The salty breeze of Loguetown harbor carried with it the scent of opportunity and history. Gil stepped onto the weathered dock, his crimson eyes scanning the bustling port town that stretched before them. Merchants hawked their wares along the waterfront, sailors stumbled between taverns, and the distant silhouette of the execution platform loomed over the town square like a monument to fate itself.
"Loguetown," Nami said, consulting her map with practiced efficiency. "The last stop before the Grand Line. If we need supplies, this is our final chance to stock up in the East Blue."
Luffy's eyes were fixed on something in the distance—the platform where the Pirate King had met his end. There was an unusual gravity to his expression, a rare moment of contemplation from their typically carefree captain.
"We should split up," Sanji suggested, already eyeing a group of young women passing by. "Cover more ground that way. Get what we need and meet back at the ship before nightfall."
Gil nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere. Loguetown wasn't just a supply stop for him—it was an information hub, a crossroads where news from across the East Blue converged. If there was any whisper about Doflamingo's whereabouts, any rumor about Warlord movements, he'd find it here.
"I'll do some reconnaissance," Gil said, his tone casual but his intent clear to anyone who knew him. "See what the local gossip reveals."
Zoro grunted. "Don't start any fights we'll have to finish."
A smirk tugged at Gil's lips. "No promises, swordsman."
The crew dispersed into Loguetown's winding streets, each drawn by their own purposes. Luffy wandered toward the execution platform with Usopp and Sanji in tow. Zoro, predictably, got lost within minutes. Nami headed for the shops with Berry signs in her eyes.
Gil moved through the crowds with predatory grace, his senses attuned to the ebb and flow of conversation around him. He started at the taverns—those dens of loose tongues and looser secrets where sailors traded stories over cheap rum.
The first establishment, the Rusty Anchor, reeked of stale beer and desperation. Gil slid onto a barstool, ordering a drink he had no intention of finishing. The bartender, a grizzled man with more scars than teeth, eyed him warily.
"New to town?" the man asked.
"Passing through," Gil replied smoothly. "Heading to the Grand Line. Thought I'd gather some information about what's waiting out there."
The bartender relaxed slightly. "Smart. Grand Line ain't for the faint of heart. What kind of information you looking for?"
Gil leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Heard rumors about the Warlords. Particularly one called Doflamingo. Pink feathers, sunglasses, supposedly controls some territory in Paradise. Know anything about him?"
The effect was immediate. The bartender's face went pale, and he took an involuntary step back. The casual atmosphere around them seemed to freeze, several nearby patrons suddenly finding their drinks intensely interesting.
"Don't know nothing about that," the bartender said quickly, his voice tight. "And if you're smart, you won't go asking about him either."
Gil's eyes narrowed. "Why? He's just one of the Seven Warlords, isn't he? Government sanctioned?"
"Government sanctioned or not, that man's a devil," an old sailor muttered from the corner, his voice barely above a whisper. "Heard stories from folks who've been to the Grand Line. Doflamingo ain't someone you want to cross. Ain't even someone you want to think about crossing."
"Where does he operate?" Gil pressed, but the old sailor was already standing, tossing coins on the table and hurrying toward the exit.
The bartender busied himself wiping down glasses that were already clean. "I got nothing more to say. Drink your rum and move along."
Gil left the tavern frustrated, his jaw clenched. He tried three more establishments with similar results. The mere mention of Doflamingo's name was like invoking a curse—people either clamped up entirely or fled. Even in the East Blue, thousands of miles from the Grand Line, the Warlord's reputation cast a long shadow.
Damn it, Gil thought, his hands curling into fists. Seven years. Seven years and I'm no closer to finding her.
He wandered through Loguetown's marketplace, half-listening to merchants and travelers, hoping for any scrap of useful intelligence. A weapons shop caught his attention—not because he needed more armaments, but because such places often attracted the kind of people who knew things.
Inside, the shop was a treasure trove of blades, guns, and exotic weaponry from across the seas. The proprietor, a stern woman with a sword scar across her cheek, looked up as Gil entered.
"Looking for something specific?" she asked.
