Under the dark shade cast by an old yew tree, on a floating island filled with soldiers and governed by a man of great ambition, was a small iron statue of a boy clutching a sword. The boy was scowling and wounded, but held the sword defiantly.
The statue of the boy was placed next to a large headstone, a guardian protector, a trophy stolen and placed on display. On the headstone, chiseled in deliberate script was "Sora Vinsmoke" and two dates that were too close together.
Sora Vinsmoke, as her headstone noted, had been a wife, a queen, and a mother, in order of importance to the man who commissioned it. Her entire being boiled down to what she could offer her husband and a hundred years from now, if found by a historian, this tombstone would be a blank face, revealing nothing of Sora's kindness or desperation or deep sadness.
Perhaps she did need a guardian next to her, the one she did not have in real life.
Her children spent time in the cemetery because the training fields and military exercises left them gasping in the sun on the open reflecting ocean. They would lay sprawled on the cool black dirt, grass trying to grow under the deep shade, feeling the sweat start to dry and cool.
Her children spent time in the cemetery during the day because it was a place of respite. During the day, the old yew tree looked rough and gnarled, but it was familiar. The dirt was dark and soft, with only worms to worry about.
Sometimes though as children do because children need to be scared because children need to name their nameless fears, give them a body and claws and ways to hurt, Sora's children would tell stories. They would tell stories about the strange statue next to their mother's grave.
"He stole the sword and was executed. This is a warning to other thieves," declared Niji.
"No, he tried to use a family sword to protect his sisters from raiding pirates. And they beheaded him," insisted Ichiji. "The village created this in his honor."
"I think he's a sword-wielding demon cursed by a witch," offered Yonji.
The smallest of the quadruplets stayed quiet, watching the statue. He wondered if his father had placed a criminal or a demon next his mother to keep her from finally escaping. If at night, when she tried to rise up to the stars, the boy came alive and threatened her back down into the ground with his sword and his grim face.
Later that night, his sister Reiju told him the truth. "None of them were close. Father told me the story. The boy was training to be a swordsman. He was given a valuable sword after his sensei's daughter died. He left to go train on his own and was attacked by bandits who wanted his sword. He killed some of them, but there were too many and he died."
Reiju went on to explain that the boy was cremated and his bones and ashes were mixed in with the iron ore to create the statue. While out on a raid in the area, their father heard of the story and decided he wanted the statue and so it was theirs now. And now Sanji felt bad for misjudging the boy because he was the one being kept prisoner, far from where he wanted to be.
Sanji went to bed that night, under the thin blankets his father allowed him, in the smallest room usually reserved for the lowliest servants, and he wondered what the boy would think, being stuck on a floating island so far away from where he had been going. Sanji wondered if the boy had been scared and all alone, or if he had been too angry and busy fighting when he died. The smallest of the Vinsmoke children finally fell asleep with smell of damp in the air and the tiny sounds of the mice scratching behind the walls.
"Sanji, Sanji. Wake up!" It was Niji shaking him. Sanji sat up and saw his brothers in his room, all of them dressed and in coats.
"We're going to cemetery," announced Ichiji.
"You're coming too, unless you're scared," laughed Yonji.
Knowing there was no good way to protest, Sanji got out of bed and looked for his socks and shoes, getting dressed without asking questions. He felt his heart racing with fear and excitement. Being up at night is turning reality upside down. Playtime is for day, not for being under the stars. They hugged the walls, sticking to the dark shadows, avoiding the night guards until there was a clean shot to the cemetery.
They hopped the low stone fence to avoid opening the metal gate. Walking closely together, they made their way towards Sora's grave. Ichiji whispered that he wanted to see the boy carrying his head and Yonji told him not to be stupid. When they reached the headstone and the statue, the four of them stood there, in the dark, waiting.
Sanji could hear the water lapping against the sides of the floating island and some wind rustling through the tops of the trees, but he didn't hear anything that sounded like a young boy long ago murdered. Finally, Niji said he was getting tired and wanted to go back to bed. As they were leaving, Sanji looked back and whispered, "I'm sorry. I wish your life had been longer."
There was the faintest smell of steel and then Sanji felt his hand being squeezed and turned ice cold. He stopped breathing for a moment and when he finally exhaled, it came out in a puff of smoke. Sanji tried to scream but nothing came out. He tried to run, but his legs failed and he fell down. He felt Ichiji grab him under his armpit and yank him up. "Come on, we don't have time for this. We're going to get caught because of you."
With his brother's help, Sanji's legs worked well enough to make it back to his room. For the rest of the night, he couldn't get warm.