Adrenaline surged through him as he fell, chased by the creeping unease that the darkness stirred in his chest. When he finally hit the ground, it was a cobblestone path that caught him. The road stretched endlessly ahead, vanishing into a horizon cloaked in shadow.

Brushing dirt from his clothes, Sabo stood and took in the strange air—dense, heavy, almost suffocating. As his eyes adjusted, he examined his surroundings more closely and realized he had landed in some sort of underground labyrinth.

A mixture of apprehension and curiosity settled over him. He started forward. Twisted corridors sprawled in every direction, walls etched with intricate carvings, and dim torchlight flickered with an eerie glow. The walls seemed to whisper secrets, and the path shifted subtly beneath his steps—each footfall a gamble in a maze that bent to no logic.

"Ahhhhhh!"

The scream ripped through the silence, making Sabo jolt. He spun around, eyes scanning for the source of the desperate cry.To his surprise, he found Cavendish, pale, panicked, and frozen in place—shrieking in pure terror.

Curious, Sabo hurried closer, only to discover the cause: a tiny spider perched squarely on Cavendish's face. "I can't believe you're scared of a spider," Sabo said, a grin tugging at his lips as he fought back laughter.

Cavendish, red-faced and furious, shot back, "Thank you for that brilliant observation—I hadn't noticed!"

"But seriously... where are we?" Cavendish asked, shaking off the spider.

Sabo raised a brow. "Shouldn't you know? Isn't this your kingdom?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, would I? All I've got is what that brat told me," Cavendish muttered, rubbing his temple in frustration.

"So, you were brought here by a kid too?"

"Yep. And judging by that expression, looks like we've both been dragged here by some creepy ghost child to prove ourselves. How original." He kicked a stone, muttering under his breath.

"Prove ourselves?" Sabo asked, thoughtful. "Mine didn't mention anything like that."

"Mine left me a riddle. About spiders, of All things…" Cavendish groaned, completely unaware that the very air around them had begun to shift. "Why spiders? They're not that—"

Sabo raised a hand, cutting him off.

"Don't tell me..." Cavendish whispered. He turned to look, and what he saw made his blood run cold. A massive spider loomed before them, its eight legs clicking over stone with unsettling precision.

"You said something?" Sabo murmured, tension creeping into his voice.

Cavendish swallowed hard. "I… didn't mean this."

The spider hissed. Its fangs clicked, and for a chilling moment, it seemed summoned by its very mention—a manifestation of the labyrinth's will. The ground quaked beneath them as the spider advanced. Cavendish and Sabo exchanged a knowing look. Whatever this was, they were in it together.

Sabo clenched his fists. "We don't know where we are, but if this is about proving our worth... then so be it."

Cavendish nodded, shaking off the last of his frustration and letting pride take its place. They moved into position, ready to fight. But the spider didn't attack. It stopped, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Then, its head began to morph—shifting grotesquely—until it bore the shape of a child's face.

"In the web of life, a challenge awaits, a test of courage that surely irritates." Its voice echoed as heads emerged from its body, each one speaking in tandem.

"Through darkness and shadows, it slides cunningly, unveiling heads, layer by layer, as it speaks…" More heads formed, twisting reality around them. "A riddle of great importance that you must remember." Sabo and Cavendish tried to retreat—but their feet were trapped in silky strands of web.

"With eight legs, its presence abounds, silent and patient, never proud. It weaves threads with grace and elegance—a symbol of the path you must pursue with bravery."

Sabo summoned fire—but the web wouldn't burn. Before he could react again, a wall shot up between them, splitting the pair.

"Each thread is a trial—imposing but fair—an opportunity to prove your will. Through mazes of doubt, you must advance to find the answer you seek."

Then, just like that, the spider vanished. Or so it seemed. Hundreds of glowing eyes appeared on the walls, and the riddle echoed through the corridors like a ghostly chant. "Its poison is doubt, fear, and despair... but you must persist—show courage and determination."

Cavendish reached for his sword—only to freeze. Dark spots bloomed across his skin. "Only those who face their deepest fears can unravel the truth and dry their tears." Panic gripped him. He stumbled backward, curling in on himself as the world shifted. Darkness consumed his vision—he was blind.

In the void, a final voice rang out: "So face this riddle. Accept the challenge before you. Prove your worth. Let your will shine brightly. And conquer the web with unrelenting power."

"What are you doing? Where is your mask?!" his sister Amelia exclaimed, abruptly interrupting the riddle.

"I can't find it..." he murmured, brushing his hair away from his face, embarrassed.

Amelia sighed in frustration before taking matters into her own hands and searching for the mask herself. "Here it is. Now hurry up! We've got an important place to be today."

They left the house side by side, with him carefully handling his guide cane, trying not to bump into anyone.

