Robin was halfway through the restricted catalogue when my nose started itching. Unfortunately, I was holding a bronze security grille above her head, and scratching it would've required putting something down that she'd specifically asked me not to drop.
"How much longer?" I asked, rubbing my face against my shoulder. Below us, the observatory's night watchman coughed and turned another page of his newspaper.
"You said you could hold it all night." She moved her lamp along the shelf without looking at me. "Was that an estimate?"
"I can. I'd just prefer to spend the night committing a more comfortable crime." I shifted the grille higher while she pulled out another volume. The curator had refused us access that afternoon, citing a requirement for Government approval. He'd seemed quite offended when I asked whether approval became optional after closing.
We'd spent our first three days here examining copies of the coastal inscriptions from Robin's travel account. Most of them concerned burials and harbour repairs, although she'd found enough to fill half a notebook before setting them aside. By the fourth morning, drawings of my transformed body covered our table again, with the wheel copied neatly beside an attempt at my face that I personally considered slanderous.
The ordinary Devil Fruit encyclopaedias hadn't helped. The older collections were more promising, particularly the ones whose authors couldn't agree whether they'd recorded a Zoan user, a local religion or somebody having a terrible afternoon.
Robin had found references to a warrior with a wheel, then spent several hours eliminating wagon gods and one agricultural festival where people wore cartwheels on their heads.
I'd helped by turning pages, producing my blade when requested and keeping my mouth shut about Mahoraga. I knew most of the answer she was chasing, but I wanted to see whether this world's version came with anything the divine customer-service department had neglected to mention.
"Here." Robin opened a thin catalogue beneath the lamp. "A collection of southern island traditions. There was a plate showing a wheel above a human figure, with a weapon extending from one arm."
I leaned over her shoulder, taking the grille with me. "That sounds considerably more useful than the bloke dressed as farm equipment."
"It would be, if the book were still here." Her finger stopped beside a stamp. The collection had been confiscated six weeks earlier, along with several other volumes awaiting transport to a Government archive. Robin copied the shipment number while I considered how much work somebody had put into making books difficult to read.
Getting the grille back into its frame took longer than lifting it out. Robin insisted, partly because the watchman hadn't bothered us and partly because leaving a bronze door on the floor would make our next visit inconvenient. We left with three borrowed books and the name of the ship holding the rest.
The following evening, a Marine dispatch cutter supplied the transport's schedule. Robin searched its captain's cabin while I sat on the hatch above the sleeping quarters, listening to somebody underneath threaten me with increasingly optimistic consequences. By the time we left, he'd worked his way up to an admiral.
We found the transport at the harbour mouth before dawn, waiting for the tide. I climbed aboard while Robin brought the Vesper alongside, intending to collect the books before anyone started shooting near them. That lasted until the lookout recognised my hair and rang the alarm bell hard enough to snap its cord.
The first volley punched holes through my shirt and scattered flattened lead across the deck. I looked down at the damage while the men hurried to reload, then pulled the nearest rifle out of its owner's hands and folded its barrel against the stock.
"We're collecting a shipment," I said, handing it back. "You can keep that."
Their officer called for the deck gun to be turned toward the Vesper. Robin was still at the wheel, with our red sails hanging slack behind her, so I crossed the deck before the crew finished cranking it around. The gunner had already touched the fuse when I caught the barrel and forced it upward; the shot tore through their own flag while the recoil drove my feet into the planks.
Nobody reached for another charge. I pulled the mounting bolts out of the deck and laid the gun across the cargo hatch, which seemed a reasonable way to discourage further enthusiasm. The officer came at me with a sword anyway, so I caught his wrist and put him through the empty water barrel beside the mast. After that, finding someone willing to explain the cargo labels became much easier.
Robin stepped aboard while I was lifting the cannon out of her way. She glanced at the barrel, where a pair of boots protruded above the rim, then handed me the shipment list.
"Was he helpful?"
"Eventually. Everything we want is in the forward hold." I set the gun down gently this time, because she'd already looked at the cracked planks. "Nobody's shot a book."
"Excellent. Your methods are improving." She passed me with a small smile, and several sailors made room without being asked.
The crates contained enough books to keep us busy for a week, and carrying them aboard intact required more care than dealing with their owners. We took the catalogue we'd come for, two boxes Robin identified as belonging to the observatory, and a selection of charts from the captain's cabin. By sunrise, the transport was behind us with its guns disabled, and Robin had opened the illustrated volume on our table.
The plate was…disappointing at first. Half the figure had vanished into a stain, while the wheel looked like an unhappy sun. Beneath it, however, someone had recorded where the original carving stood: a ruined sanctuary in the Kingdom of Lulusia.
I stopped chewing when Robin read the name. She looked up, but I swallowed and asked to see the page; the catalogue gave us a harbour, and the transport's charts showed a supply route we could follow with an Eternal Pose bought before leaving the area.
Several days later, Lulusia rose ahead of us, all rooftops and hills beneath a perfectly ordinary sky. I kept looking above it anyway. Imu would test a fucking weapon here, and an entire country would disappear because the Government wanted to see what happened when it pressed the button. T
That was years away in the story I remembered, but standing at the rail, watching fishing boats leave the harbour, I couldn't make myself treat it as somebody else's future problem.
