CHAPTER LAST UPDATED 4/11/18

A/N: Thank you for picking up this fic -it's been a while since I've written for One Piece, but I'm excited to pick it up again. It'd be great if you could leave a review, it really helps and motivates me to get my chapters out.

Much Love,

C.S. Skywalker


Wealth. Fame. Power.

The man who had achieved everything in life, like none before him, was the Pirate King, Gold Roger. The few words he spoke at his execution drove people the all over the world to take to the seas:

"My treasure? If you want it, you can have it.

Seek it out! I left everything in my life at that place!"

Men, bound for the Grand Line, will chase after their dreams. The world is about to witness a Great Age of Piracy!

I

Man Overboard!

The sound of the ocean lulled him to sleep.

The boy had been floating on the sea for quite some time, with only a slab from the side of a boat as his only means of life. His lips were dry and cracked and when he licked them, they tasted like salt. Strange red tattoos covered his chest, neck and face, and his hair dragged in the water. Dried blood was mingled in his long tresses.

His rich tawny skin confessed that he was not from these parts. Most of the people were born a pale white, a stark contrast to his.

Rocking back and forth on the waves, the boy had begun to lose what little hope he had in living. He had no food, no boat. No family. His father's will would be for nothing. He would be left for dead on the godforsaken sea, and no one would care. The blue ocean seemed endless, a vast curtain of glittering blue that wrapped him up and took him to nowhere but dark.

If not for the shrill scream of another boy his age, he would've slipped away and fallen into the ocean, dead.

"Person!" screamed a teenager with long, unruly black hair wearing a bright orange hat. "There's a person in the water!"

It was too late. The boy had already fallen into the sea.

The cool water was bliss compared to the blisteringly hot sun that beat upon his chest for hours on end. He almost forgot about the scream of the boy with the relief of the water and the pure pleasure that came with finally letting go. He could hear muffled yells as he bobbed up and down in the sea, the salt water plugging his ears in and out, in and out, creating a distorted sound in his ears of lapping water and human voices. Inhaling the sea water, he shivered, feeling the strange sensation of his lungs being filled in a mixture of cold shock and a burning hot. It was oddly calming to the boy, and he began to slip further into the beckoning darkness.

A pale arm slipped around his middle and pulled him up. The arm slung him over its owner's shoulder, and he began to feel himself slowly heading up, shifting back and forth as his savior climbed laboriously.

Dazed and confused, he began to feel sick to his stomach, and the water he had inhaled previously seemed to rise in his stomach. The sweet smell of the soft, pink fabric against his nose was his only saving grace from throwing up his insides.

The boy was gently laid down on the wooden deck of a ship. It was either the rush of gravity that hit him or the sudden stability of the ground beneath him, but he immediately rolled over onto his hands and knees and started to cough out sea water from his innards. A hand rubbed his back and a bucket was placed underneath him for the vomit to land.

It burned. The acrid acid that flowed freely from his stomach coated his sensitive throat in a sickening mixture with the swallowed sea water. He heaved once, twice, four times in a never-ending cycle that wouldn't stop. There were grunts and whispers floating in the air around him, none that he could really comprehend with the buzzing in his ears, but he suspected they were all wondering if he was going to live, and what he was. Finally, he gasped as his body heaved its last heave, and he rolled back on to his back, breathless.

Heavy footsteps on the deck reverberated in his ear. The buzzing in his ears got louder, but he didn't have the strength to get up. He was much too tired to move, much less talk.

"Oyaji, please, get some rest," a man said. "We'll handle this boy."

"Oyaji's'" footsteps continued to grow closer after they had stopped to listen to what the man had to say.

"What are you?" a gruff, elderly voice rang out. The voice sounded tired and rough, however, the boy felt the power in that voice and his eyes snapped open, as if the older man's voice willed him to awaken.

What fell upon his eyes was much too shocking for the boy to comprehend.

A tall, broad shouldered man had appeared in front of him, wearing a captain's jacket loosely above his large, muscular, scarred chest and a black sash over his tan pants. But what had shocked the boy the most was the white, crescent shaped mustache over the older man's grinning mouth.

"W-Whitebeard," the boy stuttered as he scrambled away.

"Oh, so you know my name?" Whitebeard smiled. "Gurarara! You're a smart one, aren't you."

The boy couldn't stop shaking. He felt like vomiting again. How did it happen to be that it was his fate to be picked up by the world's most notorious pirate?

Seeing the boy's fear, Whitebeard lowered his voice to make himself less imposing, and knelt down to his level. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, in an almost friendly tone. "I just want to know why you're floating about in the middle of the ocean."

Whitebeard examined the boy. His markings upon his skin weren't just random tattoos. The old pirate's eyes narrowed. This boy was special, and most likely to be targeted by the marines and the World Government. That was the reasoning for him to be in the ocean. The marines must have targeted him, and he was either on a ship, or they ordered a Buster Call on his island.

