A warm hand in his was guiding him forward through soft light that lapped at his ankles like a shallow sea. He glanced around, or thought he did, but everything was a quiet gold and he couldn't distinguish land from sky.
They could have been walking for days or hours or maybe just minutes; the scenery never changed and his legs never tired. The time didn't seem to matter, either, because the day didn't seem to end, and he wasn't in a hurry.
There was nothing to do in this place- nothing that he had to do, had to, had to- and it was kind of nice.
Closing his eyes, he could still see the gold and feel the light and a smile tugged at his mouth.
Maybe I'll sleep for awhile, he thought, and the hand moved to his shoulders, wrapping him close, supporting and warming him-
Warming, because there was a bit of a chill in the air, and it stuck to his arms and chest like taffy and made him frown. He never got cold, there was always fire, wasn't there?
The hand tugged now, he'd stopped walking, and suddenly he wanted it away. He snapped his arm away, or tried to, but it grabbed his wrist at the last second and held on.
"Why is it cold?" he asked desperately, and there was no answer and there was no fire and it didn't seem right. "Where am I?" he went on, giving voice to a question that only moments- or hours or days- ago seemed redundant and unnecessary; now, though, now he was backing away, tugging at his arm uselessly. "What is this?"
Peace, everything whispered to him. Rest. Calm. Peace.
He relented slowly, body uncurling from where he'd seized up in that sudden panic. It was peaceful, he thought. Maybe it would be okay to rest-
"But you promised!"
Oh, but he knew that voice. He knew it in his heart, knew it in his bones; when everything else was floating and light and gold water, he knew that voice.
That was someone important, someone with bright brown eyes and a scar, someone important, someone who laughed like breathing and always smiled, someone...
"Didn't you promise me?"
He did promise, he did, he knew, that voice knew, there was a promise, what promise, how could he not know, how could he not know, how could he not know, the promise was everything it was everything it was everything, how could he not know?
"What is this?" he asked again, shouting at the absence all around him, so empty his voice should have echoed but instead it was pillowed and swallowed by the warmth and light, and the hand around his wrist tightened. "What is this?"
That voice was choked and crying and all wrong, all wrong. He reached out, to hit or claw or tear, whatever it took to get that hand off his arm, whatever it took to get away from this place.
Because that voice was crying and it shouldn't be, because that's what he was for, that's why he was alive, wasn't it, to make sure that voice never had reason to cry.
Finally, free. A roar of anguish that sounded like rushing water pushed him from all directions, and the light rippled all around him like someone scrambling forward in a hurry to catch him again-
"No," he said, and fell.
The ground folded like rice paper and he dropped through it like a stone. He was plummeting through a sudden darkness, a black drink, and he could feel the weight of it all around him, suffocating and intoxicating and the pressure in his lungs and on his chest sent sharp daggers through his body of pain like clarity.
Oh, no.
Opening his eyes, Ace stood above himself in the Marineford.
And watched his baby brother scream.