Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saturja Island was one of Thatch’s favourite places. It wasn’t just the food—though, by the four seas, the food was incredible—it was the people. They knew how to live. How to laugh, how to love, how to savour every moment as if it were their last. It was the kind of place that made you forget, even for a little while, that the world could be cruel. And right now, it was exactly what the crew—and their Father—needed.

Today they had such a joyous coincidence. Last night it was the New Year! And then the Festival of the Lights that is celebrated in Saturja was supposed to be in a couple of days. A party on the ship, a party on arrival. It was good.

Thatch, for his part, was more than happy to enjoy the perks of being a Whitebeard Pirate. Saturja Island was under their protection, and the people here welcomed them with open arms. No demands, no fear—just gratitude and the occasional free drink. It was a rare thing in this world, and Thatch wasn’t about to take it for granted.

He stepped out of a bustling bar, a satisfied grin on his face and the warmth of good rum in his chest. The street was alive with activity—vendors hawking their wares, children chasing each other with laughter, and the comforting hum of everyday life. Thatch took a deep breath, savouring the scent of fresh bread and sea salt. Life was good.

But then he heard it.

A faint sound, almost drowned out by the noise of the street. A woman’s sobs, quiet and broken, coming from a shadowed alley. Thatch paused, his sharp ears pinpointing the source. He glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice. Of course, it had to be him. He always seemed to stumble into these kinds of situations. But he was a gentleman at heart, and he’d never turn his back on someone in need—especially not a woman.

He stepped into the alley, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The sight that greeted him made his stomach churn.

A woman was curled up on the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her body was a horrifying patchwork of blistered and charred skin, as though she’d been burned alive. But what made Thatch’s breath catch was the way her flesh seemed to be healing before his eyes—raw, pink skin forming over the wounds, as if some unseen force was stitching her back together.

“Hey,” Thatch said gently, crouching down a few feet away so as not to startle her. “You need help? I’ll take you to a doctor.”

The woman’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and frantic. They were a striking golden brown, but they held a depth of pain and fear that made Thatch’s chest tighten. Her voice was barely a whisper, choked with tears. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t do it anymore. Please forgive me.”

Thatch frowned, his brow furrowing. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Let’s get you some help, alright?” He reached out a hand, his tone calm and reassuring.

But the woman didn’t take his hand. Instead, her gaze locked onto his face, lingering on the scar over his eye before settling on his hair. Her expression shifted, the fear in her eyes giving way to something else—recognition? But they also lost a spark, like the last light of sanity flickering out.

“I know who you are,” she said, her voice trembling but clear. “You’re the man who gets killed by Blackbeard.”

Thatch froze, his hand still outstretched. For a moment, he wondered if he’d misheard her. But the intensity in her eyes told him he hadn’t. “What?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

The woman’s breathing quickened, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “Don’t let him do it, Thatch. Your death is the start of the end of the world as it’s known. Don’t let him steal the fruit from you.”

Thatch’s mind raced, his usual laid-back demeanour slipping as her words sank in. Who is Blackbeard? 

She babbled nearly incoherently, but Thatch caught the gist of it.

“Protect Ace. He doesn’t deserve to die too.”

He opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could speak, the woman’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed forward.

He caught her just in time, his arms wrapping around her fragile frame. Her skin was warm, almost feverish, but the blisters were gone. She looked almost healthy, though he could feel the faint tremors running through her body.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Thatch said, his voice firm but gentle, trying to rouse her. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to carry her, he scooped her up and took off, running as fast as he could toward the Moby Dick. He needed a doctor, and fast.

❖──────────❖

The crewmates who saw Thatch sprinting along the shore with a girl in his arms quickly moved aside, shouting ahead to warn the nurses about an incoming patient. Luckily, their Head Doctor had decided to stay on the ship instead of joining the others to enjoy Saturja Island.

Jade was already waiting in the sick bay, ready to take care of her. As Thatch explained what had happened, he left out the strange prophecy she’d given him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it himself, let alone how to bring it up to anyone else. Still, he figured he should probably write it down somewhere.

He told Jade about her skin regenerating.

“Probably a Devil Fruit,” Jade said, and Thatch had to agree. One hell of a power, definitely—like Marco’s legendary phoenix abilities. “She still has a fever, though, and her body shows signs of pain, probably muscle cramps by her twitches. If you say she was regenerating, it makes sense.”

Thatch nodded, his mind still racing. Before he could say more, the girl stirred on the bed.

