Lonely Ruler and her sunshine: Chapter 9: It’s in the Cards: Magic, Memories and Maternal Fury

Morning dawned as a soft glow over the highest spires of Mary Geoise, the February air still tinged with a lingering winter chill. Although dawn was barely upon us, gold light streamed across the marble floors of Harry’s room, wrapping the room in warmth. That morning Harry woke to a sense of excitement that hummed just behind his ribs. It wasn’t one reason — more like the tapestry of small joys of Luffy’s raucous calls, Imu’s steady care and his own blossoming powers. His vision of the future was such that every day outshone the last and he could almost taste the potential for new discoveries.

He turned onto his back, blinking out sleep. Sunbeams caressed the edges of his bed, and perching at the footpost was Hedwig, ruffling her snowy feathers in salutation. She tilted her head and hopped to him, nuzzling her soft face into his cheek. He chuckled, nuzzling her back.

“I know,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I feel it, too… I’m coming closer.” He never specified what he was drawing closer to — mastery of illusion, perhaps, or the impossible dream of composing the shattered bits of his new family. But Hedwig hooted softly as if to say she understood.

He got up, placed his feet on the cool floor and raised his arms up over his head. Almost two years in this world had brought changes to his physique, as well as his heart: His shoulders felt less fragile, his legs stronger. In the polished mirror beside the wardrobe, he saw a child who was no longer thin or haunted. He flashed his reflection a quick grin before dressing—some clean clothes, a simple tunic, trousers and practical shoes.

The corridor beyond was silent, the stillness of early morning disturbed only by the faint sound of servants beginning to prepare breakfast somewhere far away. Harry navigated a maze of corridors, nodding hellos to the polite guards. He saw only a flash of Imu in her private sitting room, sitting at a desk covered in parchments. She looked up as he neared. He could tell even at the other end of the table that her mind was heavy with thoughts. The fine lines of stress around her eyes relaxed as she gazed at him.

“Good morning,” Harry said quietly, stopping at the threshold.

Imu stood, the train of her deep robe pooling behind her. “She moved across the room in silence, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Good morning, child,” she said in that quiet voice that always seemed to awaken unspoken warmth. “You’re up early.”

He shrugged, smiling. “I’m too excited to sleep in.” He looked past her at the papers on her desk. “Do you… have something you’re worried about?”

For a moment, she locked his gaze, as if weighing how much to tell him. A half smile played at her lips then. “Nothing for you to worry about. Ah—but we have your morning training session, do we not?”

He brightened immediately, nodding eagerly. “Yes!” The excitement bubbled back. There were illusions to practice, new forms of levitation to test, all manner of notions he wished to pursue. Hedwig fluttered beside him, as if she, too, was ready for a performance.

They made their way through the corridors until they came to a garden courtyard surrounded by sculpted hedges. The sky above pale blue, scorched with wispy clouds. The pavilion at the center of the courtyard created an ideal training area — both open and private enough for schooling. Imu motioned for him to ascend the pavilion’s marble dais. She sat on a wooden bench fringed with a leaf pattern, her hands resting in her lap, her eyes fixed on him.

Harry took a long breath, centering himself. He’d come a long way since he could only create flickers of light. Now, illusions were coming to him more easily—but controlling them in detail was a different story. He had learned from Imu that raw power could turn into a liability in the absence of precision. He had embraced that advice, devoting his attention to crafting illusions so life-like they could be real.

With his focus on the swirl of magic in his core, he rose his hands. A warmth spread out from his chest, out his arms, down to his fingertips. He envisioned a phoenix first — he had read about them in an old library book and found their symbolism reassuring: rebirth from ashes, a creature of fire and wonder. In front of him, the air shimmered, coalescing into faint lines of golden light that merged into the vague outline of a bird. Its wings fluttered as though inhaling actual fire.

Imu observed with a calm that belied her intrigue. Every morning, she witnessed his illusions become more tangible, his movements become surer. Today, the phoenix’s feathers appeared with unexpected sharpness. Each penumbra burned like embers, traversing through shades of orange and red, scattering dancing reflections on the marble floor. Along with the appearance came a grey gold belch of silence, as if the wind had sped gently over forgotten slopes.

Harry could not tear his eyes away from the phoenix, intent on maintaining its shape. It hovered in midair, wings aglow, flapping slowly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he directed it to soar around the pavilion’s columns, wheeling overhead in an elegant arc. He gasped with delight — it was stable, and it obeyed his mental commands.

Imu’s face flickered with quiet pride. “That’s amazing,” she said quietly, allowing the gentle pause before her praise to linger in the stillness. “Every day, your illusions become truer.”

