Gale-force winds tore across the coast, turning Oakhaven's usually placid waters into a churning cauldron. Rain fell horizontal, stinging like needles, transforming dirt paths into treacherous rivers of mud.
Elena clutched her swollen stomach, knuckles white against her drenched cloak. She shouldn't have been out here. Should have stayed in her cottage. But the pain had come early—sudden and sharp, like a knife between the ribs.
"Just... a little further."
Her voice vanished into a crack of thunder. She took another step. The mud betrayed her.
Elena went down hard, twisting instinctively to shield the child. Cold mud filled her mouth with the taste of earth and iron. Then the real pain hit—a contraction that turned her vision white.
"Help!"
The wind swallowed the word.
Through the rain, a door banged open atop the hill. Warm lantern light cut through the gloom.
"Who's dying on my doorstep? It's bad for business!"
Matron Zora—the island's only midwife, carved from granite and tobacco smoke—waddled into the deluge. Her gruff demeanor vanished when she saw the heap in the mud. She was at Elena's side in seconds, hoisting her with surprising strength.
"Foolish girl," Zora grunted, dragging her toward the light.
Inside, the world narrowed to flickering oil lamps and the smell of boiling water and dried herbs.
Hours bled together. The storm hammered the shutters, trying to break in and snuff out the sparking life within. Elena gritted her teeth, sweat mixing with rainwater in her hair.
She pushed with a ferocity that startled even the Matron.
"Almost there!" Zora coached, wiping Elena's brow. "I see the head. Come on, girl!"
With one final, earth-shattering effort, the tension snapped.
A cry pierced the air—high, clear, demanding. Loud enough to rival the thunder overhead.
Zora worked quickly, cleaning the baby and wrapping him in rough wool. "It's a boy." Her voice softened. "And look at that... silver hair. Never seen the like."
She carried him to the bed. Elena's chest barely moved. Her skin was pale, the color draining like a tide going out.
Zora's face fell. She'd seen this look before. "Elena...?"
Elena turned her head. Her eyes were heavy, light flickering out, but when she saw the bundle, something shifted.
She didn't cry. Didn't look afraid.
Instead, a radiant smile broke across her face—one that seemed to laugh at the Reaper waiting in the corner.
"He's... loud."
"He's healthy." Zora moved closer, throat tight. "He needs a name. What do we call the little storm-bringer?"
Elena reached out with a trembling hand, brushing the infant's cheek. The baby settled instantly.
"Argentus," she breathed, smile never faltering even as her hand dropped to the sheets.
"Just Argentus?"
Elena's eyes closed, but that grin—defiant, joyful, free—remained.
"Argentus... D... Drake."
Outside, lightning shattered the sky, followed by thunder that shook the island's foundations.
One Year Later
Elena adjusted the frayed sling across her chest. The fabric was worn thin, but the knot held tight. It had to. It held her entire world.
"Heave!"
The foreman's voice cracked like a whip.
Elena gritted her teeth and lifted. The crate was full of salted mackerel, heavy and reeking. A year ago, she could have managed this easily. Now it felt like lifting a mountain.
On her back, little Argentus shifted. He didn't cry. Even at one, the boy seemed to understand their rhythm. He simply gripped her hair—silver-white mixed with dark—and held on.
Just to the warehouse, she told herself. Ten more steps. Then we get paid. Then we eat.
Step six brought a tickle in her throat. Step seven turned it into a claw.
Elena dropped the crate onto the stack and spun away, stumbling toward the pier's edge. She clamped a hand over her mouth as the cough ripped through her, violent and wet. When she pulled her hand away, her palm was slick with crimson.
She stared at it. The metallic taste coated her tongue. It was getting worse.
"Elena! You daydreaming?" The foreman barked. "If you can't keep pace, I've got three others begging for this shift."
Elena wiped her hand on her dark trousers, hiding the blood. When she turned back, there was that smile—defying, unbreakable. It didn't reach her fever-bright eyes, but it stretched across her lips.
"Just catching my breath, sir." Her voice rasped.
She reached back, patting the small lump. A tiny hand grabbed her finger, warm and strong.
"Hear that, Argentus?" she whispered, ignoring the burning in her lungs. "We're doing just fine."
