Cricket

The key she had given Grian two weeks prior was useful for the first time since that day where she tried to act casual while telling him to take it and use it when he came over instead of having to hope for the bell to actually work, which would take a miracle to happen. Instead of walking her back home and agreeing to coming up but not going back down until morning, he was now pacing along his own floorboards. Scratching his scalp until he felt like he was losing patches of hair from the movement. The key neatly tucked around the chain where his other keys were resting on, not expecting to be picked up on a Saturday noon.

The new sound added to the mix made even him jump out of his bones as he turned all of it over to lock his door. Watching the clean metal against old ones that looked almost matte in comparison. No other part of his life seemed as reflective as her love, the shimmer of it catching in the sunlight before he stuffed it into his pocket. Making his way down the streets he never took as urgent.

Most days these days, he liked to spent as little time in a lonesome space like his apartment. Opting for the live performances of humanity in the streets or filled to the prim coffee shops with her on the other side of the table. Slow jazz on the speaker or on stage, slow motions of growing knowledge about each other between them, the touch of their hands intertwined or his foot knocking against hers underneath the table but not moving back towards his side.

Everything was too slow but time seemed to move faster than he could count. The tube was late but arrived just in time for him to almost lose hope of getting to her place wreckage of nerves in his brain could make him walk into darkness hand in hand with his thoughts.

He didn't have to search for the key as he stood in front of her door, the right one already selected and kept in his hold like something sacred since he left his building. Watching her shoes outside and the bell next to the door though in the end, he pushed the key in the lock and turned it to reveal a hallway of silence.

"Love?" he called out, shutting the door behind himself, leaning against it as if to realize that he was actually inside on his own for the first time. The room looked the same, the curtains drawn close though the sun still stepped inside with all its will. The wall still held the same colour as it did the first time he walked inside though now it seemed different. Everything felt more real.

Though the further inside he stepped, the colder it got. And soon he had to realize that the only part that felt alive was the one she hadn't occupied in some time. The living room was clustered with thrown-over-objects blankets and empty cups of tea or coffee or water. The kitchen sink was trashed with unwashed plates and the bins were barely shutting anymore. The blinds in her bedroom were closed enough to fill the room with darkness but the sun still outlined her sleeping body under the covers.

Watching her relaxed figure from the doorway, he closed the door far enough to bring the darkness back into her projection and for her dreams to fill with clear colour. Stepping out, he collected the cups and glasses, adding them to the sink. Folding the blankets and putting them back where he knew she stored them. Washing the dishes with enough focus to hum a melody he still tried to figure out.

The slow pat of unsure feet came half an hour later, the dishes almost all drying while only a few pieces of silverware were still in the now cold and soapy water that soaked up his fingers. Her head looking around the corner with fear in her eyes until she caught sight of him in her kitchen as if it was his own and it turned into something closer to embarrassment.

Taking in her surrounding, he made it seem livable again.

"You didn't have to," she whispered, her voice breaking from being unused the last few days.

"I didn't mind," he quickly cut her off. Drying off his hands with the towel that was previously draped over his shoulder.

"It's not depression, I've just not been feeling like doing anything," she tried defending her situation. Fingers fidgeting until they started bleeding.

Stepping forward, separating her hands and taking them into his own to keep them from breaking in her own hold, he looked down at her like he understood her without her having to explain anything. The softness in his eyes making her melt into something hopeless. "It's alright."

"It's just—work has been so stressful and with you not being here for a month…" Letting out a breath that made her head fall forward into his chest, she breathed him in for the first time in weeks. Closing her eyes against his steadily beating heart. Mumbling into him as his arms were wrapped around her shoulders. "Everything's just been a lot."

"I know, happens to me too sometimes." Brushing her hair down gently, kissing her head, he could feel her falling apart at his quiet tone. The rest of the world around them fading into the unnecessary. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not to me."

"I think I'm burning out," she confessed. And saying it out loud felt like a million shooting stars hitting her at the same time. Her feet breaking from under her body, her arms clinging around his waist for support.

"It's hard not to with the way that we're living," Grian said, shrugging like it was all indifferent to his deep understanding of modern society and its foul play.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore," she said, her chin pressing into his sternum, the space where one would perform chest compressions. Her breathing making him breath again too. "I want to breath fresh air and not feel like I'm rotting away. Take me away from here."

They reached the Eastern Territories, known for their long-standing cultures, structured societies, and skilled populations. They also traveled to the Southern Territories, where the land was rich in natural resources and the populations were spread across different regions, less unified against outside forces.

In the beginning, relationships were built through exchange. Goods, spices, fabrics and metals moved between regions.

But the Central Lands had more power, more ships, more weapons, more coordination. And over time, that imbalance became impossible to ignore to them.

Trade shifted into control. Control turned into occupation.

The Central Lands began placing themselves in positions of authority within these regions. Agreements stopped being mutual. Local leaders were replaced, pressured, or forced into cooperation. Military presence increased, and resistance was met quickly and decisively.

Once control was established, the purpose changed, and they took what they needed.

From the Southern Territories, that meant labor, and large numbers of people were captured, transported across the sea, and used for work, farms, construction, mining, and anything that required physical strength and endurance. Entire communities were broken apart in the process, and who tried to resist, was killed.

From the Eastern Territories, the approach was slightly different, but still rooted in control.

People were taken there as well because they also wanted servants, attendants, workers within noble households that they didn't want to pay. Others were chosen based on appearance, education, or skills. They were brought into the Central Lands and integrated into systems where they had no real control over their own lives.

In both cases, the result was the same.

People became property.

The Central Lands built their wealth on this system. It wasn’t hidden or considered controversial within their own society. It was regulated, structured, and accepted.

Markets existed where people were sold. Laws were written to define ownership, and status determined everything: where you lived, what you could do, and whether you had any rights at all.

Over time, this way of living became normal.

Generations grew up believing that the Central Lands were meant to lead, and the other territories were meant to serve. Differences in culture and origin were used as justification. It wasn’t questioned often, because the system benefited those in power.

At the center of it all were the royal courts.

They held the most influence, the most wealth, and the most control over how this system functioned. Decisions made within those walls affected entire regions, even if the people making them never left their own cities.

Among these courts, one kingdom stood out.

It was known for its wealth, but also for how openly it participated in these practices. Ships arrived regularly at its ports carrying people taken from the Eastern and Southern Territories. Some were sent elsewhere. Some were sold. And some were brought directly to the palace, who always needed workers (slaves) there.

It was in this system that a young woman from the Eastern Territories was taken from her home and brought to the court of a king that just needed to ask what he wanted and obtained it.

Reika had been eighteen when they took her.

Her village stood near the edge of the eastern territories, not very large, not very wealthy, but stable in the way places become when people learn to live with what they have. The houses were built from wood and stone, roofs curved slightly to let rain slide off easily, narrow paths connecting one home to the next.

Life there wasn’t easy, but it was predictable. People worked, ate, slept, and repeated the same rhythm every day.

Reika had grown up in that rhythm.

She helped her mother in the mornings, carried water, prepared food, cleaned. Some days, she had the privilege to go to to the village's school and when she couldn't, she studied at home, because it was something she enjoyed. In the afternoons, she would sometimes walk beyond the edge of the village where the land opened into fields and low hills, where the air felt wider and less confined. She didn’t think much about the outside world. News of distant lands and foreign powers existed, but it always felt far away. Like something that belonged to other people.

Until it didn’t.

The first sign was the sound. And too many horses.

By the time anyone understood what was happening, it was already too late.

They came fast, organized and armed in ways no one in the village could match. Doors were broken open, people dragged outside, voices rising into something panicked and chaotic.

Reika remembered her mother grabbing her wrist.

Running, but not fast enough.

She remembered being pulled away, fingers slipping, the sound of her name shouted behind her. She remembered turning, trying to reach back, and the force that stopped her, hands gripping her arms too tightly, bruising.

After that, everything blurred together.

Rope. Dust. Crying.

They weren’t the only ones. Other villages had been taken too. By the time they were gathered together, there were dozens of them. Maybe more. Men, women, some barely older than children.

No one explained anything.

The journey was long. Days, maybe weeks. Time stopped meaning much when everything felt the same. Food was minimal, and water was rationed. Anyone who slowed too much was dragged, or worse, left behind.

Some people stopped crying after a while.

Reika didn’t remember when she stopped speaking. At some point, the words just… disappeared. There was no one to answer them anyway.

By the time they reached the capital, she barely recognized herself.

The city was overwhelming, large and loud. She saw stone buildings, wide roads and guards everywhere.

They weren’t taken through the main streets, but brought in through the back.

Like cargo.

Eventually, they were herded into a large enclosed space within the castle grounds. Not quite a room, not quite outside, just a place to hold them.

