The humid air hung thick and sweet around me, a cloying blend of blooming frangipani and the salty tang carried inland from the distant sea near the marine base. The late afternoon sun, already beginning its descent towards the horizon, cast long shadows that danced with the gentle sway of the porch swing beneath me.
My calloused fingers, each line a testament to years of gentle care etched onto hands that had seen half a century pass, traced the faded edges of a photograph tucked into my lap. A gaggle of grinning, gap-toothed children, their arms flung around a younger, brighter-eyed me. Twenty-five years. A lifetime, it sometimes felt, woven into the fabric of this humble orphanage.
A sudden flash of white and blue disrupted my reverie. Edward. My heart, a wellspring of unwavering affection, softened at the sight of the small boy, a whirlwind of uncontainable energy despite the empty space where his left hand should have been.
He was a miniature storm of innocent enthusiasm, his homemade hero costume – a simple white bedsheet billowing behind him like a majestic cape, a crudely fashioned blue mask obscuring half his face – a vibrant testament to the boundless power of a child's imagination in the face of stark reality. He charged across the uneven paving stones, striking dramatic poses, a silent, self-directed narrative of daring rescues and triumphant victories unfolding in his active mind. Each awkward leap, each slightly unbalanced flourish, was a poignant reminder of his physical absence, yet his spirit soared, unburdened.
"Oh, Edward, my little hero," I thought, a gentle smile gracing my lips. "You find such joy in the simplest things."
My gaze drifted, a familiar sweep across the other children scattered throughout the courtyard. A quiet girl, her eyes large and luminous in her thin face, sat hunched over a worn notebook, her small hand diligently sketching, oblivious to the slight tremor that often accompanied her persistent cough. Two boys, their laughter soft and contained, their legs weakened by the lingering effects of a childhood illness, engaged in a silent, intense game of marbles beneath the sprawling canopy of the ancient mango tree. Each child carried their own invisible burdens, their small bodies bearing the silent testament of hardship and neglect before finding the fragile sanctuary within these weathered walls.
Then, a name echoed in the quiet chambers of my memory, a word imbued with a particular weight: Lazarus. The mere utterance stirred a complex tapestry of emotions – worry, pride, and a profound, enduring affection. I remembered the day he arrived, a mere wisp of a child, his small body burning with a fever so relentless it had felt like a tangible presence in the room. And even after the fever finally broke, a fragility lingered, punctuated by sudden spells of weakness. But it was the scar that truly haunted my memory.
A massive, disfiguring mark that stretched across his small chest, a jagged, angry line that looked like a crudely formed 'L'. It was a brutal testament to a violent past, a constant reminder of the darkness he had escaped, a darkness no child should ever know. It seemed to pull at his strength, a visible wound that mirrored unseen ones. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that Admiral Akainu saw it too. He had never pushed Lazarus, never steered him towards the rough and tumble games the other boys played, never offered him even the most basic lessons in self-defense that he sometimes imparted to the others. The Admiral, for all his gruff exterior, possessed a deep well of compassion, and I always suspected he shielded Lazarus, consciously or unconsciously, from the harsh realities of the Marine world, believing his frail body and scarred past were burdens enough.
"Lazarus," I thought, my gaze softening with a fierce protectiveness. "Admiral never wanted that life for you."
"Oh, Uncle is also coming!" Edward's excited shout shattered my reverie. The little boy, his keen eyes missing nothing, had spotted the imposing figure of the Admiral entering the courtyard. His presence was always… intense, yet today there was a hurried quality to his stride.
"Admiral," I mused, a familiar warmth settling in my heart, tinged with a hint of concern. "He seems to be in a rush."
Indeed, the Admiral's visit was brief. He offered a curt nod to me, his gaze sweeping over the children with a familiar intensity, before turning his attention back. "Diana," his voice was gruff, devoid of its usual booming resonance. "I can only stay a moment. Urgent matters at headquarters."
A pang of disappointment struck me. I had hoped he would stay longer, perhaps even be there when Lazarus returned tomorrow. "Admiral," I began hesitantly, "Lazarus will be back tomorrow. Perhaps… perhaps you could wait?"
The Admiral's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his stern eyes. "No, Sister Diana. My duties call me back to Marineford this evening." He paused, a rare hint of a smile touching the corner of his lips. "But tell Lazarus… tell him I expect to see him at Marineford in the future. He has… surprised us all." He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, a gesture that held a surprising amount of warmth. "Take care of them, Sister Diana." And with that, he turned and strode back towards the waiting Marine ship, his imposing figure quickly disappearing beyond the orphanage gates.
I watched him go, a mix of emotions swirling within me. Disappointment that he wouldn't see Lazarus's triumphant return, but also a surge of pride at the Admiral's words. "He knows," I thought, a slow smile spreading across my face. "He knows what Lazarus has accomplished." The gruff Admiral, who had unknowingly tried to protect Lazarus from the harsh realities of the Marines, was now anticipating his arrival at their very headquarters. It was a testament to Lazarus's indomitable spirit, a victory that transcended even my deepest hopes.
Edward tugged at my skirt, his blue mask slightly askew. "Uncle will see Big Brother Lazarus tomorrow, right, Aunt Diana?"
I knelt down, adjusting his mask. "Not tomorrow, darling. Uncle had to leave. But he said Big Brother Lazarus will see him at Marineford someday."
Edward's brow furrowed slightly, but his inherent optimism quickly returned. "Marineford! That's where all the strong Marines are!" His eyes widened with excitement. "Maybe Big Brother Lazarus will become the strongest hero of all!"
I smiled, my heart swelling with a renewed sense of hope. Perhaps Edward was right. Perhaps Big Brother Lazarus's journey, against all odds, was only just beginning. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard, illuminating the faces of the children, each a testament to resilience and the enduring power of the human spirit.
Tomorrow, Lazarus would return, not to be shielded, but to be celebrated. And one day, he would stand tall amongst the strongest, a beacon of hope for all the forgotten children of the world here. The fragrance of frangipani filled the evening air, no longer just sweet, but carrying a hint of the salty tang of the sea, a promise of the grand adventures that lay ahead.