When she opened her eyes, they were a golden shade of brown, glinting faintly in the soft light of the sick bay. Thankfully, she was a lot calmer now than before, her breathing steady and her gaze clear, though still tinged with confusion.

Jade leaned over her with a gentle but assessing look, placing a warm hand on the girl’s forehead to check for any lingering fever. 

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Jade asked, her voice soft and soothing, the kind of tone that instantly put people at ease. She adjusted the blanket around the girl.

“Hi,” the girl answered softly. She blinked slowly, as if still adjusting to the reality of being awake.

Thatch straightened up at the sound of her voice. He remembered how deranged and out of it, she had been the last time he saw her awake—her eyes wild, her words frantic—and he couldn’t quite believe the drastic change in her expression now. She seemed almost... normal now. This change in her demeanour appended way too fast...

“Oi,” Thatch said, stepping closer. “Do you remember what you said to me?” He tilted his head, studying her face for any sign of recognition.

The girl gave a little jump in surprise, only now becoming aware that he was standing so close. She looked at him like he had grown a second head, her golden-brown eyes wide with confusion. 

“What?” she asked. Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket tightly, betraying her nervousness.

Jade shot Thatch a sharp look, arms crossed. “Cut her some slack. She just woke up.”

“No, I’m sorry,” the girl replied to Thatch, though her gaze quickly flicked back to Jade, as if seeking reassurance. “Can you please tell me where I am?” Her voice was polite but laced with an underlying urgency.

Jade’s expression softened. “Well, girl… You’re in the sick bay of Whitebeard’s ship.” She gestured around the room. The girl had no reaction. “My name is Jade, I’m the Head Doctor of this ship. Thatch, over there, found you in very bad shape and brought you here. You’ve been out for a couple hours.”

The girl’s brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. She glanced around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings—the medical equipment, the faint smell of antiseptic, the distant sound of waves against the ship. 

“Oh,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

Jade chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No need for that. It’s what we do.” She paused, studying the girl’s face. “You don’t know who Whitebeard is, do you?”

The girl shook her head slowly, her expression blank. 

Jade leaned forward slightly; her tone gentle but probing. “Now, we would like to know more about you. What’s your name?”

The girl froze at the question, her hands tightening around the blanket again. Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. Thatch watched her closely. He could see the panic creeping into her eyes, the way her breath hitched on her throat. 

Poor girl, he thought. Where the hell could she have come from? His mind raced with possibilities—temporary memory loss? Permanent? Maybe she’d eaten a Devil Fruit and had some kind of prophetic vision power? Was she a victim of a Devil Fruit? He shook his head slightly, realizing he wasn’t going to get answers anytime soon.

Jade noticed the girl’s distress and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “C’mon, don’t panic,” she said, her voice steady and calming. “We’ll find a solution. In the meantime, you’re in good hands.” She gave the girl a small, encouraging smile. “You may not know it now, but Whitebeard has one of the best medical teams in the world.”

The girl looked at her wide-eyed, her panic momentarily replaced by awe, she was impressed. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, as if she were still processing everything, but a faintness hit her and her eyes closed for a second. 

“I think she needs to rest” Thatch says cooly, but inside he felt a slight panic, immediately moving to accommodate her pillow.

“Most definitely” responds Jade while covering her with the blanket.

❖──────────❖

Less than a day later, and the girl was practically as good as new, at least physically. Her wounds had healed completely, leaving no trace of the horrific burns that had covered her body. It was nothing short of miraculous, and they were sure that it was almost certainly the work of a Devil Fruit. But while her body had recovered, her memories remained elusive. She still couldn’t recall who she was, where she came from, or how she’d ended up all covered in burns in an alley.

There was nothing more that the medical crew could do for her, so she had been officially discharged from the sick bay. But she hadn’t left yet. The thought of stepping out into the bustling world of the Moby Dick, with its overwhelming number of crewmates, made her nervous. It was one thing to interact with Thatch and Jade, who had been kind and patient with her. But facing an entire crew of strangers? That was another matter entirely.

For now, she stayed in the sick bay. Jade had volunteered to stay with her, offering to fill in some of the gaps in her knowledge, which were a lot, as she didn’t even know how the world was divided.

Meanwhile, Thatch was dealing with his brothers. Marco and a few of the other commanders had cornered him, their curiosity piqued by the sudden appearance of the mysterious girl. They gathered on the deck, the sea breeze ruffling their hair as Thatch recounted the events as best he could, leaving out the warning that she had given him.

Marco raised an eyebrow, his eyes sharp and attentive. “And she doesn’t remember anything?”