That was where they were sorted.

One by one, they were brought forward.

Inspected.

Not as people.

Reika stood in line, her hands bound in front of her, her body tense. She kept her gaze low because looking up felt dangerous.

She could hear voices ahead of her, of men discussing and deciding.

Some were taken away quickly. Others stayed longer.

When it was her turn, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

“Look up,” a voice said.

She didn’t.

The grip tightened.

“Look up.”

So slowly, she did.

And that was when she saw the king for the first time in her life.

King Reginald stood slightly apart from the others, dressed in deep colors, fabrics layered and detailed in a way that made it impossible to mistake his status. He didn’t move like the others and didn’t speak like them either.

He just watched.

His gaze settled on her, making her feel uncomfortable and then he stepped closer.

Close enough that she could see the sharpness in his expression, and also to notice he was not much older than her.

“You understand me?” he asked.

She nodded once.

That seemed to satisfy him. His gaze lingered a moment longer.

Then, simply, “This one stays.”

Just like that.

A decision made in a second that would define everything that came after.

Another voice asked something, “what about the rest?”

The king didn’t even look away from her when he answered.

“Sell them.”

She understood that they were being sent somewhere else, somewhere worse, and she didn’t know why she had been chosen.

And just like that, she found herself trapped inside a place that didn’t belong to her.

And somewhere in the castle, beyond walls she would never see again, the rest of the people she had arrived with were being taken away.

Sold. Disappearing into a system that didn’t care if they lived or died.

She never saw any of them again.

---

Reika didn’t fully speak their language.

At least, not the way they did.

She could understand most of what was said around her now, enough to follow instructions, enough to move through the castle without constantly second-guessing herself. But when it came to speaking, something always slowed in her mind before the words could come out properly.

At her home, she had studied.

Not formally like the children of wealthier families in the central regions or the richest parts of her own country, but enough to read, to write, to recognize the structure of the language used by traders and officials who occasionally passed through their land. It had been considered useful and practical, something that might help her find work, or at least avoid being completely dependent on others outside her village.

Back then, it had felt like a small advantage. Something to be proud of, even.

Now, it only meant she wasn’t completely lost.

She understood the essential things, orders, names, basic questions and warnings. Enough to survive.

The days that followed didn’t feel real at first.

Reika moved through them like someone else was living them for her. She was given a place to sleep, small, shared with other workers, nothing more than narrow beds lined against the walls and a single window that barely let in light. She was told when to wake, where to go, what to do.

The work itself wasn’t complicated, but very tiring. Cleaning floors, carrying water, washing linens, assisting in the kitchens when needed. Always moving. Always doing something. The castle never seemed to rest, and neither did the people inside it who weren’t allowed to.

At first, Reika spoke very little.

She kept her head down. Followed instructions. Avoided attention.

The other servants noticed her, of course. New faces always stood out, especially ones like hers. Some looked at her with curiosity, others with quiet pity, a few with something harder to read.

But no one approached her directly.

Not until Helena.

It happened a few days in. Or maybe more. Time still didn’t feel stable enough to measure properly.

Reika had been struggling with a bucket that was too heavy for how exhausted her arms already were. Water sloshed over the edges with every step, soaking into the fabric of her sleeves, making her grip weaker, but she didn’t stop.

Stopping wasn’t allowed unless you were told to.

But then the weight suddenly lifted.

Just slightly. Enough to take the strain off.

She blinked, turning her head.

A woman stood beside her, one hand casually gripping the handle of the bucket.

“You’ll spill half of it before you get there, like that,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t unkind. Reika stared at her for a second before quickly lowering her gaze again.

“Sorry,” she murmured, even though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.

The woman let out a quiet breath, almost like a small laugh.

“No need to apologize, I was just like you when I started.” she said.

They walked like that for a few steps, sharing the weight.

“I’m Helena,” she added after a moment.

Reika hesitated, then, “…Reika.”

Helena nodded once.

They reached the end of the corridor, setting the bucket down where it was needed. Helena straightened, wiping her hands lightly against her apron before glancing at Reika again.

“You’re new,” she said. “That means no one’s told you anything useful yet.”

Reika stayed quiet. Helena studied her for a second longer, her expression shifting slightly, softer now.

“Alright,” she said. “Listen carefully, then.”

That was how her friendship with Helena started. She was the first kind person she met in the castle.

Soon, reika learned the rhythm of the castle the same way she had once learned the rhythm of her village. Different, harsher, brutal if you didn't follow their orders, but still a rhythm.

Wake before sunrise.

Work until your body ached.

Eat when allowed.

Sleep when you could.

Do all of this again.

There were moments, sometimes, when the past tried to surface, like memories of home, of her mother, and of the life that had been taken from her so quickly it still didn’t feel real.

Those moments were the hardest. Because there was nothing to do with them, no way to go back, no way to change anything.

At first, Reika was only called when there were specific tasks that required attention in the upper parts of the castle, like cleaning private rooms and arranging spaces before meetings.

One day, she was sent for directly.

Not through the usual chain of servants, not through Helena or the kitchen supervisors, but through guards who appeared at the door without explanation and simply said her name.

Reika had learned not to ask questions in those moments.

She would follow. Every time.

The first time she was brought to him alone, she remembered the way her hands felt too aware of themselves. The way she kept them folded in front of her, trying to make herself smaller without drawing attention to the fact that she was trying.

The king’s private chambers were different from the rest of the castle. Quieter and warmer.

The furniture was carefully chosen, the lighting softer, the space larger than necessary. He was already there when she arrived.

Standing near a tall window, his back partially turned, one hand resting against the stone frame as he looked out over the city below.

“Come in,” he said without turning.

Reika stepped inside and stopped a few steps from the door.

She waited, and he didn’t immediately speak again.

Only after a moment did he turn.

His hair was dark, carefully kept, his eyes green. And he was handsome. That was something Reika noticed even the first time she had seen him, even if she didn’t want to.

It didn’t soften anything. It didn’t change what he was. What he allowed people to do.

She quickly bowed and his gaze settled on her fully now.

“You’ve been settling in,” he said.

Reika nodded once. “Yes,” she replied.

He moved a few steps closer. “And how are you finding the castle?” he asked.

The question sounded simple. Almost polite.

Reika hesitated before answering, choosing her words carefully.

“It is… large,” she said. “And busy.”

A faint smile touched his expression at that.

“That it is,” he agreed.

Silence followed for a moment.

Not uncomfortable for him. Only for her.

He studied her the way he had the first time, openly, without hiding the fact that he was looking.

“You’ve adapted quickly,” he said after a moment.

“I am learning,” Reika replied.

“Good,” he said simply.

Then, after another pause, he added, “I like that about you.”

Reika’s fingers tightened slightly behind her back.

She didn’t respond.

Then he added, more quietly, “You’re my favorite.”

The words landed differently than anything else he had said. Reika’s breath slowed slightly, though she didn’t move.

His expression remained unchanged, as if he had simply stated a fact.

“Among all of them,” he clarified, as though it needed context. “You are the most… reliable.”

There was a brief pause.

Then, almost casually, he stepped closer again, just enough that the distance between them narrowed.

Reika resisted the instinct to step back.

She didn’t know if she was allowed to.

Or if it would matter.

“You do not cause problems,” he said. “You do not require correction. And you do not ask for more.”

His eyes stayed on hers.

“That is rare here.”

Reika swallowed once.

“I do my work,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he replied, almost gently. “You do.”

Another pause.

Then, as if the conversation had already been decided in his mind, he turned slightly away again, looking back toward the window.

“You may go,” he said.

Reika hesitated for half a second.

Then she bowed her head slightly and stepped back.

She didn’t turn until she reached the door.

And when she finally did, she left without looking back, hearth still pounding violently in her chest.

Reika knew he looked at her in a way that was not appropriate. Not given all the circumstances. Not when he had a wife.

Reika saw the queen properly for the first time during court routines, when servants were allowed to remain at the edges of formal gatherings.

The queen had long blonde hair, with a straight posture that never seemed to change regardless of where she stood.

She dressed in very formal clothing most of the time. Long gowns made from high-quality fabric, usually in blue, red or muted tones, with structured designs that emphasized her position.

Reika had never seen her speak to the king and she wasn't sure if they really loved each other.

One night, she had been brought to his chambers again.

The request was simple, and there explanation beyond the usual.

The king wanted to see her, so she followed the guards through the corridors without asking anything. By now, that part of the routine no longer felt unfamiliar.

The king wanted to see her often, sometimes to talk, others just to look at her.

The room was dim, lit by a few lamps and the fire in the hearth. The city outside was quiet. The atmosphere inside the chamber was calm, almost private in a way that felt different from their earlier meetings.

