Kael D. Veyra stood at the water's edge in Driftend, wearing worn boots that pressed into the wet sand. The sky was gray and low, and the morning air was cool and damp. In front of him was Echo, a small skiff he had built from years of saving coins. The vessel had one sail and a hull patched with tar. At 17, he was leaving today.
He adjusted the sack on his shoulder. Inside were bread, a waterskin, and a rusty knife wrapped in cloth. His dark hair, tangled and long, brushed his neck as his gray eyes fixed on the horizon. He felt a familiar ache in his chest that had been there since he was five.
"Kael D. Veyra," he whispered to himself. It was the name his mother had given him, though she never explained the meaning of the letter "D." She had mentioned it only in passing before the fever took her. His father, a fisherman with rough hands and a rough voice, had once said, "It means nothing unless you make it mean something." Kael had not known then if it mattered, but the letter felt like a secret connecting him to a larger story. He also remembered Loguetown from 12 years ago.
He recalled the day in Loguetown when he was small, his hand hidden in his father's grip. He remembered watching Gol D. Roger on the scaffold, his confident stance and clear voice declaring, "My treasure is out there. Go find it—One Piece is yours if you can!" Roger's laugh had filled the square, and even though his father had pulled him back, warning, "Don't listen, Kael. It's madness," Kael had listened. That laugh had stayed with him, sparking a determination he could not ignore.
In the years that followed, life in Driftend had been harsh. The sea took his father when Kael was 10 during a storm that destroyed their boat. His mother passed away a year later, her illness lingering in their small shack. Driftend offered little comfort, and Kael survived by mending nets, hauling crates, and sleeping on a cot by the docks. He grew lean, his hands calloused, and his eyes remained restless. The letter "D" in his name was a constant reminder of a family he barely knew, and as he grew older, Roger's laughter echoed more loudly in his mind.
A voice broke his thoughts. "You're really doing it, huh?"
Kael turned to see Old Tam limping toward him, his cane sinking into the sand. Tam's white beard moved as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the skiff.
"Yes," Kael replied in a low, steady voice as he knelt to inspect the rope tying Echo to the post. He ran his fingers along the worn cord. "There's no reason to stay here."
Tam huffed and spat into the surf. "The sea is dangerous, boy. You are no sailor. What's a skinny kid like you gonna do out there?"
Kael's hand stilled and his jaw tightened. He thought of his father's ruined boat and his mother's frail figure in the dim light of their home. "I will figure it out," he said quietly, almost to himself. Standing up, he brushed sand from his knees and met Tam's gaze. "It is better than staying here and wasting away."
Tam narrowed his eyes, studying him. "What is driving you, Kael? It isn't just a desire to wander. You have that same look as those fools who sailed after Roger."
Kael's breath caught at the mention of Roger. He looked toward the water and said, "I was there. In Loguetown. I heard him laugh."
Tam paused, then let out a dry chuckle. "That so? Figures. That damn king's cursed half the world with that grin. And you really think you will find his treasure?"
"I don't know," Kael admitted, his voice rough with emotion. He clenched his fists, feeling both doubt and a strong pull inside him. "But I cannot stay here doing nothing."
Tam shook his head and leaned on his cane. "You are a fool, Kael D. Veyra. That 'D' will not save you when the storms hit. I hope you are ready to face everything, even if it means drowning."
Kael said nothing. He untied the rope and let it slide through his fingers as he pushed Echo into the shallow water. The hull scraped the bottom, making a low sound that made his skin crawl. His heart pounded unevenly, and for a brief moment he wanted to drop the sack and run back to the safety of the shack, to the familiar smells of fish and tar. But the memory of Roger's laughter and his mother's soft words—"That 'D' means something, Kael. Someday"—kept him steady. He stepped into the water, feeling the cold seep through his boots, and climbed aboard Echo.
The skiff rocked as he settled at the tiller. His hands trembled with the excitement of leaving, not with fear. He pulled the sail tight, and Echo moved forward, cutting through the gray water. He murmured, "Come on. Show me what you can do."
He did not look back at Tam, the cliffs, or the shack shrinking in the distance. His eyes stayed fixed on the water while his thoughts raced. "What am I doing?" he wondered silently. At 17, he had no map or formal training, only a name and a memory of a laugh that refused to fade. The letter "D" in his name was a question he could not yet answer, a burden he did not fully understand. But for now, all that mattered was to set sail, to feel the water beneath him, and to pursue the spark that had grown inside him for 12 years.
He took a deep breath and said to himself, "I will find my way." His voice was firm despite the uncertainty in his heart. With that, he steered Echo into the open water, determined to begin his journey and face whatever challenges awaited him.