Chapter Text
On a secluded island known as Dawn, there lived a boy without a name. The boy, though nameless, was quite loved, and extremely protected.
His caregivers, the prostitutes that raised him in place of parents, refused to give him a name. They called him various things in his adolescence- Sweetie, Honey, Baby- but never an actual name.
Men who came into the brothel he grew up in tried to give him various names through the years- but none stuck. None were True. None were this boy's true name.
And though he grew up without a name- he heard everyone else fuss and repeat each other's names constantly. If Martha went with a client, there was always someone there to scream “Martha! Don't listen to him!” whenever she came back. It was protocol. Expected. And it went for everything. A name was never simply a name- but a command.
The more he grew up, the more glad he was he'd not been given a name. The more he understood what it meant to have one, the more horrified he got when he heard a name be uttered.
And even though he felt a hollowness at his lack of identity- he couldn't help the chill at the idea that he could receive one.
In Dawn, names were more than mere labels; they were anchors of identity, and to possess someone’s true name was to wield unfathomable control over them. It was an ancient truth that had left deep scars on the island's history, unravelling lives and sowing mistrust among even the closest of bonds.
The boy was raised square beneath the weight of this unspoken law, a shadow looming over every aspect of life as he grew up with its biggest victims. Dawn’s inhabitants clung to their names as if they were their souls, their fear palpable in every word left unsaid. He, a quiet observer himself, bore witness to the devastating aftermath when a name was carelessly or maliciously revealed.
Most women who ended up as prostitutes- the same women that raised him- had their names revealed without their permission. He remembered listening to Ruth’s story as she sobbed in the medical bay, blood flowing from wounds self inflicted after her husband gave away her name to his friends, and let them do as they wished with her.
He didn't hear it all, some details being hidden from him as he was still only 10, but from what he knew, whatever they decided to make her do using her name just wasn't enough for those monsters. They dragged her around the Plaza screaming her name for everyone to hear- leaving her at the mercy of a merciless crowd. It was a miracle that the women that took care of the boy made it in time to take her away from there, and into their brothel before something worse had happened.
Of course he knew it before then too- but he'd been used to seeing the victims years after the incident- not at his very feet still bleeding. Something clicked then, for him. What it truly meant to give away your name. Your heart. Your very soul to another as a plaything.
He started cherishing the hollowness he felt at his lack of name. Started thanking the stars he got so lucky as to be an orphan.
The walls of his childhood home seemed to breathe with the weight of these secrets, bearing witness to the muffled cries and hushed confessions of those who had been stripped of their autonomy. “Keep your name close,” women new to the brothel would intone to him with trembling voices, their faces etched with fear. “It is your lifeline. Guard it as you would your soul.”
The boy grew from adolescence as someone without a name, slipping through the cracks of Dawn’s rigid society with an ease that showed the fact he did not truly belong.
Among the island’s outcasts, he was simply known as “Kid,” blending in like a shadow against the sun. To his caregivers, he was “Hon,” a term of endearment that held no true identity, just affection layered over ambiguity. His “brothers” teasingly called him “Freckles,” a nickname tied only to a physical trait, not the essence of who he was. His namelessness was both a shield and a prison. He became adept at weaving together an identity from fragments, a marionette shaping his own strings, his true self hidden deep beneath layers of self-preservation.
In his nightmares he heard people screaming names, he saw himself used and abused just like Ruth was, just like Maria and Antoinette and Bella and… and if he kept going he'd never run out of names. He'd never run out of victims to compare himself to.
As he grew up, he met other kids his age. He met Blondie, his nickname for the Blonde boy who would come and play with him while his daddy played with his caregivers inside. Blondie had been given a name, but was wise enough to not tell anyone. He also met Anchor, nicknamed after the shirt with an anchor he always had on, another orphan that just showed up one day who… wasn't as wise, and barely managed to keep his name hidden after Freckles and Blondie beat it into his head that he shouldn't tell them his name.
