#celestial dragon

——

There were three kinds of people in Mary Geoise: those who served, those who groveled, and those like you—who never had to lift a finger unless it was to point at something you wanted.

You lounged on a throne-like chair, legs tucked beneath you, surrounded by an entourage of attendants. One brushed your hair with a golden comb. Another held a chilled drink to your lips. A third waved a fan carved from phoenix feathers, despite the temperature being perfectly controlled.

“It’s too quiet,” you sighed, snapping your fingers.

Within seconds, a pair of violinists emerged from behind a silk curtain and began playing something soft and expensive-sounding.

You rolled your eyes. “Not that again. Play the one I heard in the Rose Ballroom last week. The one with the sparkle.”

The violinists flinched. “Y-Yes, Lady Y/N!”

At your feet, two maids knelt beside your jeweled slippers, ready in case you decided to grace the corridor with your presence. Behind you, silent guards stood with their heads bowed, hands resting on the hilts of ornate weapons—not to protect you, not really, but to remind everyone else what happened if they disrespected a Celestial Dragon.

Not that anyone dared. You were a Holy Noble, a World Noble—one of the so-called gods who lived above the clouds.

You didn’t breathe the same air as the rest of the world. Literally. A clear glass bubble helmet sat beside you on a velvet pillow, polished daily by the same maid who washed your sheets with milk and flower oil. You wore it any time you descended to the “lower world”—the Red Line or, heaven forbid, the Blue Sea below.

That helmet was your inheritance. A symbol of status. A barrier between you and the filth of the outside.

And you hated it.

You hated the way it fogged up your vision, made your nose itch, flattened your hair. It turned you into a walking snow globe, admired but untouchable.

“Lady Y/N,” a voice piped up beside you—your head maid, gentle and a little too observant for your liking. “Shall I summon the bathing fountain? Or perhaps the exotic pet parade? The squirrel-lions arrived from Totto Land this morning.”

You flicked your nails. “No. I’m bored of panthers. And squirrel-lions are so two seasons ago. Bring me something fluffier. Maybe from Wano this time. None of that North Blue trash.”

“Yes, my lady.”

A butler with graying hair and shaking hands stepped forward and bowed so deeply you thought his spine might snap. “You have a poetry recital scheduled in the East Wing with Saint Charlotte.”

You stared at him. “Cancel it. Tell her I’ve fallen into a sugar-induced coma.”

His face paled. “A-ah, very good, my lady.”

Once he scurried off, you laid your head against the silken cushions and closed your eyes. Everything smelled like perfume and honeyed tea. Too sweet. Too still.

You were surrounded by luxury—cherry blossom incense burning from dragon-shaped censers, fine gold-thread carpets from Dressrosa, imported desserts so rare entire villages starved to grow the ingredients—but it all felt dull lately. You didn’t know why.

Maybe it was just the silence. Or maybe it was the way no one ever spoke to you like a person. You were always “my lady,” never “you.”

Even your own family treated you like an object—something delicate and glittering that couldn’t be let out in the rain.

You liked nice things. Shiny things. Compliments. Attention. But you didn’t like cruelty.

No, you’d made that decision very early.

You didn’t own slaves like your uncles did. You refused to attend the Human Auction, no matter how many invitations you received. Your cousin called you “soft,” “silly,” “a girl playing princess instead of goddess.”

But you preferred your servants paid, your animals pampered, and your furniture not made from people.

You were spoiled, sure. But not evil.

“Lady Y/N,” the maid said again, “shall we prepare the sky garden for your afternoon nap?”

You exhaled. “Has it been re-perfumed with the jasmine fog?”

“Yes, my lady. As requested.”

“Fine,” you muttered, standing slowly. They draped you in a soft robe of sunspun silk and slipped your slippers on like a coronation. “Bring the strawberry milk. And the parasol shaped like a koi fish.”

As you were escorted through the palace halls, walking on plush rugs embroidered with family crests and history you didn’t care about, your slippers made no sound—just like everyone around you.

It was a life of softness. Of silk and silence.

And somehow, it was still never enough.

——

You walked, your thoughts drifting idly, as your entourage followed closely behind—just as they always did. But today, the weight of being constantly observed felt heavier than usual.

“Leave me,” you muttered under your breath, already irritated by their proximity.

