28 Years Later.
Sunlight filters in through the cracked shutters. We hear the sounds of birds chirping faintly in the distance.
A boy, around 16, red-haired and lean, sleeping diagonally. One arm over his eyes.
A voice, distant and muffled, calls out.
"Get up, Rue."
The boy stirs, Rue's face, peaceful but tired. He groans faintly.
"...Five more minutes…"
The voice again, but this time different.
"Up, Rue. Champions don't sleep through sunrise."
Rue blinks open one eye.
A pair of worn boots, a wooden sword, and some old training gear were tossed on the floor.
He groans again and turns away from the fight.
The voice more firmer than last time.
"Rue. You want to sleep through your ambition, or do you plan to face it?"
Rue sighs heavily, face still buried in the pillow.
"It's just one morning…" sounded muffled.
We hear the floor creak as the person calling Rue steps closer.
"You don't get to be one of Astel's Champions by sleeping in."
Rue turns his head slowly, blinking up at him. There's a familiarity here, a weight to their relationship, somewhere between love and pressure.
"Morning, Gramps." Rue says quietly, but fondly
Rue looks up at a much older Varis and sighs. Varis stares at him and turns around to leave the room.
"Come outside. The wind's sharp today. Good for reminding boys they're alive."
"Right…"
Rue gets up and freshens up. Sliding on his boots.
"Ehh, I don't feel like having shoes on."
Rue takes his shoes off, grabs his usual clothing, clothe himself, and pick up his wooden sword and head outside.
"No food, gramps?" Rue says while standing on the back porch, putting his things down.
Varis looks up from stretching.
"The stew's heating up, we'll eat afterwards."
Rue sighs and stands barefoot in the grass, stretching. Varis leans against a wooden post with arms crossed, watching.
Rue starts a simple flow movement routine, part martial, part meditative. It's clear he's skilled, but rough around the edges.
"Your footing's lazy. Go, again." Varis calls out.
Rue scowls but repeats the step. His stance is better this time.
"Don't forget your center. The world flows whether you move with it or not." Varis continues.
Rue continues his motions. A bead of sweat drops. A long pause as Varis observes, then softens slightly.
"You're stronger than you think." Varis says quietly, mostly to himself.
Rue glances at him, not sure if he was meant to hear that.
After training, they transition to the kitchen.
They eat a small, humble breakfast. Bread. Stew. Silence, mostly.
"Gramps… do you think I could actually win it? The tournament?" Rue says looking up at Varis.
"Does it matter what I think?" Varis responds without looking up.
"...Kind of."
Varis finally looks up, sharp gaze, but not unkind.
"If you want to win, win. If you want to be something else… Then stop chasing the title and figure who you are."
Rue frowns, thinking.
"Gramps, I'm gonna walk through the market, gonna grab some stuff?" Rue clearly wanting to leave to clear his head.
Varis nods. standing up and going to his room, an old man with a past of regrets, and trauma.
Before Varis reaches the hallway, Rue speaks gently.
"you... ok?"
Varis turns around and stare at his grandson.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me, you have training tomorrow, we spar."
Rue puts his hands in his pocket, and nod, smiling to see his grandpa play cool. Rue turns around and exits the door, clutching the doorknob. He turns around, hoping to see his grandpa one more time. He doesn't know why, but he just do. But Varis is already gone, retreated to his room. Rue sighs and leaves out the front door.
Rue walks through the market square alone. He watches a bulletin board where the tournament's first round brackets are being posted.
His name appears among dozens of others.
"RUE ALABASTA - SEED: 62.
Low-ranking. Rue stares at it for a moment.
Kids nearby laugh, some of them already recognized as local talents.
Rue clenches his jaw, turns, and walks off. Not in anger. Just quiet resolve.
The sun begins its slow descent. The market glows in amber hues, busy but familiar. Rue walks through, clutching a worn leather pouch. His movements are casual, he knows these streets.
He stops at a produce stand, run by a sturdy older woman with greying hair and a sharp tongue.
"Evening, Miss Marna."
"Rue Alabasta. You still eating like a bird?" Marna says while smirking.
"I eat enough to survive. Grandpa's words, not mine." Rue grins.
"Your grandpa fought a bear with a knife and walked away with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You? You're more chicken than bear."
"Then i better eat more of your cabbages, huh?"
He picks up a few fresh vegetables and lays down a few coins.
"...You've got his eyes, you know. But not his burden. Don't go looking for it." Marna says while watching him softly.
"...Thanks, Miss Marna." Rue said quietly.
Rue stops by a shaded wooden stand lined with jars of dried herbs and bottles. The young man running it, Rett, is barely older than Rue. They exchange a small fist bump.
"Back for more bruise balm?"
"Better safe than sorry."
"You fighting in the tournament?" Rett lowering his voice.
"Yeah. Preliminaries are in about a week or something."
"...Well, I'll be damned, good luck."
Rue blinks, then laughs quietly, He claps Rett on the shoulder.
"Thanks. I'll try my best."
Rue walks home along a quiet dirt path. The wind picks up slightly. He carries his supplies in a small pack. A nearby child, Luma, is trying to pull a kite from a tree.
Rue stops, sets his bags down, and climbs effortlessly to retrieve it
"Thanks, Rue!"
"Keep it out of the trees next time." Rue handing her back her kite.
"No promises!" Luma grins.
She runs off. Rue watches her go, a soft smile on his face. Then turns, face shifting slightly more serious.
Rue returns home, unpacks the items carefully. Varis is seated at the table, sharpening a blade, not for battle, but for teaching.
"Break anything?" Varis says without looking up.
"Just spent all your money on cabbage and herbs."
Varis scoffs faintly. Rue sits across from.
"People treats you well out there?"
"...They me like I'm normal. Not like some future champion. I like that."
Varis raises his eyes. For once, there's a flicker of softness.
"Don't lost that. Strength without grace is just violence."
They sit in silence a moment. Outside, the wind howls faintly.
Rue and Varis sit by a small fire pit inside their modest home. Varis pulls out a simple wooden training tool, like a staff wrapped with cloth.
"Flow[1] is like the river, Rue. It's the natural movement of everything, air, water, even light."
He moves the staff slowly, tracing graceful arcs.
"With flow, you don't fight what's coming at you. You guide it, redirect it, make it part of your own strength."
Rue watches intently, his eyes bright despite fatigue.
"I've only been able to redirect small things… like pebbles or a breeze. But not yet… big things."
Varis cracks a rare soft smile.
"Thats the start, Rue. All great rivers begin with small streams."
Later that night.
Rue lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, He whispers to himself.
"I'm not my grandpa, But maybe… I can be me."
[1] A Rare ability Within the Alabasta Bloodline.