Immortal twin flames

Chapter three

Marco wasn't sure what to make of this whole mess. Or rather he wasn't sure what to make of himself.
He was sitting in his room, on his bed that was made of lavish blankets of spun reds, golds, and blues- the colors of his princes. His head was in his hands and he took shaky deep breaths as his mind flew into a hurricane the likes of the Grand Line had never seen- which was saying something because the Grand Line was made of storms.

He desperately wanted to hold his beloved in his arms again, to hear that joyful laugh, and have those red flames curl around his blue. He knew his prince though, even if he had been reborn and had no memories.
It was somewhat of a pattern he had noticed with each interaction with his friends and family that were reincarnated. No matter how they were raised, who their parents now where, and their situations growing up, their core personalities always shined through.
His mind ached as he thought back to forty years after the death of the D kingdom. The once great kingdom nothing but ash. He had been alone, wondering an island that use to trade with them. He was just passing through, walking through their markets.

He gave a sharp gasp as he thought back.
The market themselves were on the water, large Adam Wood docks that reached far out into the sea. If anyone with a bird zoan fruit were to pass they would tell everyone of the island that was shaped like the sun, docks that grew out of the sand and dirt and spread out like branches into the clear sea. On most were shops, fruits, flowers, breads, cloth, and such were sold in large open market stalls that lines each boardwalk. Large wooden beams held up a roof of glass, painted in light colors. During the day, when the skies were clear the colors would dance off the stalls and the people that walked through. At night the moon made the glass gave the illusion of the sea, ever flowing and life brining. It was under these rooves that grand ceremonies and parties were held and suddenly Marcus body ached and hurt in ways he was use to, an ache he associated with lose.

The three princes of the D Kingdom had been tasked with diplomatic meeting between the two allies. Training their father had said, no matter how bad they did this kingdom would never turn against them. After all, this was the Queen's home island. Marco and his father had been tasked with leading the guards that were mandatory to send.

Of course, with any royal meeting, the royal family had greeted their nephews with a large party. With the full moon overhead lighting up the painted glass, the boys danced, ate, and made merry.

"Marcusss," Asce giggled, his crown having been placed on his younger cousin's head hours ago, and his face bright red, "Dance with me!"

"No thank you," he told the prince, he father watching amusingly as red colored his cheeks, "I have to stand guard."

Holding his head higher and back straighter he tried to ignore the prince's giggling. His eyes moving away to find the blond prince dancing around a brown-haired girl, a large smile on his face and fire reflecting in his eyes. A hand hit his back and his father grabbed his spear, a small amused smile was playing at his
face.
"This is just a formality," he assured his son, pushing him towards the dark-haired prince, "Go, have fun."
Asce snatched his hand and started to pull him closer to the fire pit, ignoring Marcus' feeble protest. He stopped them a few feet from the fire before twirling himself around Marcus rigid form for a few moments before he edged him on.

"Come on, don't tell me you can't dance!"

Scowling, the blond bowed his head before he fallowed the prince into an elaborate dance of twist, turns, quick feet, and warm hearts. They stepped closer together and spun each other around, and as the moon rose in the sky, they never noticed when the people that danced besides them fled to the sidelines to watch.
Asce eyes sparkled and his frame glowed as fire was lit across his shoulders, circling around his lethal frame, and highlighting the gold of his skirt. Marcus smiled, rolling his shoulders so his own blue and gold flames rolled around his body in waved like the ocean. Before long they were nothing but silhouette of blue, gold, red, and orange flames. The flames left their bodies, rolling across the ground in sparks before dying out at the toes of the surrounding audience.

After that night, legends were told of the dancing flames that had blessed the festivals of the Portgas kingdom.
Marcus was so lost in thought he hadn't noticed that he wondered into the very market until he ran straight into someone. A familiar woman with honey blond hair was picking herself up, carefully grabbing at the fruits that had rolled out of her weaved basket. Marcus sat back, his eyes wide and mouth open as he gasped in shock.

"Mo-mom?" He chocked.

The blond looked up and stared at him in confusion.

"My name is Yome," huffing she stood up, "and your forgiven, next time watch where you're going, you could have ended up going straight off the docks!" she scolded.

Marcus couldn't help the warmth and happiness he felt curl around his chest, the joy of having his mother scold him again.

"Its, I'm sorry, I was just distracted." He assured her, trying to find some sort of sign that showed she recognized him.

"Well, one thing at a time."

Marcus stayed on that island long after she died, after the birth of a brown haired little boy, she had named Thatcher that Marcus had watched over diligently, as any older brother should. He was disappointed when even after all the years had passed, Yome had only known him as her kindly neighbor and not the son she had, had a lifetime ago. She was the same though, the same no nonsense, but kind woman that had raised him. Even if she never remembered.

It was because of that that he had so happily followed Whitebeard, as the man had never questioned when Marco took interest in someone and brought them onto their ship. Thatch had been the first, his younger brother from before- he had taken his hand and snarling teeth and brought him to Whitebeard with hopeful eyes and a plea.

"Let him stay, please." His voice echoed in his head, "He might not remember me, but he's still mine."
Thatch never remembered his older brother. He'd apologize later, those words of familiarity on his tongue apologizing for not remembering things that had happened thousands of years ago. He had only mentioned it that once. Visita, Yome, and more had been brought to the ship in the same fashion, Marco's eyes tearfulling looking at Whitebeard until the man just laughed.

"GURHAHAHA, if they are yours then they are ours." He'd claim.

After that Marco would bring people and welcome them, his father's amused smile and welcoming laugh calling them to a new home