It is cold. Not from the wind. Not from the rain. From something inside him. Something heavy. Something wrong. Zoro doesn't know where he is.

The world around him is damp, thick with the scent of earth, soaked wood, and something else—something rotting.

He is small. His knees are pressed against his chest, and his fingers are curled tightly around his arms. Trembling. There is no sound. Not even the wind moves. Not even the rain dares to fall.

Only the weight in the air—suffocating. Crushing. Endless. And then—

Footsteps. Soft. Light. The air around him shifts. The sound returns. The rain, the life.

Something bright seeps into the edges of his vision—not light, not warmth, but… something else. Someone else. It is a small shape. A girl? Her voice cuts through the silence—sharp and curious.

"Why are you crying?"

His head jerks up, but he can't see her face. Only the light behind her, pressing against the dark. The weight around him thickens, clinging like vines, whispering against his skin.

Run away, the voice says, but the light holds him.

He doesn't know why he's crying. But he is. His fingers tighten around the two wooden swords beside him. He rubs his sleeve against his face—furious, embarrassed.

"I'm not crying!" he snaps.

She tilts her head. "You are."

He scowls. He doesn't like her. Or maybe— maybe he does because she's not leaving. Because she's not afraid.

The voice is back, hissing in her ear, you're going to kill her.

But the girl doesn't hear it. She crouches in front of him, peeling something in her hands. The scent hits him—sweet, sharp, citrus.

His stomach twists. The weight around him lashes out, writhing, whispering.

You'll kill her…like you killed me.

His breath catches. The girl doesn't flinch. She doesn't move away. Instead—she grabs his collar and shoves him to the ground. His head snaps back, eyes widening.

"Shut up and chew."

Something is shoved into his mouth. The taste explodes—bright, tart, real—for a moment—the weight around him cracks.

The whispers retreat. He coughs. Chokes. Fights.

"What—what is this?!"

"A mikan, you idiot!"

Her voice is steady. Louder than the whispers. Louder than the thing curling inside him. He scowls, wiping at his mouth and wiping at his eyes.

"It tastes bad, you crazy girl!"

"I'm not crazy! And it does not! You're just stupid!"

A bite to the finger. A fist to the face. They tumble. They shout. The weight around him weakens.

It bellows and recoils—a wounded animal retreating into the shadows. A presence fades.

The wind moves again, and the rain starts to fall harder. The girl wins.

But suddenly, there is a crack of lighting, and the warm light is gone. Somewhere beyond the haze, voices approach. He can see another, slightly taller. Her once dark, intelligent eyes seem hollow now.

Her deep, inky blue hair is dead, dripping with blood. Her sharp features, which once accentuated the strong line of her jaw and the slight arch of her brow—a face that never softened, never wavered- now was pale and empty.

She was screaming, but no sound was coming out. And then the golden strands encircled her, binding her, cutting into her pale skin. She wasn't bleeding, wasn't crying. She was begging. Him.

And then, out of the darkness, violet eyes appeared. Wide and doll-like, framed by long, pale lashes that only added to her eerie, childlike innocence. As the evil hands engulfed the dying girl's neck, she flashed a fearsome grin and screamed into the void, Zoro, I'm going to eat her alive!

Zoro tried to scream, but childlike laughter engulfed him, and he fell into the deep darkness.

Zoro woke to silence, save for the pattering of rain. Was it real? For a moment, he was still. His mind was sharp, and the nightmare faded. His body was aching but responsive. Too responsive. Something was missing.

His fingers twitched toward his waist—his swords were not there, but he felt them. Well, not all of them.

Wado Ichimonji was gone. His breath slowed. The moment his eye snapped open, he moved.

Robin barely had time to lift her tea before Zoro was on his feet, hand on his remaining swords, the air around him charged.

"Where is it?" His voice was sharp.

Robin, calm as ever, set her cup down. "Good morning, Zoro."

He didn't care. His gaze locked onto the only other person in the room, or so he thought.

The second he drew on Robin, he heard a click at his temple. A massive, blue-haired man towered beside him, watching him like a predator sizing up prey. Zoro had never seen him before.

Zoro fought monsters. Real ones. Things with claws and fangs, creatures that breathed death, shadows that slithered beneath the skin. He had battled men who had lost their humanity and men who had never had it to begin with.

But this—this was something else. The thing beside him wasn't quite human. Not fully.

Broad-shouldered, built like a fortress, yet something about him felt wrong—not in the way of demons or spirits, but in the way of something that didn't belong in this world.

His frame was too large, his limbs too thick, too exaggerated. Steel gleamed beneath sun-darkened skin, veins replaced with wires, his own body a puzzle of metal and flesh that somehow still moved like a man.

And yet—Zoro could hear it. A heartbeat. Steady. Real. Human.

He was not a creation. He was a man who had made himself into something unnatural. Zoro studied him, shifting his stance. His grip on his remaining swords was light but ready.