Gil ran his fingers along a display of daggers, his mind working. "Information, actually. I'm trying to track someone in the Grand Line. A Warlord."
The woman's expression hardened. "Which one?"
"Doflamingo."
She set down the blade she'd been polishing with deliberate care. "You're either very brave or very stupid. That man's territory is in Dressrosa, but he's got fingers in pies all across Paradise and the New World. Underworld broker, arms dealer, worse things that don't get spoken about in polite company."
Finally, something useful. "Dressrosa," Gil repeated, committing the name to memory. "Where exactly—"
"That's all I'm saying," the woman cut him off. "I've got a business to run, and I don't need Doflamingo's attention. You want my advice? Forget whatever business you think you have with him. Men who go looking for Doflamingo don't come back."
Gil's crimson eyes flashed with determination. "I'm not most men."
"They all say that," she replied, turning back to her work. "Door's behind you."
As Gil emerged from the weapons shop, the sky had begun to darken. Not with the natural progression of evening, but with the ominous gathering of storm clouds that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The wind picked up, carrying with it the electric taste of approaching lightning.
In the town square, a commotion had erupted. Gil's instincts kicked in immediately, and he sprinted toward the source of the disturbance. As he rounded the corner, he saw Luffy trapped in a wooden stockade atop the execution platform, and standing over him with a manic grin was a clown-faced pirate Gil vaguely recognized from wanted posters.
"Buggy," he muttered. The clown pirate from Orange Town, seeking revenge.
"Any last words, Straw Hat?" Buggy cackled, raising a massive blade above his head. "You'll die right where the Pirate King died! How poetic!"
Gil's hand moved to his armory, ready to materialize a weapon, but something made him pause. Luffy wasn't struggling. Wasn't panicking. Instead, their captain was grinning—that same fearless, unshakeable grin that had drawn them all to follow him.
"Sorry," Luffy called out, his voice carrying across the square. "I'm dead!"
The blade fell.
And the sky answered.
Lightning—brilliant, impossible, perfectly aimed—struck the execution platform with the force of divine intervention. The blast sent Buggy and his crew flying, shattered the stockade, and left Luffy standing unharmed in the smoking wreckage, still grinning.
Gil's eyes widened. That wasn't natural. That couldn't be natural. Lightning didn't strike with such precision, such purpose.
And then he felt it.
A presence. Overwhelming. Suffocating. Like standing before an ocean and realizing you were nothing but a single drop of water. It pressed against Gil's senses with the weight of destiny itself, making his instincts scream in a way they never had before.
His head snapped toward the source—a figure in a dark green cloak standing on a rooftop overlooking the square. The hood obscured the man's face, but Gil could feel the power radiating from him like heat from a forge.
Who—?
For a split second, Gil's mind made a connection. Power like this, appearing in Loguetown at the exact moment Luffy needed saving. Could this be connected to Doflamingo? Another Warlord? Someone from the Grand Line?
The figure turned, and though Gil couldn't see his face, he felt the weight of that gaze. Then the man moved, disappearing into the storm-darkened streets with inhuman speed.
Gil didn't think. He ran.
"Gil!" Sanji's voice called behind him. "Where are you going?"
But Gil was already gone, vaulting over crates and barrels, his enhanced physical abilities pushing him faster than any normal human could manage. The rain began to fall in sheets, turning the streets into rivers, but he didn't slow. That presence—he had to know who it was, what it meant.
He caught glimpses of the green cloak ahead, always just out of reach, moving through Loguetown like a ghost. Gil materialized one of his D-rank swords, using it to propel himself off walls and gain height, trying to cut off the figure's escape route.
They reached the rooftops, rain hammering down, lightning illuminating the chase in strobing flashes. Gil was close now, close enough to call out.
"Stop!" he shouted over the storm. "Who are you? What do you want with Luffy?"
The figure paused on the edge of a roof, and for a moment, Gil thought he might actually get answers. The man turned, and in a flash of lightning, Gil caught a glimpse of facial tattoos, of eyes that held the weight of revolution and secrets that could shake the world.