"Remember when you said you wanted a day with just the two of us? Looks like we've got some time… so, what do you say we make it count?"

He remembered. Wait… There was something he was forgetting—something important...

"Get ready for the most amazing day of your life!"

No, it couldn't be that important. He dismissed the thought. At this moment, Cavendish—though he didn't yet know that was his name—remained completely unaware of his true identity.

"The park? Dad would lose his mind if he knew!" Cavendish laughed mischievously, anticipation buzzing through his chest as his feet padded along the sandy path. Escaping the walls of home was a rare delight—but doing it with his sister made the moment feel like a secret treasure.

As they stepped into the park, Cavendish's other senses came alive. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers lingered in the air, while birdsong flitted around them like playful whispers, composing a soundtrack for their stolen adventure. His sister, always attentive, guided him gently, her voice telling him about children's laughter, trees stretching tall and proud, shadows dancing beneath their branches, and a sparkling lake winking in the distance.

Cavendish's heart swelled with quiet gratitude for her unwavering love, and the way she turned the world into something magical just for him. Though blind, he could feel the park come alive around him, every breeze and sound wrapping him in wonder.

They eventually found a secluded bench beneath the leafy canopy of an old oak. Its branches arched overhead like protective arms, shielding them from the world. Cavendish leaned back, letting the breeze wash over him, full of secrets and the scent of freedom. They talked for hours, sharing stories, laughter, and small, sacred moments.

As the sun began its descent, casting the park in warm amber light, the moment began to slip away. His sister's voice broke the quiet, quivering with something unspoken. "There's someone I want you to meet," she said, soft and careful.

"Who?" Cavendish asked, tilting his head with innocent curiosity.

"A very elegant, talented man. He runs a circus not far from here. I thought… maybe you'd like to visit."

Cavendish's face lit up. "Do you think he'll let me touch the animals?" he asked, bouncing on his toes.

She hesitated, her smile faltering. A flicker of conflict passed across her features.

"I'm not sure," she murmured. "But I'll ask. Just… promise me you'll stay with him until I come back, okay?"

Without a second thought, Cavendish nodded, trusting her with all his heart. The idea of being left behind never even crossed his mind, he was too enchanted by the thought of the circus.

When they reached the entrance, a man was waiting. He wore a tailored suit and a tall top hat, his presence elegant, his smile polished—but his eyes held something else. Something colder that Cavendish couldn't see, all he really noticed was his voice smooth as silk, as he said, "Ah, you must be B... Your sister's told me so much about you. Welcome to my humble circus."

Cavendish smiled wide and reached out eagerly. "Nice to meet you, sir!"

The man shook his hand with practiced warmth, hiding a flicker of malice behind his grin. "Oh, dear boy," he said, voice dripping charm. "The pleasure is all mine."

With one last gesture of reassurance from her sister, Cavendish followed the man into the circus, unaware of the trap that had been laid. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and the faint scent of sawdust. Cavendish was swept up in the thrill of it all. He absorbed every sound: the applause, the laughter, the performers' calls. It surrounded him like a warm blanket, easing his doubts, until the show ended.

Then, he found himself alone in a dim, unfamiliar corner of the circus. The once-vibrant energy had faded, leaving behind a heavy silence that wrapped around him like fog.

He waited.

But his sister didn't come back.

Voices echoed nearby—circus staff speaking in hushed tones. He caught fragments.

"The Blind Cheetah Boy…"

"He'll be a crowd favorite…"

"His condition—he's perfect."

Cavendish froze. Confusion gave way to dread. His sister's instructions, her absence, all the pieces began to fall into place.

She'd left him.

She had given him away.

Tears welled in his sightless eyes as the weight of betrayal crushed his chest.

A door creaked. Footsteps.

The elegant man emerged from the shadows, his charm stripped away. What remained was greed, cold and raw. "Well, well, my dear B..." he sneered. "Welcome to your new home—the greatest show in the city."

Cavendish's breath caught. He couldn't speak.The man's grip clamped down on his arm, dragging him forward. They passed cages and strange displays. Behind the bars, curious eyes watched. Some with pity. Some with awe. To them, he wasn't a boy. He was a spectacle.

Finally, the man shoved him into a new space. Cavendish stood still, unsure of where he was—but he could hear them.

Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Laughing. Whispering.

Mocking.

Each sound struck him like a blow, reminding him of what he'd become.

Not a guest.

Not even a person.

Just a freak on display.

"Someone make it stop! Please!" he screamed, his voice laced with desperation as the exhibit spun wildly, accompanied by the rising sound of laughter. "Make it stop..." His will to fight slowly dissolved into the air. He clung tightly to his legs, seeking comfort and security.

