The desert was nothing like Drum Island.

Tony Tony Chopper, bundled tightly in his red hat and tiny backpack, trudged through the endless dunes in Walk Point. His hooves crunched softly against the frozen sand as the bitter night air stung his nose and ears. Alabasta's desert, scorching in the day, had turned into a merciless expanse of cold under the stars. Each gust of wind bit like ice, and the sky stretched on forever—silent, uncaring, and vast. He’d been separated from the others hours ago during a sandstorm. One moment he was shielding his eyes and trying to keep up with Nami’s voice, the next—nothing. Just howling wind, swirling dust, and then, unbearable quiet.

He sniffled, more from cold than fear. Probably.

“No big deal,” he muttered to himself, wrapping his arms around his fuzzy body. “I’m a pirate. I’m strong. I’m the Straw Hat crew’s doctor. I’m not scared. N-not at all…”

A chill passed through him, and his teeth clacked together. He hated how empty the desert felt. On Drum Island, snow meant home—blankets, fireplaces, Doctorine yelling at him to stop crying. Here, the cold was cruel. It didn’t care if he froze. The stars above didn’t blink. The moon didn't smile.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since morning. His little hooves had sunk deeper into the sand with each step, and he didn’t know if he was going in circles. He had no compass. No scent trail to follow. Just footprints that the wind erased moments after he made them.

He stopped walking, standing alone under the moonlight, fur ruffling in the wind. “Luffy… Nami… anyone?” he whispered.

No answer.

A tremble shook his small body—not just from cold now, but from doubt.

What if he never found them? What if the desert swallowed him whole and no one ever knew? What if—

“Stop it!” he scolded himself, voice cracking. “You’re Tony Tony Chopper! You made it through Drum Island! You fought Wapol! You’re not gonna lose to a desert!”

Still, his breath came out shaky. He curled up by a small dune, trying to conserve warmth, trying not to cry. The cold seeped into his bones, and he stared up at the stars with wide, lonely eyes.

He didn’t want to be a monster again.

He just wanted to go home.

But home wasn’t Drum anymore.

Home was wherever they were.