Peter was still standing in complete shock. Around him, the scene was familiar as if it had belonged to him for eternity, yet, in reality, it was the greatest shock he had ever received in his life.
He stood on carefully paved ground, surrounded by massive buildings adorned with golden decorations and strange symbols, exuding the might of a global authority that tolerated no challenge.
Mariejois, the city of the Celestial Dragons, rose above the clouds atop the Red Line like an impregnable legendary fortress, encircled by enormous walls resembling a castle built to guard an ancient secret.
In this place, figures wearing glass masks and lavish costumes, seen only on nobles, roamed, accompanied by throngs of guards and slaves who walked with downcast faces and eyes devoid of hope.
Peter looked around cautiously and in awe. Every corner of the place spoke of absolute grandeur, yet he felt an intense fear of everything he saw. The atmosphere was filled with a cold stillness, as though life here pulsed only by the command of the Celestial Dragons.
Then, from behind him, came a deep voice, laden with submission and sorrow, saying, "Sir, we must go back; they will discover us."
Peter was still in shock and didn't comprehend what was happening. The voice repeated, this time closer and more pleading, "Please, we must go back... or else they will punish us."
Peter slowly turned to find before him a large man with worn features and deep pain in his eyes. The man wore tattered clothes barely covering his muscular body, scarred and wounded, like marks left from battles where he had no choice. Around his neck was a rusty metal collar surrounded by strange technology, a small symbol on it identifying him as merely a slave to the Celestial Dragons.
His downcast eyes avoided direct contact with Peter's, his arms hanging heavily with exhaustion and despair, and his back slightly hunched, a mark of years of subjugation and surrender.
Peter stammered, realizing he was caught in a strange situation he didn't yet understand. He looked at the man with fear and bewilderment, unsure of how he should act, thinking sharply; "Does this man think I'm one of the nobles? Or perhaps a new slave?" He wondered if this mysterious system had truly placed him in the role of a character here, as a pirate or an adventurer, or if there was some misunderstanding.
The man finally mustered his courage and whispered, filled with pleading, "Sir, we shouldn't stay here; they're watching everything... If they see us loitering here without permission, they will punish me… maybe worse."
Peter felt a choking fear and mystery; he didn't yet understand what was happening around him, but the man's words sparked something within him; he felt an imminent danger, and staying here was not a safe option.
Taking a deep breath, he whispered almost to himself, "Alright… I'll go with you."
Peter was about to take a step with Santiago away from this place when a loud, coarse, rude voice came from behind them, shouting, "Slave, come here and take me to my home!"
Peter turned cautiously to find something he had never expected: a massive Celestial Dragon, dressed in glittering clothes adorned with gold and gemstones, a glass mask covering his face to isolate the air he breathed from that of the slaves, as though he despised even sharing oxygen with them. His eyes behind the mask were cold and disdainful, as though those around him were mere insects unworthy of his gaze.
His walk was slow, his protruding belly wobbling with every step, and his movements exuded laziness. The Celestial Dragon held a long staff topped with a red jewel, a symbol of his authority, examining it as though he threatened everyone who dared to look up at him.
At that moment, Peter thought the Celestial Dragon was speaking to him, but he soon realized that the shout wasn't directed at him but at the man accompanying him.
The man's name was Santiago, just a slave to these ignorant dragons who thought themselves the masters of others when, in truth, they were the scum of humanity. His body was covered in scars, and his eyes were shattered from the cruelty of life he had endured.
"Yes, sir," Santiago said softly, bowing his wounded body and approaching the Celestial Dragon submissively.
At that moment, Peter realized that Santiago didn't belong to any specific dragon; every slave in this place wasn't owned by a particular person but was a slave to all, used and exploited by any Celestial Dragon who found him in his path. He was treated as a tool, ordered to work and sacrifice, only to be discarded as though his life had no value.
Peter also noticed that every slave bore marks of beatings, with rods hung above them, ready to discipline them mercilessly. However, he observed something strange: none of the Celestial Dragons or guards paid any attention to him, nor did they treat him with contempt or ignore him like the others, as though he were a mere ghost unseen by anyone.
It was puzzling to him. How had no one noticed him? Why wasn't he treated as a slave like Santiago? Or was there something hidden that he hadn't yet realized?
As Peter watched Santiago bow before the Celestial Dragon, he felt a wave of anger and confusion welling up inside him. It was a scene of absolute slavery, where humans were turned into tools, crushed under ruthless arrogance, without a hint of mercy.
In a dramatic scene filled with tension, the Celestial Dragon sat arrogantly on Santiago's back, who nearly broke under the weight. It was like an ant trying to carry an elephant, and Santiago could no longer endure. Suddenly, he began to cough severely until blood gushed from his mouth, his frail body groaning from pain and weakness.
At first, Peter thought the dragon would show compassion and dismount from Santiago's back, but he was quickly shocked to the contrary; the dragon grabbed his heavy staff and began to strike Santiago everywhere, delivering blows and hurling curses befitting only the cruelest tyrants, venting his anger on those he considered "slaves unworthy of life."