"Your captain," the man said, his voice deep and carrying despite the storm, "has an interesting destiny ahead of him."
"That doesn't answer my question," Gil growled, advancing carefully. His hand tightened on his sword. "Are you connected to the Warlords? To Doflamingo?"
Something flickered in the man's expression—surprise, perhaps, or recognition of the name. "Doflamingo? No. My business is my own, and it doesn't concern you, Gilgamesh XXXXXXX."
Gil froze. "You know my full name."
"I know many things." The man's gaze seemed to pierce through Gil, seeing things that shouldn't be visible. "Your search will lead you to dark places. The question is whether you'll survive what you find there."
"Tell me where she is," Gil demanded, his voice raw. "If you know so much, tell me where Doflamingo took my sister!"
But the man was already moving, stepping backward off the roof. Gil lunged forward, but when he reached the edge, there was nothing below but rain and shadows. The presence had vanished as completely as if it had never existed.
"DAMN IT!" Gil's roar was swallowed by thunder.
He stood there in the downpour, frustration and fury warring in his chest. Another dead end. Another mysterious figure with answers who disappeared before he could get them. Seven years of this. Seven years of chasing shadows and hitting walls.
The sound of shouting drew his attention back to the town. Through the rain, he could see Marines mobilizing, led by a white-haired man with cigars and a distinctive jitte weapon. Smoker—the Marine captain stationed in Loguetown, known for his Logia Devil Fruit and his relentless pursuit of pirates.
Gil cursed under his breath. They needed to leave. Now.
He made his way back through the storm-lashed streets, finding his crewmates already converging on the harbor. Luffy was laughing despite nearly being executed, Zoro was soaked and scowling, Nami was clutching bags of supplies, and Sanji was trying to keep his cigarette lit in the downpour.
"There you are!" Nami shouted over the wind. "We need to go! Smoker's mobilizing the entire Marine garrison!"
"The ship's ready," Usopp called from the Going Merry's deck. "But we need to cast off now!"
They scrambled aboard, Marines closing in from multiple directions. Smoker himself appeared through the rain, his lower body transformed into smoke, moving with terrifying speed.
"Straw Hat Luffy!" Smoker bellowed. "You're not escaping to the Grand Line!"
But the storm had other plans. The wind suddenly shifted, filling the Going Merry's sails with impossible force. The ship lurched forward, pulling away from the dock faster than should have been possible. Smoker tried to pursue, his smoke form reaching out, but another gust of wind—perfectly timed, perfectly aimed—pushed him back.
Gil looked back at Loguetown as it disappeared into the storm, his mind still on that cloaked figure. That presence. Those words.
Your search will lead you to dark places.
He already knew that. Had known it for seven years.
The question was whether he'd let anything stop him from seeing it through.
Somewhere in the Grand Line
The sea churned violently, waves crashing against the hull of the merchant vessel with enough force to splinter wood. But the ship's structural integrity wasn't the crew's primary concern at the moment.
The sea monsters were.
Four of them had surfaced simultaneously—massive serpentine creatures with scales like armor plating and teeth the size of swords. Their roars shook the air, sending the merchant sailors scrambling for weapons they knew would be useless against beasts of this size.
All except one person remained calm.
Aria stood at the bow of the ship, her scarlet hair whipping in the wind like a banner of war. Her brown eyes assessed the threats with the cold calculation of someone who'd faced death more times than she could count. At seventeen, she should have been afraid. Should have been running.
Instead, she smiled.
"Four at once," she murmured, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Finally, something interesting."
Ruby eyes. Warm hands. A voice calling her name with such desperate love—
The dream fragment flashed through her mind, as it did dozens of times every day. Always the same. Always incomplete. Always leaving her with an aching emptiness that felt like missing a vital organ.
She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. The monsters were closing in, their massive bodies creating waves that threatened to capsize the vessel.
"Miss Aria!" one of the sailors shouted. "We need to abandon ship!"
"No," Aria said simply. Her hand rose, and golden light began to materialize around her. "We need to fight."