He was not wearing formal court clothing this time. His appearance was simpler, less structured, though still clearly expensive. He was seated at first, looking over documents on a table, then looked up when she entered.

He asked her a few questions, like he sometimes did.

About work and the castle. Reika answered carefully, as she always did.

He listened without interrupting.

At some point, the conversation stopped feeling like work-related questioning.

There was a pause that lasted longer than usual.

He looked at her for a while without speaking.

Then he stood up.

Reika didn’t move back.

Not because she didn’t feel tension, but because she had learned not to react too quickly unless something demanded it.

He stepped closer.

This time, there was no question asked first.

He reached out and touched her face briefly, not forcefully, just enough to turn her slightly toward him. His hand was steady.

Her breathing stayed even, but she was aware of everything, of the distance, the silence, the fact that there were no guards, no servants, no interruptions.

He kissed her.

Reika didn’t resist.

The king was handsome. He was also a monster who let people die and starve and get taken away from their lands.

The two things coexisted. Reika didn't know how to feel. Or maybe she did but didn't want to accept it, because it would have made her feel worse about what was happening.

When he pulled back slightly, he looked at her again.

Waiting.

Reika remained still for a moment, then, without speaking, she did not step away.

That was enough for him.

He led her to the bed without saying much. Reika let herself be guided, she didn’t stop him.

And she didn’t fully understand why.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, maybe it was the fact that, for once, she was being chosen for something other than labor or obedience. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or confusion. Or the quiet, complicated recognition that she had no real control over the direction any of this could take anyway.

The bed was softer than anything she had known since arriving there.

She kissed him back, multiple times. He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that he wished she was her queen, that he only had eyes for her.

When it was over, Reika laid there for a moment, then sat up slowly, gathering herself without rushing, without looking at him for too long. She adjusted her clothes with steady hands, even if her thoughts weren’t as steady underneath.

Then she stood.

For a second, she hesitated. Then she lowered her gaze and walked toward the door.

She didn’t look back.

And when she stepped out into the corridor again, the castle felt exactly the same as before.

Only she wasn’t.

Days passed. Then weeks.

At first, nothing felt different. The routine stayed the same, the work, the long hours, the constant movement through corridors that had already started to feel too familiar. If anything had changed, it was subtle enough that Reika ignored it.

Or tried to.

It started with small things, like a lingering tiredness that didn’t go away with sleep, moments where her stomach turned unexpectedly, forcing her to pause and steady herself before continuing, food that once felt normal suddenly became difficult to swallow.

She told herself it was nothing.

That it was exhaustion and stress. But the signs didn’t stop.

And slowly, quietly, a thought began to form, one she didn’t want to face.

Reika didn’t speak about it at first but after months, it wasn’t a possibility anymore.

She knew she was pregnant.

With his child.

With time, her body changed slowly, enough that she could still conceal it for a time. Her pregnancy was easier than she had expected, no major complications, no moments that forced attention onto her too early.

It gave her time.

Time to think. Time to adjust. Time to feel something she hadn’t expected.

Because despite everything, despite where she was, despite how this had begun… she didn’t feel only fear. Because she knew she was gonna love her child.

At some point, when her belly was starting to get hard to hide, she had to tell it to someone, and the only person she trusted with the whole story, was Helena.

“…How long?” Helena asked softly.

Reika hesitated. “…A while.”

Helena exhaled slowly, absorbing it.

But she didn’t look angry and she didn’t look shocked either. Just… concerned.

The rest of the castle remained unaware, and if someone suspected she was pregnant, they just thought she had sex with some servantant working there.

The night it happened, it was sudden. Reika had doubled over where she stood, her breath catching as her body tensed in a way she couldn’t control.

Helena understood immediately.

The hours that followed were long, messy and exhausting.

Reika had never experienced pain like that before. It came in waves, each one stronger than the last, tearing through whatever strength she thought she had.

She tried to stay quiet. Tried to keep the sounds contained the same way she always did. But this was different.

Helena stayed with her the entire time. Guiding her, steadying her, speaking when needed, even when Reika barely processed the words.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

And finally, after what felt like hours, and probably were, it was over.

The room fell into a different kind of silence for a second before a new sound filled the space.

A small and fragile cry.

Reika was exhausted at first, but when Helena placed the child in her arms everything else faded.

Reika looked down.

At him.

He was so small and the cutest thing she had ever seen.

This was hers. Despite everything.

He was hers. And she already loved him.

Helena watched quietly for a moment, something soft in her expression. “…What will you call him?” she asked.

Reika didn’t hesitate.

Her gaze never left the child in her arms.

“Noah,” she said softly.

Helena tilted her head slightly. “Noah?”

Reika nodded faintly.

“I always liked that name.”

She adjusted her hold on him just slightly, closer now.

“Noah,” she repeated, quieter this time.

For the first time since she had been taken from her home, something felt right.

If she was sure of something, it was that she was going to love and protect that child at every cost.

---

Noah grew up inside the castle walls, though “growing up” there looked very different from what it might have been anywhere else.

Reika carried him with her whenever she could, tied close to her body when he was still small enough, his head resting against her chest as she worked. When she couldn’t, Helena would take him, balancing her tasks and finding time to take care of him. Between the two of them, they managed.

It wasn’t easy. There were days when Noah cried and neither of them could immediately go to him. Days when he had to be left in a corner of a room, wrapped in cloth, while floors were scrubbed or linens carried. But he was never neglected, never forgotten.

If anything, he was loved too much for a place like that.

Reika spoke to him in her native language when no one was around. Sometimes she would hum to him, melodies from her village, repetitive and gentle.

As a baby, he was calm more often than not. His big brown eyes watched everything, always observing.

His first steps came earlier than expected.

He had been holding onto the edge of one of the low wooden tables in the servants’ quarters, his small fingers gripping tightly as he pulled himself up. Reika had been nearby, washing something in a basin, while Helena sorted through linens.

“Look,” Helena said suddenly.

Reika turned just in time to see it.

Noah let go.

For a second, he wobbled, unsteady, his balance uncertain. Then he took a small and uneven step.

Then another.

Then he kept walking. And fell a second later.

Helena laughed softly under her breath as Reika rushed forward, kneeling beside him. “He’ll be running in a week at this rate.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

From that moment on, Noah didn’t stay still.

As he grew, the castle became his entire world.

At first it was just the servants’ quarters, the kitchens, the narrow corridors where he was allowed to wander under watch. He learned quickly where he could go and where he couldn’t, not because anyone explained it clearly, but because of how people reacted.

Some places were safe.

Others were not.

He understood that instinctively.

By the time he was three, he started to ask questions.

A lot of them.

“What is that?”

“Why?”

“Where?”

Sometimes Reika answered.

Sometimes Helena did.

Sometimes neither of them had an answer they could give him.

“Why can’t I go there?” he asked once, pointing toward a staircase that led upward, toward the more ornate parts of the castle.

Reika hesitated. “…Because that is not for us.”

Noah frowned slightly. “Why?”

Helena stepped in before Reika could struggle through an answer. “Because people up there don’t like being disturbed.”

That wasn’t the full truth. But it was enough for a child.

As he got older, the looks started.

At first, he didn’t understand them. Nobles passing through the lower corridors would glance at him, their expressions shifting the moment they noticed him standing near Reika or Helena. There was something in their eyes, something cold, something dismissive.

Disgust.

It was the same look they gave Reika.

Noah noticed it before he understood it.

One day, when he was around five, he asked about it.

“Why do they look at me like that?”

“Like what, baby?”

He tried to imitate it, scrunching his face in a way that was almost accurate. “Like they don’t like me.”

Silence followed.

Helena, who had been nearby, didn’t immediately step in this time.

Reika forced a small, careful smile. “They don’t know you.”

Noah tilted his head. “But they don’t want to.”

There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

So Reika said nothing.

By the time Noah turned six, he explored the castle despite all the warnings.

He had learned how to move quietly, how to slip through corridors without drawing attention, how to disappear when he needed to.

Helena had caught him once, coming back from a corridor he definitely wasn’t supposed to be in.

“And where have you been?” she asked, arms crossed.

Noah paused. “…Walking.”

Helena raised an eyebrow. “Walking where?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed, rubbing her temple slightly. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

He looked at her, unbothered. “I didn’t!”

“Not yet,” she corrected.

Helena was concerned because the castle was not a place where someone like Noah could move freely without consequences forever.

Still, he kept exploring.

Large halls with high ceilings. Rooms filled with things he didn’t understand. Windows that looked out over the city, showing him a world that was starting to interest him.

By the time Noah was eight, the castle was no longer enough for him.

It had become boring. Every corridor memorized. Every routine understood. Every place he was allowed to be had already been explored too many times to still feel interesting. Even the places he wasn’t supposed to go had started to lose their mystery.

So he started looking beyond it.