He smiled, beads of sweat on his forehead. Pretty intense concentration was required to keep an illusion of this magnitude, and the phoenix started to falter. The edges swayed like heat rising from pavement, and he felt his pulse beat inside his temples. He took a deep breath, attempting to zero in again, but the tension built until the bird snapped away over its own head in a twinkling radiance. The sudden departure left the air quivering ever so faintly, and Harry swayed on his feet, breath coming to him in a rush.

Imu rose, crossing to him. Again her hand found his shoulder, steadying him. “That’s enough for now,” she said in that measured, calm way. “We’ve seen more control than ever on your part. “Do not strain yourself, my child.”

He nodded, panting softly. “I just … want to be ready,” he said, looking down. If something were to happen to Luffy, or Ace, or Sabo — I’m going to protect them … and you.”

She drew a subtle breath, hearing the echoes of a vow he’d made many times. “We’ll stand together, Harry. You will not have to deal with any of this by yourself.” She hesitated, catching the flash of worry in his eyes. “Do you have something else on your mind?”

He toyed with the fringe on his tunic. “I mean, I guess that I still worry about Ace. It’s all about Luffy… everything you knew about him. And about Garp.” Harry winced, remembering how Luffy had also mentioned training him to turn his fists of love. “Did he really need to go through all that?”

At the mention of Garp, Imu’s expression turned cold. She made herself keep her voice gentle for Harry’s sake. So it seems,” she said, her knuckles briefly clenching at her sides. “But I can tell you right now, Ace’s no-good citizens are in for it, no harm will come to him if I have any say on the matter.”

He nodded, gulping, which let her words comfort him. Then, trying to call up a light, he changed the subject with a tentative smile. “Then I want to do illusions with real voices. Do you think I can do that? Like, give them a sound so I can mimic Luffy’s laugh or Big Brother’s face?

She studied him for a moment. “Magic very much reflects emotion and memory. “If a voice is strong enough for you to remember, you may summon it to your illusions. She raised a hand, lightly tapping his temple. “Conjure up in your mind’s ear the shape of the voice.”

He nodded in excitement, feeling that swirl of possibility spread in his chest once more. “I’ll try. But maybe later, once I gather myself.” He exhales contentedly, stepped off the dais. Hedwig fluttered to his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek, as if to tell him she was proud of him, too. Imu walked him back toward the palace, aware of his gentle fatigue.

Later that day, Imu, by herself in her private study, pored over recent intelligence updates with a furrowed brow. The pages detailed slight shifts in Marine deployments, possible sightings of Sabo on an island in the Grand Line, speculation about Ace continuing his journey. She pursed her lips, remembering when Luffy had disclosed Ace’s parentage — Gol D. Roger’s son. The specter of a public execution if the Marines found out about that secret overshadowed every good news item.

Rereading a marine report that mentioned Garp’s more recent postings at Marineford, her fury simmered on the edges of rational thought. He’d brought Luffy up in what some might call “tough love,” but Luffy’s quiet tone during the final Den Den Mushi call had said enough to her. She pictured what she would say — or do — if Garp ever entered Mary Geoise. The prospect of a confrontation loomed over her like an unsheathed sword. For now she funneled that anger into making sure her changes to policy were ironclad: any major capture must go through Mary Geoise, without question. She had repeated this instruction so many times that the Five Elders took it for granted as normal procedure. Whether their suspicions of her personal motives were valid or not was immaterial, as long as they followed her orders.

She exhaled and dropped the reports onto her desk. A silence grew in the room, candlelight dancing against the walls of elder times. It was crazy to love children she didn’t even know. But Luffy’s voice had triggered that maternal yearning she’d tried to bury long ago. Harry’s steadfastness had shown her that she was still capable of love, of loyalty. If she allowed Ace — her own son’s brother — to die at the hands of the Marines, she could never forgive herself.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her reverie. One of the Elders, Grandpa Saturn, entered and offered a curt bow. “Pardon the interruption, Lady Imu.”

She collected herself and turned toward him. “Speak.”

Saturn cleared his throat. “We have verified your orders concerning the transport of prisoners are being carried out. There has been grumbling among the Marines, but no legal basis to refuse. I assume you want the results soon?”

Imu’s eyes flickered. “I just want to prevent chaos if a high-value pirate ever gets captured. It s like how we handle things over here compared to how the Marines do it in Marineford.” Her voice was still silky, but Saturn was looking at her face, that faint curiosity glinting in his age-marked eyes.

He nodded slowly. “Understood. We’ll see it done.” And then, with a touch of frankness, he added, “The others are curious whether there’s a particular target you expect to soon take out.”

