Chapter Text
The wind smelled of salt and rust. It came from the sea, drifting through the narrow streets of the harbor city and making loose sheets of metal on the rooftops clatter. Somewhere, a door slammed. Farther away, a dog barked. The night wasn’t dark enough to hide things, only gray enough to give them an eerie shape. Between two warehouses lay a narrow alley, damp from the evening’s rain. Water had gathered in shallow puddles that reflected the flickering light of a single lantern. A girl sat there. Too small for this street. Nico Robin held an old book in her arms as if it were a treasure or a shield. Her knees were dirty. A tear ran along the hem of her dress. Dark strands of hair clung to her cheeks. She wasn’t reading. She was just staring at the pages. Still, her lips moved quietly.
"History is the memory of the world…" The words were fragile, barely more than a whisper.
Suddenly laughter echoed through the alley. Rough. Close. Robin stiffened. She could hear several footsteps.
"I told you," said a voice. "The demon child is hiding around here somewhere."
The word hit her like a stone. She clutched the book tighter. Please walk past.
The footsteps came closer. "Hey!" A shadow fell over her. A man bent down toward her. His breath smelled of cheap alcohol. "There you are."
Robin slid backward across the wet ground. "Please…" Her voice was barely audible.
Two more figures appeared behind him. Broad shoulders. Knives at their belts. "Look at that," one of them laughed. "She even has a book."
The first man tore it out of her hands. Robin reached for it. "Don’t!"
Too late. The pages fluttered open. "So what are you reading, huh?" He held it up as if it were something disgusting. "Little girls should read fairy tales."
A short jerk. The paper tore. The sound was quiet, but to Robin it sounded like thunder. "No…"
The men laughed. And at that exact moment another sound could be heard. A step. Slow and heavy. A step that sounded as if someone owned the street. The men fell silent almost automatically.
"What now?" one muttered.
A figure stood at the entrance of the alley. Tall. Broad. A dark coat that fluttered slightly in the wind. The lantern light caught something golden. A hook. The man stood there motionless. The cigar between his fingers glowed briefly as he took a drag. Smoke rose lazily. His gaze slowly wandered across the scene. The man with the torn book. The other two. Then the girl on the ground. Robin looked at him. He didn’t look like a hero. More like something the night itself would avoid.
The man holding the book snorted. "Get lost, stranger. This doesn’t concern you."
The stranger said nothing. He simply took a step closer. Something crunched beneath his boot. Robin looked down and saw sand which was strange. The harbor ground was wet, but around his feet it seemed dry.
"Are you deaf?" the man growled.
The stranger stopped. Then he spoke. His voice was deep, rough, slow. "You’re standing in the light."
The man blinked. "What?"
He took another drag from his cigar. "And you’re blocking my view."
Silence. One of the men laughed nervously. "Then go somewhere else."
Smoke left the stranger’s lips in a thin line. "No."
The word was calm. The man with the book frowned. "Watch it, friend…"
He didn’t finish. The stranger had pierced him with his hook through the body. The man simply collapsed. His body hit the ground with a dull thud and a pool of blood appeared beneath him.
The stranger stood still again. As if he had never moved. The rain slowly washing away the evidence on his golden hook. The other two men stared at him.
"What the…" The first reached for his knife.
The man’s gaze lifted slowly. His eyes were heavy, dark, almost bored. "Leave."
Just one word, and the men hesitated. Then they looked at their dead friend, before the turned and fled into the night. Their footsteps quickly faded. Then it was quiet. Only the wind remained. The stranger stepped closer. Robin didn’t move. The torn book lay beside her in the water. He looked at it briefly, then at her.
"You’re sitting on cold stone." She didn’t answer. Her hands trembled slightly. "Stand up."
Robin swallowed. Slowly she pushed herself to her feet. She was barely half his height. From this close she could see the scar on his face. The shadow of his jaw. The faint smell of smoke and sand. He didn’t look kind. Not even a little. His gaze slid to the book.
"Yours?" Robin nodded weakly. He picked it up. The pages were wet. Part of it was torn. He flipped through it once. His expression stayed blank. "Boring."
He held it out to her. Robin took it carefully. As if it might break. For a moment they simply stood there.
Then she asked quietly: "Why… did you help?"
The wind moved through the alley. The man looked up at the sky. Clouds drifted slowly over the lantern. "I didn’t help."
Robin blinked. "But—"
"They were in my way." His gaze fell back to her. Briefly. Evaluating. Then he turned away. "And I don’t like it when people are in my way."
He started to walk into the direction he just came from. Robin remained behind. The wind lifted the pages of her book.
"Wait!"
He stopped. Slowly he turned his head. Robin was still standing in the alley. Small. Alone. She clutched the book.
"If… if I stay here… they’ll come back."
The man looked at her for a long moment. His eyes were hard to read.
"Probably."
Robin took a step closer. "What is your name?" The stranger raised an eyebrow. "You saved me. Please what is your name? I want to thank you."
He looked at her in silence for a moment. "You can call me Sir Crocodile."
Nico blinked a bit confused. "Croco… Crocodile? Hm…" She looked at him and then smiled to his surprise. "Thank you for saving me, Mr. Crocodile. My name is Nico Robin."
Mr.? He just told her that… He sighed inwardly. Never mind.