And he used the door in the kitchens to get out of the castle. The first time he used it, his heart had been pounding so loudly he was sure someone would hear it.

He waited until no one was looking. Slipped through the doorway, and didn’t stop walking until the castle walls were behind him.

And just like that... he was outside.

The air felt different, wider and colder.

He didn’t go far that first time. Just enough to see the streets, the movement of people who didn’t wear uniforms or fine clothes, who spoke louder, laughed more freely, argued openly.

It felt messy.

Alive.

He went back before anyone could notice he was gone.

But after that, he couldn’t stop.

It became a habit. And the town became his second world.

The streets were narrow and crowded, filled with stalls, voices, smells that changed depending on where he walked. Markets stretched across entire roads, merchants calling out to passersby, displaying fabrics, food, tools, things Noah had never seen inside the castle.

He liked the markets the most.

There was always something happening. Always something to look at.

And eventually... something to take.

The first time he stole something, it was small. Just a piece of fruit left too close to the edge of a stall, the merchant distracted, turned away for just a second too long.

Noah saw it. Hesitated. Then took it.

His heart raced the entire time he walked away, expecting someone to shout, to grab him, to stop him.

No one did.

He didn’t even eat it right away. Just held it, staring at it.

After that, it got easier.

Not reckless. Never careless.

He watched. Waited. Learned who paid attention and who didn’t.

Sometimes it was food. Sometimes small objects he didn’t really need.

Of course, he didn’t keep it from Reika for long.

He came back one day with something in his hand, trying to hide it, but she noticed immediately.

“What is that?” she asked.

Noah froze for half a second. “…Nothing.”

Reika stepped closer. “Noah.”

He hesitated, then slowly showed her.

Her expression changed instantly.

“Did you steal this?” she asked.

No answer.

“That means yes,” she said, sharper now. “Noah, you can’t do that.”

“They have a lot,” he replied quickly. “They won’t notice.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Reika said, “You don’t take things that aren’t yours.”

Noah frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s wrong,” she said.

Noah didn’t look convinced.

He kept leaving. Kept exploring.

Noah loved Helena. To him, she felt like a second mother. He trusted her the same way he trusted Reika, and even though both of them constantly told him not to steal, he kept bringing them small things. A stone, a simple bracelet, food, anything he thought might make them smile.

And over time, he stopped being alone out there.

He met other kids. He liked them. They didn't look at him for too long trying to understand if he was white or not.

Sometimes they met in the same corner of the market, near a broken wall where no adults paid much attention. They would sit on the ground in a loose circle, pulling out worn dice, small stones, or whatever they could use to play. The rules changed depending on who suggested them, sometimes simple games of luck, sometimes bets with whatever little they had. Noah liked those moments the most. There, he wasn’t the servant’s son from the castle. He was just another kid, laughing, arguing, and playing.

One day, Noah stole something that didn’t look valuable, just… strange. Small, round, made of metal, with a tiny moving needle trapped under glass. It caught his attention, and that was enough.

He turned it in his hands for a while before bringing it to the castle.

Reika noticed it almost immediately. “Where did you get that?”

Noah hesitated. “…I found it.”

She gave him a look. Then sighed softly and took it from him, examining it more carefully.

“It’s a compass,” she said.

Noah frowned slightly. “What does it do?”

“It helps people find their way,” she explained. “People who travel. It shows direction, so they don’t get lost.”

He looked at it again, more focused now. The small needle kept moving, always settling in the same direction.

“…So you can go anywhere?” he asked.

Reika’s expression softened just a little. “If you know how to use it… yes.”

Noah stayed quiet after that, staring at the compass in his hands. He thought about it for a long time.

About places beyond the castle. Beyond the town. Places where no one shouted at his mother for doing something wrong. Places where Helena didn’t have to work until her hands hurt. Places where they could all just… exist.

In his mind, it was simple. He would take them with him. His mom, and Helena. All three of them together.

They would travel, eat food from different places, see things no one in the castle had ever seen, and no one would own them. No one would tell them what to do.

They would be free and happy.

At least… that was Noah’s dream.

Some years later, something started changing at court.

Noah didn’t notice it. Reika did. And Helena even more.

“I heard something,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Reika asked.

“Some of the nobles were talking. Laughing, at first.” She paused. “Chatting about who actually is Noah's father. One of them joked… said maybe he’s the king’s.”

Silence.

“They laughed,” Helena added quickly. “Most of them. But not all.”

Reika looked up.

“One stayed quiet. Then she started whispering with another.”

Reika felt something cold settle in her stomach.

“Do you think…” Helena started, then stopped.

Reika already knew the question.

Do you think someone knows?

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know.

And now she was scared for Noah's safety too.

Days passed by and then, one morning, it happened.

Two guards appeared at the entrance of the servants’ quarters.

“Reika.” They just said her name.

She stood.

Helena stepped slightly closer to her. “…What is it?” she asked under her breath.

Reika just shook her head, but in her heart, she already knew.

The walk through the castle felt longer than usual and then, they brought her directly to the throne room.

The doors opened and she saw that the room was already occupied as nobles stood along the sides, their attention shifting the moment she entered.

At the far end, on the throne, there was the king. Advisors stood near him and other guards were positioned along the walls.

Reika was brought forward, and then stopped.

“Leave her,” the king said.

The guards stepped back.

Reika bowed for a moment.

Silence followed.

She kept her gaze lowered, but she could feel the weight of attention pressing down from every direction.

“You’ve been stealing.”

The words cut through the room. Reika blinked, just once.

“…No, your highness.” she said quietly.

The king stood and the movement alone shifted the atmosphere.

“Do not lie,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Items have gone missing in the rooms where you work. And you expect me to believe you know nothing about it?”

Reika’s heart was beating too fast now.

This wasn’t about theft, she understood that immediately. She hadn’t taken anything that wasn't hers and she knew Noah didn't steal inside the castle.

“I have taken nothing,” she said, a little more firmly this time. “I do my work. I—”

“Enough.”

His voice echoed.

“You were given a place here,” he continued, “You were allowed to remain. To work. To live under this roof.”

Reika felt her hands trembling slightly, but she kept them still.

“And this is how you repay it?”

“I didn’t—”

“You did!”

There was a moment of silence, Reika tried again but she knew everything would have been useless.

“I have not stolen anything,” she said again, quieter now, but steady. “You know that.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression. They both exactly knew what was going on.

And then it was gone.

Replaced by something colder.

“I know enough,” he said. “This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated,” he declared. “Not in this court.”

This was it.

“Effective immediately,” he continued, “she is to be executed.”

Some people behind him nodded, all agreeing.

“As an example for everyone. This afternoon.”

Reika stood there, unmoving. For a moment, everything felt distant, muted.

Then one thought broke through everything else.

Noah.

Her child.

What would happen to him? What would happen to her baby? The baby she was always going to love, no matter how it would end for her.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him again, hoping to see the glimpse of a father in his eyes, or at least of a man.

But she just saw the king. Just a monster.

“Take her away,” he said.

The guards stepped forward again, grabbed her arms and dragged her away as she didn't try to resist.

That afternoon came too quickly.

Reika was sitting in a small, dim room when the door opened again.

Helena stepped in first. And Noah was right behind her. The moment he saw her, he ran.

“Mom!”

Reika smiled despite everything. She held him tightly, more tightly than she ever had before, pressing her face into his hair, breathing him in like she could memorize him.

He always smelled like outside. Like dust, like the streets, like life.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her throat closed. Helena stood a step away, watching them, her eyes already wet.

Reika finally pulled back just enough to look at Noah’s face. She took it in carefully. Every detail. His eyes, his cheeks, the way his hair fell.

“Hey…” she whispered softly, brushing a strand away from his forehead.

Noah frowned slightly. “Where were you?” he asked. “They didn’t let me come earlier.”

“I know.”

He looked around the room, confused. “Why are you here?”

Reika didn’t answer that. Instead, she pulled him closer again, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Noah looked up at her, serious now.

“…Okay.”

Reika swallowed, holding back everything that threatened to break through. “I love you,” she said softly.

Noah blinked. “I know.”

She let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sob.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “I love you so much. More than anything.”

He didn’t fully understand why she was saying it like that. He just nodded again, a little unsure.

“I love you too.”

Her eyes stung, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

Not now.

Not in front of him.

“You’re brave,” she continued quietly. “And smart. And kind.”

Noah tilted his head slightly. “Why are you saying it like that?”

Reika hesitated.

He was too young, barely twelve. Too young to understand what was about to happen.

“…Because I want you to remember it,” she said gently.

“Where are they taking you?” he asked.

Reika’s fingers tightened slightly against his sleeve.

“…You don’t need to worry about that,” she said softly.

