The Grand Line was about as Varin expected—not that he thought the damned sea would've changed during his time apart—but the chaos was nothing short of hilarious. Storm squalls rose and fell in the span of heartbeats, clouds shredding apart as if the heavens themselves were drunk. One moment, the ship was rocking beneath blistering sun, the next it was groaning under the weight of sudden downpour, rain hammering so hard it felt like the sky was trying to drown them outright.
Varin stood at the rail through most of it, cloak plastered to his frame, watching the absurdity with the same bemused expression one might wear at a tavern brawl they weren't involved in. The sea raged, the winds snapped at the sails, but he looked more entertained than concerned. Every time Nami barked a course correction, he swore he caught the faintest quiver of panic in her voice—yet her hands on the wheel never faltered. The lass was good, no doubt about that. She was holding the Merry steady in waters that would've torn lesser ships apart.
But the rest of the crew? That was the true comedy.
Luffy laughed like a maniac, trying to climb the mast mid-storm just to "get a better view," only to be yanked back by a snarling Zoro. Usopp screamed about the end of the world every five minutes, clutching his tools like they were holy relics while insisting the ship was splitting in half. Sanji cursed every time a wave threatened to wash him across the deck, but still darted back into the galley between swells, muttering about
But the best was when the snow came.
One heartbeat it was clear skies, the next, the Merry was swallowed by a whiteout, the deck buried knee-deep in snow almost instantly as though some giant hand had dumped the entire peak of a mountain onto them. The sea itself steamed from the sudden drop in temperature, frost creeping up the rails like skeletal fingers.
Nami had bolted the moment the flakes began to fall, snatching up her coat and wrapping it tight, muttering furiously under her breath about how "freezing to death is not how I'm going out." She disappeared into the kitchen with a speed Varin didn't think humanly possible, her glare alone daring anyone to question her choice. Sanji, naturally, followed after, moving back and forth like a wind-up toy, ferrying blankets, steaming mugs, and who knew what else into the galley—though it was very clear his actual purpose was making sure Nami was comfortable in her chosen fortress.
The "mysterious" Mister Nine and Miss Wednesday had already retreated into that same shelter, both shivering like drowned rats. The girl clutched her coat so tightly around her shoulders it was a miracle the seams didn't burst, while Mister Nine's teeth chattered in such a steady rhythm Varin half expected him to start keeping time with it.
The rest of the crew, however, were far less concerned.
Usopp and Luffy had immediately declared war the moment the first snow hit the deck. Snowballs flew with deadly precision, and to Varin's mild amusement, Usopp was alarmingly good at it—every shot from his hand curved and smacked dead-center into Luffy's face, chest, or head no matter how much the captain stretched or ducked. Luffy, of course, laughed even harder every time he got nailed, scooping up more snow in his rubbery arms until he looked like some monstrous snowman charging headlong into battle. Their shrieks and howls echoed off the ice-coated sails, turning what should have been a deadly blizzard into something resembling a festival.
And then there was Zoro.
The swordsman hadn't moved since the snow began to fall. He was slumped against the mast, arms crossed, breath fogging faintly in the frigid air, as though he'd decided the middle of a sudden blizzard was the perfect spot for a nap. If not for the fact that he lazily swatted a snowball out of the air—still asleep—Varin might have thought the fool had frozen solid where he sat.
The cold bit deep, sharp and clean, but to Varin it was less a burden than a balm. He had always fared better in the chill than in the burning sun—the days of endless sun they'd endured since setting sail had barely touched him, his skin remaining stubbornly pale no matter how many hours he spent under the open sky. He supposed he was doomed to wear that ghostly pallor forever, though he never much cared for looks.
This kind of weather, though—this was his element. The suddenness of it, the way the world could flip from calm seas to choking blizzards in the span of a heartbeat, it stirred something buried in him. Memories that had gone quiet for a long while clawed their way back to the surface. How the Grand Line worked, the cruel tricks of its weather, the sheer indifference of the sea to those who sailed her. He remembered storms that rose without warning, hail the size of fists pelting decks to splinters, seas turning to glass under sheets of lightning—and he remembered surviving them, barely, by instinct and grit.
He exhaled, watching the fog of his breath curl in the frozen air. Nami would have to face this herself—she already knew the Grand Line wasn't a sea to be charted by common sense, but living it, learning the rhythm of its madness… that was different. He could warn her, he supposed. Spare her some trial, ease her burden with what he knew. But then, he thought of her pride, the sharp way she carried herself, the certainty with which she clutched her tools and drew her maps.
No. Better she stumble a little, better she figure it out by her own hand. Some lessons, if handed down, only turned to salt in the mouth.
He smirked faintly, brushing the snow from his shoulders. "Aye, lass," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was speaking to her though she wasn't there, "you'll manage well enough. You've teeth sharper than this sea."
