I remember that I was still drunk in the harbor.
I staggered along the pier so badly that I nearly fell into the water, and when I finally managed to climb aboard the Harpy, I leaned over the railing and threw up at the last possible moment.
Yet no matter how deep the alcohol haze was, it had never fooled my sense of navigation. Even after three days of drinking, I could say with complete certainty that a storm was approaching Atlantis.
A perfect moment to sail.
And to one of the Cursed Islands.
"Captainess! The storm will tear the sails apart! The crew doesn't want to go!" the petty officer shouted over the rising wind.
I looked at him like a madwoman and leaned over the railing again, swearing silently—as I had sworn a million times before—that I would never drink another drop of alcohol for the rest of my life.
A pious wish, Pebble.
Tomorrow you'll get drunk again.And the day after tomorrow.And the day after that.
Again and again.
Because you're an alcoholic.
It was a bitter thought. Ray had always said that. And the worst part? He had always been right.
The sky had already turned navy blue even though it was barely afternoon.
Just like the day of the battle at Edd.
We had won then.
So we would win now.
I will win.
I have to.
"Everyone! Sails!" I shouted, swaying dangerously with the movement of the ship.
I grabbed the petty officer by his dirty shirt and pulled him closer.
"We sail out even if this ship sinks at the end! If someone doesn't like it—overboard!"
I shoved him away and fixed him with a furious glare.
At the same time the whirlpool in my stomach calmed slightly.
The storm had followed me from the very beginning of this expedition.
Literally.
When I left Logue Town, I had been running straight into it.
And since I survived that chaos, this one would not be the exception.
Not now.
Not when a faint glimmer of hope had finally appeared in my miserable life.
Not after everything I had been through.
I will not drown.
A pebble never sinks.
I walked across the rocking deck without losing my balance even when the waves began to strike harder.
The crew was afraid. Twice as afraid if they had heard the rumors. None of them dared resist me.
After all, they were trapped between a hammer and an anvil: the storm… or an angry captainess.
Most of them decided that I was worse.
They rolled the sails obediently. The rest followed like sheep.
Which, in my opinion, they were.
If the ship went down, it would go down with the entire crew. And frankly, I didn't need them for anything. The waves rose higher and higher.
First they crashed against the bow, slamming into the figurehead, lifting the front of the ship dangerously high before rolling toward the stern.
The Harpy tilted at a dangerous angle.
"We'll break through!" I declared and seized the helm myself, fighting off another wave of nausea.
"And don't you dare be surprised, Jones," I muttered through clenched teeth, "if you don't see me in your Locker today!"
According to the old legends, the Forbidden—also called the Cursed—Islands were nothing more than a handful of tiny beaches where nothing grew.
From one shore you could see the other.
In fact, you could see all the islands at once.
They looked completely insignificant.
But on the Grand Line nothing ever appeared the way it truly was.
Apparently something strange happened there after sunset.
The stories said that terrible things occurred whenever storms surrounded the archipelago.
As if the sea itself was trying to keep sailors away.
Edward once told me that only fools sailed there looking for anything but death.
I respected him.
And I respected his judgment.
But when I sailed toward those islands, I spat on everything that was reasonable.
Still, something inside me resisted.
A quiet voice whispering that the entire voyage was pointless.
That I would find nothing on the Cursed Islands.
No one lived there.
There was nothing there.
So why was I going?
For a dream.
For hope.
For something that did not exist and could never exist.
And yet I was determined to find it.
I was ready to bet everything on a single card.
Nothing could stop me.
Not even that quiet voice whispering in my head:
Ralagan… give up.
After all, I could still turn back.
I could leave peaceful Atlantis behind, find that fool Silver, and figure out how to spend the rest of my life doing something other than drinking myself to death.
When I thought about my old friend—someone I loved dearly—I felt that strange sweetness that always accompanies memories.
The kind that belongs to things that are gone…
…but not entirely.
Because I could return to Ray whenever I wanted.
Day or night.
He would be waiting.
But when I thought about my current state, I felt nothing but disgust.
Of course.
Just show up like this.
After all these years.
Looking like some drunken old woman who had lost her mind.
The idea was impossible.
At least at that moment.
Besides, I intended to return to Silver eventually—once I had achieved my goal.
And when that happened… we would finally be together again. I would live the life I had always wanted.
Hah!
What a beautiful plan.
And how much I had already paid for it…