The sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the sea in molten gold.
The Oro Jackson cut through the waves gently — a rare calm in the New World.
It was the kind of peaceful evening Ada had almost forgotten existed.
But peace, to her, always carried the shadow of memory.
She leaned against the railing, her crimson dress fluttering softly in the wind. The hum of the ship — the voices of the Roger Pirates laughing, arguing, living — filled the air like a heartbeat.
"Hey, Ada," Gaban called out, stepping beside her with a grin. "You've been quiet again. You sure you're not plotting to take over the ship?"
Ada glanced at him, a faint smirk on her lips. "If I were, you'd already be overboard."
Rayleigh, sitting on a nearby barrel with a bottle in hand, chuckled. "I told you she's scarier than half the Marines."
Roger emerged from the cabin with his usual grin, the sunset catching the gold in his hair. "What's all this noise? My crew bullying our resident strategist and marksman?"
"I wouldn't call her a normal resident," Gaban said. "More like… a walking headline."
Roger laughed and sat on the railing beside Ada. "That she is. The world's still losing its mind that Rocks' vice-captain joined us."
Ada's eyes stayed on the waves. "They'll live."
Silence followed for a moment — broken only by the creak of the ship and the distant cries of gulls.
Roger leaned on the railing beside her.
He was smiling, as always. But there was something more thoughtful behind that grin.
Then Roger's tone shifted, quiet but probing.
"You've been quiet since we left the last island," he said. "That's not like you."
Ada didn't look at him. "Didn't think I had to keep talking to prove I belong here."
Roger chuckled. "Fair enough. But humor me — everyone has a reason for walking the path they're on. Even you."
The crew nearby — Rayleigh, Gaban, and the others — turned slightly, pretending not to listen while definitely listening.
Ada's eyes narrowed. "You want to know why I hate nobles, don't you?"
Roger's grin faded. "I do."
The question seemed simple. But the stillness that followed made the crew fall silent.
Even Rayleigh looked up.
The wind stilled for a moment. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath.
Ada didn't answer right away. Her fingers brushed the railing, tracing the rough wood as if grounding herself.
Ada exhaled, soft but trembling. "Then listen carefully. I'll only say this once."
Flashback
Sea Circle Calendar Year 1480 - Ada Age 10
The night sky was full of smoke.
Ada — a small girl then, barely ten — crouched beneath a broken wall, clutching her knees. She was barefoot, trembling, her wrists bound with rope. The cobblestone square of the small North Blue town glowed under torchlight.
Above them stood the nobles — fine silks, powdered faces, and cruel eyes that glittered like blades.
At the center was a Celestial Dragon in a white bubble hood, watching the scene as if it were theater.
Before her, her parents knelt — bloodied but defiant.
Her father met Ada's gaze — and even through the bruises, his eyes were steady.
"Don't look away, Ada," he said softly. "Remember what they are."
The guard struck him across the face. "Silence!"
Her mother's voice shook. "Please—she's just a child!"
The noble sneered. "Then she'll grow up knowing her place."
Ada tried to run to them, but a soldier held her back.
"Papa!" she screamed. "Mama!"
Her father smiled through the blood. "Listen to me, Ada. You must remember your name. Not the one they'll give you."
Her mother nodded, tears spilling. "Your true name. The one we kept hidden so they wouldn't hunt you."
Ada's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
Her father's voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough to reach her over the wind.
"Your name… is Nyx D. Ada. Never forget it. You carry the will of those who defied the gods."
The crowd murmured in confusion.
The Celestial Dragon's face twisted with rage. "The D…?!" he hissed. "Kill them!"
Gunfire erupted.
Ada's scream tore through the night.
Her mother's body fell first, her father's a moment later. Their blood spilled across the platform and ran down toward her bare feet.
She tried to crawl to them — but the soldiers dragged her away.
"No! No! Let me go! Mama! Papa!"
Her cries echoed as the nobles laughed, their boots splashing in crimson.
"Take her to the ship," one ordered. "Sell her to the Holy Land. The blood of the D. will fetch a fine price."
Ada's world blurred — the torches, the faces, the stars. All she saw was red.
Her parents were gone.
Their screams had long since faded into the crackling of fire and the laughter of nobles.
Her father had been a scholar — her mother, a teacher. They weren't rich, but they believed in truth. One truth too many. A book about the Void Century, about the bloodlines that ruled the world.
When the World Government found out, they didn't send soldiers. They sent executioners.
Ada could still see the platform — her parents bound and kneeling, the nobles above them smiling as they gave the order.
She remembered the gunshot.
And the way her mother's blood hit her cheek.
They called her family "diseased with dangerous knowledge."
And they called her a prize.
She remembered the chains.
The chains were heavy. Her small wrists bled against the iron.
Every creak of the ship's hull reminded her she was nothing — not a girl, not a person. Just cargo.
Days blurred into nights. Hunger turned to numbness.
But the whisper of her father's voice would not die.
"You carry the will of those who defied the gods."
The way the other slaves stopped crying after a while — too tired to hope.
And then the storm came.
The ship rocked violently, lightning tearing the sky apart.The guards stumbled. One fell near the cell — keys spilling across the floor.
Ada stared at them, trembling. The memory of her parents' blood flashed behind her eyes.
And something inside her snapped.
What followed wasn't escape — it was slaughter.
She picked up the keys. The lock clicked open.
The first guard never even turned around.
The blade she took from him was too heavy for her small hands, but she swung it anyway — again and again, until he stopped moving.
The others came running. She met them all.
The second man died quietly, his throat cut with the edge of a broken chain.
The third screamed. Ada didn't.
The fourth begged — she didn't listen.
The deck was slick with rain and blood. She could barely lift the blade, but she didn't stop.
Not until the ship was silent.
When it was done, the rain washed the blood from her face.
The storm calmed, but inside her — it never did.
She stood over the bodies of her captors and whispered her name for the first time.
"Nyx… D. Ada."
She didn't cry anymore. The sea did it for her.
When dawn came, the ship was silent — just a broken vessel adrift, its chains empty, and a child staring at the horizon.
When the sun rose, she was the only one left standing — covered in crimson, her eyes empty.
She didn't cry.
She never did again.