She allowed a little mysterious smile. “You must always be ready.”

Saturn bowed again, allowing her to keep her secrets. When he departed, the silence returned. Imu exhaled, allowing her eyes to roam to the door connecting her study to Harry’s quarters. (Once, through that door, she heard him humming or laughing with Hedwig; his illusions painted the walls.) She felt a wave of calm. She said if she had to reorder the whole world to keep these children safe, she would do it.

And for the next few weeks, daily life in Mary Geoise assumed a languid flow of time that disguised the forces churning below. Harry passed the mornings honing illusions with Imu and the afternoons exploring new ideas or eavesdropping on the Five Elders’ policy debates. He found that he had a talent for spontaneously conjuring illusions of whatever Luffy talked about in their calls: fantastical sea monsters, dazzling tropical beaches, the orange cowboy hat Luffy said was Ace’s. Each one strained his concentration, but he luxuriated in the creativity it ignited. And as she observed from her position, every now and then Imu would lose herself in the way such shadows made something that had never existed before, the threads caught in their breath of glowing forms.

The city’s younger Celestial Dragons, in turn, emulated the more empathetic behaviors, based on Harry’s model. They wrote little presents for servants, made small talk, and sometimes quizzed them about their families. Grandpa Peter and other elders would grumble halfheartedly about “corrupting the Holy Land,” but they were aware that the resultant stability was good. The silence of revolutionary change continued to mold Mary Geoise.

Sometimes, however, Imu’s mind wandered to her horse-with-no-name revenge plot. She piloted small torments of Garp and Dragon from a safe distance: a mislabeled consignment to Marineford that deprived Garp of his sweetie snacks, a day-long muddling of supply lines that made Dragon’s underlings detour deliveries. Little headaches, unspecific but undeniably obnoxious. Whenever she pictured Garp’s bluster or Dragon’s chagrin, a mild satisfaction salved the jagged edges of her heartbreak.

It was early March when Luffy called Harry and Imu on Den Den Mushi; the sunny days were tinged with a darker shadow than usual. The snail’s face wore a familiar grin of Luffy’s, and his voice rang out loud and boisterous as ever. But almost immediately, the conversation shifted to Luffy’s earliest memories — memories awakened by Imu’s tender questions: “Tell me more about your childhood, child. I want to know everything Dragon wouldn’t.”

Luffy, an innocent honesty in his tone, remembered how Dragon had dropped him off with Garp, who delivered him to mountain bandits. He narrated perverse comic misadventures with Dadan’s gang, the brash fights and survival training in the woods. Harry was all ears, his eyes wide with the prospect of living among bandits.

But then Luffy’s voice caught on the topic of Garp’s “Fist of Love.” With forced cheer, Luffy reported how Garp used to hit him anytime he spoke of being a pirate, how it “toughened him up,” even if it hurt — a lot. Harry’s stomach churned and he looked anxiously at Imu.

Imu sat stiff, unable to mask the rage that welled within. For Luffy’s sake, she made her voice steady. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she said lowly, though her grip on the Den Den Mushi whitened. “No one has the right to hurt a child.”

Luffy, ever the resilient type, laughed it off with a faltering exhale, but Harry sounded the slight quaver behind the laughter. Then Luffy brightened the mood with false cheer, launching into a silly bit about how he’d tricked Dadan into letting them keep a looted treasure. Imu’s expression stayed carefully blank, but Harry glimpsed the quiet fury in her eyes.

When the call concluded, the snail wilted its eyestalks, and the silence in the room was nearly oppressive. Imu put the receiver down but she was still holding it with taut fingers. There was a cold, dangerous flicker in her eyes. Harry walked up quietly, unsure of how to make her feel better, only knowing that she was angry. Hedwig fluttered from a nearby perch, giving a wary chirr.

“Harry,” Imu said, voice low. “Go get your illusions practice materials and come back. All I want is to hug you for a minute.”

He knew she didn’t really want illusions — she wanted some form of reassurance, some sort of intangible reassurance. He nodded and stepped out quickly. When he came back with his little satchel of practice props, Imu was standing in the same place; tense as a string. When she saw him, she motioned him over and pulled him into a tight hug. He hugged her back, resting his head on her shoulder, allowing her silent rage to melt into maternal warmth.

She let out a shaky breath, running her hand over his hair. “I had no idea… Garp would act that way with Luffy.” Her voice wavered. “I want… to protect him. All of you.”

Harry shut his eyes, her trembling control washed over him. “I know,” he whispered. “You will. We’ll figure it out.”