“But—”

“Hey.” She cupped his face again, guiding his gaze back to hers. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I love you,” she repeated, “and remember this is not your fault.”

He frowned, more confused now. “What’s happening?”

Reika took a breath. This was the hardest part.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Noah blinked. “What?”

“When it will happen, don’t look.”

He stared at her.

“What?”

“You don’t look,” she repeated, softer this time. “No matter what you hear. No matter what happens.”

He shook his head slightly. “Why?”

Reika’s voice almost broke.

“Just promise me.”

He hesitated.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Her thumb brushed lightly under his eye.

“But you have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Noah looked at her. Something felt wrong.

“…Okay,” he said quietly.

Reika searched his face. “Promise.”

“…I promise.”

That was enough.

She pulled him into one last embrace, holding him as if she could somehow keep him there, frozen in that moment.

“I love you baby,” she whispered into his hair.

Then she let go.

She stood, turning to Helena. Then she stepped forward and hugged her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Helena’s arms tightened around her immediately.

“For everything.”

Helena shook her head, her voice breaking. “No—”

“You are the best friend I could have,” Reika said softly.

Helena didn’t answer, and just held her tighter.

At some point, the guards stepped forward.

It was time.

They took Reika by the arms again.

Noah didn’t stay, and decided to follow them, even if Helena tried to catch him before he ran away after them.

At first slowly, then faster, slipping through people, through corridors, then outside, where the streets were louder than usual, full of people.

He pushed through them, small enough to pass between bodies, his eyes fixed ahead.

Where were they taking her?

He could hear voices overlapped, people talking, whispering. Noah didn’t understand any of it.

He followed them until they reached a large open space.

There was a wooden platform in the center.

People were already gathered around it.

Noah slowed down.

His breathing uneven now, from the run and the fear.

They brought her up there.

Her words came back.

You don’t look.

His body stilled.

He turned his head away.

He forced himself to.

His hands clenched at his sides.

He wouldn’t look.

He promised.

Around him, the noise grew. He could hear voices and feel the movement.

Something heavy was being adjusted.

Don’t look.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut.

Don’t look.

He didn’t understand.

But he listened. Because she told him to.

His heart was beating too fast.

He pressed his lips together.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

Don’t...

A sudden shift in the crowd.

A sound.

A sharp, collective reaction or people cheering and yelling.

Noah’s breath hitched, and before he could stop himself... he looked.

For a moment, his mind refused to understand what he was seeing.

It was as if his eyes had made a mistake, as if the image in front of him did not belong to reality but to something distant, something unreal that would disappear if he just blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. The longer he looked, the more the details forced themselves into him.

His mother’s body was hanging, suspended in a way that made no sense to him, her feet not touching the ground, her arms still, her head tilted unnaturally. The rope around her neck was tight, cutting into her skin in a way that made his stomach twist violently. There was no movement, no breath, no voice.

No “Noah, be careful.”

No “Noah, don't steal.”

No “Noah, I love you.”

No warmth.

Just stillness.

The noise of the crowd crashed back into him all at once, loud and overwhelming. Some people were cheering, others speaking loudly over each other. It didn’t match what he was seeing. It didn’t match what he was feeling. How could they be so loud when everything inside him had gone completely silent?

His chest tightened painfully, like something was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. His lungs worked too fast, shallow and uneven, as if they didn’t know how to function anymore. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes so suddenly he couldn’t stop them.

He turned and ran.

He didn’t think about where he was going, didn’t look at the people he pushed past, didn’t hear the protests or the annoyed voices as he slipped through the crowd again, smaller than them, faster than them, desperate to get away from the square, from the platform, from that image that had already burned itself into him.

His legs moved without stopping, carrying him through the streets, past the market, until the stone gave way to dirt and the noise of the city slowly began to fade behind him.

He didn’t stop when he reached the edge of the woods surrounding the castle.

He kept going.

Branches scratched against his arms as he pushed through them, roots catching under his feet, forcing him to stumble more than once, but he didn’t slow down. The air felt colder there but it didn't help.

Nothing helped.

The image followed him. Every time he blinked, he saw her again.

A sob broke out of him, louder this time, raw and uncontrolled, his small body finally giving in to everything it had been holding back.

He slowed, then stumbled, then stopped entirely, his legs giving out beneath him as he dropped to the ground.

The earth was uneven and cold, damp beneath his hands as he tried to steady himself, but it didn’t matter. Nothing felt real anymore except the pain in his chest and the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

His shoulders shook as he cried, the sound echoing weakly through the trees, swallowed quickly by the vastness of the forest. Time lost meaning as he stayed there, curled in on himself, trying to make sense of something that couldn’t be understood, especially not by a child.

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

The light had shifted, slowly fading through the branches above him, turning everything softer and darker at the same time.

At some point, the sound reached him.

“Noah!”

He didn’t move, he didn't have any strength for it.

“Noah!”

Branches rustled somewhere behind him, footsteps uneven, quick, pushing through the same undergrowth he had run through without thinking.

“There you are.”

Noah lifted his head slightly, his vision still blurred, his face wet and streaked with dirt. For a second, he just looked at Helena.

She rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands immediately reaching for his face, his shoulders, checking him like she needed to be sure he was okay.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she said, “Everywhere…”

She pulled him into her arms, and he didn’t resist.

The moment she held him, something inside him gave in again, his small body collapsing against her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hand pressing gently against the back of his head, holding him close. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Noah clutched at her clothes weakly.

“…Why?”

Helena froze.

“Why did they do that?” he asked, his voice trembling, barely holding together. “Why did they kill her?”

“Noah…” she started, but her voice caught.

She took a breath.

“You deserve to know,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, eyes red, confused, waiting.

Helena hesitated only a moment longer.

“…Your father,” she said slowly, “is the king.”

Noah blinked. The words didn’t make sense at first.

“What?” he whispered.

“The king,” she repeated softly. “He… he is your father.”

Noah stared at her, trying to understand, trying to fit that into everything he knew, everything he had just seen.

“That’s why…” Helena continued, “That’s why this happened.”

“…Why?” he asked again, but this time it sounded smaller.

Helena’s hands tightened slightly on his arms.

“Because he was afraid,” she said. “Afraid that people would find out. Afraid that your mother would tell the truth. So he got rid of her. People were starting to talk in the castle.”

The forest felt too quiet around them.

Noah looked down, his hands trembling slightly in his lap.

“The king…” he repeated faintly.

Helena watched him carefully.

“Yes.”

A long pause.

“…He’s evil,” Noah said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Another silence.

Then Noah looked up again, “…Does that mean I’m like him?”

The question broke something in her. Helena’s expression softened immediately, and she reached up, cupping his face gently.

“Oh no,” she said firmly. “Noah, listen to me. You are not like him.”

Her thumb brushed away a tear from his cheek.

“You are like your mother.”

His lips trembled slightly.

“You have her heart,” Helena continued softly. “Her kindness. Her strength.”

She paused, then added, her voice gentler now, “And her eyes.”

Noah blinked, more tears slipping down his face.

“You are nothing like him,” she repeated again and again.

They stayed there for a long time, ane Noah’s uneven breathing began to calm against Helena’s shoulder. She didn’t rush him, but eventually though, she had to pull back to look at him properly when she spoke.

She told him, quietly, that he couldn’t stay. That the castle was no longer safe for him, that after what had happened, it was only a matter of time before someone started asking the wrong questions.

Noah didn’t accept it. He shook his head, tears rising again as he begged her to come with him, his voice small and desperate, asking her not to leave him alone too, not after everything.

She told him she couldn’t. That if she disappeared too, it would draw attention, make everything worse. That she had to stay, at least for now. But him… he had a chance. Out there, beyond the castle, beyond the city, he had a chance to survive.

She told him that other people would find him. That someone would take care of him. That he was stronger than he thought.

He didn’t believe it. Not really. But there was nothing else to hold onto.

So he hugged her again, and told her he loved her.

That was the last time they saw each other for years.

That night, while the castle slept and the city quieted, Noah made his way down to the port. He moved carefully, the way he always had when sneaking out, but this time there was no curiosity driving him forward, no sense of adventure. Only the need to leave.

The harbor was darker than the rest of the city, lit only by scattered lanterns and the low glow of ships anchored in the water. There were more vessels than he had ever really noticed before, their shapes rising against the night.

He didn’t know where any of them were going, but it didn’t matter.

He chose one without thinking too much about it, climbing aboard when no one was looking, his body slipping between ropes and wooden structures until he found a place to hide. There were barrels stacked close together, the scent of alcohol strong enough to sting his nose, but it gave him cover.

He curled up between them, pulling himself in as small as possible.

Exhaustion took him quickly.

When they found him the next morning, he was still asleep, tucked between the rum barrels like something forgotten.

