Age 23 | Mid-Summer (A Few Days Later)
Location: East Blue, Near Shells Town
Entry: Dawn | Overcast skies, salty air
The hunt began just after first light.
We caught the merchant junk drifting near a lazy current — slow, careless.
The crew was tense but quiet. Everyone knew this wasn’t just another simple raid.
We slipped alongside her, dark shapes against the gray water.
I held my breath as the boarding hooks flew — the Spine groaned, and we were on her deck in moments.
The air tasted of salt and fear.
The merchant crew scrambled, surprise bleeding into panic.
Steel sang and boots thudded on wet wood.
But before the chaos could settle, the lookout shouted.
Sails — fast, sharp against the horizon.
Pirate sails.
Not flagged or flying any colors we recognized.
A new threat.
—
Orders barked.
“Hold your ground! Protect the hold! No mistakes!”
We formed up, blades drawn, eyes scanning.
The new pirates closed in, and the world shrank to sharp steel, quick breath, and the roar of men hungry for the same prize.
This was no merchant crew running for their lives.
This was war.
—
They came aboard with a fury I didn’t expect.
Wild and desperate, like wolves fighting for scraps.
The clash was brutal and disorganized.
My sword bit deep, but I was watching.
Every twitch. Every falter.
Learning their rhythm — so we could break it.
—
The Spine’s crew fought with raw grit.
Not grace.
Not finesse.
But a savage will to survive.
I felt the cold burn of a blade near my ribs — barely missed.
I tasted copper and salt on my tongue.
But I didn’t falter.
—
In the midst of the fight, I locked eyes with their captain — a man rough as driftwood, wild in his stare, but fierce with a spark I recognized.
No words were needed.
We were kindred.
Foes on the sea, chasing ghosts and legends.
—
When the dust settled, we stood victorious — bloodied, breathing, but alive.
The other pirates retreated with what they could.
The merchant junk was ours.
The fight wasn’t just about gold or pride.
It was proof.
Proof that the Spine could hold.
That my crew could fight.
That I was more than just a name whispered in taverns.
—
Tonight, the ocean feels different.
Heavier.
Charged.
Like the start of something far larger than me.
The sea doesn’t give second chances — but it offers moments like these.
Moments where legends are born in the roar of steel and the cries of men.
I will remember this day.
Not for the blood spilled.
But for the fire it ignited.
—
— D. Jones
Age 23 | Late Summer
Location: East Blue, Somewhere Between Shells Town and Dawn Island
Entry: Evening | Wind rising, horizon blurred by salt spray
The stories are everywhere now.
Whispers in taverns thick with smoke.
Rumors in the dark corners of ports.
Names that carry weight — Arlong, Alvida, Buggy.
Pirates with crews like storms, carving their marks deep into the seas.
The East Blue isn’t small anymore.
It’s alive. Dangerous. Hungry.
My crew feels it too.
They want more than scraps and fading legends.
They want a real score.
A battle that’ll echo in the taverns for years.
A name that’ll make sailors shudder.
I don’t blame them.
I see the fire in their eyes — the same fire I felt on my first day at sea.
But I’m nervous.
Not for myself.
For them.
For all of us.
The sea is wide and full of monsters.
And now, so are we.
I’m learning fast.
Every decision feels heavier.
Every risk, sharper.
But I’m ready.
If we’re to survive — if we’re to rise — we have to face the chaos head-on.
No more running.
No more hiding.
We’re hunters now.
And the hunt is only beginning.
—
— D. Jones