In the aftermath of that silence, Hedwig sidled up, snuggling against them. The hush transformed itself, sweet and not stifling, as Imu’s rage flickered into fierce determination. Her grip on Harry relaxed, and she gave him the slightest of smiles, eyes still set with determination.

Back across the seas, Luffy hung up the phone with a half chuckle that faded into pensive silence. The Straw Hat crew, who could often be heard bickering or shouting, felt the change. They crowded around, curious. Luffy, with his arms folded, offered an abbreviated history of how Garp’s fists had influenced his formative years. Nami and Robin exchanged worried glances, Sanji cursing under his breath about child abuse, while Zoro just put a hand on Luffy’s shoulder in wordless solidarity. Luffy grew lighter, soon enough — he didn’t dwell on grief for long — but a secret bond settled among the crew, each more intent on seeing Luffy happy. Some mocked him for having a mother who actually cared, but beneath their jibes was a genuine concern for him and for Harry both.

Spring in Mary Geoise meant mild weather, a faint stirring of new blossoms in gardens, and more and more illusions from Harry. By mid-March, he found himself envisioning illusions so vividly that they gained temporary substance. Imu had watched him practice in a courtyard, riveted when a glowing deer bent its head to nuzzle his palm, then vanished in a flicker. It was a breathtaking advance. She touched his shoulder, telling him how proud she was. He beamed like a lantern.

That night, they ate dinner in Imu’s private dining hall, where devoted servants laid out a spread of dishes. Harry wolfed down crusty bread and fruit compote and tender slices of roasted fish. He kept looking over at Imu as if he wanted to ask something. She saw the question in his eyes.

“Mama,” he said finally, moving his plate aside. “Do you think we can… talk to Ace and Sabo someday too, like we talk to Luffy?

Imu wiped her mouth with a napkin and thought. She remembered the tangled flow of alliances that would make it more politically charged to reach out to Ace or Sabo directly. “Someday,” she replied, allowing sincerity to soften her tone. But we have to keep safe — for them, and for us.” If we find out, the government won’t take too kindly to anyone directly calling a known pirate or revolutionary.” She paused, noting his disappointment. “I’ll see what can be done. We’ll find a way.”

Harry nodded, absorbing that. “I just… want to see them, so we can all be a family,” he said, his voice small, his eyes bright with a child’s faith unshakable.

Imu swallowed, moved by his sincerity. She swept a strand of hair from his forehead. “One day, child,” she said again. “One day soon.”

From mid-March to early April, Harry tackled illusions with renewed zeal. He flipped through illusions that replayed epochs of events Imu described from Mary Geoise’s archives — kings signing treaties, marine fleets patrolling the seas, even glimpses of the battles of the rumored Void Century. Imu observed each reimagining with serious interest. She told him not to burn himself out, but Harry found that true curiosity had fueled his magic more than any spell. He had illusions that rose up in the air above their heads or formed whole temporary topographies around them that made observers gasp.

"It takes discipline, not only in the magical arts, but also in the arts of the martial!" said Grandpa Saturn, as he gave Harry a wooden practice sword on a mild afternoon. No warrior at heart, however, Harry liked the new challenge. He’d parade illusions that sprouted around him while he practiced sword forms, spinning a performance of light and movement that shone through an invisible crowd of Celestial Dragons and earned his skill quiet applause. Imu monitored from a shaded area, stealing some quiet delight in his happiness.

Meanwhile, Imu quietly set into motion some petty nuisances for Garp and Dragon. She didn’t descend to naked hostility — that would bring scrutiny — but she had ways to baffle them. Dragon’s new outposts also endured small-scale disruptions that were not damaging over the long run but did create vexing delays. Garp’s supply requests at Marineford came through with bizarre miscalculations, like an extra coffee but no senbei, or vice versa. Both men were baffled by the apparent random misadventures, reports said. Imu allowed herself private smiles at the idea of them cursing the unknown saboteur.

By late March, Harry had hit a magical milestone that jaunted him up and down with excitement: a golden shield of light that he was able to maintain for almost half a minute. Imu hovered nearby, eyes shining, as he created a convex wall that glimmered like spun glass. He verified this by asking a guard to throw small pebbles at him. Every pebble struck, and then echoed away, thumping. Hedwig hooted in wonder, and Harry almost toppled over from the effort when he allowed it to fade away, but rapture filled his features.

Imu knelt by his side as he sat on the ground, out of breath. She cupped his cheek and her voice was warm. “That was incredible, child. You’ve exceeded even my expectations.”

He flushed, and his chest was still heaving. “I’m… so happy I can do it. That means I can protect people, right?”

She nodded; put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Yes,” she whispered, part pride and part motherly relief. “You truly can.”

