Toma wandered through the old, closed-off docks—once lively, now quiet and forgotten. Rusted cranes, weathered ropes, and barnacle-covered planks surrounded him. He asked around, speaking to weathered sailors, lone dockhands, and the odd smuggler or fisherman passing by. But every time, he was met with refusal.
"No room.""Ship's full.""Don't want extra weight.""Not taking rookies."
As the sun began to dip into the sea, painting the sky in copper and blood-orange hues, Toma sat near the edge of one of the older piers. His boots dangled off the edge, swaying over the black, lapping water. The wind was gentle, the scent of salt heavy in the air.
His mind churned with doubt.
"Now what am I going to do? I don't even have a small boat."
Just then, a raspy voice spoke from behind.
"You can find a small ship at the end of one of these docks," said an old man leaning against a crate, his cap pulled low. "Its captain is young—like you. Ready to sail straight into the Grand Line."
Toma looked up, surprised. "And how do I know it's the same ship you're talking about?"
The old man gave a half-smile. "The name painted on her is… Cloudchaser."
That was enough.
Toma thanked him and took off, following vague directions given by a few lingering dockhands and older merchants. As he moved deeper into the neglected part of the harbor, he passed crates half-sunken in water, broken planks, and moored ships that hadn't seen open water in years.
And then—he found it.
A small ship with faded blue paint, patched sails, and a weathered figurehead shaped like a winged swirl. It was old, battered, barely seaworthy… and yet something about it felt right. It was tied beside a large trading vessel, almost invisible in its shadow.
Painted in chipped white letters along the hull:
CLOUDCHASER
Toma stood there for a moment, gazing.
"You looking for a ship?"
He turned, trying to locate the voice.
"Up here."
Toma looked up and saw a girl standing on the deck, leaning over the railing. Her skin was pale and smooth, her dreadlocked hair tied back with a patterned cloth. She wore a long coat, sleeves rolled, and her gaze was sharp—curious, but cautious.
"You're offering?" Toma asked, blinking.
"Not exactly," she said. Her eyes moved over him, reading something. "You look like someone who's running from something… but running toward something even bigger."
Toma smirked. "You're not wrong."
With one smooth motion, she jumped down from the deck onto the dock in front of him and extended her hand.
"The name's Selka. I need someone who can steer… and isn't afraid of a little chaos."
He took her hand without hesitation. "Toma. I'm heading for the Grand Line. And I'm not afraid of a little chaos."
Selka's lips curled into a wide grin. "Then you're headed in the right direction."
Toma chuckled. "So, when are we leaving for the Grand Line?"
Selka tilted her head, thinking for a second before replying, "We've got to stock up on a few more supplies. And I need to pick up someone from my homeland—a guy I trust."
That night, under a sky full of stars and the occasional drifting cloud, the two of them loaded barrels and crates onto the Cloudchaser. Lanterns swung from the masts. Seagulls cried in the dark, distant waves crashing against the harbor rocks.
Toma sat on the deck, his staff and newly forged twin hand-axes resting beside him—gifts from his resolve.
He stared out to sea and whispered to himself:
"I'll live better than before. I'll do it for you too."
He thought of the real Toma. The boy whose life ended too early. The one who carried this dream first.
Selka's voice drifted from across the deck. "Thinking about going back?"
Toma turned to her, then smiled—a real, full smile.
"No," he said. "Let's go where we have to go."
Selka didn't respond with words. She just kept her gaze fixed on the open sea. The wind played with her hair as a flicker of emotion passed through her face—the look of someone who had just taken the first real step toward a lifelong dream.
The sails of the Cloudchaser flapped gently in the breeze, waiting.
And for the first time in three years, Toma wasn't alone.