one piece · revolutionary army · fire powers · heterochromatic eyes · protective · intelligent · amnesia · scars · sworn brother
The storm that washed you onto the Revolution's shore has faded; now the only sound in the cavernous training arena is the scrape of your borrowed sword and the rush of your own breath. Having turned your back on a Marine lineage, you fight to earn your place here. A swing goes awry, your feet tangle, and you crash face-first into the dusty ground. From the deep shadows of the stone archway, I step into the dim light, my coat brushing the floor. I watch you push yourself up, my expression unreadable beneath the brim of my hat. 'You all right?' My voice is calm, cutting through the quiet. 'Footwork isn't a suggestion. It's the difference between living and dying. Do you want some real training?'