THE PEACE DIDN'T LAST LONG. Only a week after the last attack, the Indian East Company decided to come out of its cocoon.

They set foot on Isla Cruces, under the watchful eye of Jack, who watched them through his telescope. As long as they didn't come against them, everything would be satisfactory.

As Finn had predicted, the company was looking for the vault, like most pirates these days. But they were missing, like Jack, the key. Desperate for a way to get Davy Jones' aorta, the private owner joined the race.

Watching this spectacle through the windows of the holds, Jack reveled in the problems on the sidelines. The men of the company died one by one. But, taking up his shrivel again, he met the gaze of Davy Jones, a blue-ocean like, which was staring at him appallingly.

Jack opened his eyes in surprise and pulled the telescope out of sight. He said to sound the alarm and everyone was tired after the last fights. But the next one was already engaged.

An icy wind whistled through and through. The palm fronds danced together, mingling with each other. The dull sound of the breeze interspersed with the tender music of the crashing waves. Like a calm before the storm, Asteria was on deck, eyes closed. She inhaled, letting herself meditate on the soothing sounds. She was at peace with herself.

The gust was still fresh, at the beginning of the spring season, and the cheeks of the pirates turned pink from the contact with the squall. For Asteria, all this coldness was a real relief that relaxed her inflexible muscles. Chills crept down her flesh and she emanated all the good she had received.

The force with which the draught blew was of an incredible violence: which was soon to be in order between the pirates. The mast creaked, as did the floor. The wood held up for such a poor ship. The sails, though the boat did not move a foot, were frantically pitching and spreading.

The three camps found themselves, marching eagerly against the rough sand. Feet sinking halfway into this half-wet granite, some were almost sucked into this endless hole. Many would be six feet under, unfortunately not for the same reason as fauna.

"The key, Jones," said a member of the East India Company.

The octopus stammered between his moist lips, like his whole being. He didn't seem impressed; they were not the first to covet his artery. "So?" the latter reiterated, raising an eyebrow, hardly amused.

Jones smiled half-heartedly, which surprised his teammates who had never seen the light between his two lips.

"Rot in hell, all of you! You'll never have a part of me. No one will have it, but her."

The Flying Dutchman's crew shouted and a throng began, as they brandished the most menacing weapons. Axes, swords, mortars, everything was mobilized. Asteria frowned, the same feeling of chill running through her. It was no longer satisfaction, but uneasiness. Though she proved otherwise, the bloodbath she witnessed when she had returned scared her, even though she enjoyed the action and the rush around her. However, she was still thinking of all the victims who were going to lose their lives today. At what price? Rage seized her, and she stared at the squid, brandishing her sword. There was only a black anger, crushing her whole soul.

Everyone started to fight, without real reasons or obtaining anything. Cries resounded on all sides; a soaring man, a sinking fish. Jack himself was in such a good mood as always, moreover he was on the ground, able to easily escape the fate that trailed him.

Night had fallen, the sun having gone to slumber. Amid all the chaos, Asteria hadn't even had time to stargaze, which surprised her. For hours, and again, she wrestled. She was fighting alongside her friends, and was exhausted. Screams, tears, the battle was tough. Each side had far too much pride to surrender or capitulate. Nevertheless, Jack's crew was the most disadvantaged, as it was the least numerous.

Asteria had been injured, a minor cut against her shoulder, corrosive sand mixed against her clotted blood. It had started to rain, and the salt water wasn't helping to keep her wound sane. Will fought with the same ardor, observing his father from time to time, making sure that no harm had been done to him, although he did not underestimate the latter. He had survived well without him. The young man looked at Asteria, and his heart raced every time a blade failed to hit him.

Clenching his jaw, he watched the island, trying to find a way out: they couldn't keep struggling forever. It was then that through the palm leaves and banana trees that were still damp, he perceived hundreds of boxes, which surely contained numerous chemical and explosive substances. He half-smiled, because that would mean killing a lot of people, which he hated. But it was the only way out. At least it seemed like.