“My lady?” one of the guards asked, stepping forward.

“Leave,” you repeated, sharper this time. “I wish to be alone.”

After a moment of hesitation, they bowed and scattered, disappearing behind the rows of hedges and fountains. Finally, silence. Alone, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease for a brief moment.

You were about to take a seat when a figure caught your eye—an unfamiliar face stepping out from behind a pillar, his presence unmistakable in the otherwise empty space.

You froze.

Without hesitation, you called out. “Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t flinch, but the slight shift of his eyes told you he’d heard you loud and clear. Slowly, he raised his head to meet your gaze, his posture casual, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d run into someone like you here,” he muttered, his voice smooth but with an edge. “This garden’s a bit too perfect for my taste.”

You stood taller, narrowing your eyes. “This is my garden. Who are you, and why are you here?”

He took a step forward, his hands tucked in his pockets, like he was in no hurry. “I’m just looking around. What’s it to you?”

Your gaze sharpened. “You’re trespassing. Leave.”

A small, almost amused smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve got a bit more time to kill, and I don’t take orders from people who think their titles mean something.”

You felt a flicker of anger in your chest. “You’re speaking to a Celestial Dragon. You think you can talk to me like this?”

“And you’re proving my point.” he replied coolly. “Entitled. Arrogant. Completely disconnected from reality.”

His eyes darkened, but his tone didn’t shift. “People like you hide behind power and titles. But all I see is someone who thinks they can walk around acting like the world owes them something.”

You could practically feel the judgment in his words, and it stung. The audacity. The arrogance. He was just another person lumping you in with all the other Celestial Dragons, assuming you were no different than the rest.

“You think you know everything about me?” you said sharply, stepping closer. “You don’t.”

He scoffed. “I know enough. You people don’t lift a damn finger unless it’s to point at what you want.”

“You don’t know me.”

There was a beat of silence. He looked at you for a long second—long enough to maybe question you, but not long enough to care.

“No,” he said flatly. “And I don’t need to.”

——

You stormed back into your private quarters, the doors swinging shut behind you with a thud. Your maids stood at attention, but you waved them off without a word. You didn’t want company. You didn’t want anyone. Not after that.

That man. That arrogant, presumptuous man with his sharp eyes and sharper mouth. Who even was he? How did he get in? And who had the nerve to speak to a Celestial Dragon like that?

You paced, arms crossed tightly, the hem of your silk robe dragging behind you. The words echoed in your head:

“I don’t need to.”

So smug. Like he knew everything. Like he had the right to judge you.

You didn’t own slaves. You didn’t scream at servants. You didn’t punish people for breathing too loudly in your presence. Sure, you were spoiled—what of it? You were raised with everything handed to you. That was normal. It didn’t make you cruel.

Still, his words lingered. The way he looked at you—not with awe or fear, but with… disgust.

You frowned, then marched to your balcony and leaned over the marble railing, trying to cool off. That’s when you saw him again.

Down in the courtyard.

You blinked.

The same man.

He wasn’t skulking around this time. He was just walking, like he belonged there. Like this place wasn’t crawling with guards who’d kill an intruder on sight. Except—there were no guards. You’d told them all to leave earlier. That was on you.

Your hands curled into fists.

Without thinking, you threw open your balcony doors and yelled, “You again?!”

He looked up, completely unfazed. “Huh. You live up there. Figures.”

You nearly threw your glass at him.

“What the hell are you still doing here?!”

He shrugged. “Walking.”

“This is private property!” you snapped. “You’re lucky I haven’t called anyone to throw you in the sea!”

“Then call someone,” he said calmly. “I’m not stopping you.”

You stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You’re asking to be arrested?”

“I’m asking you to think for yourself,” he replied coolly. “Not just fall back on the guards and the status and the stupid bubble.”

You clenched your teeth. “You are the most infuriating—!”

“Good. You needed it,” he said and turned to leave again, as if you weren’t worth his time.

You raced down the steps barefoot, fury boiling in your chest. You caught up to him in the next hallway, breathing hard. “You don’t get to walk around here and insult me like that! You don’t know anything about me!”

He stopped, slowly turning. “Then show me I’m wrong.”

Your chest heaved, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to argue. Scream. Prove him wrong. But all you could say was:

“Why are you even here?!”