"Who are you?" Whitebeard asked.

The boy spat in the great pirate's face and lunged. Whitebeard sighed -he had wished the boy would be less difficult- and stood up. The boy saw black tinge around his eyes and eventually gave into the darkness consuming him.

xxx

He woke with a start, finding himself wrapped in soft covers inside a warm bed. A candle burned low as he rolled over, taking in his surroundings. A young man about his age sat on the floor by the door, snoring softly.

As the boy slowly sat up, the other man shook himself awake.

"You look like you got a good rest," he remarked cheerfully.

The boy reached up and massaged his temples, feeling a raging headache come on.

"You've got guts, trying to take on Oyaji," the man sat back. "Most people, when they realize they're facing the great Whitebeard, they turn tail and run. I'm surprised that his Haki didn't knock you out longer."

"I have a thing against pirates," the boy muttered.

"So, you'd rather you were picked up by a Navy boat?" the man leaned forward, curious.

"I don't like either of them," he replied.

"You should be happy Izo picked you up," the opposing man said. "And be glad that I saw you when I did. You almost were crushed by the Moby Dick."

"I would have rather died," the other said, coldly.

"Not all pirates are bad, you know," the other man took a swig of something. "I'll make you see these next few days."

He watched as the man stood up and placed a bright, orange hat onto his head.

"I'm Ace," he smiled. "You can count on me whenever you need anything, alright?"

The young man nodded, hesitantly. "I'm Robert Dalzeel,"

"You don't have to be so formal with me, Robert Dalzeel," Ace grinned as he opened the door. "I'll try not to keep you from your beauty sleep -you need it."

He laughed as the young man made a face at him and left, leaving the boy alone.

Dalzeel sat, feeling the rock of the waves against the ship, the feel of the soft fabric on his skin, and fell back onto his pillow, reeling back into the sweet escape of sleep.

xxx

The next days consisted of Dalzeel trying to escape with futile efforts. Time after time he ran across the deck, trying to fling himself from the boat, but always getting caught by Vista, Izo, or Jozu whom he had learned were the fifth, sixteenth and third division commanders respectively.

"Stop doing that!" the crossdressing man Izo scolded him. "I'd have saved you for nothing then!"

"Get your hands off me!" Dalzeel struggled as Jozu picked him up easily in his grasp.

"Don't struggle," Vista said. "You're hurt, It's not good for your wounds."

"I don't care," Dalzeel spat. "Just get me off this ship."

"You're an ungrateful brat, aren't you," Jozu rumbled, a laugh starting deep within his chest. "Just like Ace."

"What was that about me?" Ace peered out from below the deck, his freckles dancing in the sunlight.

"Ace!" Dalzeel gasped, recognizing the man. "Tell them to let me go!"

Ace scratched the back of his head. "You've got me in a pickle Dalzeel. I said I was your friend, but weren't you just trying to escape?"

"I-" Dalzeel stuttered, a loss for words. Ace was right.

"Gurarara!" the laugh of Whitebeard echoed across the deck and all eyes turned to the captain.

"Oyaji!" Ace said, with a smile.

"Let him down, Jozu," the old man said.

"But Oyaji-"

"It's fine."

The large, armored man lowered the struggling fugitive to the ground. Somehow, the sheer size and power of Whitebeard caused him to stay.

"Why am I here?" the young man asked cautiously.

"Because I found you interesting," Whitebeard replied simply. "You've got spirit, enough to attack me to protect your island's secret."

"Does there have to be a specific reason why Oyaji wants to keep you on the ship?" a tall man with an even taller pompadour approached them. He wore a white uniform with calf-long pants and a yellow foulard. "I'm Thatch, by the way. I don't think we've met."

"I just wouldn't know why you would want to keep me here, other than for my powers," Dalzeel eyed the old pirate with suspicion. "I know you're not stupid. You know where my tattoos come from."

"I know," Whitebeard said. "But does your past have everything to do with who you are or who you will become?"

"What?" Dalzeel asked, confused.

"What I'm saying is, you have a chance at a new start," Whitebeard said, leaning forward. "I'm giving you a chance for a fresh life. Become part of this crew. Become one of my sons!"

Dalzeel stood, stunned. How could this notorious criminal ask him to become his son? There was no way. He had his own family- Or at least he thought he did. He knew what had happened to his mother. And what had happened to his father. Pirates and Marines, they were the cause of everything. If there weren't any pirates, there wouldn't be any marines. And if there weren't any marines, there wouldn't be the need to have a corrupt World Government.

"Like hell I would!" he roared and ran at Whitebeard again.

He heard a tch come from Izo. "Not again."

Whitebeard sat taller and grunted, a look of disappointment on his face. The black that had consumed him the first time he met the pirate ate him up again.