Then—as though the ocean had heard his words and taken offense—the Grand Line bared its fangs.
The next two hours were unrelenting hell. What began as a blizzard turned into a gauntlet of chaos that shifted without rhyme or reason. Snow gave way to pounding rain, then to gales that howled like banshees, only to cut away again to blinding sunlight so bright it turned the ocean into a silver sheet—before plunging back into black clouds and thunder that cracked so close the whole ship seemed to jump beneath their feet. Icebergs appeared out of nowhere, rising like jagged teeth from the depths, monstrous and silent until the Going Merry was nearly upon them.
Nami clung to the wheel, knuckles white, her voice hoarse from shouting orders that were outpaced by the storm itself. Every time she thought she'd adjusted course to dodge a tower of ice, another would slide out from the mist, forcing her to wrench the Merry in the opposite direction. The ship groaned under the strain, timbers creaking, sails snapping like whips in the gale.
Usopp had long since abandoned snowball fights, his voice shrieking over the storm as he darted from line to line, desperately tying off whatever ropes threatened to slip free. His arms and legs pinwheeled wildly as he tried to keep balance, cursing the sea and swearing that this was the end—that no man had ever faced such a storm and lived.
Luffy, infuriatingly, wasn't afraid. If anything, he was exhilarated, clinging to the mast like a child riding a swing, yelling about how amazing it all was as though the storm had been conjured for his amusement. He only helped when Nami screamed at him to, and even then, it was with the same casual ease as though he were playing.
Sanji darted between the deck and the kitchen, abandoning his earlier concern for keeping everyone fed. He gritted his teeth, cursing as he grabbed ropes to help Varin secure the sails or kick Luffy back toward where he was needed. His cigarette had been lost in the first gust, and his patience wasn't far behind.
And Zoro—Zoro slept through it all. Not just a light doze, either, but the dead weight of someone who had no intention of acknowledging the chaos around him. At one point, a wave so large it seemed to rise like a wall crashed over the deck, sweeping Zoro clear across from one railing to the other. He landed with a heavy thud, water streaming off him, and without so much as cracking an eye open, he adjusted the position of his swords and went right back to snoring.
Varin worked without complaint, his broad shoulders and steady hands making him a natural bulwark against the chaos. When the Merry lurched violently toward an iceberg, he was the one who braced the ropes, muscles straining, keeping the sails from tearing free. When the deck iced over and Usopp nearly went sprawling into the sea, Varin's hand shot out and caught him by the back of his shirt, hauling him upright before returning to the lines without so much as a word.
Even the so-called prisoners—Mister 9 and Miss Wednesday—had been forced to lend a hand. Whatever dignity or secrecy they clung to was drowned in the storm. Mister 9 scrambled awkwardly about, wielding his strange iron bat not as a weapon but as a makeshift brace to jam into railings, giving him something to cling to as he tied ropes where Nami barked for them. Miss Wednesday—clearly no sailor—had paled beneath her elegant airs, skirts whipping around her legs as she struggled to steady barrels and supplies from rolling across the deck.
The hours stretched long, and the sea seemed determined to crush the Merry into splinters. Each moment was a new threat—iceberg, lightning, sudden whirlpool, or winds that tore the sails one way then the other. Yet through it all, the crew endured, ragged and soaked to the bone but alive.
Varin's smirk had long since vanished, replaced by a grim determination. He moved with the storm, not against it, eyes scanning for the next threat, hands never still. When at last a lull came—not calm, but a pause in the ocean's torment—it was all he could do to lean back against the railing, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead with ice and saltwater.
He cast a glance skyward, half in exhaustion, half in disbelief. "Aye… spiteful bastard, aren't you?" he muttered at the sea itself, the words torn away by the wind.
At least he was still standing. His boots were braced wide against the slick deck, legs steady even as the Merry rocked underfoot. The same could not be said of the others.
Nami was draped over the railing that led up to the ship's upper deck, her hair plastered to her face, shoulders heaving with shallow breaths. For a terrible moment Varin thought she might've been lost, her body limp and unmoving save for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Then he caught it—a broken murmur on her lips, words too faint and slurred to make out but constant enough to remind him that she hadn't given up. The girl had fought the storm like a lioness, and now she hung there, half-spent but not defeated, whispering calculations to herself even in exhaustion.
The others had fared worse. Sanji was sprawled near the mast, one arm over his eyes, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Usopp lay on his back a few feet away, limbs splayed like a marionette with its strings cut, groaning something about how he'd never forgive the sea for trying to assassinate him. The two pseudo-prisoners weren't much better—Miss Wednesday collapsed in a heap of tangled skirts, hair stuck to her cheeks with salt and snow, while Mister 9 clutched his strange bat like it was a lifeline, rolling onto his side with a pitiful wheeze.