He had faced swordsmen, warlords, demons, and beasts. But never something like this.

"You done staring, boy?"

The voice was gravel and amusement, thick with confidence, a smirk woven between syllables.

Zoro didn't answer. He just exhaled slowly, the weight of the unknown settling into his ribs.

This wasn't a demon. He wasn't a god. This was something smaller but somehow just as strange. A man who had stitched himself together with steel and stubbornness. But not like Absalom…

The more Zoro looked, the more he saw—not just the metal, but the wear of it. Scars hidden beneath bolts, calloused hands still dirtied from the work of creation. A machine that could break but refused to.

"Tch." Zoro tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, a mix of understanding and challenge curling at the edges. "You're not from here."

The grin widened. "But I do plan on staying."

Zoro tightened his grip. The moment Zoro moved—BOOM.

An explosion of force blasted through the room. Metal struck metal. Sparks flew. Zoro had dodged, but his remaining swords were ripped from his grip before he could unsheathe them and sent clattering across the floor.

The massive mechanical cannon hissed with steam, its muzzle still glowing from the shot. The man lowered the weapon with a self-satisfied grin.

"Super."

Zoro turned, shoulders squared, assessing. The guy hadn't even hesitated.

"The hell are you?" Zoro growled.

The man cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. "The name's Franky. And before you go waving your swords around, let me make something clear, demon boy—"

His eyes darkened, the grin never fading.

"You try anything against Robin again, and I'll make sure you won't have hands anymore again."

Zoro's red eyes narrowed. He hadn't even drawn yet, and this guy had already blown him back? His fingers flexed. His stance lowered, ready to charge.

Franky sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Really, dude? You're gonna start something when you're down two swords?"

Robin chimed in, "Or is it three?"

Zoror growled, "I won't ask you again, Robin. Where. Is. My. Sword!"

Franky retook aim, but Robin exhaled, blooming an arm on Franky's massive forearm, guiding him to lower the weapon. He was reluctant, but he listened.

"Zoro."

Her voice cut through the heat like a blade. Zoro froze. She hadn't flinched. Not once. She wasn't scared. Not of him. Because she knew he wasn't going to kill her. The bloodlust wasn't there.

Robin smirked slightly. "See? You're thinking."

Zoro tensed. He hated that she was right.

Franky leaned against the chair where Robin sat, shaking his head. "Man, if that isn't the most pathetic 'almost fight' I've ever seen."

Zoro scowled. "Tch. You think I need a sword to beat you?"

Franky laughed—loud, unbothered.

"Oh, you definitely do. But hey, lucky for you, I ain't here to scrap."

Zoro exhaled through his nose. He was wasting time.

"Where's the sword?" His voice was steel.

Robin studied him for a second before answering.

"Is that all you really care about?"

Zoro's pulse skipped. His jaw clenched.

She continued, "Don't think I didn't notice."

She flicked her left hand up as Franky did the same—the gold bands on their respective fingers gleaming in the light.

Franky chuckled, "You should have gone with a ring, dude."

"A contract, Zoro?" She mused, "And here I thought your loyalty was to Luffy and...to your blades."

A storm built behind Zoro's ribs. How could he have been so distracted? To not notice that the warmth had left with her.

Robin met his gaze evenly. "Is she the girl you see in your dreams?"

Zoro sighed. "I-I don't know..."

"You don't know?" Franky frowned, almost disappointed. "You're telling me that you feel a connection with a young woman who makes you recall parts of your own self...breaks the fog...and you-"

Zoro watched as the massive man started bawling. A strange sight indeed.

"You, idiot!" He said as Robin's arms bloomed around him to wipe his tears.

Zoro was amazed. "And...you're the one that defeated me?"

Franky blubbered, "Aow! Of course, I'm strong, and I've been especially strong this week!"

He turned to Robin and placed a kiss on her head, making Zoro instinctively turn away, a blush on the tips of his ears.

"But she's the super archeologist. She's always been stronger."

Zoro wanted this scene to end, but he couldn't help but examine the way Robin stared at the strange man and the way he stared back.

Zoro had never thought much about love. Not in the way Sanji, that stupid immortal prince, droned on about it, all poetry and desperation, nor in the way Luffy accepted it—carefree and boundless, like something that simply existed, unspoken but understood.

Love was for other people, for the soft-hearted, for those who could afford it.

Not for cursed beings. Not for him. And certainly… not for her.

Robin had always been a quiet force—elegant, untouchable, a woman who carried too much weight in her heart and too many ghosts in her shadow. He had never seen her vulnerable, not truly. Even when the world threatened to swallow her whole, she faced it with a knowing smile, as if she had already come to terms with the inevitable.

So when he saw her like this—relaxed. Amused. Happy. Zoro almost didn't recognize her.

