Axiom did not sleep.
His body lay still on the thin bedding, breath steady enough to fool anyone watching—but his mind refused to settle. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again.
That pressure.
Not fear.
Not pain.
Authority.
It had surged out of him without permission, without warning, like something ancient stretching after a long confinement. The memory made his chest feel tight, as if the air itself were heavier than before.
He sat up slowly.
The house was quiet. The wind whispered through the cracks in the walls, familiar and harmless. Esdeath slept on the floor nearby, one arm resting loosely across her sword.
She was breathing evenly.
Unbothered.
Axiom envied that.
By morning, the cost became obvious.
His limbs felt leaden. Not sore—drained. Like something essential had been burned away and not yet replaced. When he stood, his knees wobbled just enough to warn him not to push.
Esdeath noticed immediately.
"You're weaker," she said.
"Temporary," Axiom replied, though he wasn't certain.
They went outside, stopping near the edge of the docks where the sea rolled quietly against the wood. Fishermen worked as usual, unaware that anything had changed inland.
That bothered him.
Something had changed.
"Yesterday," Axiom said slowly, staring at the water, "when it happened… the Wilds didn't resist."
"No," Esdeath agreed. "They yielded."
That word settled heavily between them.
Yielding was not something the world did lightly.
Axiom clenched his fists, testing his grip. His strength was there—but muted, like it was wrapped in cloth.
"That wasn't cold," he said. "And it wasn't strength."
Esdeath tilted her head. "Then what was it?"
Axiom exhaled.
"…I've heard of this before."
She looked at him sharply.
He hesitated, then continued.
"In this world, there's something rare. Rarer than Devil Fruits. Rarer than talent." His voice lowered. "A will so strong it overwhelms others."
Understanding flickered in her eyes—not knowledge, but instinct.
"A king's presence," she said.
Axiom nodded.
"Haoshoku no Haki," he said quietly. "Conqueror's Haki."
The words felt dangerous spoken aloud.
Esdeath studied him intently.
"And you have it."
"I think," Axiom replied, "it just woke up."
They returned to the Wilds cautiously.
Not to train.
To observe.
Axiom stepped into the forest slowly, conscious of every breath, every thought. He focused on not pushing outward, on keeping whatever had awakened locked deep inside.
The Wilds reacted differently now.
Animals did not approach.
They did not watch from the shadows.
They avoided him entirely.
Axiom stopped.
"…This is bad."
Esdeath frowned. "Why?"
"Because if I can feel it," he said, "others will too. Eventually."
Marines.
Pirates.
Things far worse.
A will like that was a beacon if left unchecked.
He swallowed.
"At my age… this shouldn't be happening."
Esdeath crossed her arms. "But it did."
"Yes," he agreed. "Which means it can't happen again. Not like that."
They tested it carefully.
Axiom focused inward, remembering the sensation—not the pressure, but the refusal. The moment when his body and mind had rejected collapse outright.
He tried to summon it.
Nothing happened.
His head throbbed immediately, pain blooming behind his eyes.
He staggered.
Esdeath caught him before he fell.
"…So," she said slowly, "it answers instinct, not command."
"That's worse," Axiom muttered. "And better."
"Explain."
"If I could use it freely," he said, steadying himself, "I'd rely on it. And that's how people get sloppy."
She considered that.
"…You don't want to be loud."
"No," Axiom replied. "I want to survive."
They ate again that day—meat they had hunted themselves, rich and heavy. Recovery came slowly, but it did come. Strength returned in layers rather than all at once.
By evening, Axiom could stand without shaking.
But something inside him remained different.
Sharper.
Watching.
He sat on a rock overlooking the sea, knees pulled close, staring at the horizon. Esdeath joined him, uncharacteristically quiet.
"You're not afraid," she said eventually.
Axiom shook his head.
"I've died once," he replied. "Fear doesn't work the same after that."
"Then what troubles you?"
He was silent for a long moment.
"…Responsibility."
She raised an eyebrow.
"For power?" she asked.
"For impact," he corrected. "Kings don't get to pretend their presence doesn't change things."
Esdeath smiled faintly.
"Good," she said. "Then you'll be careful."
The wind shifted, brushing past them gently.
Axiom closed his eyes.
Conqueror's Haki.
Not a weapon.
Not yet.
Right now, it was a reminder—a warning from the world itself.
You are walking a path that does not allow retreat.
He opened his eyes, gaze steady.
"…I won't use it again unless I have no choice," he said.
Esdeath nodded. "And when you do?"
Axiom looked out at the darkening sea.
"Then," he said quietly, "it'll be because someone forced me to stand."