It was a battlefield without swords—just the storm itself as the enemy, and it had left nearly everyone broken.
Everyone but one.
Luffy stood at the bow, grinning ear to ear, water streaming down his straw hat as though he didn't even notice. He looked like a child who had just gotten off the world's wildest ride, not a captain who had nearly lost his ship to the Grand Line's fury. It could be because he had eaten their lunch—Sanji had spent half the morning cooking rice cakes for endurance, careful little parcels meant to keep them going through the unpredictable hell of the voyage. Luffy had eaten nearly all of them before anyone else had a chance, leaving crumbs, empty wrappers, and the faintest smell of rice lingering on the deck.
Varin couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped his throat, though it was as much disbelief as amusement. "You'd dance through Ragnarök with a smile, wouldn't you?"
Luffy only threw his arms behind his head, rocking back on his heels as though the storm hadn't happened at all. "That was awesome!" he shouted, eyes shining with unshakable delight. "Do you think there's gonna be an even bigger one next?!"
The words sent a groan rumbling from Usopp, who rolled weakly onto his side and pointed an accusing finger without lifting his head. "Shut up… or I'll throw you to the next one…"
Varin shook his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Madness. Utter madness. And yet, for all the chaos, for all the exhaustion dragging at his limbs, there was a strange sort of steadiness in his chest. They'd endured it—and somehow, that was enough.
The next few minutes were equally entertaining in their own absurd way.
Zoro, who had slept through icebergs, waves, and wind that would've ripped a lesser man from the deck, finally stirred. He stretched like a man waking from a comfortable nap, let out a yawn loud enough to carry over the creak of the ship, and blinked blearily at the wreckage of bodies around him.
"What the hell's wrong with you lot?" he asked flatly, scratching the back of his head as though the sight of half the crew sprawled across the deck was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Storm wasn't that bad. Lazy bunch of—"
He didn't finish the sentence because a very real storm descended on him in the form of Nami.
She had barely the strength to stand, still pale and trembling from the ordeal, but sheer fury burned away her exhaustion. With murder in her eyes, she stomped down from the railing and slammed her fist into the side of his head hard enough to rattle his teeth. "LAZY?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with equal parts exhaustion and rage. "You slept through all of it! We nearly died, and you call us lazy?!"
Zoro staggered, blinking in honest confusion as though he hadn't seen the issue. "What? I woke up fine, didn't I?"
Another punch. This one even sharper, and accompanied by Nami grabbing him by the collar to shake him like an unruly child. "You call that fine?! You're supposed to help, idiot! What if the ship went under?!"
By now Sanji had roused himself enough to push up on one elbow, cigarette half-bent between his fingers, and a smug grin crawled onto his face. "Serves you right, moss head. Sleeping while Nami-swan was working herself to the bone…"
"Shut up, cook," Zoro grumbled, ducking out of Nami's grip, though the red welt on his cheek betrayed just how little choice he'd had in the matter.
Luffy, of course, was doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly toppled into the ocean. "Zoro, you looked so funny when Nami punched you!"
Varin couldn't stop the chuckle that slipped out. The storm might've left them battered, but watching a swordsman, a navigator, a cook, a liar, and a captain squabble like children after surviving nature's wrath—it was a kind of chaos he hadn't seen till this crew, and he was enjoying it.
Varin caught something out of the corner of his eye, the faintest shift on the horizon that pricked at the edges of his instincts. He pushed himself off the railing with a grunt, boots thudding against the deck, and brought two fingers to his lips. The whistle he gave wasn't sharp or panicked—just low, steady, and commanding, enough to slice through the chatter that still lingered after the storm's chaos.
The deck quieted at once. Usopp froze mid-gesture, his half-finished story dying on his tongue. Nami stopped scolding Zoro, her grip loosening on his collar without thought. Sanji straightened, flicking ash from his cigarette, while even Luffy—balanced absurdly on the railing with his arms stretched wide—twisted his head toward Varin at the sound.
They didn't even need him to point. Their gazes followed his, and silence rolled over them like a wave.
There it was—an island taking shape ahead of them, stark against the glimmering sea. At first it seemed like jagged cliffs, but as the ship drew closer, the truth revealed itself: colossal cactus spires, towering into the sky, their ridged sides catching the sunlight in sharp bands of shadow and glare. They rose not like plants but like stone monoliths, standing sentinel over the coastline. Between them yawned a valley, wide and dark, a river gleaming like a silver ribbon as it wound inland.
The place felt wrong. Not just strange—wrong. The way the cacti leaned seemed deliberate, framing the valley like a maw waiting to snap shut. The river shimmered with promise, but the deeper it cut into the land, the more it looked like a trail meant to lure rather than guide.
