Three days had passed since Alcaster's awakening in this strange new body and world. Three days of careful observation, of measuring every word, of maintaining the façade expected of Saint Alcaster Reed, youngest son of the illustrious Reed family.
Dawn had barely broken over Mary Geoise when Alcaster slipped out of his enormous bed. He had planned this excursion meticulously, knowing that the early morning hours offered the best opportunity for exploration. Most Celestial Dragons indulged in sleep until late morning, a luxury afforded by their absolute power.
"Young master, you're awake early," came a soft voice from the doorway.
Alcaster turned to find Mira, one of his personal attendants. She was perhaps in her thirties, with prematurely graying hair and the perpetually downcast eyes of someone who had spent years avoiding the gaze of her masters. The explosive collar around her neck seemed to weigh her whole body down.
"I want to go for a walk," Alcaster announced, injecting just enough childish imperiousness into his tone to sound natural.
"Of course, young master. Shall I accompany you?" Her voice held no emotion, a defense mechanism he was beginning to recognize in many of the slaves.
"No," he said, then seeing her stiffen with concern, added, "I mean... I wish to practice my independence. Father says a Reed must learn to command respect on his own."
It was the perfect excuse. In his short time here, Alcaster had learned that invoking his father's wishes was nearly always effective.
"As you wish, young master. Would you like me to inform your parents when they wake?"
"Tell them I'm studying the geography of Mary Geoise. Father will approve."
Once dressed in the elaborate robes that marked him as a World Noble (though he'd selected the least ostentatious set he could find), Alcaster set out. He had deliberately left behind the bubble helmet many Celestial Dragons wore to avoid "breathing the same air as commoners." His new memories told him that while some nobles were militant about always wearing their helmets, others considered it optional within the confines of Mary Geoise itself, where no commoners were permitted except as slaves.
The hallways of the Reed family's expansive residence were quiet save for the occasional slave performing morning duties. Each one froze and pressed themselves against the wall as he passed, heads bowed in terror. It took all of Alcaster's willpower not to reassure them.
Not yet, he reminded himself. I can't help anyone if I'm discovered.
Once outside, Alcaster took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Mary Geoise sprawled before him, a city of impossible opulence perched atop the Red Line. Golden spires reached toward the heavens, marble pathways gleamed in the early light, and fountains burbled with crystal-clear water imported from who-knew-where. It was beautiful in the way that only monuments built on unimaginable suffering could be—a beauty that turned his stomach.
He had a mental map forming, cobbled together from his new memories and overheard conversations. Today, he would expand it.
The central plaza of Mary Geoise was beginning to come alive as Alcaster made his way through it. Slaves worked silently, polishing already gleaming statues and tending to exotic plants. A few early-rising nobles could be seen, carried in palanquins or walking with the distinctive gait of those who had never known hardship.
"Alcaster Reed? Is that you wandering about unescorted?"
The voice came from behind him, high-pitched and dripping with affected refinement. Alcaster turned to find three children approaching: two boys and a girl, all dressed in the elaborate finery of World Nobles.
His borrowed memories supplied names. The one who had spoken was Saint Jalmack Jr., son of the notoriously cruel Saint Jalmack. Beside him stood Saint Esmeralda Rosward and Saint Theodore Charloss, both from prominent Celestial Dragon families.
"Good morning," Alcaster replied, bowing his head slightly—just enough to be polite without showing deference. Celestial Dragon etiquette was a minefield, and age hierarchy was just one factor among many.
"What are you doing out so early? And without your helmet?" Esmeralda asked, her own bubble helmet distorting her voice slightly. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Alcaster affected a casual shrug. "Father says a true Reed must know his domain. I'm exploring."
"Without guards? Without slaves?" Theodore's voice conveyed his disbelief. He was a pudgy boy of perhaps seven, with the beginning of the cruelty that would one day make him as despised as his father.
"I dismissed them," Alcaster said simply. "They're distracting."