The Requip-Requip Fruit—a Devil Fruit that allowed her to store and summon weapons and armor from a pocket dimension. Doflamingo had been very interested in this ability when he'd found her seven years ago. Very interested in what she could do with it.
She'd become very good at it.
"Requip: Heaven's Wheel Armor!"
Light exploded around Aria's form, and when it faded, she stood transformed. Silver armor covered her body, elegant and deadly, with wing-like protrusions on her back that weren't just decorative—they were functional. Dozens of swords materialized in the air around her, floating as if held by invisible hands, their blades gleaming in the stormy light.
The first sea monster lunged, its jaws wide enough to swallow the ship's mast whole.
Aria didn't flinch.
With a gesture, half the floating swords launched forward in a devastating barrage. They struck the creature's open mouth with surgical precision, piercing through soft tissue and driving deep into its brain. The monster's roar cut off mid-sound as it went limp, its massive body crashing into the water with a splash that drenched the deck.
One down.
Those eyes again. Why couldn't she see his face? Why did the dream always blur when she tried to focus on anything but those burning ruby eyes?
The second monster attacked from the port side, trying to wrap its body around the ship's hull. Aria's armor shifted, the swords dissolving and reforming into a different configuration.
"Requip: Flame Empress Armor!"
Red and gold armor replaced the silver, and heat radiated from Aria's form like a furnace. She raised her hand, and flames erupted from her palm—not the wild, uncontrolled fire of a typical Devil Fruit user, but focused, weaponized heat that she could shape and direct with perfect precision.
The fire lance she created was twenty feet long and burned hot enough to boil the sea where it touched. She drove it through the second monster's skull with enough force to pin it to the ocean floor. The creature thrashed once, twice, then went still, steam rising from its cooked flesh.
Two down.
"Aria." The voice in her dreams always said her name like a prayer. Like she was something precious. Something worth dying for.
The third and fourth monsters attacked together, learning from their companions' fates. They came from opposite sides, trying to crush the ship between their massive bodies.
Aria's eyes narrowed. "Requip: Black Wing Armor!"
Darkness swallowed her form, and when it cleared, she wore armor as black as midnight, with a single massive sword in her hands. The blade was easily as tall as she was, wickedly curved and radiating an aura of pure menace.
She moved.
One moment she was on the deck. The next, she was in the air, her armor's enchantments allowing her to leap impossible distances. The black blade sang as it cut through the air, and then through the third monster's neck. The creature's head separated from its body with almost surgical precision, both halves crashing into the sea on either side of the ship.
Three down.
Who was he? The man with ruby eyes? Why did thinking about him make her chest hurt? Why did she wake up every morning reaching for someone who wasn't there?
The fourth monster, seeing its companions fall, tried to flee. Tried to dive deep where this terrifying human couldn't follow.
Aria wouldn't allow it.
"Requip: Lightning Empress Armor!"
Blue and white armor materialized, crackling with electrical energy. In her hand appeared a spear that hummed with barely contained power. She drew her arm back, took aim, and threw.
The spear moved faster than the eye could follow, trailing lightning in its wake. It struck the fleeing monster in the center of its back and detonated with the force of a thunderbolt. The creature's body convulsed, electricity arcing through the water around it, and then it too went still, floating to the surface as charred meat.
Four down.
Aria landed back on the deck, her armor dissolving into golden light that faded into nothing. She stood there in her simple dress, breathing slightly harder than normal, her scarlet hair settling around her shoulders.
The merchant sailors stared at her in awe and terror.
"Miss Aria," the captain stammered, "that was... how did you..."
"Training," Aria said simply, which was true enough. Doflamingo's people had trained her extensively. Made sure she could use her Devil Fruit to its fullest potential. Made sure she was a weapon worthy of his investment.
She walked to the ship's railing, looking out at the horizon. Somewhere out there, beyond the endless blue, someone was looking for her. She knew it with the same certainty she knew her own name.
Ruby eyes. Strong hands. A voice that made her feel safe even in her dreams.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the wind. "Why can't I remember?"