He paused.

A flicker of something crossed his face—calculation, maybe—but he covered it fast. “Because someone has to see what’s really going on behind these gilded walls.”

You blinked. For a moment, you heard more than just the insult. Behind these walls. As if your entire world—your life—was something shameful. Something fake.

Your brows furrowed. “You’re not just a trespasser…”

He huffed a breath, low and cold. “No. I’m someone who’s sick of the way this place pretends the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You bristled. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know enough,” he snapped. “I know what it looks like when people live in gold palaces and the rest of the world burns for their comfort.”

Something in your chest twisted—sharp and unwelcome. “You think I asked to be born here?”

“I think you’ve never questioned it,” he said, stepping in close, his tone still hard. “I think you wear that bubble helmet and walk past people like they’re decorations.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. You had nothing to say—not because he was right, but because you didn’t know if he was wrong.

Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out:

“…Then take me with you.”

He stopped dead.

“What?”

You stepped forward, voice lower now but steady. “If you think I’m just another sheltered noble, prove it. Take me outside these walls. Show me how wrong I am.”

He looked at you like you were insane. And maybe you were. But you held his gaze anyway.

“I don’t do charity,” he said flatly.

“Good,” you shot back. “I’m not asking for a favor.”

He let out a cold laugh and turned his back on you. “Stay in your palace, princess. You wouldn’t last a day.”

This time, you didn’t stop him. But your hands stayed clenched at your sides long after he was gone.

——

He disappeared around the corner, coat swaying behind him like a challenge. The hall felt too quiet without his voice cutting through it.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

No slippers, no guards, no reason. You just stormed after him, fists tight, steps echoing off the pristine floor. You caught him at the foot of the west garden stairs, already halfway to the lower terrace.

“Hey!” you called.

He didn’t stop.

You picked up your pace. “I’m talking to you!”

Finally, he glanced over his shoulder. “Changed your mind? Gonna summon your guards now?”

You reached him in three long strides and shoved his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?!”

He barely moved, just raised a brow. “You’re really not used to people saying no, are you?”

“I’m not used to people insulting me without even knowing me.”

“I don’t need to know you,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen what people like you do. How they live. That’s all I need.”

“You keep saying people like me,” you shot back. “But you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smirk. “Then why don’t you educate me, princess?”

You ignored the sarcasm. “You think I’ve never seen outside these walls? I’ve been to other islands. I’ve seen what the world looks like.”

He tilted his head. “From inside a bubble helmet and a guarded procession? Spare me.”

You stepped into his space. “You don’t scare me.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not here to scare you.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make you feel like the marble under your feet might crack.

“I’m here to make sure people like you don’t get to keep playing god while others die for scraps.”

You flinched. Just barely.

Then you gritted your teeth. “So that’s it. You see one noble and assume the worst. You’re not here for justice. You’re here for revenge.”

The look in his eyes changed. Just for a second.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. Go ahead. Run your little mission, spy on whoever you’re here to spy on. But don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. You’re judging me for things you’ve never even seen me do.”

He stared at you. Then finally—finally—his voice dropped to something almost thoughtful.

“Why are you following me?”

The question hit harder than it should’ve.

You paused.

“…Because I’m tired of everyone pretending I’m like the rest of them. And you’re the first person who’s had the guts to say it to my face.”

He studied you again. Longer this time. The edge was still there, but something behind his eyes shifted.

He turned away.

“If you follow me again,” he said, “you better mean it.”

Then he was gone—into the garden shadows, coat trailing behind him like a closing door.

——

Two nights passed.

You didn’t tell anyone what happened. Not the guards, not the maids. You just sat in your chamber, ignoring the pearls and silks they tried to dress you in, staring out at the edge of the garden where he vanished.

You met again in the garden. This time you didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He was already there when you stepped into the moonlight. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, arms resting loosely on his knees, watching the stars like they owed him answers.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “You’re brave. Coming back again.”

He looked over, that same amused expression twitching at his lips. “Or maybe I was waiting to see if you would.”

You stepped closer. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“And you still haven’t kicked me out.”

You huffed. “Don’t mistake that for kindness.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He straightened up, facing you fully. His voice dropped, not threatening—just serious. “Why are you really talking to me?”