I secured the Eternal Pose in the cabin instead of putting it with the things we could trade. Whatever else happened, I'd be keeping a way back here.
The sanctuary had been demolished long before the book reached the observatory, as a municipal librarian told us, who assured us there was nothing worth seeing. The survey records were held in the royal collection, and access required another permit. Robin thanked him politely; that night, I held a second-floor window open while she climbed inside.
"I'm beginning to understand why you needed a travelling companion," I whispered as she passed me a ledger.
"You're taller than most ladders." She turned a page, found the demolition report and tapped the surveyor's signature. "And considerably easier to carry between islands."
The surveyor was still alive. According to the woman who sold us directions, he'd spent the last twenty years drinking, threatening trespassers and claiming something under the old sanctuary couldn't be broken. People mostly remembered the drinking.
We found him outside a crooked house below the ruins, aiming a crossbow over his gate. He had one shoe, a magnificent beard and absolutely no interest in discussing local folklore.
"Nothing there," he said before Robin finished introducing herself. "Roof fell in. Go away."
Robin unfolded her copy of the plate and held it where he could see. His crossbow lowered a few inches, then came back up when I reached toward the latch.
"Could've just said not to touch it," I told him, taking my hand away. "We're interested in the bloke with the wheel. That's all."
"Last ones were interested in gold. Tried taking a hammer to the walls." He spat into the weeds, studying Robin's drawing. "Where'd you get that?"
"A book printed before the sanctuary was demolished. I'd like to compare the illustration with the original, if any of it survived." She folded back a corner creased by the wind. "We can pay for your time."
He named a sum that suggested his time included the previous twenty years. I paid half, promised the rest when we got there and bought myself the privilege of following an armed old bastard uphill while he complained about every person who'd ever employed him.
He'd found the lower chamber during the demolition survey. When the contractors broke through, they'd tried splitting the stone inside for building material and ruined three sets of tools. He'd reported the cellar unsafe, sealed the entrance himself and spent the years since making sure nobody reopened it.
"A stone?" Robin asked, slowing beside him. "Was there writing?"
He waved his crossbow toward the ground. "Covered in it. Don't ask me what it says. You can turn a page upside down all day and it still won't teach you to read."
Robin looked across at me, and I stopped complaining about the hill.
The entrance was hidden beneath a shed full of broken garden tools. Our guide removed several planks, unlocked an iron cover and immediately told me I was too broad for the ladder. I went down sideways while Robin followed, carrying the lamp he'd demanded we bring because he didn't want to waste his oil on visitors.
The passage ended at a slab of fallen masonry. He started explaining that we'd have to crawl underneath, but I found a grip along its lower edge and lifted it. Dust poured off it as I worked it upright against the wall, leaving enough room for all three of us.
"Careful with the carving," Robin said, raising the lamp.
I stopped with the slab resting against my shoulder while she examined its underside. Behind her, the old man lowered himself onto the bottom stair and stared at my hands. Eventually, he pointed out a place where I could set it without crushing anything, and his complaints became noticeably more constructive.
The Poneglyph stood in a sunken chamber beyond the passage, its dark surface intact beneath a roof patched with old timber. Lantern brackets had been hammered into the newer supports, and somebody had swept the floor around it. Whatever the old man's other hobbies involved, he'd been looking after this.
Robin passed me the lamp and approached the stone. I stayed beside her until she began reading, then raised the light toward the wall behind it and forgot whatever I'd been about to say.
A broad figure stood carved beneath an eight-spoked wheel. Its face had been damaged, but the structures extending from either side remained, along with the blade beside its right wrist. Smaller figures surrounded it, their heads barely reaching its waist. I held my own hand up beneath the relief, comparing the wheel on my knuckles with the one above its head.
Well, shit. Somebody had drawn me considerably better than I had.
"Robin." She followed my gaze, then came closer, lifting her hand toward the blade without touching the worn edge. I let the pale flesh and wrappings gather along my forearm, extending my own blade beside the carving. The old man made a strangled noise behind us and sat down again.
"That's the right arm," Robin murmured. Her eyes moved between the two weapons before she returned to the Poneglyph. This time, she went straight to a section along its left side and began copying.
I let my arm return to normal and brought the lamp closer. Our guide wanted to know whether I'd done that before, so I assured him it wasn't something I'd caught from his cellar. He didn't seem particularly reassured, but he stayed while Robin worked through the inscription, comparing several lines with the surrounding reliefs.
"The people who sheltered here brought this story with them," she said eventually. "The warrior was already part of their traditions. It describes him overcoming the calamities inflicted upon him, changing until they could no longer defeat him." She glanced at my hand, then read the name beneath her finger once more. "Makora."
I tried it silently while she checked her notes. The wheel, the weapon, the body that kept learning how to survive whatever hit it; apparently, we had finally reached the useful part of the religious literature.
"A humanoid figure with a fixed form and an ability taken from a legend," Robin continued. "With these features matching yours..." She turned toward me, and I could see how pleased she was before she said it.
"Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Makora."
My grin must've been fucking unbearable. I repeated it aloud, giving the name the attention it deserved, then looked from her to the enormous warrior on the wall. "That sounds incredible. Come on, say it again."
Robin laughed softly and wrote it beneath her sketch. "I'll make sure they spell it correctly on your grave."
"The whole thing. None of this 'beloved son' shit taking up valuable space." I leaned over her shoulder to watch her finish writing, and she gave me a warm, amused look before moving the notebook so I could see. For a few seconds, I was entirely occupied with admiring my extremely good taste in supernatural abilities.
Then I looked back at the wall. The stone hadn't been put here last week, and the people carved around that figure had apparently known its story before anyone recorded this inscription. The Higher Beings had actually supplied historical documentation for their bullshit. When that bastard said internal consistency, he'd apparently meant more than making me eat a disgusting pear.
Had they put the legend into the past? Had it already existed somehow? I knew Mahoraga, or enough of him to make several deeply questionable decisions, but I hadn't expected to find people in this world who'd told stories about him centuries before I was born. I ran my thumb across the wheel on my hand while Robin returned to the stone.
"Does it say where he came from?" I asked.
"It tells us where these people believed the story came from. Those may be different things." She traced a line in her notes. "And it doesn't tell us whether they ever saw him, or whether a person with your fruit inspired the account. The legend was already old when this was written."
I crouched beside her as she worked down the next section, holding the lamp steady. She crossed out one word, replaced it and checked the wall again. The figures I'd taken for ordinary worshippers had something spreading behind their shoulders; on the least damaged carving, they looked very much like wings.
"People associated with the heavens," Robin said. "I thought it might refer to their gods, but this passage describes a journey. Their ancestors came down, bringing the story with them." Her pencil paused above the page. "There are accounts of settlements in the sky. Islands above the clouds."
I could feel the grin coming back while she finished translating. Wings, ancient history and an island full of people living where every sensible navigator insisted there should only be air. I leaned back to look at the carved wheel again, already wondering how our red sails would look against a white sea.
Skypiea, baby. Now we were fucking talking.
…
End of Chapter!
Word Count - 2620
a/n -
HELLO AGAIN, MY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!
Another chapter, another series of crimes committed by our favourite wanted criminal. At this point, I genuinely think Kai and Robin have broken into more Government facilities than they've visited legitimate tourist attractions. And the worst part? They're doing it for BOOKS.
Fucking nerds. Both of them.
First things first, we FINALLY have an actual name for the fruit!
Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Makora.
GOD, THAT SOUNDS GOOD.
Now, some of you might recognise the name, particularly if you're familiar with Jujutsu Kaisen. Makora is the Japanese name for Mahoraga, and I thought it would fit nicely into One Piece's Devil Fruit naming conventions. More importantly, though, I wanted the fruit to have a real place in the world's mythology.
And that's something I've been thinking about for a while. Just because Kai knows where his powers came from doesn't mean the rest of the world should magically understand them. Robin's investigation was a nice opportunity to explore that, especially since researching ancient civilisations and deciphering forgotten history is literally her thing.
Speaking of Robin, I've been enjoying writing these two together quite a bit. Their relationship is developing rather naturally, I think. She's curious, intelligent, occasionally morbid, and entirely too comfortable committing crimes when historical research is involved. Kai, meanwhile, is essentially a seven-foot library assistant with anger issues and a criminal record.
A match made in heaven, really.
I also wanted to give Robin some actual opportunities to demonstrate her expertise. She's one of the most knowledgeable characters in One Piece, and I really don't want her entire contribution to this story to be following Kai around while he punches increasingly unfortunate people.
Now, Lulusia.
If you've caught up with the manga, you should already understand why I chose this particular kingdom. I won't elaborate too much, but Kai's knowledge of the future will become increasingly relevant as we move further into the story.
I've always found the implications of reincarnation into a fictional world rather interesting. Knowing what happens is one thing, but actually standing somewhere and meeting the people whose futures you already know? That's a different situation entirely.
And Kai, for all his many, MANY questionable qualities, isn't someone who can easily ignore that.
There's also the matter of the Poneglyph itself, the origins of Makora's legend, and those rather interesting references to people descending from the heavens. Make of that what you will. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
AND FINALLY, SKYPIEA!
Or, well, the possibility of Skypiea.
I'm rather excited about this one. I've always loved the concept of the Sky Islands, and the sheer amount of unexplored history and mythology surrounding them makes them particularly interesting for this story.
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Particularly on the Devil Fruit reveal, the developing dynamic between Kai and Robin, and the way I'm incorporating the world's ancient history into Kai's own abilities. Do you guys enjoy these more exploration-focused chapters? Would you prefer a little more action mixed into them? And where do you think this whole Makora business is going?
Seriously, let me know. I read all your comments, even when I don't immediately get around to replying, and they've been incredibly useful while I've been revising the earlier chapters.
Thank you all again for reading and supporting this ridiculous story of mine. The fact that so many of you are still following Kai's adventures genuinely makes me happy.
Until next time!
Bye Bye