Midway through the battle, Will was quivering his shoulder-length hair, his heart thrashing at the thought of what he was about to accomplish. Asteria, meanwhile, was battling a fish-man, and when she delivered the killing blow, she was pulled by the sleeve of her sweat-stained shirt. The young girl let herself utter a cry of surprise, her heart contracting, as if the blood had stopped flowing. She was afraid. And surprisingly, she thanked the sky to have regained emotions, and to perceive that she was able to still feel some.

She felt fear running through her limbs, this strong emotion that created knots in the pit of her stomach. Luckily for her, it was only Will. Despite the calm of their two bodies, the sound of sabers resounded all around them, and took many people in the ribs, or fists in the legs.

Asteria, realizing who was in front of her, grew nervous, and looked around as if to find an answer.

"Asteria."

She immediately turned her head to face this young man, who was now a fierce gentleman in his own right. Only a year that she had known him, and she had seen him grow, raise in self-confidence, and bloom to be nothing but the most remarkable flower in his orchard. Certainly, during a walk, she would have picked this bud. But she was rambling.

"Yes?"

Will looked nervous, much more than the speedy bodies and weapons could ever scare him. With sweaty palms, he approached her, arching half of his body before firmly gripping the girl's shoulders.

"Look, we don't have much time left."

He took a deep breath and looked into her hazel eyes, before saying those words.

"I love you."

The words echoed in his head.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Her dilated pupils moved in all directions, her breathing jerky. Maybe it was the cold that was causing so many frigid shivers along his skin. The mouth completely open, testifying to her amazement, the young girl could not answer, as if petrified. It was like spoken evidence, which should have been obvious. How had she not noticed? Everything jostled, bodies with invading thoughts, and soon the fight resumed, while Will had already left to scold himself against a human fish.

Completely confused, she could not foresee the opponent coming straight towards her. In the distance, she distinguished sound frequencies, seeming to belong to Gibbs: "Asteria! In front of you!"

Petrified, so calm, like the waves that surrounded her, she heard nothing. The opponent took the opportunity to ring it, his head falling to the ground. The shock sounded like the echo of a new coin when buying this one. So much space, room...

Asteria felt that her mind was a malleable string on which you could play honeyed melodies. At the touch of the string, it buzzed, contracted and vibrated, just like the girl's consciousness.

Opening her eyes with difficulty, she licked her lips in order to restore the missing water in her body, although the water was not missing where she was. Finn was at her bedside, extending a hypocoristic hand to her amid the carnival of frantic screams and crushing sabers. He smiled, and she did the same, a little warmth returning to her livid body.

"How are you?" he asked, pressing her temple.

"I'll be fine, thanks Finn."

She ruffled his hair, and only a pothole remained on his head. He chuckled childishly before leaving her, fairly sure of the girl's satisfactory condition.

Asteria had to pull herself together, the fight wasn't over, and she was still exclaiming that no one had killed her yet, for the number of times she was just standing there thinking, as if putting break from all this madness.

It was true... why fight so much? Why so much violence? The adrenaline flowing through her veins when she fought was unmatched, but were the foundations so much worth it?

She boiled down to taking back her sword, and fighting against the opponents, more than tired now.

At the same time, Violette resurfaced, completely opposite Asteria. She was ruthless, screaming with all her might, planting blades more than words. She knew this was all just a way to lick her pain. The abandonment she had shown.

Still beating herself, she spun around, crossing Gibbs' sword. She who had recovered from it looked artificial, a fake flower in the image of Medusa. Gibbs wanted to cry, but was enjoying this moment when all the storm seemed to have left the surroundings. It was just them, two hearts beating in unison, and for a moment he was plunged back into that love of all those years. Shorter, better groomed, more presentable hair; a mermaid at his side madly distraught.

Like an amicable report, and finally the burial of a hatchet, they smiled at each other, a real smile, which came straight from the vein of their left hand.

And, it was while continuing to smile that Violette felt a sharp plate sink into the pit of her stomach. Still facing Gibbs, the zygomatic faded from second to second, as she lowered her head to see the scarlet smearing her tissue of flesh there. She gasped, as if panicked, having hardly foreseen this eventuality. Gibbs cried out in pain, already realizing the gravity of the act.

He was going to lose her again.

An Icarus flying through the sky with broken wings, a subdued fall to the rhythm of a paralyzed requiem, and Violette backed up to stick to the ship's barriers. She gave a last look, a last visual embrace to the one she had loved, before falling overboard to reach where she had always been: the sea.

