Yello, this is a rewrite of the chapter as I saw that the original chapter didn't have any of my new writing style. This is also my first story. Do leave some advice in the comments. So nothing much changed besides my descriptive ability. So if this is your first time reading this I hope it's better than the previous version. See you at the end of the chapter.
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The sea, where stories are made and tales are told. From fighting Sea Kings to killing gods, the sea has it all. On the only continent in the world there stood a place atop the Red Line called Mariejois. Where the World Nobles live and there's always an influx of wealth. There stood a boy observing the capital of the World Government as its lights shimmered in the darkness of night. The boy overlooked the cityscape below from the top of Pangaea Castle. A castle built from the blood and tears of slaves as they built these walls with calloused hands, brick by brick. The interior was filled to the brim with countries' worths of riches ranging from the sharpest blade to the finest crafts. The castle was packed with thousands of rooms that were all decorated with the finest materials the world had to offer. All of the rooms carrying accents of blue to match the exterior theme of beige and teal. All of this wealth and power was amassed by the World Government and the Five Elders. These Elders and their subordinates live inside these walls to rid the world of pirates to bring order to the globe.
Atop this holy castle sat a boy on the ledge of the castle. Legs dangling off as he swayed his legs back and forth. Clothed in nothing but finely made striped blue pyjamas as his grey eyes clouded as he looked up at the full moon lighting the city in a ghostly pale light. The night time breeze lightly pushed the boy from behind, almost making him lose his balance. The wind exerted a quiet laugh from the boy. 'That was close.' The boy steadied himself before looking up at the stars as he always did nowadays and pondered the secrets of the world. Tonight's topic was one he always held at the back of his mind and questioned the morality of it. Before he had a chance to further unravel his thoughts a long shadow was casted over his form. Having seen it so many times at his nightly ponders, he need not turn his head to know who it was. So he posed the nightly topic to them.
"Grandfather, why do we do it?" The boy asked as his eyes were still of the cityscape below. before he slowly turned his head to the man standing behind him. The older man was a tall figure dressed in a tight knit black three piece suit. No doubt custom made due to the mans stagger height of five metres and lanky frame, easily surpassing the height of the five elders. The elderly man had short white hair and a cleanly kept white beard reaching to his chest. "Do what my boy?" The man's voice seemingly shook the castle beneath their feet, but there was a soft undertone one would use only when speaking to blood. The boy was convicted to his question and stood up, having to strain his neck to meet his grandpa's grey eyes. "Slavery."
He wasn't even up to the man's knee but he didn't break eye contact, as he stared into the man's eyes. The man was straight faced for a second before a thunderous below left his jaw. The laugh, no doubt, was heard throughout the walls of Pangaea before he had to close his open maw. The elderly man tried to keep a straight face but a small smile filled with pride was stretched across his face. "My boy, you seemed to have finally grown a head of your own!" More joyous words left his mouth as he mocked the boy. "If you want to know the real reason it's because…" The boy stood on his tippy toes waiting in anticipation. "We're simply better than those sea bound flippers and the commoners that walk our grounds."
The boy only sighed, breaking eye contact with his grandfather. He never truly understood the topic, they looked the same as any other person that he'd ever met, so what made them so special. 'Maybe I'm missing a key factor in this all together?' The boy thought as he sat crossed legged with chin in hand. "Just go to bed boy, it's getting too late for your silly questions." The boy sighed once more, as he wished his Grandfather a good night's rest before he reluctantly arrived at his room. He pushed open the double doors and toppled onto his bed paying no mind to his lavish surroundings. He was tired and bored. He needed some to answer his question.
The boy picked up a gold bell on his bedside and rung it till a few seconds later when a slave came rushing in. The boy had always had a hard time interacting with these 'slaves', all he saw was another human being behind the shackles and chains. The only thing that distinguished them was their clothes and status. "Is there a problem young master?" The slave asked with a light sweat forming on his brow, after all, he was now just a frail old man who was one of the few who didn't manage to escape when the short lived rebellion arrived. "No, just tell me something interesting, maybe a story." The old slave stood still for a second and walked through every single memory that could pique the young masters curiosity. "Ah, now have you heard tales of pirates?" The old man asked with a glimmer of excitement behind his eyes.
"Yes, cruel feral beasts who litter our shores." The boy answered with absolute certainty.
The older man only let out a soft chuckle, "Not all pirates are as bad as some stories may go." The elderly man simply answered as represented memories resurfaced once more.
"Oh really? That seems interesting, tell me more."
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For the rest of the night the old man told tales of mishaps and adventures which only interested the boy's curiosity about the world beyond the capital of Mariejois. Every night from then on, the old man would tell tales about life in the blues and monsters that lurk beneath its depths as well as the pirates that sail its seas. He was even told of the infamous tale of Gol D. Roger and his crew as they travelled around the Grandline. One of these nights the boy asked the ageing slave for his name. "It's been such a long time, young master, that I seem to have forgotten with my age." The boy stared at the man in front of him who he regarded as a wise man who had been thrown into slavery for so long he had forgotten his own name. Something as sacred as freedom should be precious to those bestowed with it. Not taken away.
Disgusting.
The boy seemed to find his footing in his week old question. The boy longed to be like these characters, going through so many trials and tribulations but always showing indomitable will against their challenges. To not falter in the face of danger. To be free. The boy wanted to have a grand adventure of a lifetime that he could look back on fondly with laughter and joy. The boy could only pity the man in front of him. A man broken and rotted with time and seemingly lost all sense of self. "Would you like to be free?" The answer was simple and short. Yet the answer held the very life of a man in its palm.
"No"
Unfathomable. Why? The boy simply didn't understand why someone wouldn't want to be free from a place where they were treated like dogs. The old man, seeing the puzzled look on the boy's face, gave reassurance. "A couple years I would have taken any chance to get away from this place. To be free once more…but now in my old age I have nothing to live for. No friends, no family, they're all gone. There's nothing for me outside these prison walls and I already feel death breathing down my back. There's nothing for me out there. My only solace being you young man. I can only imagine the pressure you must feel knowing that a man's only worth in life is you. So as a dying man's wish…what is your name?" The boy stood still as he looked the old man in his glassy eyes.
The boy barely even knew the man for a week and yet it felt like he knew him for years. As the boy's vision clouded with water, he said his name. "Louncent, my name's Louncent." The boy tried to hold himself together but the seams kept on tearing. The man contemplated the name before commenting, "Nice name." A joyous laugh left the old man's mouth before he walked out of the room with a wave goodbye and goodnight. Louncent felt like this would be the last time he saw the old man.
As by the next night a different person answered his calling bell.
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Well that was long. I don't know the normal word count a story should aim for, so I wouldn't mind you guys telling me a rough number I should aim for. I'd also like to state I don't mind any advice and criticism to help me enhance my writing ability. So if you find something you don't feel like fits in this story don't mind telling me.