Mistake

Silent Cries

The rain poured relentlessly, hammering down like a fierce drumbeat, soaking everything in its path.

The dark clouds above swirled ominously, flashing with jagged streaks of lightning that illuminated the sky in brief, harsh bursts.

Thunder rumbled, a low, ominous growl that seemed to shake the very air itself.

In the midst of this storm, atop a ship shaped like a massive transponder snail, a figure sat on a throne-like seat, radiating an aura of cold authority.

The person on the throne looked down with disdain at the five figures kneeling on the rocky, rain-soaked floor below.

The five children, beaten, bruised, and utterly defeated, flinched with each crack of thunder.

Their clothes clung to their rain-drenched bodies, and the cold wind cut through them mercilessly.

Every strike of lightning illuminated their faces, pale and full of fear.

They were soaked to the bone, trembling from both the freezing rain and the terror that gripped their hearts.

The figure on the throne, a shadowed silhouette in the storm's fury, leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the noise of the storm with chilling clarity.

"Failures. All of you."

His words were sharp, laced with venom.

The five children flinched again, lowering their heads even further, as if the weight of his words were physically pushing them down.

"You are not fit to bear my name," the person continued, his tone cold and ruthless.

"And now, you will learn the price of your worthlessness."

Without another word, the figure turned to the person standing beside him-another man, a subordinate, who had been standing silently at his right side, awaiting his orders.

The air around them crackled with tension as the subordinate awaited instructions.

"Take them," the figure commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth, "and lock them in the basement.

Let them understand the punishment for failure."

The subordinate nodded wordlessly, his face a mask of obedience.

He moved forward, grabbing the children by their arms, one by one, dragging their limp, beaten bodies to their feet.

None of them resisted; they were too weak, too broken to fight back.

Their hearts pounded with fear, knowing the punishment that awaited them in the darkness of the basement-cold, isolated, and utterly merciless.

As the children were dragged away, the figure on the throne remained unmoving, his eyes fixed on them with cold indifference.

The rain continued to pour, the storm showing no sign of relenting.

The thunder crashed again, louder this time, almost drowning out the sound of the heavy iron doors slamming shut behind the children as they were locked away, cast into the dark abyss of the ship's basement.

And there, in the heart of the storm, the figure on the throne sat in silence, the image of power and control, as lightning illuminated the dark clouds overhead.

The five children had once again been reminded of their place in the cruel world they were trapped in-nothing more than pawns in a much larger game, and failures in the eyes of the man who claimed to be their father.

The rain continued to pour down, the storm outside roaring like a beast unleashed, but inside the cold, dark cell, it was the quiet that hurt the most.

Sanji, Ichiji, Niji, Reiju, and Yonji lay on the damp stone floor, their bodies aching, beaten, and wet from the storm.