Voices woke him.

Rough ones. Confused at first, then amused.

They decided to keep him.

And soon, Noah found out that of all the ships he could have chosen, he had climbed onto a pirate vessel.

But he was just a child and somehow, that was enough for them to let him stay.

So they kept him, and taught him how to survive in their world.

And that was how his new life began.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

The closer you got to the city, the more people you started to see. Workers were moving back and forth from the port, carrying crates and hauling barrels.

Noah slowed slightly, his gaze scanning the movement, measuring.

Then, without a word, he shifted direction, and you followed.

It didn’t take long to understand what he was doing. You slipped into the flow of people, falling in beside a group transporting wooden crates, your pace matching theirs, head down. Just like you were simply working, and one questioned it.

Some guards stood where the port ended and the city started.

They wore dark blue coats lined with silver threading, structured at the shoulders, their metal breastplates caught the light where the coats opened slightly at the front. Swords rested at their sides, and some carried long rifles slung across their backs.

Your gaze dropped slightly as you approached, focusing on the crate ahead of you.

Don’t draw attention.

Don’t look nervous.

Just walk.

Step by step, the distance closed.

One of the guards shifted slightly as your group passed, his eyes moving over the line of workers. For a second, you felt his gaze linger. And then he looked away.

And just like that, you were through. You didn’t let yourself react immediately, not until you had put a bit of distance between you and the gates, not until the crowd thickened slightly and the guards were behind you.

Only then did you let out a slow, controlled breath.

First step.

Done.

You glanced at Noah briefly, but he was already looking ahead.

The city opened around you as you moved further in.

Stone streets stretched ahead, lined with buildings that rose two, sometimes three stories high. Balconies overlooked the roads, some draped with fabric, others cluttered with plants or hanging laundry shifting lightly in the breeze.

People filled the space. Merchants were calling out from stalls. You could smell spices, cooked meat, something sweeter you couldn’t really name, fabric stalls displayed bright colors, jewelry caught the sunlight in glints, and crates of produce were stacked in uneven piles along the sides of the street.

You remembered walking through a market like this before, months ago, back when everything had been… different, when everything was just starting, when you had just freed Noah from prison.

You blinked, the memory slipping away as quickly as it had come.

Beside you, Noah had slowed slightly, his gaze moving across the stalls, assessing and calculating.

“I need weapons.” He whispered.

You glanced at him, “…We need weapons,” you corrected.

He nodded once, “Right.”

You didn’t have to walk far before you found what you needed.

You saw a stall tucked between two larger ones, with knives laid out in neat rows and few short swords.

Noah slowed beside you, his gaze scanning everything at once.

“We could take them,” he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips. “Too many people around, though, and I don't wanna...”

You glanced at him, and you knew he was already calculating angles, distractions and exits.

You didn’t say anything, your hand moved to your neck.

Your chain slipped free easily, the gold warm from your skin as you pulled it off. For a second, you hesitated, then stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” you said, placing it on the wooden counter.

The vendor looked up.

He was old, with a long beard and dark eyes. His eyes dropped to the necklace. He picked it up, turning it slightly between his fingers, inspecting the weight and the craftsmanship.

“…What can we get for this?” you asked.

He hummed under his breath, still studying it. Then he gave a small nod.

“This?” he said. “Quite a bit.”

Your shoulders eased.

“You’ve got options.”

For a moment, his gaze flicked past you, toward Noah and it lingered there. Then it came back to you.

“…Everything alright?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard.

“…Yeah,” you said, a little too quickly. Then, more steady, “Yes.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, then gave a small nod.

“Pick what you need.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Between the two of you, you chose quickly a blade that fit comfortably in your hand, and one slightly longer for Noah. Nothing that would draw attention, but enough to make a difference if things went wrong, and that you could easily hide.

The vendor gathered them without comment, wrapping them in cloth before handing them over.

Then he reached beneath the counter and placed a few coins beside the empty space where your necklace had been.

“It’s worth more than that,” he said simply.

“…Thank you.”

He gave a short nod. But as you turned to leave, you caught the way his gaze shifted again, back to Noah.

There was something in it. You didn’t understand it fully, but it lingered as you stepped away, the noise of the market swallowing you both again.

A few stalls down, the crowd thickened slightly, and that was when Noah moved. It was subtle and quick.

The vendor of the next stall had his back turned, leaning slightly over a crate, adjusting something out of view, and a hat rested carelessly on a nearby stand.

Noah’s hand extended without hesitation.

And the hat was gone.

By the time the vendor turned back, it was already done.

You glanced sideways just in time to see Noah settling it onto his head, adjusting it slightly like it had always been his, keeping his head low.

You didn’t say anything and just kept walking.

A few steps later, you slowed, because a stall of clothing caught your eye.

And suddenly, you remembered you were still dressed like before, with trousers and boots and no woman was supposed to dress like that there.

“…Wait,” you muttered, stepping aside.

Noah paused but didn’t question it. You approached the stall, your gaze moving quickly over the options before settling on a plain dress, nothing elaborate and nothing that would stand out.

You paid with the remaining coins that were just enough to cover it.

Changing took only a moment, stepping behind a makeshift divider of hanging fabric, even if the vendor was a bit surprised when you asked if you could change there. And when you stepped back out, it felt… strange.

The fabric fell differently, lighter in some ways, more restrictive in others. The skirt brushed against your legs with every step, unfamiliar after months of movement without it.

You adjusted it slightly, instinctively. It felt almost weird now, but necessary.

Noah glanced at you once and just gave a short nod, like it made sense.

And then you kept moving away from the market and from the noise.

The streets slowly widened, the crowd thinning the further you got from there. The voices faded, replaced by quieter sounds.

For the first time since entering the city, there was space and your pace slowed slightly.

Ahead, the streets began to shift in structure, wider and cleaner.

You glanced at Noah. He hadn’t hesitated once since leaving the market and every turn he took was chosen without pause.

“…Have you been here before?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you, “Yeah.”

You frowned slightly, but didn’t press it.

For a few steps, you walked in silence again, then your gaze lifted slightly, settling on the brim of the hat he had stolen, the way it cast a shadow over part of his face.

“What's with the hat?” you asked. “I get keeping a low profile, but… why steal one?”

This time, he didn’t answer, his steps didn’t slow, but something in him shifted, and it was so subtle that it would be almost unnoticeable if you weren’t paying attention.

But you were.

“…Noah?”

“It helps,” he said finally.

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I know.”

You frowned, glancing at him again. “Then give me one.”

He exhaled quietly.

“…Because of what I look like.”

You blinked slightly.

Your gaze moved over him, instinctively, like you were trying to understand what he meant, but maybe you already knew. You just hadn’t… thought about it.

“I’m mixed,” he continued, his voice lower now. “You know that.”

You said nothing.

“I usually don’t stand out too much,” he added. “Not enough for it to matter or for some people to even realize it.”

Another step.

“But here… it does. They don't like foreigners here.”

He adjusted the brim of the hat with a small movement, pulling it a little lower.

“In Valemont,” he went on, quieter now, “they still trade slaves from the south and east. It’s not even hidden. It’s one of the things they’re known for... it's almost weird they weren’t doing it at the market earlier. And if you’re mixed? Sometimes that’s worse.”

“…Worse?”

“Yeah, well... races shouldn't mix. They don’t know what to do with it,” he said. “Not one thing or the other. Doesn’t fit anywhere cleanly.” His voice stayed calm, almost detached. “People don’t like what they don’t understand.”

“And people just… accept that? The whole slave trade thing?”

“People accept a lot worse if it benefits them.”

You slowed slightly without meaning to.

The idea that a beautiful place like this could look at someone and decide their worth, their fate and their freedom, based on something as simple and uncontrollable as where they came from, or who they came from, made you feel a weird, disgusting sensation at the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t just unfair, it was senseless. Cruel in a way that didn’t even try to justify itself.

You thought about the man on the street that night when you were looking for a doctor, and how many people here must be like him. The way the vendor at the market had looked at Noah made sense now. If any of it could make sense.

The more you travelled, the more you realized how little you actually knew about the world.

“…So the hat,” you said quietly.

“Keeps people from looking too closely,” he finished. “That’s all I need right now.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything.

This reminded you how little you actually knew about him. You had been traveling together for months, fighting side by side, trusting him with your life, and yet his past was still mostly a blank space. You didn’t know where exactly he had grown up, what he had gone through, what he had seen before the sea. And now, walking through a place like this, hearing the way he spoke about it, it made you wonder how much of that past had shaped him into who he was now.

“…That’s…” you started, then stopped.

Not enough words.

Not the right ones.

You exhaled slowly instead, your gaze dropping for a second before lifting again.

“…Good call on the hat,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t much.

But it was what you had.

