You don't remember falling asleep.
There's a stillness at first... an odd... weightless calm. A strange kind of peace as wind brushes against your face like a whisper, cool and constant, tugging gently at your clothes.
You're floating... or maybe flying... or maybe...
Your eyes blink open slowly, stung by the light.
The sky is wide and blue above you, impossibly endless, streaked with lazy clouds. You squint against the sun, trying to make sense of it, your thoughts sluggish and tangled.
Then it hits you.
You're not floating... You're falling!
Instantly, panic slams into your chest as your senses snap into focus. The wind isn't gentle anymore, but roaring past your ears, pulling at your limbs like it wants to tear you apart and you flail, trying to twist your body, to see. To understand.
You look down.
A vast, glittering ocean stretches beneath you. Endless. Deep. Unforgiving.
Your breath catches in your throat and you open your mouth to scream, but the sound never comes. The sea rushes up to meet you like a fist. And then... Impact.
The world goes white as you hit the water.
A violent, crushing cold slams into your body. It wraps around you like chains, stealing the air from your lungs before you can even scream. But you try anyway.
A desperate, instinctive sound bubbles out of your throat, but all that rushes in is salt water. It burns going down, stinging your nose, your throat, your chest. Then, panic claws at your insides and you thrash, coughing and choking, your limbs flailing in every direction.
Where's up?
Everything is spinning. The surface... where is the surface?
Your arms cut through the water blindly. Your legs kick, heavy and slow, your clothes dragging you down like anchors. Still, you fight them. You fight the pull even though your chest screams for air and your vision flickers at the edges.
Move. Just move. Don't stop.
Then, suddenly, light. There's a shimmer above and you push toward it, muscles burning, and just when your lungs are ready to give out you finally break the surface.
Immediately, air crashes into you like a second impact. You gasp, coughing violently, sucking in oxygen like it's the only thing keeping your soul tethered to your body. You float there, just barely, limbs trembling, waves rocking you as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
You suck in another deep breath, the air ragged in your throat, your chest still tight from the salt water you swallowed. But then something shifts.
A shadow falls over you, blotting out the sun.
You blink through the sting in your eyes, struggling to focus. The glint of sunlight off polished wood. The creak of rigging. A towering hull rising above you like a fortress.
A ship. No. A giant ship.
Your head tips back so far it nearly unhinges your neck. It towers over you like a floating fortress, casting a shadow across the water. The hull alone could be a cliffside, and above it, lined up along the railing, are people.
Dozens of them.
They stare down in eerie silence, frozen in mid-motion. Shirtless or half-dressed, all of them are sun-darkened and scarred from battle or sea. Some wear bandanas. One has a pipe in his mouth, forgotten. Another's wide grin falters into a confused grimace like he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing.
Which... to be fair, neither do you.
You notice how one man holds a half-eaten apple. Another grips a mop, water still dripping from it. And someone with a tattooed arm blinks slowly, brow furrowed. Then, somewhere behind them, someone mutters, "What the hell..."
The moment hangs. Breathless. Unreal.
The moment hangs... suspended and unreal.
Your heart is still hammering from the fall, from the shock of cold, from the sheer insanity of whatever just happened. You don't even know what to say. So, you just float there, staring up at them like a shipwrecked ghost.
Then, finally, someone up top speaks. A deep voice. Calm. Curious. "...Well, that's a first."
Instantly, laughter breaks out, scattered and startled, like the world just unpaused.
But you're not laughing with them.
Instead, you cough again, harder this time. Saltwater burns your throat, and your libs are beginning to shake from the cold. Then, you lift a trembling hand, barely above the surface, but enough to remind them that you're still here. Still sinking.
And then... Silence.
The laughter cuts off like a knife and every muscle, every motion on that deck pivots at once. Their focus narrows.
"Rope! Now!" someone bellows and instantly boots thunder across the planks. Voices overlap, sharp, commanding, urgent but ever chaotic.
"She's slipping under!" One who doesn't dare to take his eyes off you yells to the others behind him.
"Tie it off at the post!" You hear another man demanding but don't really understand what he means by that.
