Going Merry — When The Sky Sorrows
Fuwako awoke slowly… not to warmth.
Not to safety.
Not to voices.
But to confinement.
Their small body twitched as consciousness crept back in. Their eyes fluttered open, and the soft morning sunlight filtered across the deck of the Going Merry. For a handful of seconds… it almost felt peaceful.
But then—
They tried to move.
Skkkrt.
The rope pulled tight.
Fuwako froze.
A realization struck like a cold wave pouring down their spine.
They weren't just resting against something.
They were tied to something.
Their feathers ruffled in alarm—hackles raising, wings twitching on instinct. They tried to flare them open—but the rope strained again, digging harshly into their back and chest. Their talons scratched uselessly against the mast as they squirmed.
They were bound to the Merry's mast.
"P–PYU?!"
—TIED?! SHE TIED ME UP?!
Their eyes widened with panic as their beak clicked rapidly, the warning sound echoing across the empty deck. Ropes wrapped around their midsection, their wings, even under their body where their tail feathers were tucked awkwardly. They couldn't move. They couldn't leave.
Before the panic could rise further—
Someone spoke.
"You're awake."
Nami's voice.
Fuwako's head snapped toward her.
She stood at the helm, hands relaxed on the wheel even though they were barely moving across the quiet sea. She didn't look at them right away. Her stance was casual—but her eyes… didn't quite match.
They looked tired.
"Calm down," she said finally. "You started thrashing in your sleep. I tied you down so you wouldn't hurt yourself. Or… fly away."
Fuwako stared at her. Not blinking. Not breathing.
Nami's expression didn't change.
Their own did.
"…Ki-ki-ki!"
—Liar! Why did you leave them!?
The question burned in their gaze even if they couldn't speak it aloud. They pulled against the rope again and again, wings trembling with effort—but the fibers only dug deeper into their soft feathers, biting along the folds of their wings and the edges of their scales.
Nami looked toward the sea again.
But Fuwako didn't.
They only looked at her.
And slowly…the air began to shift again.
The wind started to care.
It started small, barely tangible—just a subtle change in pressure. The kind most people ignore, because it never builds into anything noticeable.
But emotion…
real emotion…
The kind with weight to it…
Sometimes the world listens.
Fuwako didn't know it was happening. They only felt their heartbeat speeding up with each second of silence. Their feathers twitched in brief spasms of agitation, anxiety crackling through their nerves.
Each anxious exhale stirred the air. Each shift of their feathers crept out into the wind. Until the breeze began answering in small, stuttering gusts.
A lantern rope began to sway.
Loose papers fluttered.
A pair of barrels rolled an inch across the deck.
Nami's hands halted around the wheel.
For a moment—she said nothing.
Then quietly…
"You're upset," she murmured, still not turning to look. "I get it. I do. But just endure this for a little while longer. We're close."
Close to what?
Close to who?
Close… why?
Fuwako didn't know.
And because they didn't—
the air grew heavier, not lighter.
Their chest rose and fell too fast. Their eyes widened. Their pupils shook. They didn't have words—but nature didn't need words.
Overhead, the clear blue began to stain with gray.
Not everywhere.
Not even over the whole ship.
Just over them.
Right above the mast.
Where their heartbeat was loudest.
A small, dense cluster of clouds gathered above the Merry—swirling, slow and ominous. The sunshine dimmed fraction by fraction.
Fuwako hadn't meant to do it.
They only felt something deeply.
That was enough for the sky.
It was like the silence before the first storm.
More time passed.
Minutes? An hour? Two?
The sun climbed—but the sky above the Merry did not clear. The gloom didn't spread across the horizon… it remained still above this single vessel.
A strange hush fell around them. Like the air was waiting… for something to be spoken aloud.
But Nami spoke nothing.
And Fuwako could only stare.
Their feathers had begun shifting… slowly… like faint tremors. Their tail twitched without rhythm. Their talons kneaded the deck uselessly, the rope biting tighter each time—reminding them freedom was gone for now.
They remembered Luffy's laughter.
Zoro's stillness yet silent compassion.
Usopp's nervous excitement, his magnificent stories.
And Sanji's smell of spices.
They remembered what a crew, no, what a family felt like.
It felt distant now. Too distant.
They didn't even know why it was gone
And slowly, painfully…
…their small chest filled with guilt.
Were they abandoned?
Did they fail the crew somehow?
Did Nami simply… not want them anymore?
The air listened to their thoughts.
And answered with a warning.
A low, guttural roll of thunder slipped through the clouds above—soft, distant, like lightning had inhaled but not spoken yet. The sea ripples bent subtly against the ship, drawn as if reaching toward the mast.
Nami finally saw it.
And froze.
Her gaze lifted.
"…There shouldn't be a storm…so why," she whispered.
She looked toward Fuwako.
And for the very first time…
She looked afraid.
Not of being caught.
Not of the sea.
Not of some pirate.
Of them.
She didn't know how.
But she could feel it.
Like the sky was turning to face the one soul on board who still hurt the most.
"…Don't hate me for this," she finally whispered.
It was the last thing she said before stepping off the ship.
The words hung between them—like another rope tightening. Like a blade. Like a goodbye.
A second later—
Her feet hit the dock.
A moment later—
She let go of the Merry's line.
A minute later—
She walked away from the ship quietly, blending into the voices and sounds of human activity drifting along the coast.
She never looked back.
Not once.
So the sky did it for her.
Then the wind was the one to cried instead.
"PYUUUUUUU!!!"
—DONT GO! NAMI!! WAIT!! WAIT!!
Their voice cracked and echoed across the water. They lunged forward with all their strength—but the rope snapped them back against the mast.
And that is when it happened.
The wind answered.
It didn't whisper anymore.
It howled—a sudden surge of wind snapping across the sailcloth, rattling the ship's rigging and sending barrels rolling into the railing. The clouds above trembled and churned with sudden movement—thickening like ink swirling underwater.
Fuwako's distress had stopped being a feeling.
It had become a force.
Islanders near the docks paused.
Seagulls flew wide around the ship's airspace.
Flags flapped violently, and none of it matched the wind of the rest of the sea.
Something was wrong.
And whatever it was—
it was centered only above the Merry.
"P…pyu…"
—Why…? Why?!
The rough wind stuttered and softened briefly at that single small sound. Like it listened to sorrow too.
But then:
FLASH—
CRACK!
A white sliver of lightning flickered inside the clustered cloud—too weak to break out, but bright enough to be seen from the dock. Yet the thunderous sound was loud enough to echoe for miles.
Fear rolled across the ground.
Tension chased Nami down the pier.
And tied to the mast—with wide eyes, shaking voice, and a storm building above their heart—
Fuwako finally understood:
The world did not belong to humans alone.
And sometimes…
The sky chooses to mourn with those who cannot speak.
TO BE CONTINUED…