He glanced at you briefly.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression, something softer, maybe, or just less closed off than before.

Then it was gone.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

And you just kept walking.

There were still people around you, though not many, most of them clearly at work or at the market. Your attention drifted as the sound of footsteps and distant voices softened into the background.

That was when you heard it.

It was faint at first, but there was something unmistakably human about it, something broken and uneven that made you instinctively pause just slightly.

You turned your head, “…Did you hear that?”

Noah didn’t slow down. He kept walking, his eyes forward, his voice steady when he answered. “Hear what?”

You hesitated, focusing more carefully now, letting the city’s ambient noise fall away in your mind as you tried to isolate it again.

There.

It came again, clearer this time, fragile and shaking, like someone trying and failing to hold themselves together.

“…Someone’s crying,” you said quietly.

“No,” Noah replied immediately, still not stopping.

But you weren’t imagining it. You were sure of it now, more certain with every second that passed, because the sound didn’t disappear even when you tried to ignore it. Instead, it seemed to pull at you, pulling you off the main street toward a narrower path between two buildings.

You slowed further, your eyes scanning the direction it was coming from.

“I’m sure,” you said, more firmly this time, already turning your body slightly as if preparing to follow it.

Noah’s voice sharpened just a little. “We don’t have time for this.”

But you were already stepping away from him.

The sound grew stronger as you moved down the side street, echoing faintly between the stone walls, and with each step it became less uncertain, until there was no doubt left in your mind about what you were hearing.

Behind you, Noah followed immediately, closer now, his presence just behind your shoulder.

“No—” he started, reaching out as if to stop you.

You moved past him before he could properly hold you back.

“I just need to see what it is. Maybe someone needs help,” you said, not slowing down anymore.

“You don’t—” he began again, but the rest of his words were cut off as you turned the corner.

And then the street opened.

The narrow passage gave way abruptly to a square, larger than the streets you had been walking through, though far emptier than you expected.

At the center of it stood a raised platform, and you stopped immediately.

There was a structure on top of it, simple but impossible to misinterpret even if you had never seen something like that, even they didn't do that in Port Everleigh.

A wooden beam stretched overhead, and beneath it, a rope hung down, taut and unmoving except for the faint sway caused by the wind.

There was a man at the end of it.

Hanging.

Your breath caught in your throat as your body went rigid, your mind refusing for a second to fully process the image in front of you. The silence around you suddenly felt louder than anything you had just come from, as if the entire city had narrowed down to this single point.

The man’s body hung limp, his weight pulling against the rope, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. His head was tilted slightly forward, his face partially visible.

Then the sound reached you again, closer now.

You forced yourself to look down.

At the base of the platform, just off to the side, a woman was on the ground. She was collapsed in on herself, her body folded forward as her arms pressed tightly against her face, as if trying to hide from what was in front of her.

Her shoulders shook violently with each breath she tried to take, each sob coming out broken and uncontrolled.

She didn’t look up.

You couldn’t breathe properly.

Your chest felt tight, your thoughts suddenly scattered, unable to settle on anything except the image in front of you.

Behind you, Noah had gone completely still.

And that was when you understood, even without looking at him, that he knew.

He had tried to stop you because he knew what had happened, he knew it was too late to fix what was causing those cries. He didn't do it because he didn't want to help, but because he knew he couldn't.

You stood there for a moment, unable to move, while the rope creaked softly above the silent body and the woman continued to cry.

Slowly, you turned your head. Noah was beside you now.

There was tension in his jaw, and his eyes didn’t move from the platform for a long moment. Whatever expression he usually wore, wasn’t fully there.

It surprised you more than it should have, because he was pirate. A man who lived by violence. Someone who had already killed and would likely kill again without hesitation.

Then why was he bothered by this?

Something in his gaze tightened for a second, almost like he had to force himself to breathe properly again, before he finally exhaled and looked away.

“…We need to go,” he said, voice low.

You nodded without replying. Together, you turned away from the square.

The streets felt different when you stepped back into them. You walked in silence.

But after a while, something about the quiet changed, and you noticed.

Noah’s pace shifted slightly. His steps weren’t as even. His shoulders were tighter than before. His breathing had changed in a way that didn’t match the rhythm of walking anymore.

“…Noah?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

You glanced at him properly now.

His face was paler than it had been earlier, just slightly, but you noticed anyway.

“…Are you okay?” you asked.

A moment passed.

Then, quietly, “…Yeah.”

But it didn’t sound convincing. You slowed slightly to match him, studying him more carefully now. Something was off in the way he was holding himself.

“Noah,” you said again, softer this time.

He stopped walking.

Just for a second.

Then shook his head once, like he was trying to reset himself.

“…No,” he admitted under his breath.

He took a step away from the street without warning, moving toward a narrow gap between two buildings.

“Noah—”

He raised a hand slightly, not at you, but as a signal.

Not now.

You followed anyway, but kept a short distance, watching as he leaned slightly forward, one hand bracing against the wall.

For a moment, he just stood there like that.

Then his breathing changed, and it became sharper. Like something inside him had finally pushed past whatever restraint he had been holding onto.

And then he turned his head just enough that you understood immediately what was happening.

You stepped closer instinctively.

“Noah…”

He didn’t answer this time.

His shoulders tensed violently, and he bent forward further, one hand pressing harder against the stone as his body finally gave in to it.

He turned fully to the side and vomited into the corner of the alley. You froze for half a second, caught completely off guard, before moving closer without thinking.

“Hey—”

He didn’t respond, still bent over, breathing harshly between movements, his hand shaking slightly where it pressed against the wall.

You hesitated, then reached out carefully, steadying him by the shoulder just enough so he didn’t lose balance.

It was strange.

To feel him like this.

Because why was he having this reaction when he was actually a killer?

When it finally stopped, he stayed like that for a moment longer, breathing unevenly. Then he slowly straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, not looking at you immediately.

“…I’m fine,” he muttered automatically.

You gave him a look.

He exhaled through his nose, almost like he was annoyed at himself more than anything else.

“…I’m fine,” he repeated, quieter this time, though it still didn’t sound true.

A moment of silence passed.

You stayed close, not saying anything at first.

Then, softly, “…I’m sorry.”

He finally looked at you.

“For what?” he asked.

You hesitated, your gaze dropped slightly.

“For running ahead,” you said. “For not listening.”

He shook his head once, “…Don’t,” he said. “You had good intentions.”

You looked at him properly again, trying to read his expression, but it was already starting to close back off, slowly rebuilding itself piece by piece like he refused to stay in that moment any longer than necessary.

Still, there was something different now.

Something that hadn’t been there before.

You were still wondering why what just happened had happened when he spoke again.

“…Let’s keep moving.”

And this time, you followed his orders.

You kept walking for what felt like hours.

At some point, your feet started to ache, the unfamiliar pull of the dress and the long distance finally starting to bother you, but you didn’t complain. Noah didn’t slow, and you didn’t either.

Eventually, the city opened up in front of you, and you saw the castle.

It rose ahead, vast and imposing, its pale stone walls catching the light in a way that made it almost glow against the sky. Towers climbed upward at each corner, tall and watchful, their shadows stretching across the ground below. Large windows lined the upper levels, framed with intricate carvings, and banners hung between them, their fabric shifting gently in the wind. The main entrance stood at the front, wide and guarded, with soldiers posted in perfect formation.

Even from a distance, it was overwhelming.

You slowed slightly without meaning to, your eyes tracing the height of it, the structure, the sheer scale compared to everything else in the city.

Beside you, Noah didn’t stop. He veered slightly to the side, moving along the perimeter rather than toward the main entrance, his gaze already focused on something else. You followed without question, circling the outer wall with him, keeping your distance from the guards posted at the front.

The further you moved along the side, the less maintained it became. The stone was still there, but the ground shifted beneath your feet, turning uneven and dirtier. Grass and patches of wild growth crept up along the edges, and the air changed too, losing that polished feel the front of the court had.

By the time you reached the back, it felt like a completely different place.

There was a section where a fencing had partially collapsed, the wood broken and left as it was, looking like no one had bothered to fix it properly. Nearby, piles of discarded things had gathered. You saw sacks slumped against the wall, some torn open, the smell of spoiled food thick enough to make you instinctively wrinkle your nose. There were old barrels, broken crates, and other useless debris were scattered around, creating a cluttered, almost neglected space that didn’t match the grandeur of the building it belonged to.

And there, set into the wall, was a smaller wooden door.

People moved in and out of it constantly. Men and women, all dressed simply, carrying sacks, baskets, or empty containers, some heading inside, others coming out to dump waste or collect supplies from the barrels scattered nearby.

You supposed they were kitchen staff and servants.

You slowed slightly as you watched them, your gaze moving between the door and the people passing through it, understanding now.