“Not a damn thing,” Thatch said, running a hand through his hair. “No name, no memories, nothing. She’s polite and all, but… I have no idea what to do next.”

The others exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of sympathy and curiosity. Marco, ever the voice of reason and the problem solver, nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll figure it out. For now, I’ll talk to the island’s chief. We’ll spread the word about a lost girl being found. If she has any family out there, they’ll come forward.”

Thatch nodded, grateful for Marco’s support. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Thatch hesitated, his mind flashing back to the girl’s frantic warning. Your death is the start of the end of the world. How was he supposed to act normal after being told something like that? He wouldn’t tell anyone about it yet. He’d written it down in a small notebook he kept in his pocket, just in case he forgot. But he wasn’t ready to share this information. Not until he understood what it meant.

Marco clapped Thatch on the shoulder. As the group dispersed, Thatch stayed behind, his gaze drifting toward the sick bay. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this girl, was more than just a random girl that decided to pull his leg. Her words sounded like a declaration. This will happen if you don’t prepare yourself. And there was something that didn’t add up. It all gnawed at him, and until he figured out what it was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest.

Really complicated stuff, he thought, running a hand through his hair. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, tapping one loose and lighting it with a flick of his lighter. The familiar ritual helped calm his nerves, if only a little. He took a long drag, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the salty sea air.

Just then, the door to the sick bay creaked open, and the lady of the hour peeked out cautiously. Her golden-brown eyes scanned the deck before landing on Thatch. She looked better—much better—than the last time he’d seen her. Her skin was smooth and unmarred, her posture steady, though there was still a hint of nervousness in her expression.

“Yo!” Thatch greeted; his tone casual but friendly. He leaned against the railing, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Feeling better?”

She stepped out fully, closing the door behind her. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I heard a lot of voices out here. It’s… a bit overwhelming.”

Thatch chuckled, taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’ll meet them at some point. They’re good people,” he assured her. “Loud, rowdy, and a little crazy, but good people.”

She nodded. Thatch studied her for a moment, then decided to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind. “I was meaning to ask you,” he said, his tone careful. “What do you remember? Anything at all?”

“Just waking up here,” she admitted. “Nothing else… for now, at least. Miss Jade told me that I might recover my memories gradually.” She paused, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “Can I ask you something too? What did I say to you that left you so nervous?”

Thatch raised an eyebrow, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling a slow stream of smoke. He leaned against the rail.

“Geez, you truly don’t remember” he said, his tone light but probing. “You said I was going to get killed by someone.”

The girl grimaced at his words. She looked down, her brows furrowing as if trying to piece together fragments of a dream she couldn’t quite recall. 

“I’m very sorry for startling you but I don’t even know who I am,” she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. “How could I have said something like that?”

Thatch shrugged, though his eyes remained sharp, studying her carefully. “No idea. But in that moment, you hung onto my clothes like your life depended on it. You told me this… sort of prophecy. You didn’t sound like some random person who’d seen me in the newspaper and wanted to pull a prank. You sounded like you knew me.”

The girl’s expression grew more serious as she carefully weighed his words. She bit the inside of her mouth, her gaze distant, as if searching for something—anything—in the void of her memory. Finally, she looked back at him, her eyes filled with regret. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more,” she said quietly. 

Thatch waved a hand dismissively knowing that for the moment it was worthless to beat a dead horse, his usual laid-back grin returning. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and she straightened up slightly, her tone sharpening. “Don’t call me kid.” Then she paused, her confidence faltering as a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. She looked at him expectantly. “Or… am I a kid?”

Thatch chuckled, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Nah, you must be in your mid-twenties.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she tilted her head, as if considering this new information. “Oh! I’m not a girl either, then. I’m a full-grown woman.”

Thatch burst out laughing, the sound warm and genuine. He couldn’t help it—her mix of ignorance and sass was downright entertaining. “Alright, alright, ma’am,” he said, still grinning. “My mistake.”

There was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Despite her confusion, she seemed to be holding her own, and Thatch found himself liking her more by the minute.

“Well, since we’re on the topic of identity,” he said, tapping his cigarette lightly to shake off the ash, “you’ll need a name for the time being. What do you want to be called?”

The girl blinked, her confidence wavering again. “I have no idea,” she admitted. Then, after a moment, she glanced up at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Why don’t you try to give me a name, and I’ll tell you if I like it?”

