CHAPTER 3 — STEEL, ASH, AND SILENCE
Dawn never waited.
It crawled over Dawn Island like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath, cutting away the night inch by inch. Mist clung to the forest floor, wrapping roots and stones in pale white coils. Birds stirred. Insects hummed. The island breathed.
And I was already moving.
Three swords rested against my body—worn scabbards, mismatched grips, steel of different temperaments. None were legendary. None were named. Yet. They were tools, nothing more, but tools reflected the hand that wielded them. One in each arm, balanced by instinct rather than thought.
The extra arm no longer felt foreign. It had integrated fully into my sense of self, as natural as breathing. Each limb moved independently, yet harmonized when needed. Three points of intent. Three angles of death.
The forest was my training ground.
ACE AND SABO
Ace was loud.
Not with words—he rarely wasted breath—but with presence. Every movement was aggressive, every step a challenge to the world. He burned hot, fast, reckless. His punches were wild, powerful, inefficient.
Sabo was different.
Quiet. Observant. His eyes missed nothing. He watched before he acted, learned before he spoke. Where Ace charged, Sabo planned. Where Ace broke, Sabo slipped through cracks.
They were already strong when I met them properly. Stronger than most adults. Bandits respected strength, feared it even—but not enough.
That would change.
At first, they didn't trust me.
A child with three arms and three swords didn't fit anywhere—not with villagers, not with bandits, not even with outcasts like them. I didn't speak much. When I did, it was short, precise. I didn't laugh. I didn't boast. I trained.
They watched.
Ace scoffed the first time he saw me cut down a tree.
"
Tch. Showing off."
The tree fell in three clean segments.
He stopped scoffing.
Sabo noticed faster. He always did.
"You don't waste movement," he said once, watching from a rock. "Every swing has a
reason."
I didn't answer.
But the next time we trained, I adjusted my stance slightly—just enough for him to see the correction. He copied it. His strikes improved.
From then on, we trained together.
Not as equals.
But as something close.
THE MOUNTAIN PATHS
Dawn Island was larger than it looked.
The village hugged the coast, tame and predictable, but inland the terrain twisted upward into cliffs, ravines, and forests thick enough to swallow sound. Old paths crisscrossed the island—some used by hunters, others abandoned, reclaimed by vines and rot.
Those forgotten paths interested me most.
Swords weren't found in clean places.
They were left behind in blood, rust, and regret.
We explored together—Ace leading when
brute force was needed, Sabo navigating with maps stolen or scavenged, and me moving ahead, senses stretched outward. Observation Haki brushed the world constantly now, not flaring, not straining—just there.
Footsteps before they happened.
Animals before they stirred.
Intent before action.
The island spoke in patterns. I listened.
In a collapsed watchtower half-swallowed by the forest, we found our first cache.
Three rusted blades, abandoned decades ago.
Ace grabbed one and swung it, grimacing. "Garbage."
He tossed it aside.
I picked it up.
The blade was chipped. The balance poor. The edge dull.
But steel remembered effort.
I cleaned it. Rebalanced it. Sharpened it against stone until sparks sang. It wasn't one of my three—but it would become
something better than scrap.
Sabo watched quietly.
"You don't care where it comes from," he said. "As long as it works."
"Steel doesn't care about stories," I replied. "Only pressure."
That was the first time they heard me speak at length.
After that, they listened more.
TRAINING WITHOUT WORDS
We didn't spar like children.
We fought.
Not with intent to kill—but without restraint.
Ace charged relentlessly, fists and pipe crashing forward like a storm. Sabo circled, exploiting openings, striking nerves and joints. I moved between them, correcting with contact—blocking Ace's overextension, punishing Sabo's hesitation.
They adapted.
Ace learned control.
Sabo learned decisiveness.
I learned how different wills clashed and aligned.
When Ace grew frustrated, Conqueror's pressure flared faintly from him—raw, unshaped, instinctive. He didn't understand it yet. I felt it immediately.
I suppressed my own in response.
Not dominance.
Balance.
The air steadied. Ace blinked, confused, then growled and kept fighting.
Sabo noticed the shift. His eyes narrowed.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
THE BLADE BY THE RIVER
We found it by accident.
A shallow river cut through a rocky ravine, water clear enough to see smooth stones beneath. Half-buried in the mud near the bank was a sword—longer than standard, single-edged, with a cracked but elegant guard.
Not cursed.
Not legendary.
But old.
Very old.
I felt it before I touched it.
Not Haki.
Something else.
Weight. History. Use.
This blade had been drawn with intent countless times.
I pulled it free.
The steel sang softly, a low vibration that traveled up my arm and settled in my chest. The balance was near-perfect. The edge, though worn, held promise.
Ace whistled. "That one's yours."
Sabo nodded. "It fits you."
I replaced one of my three without hesitation.
The old sword wasn't stronger than the others yet.
But it would be.
BONDS FORGED, NOT SPOKEN
We didn't call each other friends.
There was no need.
We shared food stolen from careless
bandits. Shared bruises and scars. Shared silence around campfires deep in the forest where no one would look for us.
Ace talked about the sea.
Sabo talked about escape.
I talked about neither.
But when they moved, I moved with them. When they were threatened, I positioned myself without thinking. When danger crept close, my presence shifted first.
They began to rely on that.
Not consciously.
Instinctively.
And I accepted it—not because of affection, but because efficiency improved when allies survived.
THE ISLAND RESPONDS
Animals avoided us now.
Not out of fear—but awareness.
Bandits passing through certain areas never returned. Their camps were found abandoned, weapons left behind, fires cold. No bodies. No signs of struggle.
Just absence.
Rumors spread quietly.
Something lived in the forest.
Something young.
Something wrong.
I didn't care.
Every step across the island sharpened me further. Every blade I tested refined my style. Every clash with Ace and Sabo reinforced something deeper than technique.
Will.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Unyielding.