Anchor was a nuisance, in his eyes. He was brash and stupid and extremely creepy with the fact that he was 4 years younger than both him and Blondie, but could eat twice as much as them and then some. He also had a bad habit of thinking himself his friend, when no matter what Blondie said, wasn't true. Anchor had a bad habit of following him and Blondie on their hangouts, too.
At first, he had resisted Anchor's intrusion into their tight-knit circle. It had taken too long, too many arguments with his caregivers, and too many exasperated sighs from Blondie, but in the end, he gave in- Anchor wasn't his friend- nor was he his brother like Blondie was. He just accepted Anchor’s presence as an unavoidable part of his life, like the salty air that clung to the island or the smell of smoke from the brothel’s hearth.
Anchor was reckless and far too young for him. Too much of a crybaby too. The rule of names seemed to completely escape his understanding, and every time he got too close to that invisible line of saying it, Blondies and Freckles’ hearts would skip, Blondies from anxiety, while Freckles thoughts raced back to one of the thousands of women he's heard stories about in the Brothels. Anchor would always complain that they were brothers and thus it shouldn't matter, but aside from the fact they weren't, Freckles knew better. This was one rule that even in their little bubble of “friendship” could not break.
But Anchor was Anchor, too carefree to take it as seriously as he should.
That, of course, changed on a random sunny day.
And one day, when the sky was bright and the breeze was light, things went south.
Freckles was helping clean up around the brothel, sweeping dust off the old wooden floors while the usual clamour of activity echoed through the halls. He was absentmindedly going through the motions when something outside the window caught his attention.
Through the dirt-streaked glass, he saw Anchor, standing by the forest's edge, talking to a stranger- a tall man he had never seen before. The man wore a dark cloak that obscured most of his figure and a Straw Hat. He was leaning down towards Anchor, an easy-going smile on his face. Anchor seemed oblivious to what was going on, and that set the boys' nerves on edge. Anchor, grinning like always, was leaning in, speaking to him quietly, in a way that made his skin crawl. Something felt off, a gut feeling the kid couldn’t shake.
He tried to go back to sweeping, reminding himself that this was none of his business, and Anchor's stupidity was bound to bite him in the ass one day. He continued working, ignoring the feeling of protectiveness that soared in him.
His mind flashed back to old men coming in the brothel and seeing Freckles, and speaking to him kindly and sweetly- before asking the woman at the front how much for a night with him. The mind provided him with the memory of one man who took him into an empty room and started trying to touch him, warning him that if he did not provide his name there would be hell to pay.
He felt a shiver down his back and tugged at his hair to come back to the present, turning around once more to watch sweet little Anchor speak giddily with the older man.
Curiosity tugged at him, and against his better judgement, the boy crept closer to the window, peering out just enough to catch their conversation. Anchor’s voice was muffled, but it carried enough through the window for him to make out the words. He held his breath as he strained to listen.
“… yeah, well, they call me Anchor,” Anchor was saying with his usual bravado. “But my real name is Luffy”
His blood turned to ice.
The older man chuckled softly, a casual sound that felt out of place in the gravity of the moment. “Nice to meet you, Luffy,” he replied, his tone smooth, as though he were speaking to an old friend. “My name's Shanks.”
After that, he couldn’t hear anything more. The world seemed to warp around him, the sounds fading into a dull hum as his heart pounded in his ears. He could see their lips moving, but none of it registered with his racing mind. The name Luffy reverberated in his skull, filling him with confusion and a rising panic. Anchor- no, Luffy- had just done the unthinkable.
Normally, he'd go scream for an adult if any client was being a bit too personal with him- but this wasn't him. It was Luf- Anchor. Naive, stupid, too pure for this stupid world Anchor.
Normally he would have thought- he'd think up some plan- or just think to ignore the situation that didn't involve him.
The problem was, he didn't think.
Before he knew what he was doing, the boy swung his broom with a fierce, desperate strength. The bristles slammed against the glass, shattering the window in a burst of jagged shards. He barely registered the sting of a few stray pieces cutting his skin as he leaped through the broken window, his singular focus on protecting Luffy. The urgency in his chest felt like fire, blazing through him as he landed hard on the street below.