Thatch’s grin faded slightly, replaced by a look of mock offense. “What? This is important,” he said, gesturing dramatically with his cigarette. “You can’t just leave it up to me.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing but firm. “Then take it seriously.”

Thatch sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pretended to think deeply. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he considered. “Alright, alright,” he said, tapping his chin with his free hand. “What about… Missy? Or Lassie?”

She gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “That’s the same as calling me Jane Doe.”

“Not gonna give you something too specific, then we’ll know your real and I’m gonna be left in ridicule. Personally, I really like Girlie.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that crept onto her face. “Sounds a little patronizing, but I like it.”

Thatch grinned. “Excellent. Now, my good girl, let’s get you something to eat. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “That sounds… really good, actually.”

❖──────────❖

Chapter Text

Marco had arranged a meeting with Saturja Island’s leaders to brief them on the situation. They were kind and attentive, listening carefully as he explained the circumstances surrounding the girl. They assured him they would do their best to find anyone who might know her, though they admitted they hadn’t received any reports of a missing person. Given the island’s small, close-knit population, where everyone knew someone and connections ran deep, they were confident they could uncover something—if there was anything to uncover.

They discussed the possibility of giving their amnesiac resident a small house, offering her the option to settle on the island if she wished. The Whitebeard Pirates would cover the expenses until she found her footing though, but she would be taken care of. It was a generous offer, and Marco appreciated their willingness to help.

The meeting had been so constructive that it felt like everything was falling into place. There had been a little stir since the girl arrived on board, of course—some of the crew questioned who she was, why she was here, and what was going on. But most didn’t pay much attention. The ship was nearly empty, with almost everyone enjoying their time on the island—dancing, eating, and having a blast. The Moby Dick was quieter than usual, and the few crewmates who remained were too relaxed to care much about the newcomer.

Thatch, however, was deeply invested in the situation. He had mostly disappeared from sight, sticking close to the girl’s side. He spent his time talking with her, laughing, and teaching her basic things about the world she seemed to have forgotten. He knew she had already received a tour of the ship and met a few people, which was good. The sooner she adjusted and recovered, the sooner they could all get back to their usual business.

It was late into the night, the full moon hanging high above like a glowing chandelier, casting its silver light over everything, it was about to be a full moon soon. The cool sea breeze carried a sharp chill, a reminder of the ocean’s vast, untamed presence. Marco wanted to find Thatch and share the news, so he made his way to the kitchen, knowing that’s where he’d be.

The rhythmic sound of a knife slicing through and hitting the wooden board greeted him as he stepped inside. It was a soothing, familiar noise. Thatch was prepping ingredients for tomorrow’s meal, catering to the few crewmates who had chosen to stay on the ship rather than join the festivities on the island.

“Yo, man. How’s it going?” Marco greeted as he stepped into the kitchen. Thatch didn’t stop his work, but he slowed his chopping and flashed Marco a grin.

“Things are kind of weird,” Thatch admitted, his tone light and cheerful, “but pretty nice, to be honest.”

Marco leaned against the counter. “I take it the stray you brought aboard is feeling better?”

“She’s a good girl, and pretty strong although she doesn’t look like it. She is resting now.”

“That’s good. You know I talked with some people on the island…” 

While Thatch prepped, Marco related how his investigation went. He sent a couple of his men to ask questions around, coming up with nothing. He told him that the chief was unaware of any missing person or even a violent incident like setting a person on fire going on in her land. They were proud of being a peaceful island, with a pretty nice quality of life. He also mentioned their offer, that it was no trouble to house her and give her help.

Marco expected Thatch to be relieved at the news that the girl would be taken care of, but instead, his expression turned somber.

“I thought you’d be happy,” Marco said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

Thatch hesitated, his hands pausing mid-chop. “I don’t feel… comfortable with her leaving my sight,” he admitted, his voice tinged with unease.

Marco grimaced, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. “She’s too young for you, man.”

“It’s not like that,” Thatch shot back, his face flushing slightly. “Don’t treat me like some kind of old pervert. Listen…” he stopped, hesitating about how to approach the subject. I think it would be a good idea if she stayed with us.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the faint creak of the ship and the distant murmur of the sea. Marco stared at Thatch, genuinely caught off guard. This wasn’t the kind of idea Thatch usually proposed. For him to suggest something so deliberate and protective was… unusual.

“Thatch,” Marco began, his voice firm, “I have to be honest with you.”

Thatch turned around, setting the knife down and giving Marco his full attention.

 “What do you care?” he asked, not maliciously but genuinely puzzled. “It’s not the first time we’ve found someone who needs help, and it won’t be the last. But I’ve never seen you this worried or involved over someone before.”