She took a step closer to him. And then another. Her voice was barely more than a breath. "May I… come with you?"
The question hung in the air. For a moment even the wind seemed to fall silent. Crocodile looked at her. This thin girl with the far-too-serious eyes. With the books. With the way she tried not to tremble. Finally he sighed quietly. A rough sound.
"Tch." He turned around again. "If you can’t keep up," he said, "you stay behind."
Robin understood. That wasn’t a no. She started walking. Small steps on wet stone. She stayed two meters behind him. Crocodile said nothing. But he slowed his pace. Just slightly. The wind grew stronger the farther they moved from the harbor. The air no longer smelled of salt, but of cold stone, wet wood, and the distant smoke of ovens burning somewhere inside the houses. The streets became narrower and darker. Nico Robin walked two steps behind him.
Sometimes three, when she stumbled for a moment. Her shoes were too thin for the wet cobblestones, and every time she stepped down, water splashed up. Ahead of her walked Sir Crocodile. His steps were slow, steady. As if he had all the time in the world. The wind tugged at his coat, but he didn’t seem to notice. Robin held her book tightly against her chest. The torn pages rustled softly. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t even know if she should trust him. But she knew one thing: standing still was worse. After a while she dared to speak.
"Why…" Her voice sounded small between the tall walls. Crocodile didn’t react. Robin tried again. "Why did you really stop them?"
His step slowed almost imperceptibly. Then he said dryly, "You ask too many questions."
Robin was quiet for a moment. The wind moved through her hair. "In books it says you have to ask questions to understand things."
A quiet sound came from him. Not really a laugh. More like a rough exhale. "Books." He almost spat the word. "Books get you into trouble."
Robin looked down at the book in her arms. "Yes."
Her answer was so calm that Crocodile stopped walking. He slowly turned around. The lantern at the end of the street was far away, but enough light fell on her face. She looked tired.
"And yet you carry one around with you."
Robin hesitated. Then she lifted it slightly. "It’s the only thing I have left from my mom."
Silence. The wind moved between them. Crocodile’s gaze lingered on the book. The soaked pages. The torn binding. Then he looked back at her.
"What’s in it?"
Robin blinked in surprise. "History."
"Boring."
"No." It came out faster than she expected. She bit her lip.
Crocodile raised an eyebrow slightly. "No?"
Robin shook her head. Slowly, carefully, as if revealing a secret. "Stories about people… who disappeared." The wind grew louder again. "About cities no one remembers anymore." Now she looked directly at him. "If nobody writes them down… they disappear forever."
Crocodile said nothing. His gaze grew heavy. "And you think that interests me."
Robin shrugged a little. "It interests me."
He turned around again and started walking. "Then read faster."
She followed him immediately. They walked in silence for a while. The streets grew emptier. The windows darker. After a few minutes Robin asked carefully,
"Where are we going?"
"We?" His voice was dry. "I’m going somewhere."
Robin stopped for a moment. Then she hurried forward again. "May I… still come with you?"
Crocodile stopped walking. Slowly he turned his head. His eyes were half in shadow. "Why?"
Robin opened her mouth and closed it again. She said quietly, "Because you were the only one… who didn’t try to sell me today."
The wind moved through the empty street. Crocodile looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "That could change."
Robin nodded. "Maybe." She stepped a little closer. "But not today."
Silence. Somewhere a window rattled in the wind. Crocodile sighed quietly. A rough, tired sound.
"Tch." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar. A spark. The small light flickered briefly and illuminated his face. "You’re strange."
Robin blinked. "A lot of people say that."
The smoke slowly rose into the cold night air. Crocodile watched her for another moment. Then he said, "Up ahead."
He pointed down the street with his hook. At the end stood a small, half-ruined building. Maybe an inn - or what was left of one. "You’re staying there tonight."
Robin looked at the building. Then back at him. "And you?"
"I didn’t say I’m staying."
The sentence hit her unexpectedly. Something in her chest suddenly felt empty. She tried to hide it.
"Oh."
Crocodile noticed anyway. Of course he did. He took a drag from his cigar. "Children don’t belong on the street."
Robin murmured, "I don’t think the street knows that."
For a moment Crocodile just looked at her. Then he snorted quietly. "Cheeky."
He walked toward the building again. Robin followed him. As they got closer, she saw a faint light behind the windows. A warm, yellow glow. Crocodile stopped in front of the door. He opened it. Warm air streamed outside. The smell of soup. Wood. Fire. Robin stopped. Her eyes grew wide. She hadn’t seen anything warm for two days. Crocodile glanced back at her.
Then he simply said, "Go on."
Robin hesitated. "Why?"
His expression grew annoyed. "If you ask one more question, I’ll leave you outside."
She stepped inside immediately. The wood creaked under her feet. The room was small, but warm. A fire burned in the fireplace. Robin stood there as if rooted to the spot. Behind her the door closed. Crocodile stepped inside as well. The wind fell silent immediately. Robin slowly looked around. Then she looked up at him.
Very carefully she asked, "Will you come back tomorrow?"
Crocodile didn’t answer right away. The smoke from his cigar drifted lazily through the warm room.
Finally he said, "Sleep."
Not yes. Not no. Robin nodded anyway. And for the first time in a very long while, she let the book rest a little more loosely in her arms.