The baby cooed, soft and lost to the wind, as his mother walked back into the grinder.
The walk home was always hardest.
Elena kept her head down, hugging building shadows as she navigated the muddy main street. The town was waking up—not the workers, but the drinkers. Tavern doors swung open, spilling yellow light and the stench of cheap grog.
She tightened her grip on the sling. Argentus slept, his breathing a comfort against her spine.
"Well, look what the tide dragged in."
Sharp. Slurred. Too close.
Elena didn't flinch. Didn't slow. She knew the voice.
"Hey! I'm talking to you, Elena."
Heavy footsteps splashed through puddles behind her. Elena fixed her eyes on a distant lamppost. Just keep walking.
"Still playing martyr?" Gowan sneered, circling to block her path. "Walking around with that bastard strapped to your back like a sack of coal. Pathetic."
He reeked of stale beer and unwashed clothes.
"A child without a father. Hard life. Unnatural." He leaned in with mock sympathy. "How long can a mother survive alone? You're looking thin. Like a stiff breeze would snap you."
He stepped closer, invading her space.
"How about a new dad for him? Someone to put food on the table? I ain't rich, but I'm better than a ghost."
Elena looked up.
For a second, Gowan flinched. He expected fear. Tears. Begging.
Instead, Elena looked at him with eyes that were tired, yes, but terrifyingly calm. A thin trickle of dried blood remained at her lip. And there was that smile again—faint, almost imperceptible, but sharp enough to cut.
She said nothing. Simply adjusted the baby and stepped around him like he was a pothole.
"Hey! Don't ignore me!" Gowan shouted, pride stung. "You're nothing! You're gonna die in the gutter with that brat!"
The insults rained down—disgusting, foolish, cursed. Elena kept walking.
She'd heard it all before. The market whispers. The Matron's pitying looks. The leering offers from men who thought desperation made her cheap. Just noise. Like wind, like waves.
Argentus shifted in his sleep, sighing softly.
Elena's hand covered her mouth as another cough threatened, suppressing it through sheer will until she was out of earshot.
Let them talk, she thought, iron in her blood burning hot. They don't know who you are, my little dragon. They don't know what you're going to be.
Five Years Later
The wheat was tall, taller than the six-year-old being dragged through it. Dry stalks whipped his face like nettles.
"Mom! You're hurting me!"
Argentus stumbled, small boots catching in the furrows, but the hand gripping his collar didn't loosen. Elena marched through the field, breathing ragged, stride furious, until they reached the clearing's dead center.
She shoved him forward.
Argentus tumbled into the dirt, scraping his palms. He scrambled up, eyes wide and watery, looking at the woman who'd never raised a hand to him before. She stood silhouetted against the dying sun, chest heaving—not just from illness, but from cold, terrifying anger.
"Mom, please!" His voice cracked. "I had to! You didn't hear what the baker's son said! He called you a disease! Said you were rotting!"
He clenched his bruised fists.
"I couldn't let him say that! But he was bigger, so I got Tico and Frey. We made a plan! We ambushed him together! Made him apologize!"
Argentus looked up, chest swelling with confused shame and pride. He'd won.
"I won't do it again. I promise, I won't fight ag—"
"Silence!"
The word erupted from her soul. Crows scattered from the nearby scarecrow.
Elena stepped forward. For a moment, she didn't look dying. She looked like a titan. Her shadow swallowed him whole.
"You think I'm angry because you fought?" She hissed, voice dropping dangerously low. "You think I care about bruises?"
She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him once, hard.
"You are Argentus D. Drake. My son."
She pointed a trembling finger toward the village.
"You gathered a group? Needed Tico and Frey to handle your burden? Relied on numbers to crush one enemy?"
Argentus froze. The air left his lungs. He'd expected to be scolded for violence. Never this.
Elena's eyes blazed.
"Why did you gather others to fight like a coward?!" she screamed. "If you fight, you go alone!"
The wind died. The wheat stopped rustling.
Argentus stood stunned, mouth slightly open. The words bypassed his brain and branded themselves onto his heart.
Coward.
He'd thought himself a leader. She saw a sheep hiding in the herd.
