One Piece: Nocturne

The log pose pulsed with magnetic certainty, its needle now fixed westward. Eira Nocturne stood at the prow of the stolen vessel, frost glittering in her hair, the coat on her shoulders stiff with salt. The ship groaned beneath her, jury-rigged sails fighting the wind, patched and barely seaworthy.

She didn't expect much from this new island.

She needed supplies. Food. Medical gear. Maybe a better ship.

And sleep. She hadn't slept well since the pirate captain's dying mind tried to pry her open like a vault. Her Devil Fruit, twisted by the interaction, still felt sluggish—like it was recovering from a near-death experience of its own.

She gripped the wheel harder. One pistol. Four bullets. No crew. No allies. No destination beyond what the log pose demanded.

But she was free.

That mattered.

----------------

The island emerged from the mist with an icy calm—snow crusted along the coasts, white-capped hills rolling in the background. A port village hugged the shore, low buildings huddled like survivors. Further inland, jagged rock walls loomed, as if the island had been sliced apart and never healed.

Eira docked her ship just outside the main harbor to avoid attention. It wasn't flying a pirate flag, but it reeked of death. Better to stay subtle.

She hopped onto the frost-covered pier and adjusted her hood to cover her ears. Her tail was already wrapped tight against her waist like a belt, hidden under her coat.

Her boots crunched against packed snow as she slipped through the village's back alleys. The town wasn't dead—but it was quiet. Too quiet. No laughter. No chatter. Just the occasional yell in the distance and the low groan of wind.

This wasn't a peaceful island.

It was waiting to break.

---------------------

The general store was abandoned. Windows shattered. The shelves had been picked over long ago, but Eira managed to scavenge a few canned rations, some wire, and two intact vials of antiseptic from behind a locked cabinet.

She stuffed the supplies into her coat. That was when she heard it:

Gunfire.

Not far.

She froze, ears twitching under the hood. Three shots. Screams. Then silence.

She followed the sound.

From a hill overlooking the village square, she crouched behind a crumbling stone wall and peered down.

A Marine checkpoint had been set up where the road forked—complete with a flag, two snipers, and a Lieutenant barking orders. At the center of the square lay a pirate, wrists bound behind his back, blood pooling beneath him. Civilians were being herded into the square by both sides.

Not Marines alone. Pirates too.

What?

She watched in disbelief as a Marine officer handed a sack of coins to a pirate wearing a crimson cloak and a satisfied smirk.

They laughed.

They shook hands.

And a villager was dragged forward.

The pirate examined the old man. "Didn't pay last week," he said. "Example time."

The Marine lieutenant didn't flinch. "Go ahead."

The pirate pulled out a rusted flintlock and executed the villager on the spot.

The crowd screamed.

Eira's heart raced.

This wasn't a battle. This was collusion.

She watched for nearly an hour, her breath fogging the edge of the wall. The pirates were using the Marines as enforcers. The Marines used the pirates as informants. Together, they controlled this place like wolves guarding a slaughterhouse.

"Keep the peasants afraid," one of the pirates said. "Fear makes them obedient."

A young girl in the crowd tried to run. A Marine tackled her. She screamed. The pirate laughed.

Eira's hand hovered near her pistol. She had four bullets. Not enough to save anyone.

But enough to send a message.

She circled the square silently, staying in the shadows. Her breath was steady. Her hands didn't shake.

She crept onto the roof of a small weapons shop, the tiles slick beneath her boots.

From there, she took aim.

Bang.

One of the Marine snipers dropped—clean through the eye socket.

Bang.

The pirate in the crimson cloak jerked sideways as a bullet ripped through his shoulder.

The square exploded into chaos.

People ran. Marines drew swords. Pirates screamed orders. Eira ducked, rolled across the roof, and vanished into the alley below.

Two bullets left.

————————-

Eira didn't stick around.

She knew retaliation would be swift—and brutal. She could hear it already: civilians being beaten, more gunfire echoing through the hills.

But she had made her point.

She found an abandoned storage shed near the coast and slipped inside. She barricaded the door with a broken crate and lit a match to warm her hands.

She sat against the wall, breathing heavily.

This wasn't just an isolated case. This island was proof.

The Marines weren't heroes. The pirates weren't rebels. Not here. Here, they were the same breed of monster, wearing different coats.

She dug through her coat and pulled out the scavenged rations and antiseptic. She cleaned a small scratch on her forearm—likely from crawling across the roof—and unwrapped her tail for warmth.

Her Devil Fruit powers still felt muddy. Her ability to push emotions onto others had faded after fusing with the Mind Fruit.

But her instincts were sharper than ever.

She could feel the lies in this place. Even without her full powers, she knew the difference between fear and control.

And she was sick of both.

—————————

That night, under a sky swirling with gray snowflakes and starless clouds, Eira made her way back to the docks.

She didn't take the main road. She moved like smoke, staying behind buildings, creeping through the tall frost-bitten grass. At one point, she slipped past a pair of Marines dragging a villager into a shed. She almost reached for her gun.

But she kept walking.

Four bullets wouldn't change the world. Not yet.

She reached her ship by dawn.

It wasn't much, but it floated.

And it still had its log pose—pointing onward.

Eira stood at the helm for a long time, watching the island shrink behind her. Its towers. Its smoke. Its buried cruelty.

Another ugly page in an uglier book.

"I'm not like them," she whispered.

And for once, she believed it.

She pulled her hood closer and set sail, her breath fogging the cold air.