"His poison is doubt, fear, and despair, but you must persist—show courage and determination—for only those who face their deepest fears can unravel the truth and dry their tears." A whisper, echoing a familiar riddle, reached his ears.

And suddenly, he remembered who he was. Everything began to make sense.

"This is a test, isn't it?! Then let it continue—I'm not afraid!" he shouted, clenching his fists.

What the hell had he been doing moments ago? Giving up? Since when did the splendid, impressive, and extraordinary Cavendish allow trivial comments to diminish his worth?

"So face this riddle, accept the challenge before you. Prove your worth, let your will shine bright, and conquer the web with relentless power."

When Cavendish's vision returned, the voices still echoed in his ears. He found himself standing on the rooftop of his kingdom, beneath the stillness of the night.

"Did it really have to be this way?" he cursed his luck, realizing what he was about to witness.

"Hello? Who is it?" Sophie called out, walking home alone in the dead of night when she noticed a figure approaching. "Prince Cavendish?"

The prince appeared, or at least, someone who looked like him. She was about to leave when, suddenly, he lunged at her, sword raised, aiming to strike her down.

"Cavendish, open your eyes!" he begged himself. He couldn't bear the thought of killing one of those beautiful ladies who had always supported him. So, he shut his eyes—but deep down, he knew he'd have to open them eventually.

His body wasn't his own. No matter how hard he resisted, he couldn't stop. And he had to face it. "Prince, what are you doing?" the fear in the lady's voice forced him to open his eyes.

"Why won't you wake up?" she asked, and for a moment, time stood still.

"I..."

If this nightmare made any sense, then he had to be asleep. Hakuba had taken over, doing whatever he wanted. But this time for the first time Cavendish was watching it happen. The only way to escape was to overcome Hakuba's will.

"I'm waking up!" he shouted. He felt Hakuba's presence clinging to him, desperate to keep him trapped in slumber. But Cavendish had reached his limit. He fought back, unconsciously releasing a wave of Conqueror's Haki.

He summoned every last drop of his spirit, standing firm.

Until he woke up.

The girl and the rooftop vanished, replaced once again by that twisted labyrinth.

"That was impressive. You've truly shown me how wrong I was about you." The silence shattered with the sound of clapping. Cavendish turned toward the voice, spotting a man in a smiling mask. "Well, I think it's time for the big reveal, don't you?" The imposing man removed his mask, revealing a face speckled with white spots. What stunned Cavendish wasn't the face—it was the resemblance. It felt like they were... connected.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my grandson," the man said with a grin, leaving Cavendish utterly confused.

"Grandson? You're not my grandfather! Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that?" Cavendish snapped, visibly offended. This man couldn't be his grandfather. His real grandfather was—

Oh.

Shit. Could it be?

"Your grandfather the founder of this kingdom. The one and only true Bourgeois," the man said with unwavering confidence.

"If you really are my grandfather... are you a ghost?" Cavendish asked. The question sounded ridiculous given the situation, but he needed to hear it.

"Indeed. But for now, let's set that aside. You want answers and we don't have much time." Bourgeois's smile faded into a stern expression. "No one on this island can defeat Peter, no matter how hard they try. You are destined to fail." His words sent a chill through Cavendish's spine.

"Unless..." Bourgeois paused. "Unless you manage to pull the Sword of Preso from the stone."

Cavendish's eyes widened.

"You've seen it. You've heard its call. That sword has a will, there's someone inside it. Even if you had tried to draw it before, you wouldn't have stood a chance against the will within. How do I know? Because back then, you couldn't even tame Hakuba. His will was stronger than yours..."

Bourgeois gave him a moment to let it sink in.

"That's why I gave you this challenge, a test of will. You had to face your fears. You had to face Hakuba. You had to prove that your will could surpass his." Bourgeois's tone softened. "And congratulations. You're ready to wield the sword now. I believe that covers everything. But if you have any questions ask them now."

"I do. That first nightmare... who was I in that dream?" Cavendish asked, the memory still heavy in his mind.

"You fear ugliness. What it brings. The rejection that follows. That's obvious, considering your whole 'I'm the most handsome man in the world' persona," Bourgeois replied, hitting a nerve.

"But that's the truth," Cavendish tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.

"As I was saying..." Bourgeois forced a tight smile, clearly annoyed. "You had to live through your fear. That's why you experienced the life of someone considered... not beautiful. In that nightmare, you were none other than me—your grandfather."

Bourgeois had made him confront his fear of ugliness. Only those with strong wills can endure such a trial. Only the resilient can withstand humiliation and preserve their sense of self. If Cavendish truly possessed the will he claimed, he had to endure the worst challenge of all, an assault on his identity. And when he stood back up refusing to be crushed by others' judgments, his will grew stronger.

But the second trial mattered even more: facing Hakuba..Bourgeois words hit like a bullet to the head.

