Awaken
A freezing wind howls across the desolate expanse of Sakura, a barren island untouched by warmth, where only the sounds of nature seem to make their presence known. It is the day after the battle, the day when everything feels like it’s been stripped away, leaving nothing but a silence so profound it feels suffocating. The sky above, a pale blue, blends with the white snow blanketing the island, creating a vast and empty canvas.
In this unnerving quiet, a figure stirs. A hand breaks through the thick snow. It’s not just any hand—it’s the hand of someone who fell yesterday. Yesterday, this man was left for dead on an island with temperatures colder than Red Line is high, where survival was uncertain and the cold a constant enemy. But falling doesn’t mean the end—it only means a new beginning. And in that moment, Django Noriyaki proves that even when knocked down by the harshest of odds, a man can rise. His fist clenches tightly as it emerges from the snow, a silent promise to himself. He’s still alive.
That promise grows louder with every movement as his body, stiff and aching from the fall, crawls free of the snow’s grip. He had been unconscious, but not defeated. Maybe trying to ride one of Drum’s snow hares wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all, but at least he can brag about it—if he ever finds his crew again.
The silence around him feels deafening, pressing in. He hasn’t woken up to this kind of stillness in a long while, and it’s too much. Where is everyone? Where are the ships? The cannonfire that echoed just hours before is now a distant memory, swallowed by this freezing quiet. Have I been unconscious for longer than I think? His mind races. Did they leave me? Why?
And then, the thought that stabs at him: Why are my pockets empty?! Damn it. Everything was going so perfectly. I’m stranded, broke, and alone.
But then, a thought—a plan—flickers in his mind. The Devil Fruit he ate, the one that turned his arm to diamond—what if it could be his ticket out of here? If I turn my arm into diamond, I could cut it off and sell it. A nice chunk of diamond could buy me a ship. Maybe I could still catch up with the Lady Million. It’s a tempting thought, the lure of wealth at his fingertips. No… no, I can’t get distracted by this now.
Yet the idea lingers. How much would a diamond arm weigh? How much would it be worth?
Django… Focus. He grits his teeth, trying to force his body to comply. He concentrates, trying to trigger the transformation. But it’s no use. The power isn’t coming. He’s too weak, too tired. Dammit, why isn’t it working?
No. No excuses. I can’t just lay here. His mind snaps back into focus. This place, this situation—it’s nothing but a stepping stone. He will survive, like he always has. He has no other choice.
He stands slowly, painfully. I will rise. I will find my crew. And I will make them regret ever leaving me behind.
As he trudges through the snowy wasteland, an idea begins to form. A light in the distance catches his eye. The lighthouse. That’s the answer. That’s my way out. It’s the only way he can escape this desolation. And so he starts moving, each step a defiance of the pain. There’s nothing but snow, and nothing but cold air, but the image of that lighthouse is enough to push him forward.
And as he reaches the city, he finds it eerily quiet. No one is outside. No one is around. The streets are empty, doors shut tight. They’re scared of me, he thinks. Why? They can’t possibly think I’m some heartless killer. He tries to reason with himself, but it’s futile. He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to get to Alabasta. But the question haunts him: How? How will I reach Alabasta without a ship, without any resources?
And then, the answer hits him. I’ll have to find a ship. I’ll wait for one to come here, get on it, and head to Alabasta. If I’m lucky, I’ll find my crew. And I’ll take what’s mine.
But it won’t be easy. He’ll need to blend in, disappear among them. He looks at his tattered clothes. This isn’t going to work. I need a disguise—something to throw people off my trail.
A bitter chuckle escapes him. They’re all hiding inside. But me? I’ll be the one who breaks in. They’ll give me what I need, one way or another.
But as he heads into the village, the cold bites at him. His muscles stiffen. He knows that time is running out. He can’t wait too long. This place has already taken too much from him.
The journey through the village feels like a lifetime, every step harder than the last. But eventually, he finds what he’s looking for. A house. He kicks the door down without hesitation, forcing his way inside. At least it’s warmer here. But now, he needs answers. And the man in front of him is going to give them to him.
“Who the hell are you?” the man demands, standing between Django and his family, weapon in hand.
Django’s eyes narrow. He raises his hands in mock surrender, keeping his voice calm. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just need some information. And some warmth. The cold out there is unbearable. I didn’t want to break your door, but what was I supposed to do?”
The man’s grip on the gun tightens, but Django isn’t deterred. He leans in, adding, “I’m not asking for much. Just help me, and I’ll leave you in peace. You’ll never see me again. But if you don’t, well… I don’t want to have to take things further.”
The man hesitates, looking from his family to Django. “You’re a pirate. I can’t trust you.”
Django shrugs. “You don’t have to trust me. But I’m not the one pointing a gun at someone who’s just cold and hungry.”
The tension is palpable. Django’s patience is wearing thin, and just as he expects, the man fires. The bullet misses, but it’s a warning shot.
Django ducks behind cover, his mind racing. He’s making a mistake. If he were truly dangerous, he would’ve done more by now. But there’s no time to explain. He can’t afford to waste any more time.
With a swift movement, Django grabs the gun, flipping it out of the man’s hands. In a flash, he’s standing with the weapon aimed at the family. “Listen. I need shelter and I need directions. You’re going to help me, or this won’t end well.”
The family is silent, their fear palpable. Django waits, his gaze firm. They know better than to test him.
“Good,” he mutters. “Now, where can I find a store? I need to buy some warm clothes.”
Transition to The Pledge:
This moment marks the beginning of Django’s path forward. He will now begin his journey to Alabasta, but not before proving to himself that he can survive this harsh world, that he can rise above the situation that left him stranded and vulnerable. This is his Pledge—to reclaim his lost fortune, to find his crew, and to rise once again.