"Get it to her hands," another yells. "Don't miss!"
The shift is staggering. They truly move like a crew that's done this a hundred times... different emergencies, same urgency. No hesitation. No wasted motion.
Then, a thick rope sails through the air in a perfect arc and lands with a splash in front of you only a moment later. The end bobs on the waves, close. Close enough to grab.
So, you lunge for it with what little strength you have left. Your fingers fumble the coarse fiber once and then twice before they catch. It's rough, wet, and heavy in your grip. Your hands can barely close around it, muscles trembling from cold and exhaustion.
But you hold on.
And the second you do, the rope goes taunt with a holt that nearly rips it from your grip. You bite down a cry and cling harder, using your entire body to keep from slipping free.
"Got her!" You hear one of the many voices say.
"Pull!" Comes the command. "One three!"
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
The rope goes taunt with a violent jerk. The ship looms closer with every pull, growing massive, real, and overwhelming. The wooden hull, dark and slick with seawater, rushes up toward you like it's breathing.
You look up and notice how the figures become sharper now: faces set in grim focus, muscles straining, boots braces against the deck.
Your arms burn as they begin to pull you out of the water and up the wall of their gigantic ship. And this is when it happens... you're halfway up when the rhythm falters and your grip buckles just slightly causing your body to drop a few inches with a jolt.
Someone screams, "She's slipping!"
"Hold on!" another bellows.
"Don't let go, girl!"
"I'm trying," you gasp out, voice hoarse and thin, but it tears from your throat like a promise. Still, the rope sears your palms, and your shoulders scream with every inch, but you refuse to let go.
The moment wavers. A beat too long. Too quiet.
And then you hear them again. "Pull faster!"
"Get her over the railing!" another one commands. "Now!"
They move like a tide, like one force with many arms as the ship sways beneath them, but their footing holds. Rope certainly burns against calloused hands as they heave, yelling to each other, pushing harder and faster.
And then, finally, your fingers scrape wood.
Instantly, hands grab for you. Rough, strong, certain as they drag you the rest of the way up and over, your body half-limp as you're hauled across the railing and slammed down onto solid deck with a wet thud.
Saltwater pools beneath you. Your lungs seize in a breathless cough. All around you: heavy boots, wide eyes, and panting chests.
You made it.
Barely.
But you made it.
Before you can catch a breath, however, shadows fall over you... dozens of them and those shadows have questions... equally as many. The questions come at you in a tangle of voices, some sharp, some concerned, all too fast to track.
Someone even crouches in front of you, waving a hand. "Is she breathing?" Before getting pulled back by someone else. "Get away from her. We don't know where the hell she even comes from."
"She fell out of the sky, right?" another one asks. "You guys saw that too, right?"
"Oi, look at me," one of them approaches you again. "Are you okay?"
"Someone get her water!"
Smack, like the person who said that got hit on his head. "No, idiot, she just had water. She needs to breathe!"
They're everywhere, hovering, pacing, shouting over one another. You can't even tell who's speaking anymore. You whip your head from one face to the next, blinking past the salt and panic, trying to find something to latch onto.
But every voice blurs into the next.
The whole time your heart is still racing, your body is soaked and shaking, and the deck feels like it's slowly tilting beneath you. This is when you notice that your head spins.
But then, cutting through it all like a blade through cloth you hear a single voice. Calm. Deep. Steady. "Give her some space, yoi."
And just like that, the noise falters. The men were still, parting like the sea. You don't know who spoke, not yet, but every one of the men around you listens.
And suddenly, you can breathe again.
Then you hear it... boots thud softly against the deck in a measured and unhurried way. A figure steps into view as the others instinctively move aside, making space like this happens all the time, like they know better than to argue.
He crouches in front of you, bringing himself to your level. Blond hair, tousled by the sea breeze, and a calm, steady gaze.
"You're alright?" he asks, voice low, almost warm. "Can you stand, yoi?"
You blink at him, your body swaying slightly where you sit. You try. Really, you do. Your arms tremble as you push against the soaked wood. Legs unsteady beneath you, like they've forgotten what solid ground feels like.
