Lowtide Village did not explode into chaos the next morning.
That surprised Axiom.
He had half-expected whispers, suspicion, maybe someone questioning why a barefoot girl with a sword had appeared out of nowhere. Instead, the village did what it always did when faced with something it didn't understand.
It adapted quietly.
Esdeath woke early.
Earlier than him.
Axiom found her standing near the docks, staring out at the sea as the sun crept up from the horizon. Fishermen moved around her without comment. A few glanced her way, noted the sword, then decided their nets were more important than curiosity.
She didn't look cold.
She never did.
"The sea is loud," Esdeath said without turning.
Axiom yawned. "You should hear it during a storm."
"I did," she replied. "Once."
That made him pause.
"When?"
She thought for a moment. "Before I woke up here. Or… maybe after. I'm not sure."
Axiom leaned against a post, eyes following the gentle rise and fall of the water.
"Time's strange like that," he said. "Especially if you don't know where you started."
She glanced at him sideways. "You speak like someone older."
He shrugged. "I listen a lot."
That wasn't a lie.
Life settled into a new rhythm.
Esdeath stayed.
Not because anyone invited her—but because no one forced her to leave.
She helped when she felt like it. Carried water without complaint. Watched fishermen gut sea creatures with sharp, focused interest. Once, she asked Hana why people bothered cooking when raw meat was faster.
Hana stared at her for a long second, then handed her a knife.
"Try it raw," she said. "Then we'll talk."
Esdeath tried it.
She did not enjoy it.
Axiom silently considered that a victory.
They trained without calling it training.
Axiom continued his routines—running the uneven paths near the Wilds, balancing on slick rocks, lifting heavy nets until his arms burned. Esdeath watched at first, then copied him, adjusting movements with unnerving precision.
She learned quickly.
Too quickly.
"Your stance is wrong," she said once, after watching him strike at a tree with his sword.
"It works," Axiom replied.
"It wastes motion," she countered, stepping in and correcting his footing with her toe. "Strength leaks out here."
He tried again.
The cut landed cleaner.
"…Don't get used to that," he muttered.
She smiled faintly.
At night, Axiom sometimes lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts drifting where he usually kept them locked away.
He knew where he was in time.
That part, at least, was clear.
Roger was dead.
The Great Pirate Era had begun—but it was still young, raw, chaotic.
The seas were filling with ambition faster than they were filling with monsters.
This was not the age of legends yet.
This was the age where they were being made.
Axiom was seven.
That meant the world was still more than a decade away from the storms he remembered clearly. Mariejois still stood untouched. Ohara still existed somewhere beyond the horizon, scholars unaware of how close the end truly was.
And Hancock—
He pushed that thought away.
Not yet.
Rushing the future was how people died early.
Esdeath noticed his silences.
"You think too much at night," she said once, matter-of-fact, as they sat near a small fire outside the village.
"So do you."
"No," she replied. "I listen."
"To what?"
She gestured vaguely at the wind, the sea, the distant cries of nocturnal creatures. "The world. It moves differently depending on what's coming."
Axiom studied her profile in the firelight.
For someone who claimed not to remember her past, she had instincts sharpened like a veteran's.
"…Do you ever feel like this place isn't finished?" he asked.
Esdeath considered that.
"Yes," she said. "Like it's waiting."
That answer unsettled him more than he liked.
A week passed.
Then another.
The Wilds did not freeze again.
But they watched.
Axiom felt it when he trained deeper than usual—pressure building subtly, like the forest testing whether he belonged. Animals didn't flee immediately anymore. Some observed from a distance, calculating.
Esdeath noticed too.
"They're deciding," she said quietly.
"About what?"
"Whether you're prey," she replied. "Or competition."
Axiom tightened his grip on his sword.
"…Good to know."
One evening, Toren watched Axiom practicing footwork on the docks—quick steps, sudden stops, controlled bursts of speed that went beyond normal running.
"That's not how most people move," Toren remarked.
"I trip less," Axiom said.
Toren snorted. "That's a lie."
He paused, then added, "Marines move like that sometimes. The fast ones."
Axiom's ears perked up, though he kept his expression neutral.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Special units," Toren continued. "They don't fight like pirates. They train their bodies until the body listens without thinking."
Axiom nodded slowly.
That was the first time he heard it said out loud.
A name wasn't given.
But the path had revealed itself.
That night, as the wind howled a little stronger than usual, Axiom sat beside Esdeath and stared out at the dark sea.
"We won't stay here forever," he said quietly.
She looked at him. "I know."
"Things will get worse," he continued. "Before they get better."
She smiled—not cruelly, not kindly.
"Good," she said. "I don't like easy worlds."
Axiom let out a small, tired laugh.
Neither did he.
But for now—just for now—the world allowed them to grow unnoticed.
And that, Axiom knew, was the most dangerous kindness of all.