Thatch hesitated, remembering he was still the only one who knew about the strange prophecy the girl had given him. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to share the information with his brother.

“I need your opinion on something,” he said, casually grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and pouring two drinks, neat.

“Shoot,” Marco replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He took the glass, raising it to his lips for a first gulp before setting it back on the table, his sharp eyes fixed on Thatch.

“You remember how I told you she was covered in blisters, burned up, and then started regenerating? We think it’s a Devil Fruit, but we still don’t know for sure.”

Marco nodded, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

“Well, I left some things out,” Thatch admitted, his tone shifting slightly. “She was saying some… crazy stuff.”

“Go on,” Marco urged, leaning forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing with interest.

Thatch reached into his pocket and pulled out the small notebook where he’d scribbled down the girl’s words. He slid it across the table to Marco, who picked it up and began to read. The message wasn’t long, but Marco took his time, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the words. Thatch took a slow sip of his drink, watching Marco’s face for any reaction.

Finally, Marco looked up, his eyes locked with Thatch’s. “Who the hell is Blackbeard?” was the first thing he asked.

Thatch blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not worried that he wants to kill me?”

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as if trying to stave off a headache. He was sceptical about the whole situation, and the mention of someone trying to steal Whitebeard’s name only added to his irritation. “So, some Pops wannabe, second-rate pirate trying to steal his name. Alright. And he wants to kill you.”

“Yeah,” Thatch confirmed, his tone steady but tinged with unease.

“And your death is going to be the beginning of the end of the world.”

“As we know it,” Thatch added, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were testing the weight of the words.

Marco leaned back in his chair. He paused, then gestured at the notebook. “Why do you even think this is real, though? For all we know, this—” he tapped the page, “—could be pure bullshit. We don’t know anything about her or where she came from.”

“But I’ve got a hunch,” Thatch insisted, his voice rising slightly. “And it’s digging at my fucking guts.” Marco almost laughed. “I want to keep her here on the ship, where we can see her. If she regains her memories, I wanna be the first to hear about it.”

“Have you thought about what it means to have someone who probably doesn’t know how to fight or defend herself—and from what I’ve heard, knows nothing about anything—on a ship where we’re fighting the Marines to the death every other week?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Thatch said calmly, with his tone resolute. “But she’s not going to remember anything by sitting in some shack, and I need her to remember so I can understand what the fuck happened. And for that she needs to see the world, meet new people. What better way to do that than by traveling with us?”

Marco pressed on, his voice firm but not unkind. “We’re pirates, not a sightseeing crew. The sea’s too dangerous for an amnesiac to sail around like it’s some kind of vacation.”

Thatch leaned forward, his tone earnest. “Remember when we had babies on board? Momonosuke and Hiyori, and Toki, who didn’t know how to fight? How we made it work?”

Marco winced. The whole Wano situation fiasco was a sore subject for any Whitebeard member.

“That was different,” Marco replied.  “Oden was their father, and he was there to care for them. This girl has no one.”

“She’ll have me,” Thatch said without hesitation, his voice steady. “I’ll take responsibility for her. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Marco studied Thatch for a long moment, his sharp eyes searching for any hint of doubt. Finding none, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone calm but weighted with seriousness. “If you're committed to it, I’ll support you. But you need to understand the weight of what you’re taking on.”

“You’re talking like we’ve never had cabin boys and girls before,” Thatch countered.

“Yeah,” Marco shot back, his voice dry, “but I’d bet my ass that all of them knew what the Grand Line was, unlike your protégée.”

“I should probably ask her what she wants to do, too,” Thatch admitted.

Marco stared at him, incredulous. “You’ve got all of this planned out?” he asked, his voice rising in disbelief. “And you haven’t asked her yet.”

“No, of course not,” Thatch said, shrugging. “I wanted to hear what you thought first.”

Marco shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re such a sap,” he said, half-laughing. 

❖──────────❖

In the end, the prophecy given by the amnesiac girl was… well, not entirely useless. While they still had no idea who Blackbeard was, or Ace, or what Devil Fruit she was talking about, it at least gave them a reason to stay alert. For now, only Marco and Thatch held onto this information. It wasn’t worth worrying the crew with vague, ominous threats—not yet, anyway, until they knew more. 

Girlie remained mostly unaware of her own prophecy and how deeply her words—and the entire situation—had shaken Thatch. She had been resting in the sick bay, but with the ship nearly empty now—even Jade had gone ashore—she finally had the chance to sneak out and explore on her own. The Moby Dick was massive, far bigger than she could have imagined, and she couldn’t help but marvel at its sheer size.