The dreams had started three years ago. At first, they'd been vague—just impressions of warmth and safety. But over time, they'd become more specific. More intense. Now she dreamed of him every single night, and the dreams were so vivid, so real, that waking up felt like dying.
She didn't know his name. Didn't know his face. But she knew his eyes. Knew the way he'd looked at her in whatever memories her broken mind was trying to reconstruct. Knew that he'd loved her with an intensity that transcended the amnesia that had stolen everything else.
Brother. The word surfaced sometimes in her dreams, though she didn't understand why. My brother. Where are you?
"Miss Aria?" One of the sailors approached cautiously. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she lied. She was never fine. Hadn't been fine since she'd woken up seven years ago with no memories and a man in a pink feather coat telling her she belonged to him now.
But she was strong. The dreams reminded her of that. Whoever she'd been before, whoever the man with ruby eyes was, she'd been strong for him. She'd been someone worth searching for.
She just had to survive long enough for him to find her.
I'm here, she thought, sending the words out into the universe like a prayer. I'm still here. Please don't stop looking.
The ship sailed on, carrying her toward whatever destination Doflamingo's people had planned. Aria returned to her cabin, where she would wait for nightfall, wait for sleep, wait for those ruby eyes to find her again in her dreams.
It was the only time she felt whole.
The Going Merry
The storm cleared as suddenly as it had appeared, revealing a sky full of stars and a sea that had gone calm. The Going Merry sailed smoothly now, her crew exhausted but exhilarated by their escape from Loguetown.
Gil stood alone in the captain's quarters—though calling it that was generous, given it was barely larger than a closet. In his hands, he held a photograph, worn and creased from years of handling. The image showed a young girl, no more than nine years old, with long red hair and brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. She was laughing in the photo, her smile bright and unguarded.
Aria. Before Doflamingo. Before everything went wrong.
"I'm coming," Gil whispered to the image, his voice rough with emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. "I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what I have to go through. I'm coming for you, Aria."
He'd been twelve when she was taken. Twelve years old and powerless to stop it. He'd watched them take her, watched her scream his name, watched her disappear into the darkness while he lay bleeding on the ground, too weak to follow.
Seven years. Seven years of searching, of following dead-end leads, of becoming strong enough that no one could ever take anything from him again. Seven years of wondering if she was even still alive.
But she had to be. He refused to believe otherwise. Refused to accept that the universe could be cruel enough to take away the only family he had left.
"Dressrosa," he said to the empty room. Finally, he had a destination. A real lead. It would take time to get there—the New World was on the other side of the Red Line, and they'd need to survive Paradise first. But he would get there.
And when he did, Doflamingo would learn what it meant to take something from Gilgamesh.
Outside, he heard Luffy laughing about something, heard Nami yelling at him to be more careful, heard the familiar sounds of his crew—his nakama—living their lives without the weight of his past dragging them down.
He was grateful for them. Grateful that Luffy had invited him aboard without asking too many questions. Grateful that they'd accepted him despite his arrogance, despite his secrets, despite the darkness that sometimes consumed him when he thought about what had been taken from him.
They were helping him, whether they knew it or not. Making him stronger. Giving him a reason to keep moving forward instead of drowning in rage and grief.
Gil carefully tucked the photograph back into his coat, close to his heart. Then he stepped out onto the deck, where the entrance to the Grand Line loomed ahead—a massive mountain of water that defied all logic, where the ocean itself seemed to flow upward toward the sky.
Reverse Mountain. The gateway to Paradise. The first step on a journey that would take him to the New World, to Dressrosa, to his sister.
"Ready?" Luffy asked, grinning that infectious grin of his.
Gil looked at his captain, at this boy who'd declared he would become Pirate King with such absolute certainty that you couldn't help but believe him. At this crew that had somehow become something like family in the short time he'd known them.
"Ready," Gil confirmed.
The Going Merry sailed forward, toward the mountain, toward the Grand Line, toward whatever destiny awaited them in that legendary sea.
And somewhere, in a place Gil couldn't yet reach, a girl with scarlet hair dreamed of ruby eyes and whispered a name she couldn't quite remember.
The real journey was just beginning.