The three children exchanged glances. This was clearly unusual behavior, even for the "eccentric" Reed family.
"Well, you should join us," Jalmack declared, less an invitation than a command. "We're going to watch the morning training of our new hunting slaves. My father imported them from the South Blue. They say they were pirates, but they'll hunt beasts for us now." He laughed, a sound that contained no childhood innocence.
Here was his first test—interaction with peers. Alcaster weighed his options quickly. Refusing would seem suspicious, but participating in the cruel entertainment would be abhorrent.
"I'd be interested to see them," he said carefully. "My tutor has been teaching me about different fighting styles. Perhaps these slaves will demonstrate some techniques from the South Blue."
It was the perfect response—expressing interest for educational reasons rather than sadistic pleasure. Jalmack looked slightly disappointed, but nodded.
"You Reeds and your studying," Theodore grumbled. "But fine, come along."
As they walked, Alcaster observed his companions. These children, none older than eight, already embodied the casual cruelty of their lineage. Esmeralda complained about a slave she'd had executed for spilling perfume on her new dress. Theodore boasted about how many slaves his family owned. Jalmack described his father's latest "hunt" of pirates who had strayed too close to Mary Geoise.
"My father says Reeds are too soft on their slaves," Jalmack said suddenly, glancing sideways at Alcaster. "Is that true?"
A trap, laid by a child but no less dangerous. Alcaster tilted his head thoughtfully.
"My father says efficiency matters more than entertainment," he replied. "A dead slave serves no purpose. A terrified slave makes mistakes." He paused, then added, "But a slave who knows exactly what will happen if they fail? That slave will perform perfectly."
The others considered this, then nodded with grudging approval. The logic appealed to their pragmatic cruelty.
"That's... actually quite clever," Esmeralda admitted.
They reached a small amphitheater where several adult Celestial Dragons were already gathered, watching as a group of chained men and women were being forced to demonstrate combat techniques against each other.
"My father will be pleased to see you taking an interest, Theodore," came a wheezing voice. A vastly overweight man Alcaster recognized as Saint Charloss waved them over.
As the children joined the adults, Alcaster observed everything carefully. The slaves fought with visible reluctance, though some showed flashes of genuine skill. One man in particular—a tall, muscular figure with distinctive features—moved with such controlled power that he clearly outclassed the others. Yet he held back, deliberately making his movements appear less practiced than they were.
Smart, thought Alcaster. Drawing too much attention would be dangerous.
The man briefly glanced up at the assembled nobles, and for just a moment, his eyes met Alcaster's. There was something in that gaze—a burning intensity, a banked fire of resistance that the collar around his neck couldn't extinguish.
With a jolt, Alcaster realized he was looking at a younger Fisher Tiger—the fishman who would one day raid Mary Geoise itself and free countless slaves. His new memories confirmed it; the famous fishman had been enslaved here for years before his eventual escape and legendary raid.
Alcaster forced himself to look away before anyone noticed their eye contact. His heart raced with excitement and fear. Fisher Tiger was here, which meant his daring escape and return was still in the future. A future Alcaster might be able to help bring about.
"I've seen enough," he announced abruptly. "I wish to continue my exploration."
"Already?" Jalmack frowned. "The best part is coming—they'll be making them fight with real weapons soon."
"I have much ground to cover," Alcaster insisted. "Perhaps another time."
Before they could protest further, he bowed slightly to the adults and walked away, maintaining a measured pace despite his desire to run. He had recognized Fisher Tiger. If his estimations were correct, the fishman's escape would happen within the near future. That gave Alcaster time—time to prepare, time to plan.
I need to find a way to contact him, Alcaster thought. But not yet. Not until I know more.
Alcaster continued his exploration, venturing toward the outer edges of Mary Geoise. Here, the opulence remained, but there were fewer nobles and more guards—members of CP-0 in their distinctive white uniforms and masks, patrolling with mechanical precision.