It wasn't in the way she looked, though she was different. There was a looseness to her movements, a softness at the edges of her sharp control. Her lips, so often curved into a smirk of amusement or calculation, now carried something warmer. Something unguarded.

It was him. Franky.

The ridiculous bastard was practically glistening, half-covered in grease; his strange apparel would have certainly earned some stern opposition from a particular witch who kept going in about nudity. Yet, this man grinned like he had somehow won the greatest prize in the world. And maybe he had.

Because Robin—Nico Robin, the woman who had lived her whole life running from shadows—was smiling at him like he was the one thing in this world that made her stop running.

Zoro watched, unwillingly captivated, as Franky reached for her hand—not in some grand, dramatic gesture, but simply because he wanted to feel like it was second nature—like he could.

And Robin, who had never let anyone hold onto her for too long, who had always been the one to let go first—didn't.

Zoro saw the way her fingers curled lazily around his, the way her thumb brushed over his knuckles in an absent, intimate motion. She didn't pull away. She didn't tense. She just… let herself be touched.

For a moment, Zoro felt something foreign settle in his chest. Relief.

He hadn't realized how much he wanted this for her—something warm, something steady—not stolen. Not fleeting. Something real. And yet, Robin was still Robin.

Her lips quirked into a smirk as she turned to Franky, her voice rich with amusement. "Are you actually planning to wear a shirt properly today, or are you just pretending?"

Franky let out a booming laugh, throwing an arm around her shoulder like she was the most precious thing in the world. "What, and cover up all this super greatness? C'mon, babe, don't be selfish."

Robin rolled her eyes, but there was no real exasperation there.

Zoro knew Robin. He knew what her amusement looked like when it was a mask. This wasn't it.

This was ease. This was affection. This was love. For a brief moment, Zoro allowed himself to feel happy for her.

Just for a moment. Then, he exhaled sharply, shook his head, and turned away.

Enough of that. Some things were better left to other people, he thought.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Robin spoke, "It is our combined power that took you down, Zoro. But that young woman...she is very powerful."

"I know," Zoro said immediately. Of course, he knew that.

"Then why don't you be a real man and trust her?" Franky scoffed.

Zoro snorted, "And is that what you are...Franky?" He lowered his eyes to those bare legs of his. "Have you no shame?"

Now, Franky turned cocky, and with a gleam in his eye and a tilt of his head, he smugly said, "She likes the view...and its easy access."

Robin's arm was quick to bloom from his shoulder, and she slapped him as she covered her own reddened face.

Zoro was utterly taken aback. As Robin collected herself, and Franky laid unconscious, but chuckling in his delirious state, she began:

"She left. For the Field of Memories."

"Alone?" Zoro fumed.

Robin nodded. The room went still.

Franky whistled, suddenly awake, folding his arms behind his head as he sat up on the floor. "Whew, buddy. That ain't a good look for you."

Zoro barely heard him. His feet were already moving toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Zoro stopped. Franky stretched, stepping in front of the exit with zero concern.

"You don't even know where the hell the Field of Memories is."

Zoro's eye flashed. "I'll find it."

"Oh yeah?" Franky grinned. "You planning on running there? Maybe use those freaky demon powers you got going on?"

Zoro didn't answer. He didn't have time for this.

Robin sighed dramatically, taking another sip of tea. "Franky, let him go."

"Nah."

Zoro's fingers twitched toward his remaining swords again. Franky's grin widened.

"Listen, pal." He cracked his knuckles. "I get it. You're pissed. You're feeling weak without that sword, which is really ironic for a so-called strong guy. But let me ask you something—"

He leaned in.

"Are you really gonna let your girl handle your cursed weapon while you stand here throwing a tantrum?"

Zoro froze.

Robin raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Ooh. I like this approach."

Franky wasn't done.

"'Cause right now? You're looking pretty damn pathetic."

Silence. Zoro exhaled sharply. He hated that they were right. He hated that she left without him.

Robin tilted her head. "You know, I did notice something before you passed out."

Zoro clenched his teeth. She continued, voice smooth as silk.

"That contract you gave her—what exactly did you promise her, Zoro?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Franky's grin was toothy. "Oh-ho. So there's different kinds, huh?"

Zoro ignored them. His feet moved.

"Where is it?" he muttered.

Robin studied him before sighing and gesturing toward the window. "The energy shifted about an hour ago."

Zoro turned. The night sky had changed. The stars were wrong. And deep in the horizon—a storm was brewing.

"Well, damn," Franky muttered.

The wind shifted. The scent of magic, of something ancient, lingered in the air.

Robin stood, setting her tea aside. "It's awake. The sword...Zoro...it could kill her. So, what are you going to do now?"

Without hesitation, he unfurled his wings as Franky admired the sheer physics of it all.

"I'm going to get my witch!"

With that, he blasted out of their home, launching into the sky, following the scent and energy he left in the necklace he placed around her.