The sky burned.
Ash fell like snow as flames devoured Eirene Island — once known as the "Haven of Peace." The air reeked of smoke, gunpowder, and blood. Screams echoed through the streets. The kind of screams that never leave your ears, even long after silence returns.
Victor coughed as the heat licked his face. His tiny frame trembled beneath the collapsed wooden frame of Shimura's bakery, the only place he had ever called home.
He was only eight.
His eyes, wide and tear-filled, darted through the smoke. He heard a familiar voice cry out — weak, pained, but unmistakable.
"V-Victor…"
His heart seized. He crawled forward with what little strength he had, pushing away splinters and debris until he saw her. Shimura, the woman who had taken him in as a baby, lay half-buried beneath rubble, blood trickling down her forehead, her apron torn and stained. Her hands trembled as she reached toward him.
"Don't… don't move," she whispered. "Stay hidden… They'll kill you…"
But he didn't listen. He never listened when someone he loved was in pain.
He crawled to her, dragging himself across the floor. "Shimura, I'll protect you! I-I'm strong, remember? I can fight!"
A loud crash shattered the illusion of safety. The wall behind him burst open, and through the smoke stepped a towering pirate. His chest was bare, marked with crude tattoos. A jagged scar cut across his face, and in his hand was a bloodied axe.
"Oi. Look what we have here… A little rat squeakin' loud," he sneered.
Victor stood in front of Shimura, spreading his arms as wide as his little body could manage. His knees shook, his lips quivered, but his eyes — his eyes burned.
"Stay away from her!"
The pirate grinned. "Brave, ain't ya?"
The next moment happened too fast. A heavy boot struck Victor in the stomach, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing into the wall. The breath left his lungs. Pain exploded in his chest. His vision blurred. But he tried to stand — he had to.
Another blow. Then another.
Until he couldn't move.
He collapsed to the floor like a broken puppet, blood dripping from his mouth, ribs screaming in agony.
"Get up… please, get up…"
The world spun around him. He saw Shimura scream, saw the pirate laugh and turn away, saw flames consuming the walls he once drew pictures on. The bakery — his home — was now just another piece of the nightmare.
Outside, the town was in chaos. Villagers ran and screamed, but there was nowhere to run. Pirates dragged women by their hair, slit men's throats in the street, and laughed as children cried for their parents.
Victor's mind screamed louder than the world around him.
"MOVE! MOVE, DAMN YOU! THEY'RE DYING! THEY NEED HELP!"
But his body refused.
He clawed at the ground, nails tearing, chest heaving, tears pouring down his cheeks.
"Why… why can't I move?!"
The last thing he saw before passing out was Shimura's hand, inches from his own. Reaching. Dying.
---
He woke hours later to silence.
Smoke still filled the air, but the screams were gone. The pirates had moved on — drunk off their destruction, leaving only ashes behind. Eirene Island was dead.
Victor lay amidst the ruin, his body barely able to twitch. The pain was numb now — not because it faded, but because there was something worse.
Emptiness.
He crawled to Shimura's body and curled against it, like he used to do when he had nightmares. But this time, she was cold.
He didn't scream. He couldn't. The scream was inside him now — buried deep, carved into his soul.
That night, under a broken sky, Victor swore an oath.
"This pain… this helplessness… I'll never feel it again. Never again."
"I will become stronger. Strong enough to protect everyone. Strong enough that no one… ever… has to die like this again."
"No innocent shall fall — not under my watch."
---
But fate wasn't done with Victor yet.
A rumble in the earth stirred him. The sound of boots — heavy, powerful — and the low, commanding voice of a man.
"Looks like I missed all the fun."
Victor tried to lift his head. Through the smoke and dust, a tall, broad-shouldered man stood among the ruins. His white coat fluttered behind him, seagull insignia flaring in the wind. A scar ran down his left eye, and his iron fists were clenched like cannons ready to fire.
He was a legend.
Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp. The Hero of the Marines.
Garp bent down and looked at the boy barely breathing in the ashes.
"Tch… Poor kid. You're the only one left?"
Victor didn't speak. He couldn't. But when his eyes met Garp's, something passed between them — a silent fire, a wordless scream.
Garp grunted. "You got guts, kid. Most would be dead. But not you. You fought. You survived."
He knelt beside the boy, not with softness, but with a veteran's steadiness — the kind that only came from standing tall in countless wars. His calloused hand rested gently, but firmly, on Victor's scorched shoulder.
"That fire in your eyes..." Garp murmured, narrowing his gaze. "I've seen it before — in men who refuse to break, even when the world's on fire around them."
He glanced at the smoldering ruins of Eirene, eyes dark with quiet fury. "Damn pirates... They think they can take and burn and leave behind ghosts."
Then he looked back at Victor, and for the first time, his voice softened — just a little. "But you're not a ghost, are ya?"
Victor tried to speak, but only managed a dry, bloodied breath. Still, his hand moved — just barely — reaching up, grabbing a fistful of Garp's coat.
It wasn't much.
But it was enough.
Garp's face broke into a small grin, rough like cracked stone. "Heh. You remind me of a certain troublemaker I once knew... Just more serious."
He stood up and shouted over his shoulder to the Marines with him. "This boy's not dying today. Get me bandages, stretchers, whatever we've got. He's got the look of a future Marine."
One of the Marines hesitated. "Vice Admiral, he's just a kid. Barely breathing. Are you sure—"
"I said MOVE!" Garp roared, his voice booming like a cannon blast. "That boy's got more will in him than half of you sorry lot combined!"
As the Marines scrambled, Garp looked back down at Victor.
"You're gonna live, kid. And if you meant what I saw in your eyes…"
"…then you'd better get strong enough to back it up."
He paused. Then, in a low voice only Victor could hear:
"Because this world doesn't need another corpse. It needs a hero."
As they carried Victor away from the ruins of Eirene, his hand clenched weakly.
Not in pain.
In resolve.
---
That boy — broken, bleeding, and born again in fire — would one day shake the world.
He would not be known for his name.
He would be known for what he became.
The Hopebringer.
Leonhart D. Victor.