It calls [Eustass Kid]

02. Wreckage

The sea was unnervingly still, its surface broken only by the drifting remains of their shattered ship. He clung to a jagged plank, every breath ragged, his arms trembling from the effort to keep his head above water. The salt stung his wounds.

A few yards away, the captain lay slumped on a larger piece of debris, his coat darkened with seawater. His chest rose and fell faintly, each breath a fragile reminder that he wasn't gone. Not yet.

The crewman's eyes darted over the water, taking in the wreckage, the floating remains of their past life. The ship was gone, swallowed whole in the chaos of cannon fire and blades. They had fought like devils, desperate to keep what little they had, but the enemy had been merciless.

He shook his head, teeth gritted against the ache in his muscles. "Damn it, Boss," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. "You're too bloody stubborn to die now. You hear me?"

The horizon stretched endlessly in every direction, empty and uncaring. He let out a sharp breath, defiant against the silence. He prayed they would not be left to rot. Just one chance. That's all Heat asked for.

The water lapped gently, the calm at odds with the carnage it held. The man tightened his grip on the plank, his gaze fixed on the captain. He would hold on. He had to.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

The fishing boat rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves, its occupants lost in the monotony of the open sea.

"Nothing but scraps today," muttered the younger man

"Patience, boy," the older fisherman said, his voice gravelly from years of salt air. "The sea gives what it will, when it's ready."

"Aye, but it's been stingy lately," said a third man. "We'll be lucky to bring home anything worth eating, let alone selling."

"Bah," the older man scoffed. "You're both too quick to despair. There's always something out here, if you've the eyes to see it."

"Maybe the sea's empty today," the younger one shot back, shielding his eyes as he scanned the horizon. "Nothing but the sun and water. I'd rather-wait." He squinted, his tone shifting. "There's something out there. Looks like wreckage."

"Wreckage?" the older man said, sitting straighter. He shaded his eyes, following the younger man's gaze.

Old Archie's eyes widened at the sight. There definitely was a fight that happened here. Woods floating, red water but more: people. "A fight this close to Elbaph? These guys gotta be pirates." They shared an understanding look. They lived on an island of outlaws. This bond of violence held moral laws. Outlaws helped each other out : that was Galvan's way of things. The old man whistled, calling the attention of all others. "Forget the fish," he called. "Today we're fishing men!" He called, pointing at the wreckage and bloodied waters.

Soon the fishermen sprinted across the deck, their urgency palpable. Some leaned dangerously over the railings, eyes scanning for survivors, while others formed human chains, pulling the soaked and shivering from the brink of despair. On that chaotic deck, hope lived, every heartbeat dedicated to saving lives.

Among those who have been saved from drowning, one coughed.

"This one's conscious!"

"Hang in there pal!"

The two new recruits called. Quickly, both boys got pushed away by Archie, who leaned by the pirate's side. "What's your name buddy?"

"...Heat."

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🔍Question of the day : What's your favourite meal?
I have a few I just can't decide on : pâté chinois, enchiladas and mustard pork chop. Which are all very different from one another.