He was careful to stay within acceptable areas for a curious child of his status, but his eyes took in everything. The security measures, the patrol patterns, the subtle signs of surveillance. Mary Geoise was a gilded cage for its inhabitants just as much as it was a prison for its slaves—though the nobles, in their arrogance, failed to see their own captivity.
At the eastern boundary, Alcaster found a viewpoint that overlooked the Grand Line far below. The drop was dizzying, clouds obscuring the ocean thousands of feet down. This, he realized, must be near where slaves occasionally attempted escapes—desperate bids for freedom that almost always ended in death on the rocks below.
"It's quite a view, isn't it?"
Alcaster nearly jumped at the voice. He turned to find an elderly noble watching him, a man he didn't immediately recognize from his memories.
"Yes, sir," he replied cautiously.
The old man smiled thinly. "Sir? Such formal address between God's chosen? You must be Dominus's boy. The Reeds always did stand on ceremony." He chuckled. "I am Saint Aurelius. Your grandfather and I were contemporaries."
Alcaster bowed respectfully. "An honor to meet you, Saint Aurelius."
"Do you know what lies beyond that horizon, boy?" The old man gestured toward the endless blue.
"The New World," Alcaster answered promptly. "The second half of the Grand Line."
"Indeed. The most dangerous seas in existence. Pirates, revolutionaries, kingdoms that fancy themselves beyond our reach." Aurelius's wrinkled face hardened. "Yet none of them—not one—can touch us here. This is what true power means, young Reed. Not the ability to destroy, but the certainty that you cannot be destroyed."
There was something unsettling about the old man's certainty, about the fanatical light in his rheumy eyes.
"Unless someone were to climb the Red Line," Alcaster said innocently, testing.
Aurelius laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Impossible. And even if some fool managed it, the consequences would be... absolute." He fixed Alcaster with a suddenly shrewd gaze. "You have an inquisitive mind. That can be valuable, properly directed."
"My father encourages learning."
"Learning, yes. But be cautious about where your questions lead you." The old man tapped his cane against the marble floor. "Some knowledge is reserved for those ready to bear its weight."
With that cryptic warning, Aurelius nodded and walked away, leaving Alcaster with the distinct impression he'd just been both threatened and assessed.
Another name for my mental list, he thought. Saint Aurelius—potentially dangerous.
As midday approached, Alcaster directed his steps toward what his memories identified as one of Mary Geoise's libraries. While the vast majority of its contents would be sanitized propaganda approved by the World Government, he suspected there might be valuable information hidden among the shelves—particularly for someone who knew what to look for.
The library was housed in a massive domed building, its entrance flanked by statues of long-dead scholars who had presumably contributed to the "official history" of the world. Inside, the space soared upward for several stories, with spiraling staircases connecting levels filled with countless books. Despite the grandeur, the library was nearly empty—literacy was not highly prized among most Celestial Dragons, who preferred more visceral entertainments.
An elderly slave in scholarly robes approached, bowing deeply. "How may I assist you, young master?"
"I wish to browse," Alcaster replied. "Alone."
The slave hesitated. "Of course, young master. But perhaps I could direct you to suitable sections for someone of your... age?"
"No need," Alcaster said firmly. "I know what interests me."
Once left to his own devices, Alcaster began a systematic exploration of the library. The organization system was complex but logical, with sections devoted to approved histories, natural sciences, and various arts. Nothing overtly controversial or contradictory to World Government doctrine would be displayed openly, he knew.
On the third level, Alcaster noticed something interesting—a subtle difference in the wall paneling near a section devoted to ancient civilizations. Moving closer, he ran his small fingers along the decorative molding, feeling for inconsistencies.
There—a slight depression that yielded to pressure. With a nearly silent click, a section of shelving swung inward, revealing a narrow doorway beyond.
Alcaster glanced around to ensure he was unobserved, then slipped through the opening. Beyond lay a small, circular room with its own collection of books—far fewer than in the main library, but somehow he knew these would be far more valuable.
