Seagulls.

Water.

Salt.

It should have hurt. But there was nothing left to feel the pain.

Nothing but heat. Agonizing, surreal fire engulfed his body, until he wondered if the water he could just barely see all around him was real at all.

But it no longer mattered. He didn't have much time left, anyway. He had lost it all and resigned himself to his fate the second he saw the train approaching.

For one reason or another, he couldn't explain, but his eyes drifted across the ocean.

A ship. Dark, silhouetted by the setting sun, light glinting off its hull. Metal.

Ignoring the agony of his dying body, he lifted his arm. Pushed it down into the sea before him, pain wracking him with the impact. He kicked. Pain with every motion of the water on his torn flesh.

The ladder, hot under the sunlight. It might have burned his hands, but he doubted it made much difference; they couldn't be saved in any case.

On the deck, he understood. Metal rails, bent and rusty. Doors, hanging from a lone hinge. Sails, rotted and ripped from winds. Nails, strewn haphazardly across the deck.

Blood ran from his ruined face, every drop that yet clung an added weight, pulling him down. He no longer had the strength to stand and let himself fall onto the sun-warmed wood. It was a relief to lie down and die.

Die?

No.

He would never have that old life, that old happiness back. But he could make a new name and start over. It wouldn't be the same. And every day, he knew his heart would ache for his brother, for his mentor. But Franky had never been the type to just give up and die.