Gibbs, utterly devastated, fell to the ground in Violette's image, and began to let out inaudible cries of pain.

And just then, Will threw an object that set off the machinery of his plans, and the explosives detonated in unison. The different parties left the battle, too battered by the boy's brilliance. Nevertheless, Jones had the key.

There was only calm, peaceful twilight falling near the boat. The moon shone through the rolled-up panes of the window. As noises from the creaking mast began, Asteria heard an equally different sight. The feather she brightened, light and brown, it surely belonged to a majestic ostrich. Dipping it in the inkwell, the rusty metal echoed against the asphalt, entropic.

Taking the pen against the paper, she smelled the salty smell, the leaves having already rubbed shoulders with the ocean. She was writing her memoirs, for which she was grateful; why she felt bloody. Indulging did her a great deal of good, and she admired the power of the pen.

At the far end of the room Will entered, and sat down, the poor consumed candle as the only light; time as only vanity. Widening his eyes, the color of his eyelids brought together in every way the orange atmosphere immersed in the room. He observed the young girl, even if she was from behind. He could see the beauty of her curves, the way each curl of her hair folded perfectly over one other. They seemed so long, as if at any moment they would be ready to grow more, like extended springing roots, exquisitely aphrodite. As the young girl fidgeted, the chair that welcomed her accompanied her with skimpy creaks.

Like a rush of adrenaline, Will rose to pose behind her, placing an affectionate hand on top of the chair. Asteria's breath hitched as she realized someone had been in the room unbeknownst to her. Turning, she smiled at Will, and that kind of moment was just waiting to be depicted on the page, like a rococo painting.

She picked up the quill full of ink and tried to throw it at Will, the mood changing to playtime. Will had never been to school as a child. He had hardly received the same education as Asteria, although they shared the same principles. Could one blame him for being less cultured, in view of the refusal of the right to education towards his person? Nevertheless, he had a know-how, skills, and that, no tutor could have taught him. No page could have shared with him the magnificence of his genes. Asteria, on the other hand, had been brought up like a girl. Not learned to count or to observe the world from above, but to keep her head held high, to banter silly at all the compliments given, and to utter the most beautiful speeches to charm. No matter the gender or the condition, the two young friends had not been educated to their fair value, but learned, little by little, together the miseries of life.

"Hey!" he said sticking out his tongue, placidly backing away as if they were playing tag. Like a mischievous invitation, the two juveniles – still very young – began to run one after the other, Will with an amusing expression of dread; Asteria with an inkwell, ferociously amused.

In the excitement of their divertimento, they giggled as if they were only seven years old. On reflection, one often wonders I wish I had met you before. They had done the impossible: running back in time without losing their breath, both on a rocking boat, savoring their childish frivolity.

This, Asteria thought, this was worth living.

Asteria, a boot of ink splayed against her cheek, put on a dressing gown. Venturing on the bridge that watched the shore, she found Gibbs there, whose soul seemed to have left him.The young girl hated to see him in such a poor condition, her heart erect with blood bled at the sight of such grief. Putting her tender hands against the bar, she rested one against her friend's shoulder.

As devoid of all existence, he turned to her, a robot of human flesh, whose eyes cried the sky.

"Gibbs..." she began, in a desperate voice. The man did not answer, staring at the horizon with his two large eyes.

"We should leave."

Asteria was surprised to hear a sound uttered by the pirate.

"Why that? Jack is forced to stay, it seems to me."

"Who talked about me?"

The said-pirate came out of his platonic cave, a big sunflower smile fading into a sad thistle. Jack found himself feeling a sweet commiseration for his friend as they stood near the water.

To Asteria's amazement, Jack wrapped his arms around his two companions, pulling Gibbs into a friendly hug. One had to admit it: Jack was not good with feelings, frivolities. But, this time, he felt like he was in a duel, where he fought with Gibbs' pain, smashing his saber against his slimy grip. The only thing Jack knew how to do properly was fight to protect him. Thus, the two friends held Gibbs until the limbo of the night, mixing sympathetic smiles and nonchalant laughter as they listened to trivial stories in order to distract Gibbs, bringing him the company he had always dreamed of.