Harry’s feats spread in whispers through Mary Geoise, stoking the feeling that he was more than a winning little fella — he was a spectacle. The Five Elders shared knowing nods behind closed doors; if the time came and such a character stood at their side... They did not publicly tout the extent of his powers, but they privately decided to cheer him on — noting how it uplifted morale and instilled a sense of camaraderie among the Celestial Dragons’ younger ranks.

Amid these subtle changes, the old order discovered new harmony. The servants walked with less apprehension, many with even mild smiles. Others said altruism had become the latest accessory for noble houses — an innocuous arms race that was inadvertently making life better. The silence of transformation was not to be stopped. Saturn, after one meeting, covertly confided in Mars that Harry’s empathy could be a potent diplomatic weapon across the seas.

That hush grew deeper through early April, each day delivered new illusions from Harry or new policy pronouncements from Imu. But in that silence, mother and son connected through quiet moments. He often spoke about a dream he dreamed: to sail on a great ship with Imu, Luffy, Ace, Sabo and even Dragon — the last part made Imu raise a brow. He wrote about calm, limitless seas, no Marines or revolutionaries pursuing them — only family. Imu listened with an empathy that nearly broke her cool, gently reassuring him that they might one day discover a version of that dream.

In mid-April, news came from intelligence to Imu’s desk and that the Marines were closing in on a certain pirate who could be Ace. The prospect sent chills through her blood. She had the Elders re-sign her transport policies yet again, so that her prisoners would always be sent to Mary Geoise if they were arrested. She said nothing to Harry; there was no reason to freak him out unnecessarily. But most nights, she stood by his door, watching him sleep through the night with Hedwig nearby, perched protectively. She was reminded that she was Imu—her will determined the Government’s decisions. If only she learned where Ace was in time, she could keep him out of danger.

And one evening, about the time old Harry, worn out with a long day of illusion and sword had fallen very early to bed, after a delightful dinner. Imu returned to her private quarters. By herself, she read one last dispatch: a Marine unit had been tracking sightings of Fire Fist Ace in the vicinity of Alabasta’s waters. She put the parchment down gently, her heart racing. This was the sign that she both feared it and wanted more — Ace was indeed on the brink of danger. She made a note on a blank scroll, writing out firm instructions:

In the event of Portgas D. Ace's capture, he was to be taken under Maximum Secrecy to Mary Geoise for Advanced Interrogation. No exceptions or delays. Under my direct authority, signed: Imu.

She sealed it with her crest, allowing the wax to cool beneath her careful breath. Then, the lamplight dim with her voice, she made a promise to the empty room: “I will not let history repeat itself.” She remembered Roger’s execution and the brutal spectacle the Marines had made of it, the beginning of a Great Age of Piracy. Her arms tightened at the itch of maternal protectiveness over a boy she had never known but who was dear to her son. She would do whatever she could to save him...

Fatigued from bearing those kinds of decisions, she padded through the connecting door into Harry’s quarters. He lay curled on his side, at his feet roosting Hedwig. And as Imu knelt next to him, pulling his blanket higher, those faint lines of worry had eased out of her face. His soft breaths breathed the silence of untroubled sleep. Her hand rested on his hair and she felt the warmth of his innocence. Regardless of the tempests pending on the horizon — Marine hunts, Garp’s fists, Dragon’s revolution — this silence was her haven.

She got up and left him there to rest. Across the city, the night pressed in, torches flickering along the marble colonnades. Guards walked silently, Celestial Dragons dined or withdrew to high-end suites, and servants could take momentary breaks in more hospitable spaces than they had known a year earlier. In some obscure office, the Five Elders probably pondered the gradual but deep-seated changes taking hold, or looked out for new threats. Far across the seas, Luffy and his crew forged ahead into unexplored waters, unaware of how a mother’s rage simmered beneath a placid exterior, prepared to save them heartache.

And so fell the silence — an invisible magic running through the secret passageways of Mary Geoise, a hope, perhaps, that all that was left was love and lies, and that what was sealed by blood could be undone. ImU thought about Ace, drifting into a half-formed prayer that he would stay free. With her eyes closed, her will reached across the ocean in the silence of determination. If the Marines indeed closed in, she’d be there — a mother’s rage disguised as the world’s silent leader, ready to intervene. For Harry’s dream, for Luffy’s heart, for family that crossed seas.

And so, in the stillness of that vow, the inklings of fate woven, the threads of kinship adhering, the silence of coming violence slowly coalescing. With every breath Harry drew in tranquil sleep, Imu stayed watch, knowing full well that no cruelty of yesteryear would befall her child’s life again on her watch.