It was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie stillness. Everyone was on the island, preparing for a festival that had the whole crew buzzing with excitement. For Girlie, though, this was her chance to gather her thoughts—one piece at a time.

She was all alone for the first time since yesterday, when she had first woken up without memories. It was insane, and she couldn’t quite believe what to make of the situation. 

The idea that she was standing on a ship this massive still felt ridiculous, but everyone around her acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. So why should she be the exception? Maybe she’d never been a pirate. Maybe she had no ties to this life at all. Maybe so many things. It was all so complicated. She decided she’d better start making notes, writing things down—anything to help her make sense of herself and this strange, sprawling world.

She sighed and strolled across the deck, the morning sun bathing everything in golden light. It glinted off the polished wood, and a crisp breeze stirred the sails, carrying the salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint scent of greenery from the island ahead. The city was mostly hidden behind a thick wall of trees along the coast, with only a narrow road cutting through the foliage. Towering above it all, was a mountain high to reach the clouds, in the far end of the island, like it was a wall behind it.

And in the front, like an insignia for everyone to see, was a large mast, the Whitebeard jolly roger fluttering proudly in the wind.

She watched the deep and endless blue of the sky, streaked with wisps of white clouds that seemed to glow in the sunlight. She didn’t know much about her past, but she was certain of one thing: in all her life—probably—she had never seen something so breathtakingly beautiful.

She felt giddy and lightheaded suddenly, as if the world around her was too vast, too vivid, to take in all at once. Yet, despite the overwhelming newness of it all, she didn’t feel bad. Not really. The people she’d met had been so kind, so patient with her, that she felt safe—even if everything else was uncertain. Like a newborn fawn taking its first wobbly steps, she was finding her footing, learning as she went. 

She paused at the thought, a spark flickering in the dark void of her mind. She knew what a fawn was… How interesting. It was a small thing, but it felt significant.

And while she was squinting at the sky like she was suspicious of it. Thatch turned a corner and spotted her. “Hey, Girlie. Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully, his voice bright and warm, completely unaware that he’d interrupted her breakthrough. 

She smiled wide though. “Thatch!” she chirped. She knew him for a day and a half but she felt the most comfortable when he was around.

“I wanted to ask you… we’re going with the boys to the festival in the island. Do you want to come with us?” he asked.

Did she know what a festival was? Yes, she did. Her mind conjured images of colourful banners, lively music, and the mouthwatering scent of food wafting through the air. The idea made her excited but also nervous. If the sky alone could leave her marvelling, how would she handle being surrounded by so much noise and people? It felt like it could be too much, too soon.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “Do you think I’ll be okay? I mean, considering… my state of mind?”

Thatch tilted his head, looking up as if carefully choosing his words. “I think…” he began, his tone thoughtful, “it’ll do you good to see people. Who knows? You might recognize something—or someone. But if it gets to be too much, I’ll bring you back to the ship. No problem.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, a smile spreading across her face. It sounded wonderful though, and she had already decided that felt safe with him, so exploring a bit more of the world sounded fun. “I wanna go!”

“Excellent!” Thatch said, grinning. “The boys are waiting for us on the dock. Let’s not keep them waiting too long.” He paused, then shifted his stance, holding up a hand as if to say, Hear me out. “Look, there are ladders to get off the ship, but they’re too slow to take. Is it okay if I carry you and we just… jump down?”

“What?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. “So many things at once, I need to catch a break,” she said, flustered. Thatch chuckled in response, amused, while she tried to process what he’d just asked. She glanced down at the dock below. It was fucking tall—like twenty stories high from the deck to the water below. Her stomach did a little flip as she looked down and spotted two dots. One was black, the other yellow—probably heads, though they looked no bigger than bugs from this height.

“Don’t worry,” Thatch said, his voice brimming with confidence. “I wouldn’t be a commander in this crew if I couldn’t handle a little jump.”

She hesitated for a moment, then reasoned with herself: fine, you know what? Fine. And if he was this confident, he probably had good reason to be—or so she hoped. With a deep breath, she extended her arms, signalling for him to carry her.

With an exaggerated gentlemanly flourish, Thatch scooped her up, one arm around her waist and the other under her legs. “My goodness,” he teased, grinning. “Has a feather fallen into my arms?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, though she couldn’t help but laugh as he gave a playful twirl, sending her spinning.