Luffy's grin broke the stillness first, loud and unbothered as ever. "Cactuses! Giant cactuses! We're going there!" His laughter carried on the breeze, wild and bright.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh that sounded far too tired for her age. "Of course we are. The Grand Line doesn't know how to hand out normal islands." Still, her eyes sharpened, flicking over every ridge and shadow, already turning what she saw into mental charts and bearings.
Usopp's knees knocked together audibly. He pointed, hand trembling. "I-I bet those aren't even real cactuses! Those are monsters! Huge… prickly, cactus-eating monsters waiting to… to… to eat us!"
Zoro snorted, rubbing the back of his neck where Nami's fist had left its mark. "Monsters, plants—doesn't matter. If there's a river, there's water. That's all we need."
Sanji exhaled smoke, the tip of his cigarette glowing faintly. "And where there's water, there's fish. Which means dinner. So unless you all want to starve, that valley's our best shot."
Varin said nothing at first. He leaned against the railing again, eyes narrowed at the looming silhouettes. His arms folded loosely across his chest, and he let the silence stretch until the others half-expected him not to speak at all. But then, in that low rumble of his, touched with that faint accent that slipped free whenever he stopped guarding his tone, he finally gave his judgment.
"Aye," he murmured. "That's no welcoming sight. Island like that looks more like a trap than safe harbor." He let the words hang heavy in the salt-thick air before adding, almost begrudgingly, "But better to risk teeth on land than rot at sea."
Varin was pushed—or rather, someone attempted to push him. Miss Wednesday, wobbling on her sea-legs and still dripping wet, had gotten up with all the grace of a drunk sailor. She threw her shoulder against him in some bastardized attempt at dominance, but the result was pitiful. Varin didn't even shift. It was like she had tried to shove a wall. She ended up stumbling sideways, slipping on the soaked deck with a sharp squeak before sprawling down flat, cursing under her breath.
Still, she didn't stop. She scrambled halfway up, hair hanging in tangled strands around her face, her words firing out even if her body betrayed how weak she was.
"It's not all cactus, moron," she snapped, voice cutting through the slap of the waves. "There's a village in the middle."
Varin tilted his head slightly, his broad shoulders dusted with spray, and looked down at her as though she'd just declared the sky was blue. "Aye? Village means people," he said in his rough, even tone. Then he let the silence drag long enough for her indignation to waver before finishing, "People means likely enemies—considering the jolly roger we're flying."
That brought the others' attention quick. Usopp immediately went pale, stammering as he wrung his hands. "Y-y-you're right! Villages out here aren't safe! They'll have mobs! Or traps! Or—or cactus-shaped cannons, I bet!"
Zoro stretched where he sat, cracking an eye open with the most unimpressed expression alive. "If they're enemies, I cut them down. End of story."
Sanji lit another cigarette, the ember glowing in the wind. "Villages mean food. I don't care if they spit in our faces—if they've got fresh meat and vegetables, I'm going ashore."
Nami said nothing at first, her arms folded tight as she glared at the island ahead. The massive cactus spires clawed at the sky like jagged spears, and her frown deepened as if she could smell the trouble from here.
Before she could speak, there was a sudden scrape of boots on wood. Mister Nine, with all the grand flourish of a performer who had rehearsed this a hundred times, clambered onto the railing. His ridiculous crown bobbed precariously as he spread his arms wide like he was about to dive into glory itself. Beside him, Miss Wednesday staggered up, still disheveled but burning with dramatic fire, striking a pose that might've been impressive if not for the bruise already forming on her knee from her earlier fall.
"Farewell, fools!" Mister Nine declared, his voice far too loud for someone standing three feet away. "You've been… tolerable company!"
"And don't think this is the last you've seen of us!" Miss Wednesday added, flicking her soaked hair back with as much dignity as she could muster. Her blue eyes flashed, though the effect was slightly ruined by the fact she was shivering. "Fate will reunite us—and when it does, you'll regret underestimating us!"
Before anyone could cut in—before Usopp could protest or Sanji could simper or Luffy could laugh—they both leapt, arms crossed dramatically over their chests.
The splash was heavy, the water swallowing them whole for a moment before two bobbing heads broke the surface. Then, with shocking speed, they began cutting through the waves, strokes sharp and efficient. For all their ridiculousness, the two swam like trained otters, their bodies slicing through the surf faster than anyone on deck would've guessed.
Varin leaned slightly over the railing, brow raised, watching the rippling trail they left behind. "Hnh," he grunted after a beat. "Swim like bloody dolphins, don't they?"
Usopp blinked rapidly, leaning out beside him. "Wait—seriously?! They're actually swimming away? Just like that?!"
Sanji flicked his cigarette overboard with a sigh. "Good riddance."
Zoro had already closed his eyes again, unmoved. "Less mouths to feed."
Nami didn't say a word—she only kept staring at the looming cacti on the horizon, her frown deeper than before.