Ballad for the Drowned and the Wandering ~Trafalgar Law

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"Run. Run. Run! Don't stop! - she thought with every step - Why?! Why me?!" she panted, choking on smoke.

Before her eyes an apocalyptic scene unfolded: houses collapsing like sandcastles in the wind, swallowed by fire; the forest, once a centuries-old refuge, reduced to ashes and silence.
The smoke was thick, black, everywhere.
Flames roared, devouring the green and consuming bodies. Her family. Even the damned Marines. Death made no distinction between victims and executioners.

So why was she still breathing?
What was her sin? Something so bad that she had to survive?
Why was she still alive while the others were now free?

It didn't matter. Not now. Some instinct stronger than she ever thought told her to run toward the beach, away from the firestorm behind her.

She was barefoot, limping, running with all she had.

Her lungs burned with every breath, expanding and collapsing under the weight of the smoke.
Her dress, once sky-blue, was torn and soaked in blood. Her own.
The very same liquid trickled from her nose and from the corners of her eyes. A sign she had used her power.
Her eyes— red and hollow —scanned desperately for the safest path through that hell.
Her skin, once pearly and unblemished, was now scratched, bruised, smeared with blood. Her veins pulsed, painfully visible.

No one screamed anymore. No one was left. Just her.

Only her ragged breathing broke the silence alongside the endless crackling of fire.

Suddenly she tripped and fell into a puddle of blood.
In front of her, a familiar face: a clansman. Even in death his eyes, wide with pain and fear, were still staring at her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she screamed in her mind.

Her young face twisted with grief. Her small hands sank into the blood of her own people.

But she got back up. Somehow. And kept running, heading north.

She only realized she was close when finally she breathed clean air.
Her lungs froze. And then she saw it: the sea, vast and real.
She ran faster. Sand beneath her feet.

It was the middle of the night.

The moon was red. Was it from the fire or just one of those nights when the moon matched her people's eyes? No one would ever know.

Then she saw it. A Marine warship. No soldiers in sight. They were all dead.

She desperately climbed aboard and made her way through the ship.

No footsteps. No voices. Even the usual creaking of the deck had stopped.
The whole ship seemed to be holding its breath suspended in some timeless limbo.

After the roar of the explosions, that silence felt unreal.
Like the ship belonged to another world.

Suddenly, a strange snail-shaped object rang in the command room. A voice came through: «Unit Four, report! Unit Four! We're sending reinforcements!»

Then, silence. Her legs finally gave out. She collapsed under the weight of that nightmare.
When she arrived ther, she realised that she hadn't even had time to cry, to think, to process anything that was happening.
Suddenly, a stack of papers fluttered to the floor in front of her.

Her photo. Her name.

An arrest warrant.

Hiam Kurahi.

And just like that, everything made sense.

She was the target. She was the one meant to die.

«Then why am I alive?» she whispered hoarsely.

They had hunted Hiam for the same reason her clan had been imprisoned on that island, forbidden to leave.

She hadn't asked for this power. Hadn't asked to carry any of it.
She never asked to be born.
And now, just because she was alive, everyone else had to die.

Her veins pulsed violently. The capillaries under her skin burst and new bruises bloomed.
The clean air was suddenly not enough.
Tears she'd held back for so long finally spilled mixing with the blood.

The dream of becoming a strong leader for her people, of building a future for her little brother. Everything shattered.
And in its place, a new weight settled: the curse of being born with a power no one wanted.

"It's all my fault."

A single tear fell, hitting the floor with a dull sound.

Like a slap.

Somewhere deep inside her, something clicked. She forced herself back on her feet.

The Marine's words echoed in her head: they were sending reinforcements.

But what was the point of running now? Where would she even go?
What was the point of surviving if she was the only one left?

Still, her legs moved. Like the first time. They carried her again.

Survival, pure and primal.

She remembered the lifeboats. When she was still on the beach, she'd seen them hanging along the side of the ship.

She ran.

No time to think. No time to stop.

She yanked the metal lever.
A lifeboat crashed into the sea and she jumped.

She grabbed the oars.
With her right arm, she pushed off from the warship.

And she rowed.

Toward the moon that was now slowly sinking into the sea.

Yes, she had survived—but what now?

No food. No water. No way to go.
It was her first time leaving the island.
And now, she was completely lost in the endlessness of the New World.
Alone, drifting in the dark ocean.

Then, the vast sea vanished, replaced by the cracked wall of a room.

Her eyes snapped open.
She reached for the ceiling. Her skin burned with sweat.
She touched her drenched face.
Her fingers were stained in red.

Her nose was bleeding.

Still trembling, she let out a sigh.
Crushed by the weight of that memory.