His heart racing, Alcaster examined the titles: Prequietous Age Civilizations. The Lunar Race. Ancient Weapons and Their Implications. Poneglyph Cataloguing and Translation Attempts.
This was it—a treasure trove of information that, while still censored, contained far more truth than what was available to the general public. Even to most Celestial Dragons, this knowledge would be restricted. But as a child, his presence here would likely be attributed to innocent wandering if he were discovered.
Quickly, Alcaster selected a slim volume titled The Void Century: Justified Erasure. The title suggested propaganda, but such works often contained kernels of truth in their attempts to justify atrocities.
He opened it carefully, scanning the pages for anything useful. Most was indeed justification for the "necessary elimination" of certain knowledge, but several passages caught his eye:
"The ancient kingdom's technological achievements, while impressive, were fundamentally destabilizing to the natural order..."
"The ability to understand the voice of all things represented a dangerous democratization of power..."
"The twenty original kings recognized that certain knowledge, if widely disseminated, would prevent the establishment of lasting peace..."
Alcaster committed these phrases to memory. They were vague, but telling—confirmation that the ancient kingdom destroyed during the Void Century had possessed both advanced technology and some connection to the mysterious power to "hear the voice of all things" that occasionally appeared in legends.
He was about to replace the book when he heard voices approaching from the main library. Quickly, he slid the volume back into place and looked for somewhere to hide. The room offered little concealment, and the voices were growing closer.
In desperation, Alcaster crouched behind a reading desk just as the hidden door swung open.
"—absolutely certain the indices were updated as instructed?" a harsh voice was saying.
"Yes, Elder. All references to the incident in Ohara have been removed or revised," replied a second voice, deferential but firm.
Elder? Alcaster's breath caught. The Five Elders—the highest authority of the World Government beneath the mysterious Im—rarely visited even Mary Geoise's most restricted areas in person.
"Good. The fire was regrettable but necessary. We cannot risk another generation of scholars piecing together what happened during those hundred years."
"Of course, Elder. What about the surviving child? The reports suggest she may have escaped."
A pause. "CP9 will handle it. One child poses little threat without guidance."
Alcaster remained perfectly still as the men moved through the room, selecting several documents.
"And the situation with the fishman slaves? There are rumors of unrest."
A dismissive sound. "Mere creatures. Their spirits break like any other's. The Tiger shows some resistance, but even he will succumb eventually."
The voices began to recede, the men apparently having found what they came for. Alcaster waited until the hidden door clicked shut before allowing himself to breathe normally again.
Ohara. A fire. A surviving child. More pieces to add to his growing puzzle. And confirmation that Fisher Tiger was indeed being monitored—his reputation for resistance already noted by the highest authorities.
Alcaster waited several more minutes before carefully exiting the hidden room, ensuring the door closed seamlessly behind him. His mind raced with the implications of what he'd overheard, but he forced himself to appear casual as he descended to the main floor of the library and made his way out.
By late afternoon, Alcaster had returned to the Reed family compound, his head swimming with all he had seen and learned. His explorations had yielded far more than he'd hoped—knowledge of the library's secret section, a glimpse of Fisher Tiger, overheard plans of the Elders, and a better understanding of Mary Geoise's layout and security.
Now came the second part of his day's plan: consulting with his father about becoming stronger.
He found Saint Dominus Reed in his study, examining what appeared to be shipping manifests. For all their decadence, the Reed family had maintained their power partly through business acumen, controlling significant trade routes throughout the Grand Line.
"Father," Alcaster said from the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged before entering fully.
Dominus looked up, his stern features softening slightly at the sight of his youngest son. "Alcaster. I hear you've been exploring today."
"Yes, Father. Mary Geoise is even more impressive than I realized."
His father nodded approvingly. "Good. A Reed should know his domain. Did you learn anything of interest?"
Alcaster considered carefully how much to reveal. "I observed some fighting slaves. Their techniques were fascinating."
