The man stood on the execution platform with his arms bound in heavy chains, and his figure silhouetted against the after sun. His clothes were torn, stained with his dried blood and dirt from who knows how many days ago.
However, despite his poor state, his spirit remained unbroken. His eyes, still sharp and gleaming with defiance, swept over the thousands gathered below.
Civilians of old and young, criminals of both land and seas, and of course, the marines.
Each one of them was here to witness the end of a legend.
The end of his journey.
The executioner extended his leg, kicking the back of his knees and forced him to kneel.
Such a man, who was known to be the greatest man of the sea, captured and humiliated, one would think that he would explode. But he did not.
Instead, as death was looming over him, Roger grinned and let out a booming laugh, which startled everyone.
The sound of a deep carefree laugh rang over the square, silencing the crowd for a heartbeat. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a sign from the sickness that was draining away his vitality, yet his grin remained wide.
Knowing that all eyes on him, he threw his head back, and without hesitation, shouted, "A myth is not a mere myth! A legend is not a mere legend! My wealth and treasures? It can be yours if you seek for it! Explore the vast ocean, and claim it! Bwahahahaha! I left everything in that one place!"
The wind carried his voice, and each word searing itself into the minds of those who heard.
Once signaled, the executioners raised their blades, their edges gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
Time seemed to slow as Roger gazed upward, his eyes fixed on the endless blue sky. In that fleeting moment, he felt no fear, no regret. His heart was light, and his mind free. He had lived his life without restraint, and now, he would meet his end in the same way.
"STRIKE!"
As the blade fell, slicing through flesh and bone, his last sensation was the kiss of the wind on his face. His vision dimmed, yet his grin had never wavered. The world tilted as his head separated from his body, and in that final instant, his simple thought lingered.
'What a fine day!'
His head rolled onto the wooden platform with a dull thud, coming to rest at the feet of the stunned onlookers. Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd, a mix of horror and disbelief. But the man's severed head bore a haunting, infamous grin, his eyes twinkling with the remnants of a mirth that death could not erase.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of the wind. Those closest to the platform stood paralyzed, their gazes locked on the expression that defied death itself. In the annals of history, that grin would become a symbol.
It was a call to arms, a whisper of the treasure that lay waiting, and the dawn of a great era born from the final breath of a man who laughed in the face of oblivion.
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.
.
Elsewhere, dark clouds hid the sun, and a storm was brewing.
Soon, it was raining.
As the wind howled fiercely, heavy rain lashed against the windows of a scheduled cabin nestled deep in the woods. Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning briefly illuminated the dense forest, which casted eerie shadows across the landscape.
Despite the tempest raging outside, the cabin was warm and filled with comfort. Though small, it was furnished with meticulous care. The living room was dominated by a plush sofa, its cushions upholstered in rich, burgundy velvet. Thick curtains, made from heavy brocade, were drawn tightly over the windows, shielding the inhabitants from the storm's wrath. The wooden floor gleamed with a polished finish, and a rug of intricate design stretched across it, adding a touch of elegance. A crackling fire danced in the hearth, casting a gentle, golden glow over the room and filling the space with the scent of burning wood.
However, on this night, the cabin's tranquility was punctuated by a different sound. One that even the raging storm could not suppress.
From one of the rooms, the anguished cries of a woman in labor echoed.
"You're doing well, My Lady!" Another voice soothed, filled with calm urgency. "Just a little more. Push!"
A woman's moans heightened with each wave of pain, her strength waning as she labored to bring new life into the world. The air was thick with the tension of the moment, the storm outside a mirror to the storm within.
Then, as if splitting the night, a baby's wail pierced through the cabin. The cries were strong, full of life, a beacon of hope against the tempest.
"My Lady, it's a young miss!" the woman loyal attendant announced, her voice brimming with joy and relief. But before the woman could fully grasp the significance of those words, another contraction gripped her. The midwife's face grew serious once more as she realized there was still another life to be brought forth.
"Again, My Lady! You need to push again!"
With a renewed cry of effort, the woman pushed, the room heavy with anticipation. Moments later, another newborn's cries joined the first, a second child drawing its first breath.
However, the joy did not last long.
Two cries, but one cry grew stronger, while the other weakened, fading into a soft whimper before being swallowed by the storm.
On this night, where the howling wind and crashing thunder bore witness, birth and death intertwined. The storm raged on, but inside the cabin, a solemn hush settled, a poignant reminder of life's fragile balance.
.
.
.
There was nothing but darkness.
An endless void of abyss without any form or direction, and she was floating in its depth, weightless and unrestrained, yet she was vaguely aware. A heavy fog clouded her thoughts, becoming thick and suffocating. There was no sense of time, and she had no idea how long she had been in this state.
But she knew that she was not supposed to be here.
She tried to move, but nothing happened.
She tried to breathe, but there was no air.
Panic swelled within her, only to fizzle out like a spark in the rain. Emotions, sensations that came in fragments, like echoes of a life slipping through her fingers. Something told her she had been here before, in this nothingness, in this state of detachment.
But when? And why?
The answers danced beyond her grasp, taunting her from behind an impenetrable veil.
Then, a sudden whisper brushed against her mind.
"…ru…"
A voice? Or was it just her own thoughts unraveling?
She could not tell.
The sound was distant, swallowed by the vast silence, yet it sent a tremor through her being. It was familiar, and she felt like she should recognize it.
More murmurs followed, indistinct but insistent, like voices pressing against the edges of her consciousness. Shadows flickered in the void. Vague, shapeless figures she couldn't quite see, could not quite remember.
She reached for them, but her arms would not move. She tried to speak, but no sound managed to emerge from her mouth.
A dull ache throbbed in her chest, as memories rushed into hear head. They all came in blurred images of people, and scenes did not recognize yet the sense of familiarity was there.
It slipped away the moment she tried to reach for it, leaving only the aching emptiness behind.
Who was she? What had she lost?
The void around her trembled.
A sudden force suddenly yanked her downward.
All of a sudden, the void disappeared.
Light exploded in the darkness, blinding and all-consuming. Sensations rushed back all at once. The pain, the cold, and the rough bite of wind against her skin. Her lungs burned as she gasped, air flooding into her body like she had never breathed before.
Her limbs trembled. Her body curled in on itself, foreign and unfamiliar, as though she were inhabiting something that did not quite fit.
And then, sound.
A muffled cry, faint and hoarse.
It took her a moment to realize it had come from her own throat.
Panic flared, sudden and sharp. She could feel the chill of the air, the tightness of her limbs, and the weight of something coarse wrapped around her. Her fingers twitched, weak, clumsy. She wanted to move, to reach out, to know where she was, what was happening to her.
More sounds. Distant voices. Shadows loomed beyond the fog in her mind. They were speaking, murmuring words she could not yet decipher.
A hand touched her, warm and careful. Instinct made her flinch, but she lacked the strength to pull away. A hushed voice spoke above her, gentle, laced with something unreadable.
She knew nothing of this new environment. Nothing of what had happened to her. And yet, deep in her soul, there was a lingering unease, a quiet, insidious certainty that something was wrong.
All she knew was that she had been somewhere else.
And now… she was not.