“Don’t treat me like a child!” she protested, still laughing.

“But you are so light, though,” he countered, his tone light and teasing. Then, his expression shifted as he looked down at the dock below. “Alright, hold on tight now.”

Thatch jumped. Her stomach jolted, a weightless sensation as the deck vanished beneath her. Her breath caught, trapped somewhere between her lungs and throat, as the rush of adrenaline rushed through her body, and an electric tingle racing through her limbs as the wind whipped past her face. Then, with a soft thud, Thatch landed, his balance flawless, as if the drop had been nothing more than a step. The adrenaline didn’t dissipate; it lingered, leaving her legs shaky and her pulse racing. 

She felt rattled, but deeply impressed. I really need to catch my breath from these surprises, she thought.

“Oh my, the princess treatment,” said a voice, warm and jovial. She turned around and her jaw dropped. Standing before her was perhaps the most stunning person she had ever seen—again, she didn’t know her past but, she was sure. 

He was manly, but so feminine at the same time, and at a marvel in both. His long, black hair was tied back in a relaxed bun, and his lips were painted a pretty shade of red, shaped like a heart. You could see his flat chest sculpted with muscles, framed by a loosely tied pink kimono, the fabric draping elegantly. He was so beautiful. 

“Wow” she breathed, looking at him wide eyed. Izou huffed and smirked, pleased with her reaction. 

“Poor girl, must have had a heart attack,” said a very tall man with funny blonde hair, which looked like a pineapple. What’s going on with the funny looking hairs? —She felt the same when she saw Thatch’s hair the first time. The rest of the man was not funny though. He was the tallest of the three, the most toned too. And then although his posture and expression were very casual, she felt intimidated by his presence. His power felt like a clear blue lake—calm and still on the surface, but with depths that stretched far beyond what the eye could see. She turned to Izou and realized his strength was different. His was sharp and direct, precise and pragmatic, like the edge of a finely honed blade.

And Thatch? Was he strong? Probably. He’d said as much just moments ago, before jumping off the ship. But his strength was harder to pin down, masked by his easy-going nature. He was affable, open, and disarmingly vulnerable, a stark contrast to the alert, guarded presence of the other two. He’s a pacifist, she thought. He would never make the first attack.

Then she realized. Wow, I’m also very smart to think about this. 

Thatch released her, and though her legs still felt a little shaky, she forced herself to stand as normally as possible, determined to preserve her dignity.

“Finally, I can introduce y’all to each other,” said Thatch, snapping her back to the present. “This is… well, she still doesn’t have a name, but we’re working on it.” He gestured to her with a warm smile, then turned to the others. “My girl, this is Izou and Marco—commanders of the sixteenth and first divisions, respectively.” His pride in his friends was unmistakable, his big smile and enthusiastic tone practically glowing as he presented them.

“Pleased to meet you at last,” Izou said. “We’ve been so eager to learn more about you.”

“I’m eager to learn more about me too,” she replied, a little too fast. 

Marco let out a snort. “And she’s got quick answers.” She saw a gleam past through his eyes, in amusement perhaps. That was nice, it seems like he was powerful but was cool about it. She noticed she had her guard up, so she relaxed and lowered it down.

She learned that these two new people were, in fact, very nice — like every person she has met. She wanted to be at her best around them, polite and thankful. 

They followed the road leading to the city, chatting enthusiastically as they walked. 

Whenever she looked lost or confused, they filled her in with patient explanations. She was grateful for their kindness—and also for her own quick mind. It seemed she only needed to hear something once to understand it. “How does it work? This way? Excellent! I’m all caught up.”

The island was called Saturja, named after a rare species of flowers. And this rare flowers attracted a rare species of butterflies that—according to her trusty sources—were the most beautiful in the world. These butterflies were born only once a year, under the light of a full moon, and their metamorphosis was said to be a breathtaking spectacle. So, the islanders made a whole festival of it. 

“I’m going to spend so much money,” said Izou, shaking a pouch full of coins. 

They also told her the island was home to incredibly talented artisans, though their crafts rarely left its shores. The island was protected by a dense wall of forest trees, making it appear uninhabited to passing sailors. And then, for anyone attempting to dock, the sight of Whitebeard’s flags was enough to send them turning around quickly. They wanted no visitors from the outside world if they could help it.