You only manage to rise halfway, and then your knees buckle. However, before you can fall, hands catch you. Strong, sure, without hesitation.
"I've got you," he says simply.
You don't have the strength to argue. One arm slips around your waist with ease, his other hand steadying your shoulder as he helps you to your feet. The world tilts again, and you feel the heat of his body against yours, anchoring you against the spinning deck.
However, he doesn't rush you. Just waits, holding you steady while the rest of the men watch in a rare moment of quiet.
"Better, yoi?" he asks.
You nod faintly, too exhausted to speak, but grateful for the calm within the storm. Unfortunately, you barely have time to settle into the quiet before the air shifts again, heaving now. Thicker.
A low rumble rolls across the deck, not from the sea, but from the ship itself. The wood creaks beneath massive, deliberate footsteps. The kind that silences conversations. The kind that demands attention without a single word.
The crew straightens, parting once more, but this time with a reverence that is much more than simple respect. And then you feel him before you even see him.
A towering shadow stretches across the deck, causing you to lift your head, slowly, hesitantly, and then you see him.
A giant of a man, broad as the mast, with a crescent mustache like the arc of the moon and the presence so vast it swallows the sky. His coat drapes from his shoulders like a cape, billowing behind him, and every step he takes feels like thunder rolling across the sea.
Your breath catches.
Your knees go weak.
And for a terrifying second, you think you might actually pass out because he's looking straight at you.
And though his expression isn't unkind, it's simply too much. Too big, too real. Like staring at a legend dragged out of storybooks and given flesh and blood and impossible size.
Your body trembles and without thinking, your hands clutch at the man beside you, digging into the damp fabric of his purple shirt, desperate for something steady, something human.
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't shrug you off, but his arm tightens slightly around you, holding you firm, grounding you as the giant approaches. He stops just a few feet away, his shadow spilling over you.
You can barely breathe.
He tilts his head down to look at you properly. Eyes sharp, but not cruel. Curious, maybe. Calculating. His voice, when it comes, is like distant thunder, deep, rolling, and heavy enough to settle in your bones.
"Well now," he rumbles, the corners of his mouth lifting in something that might be a smile, though it feels like it could crush you. "You've had quite the fall, haven't you?"
You flinch, unable to answer. Your lips part, but no sound comes. Your throat tightens as the weight of his gaze presses harder. Your fingers curl tighter into the shirt beneath your hands, nails digging in for anchor.
Your breath shutters. A trembling whimper catches in your throat, barely swallowed down.
The silence stretches and the giant studies you for a beat longer before his gaze shifts to the man you're clinging to.
"Marco," he says, voice quieter now, but still full of the steady authority. "Son, what's going on here?"
The name echoes in your ears. Marco. The man you're holding onto is called Marco.
He doesn't move right away. Just exhales, like he expected the question, and nods once, his voice calm when he answers. "She has barely said anything so far, Oyaji. We know as much as you do. No ship in sight. She dropped right out of the damn sky."
There's a flicker of something in Marco's voice. Not quiet concern, he's too composed for that, but careful watchfulness. Like he's trying to puzzle you out without scaring you off.
Whitebeard's gaze returns to you. Those piercing eyes soften just slightly, not in weakness, but with the patience of a man who's led armies and raised many sones. Then, unsuspectedly, he lowers himself to one knee with a creak of wood, his massive form folding down until his face is closer to yours.
"Can you speak, girl?" he asks, not unkindly. "Are you hurt? Do you remember what happened?"
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
Your throat tightens again, jaw trembling. The words are there, somewhere, buried under the weight of too many eyes and too much adrenaline. But your body won't cooperate. All you can do is stare.
A muscle feathers in Marco's jaw and he speaks again, low and even.
"I think she's in shock, yoi," he says, half to the giant man in front of him, half to the crew around him. "We pulled her out just a few minutes ago. Could barely hold onto the rope." He glances down at you. "She's still shaking."
Whitebeard hums deep in his chest, thoughtful again. "Any idea where she came from? Skypia, maybe?"
"No," Marco says with a quiet shake of his head. "No clues... it's just her."