"Oh?" Dominus raised an eyebrow. "Developed an interest in combat, have you?"
This was the opening Alcaster had been waiting for. "Yes, Father. I was wondering... would it be possible for me to receive some training?"
His father leaned back in his chair, studying him with newfound interest. "Combat training?" A smile slowly spread across his face. "You know, there's precedent for this. Some of our kind do develop martial prowess."
"There are?" Alcaster asked, genuinely curious.
Dominus nodded. "Indeed. The Knights of God—include some from noble lineages. Those who wish to serve more... actively." He leaned forward. "Is that what interests you, Alcaster? The path of direct action rather than merely command?"
Alcaster recognized the opportunity. "I admire efficiency, Father. And understanding how fighting works would help me better evaluate our fighting slaves and marines."
Dominus laughed warmly, clearly pleased. "You continue to surprise me, son. Most children your age are content with their games and petty cruelties." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But you think like a true Reed—always considering the practical angle."
"Thank you, Father."
"I'm quite impressed with your initiative. I'll arrange for proper combat instruction—not merely observational, but actual training suited to your station. Nothing too strenuous yet, given your age, but foundational skills." His eyes gleamed with what appeared to be pride. "The Knights of God wouldn't consider you for many years, of course, but beginning now would give you advantages should you later pursue such a path."
Alcaster bowed his head to hide his excitement. "I appreciate your wisdom, Father."
"There is something else we should discuss," Dominus said, his tone becoming more serious. "In a few months, you will begin the formal separation process from the family household."
This aligned with what Alcaster had gathered from his borrowed memories—young Celestial Dragons traditionally began establishing their independent identity around age five or six, though they remained under family protection.
"I've been considering your education," his father continued. "You show unusual aptitude for one so young. Perhaps it's time to begin grooming you for greater responsibilities within the World Government structure."
Alcaster's pulse quickened. This could be exactly the opportunity he needed—access to more information, more freedom of movement, more chances to make meaningful changes from within.
"I would be honored, Father."
Dominus nodded. "We'll start with occasional visits to Pangaea Castle. Nothing formal yet—you're still young—but it would be good for the Elders to become familiar with you. The Reed family has not placed a member among the World Government's highest authorities for two generations. Perhaps you could be the one to restore that tradition."
It took all of Alcaster's self-control not to react visibly. His father was suggesting a path that could eventually lead to a position of genuine power within the World Government—perhaps even as one of the Five Elders themselves. For a Celestial Dragon, there were few higher aspirations than directly controlling the world they believed they owned by divine right.
"I will do my best to bring honor to our family," he said carefully.
"See that you do." Dominus turned back to his documents, then added, "One more thing. I noticed you were speaking with Saint Aurelius today."
So he was being watched. Alcaster filed that information away. "Yes, Father. He approached me at the eastern viewpoint."
"Be cautious around him. The old man's mind wanders, but his influence remains considerable. The Aurelius family has certain... traditional views even among our kind."
"I understand, Father."
Dismissed with a wave, Alcaster left the study, his mind whirling with new possibilities and dangers. Today had been productive beyond his expectations. He had mapped portions of Mary Geoise, identified potential allies and enemies, discovered a source of restricted information, and secured his father's approval for combat training.
Most importantly, he had confirmed Fisher Tiger's presence and gleaned hints about the Void Century—the hidden history that the World Government had worked so hard to erase.
Back in his chambers, Alcaster sat at his writing desk and began making notes in a simple cipher he had developed—one that would appear as childish doodles to anyone else. He recorded everything he had learned, organizing it into categories: allies, enemies, locations, historical facts, future plans.
At the top of his priorities, he wrote: Contact Fisher Tiger. Learn about Ohara incident. Begin strength training.
The path ahead would be dangerous and long, but for the first time since awakening in this world, Alcaster felt genuine hope. From within the very heart of the World Government's power, he would begin building the foundation for change.