“LUFFY, RUN AWAY!” his voice broke through the air, shrill and panicked. His command echoed, and he saw Luffy’s body jolt at the sound. Instinctively, Luffy turned and bolted, his feet pounding against the ground as he ran, spurred on by the power.
Without hesitation, the freckled boy threw himself between Luffy and the stranger, standing in front of the man named Shanks with trembling hands and a broomstick held defensively in front of him. His heart hammered in his chest, fear clawing at his throat, but he held his ground. The broom felt pathetic in his hands, a flimsy weapon against a man who hadn’t even moved.
In the distance, he heard the fading sound of Luffy’s footsteps growing fainter and fainter, and some small part of him clung to the relief that his not-friend was getting away. But now, it was just him and Shanks, the tension thick between them like a coiled spring ready to snap.
Shanks still hadn’t moved, though his posture had shifted slightly. His body language was calm, but there was a readiness to his stance- a subtle, poised defence. He wasn’t underestimating the kid, but he wasn’t attacking either. Instead, his sharp eyes took in the situation, assessing the trembling boy in front of him, his expression unreadable under the shadow of his hat.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The boy's breathing was ragged, his grip on the broom tightening until his knuckles turned white. His mind screamed at him to run, to call for help, to do anything other than stand here in front of this dangerous man. But his legs wouldn’t move.
Shanks tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening, as if sensing the boy's turmoil. “You’ve got some guts, kid,” he said at last, his voice low but not threatening. There was almost a sense of respect in his tone. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not here to hurt him- or you. I was just having a nice little chat” he said, voice sweet, a small smile on his face.
The kid's grip on the broom faltered for a second, his heart stuttering at the man’s words. His mind was a mess of confusion, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. “Then- then why did you ask for his name?” he demanded, his voice shaking but firm. “Why would you make him tell you?”
Shanks raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slight smile. “I didn’t make him do anything. He told me because he wanted to.” His eyes softened, and there was a kindness in them that took the boy by surprise. “Sometimes, kid, names don’t have to be a weapon. Sometimes they’re just a way to connect. Though… I don't really see why you'd care to step in either way- the kid, your friend or something?”
His head spun, and he wasn't sure if it was the words or the adrenaline. This was all wrong. Everything about the man in front of him felt like a contradiction. He should be dangerous, a threat, but there was no malice in his voice, no threat in his stance. Those eyes… Those eyes didn't make him squirm and want to hide. Not like those Clients in the past. And yet, he couldn’t shake the distrust and fear that clung to him.
“Stay away from him,” he finally growled, his voice steadier now, even if his body wasn’t. “He’s my- my brother. You can’t just- take his name like that. I won't let you!”
It didn't escape him the fact the man was obviously much stronger and bigger than him- that he seemed to be simply humouring him and his threats. He also chose to ignore his own use of the word Brother to describe Anchor.
Shanks sighed softly, lowering his defensive posture slightly. “You’ve got a good heart, kid. Anchor is lucky to have you.” he said, and the way he said Anchor instead of that name sent a shiver down the boy's spine. “But trust me, I’m not your enemy.” Shanks finished, giving him another pleasant smile.
The kid's minds whirled with uncertainty. Instincts screamed at him to stay on guard, but there was something disarming about Shanks. Something that, despite everything, didn’t feel like danger.
But he couldn’t take that chance. Not with Anchor’s future hanging in the balance.
“Leave,” he said again, his voice firm, a warning in his tone. “Leave and don’t come back.”
Shanks looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing his response. Then, with a small, almost regretful smile, he nodded. “Alright, kid,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll go. I'm sorry for causing trouble” Shanks said, tipping his hat before turning to leave.
Shanks didn't leave immediately though- turning his head just enough for the kid to see a kind smile directed his way. “But remember this- there’s more to this world than you know. Don’t let fear keep you from seeing it.”
The boy didn’t respond, watching with wary eyes as Shanks turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. Only once he was sure the man was gone did he allow his body to sag, the tension draining from his muscles. His hands shook as he lowered the broom, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Luffy, he thought, the name feeling strange and foreign. What had he just gotten them into?
Without wasting another second, he ran after his brother.