Your fingers tightened over your arms. “Because I want to. Does that bother you?”

“No. But it surprises me.”

You stayed silent.

He kept watching you. “Most Celestial Dragons wouldn’t waste a second on someone like me.”

“I’m not most Celestial Dragons.”

He tilted his head. “No. You’re not. But you still live like one.”

You bristled. “Is that your problem with me? That I have more than you?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “No. My problem is you don’t question why.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You looked away, swallowing the flare of shame before it could rise.

“I didn’t ask to be born into this,” you muttered.

“Neither did the people you’re standing above.”

The silence stretched again.

Then, quietly, you said, “I don’t own slaves. I don’t hurt people. I don’t even let my guards punish the staff. That’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

He blinked. It was the first time you’d seen his expression falter.

“No,” he said after a pause. “But it’s not enough.”

You stepped closer, now only a foot apart. “Don’t pretend you know everything just because you’ve seen the world from a gutter.”

He didn’t flinch. “And don’t pretend you understand it just because you’ve read about it in books.”

Your eyes locked.

Neither of you moved.

Not a breath of wind between you, but the air crackled—tension, challenge, and something else. Something neither of you dared name yet.

You spoke first. “You’re infuriating.”

“So are you,” he said, almost fondly.

But then the fondness was gone, hidden again under his calm.

You took a slow breath, your words coming out carefully. “I want to leave here. Just for a while. I want to go with you. See what it’s really like out there.”

His brow furrowed, the surprise barely visible in his eyes. “You want to go with me?”

You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “Not forever. Just… I want to know what it’s like beyond this place. What it means to be free. I’m tired of being stuck in here.”

He regarded you for a moment, silent. “You don’t think it’ll be dangerous?”

“Maybe,” you said, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “But it’s better than staying here.”

He stood, taking a step closer. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. You won’t be able to go back to the way things were.”

You didn’t flinch. “I don’t want to.”

He studied you for another long moment. Finally, he let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a yes?” you asked, almost daring.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. For a while, at least. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A small grin tugged at your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The tension between you two lightened, just slightly, but it was enough. Something had shifted, and maybe for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were about to do something real.

——

You managed to make some excuses—said you needed time alone to reflect, maybe take a short trip to another island for a change of scenery. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work for now. No one would question it for a while.

“Just don’t get caught,” He warned, his gaze sharp.

“I’ll be careful,” you assured him, feeling the tension of sneaking away for the first time in your life.

The night air was cool against your skin as you and the man you met slipped out of the luxurious estate. You stuck to the shadows, careful to avoid any patrolling guards. The further you got from the center of Mary Geoise, the lighter the weight on your chest felt. For the first time, the shackles of your title seemed miles away.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady though the uncertainty still lingered in the pit of your stomach. “It’s just… different. I never thought I’d actually leave.”

He let out a low chuckle. “That’s the point. You don’t need to stay tied to something that’s never been yours to begin with.”

He offered a knowing smirk. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me, there’s more to the world than your gilded cage.”

As you walked side by side through the quiet streets, your thoughts raced. You were outside the walls, a step closer to freedom, but the fear of getting caught still gnawed at you.

“Are we really doing this?” you asked, mostly to yourself, as you glanced back toward the estate.

“We are,” He replied without hesitation. “No turning back now.”

You gave a small, shaky laugh. “Guess not. So, what’s the plan? How do we get out of here without making too much noise?”

His eyes flickered ahead, and for a moment, you could see the strategist in him, calculating the safest route. “We’ll take the back roads to the nearest port. I’ve got a ship waiting. After that, we’ll decide where to go. But for now, the less attention we draw, the better.”

You hesitated. “You’re sure no one will notice I’m missing?”

“They might, eventually,” He admitted. “But we’ll be long gone by then.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his expression softening for a moment. “Don’t worry. You wanted out. This is your chance.”

Your stomach flipped, excitement and fear mixing in equal parts. “And what happens if I want to go back?”

His smile was small, almost unreadable. “When you’re ready, we’ll figure it out. But right now, focus on getting away.”

The two of you continued walking in silence, the weight of your decision sinking in as the walls of Mary Geoise receded into the distance. It wasn’t a perfect escape. There were too many risks. But for the first time in your life, it felt like you were doing something for yourself.