The child's accusation, simple and pure, hung in the unnaturally still air. For a fleeting moment, the monumental, shadowed figure of Imu seemed to shrink, the absolute authority that permeated the room wavering like a flame in a sudden draft. A flinch, so subtle it was almost imperceptible, rippled through the stoic silhouette. On a face that Dravokh had only ever known to be a mask of cold, cosmic indifference, a trace of something shockingly human—something akin to fatherly love—flickered in the abyss.
Imu paused, the silence stretching into an eternity before he spoke again, his voice losing its sharp, commanding edge, softening into something more melancholic, more weary.
"It's not that I'm trying to cage you here, my son," he began, the words sinking into the boy. The part of him that was still Kael listened intently, even as the child, Dravokh, processed them. "I am just trying to protect you. To shield you from the world until you are ready for it… until I am no longer able to. I don't want you to get tainted by its filth." Imu's gaze seemed to drift past Dravokh, looking into a memory of profound sorrow. "That… that was the last promise I made to your mother. To keep you safe, for as long as I can."
The mention of a mother sent a strange, hollow pang through Dravokh's chest. The child's memories held no image of her, only a void, a question never asked. As Dravokh was about to voice this, Imu continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, the darkness around him receding just enough to reveal the hem of his ornate robes.
"Don't worry, Dravokh," he said, the name feeling strangely intimate. "When you are ready for the world, I won't stop you. I won't be the cage that binds your freedom. But until then," Imu's voice regained a sliver of its immense authority, but it was now laced with purpose, not just command, "you should train. You must become stronger. Strong enough to protect yourself. Strong enough to protect those you hold dear. Stronger, even, than me."
Imu was closer now, looming over the bed. Dravokh instinctively shrank back, but instead of the cold indifference he expected, a large, surprisingly gentle hand emerged from the robes. It came to rest on his head, the fingers softly ruffling his dark, silken hair. The touch was electric. In the five years of Dravokh H. Liloa's lonely existence, it was the first tender, paternal gesture he had ever received. It was so unexpected, so foreign, that it momentarily stunned him into silence.
He looked up, his own wine-red eyes meeting the swirling, nebula-like gaze of his father. The child's logic, combined with Kael's residual pragmatism, took over. "But father," he replied, his voice small but clear, "aren't you the strongest? Those five old grandpas… they always say you are the king of the world. They say you are the strongest."
The hand on his head stilled. A deep, shuddering sigh seemed to pass through Imu's entire being. When Dravokh looked closer, he saw his father's eyes—those terrifying, all-seeing crimson orbs, the same shade as his own—grow misty, the sharp focus blurring as if looking through a veil of unshed tears. Imu's response was a murmur, a whisper of sound so filled with ancient pain that it seemed to wound the very air around them.
"I am not the strongest, Dravokh. The strongest don't fail. I… couldn't protect the one who I promised to protect forever."
The confession, raw and devastating, hung in the air between them. The great, enigmatic ruler of the world, a being of seemingly infinite power, was admitting to failure. To a loss. The cold, hollow ache in Dravokh's own chest resonated with the profound grief in his father's whisper.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was over. The vulnerability retreated back into the shadows. The hand lifted from Dravokh's hair, taking its warmth with it. Imu straightened, once again becoming the impenetrable monarch.
"You should sleep now," he said, his voice back to its familiar, distant tone, though perhaps a fraction less cold than before. "We will talk tomorrow."
Without another word, the figure retreated back into the shadows from which he came, melting into the darkness as if he were a part of it. The oppressive weight in the room lifted, and the gentle, sweet scent of the flowers rushed back in to fill the void.
Dravokh lay back down on the silken pillows, his mind racing. He was no closer to understanding the bizarre, gilded cage of his new life, but a new, vital piece of the puzzle had been presented to him. His father, the supposed god of this world, was grieving. He had a weakness. He had loved someone—his mother—and had lost her.
Stronger… so you could protect your loved ones.
The words echoed in the silence of the grand bedroom. A strange resolve began to coalesce within the boy's hollow heart. He no longer remembered who he needed to protect, the radiant face of his motivation now a sealed enigma. But the need to protect, the instinct to shield someone precious from harm, remained. It was the last remnant of Kael's love, the final echo of his desperate shove on that bridge.
For the first time since awakening in this world, a flicker of purpose ignited within him. It wasn't a will to live for himself, but a will to fulfill a shared sentiment, a promise echoed by the grieving king who was his father. He would get stronger. Strong enough to break free. And strong enough, perhaps, to one day understand the phantom pain that defined his very soul. With that final, determined thought, Dravokh H. Liloa closed his eyes and surrendered to a fitful sleep.
[A/N: Hey everyone, just a quick thought I wanted to share as I'm mapping out what comes next for this story.
I'm seriously considering adding my own unique spin to the history of the One Piece world. Instead of leaving Imu as this ever-stoic, mysterious figure whose hatred for the D. clan is a big unknown, what if we gave it a reason? A deeply personal, maybe even tragic, backstory that we can really sink our teeth into?
This would let us explore my own take on some of the biggest questions: Why did the Void Century war really start? What if Joy Boy's story isn't quite what we imagine? What if the world's greatest conflict was born from something more relatable than just a power struggle?
I'm genuinely excited about where this could go, but I'd love to know what you all think about heading in this direction. Your feedback and support are what make writing this so rewarding!
Thanks again for coming along on this journey. Until the next chapter...]