Alabasta tasted of dust and desperation.
Dorian walked through the bustling port city of Nanohana, his silk coat shimmering like a mirage against the scorched sandstone buildings. He hated the desert. It was coarse, abrasive, and it lacked fluidity. It was a place where things went to dry out and die.
Perfect for a Warlord who had given up on the sea.
"Sir Crocodile," Dorian mused to himself, stepping over a beggar without glancing down. "The sand-trap of the Grand Line."
He wasn't here for the Warlord yet. The crocodile was the final boss of this level, and the players hadn't even arrived. Dorian had skipped the snowy detour the Straw Hats had likely taken (he had no patience for doctors or dying navigators), arriving ahead of the storm.
He needed a drink.
He ducked under the awning of a local tavern, the Spice Bean. It was cooler inside, smelling of turmeric, stale beer, and sweat.
The patrons were loud, arguing about the drought, the rebellion, and the price of water. But the loudest corner of the room was oddly silent.
Dorian turned his head.
There, at the counter, a man sat hunched over a plate of pasta. He wasn't eating. He was face-down in the food.
Snoring.
He wore an orange hat with two smiley faces—one frowning, one grinning. A beaded necklace. And on his back, a tattoo that screamed of the New World.
Whitebeard.
Dorian froze. The hum in his blood kicked up a notch, turning into a roar.
Here he was. The Fire-Fist. Portgas D. Ace.
Dorian approached the counter, his movements soundless. He signaled the bartender, who was staring at the sleeping man with a mix of confusion and fear.
"A glass of water," Dorian whispered. "And don't wake him."
The bartender nodded frantically and slid a glass over.
Dorian took a sip, leaning his hip against the counter, inches from the sleeping Commander. He could feel the heat radiating off Ace's body. It was like standing next to a banked furnace.
"Careless," Dorian murmured, looking at the sauce smeared on Ace's cheek.
He reached out.
Most men would have died. To touch a Whitebeard Commander while he slept was suicide.
Dorian picked up a fork from the counter.
With the delicate precision of a surgeon, he placed the fork upright on the brim of Ace's hat.
Ace snored.
Dorian picked up a spoon. He balanced it on top of the fork.
"How deep is your sleep?" Dorian whispered, his eyes gleaming with manic curiosity. "Does the fire go out when the eyes close?"
He picked up a salt shaker. He balanced it on the spoon.
The patrons were watching now. The tavern had gone quiet. They were witnessing a man playing Jenga with a nuclear bomb.
Dorian picked up an empty glass. He was about to place it on the salt shaker when Ace suddenly bolted upright.
"I'M ALIVE!" Ace shouted, wiping pasta from his face.
The tower of cutlery and condiments collapsed. The glass shattered on the floor.
Dorian didn't flinch. He simply smiled, holding his own water glass steady.
Ace looked around, blinking. He looked at the shattered glass, then at Dorian.
"Did I fall asleep again?" Ace asked, cheerfully oblivious to the tension in the room.
"You did," Dorian said, his voice smooth. "You were having a passionate affair with your spaghetti."
Ace laughed. It was a bright, open sound. "Hah! Yeah, that happens. Narcolepsy. Can't help it." He looked at Dorian, really looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not a local."
"Just a traveler," Dorian lied. "Admiring the heat."
Ace wiped his mouth with his arm. "You smell like trouble, pal."
"And you smell like smoke," Dorian countered, stepping closer. "Tell me, Fire-Fist... does it burn you? Or just everyone else?"
Ace's grin didn't falter, but his posture shifted. Subtly. His feet planted. The air around them grew heavy.
"Depends on who tries to touch the flame," Ace said, his voice dropping an octave.
Dorian felt a shiver run down his spine. Delicious. This man wasn't just strong; he was a force of nature. But he was... directed. He was waiting for someone.
"You're hunting," Dorian deduced. "Blackbeard."
Ace's eyes went cold. The playfulness evaporated instantly. "How do you know that name?"
"The wind carries whispers," Dorian said, stepping back, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "Don't worry. I'm not your prey. I'm just... a fan of the sport."
Dorian realized something then. Ace was too strong. If they fought now, here, Dorian would lose. And not in a fun way. He would be incinerated before he could even stretch a chain.
Too early, Dorian thought. He is a meal for the end of the world, not today.
Suddenly, the tavern doors kicked open.
"I know you're in here, Fire-Fist!"
A thick cloud of cigar smoke rolled in, followed by a man with two cigars in his mouth and a jitte strapped to his back. Captain Smoker.
"Ah," Dorian sighed. "The Law has arrived. How tedious."
Ace turned on his stool. "Smoker! Long time no see. Still chasing me?"
"I'm chasing all of you scum," Smoker growled. His eyes flicked to Dorian. "And who are you? You have a bounty."
Dorian smiled. "A small one. Hardly worth your time compared to a Whitebeard Commander."
"I'll decide that," Smoker barked. His arm turned into smoke, launching forward like a piston. "White Blow!"
The attack was aimed at Ace, but the radius was wide. It was going to hit Dorian too.
Opportunity.
Dorian didn't dodge. He flicked his wrist. A chain shot out, wrapping around a wooden support beam of the tavern.
Contract.
Dorian yanked himself sideways, flying through the air. As he passed over Ace, he whispered:
"Your little brother is coming. Try not to burn the city down before he gets here."
Ace's eyes widened. "Luffy?"
Smoker's fist slammed into the counter, shattering it. Ace jumped, flames erupting from his feet.
"Hey! Watch the merchandise!" Ace yelled, grinning.
The tavern erupted into chaos. Marines flooded in. Ace unleashed a wall of fire.
Dorian was already on the roof.
He looked down through a hole in the thatch. He watched Ace fighting Smoker—fire against smoke. It was a stalemate of elements. A visual spectacle.
"Pretty," Dorian critiqued. "But inconclusive."
He stood up, brushing the dust off his trousers.
He had touched the fire. He hadn't been burned. And he had confirmed that the stage was set.
"Luffy is coming," Dorian whispered to the desert wind. "And the Crocodile is waiting."
He turned toward the vast expanse of the Alabasta desert. He wouldn't stay in the city. The city was for the reunion. The real game was out there, in the sand, where Baroque Works was hiding.
Dorian produced a Vivre Card he had lifted from Mr. 5's pocket back on Little Garden. It pulled gently toward the northwest. Toward Rainbase.
"Let's go say hello to the landlord," Dorian smiled.
The Ripple Effect (Canon Check):
Ace: Ace is now slightly more alert. The "weird guy" knew about Luffy and Blackbeard. He might be slightly more on guard, but his personality (narcoleptic, confident) remains dominant. He still meets Luffy and Smoker as planned.
Smoker: Smoker has seen Dorian. He now knows there is a third element in play—a "Chain User." He will file this away, potentially making him more cautious during the Rainbase trap later.
Timeline: The Straw Hats are still en route from Drum Island. Dorian is moving ahead to Rainbase, positioning himself to witness the meeting between Luffy and Crocodile.
Dorian's Growth: He realized the gap between himself and a Yonko Commander. It humbled him slightly, reinforcing his "patience" directive. He is not ready for the top tier yet.