As the noise of the city grew louder, she rounded a bend in the path, and there it was—Saturja. The first city she would have any memory of, and wow, it did not disappoint. It was big, it was lively, and it was beautiful. Her eyes darted to the people at first, but she quickly got lost in the architecture. The walls of all buildings were adorned with intricate carvings, each one crafted with such fine detail, that left her speechless in respect. But then she felt laughter wanted to escape her, she was so ridiculously excited. The streets were alive with activity—people bustling about, chatting, selling wares, and haggling over prices. Children darted through the crowd, their laughter ringing out like music. The city wasn’t overly large, but the energy and liveliness made it feel much bigger than it actually was. How had she gotten so lucky to be here?

But then, she forced herself to stay composed. If everyone else acted like this was normal, then so would she. She took it all in one second and breathed. Thatch watched her reaction, his own excitement shining through.

“Pretty sight, ain’t it?” Thatch teased, his grin wide and infectious. “Just one of the many cool places we get to see.” She allowed herself a small, happy laugh, her composure slipping just enough to show her genuine delight.

“Let’s go, they’re gonna sell everything.” Izou called, already hurrying ahead.

Marco, at her side looked completely at ease, taking in the city as if he were a traveller on holiday, his gaze drifting over its sights with leisurely wonder. Then he glanced at her. “You arrived at a pretty good time of the year.” 

She laughed nervously again as they made their way through the bustling streets, stopping here and there whenever something caught their eye at a stall. Izou was on the hunt for jewellery, his attention particularly drawn to golden hairpieces. Marco wasn’t looking for anything specific, but he chatted amiably with vendors whenever he spotted an interesting trinket.

She, meanwhile, found herself drawn to notebooks, though she had no money to buy one yet.

“Marco! Look at this,” Izou called out, holding up a gold hairpin adorned with a light blue jewel shaped like a bird. “They made this just because of you. I had to buy it.”

“I’m honoured,” Marco replied.

“Where do I even put it on you? You’ve got, what, three hairs? Let it grow for once.” Izou grumbled, his tone teasing. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to pin it to Marco’s shirt like a brooch, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

She was quickly distracted by Thatch, who had just purchased a folding knife. Its handle was adorned with intricate scales made from a brownish-yellow stone.

“Hey, I know that quartz,” she said, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “It’s Tiger’s Eye.”

Thatch looked at her as if he’d been struck with relief. “You might have some memories coming back, then,” he said, hopeful. He let out a sigh that carried the weight of someone who’d been holding their breath for too long.

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone thoughtful. “I mean, I’m still unsure about a lot. But I don’t think I’m totally lost. There are some images that come to my mind now and then.”

“I knew it,” Thatch said, a grin spreading across his face as he tucked the knife into his pocket. “You just need to see things, experience things, to start regaining your memory.”

Sure, she thought but didn’t say it out loud. She couldn’t be sure about being sure. 

“Is there anything you want?” Izou asked, appearing at her side and startling her. She was like a deer in headlights by the question and she didn’t want to ask for anything. 

“I have no money.” she said quickly.

“Yes, you do,” Izou replied with a mischievous grin. In one smooth, fluid motion, he plucked Thatch’s wallet from his pocket. Scandalous. “Let’s get you clothes, or something,” he said, already steering her toward a nearby stall.

At the end, they’d gotten her a notebook, a few quirky-looking pencils, two simple dresses, and a small leather handbag to carry everything. She was ecstatic, her eyes shining with excitement as she clutched her new belongings. It was a silly thought, but holding these objects made her feel real, as if they anchored her to the world in a way.

As they moved through the crowd, she noticed how the pirates often paid more than they needed to, telling the vendors to keep the change. There was an amicable relationship between the crew and the locals. So, they tend to treat people with kindness, she thought and felt better, because she had this uncomfortable feeling that she was taking advantage of their good disposition. She was nothing to them, but they were nursing her back to health. 

She was also aware of how different the pirates, and especially her companions, were from the common folk. If she had to explain it, she’d say most people were like hills—each with their own shape and size, unique in their own way. But the men she walked with? They were like mountains, towering and immense, their presence so vast it made her crane her neck just to take them in.

Just where was she? 

Thatch had said when she woke up. The strongest crew in the world. Was it actually true then? He was not exaggerating? 

As the sun began to set, the group had already enjoyed a delicious meal—Thatch proudly raving about the local cuisine—and had gathered up their purchases. Now, the townspeople were making their way toward the mountain’s edge, where the butterflies would soon emerge from their chrysalides. She’d been told there would be a grand celebration there—music, dancing, and the dazzling spectacle of the butterflies taking flight for the first time.

It was strange but she was buzzing with anticipation. She hoped that she could have fun.

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