Elena fell to her knees, eye level with him now. She gripped his face, calloused thumbs wiping away dirt. Her expression softened, but the intensity remained, burning like coal.
"Listen to me, Argentus." Her voice rasped, adrenaline fading. "The world is a cruel ocean. Friends... allies... they're precious. But you don't use them as shields. You don't need a pack to be a wolf."
She pressed her forehead against his.
"When you fight for what you believe in... you stand on your own two feet. Even if the whole world opposes you. Understand?"
Argentus looked into her fading eyes—so full of fire—and nodded slowly. Something childish in him shattered, replaced by something harder. Heavier.
"I understand," he whispered. "Alone."
Six Months Later
The sun set in bruises of purple and red.
Argentus didn't see it. He saw only dirt beneath his feet. He ran, lungs burning like broken glass. He clutched his shirt's hem, gathered into a makeshift sack, heavy and jingling with salvation.
He'd stolen it. Begged for it. Fought three grown men in a casino alley for it.
He burst through the shack door, stumbling over the threshold.
"I got it!" he wheezed.
He scrambled toward the bed where the Doctor stood packing his bag. Argentus fell to his knees, releasing his shirt. Crumpled bills and silver coins spilled onto the dirt floor, rolling against the Doctor's boots.
"Look!" He gasped, hands trembling as he shoved money forward. "It's enough! Five thousand berries! You said medicine cost four! I got it! Save her!"
The Doctor stopped. Looked down at the desperate pile, then at the bruised, filthy boy. He didn't pick it up.
He shook his head.
"Keep your money, kid." His voice was void of emotion. "She doesn't need medicine anymore. She needs a priest."
The Doctor stepped over the coins, pushed past the boy, and walked out, closing the door on the tragedy.
Argentus sat frozen. The silence was deafening. The money—blood and sweat gathered—lay there like trash. Meaningless.
"Argentus..."
Faint. Like dry leaves skittering on pavement.
Argentus scrambled to the bedside, grabbing her hand. It was cold. So cold. Tears, hot and angry, spilled down his face, dripping onto her pale skin.
"I failed," he sobbed, body shaking. "I'm weak. I wasn't fast enough..."
A hand moved. Weakly, painfully, Elena lifted her fingers and brushed away his tears. Her skin was rough, calloused from years of labor, but her touch was gentle.
"Stop." The command had no volume, yet held that same intensity from the wheat field. "Tears... are for the helpless."
She coughed, a dry rattling that signaled the end. She fixed her eyes on him—eyes no longer seeing the room, but looking far into the future.
"Listen to me, Argentus. Look at me. Look at this room. Look at how I'm dying."
Argentus looked. Saw the poverty. The dirt floor. The helplessness.
"The world eats the weak," Elena murmured, thumb tracing his jawline. "It devours the poor. It spits out the kind."
She pulled him closer, grip surprisingly tight for a dying woman.
"You must survive. Alone. I don't care how. I don't care if the world calls you hero... or villain. Morality is a luxury for those with full bellies."
Her breath hitched. The light in her eyes dimmed, but the fire in her soul roared one last time.
"Promise me." She stared into his very core. "Promise me that when you take your final breath... you will not be like this. You will be the most powerful and richest man in the world. You will stand so high that no one—not the Marines, not the Pirates, not the Gods—can ever look down on you again."
"I promise." The vow tasted like ash and iron. "I promise, Mom."
Elena smiled. The same smile from the day he was born.
"Good," she breathed. "My little storm..."
Her hand went slack, falling from his cheek to the bedsheet. The smile remained, frozen in eternal defiance, but her chest stopped moving.
Argentus didn't scream. Didn't wail.
He sat in the darkening hut, surrounded by useless coins, holding the cooling hand of the only person who'd ever loved him. The tears stopped. His eyes dried.
Outside, the wind began to howl, rattling the shutters.
What Elena didn't know—couldn't possibly know—was that her final wish wasn't just a mother's hope.
It was a curse.
An ignition spark dropped into gunpowder.
Those words would drive a boy to tear down the established order. They would topple Emperors and burn flags. Her dying wish would one day bring the entire world to its knees.
The Legend of Argentus D. Drake had begun.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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