In the morning, Pablo went out as usual.
The routine had become clear in his days: charcoal, fishing, wandering with open eyes.
But today was slightly different.
He was passing by a stall at the edge of the market when he heard two men talking beside him.
"My brother came back from Naraka last month with a full pocket."
"Naraka?"
"The island of factories. Heard of it? Famous in these seas. Fish, wood, and canning factories. They take workers from everywhere."
Pablo stopped.
He didn't stop obviously, just slowed his pace and became attentive.
"And the salary?"
"Good by the standards of these seas. My brother came back with what he hadn't seen in years here."
The two men continued their conversation and walked away.
Pablo remained standing for a second.
Naraka.
A name he had never heard before, but the idea was clear.
An industrial island that needs workers and pays well.
For a fourteen-year-old child with no clear future on a remote island, this seemed logical.
He approached one of the men before he walked too far away.
"I heard you talking about Naraka."
The man looked at him.
"Yes, what do you want?"
"Where exactly is it located?"
The man thought for a moment.
"In the Southern Blue. You need a commercial ship to take you east, then north. It's not close, but not extremely far either."
"Do they accept young workers?"
The man looked him from head to toe.
"The factories don't ask many questions if you work."
Pablo nodded and walked away.
He walked slowly, thinking.
Naraka.
He placed it in his head as a goal.
Not because he wants to work in a factory for his whole life, but because he needs more money than Verona can give him. And a factory that pays a steady salary is far better than charcoal and occasional theft in a poor island.
One step in the right direction.
But first, he needs to reach it.
At the edge of the village, Pablo saw a small coop behind one of the houses.
Chickens wandering freely beside it.
He looked right and left.
No one on the road.
The homeowner seemed absent. No movement from inside.
He approached slowly.
The chickens did not run away. They were used to humans.
He grabbed one with a quick, quiet motion, hid it under his arm, and continued walking with the same natural steps.
He did not stop. He did not look back.
He cooked the chicken over a low fire with some vegetables.
He ate it slowly while sitting in front of his room.
A warm, hearty meal.
He looked at the bones in front of him when he finished.
Something simple, healthy, and free at the same time.
After eating, he wandered through the village again.
He was looking for something specific this time.
He found a man sitting in front of his house repairing a fishing net. He looked like an old sailor from his weathered features and eyes used to looking at the horizon.
Pablo approached him.
"I want to ask you something."
The man looked at him.
"Speak."
"How much does it cost to travel by commercial ship from here to another island?"
The man thought for a moment while examining his net.
"It depends on the distance and the ship. For a nearby island, maybe ten thousand or less. For a far island, sometimes exceeding sixty thousand Beli."
"How much from here to Naraka approximately?"
"Sixty thousand."
Pablo's face did not change.
"Thank you."
He walked away.
He returned to his room and sat down.
He opened his hand and looked at what he owned.
Approximately one thousand four hundred Beli.
Then he thought about the sixty thousand.
The gap was enormous.
He began calculating quietly.
Six hundred Beli weekly from Savia, which is about two thousand four hundred monthly.
Odd jobs might add perhaps five hundred to a thousand in a good month.
Theft, when the opportunity arises, perhaps one thousand to three thousand monthly if lucky.
In the best possible month, he would not exceed six thousand Beli.
That means he needs twelve months in the best case to reach sixty thousand.
One full year.
He looked at the ceiling.
One full year in Verona.
And there is a bigger problem than time.
Jol De Roger's execution will not be delayed much longer. After that, the true age of pirates will begin, and the seas will become more dangerous and harder to travel for someone like him.
The safe window for travel is narrowing.
He closed his eyes.
Sixty thousand, and twelve months in the best case, and a world about to completely change.
The equation does not add up.
He needs a faster way.
But he has not found it yet.