A series of blows landed on Santiago's exhausted body, each strike intensifying his torment, while those around watched in fear without daring to intervene. The dragon paused momentarily to catch his breath, seeming to relish his cruelty, then raised the staff again to strike him, but this time it didn't meet Santiago's body.
When he looked, he found Peter holding the staff's tip, his face blazing with anger, his eyes like a fire promising the dragon dire consequences. Peter shouted in defiance, "Can't you see he's sick and suffering, you foolish dragon?!"
The dragon turned to Peter with a mocking laugh full of cold disdain and said scornfully, "And what will you do, little one? Have you become a slave like him? I see you're breathing the same air as them without your mask! Have you fallen so low? You disgrace us, sharing air with these pigs!"
Peter's anger grew, his eyes sparking like embers, his face like a volcano about to erupt. But in a moment of hesitation, he questioned to himself, why was the dragon speaking this way? And why mention the mask? What in hell was happening?
Before he could comprehend, the dragon smugly whispered, "You're part of this, little one, no matter how much you try to escape the truth. Now, let go of that staff and let me teach this slave a lesson; it seems words no longer suffice with them."
In a moment of distraction, Peter's grip on the staff slipped. The Celestial Dragon, wasting no second, raised the staff high with all his might and brought it down on Santiago's head. Santiago's painful scream filled the air, reaching every slave surrounding the scene, even other Celestial Dragons felt disconcerted.
At that moment, Peter could no longer contain his anger. His fist clenched, and the feeling boiling inside him erupted like an unforgiving volcano. He rushed toward the Celestial Dragon and punched him with incredible force, a punch unlike any ordinary blow.
The massive tyrant flew through the air, far from Santiago's back, his heavy body crashing against a stone wall, smashing into it and collapsing unconscious, blood streaming from his forehead. The scene shocked everyone who witnessed that moment.
Peter approached Santiago, who could barely kneel, groaning in pain, blood streaming from his head and mouth, his face pale and exhausted. Peter placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to help him up, offering him a glimmer of hope in these dark surroundings.
Meanwhile, the crowd was gripped by astonishment and fear, seeing him topple a man weighing hundreds of kilograms with a single strike! They stepped down from their slaves immediately, exchanging bewildered glances and retreating slowly, ordering their slaves to move away, afraid of receiving a similar punishment to what they had just witnessed.
Peter tried to help Santiago, but he soon realized that Santiago's body was so exhausted that he couldn't stand. With a faltering, faint voice, Santiago told Peter that he hadn't eaten for ten days, days spent in unimaginable torment. His breaths were shallow, his voice barely a whisper, each word carrying an indescribable pain. Santiago spoke of an illness ravaging his body, an illness that made him vomit blood each time, an illness worsened because the Celestial Dragons ignored his suffering.
"I pleaded with them repeatedly to take me to a doctor," Santiago whispered with pale, tear-filled eyes. "But to them, I was just a slave, a lifeless tool. Whether I lived or died… it didn't matter to them. They only cared about themselves." His words were heavy, laden with deep misery and sorrow, as if he were expressing the despair of all slaves who had lived in this harsh world, deprived even of the right to complain.
Santiago's eyes were full of pain, and tears streamed down his cheeks, each drop telling a story of long suffering. In a broken voice, he told Peter how he and his mother had been kidnapped from their homeland, Dressrosa, since they were children—a place that, to him, was a world lost forever. "My mother…" he whispered, voice filled with anguish. "She died here three years ago, tortured to death. This place left me with nothing."
His face was streaked with blood and tears, each word choking him as he revealed his old dream: "I always dreamed of returning to Dressrosa, living a simple life there, fishing, getting married, starting a family… a simple dream, but it was everything I wanted." His voice grew fainter with each confession, as if his soul was fading with every word.
"I've lived here for thirty years, and now I feel my life has reached its end. What's the purpose of all this pain? What do I live for after all this suffering?" Santiago cast a sorrowful glance at Peter, one filled with gratitude and sorrow—a final look of farewell from a man who had lost hope in life.
Peter sat beside him, struggling to offer him a shred of hope or a moment of comfort. But the sight of Santiago, exhausted and struggling for breath, filled his heart with deep sadness and a fierce, burning anger.
He raised his head and shouted at everyone, pleading with those around him, begging someone to save this man, to bring him a doctor. But all he received were cold, indifferent stares—some even laced with mockery, as if Santiago's life held no value.
Santiago, barely able to speak, said in a weary voice, "I have lived here a long time, and you were the only one who treated me kindly, Peter. I am grateful to you…"
And he spoke no more. A heavy silence fell over everyone present, as they realized that Santiago had passed away, his soul finally leaving this harsh world that had never once shown him mercy. Peter felt a hot tear slide down his cheek, one he couldn't hold back, even though he had barely known Santiago.
It was a sight he struggled to comprehend, the shocking beginning of his journey into this new world—a world he had entered imagining adventures and excitement, but instead, he was met with suffering and the sorrowful departure of a soul that never once found peace.
("A painful beginning… where will fate lead him next?")
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