He kicks over a rock.

It clatters in the pitch dark, echoing as it scatters pebbles about. He sees the faint outline of white in the distance, a ghost scouting out the path.

Perona yelps, shrieks at something – "Hollow!" and he's sure that whatever it was, it wasn't too happy about living at the moment.

"Where do you think you're going?" Perona calls out from behind him; he turns and frowns. He was sure that she had been in front of him earlier.

They had been wandering through meandering ruins for days now, and his poorly bandaged wounds itched. Perona insisted on rewrapping them every day but even fresh water was hard to get by, much less any to scrub out the grit from scabbing sores.

He unpockets the Vivre card, watches its tiny light flutter in the palm of his hand. Perona drifts by, peering over his shoulder.

In the middle of a sweltering tropical forest when he had been looking for a tower in the middle of a desert country.

Buried to the waist in the snow with no one else but Carue in sight.

Meaningless lines on maps sketched by Nami, the quivering needle in the Log Pose.

The Vivre card scuttles along the calluses on his hand.

The strength of the oceans judged by its location – North, East, West, South.

Sunset and a straw hat pressed against messy tangles of hair. A silhouette with an arm out-stretched towards the horizon.

The Vivre card twitches.

He takes a step forward.

He didn't need a sense of direction. All he had to do was go straight ahead.