"You know why you were exiled," Bourgeois said, his voice low but steady. "That night, while you slept, Hakuba took control. He slaughtered some of our finest soldiers... and an innocent lady. You were banished not just for the blood spilled, but because you couldn't face the monster inside you. The only way to prove yourself was to return to that night, to stop him. And you did… by awakening your Conqueror's Haki."

The words struck Cavendish like a whip. He had failed back then. He couldn't stop Hakuba. Couldn't even wake up. But now…

"But today, I stopped him," he declared, his voice unwavering. "And now I'm stronger. Strong enough to draw that sword, right?"

Bourgeois gave a faint smile. "Yes. And now, I'll show you the path that leads to Kensington Gardens..." He gestured grandly, and a section of the labyrinth shifted, revealing a new corridor. "Go, recover the sword. Then use it to defeat Pan." His smile faded into something more bitter, more worn.

Cavendish hesitated, not ready to walk away just yet. "Before I go… how the hell did you pull this off? A maze? Nightmares? Ghosts? Giant spiders? You've got some nerve, old man."

Bourgeois let out a dry chuckle. "Ah yes... remember the dream stone? Surprise! It's hidden somewhere in this maze," he said, scratching his head sheepishly.

"You've got to be kidding me," Cavendish muttered, unease creeping into his voice.

"I designed this maze not just to keep Peter away, but to keep everyone away. That stone holds power over dreams and desires. With it, the impossible becomes real, enchanted landscapes, ghosts speaking to the living... But the magic is fleeting. Temporary. To make it permanent, we'd need its twin: the Stone of Eternity."

Cavendish sighed. "Then I guess it's time for me to go."

He turned, determination etched into his features.

"Wait!" Bourgeois called after him. "There's one more thing you need to know. About your friend."

Cavendish froze.

"While one of you retrieves the sword, the other must find the Dream Stone before the Betwixt and Between does. I built this place so no one could find the stone… but I always knew Peter might find a way to get his hand on it anyways. That's why I created the Musketeers. That's why I passed down the truth. Because Peter will never stop—not until he gets what he wants, even if it means destroying our entire island."

Cavendish's hat cast a long shadow over his eyes. "What about Sabo? What challenge must he face? Is it really necessary? We're running out of time."

Bourgeois's voice darkened. "If you want a real chance at victory, strength alone won't be enough. You'll need knowledge. And he'll need to face the truth."

The truth of that day.

"He will live the agony of being powerless of failing to save the ones who needed him most. That is the price of understanding. It's the heaviest burden of all... but also the greatest weapon." He removed his hat and held it to his chest—a solemn gesture of both respect and hope. "Knowledge can save your lives. Go. Retrieve the sword. Your friend will find what you both need."

Cavendish nodded silently and stepped beyond the maze.

Meanwhile, in another part of the realm, Sabo pressed forward through a suffocating fog. It clung to him, endless, impenetrable, stretching far into the unseen distance. He walked for what felt like hours… maybe days. Time had no meaning here.

Then, the mist began to lift. A crowd took shape before him, lively, bustling, full of motion. But something was wrong. He reached out, trying to touch a passerby, only for his hand to slip through them like smoke. His voice, when he spoke, carried no weight. No one turned. No one saw him.

He wasn't part of this moment.

Just a ghost, trapped in memory.

A silent spectator.

"Come with me, we're chasin' dreams, makin' history."

Amid the rising clamor of the crowd, a single voice rang out, clear and magnetic. It cut through the noise like a blade, drawing Sabo's gaze instinctively. His eyes darted through the sea of faces until they locked onto a grand stage, majestic and radiant, demanding all attention.

"We'll find a way and a place to be, far away, findin' new memories."

Upon that grand stage stood a small, delicate figure, a girl whose ethereal voice floated through the air, weaving beauty and tenderness into every note.

"Time and space, like stardust they will blow away, run on faith and we'll be okay,

watch the ground as it's fading away."

Wrapped in the enchantment of the grand stage, the little girl exuded a presence so captivating it seemed to silence the world around her.

"Up in the atmosphere, we can disappear, disappear, hearts will collide, up in the sky, lookin' down the night, we are starlight, starlight."

Millions of lights ignited, as if the stars themselves had descended to dance in harmony with the little girl's enchanting voice. She began to float gracefully, as smoke curled from behind her, coalescing into the shape of a name.

"Between the moon and the city lights, we are starlight, starlight."

The name was Wendy Darling.

The segment of seeing the past/ the events in the Isle of promise, starts!

Author's Notes:

Bourgeois is Cavendish's grandfather. He is blind and has vitiligo. He used to be the sniper and vice-captain of Prince's crew. He previously appeared in earlier chapters—most notably at the end of the first saga and again at the beginning of this arc.