will become."
And with that, they exited the throne room.
Maria cradled Robert once more, brushing her nose gently against his.
"My precious one… you'll be the greatest in all the world."
Garling smiled and took her hand.
Together, they walked out.
---------------------
Far below, within the hidden Chamber of Flowers beneath Pangaea Castle, the Immortal Lord moved quietly through a secret garden bathed in pale moonlight.
They entered a sealed vault—a sanctuary of ancient artifacts and forbidden knowledge. Swords from forgotten eras. Tomes bound in dragon hide. Uncatalogued Devil Fruits. The legacy of centuries hoarded in silence.
But one shelf stood apart: rows of crystal vials, each brimming with preserved blood.
The blood of the Five Elders. Of the God Knights. Of noble elites.
Collected. Preserved. Archived—for contingency, for control, for power.
A new vial now joined the collection.
The blood of Robert Van Figarland.