Silence stretches again.
Then Whitebeard shifts slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "What should we call you, then?" he asks, his tone dripping toward something. "Got a name, haven't you?"
You open your mouth again. The tremble in your hands spreads up your arms. Your lips part.
Still nothing.
Marco glances down at you, his voice quieter now. "If you can't talk, that's alright. We're not gonna hurt y—"
You say your name. One word. Just one single word.
It's barely more than a breath. Cracked and hoarse, like your vocal cords are waking up after being asleep for days. But it's there. The word slips past your lips and into the silence like a stone breaking the surface of a still pond.
The reaction is instant.
The entire crew jolts like a wave hits them. Someone even whistles softly, while another mutters, "She spoke..."
Dozens of heads snap toward you. Eyes wide. Brows raised. Even Marco glances down at you, surprised, but faintly amused too, the corners of his mouth twitching like he hadn't expected you to jump in just yet.
Then Whitebeard's grin spreads beneath his mustache, slow and wide, but not unkind. There's something startling warm in it despite the sheer size of him, the way his presence fills every inch of space like the tide rolling in.
Then, with a rumble in his chest and the creak of wood beneath him, he rises to his full height. It's like a mountain standing up.
The deck seems smaller now. The air is heavier. You instinctively shrink a little, still half-curled against Marco's side, heart hammering at your ribs. But Whitebeard doesn't look angry. He looks... pleased.
He repeats your name as if tasting the shape of it. His voice is low and rich and deep enough to silence every whisper behind him. "That's a good name."
"I am Edward Newgate," he says, his voice rolling like distant thunder. "But the world knows me as Whitebeard." He flashes you a wide, toothy grin, imposing and warm all at once, a contradiction you feel in your bones.
"And now you're standing on my ship, girl," he continues, with something like pride in his voice. "So, that makes you my guest."
A pause.
You try to take in the information. He's the captain and he has a name. Moreover, you're a guest on his ship... does that come with responsibilities? Are you supposed to do something? And for how long are you allowed to stay?
More importantly, how long do you need to stay before you can get home?
Home... The word hits like a stone dropping into still water. Where is home?
You reach for it, mentally, fumbling through the fog, but all you get is a dull throb behind your eyes. A sharp pulse that tightens your jaw. Then your breath catches. It's like chasing the memory of a dream already slipping through your fingers.
You wince.
Suddenly, Marco's voice breaks through the haze, calm but firm. "She's not doing too well," he says, the shift in his tone enough to command attention without raising his voice. "We should get her checked out."
Whitebeard gives a small nod, expression softening. "Take her to the nurses," he says. "Let them see to her."
Marco moves immediately, steadying you with a hand at your back, the other light on your arm. His grip is warm as ever... grounding.
"Come on," he murmurs, dipping his head a little to catch your eyes. "Let's get you looked at, yoi."
You nod, even if your legs feel like soaked rope beneath you. Even if your head is still spinning.
You walk or rather, Marco walks, and you stumble beside him like a half-drowned rag doll. Luckily he keeps a firm grip on you and adjusts his pace without saying anything.
The wooden planks creak underfoot as he guides you toward the stairs that lead below deck, each step a blur of movement and murmured voices behind you. All of this still doesn't make sense to you but somehow, with Marco's warm presence beside you and the sea breeze brushing against your soaked clothes, you know everything'll be alright.
Then it hits.
A sudden, sharp stab behind your eyes, like a knife of white-hot pressure driving straight through your skull. You don't even have time to process it before your body jerks, your breath catches and you cry out.
It's short, raw, startled. You hadn't meant to make a sound, but the pain rips it out of you anyway.
Marco stops instantly. "What – yoi?!"
You barely register the alarm in his voice. The world is tilting. Burring. Spinning. You hear footsteps rush in, voices rising again around you. It's like someone cranked up the volume and then hit mute all at once.
For a moment the pain pulses, heavy and cold, and then a wave crashes inside your mind, and your knees fully give out.
However, you don't hit the floor as you lose consciousness. You feel arms around you, Marco's probably, and then... everything goes black.