Robin stood at the shore alone, the wind tugging at her hair, the ruins behind her silent and broken. The Black Pearl waited offshore, sails lowered, patient as ever. Jack stayed back. So did the others. This was not a moment to crowd.
Robin knelt, pressed her hands together, and bowed her head.
She spoke quietly—to her mother, to Saul, to the scholars whose voices still echoed in her mind even as their bodies were gone. She cried, but softly now. Not the choking sobs of the day before. These were slower tears, heavier, like leaving something behind.
When she stood again, her back was straighter.
She looked once more at the island.
Then she turned and walked back to the boat without looking over her shoulder.
The Caribbean Pirates left Ohara behind.
The smoke thinned as the island faded into the distance, until it was nothing more than a scar on the horizon and then not even that.
Robin spent most of that first day below deck. Gibbs had helped her clear a small room—formerly used for crates and broken tools—and allowed her to carry as many books as she could manage.
She carried every single one herself.
By the time the sun dipped low, the room had changed.
Books lined the walls. Books stacked carefully in corners. Books arranged in neat piles on a small table she had claimed as a desk. The air smelled of damp paper and ink and old knowledge. Robin sat on the floor, cross-legged, hands resting on a book in her lap, and smiled.
A library.
Her library.
Pintel peeked in once, took one look at the walls, shuddered, and backed away slowly.
"Nope," he muttered. "Books bite."
Gibbs found Jack on deck later that evening, staring out at the sea like it owed him money.
"Where to next?" Gibbs asked.
Jack didn't answer immediately. He slipped the compass out of his coat, turned his body slightly so no one else could see, and watched the needle spin.
It slowed and pointed towards something.
Jack closed the compass and tucked it away. "Forward."
Gibbs sighed. "Of course."
By the next afternoon, boredom had set in.
Which, for pirates, was far more dangerous than storms.
Jack slapped a deck of cards onto a crate. "Gin rummy."
Pintel squinted. "What's that?"
"It's a game," Jack said proudly. "With 'rum' in the name. Naturally, I chose it."
Gibbs crossed his arms. "We don't have money to bet."
Jack waved dismissively. "We'll wager clothes and chores.
Ragetti's eyes lit up. "I like this already."
They sat in a rough circle on the deck. Cards were dealt. Rules were explained—poorly.
Jack insisted on re-explaining them every time something went wrong, usually in a way that benefited him.
An hour later, Jack was losing badly.
Very badly.
"If this continues," Gibbs said coolly, "you'll be scrubbing the toilets for a week."
Jack stared at his hand like it had personally betrayed him. "That's… deeply unfair."
"You made the rules," Ragetti said smugly, laying down another winning set.
Gibbs clenched his teeth. "How are you winning?"
Ragetti shrugged. "I count."
Jack scratched his head, "You can count?"
Ragetti looked at Jack seriously and said, "Only till ren."
Gibbs cursed, "Unbelievable. I am losing to a guy who can't even count beyond 10."
Pintel groaned. "I don't even know what's happening anymore."
Jack was about to complain when a shadow fell across the table.
Robin stood there, holding a book.
She tilted her head, curious. "What are you doing?"
Gibbs straightened instantly. "Language," he warned.
Jack smiled innocently. "We're… engaging in strategic intellectual warfare."
Robin blinked. "With cards?"
"Yes," Jack said. "It's called gin rummy."
"Why gin?" she asked.
Jack opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…Excellent question."
Robin watched for a moment, then sat down carefully. "Can I play?"
Gibbs hesitated. "I don't know if—"
"New game," Jack said immediately. "Five players."
Ragetti's head snapped up. "Hey!"
Jack leaned back. "Fresh start."
Ragetti narrowed his eyes. "You're avoiding toilet duty."
Jack smiled. "Captain's privilege."
They dealt again.
Robin learned fast. Alarmingly fast.
Within minutes, she was correcting Pintel's mistakes, reorganizing her hand with precision, and laying down combinations that made Gibbs swear under his breath—then immediately apologize.
"This is impossible," Gibbs muttered.
Robin smiled shyly. "It's just patterns."
Jack watched her play, impressed despite himself. "She's ruthless."
By the end of the game, Robin had won.
Jack exhaled in relief. "At least it's not me."
Pintel stared at his cards in horror. "I lost?"
"Yes," Ragetti said cheerfully. "You lost.
Pintel began cursing—then stopped mid-word under Gibbs' glare. "…I am displeased."
Robin giggled.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and the sea glowed gold, Ragetti sat beside Robin near the steps below deck.
"…Can you teach me to read?" he asked suddenly.
Robin looked at him in surprise.
Ragetti scratched his head. "I wanna read the cooking book."
Robin smiled. "I'd like that. Your food is not good."
Ragetti clutched his chest, feigning to be hurt as Robin giggled.
Inwardly, he was really hurt.