Of course. Of all the entrances in a place like this, this was the one no one would question.

“You can still walk away.” Noah whispered, his voice low.

“No.” You shook your head immediately.

“…You should.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t owe me this.” He said.

“I’m not here because I owe you anything. I chose to.”

“…I’m trying to keep you safe. You helped getting this far. That’s already more than I should’ve asked.”

“You didn't ask. And I barely did anything. I wanna help now.”

“You've helped more than you think.”

“Well, I wanna keep doing it, then.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking at you. There was something in his eyes that was softer than usual, but it quickly disappeared.

Then, he nodded and moved.

You stepped forward with Noah without needing to say anything else, matching the pace of the workers again, slipping into their flow just like you had done at the port. No one stopped you. No one looked twice.

Still, a thought lingered in the back of your mind as you approached the door.

How did he know about this entrance?

You glanced at him briefly, but he didn’t look at you, his attention was fixed ahead, like this was nothing new to him. Like he had done this before.

You didn’t ask. Instead, you followed him through the doorway.

The change was immediate.

Heat hit you first.

A wave of it, thick and suffocating compared to the cooler air outside, wrapping around you the moment you stepped inside. Then came the noise, voices overlapping, metal clattering, something boiling, something burning, orders being shouted across the room.

The kitchen stretched out in front of you, massive and chaotic, filled with movement. Long wooden tables were covered with ingredients, knives flashing as people worked quickly, chopping, preparing, moving from one task to the next without pause. Large stoves lined one side, flames flickering beneath heavy pots, steam rising into the already thick air. Shelves were stacked with dishes, spices, sacks of grain, everything crammed into a space that somehow still functioned despite the disorder.

It was overwhelming in a completely different way than the court outside.

And for a moment, you just stood there, taking it in, before realizing... you were inside.

It felt almost unreal. You were inside the king’s castle, dressed as servants, following a man who lived outside every law this place stood for. The absurdity of it might have struck you harder if there had been any room left in your mind for it.

The chaos of the kitchen worked in your favor.

With so many bodies moving at once, cooks shouting over one another and servants rushing past with trays and baskets, no one paid attention to two more figures slipping through the space. Noah moved first, his path cutting naturally through the confusion. You followed a few seconds behind him, keeping your pace steady, your head slightly lowered, just like you were another worker moving from one task to the next.

At the far end of the kitchen, there was a larger doorway, partially obscured by the constant movement of people passing through it. Noah slipped through it without looking back, and you did the same shortly after, timing your movement between two servants carrying a heavy pot.

The shift was immediate. The noise dropped away and thr corridor beyond was quiet and cool.

The air felt different, the walls were of polished stone, the floor beneath your feet was smooth, clean, almost reflective compared to the dirt and clutter outside.

There was no one there.

For a moment, the silence felt almost unnatural after everything you had just walked through. Noah slowed slightly, just enough to let you come up beside him. He glanced at you then, his eyes searching your face.

“…You okay?” he asked under his breath.

“…Yeah,” you said quietly.

He held your gaze for a second longer, like he was deciding whether to believe you or not, then gave a small nod and looked ahead again.

“We need to find the jailer,” he murmured.

“Do you know where he is?”

At this point, it was hard not to notice how much Noah seemed to already understand about this place so you thought that maybe, he had an answer ready. But he didn’t respond immediately.

His gaze shifted briefly down the corridor.

“He’s not always in one place,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes near the cells, sometimes not. He moves, he has different tasks.”

You nodded, accepting it for now.

You started walking again, keeping close to the walls.

As you moved deeper into the castle, the corridor began to branch into others, each one leading further into the structure.

You passed a few people along the way, some servants, by the look of them, dressed in simple clothing not unlike yours.

At one point, you passed a large wooden door set into the wall, far more elaborate than the others you had seen so far. Two guards stood on either side of it, unmoving, their posture rigid.

Your gaze lingered on it for just a second too long.

Whoever was behind that door had to be important.

You didn’t slow, didn’t turn your head, just kept walking beside Noah as if you hadn’t noticed anything at all.

He turned down another corridor shortly after, and you followed without question.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

The corridors began to blur together slightly, each one similar enough to the last that it became harder to keep track of where you were in relation to where you had started.

You glanced at Noah again. And you were starting to notice he wasn’t as certain anymore.

Before you could think more about it, movement appeared ahead.

A woman was walking toward you.

She was likely in her sixties, maybe older. Her hair was pinned back in a tight, practical bun that had long since loosened, a few strands escaping around her temples. She wore a simple grey dress under a faded apron, the fabric stained with soap marks and dirt. In her hands was a cloth and a small bucket of water.

She didn’t even notice you at first. Her eyes were down, focused on the floor. But Noah's expression shifted.

You kept walking and the woman finally looked up.

Her eyes landed on both of you, and she stopped.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then her gaze narrowed slightly, suspicious.

“Who are you?” she asked.

You felt your body tense instantly. But Noah moved faster.

Before you even registered it, he had crossed the space between them.

One hand came up, covering her mouth just enough to cut off any alarm she might raise. The cloth in her hands dropped slightly, but he steadied her wrist before it could fall.

“Helena,” he said quickly, low enough that only she could hear. “It’s me. Do you remember me?”

You froze. They knew each other.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly above his hand.

Noah held her there only a second longer before slowly, carefully, he removed his hand.

“…Noah?” she breathed.

His shoulders loosened by a fraction.

“Yes.”

That was all it took.

Her face changed completely.

The suspicion melted so fast it was like it had never been there. Her hands slowly came up, cupping his face, fingers trembling slightly as she looked at him like she was trying to confirm he was real.

“Oh my…” she whispered. “It really is you.”

She pulled him a little closer, eyes scanning him properly now.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said, almost disbelieving. “Look at you… you’re a man now. A handsome man.”

There was something warm in her voice. Emotional, almost overwhelmed. Like she hadn’t expected to ever see him ever again.

Noah didn’t pull away. He just stood there, letting it happen.

Her hands finally lowered slightly, though she still kept one resting briefly on his arm.

“It’s been so long,” she said. “So many years… I thought—” She stopped herself, shaking her head quickly. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

Noah nodded once.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She just nodded, and you swore you could see tears in her eyes.

“I’m glad,” he said simply.

Her eyes flicked past him, to you.

You straightened slightly without thinking, caught off guard by the sudden attention.

Helena studied you for a moment. Then she gave you a small, gentle smile.

You hesitated for half a second… then returned it.

She seemed satisfied by that alone.

Noah shifted slightly, bringing the moment back.

“We don’t have much time,” he said. His tone changed, back to focus. “I need the jailer. I need access to the cells.”

Helena blinked, immediately pulling herself back into reality.

“The jailer?” she repeated.

“Yes. We need the keys,” Noah added. “Does Sir Aldren still have them?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, he does. He always carries them.”

Noah exhaled faintly, like that confirmed something.

“When was he last seen?”

Helena tilted her head slightly, thinking.

“Earlier today,” she said. “He was near the west wing corridors. Near the records room. He was dealing with some papers regarding the new prisoners.”

Noah nodded once, absorbing it immediately.

“Records room,” he repeated under his breath.

Helena frowned slightly now, more concerned.

“What are you doing, Noah?” she asked quietly. “Why are you here?”

“I need to get someone out.”

Her gaze softened again.

“…Be careful,” she said.

Noah gave a small nod.

“I will.”

A pause.

Helena looked between both of you once more, her expression lingering on you briefly before returning to Noah.

“Go on then,” she said. “Before someone sees you standing here.”

Noah gave her a small nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

Helena reached up once more, briefly touching his cheek again, softer this time, almost like a farewell.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

Noah turned first.

You followed immediately after giving the woman one last nod as a thank you.

Behind you, you heard Helena’s footsteps as she started waking away.

You thought there were too many pieces of Noah you didn’t have access to, too many gaps that only showed themselves in moments like that.

All your questions didn't disappear but you had to push them aside as the corridors changed again and you understood you reached the west wing.

Noah slowed just slightly, indicating a big wooden door.

“This is it,” he said.

You glanced at him. “And Aldren is inside?”

“He should be.”

You took a breath. “What exactly is the plan?”

“You go in,” he said. “Act like you’ve been sent for him. Say there’s an urgent issue. Something that requires his attention immediately.”

“And if he asks questions?”

“He will,” Noah said. “Keep it vague. He’s not expecting trouble from inside the castle. He’ll follow.”

You nodded slowly. “And then?”

Noah’s gaze flicked briefly toward the door, “Then I do the rest.”

That was the only answer you got.

You exhaled once, steadying yourself, then reached for the handle.

The door opened into a large, dim room filled with shelves and stacked ledgers.

At the center, standing behind a long desk, was a man.

He was in his fifties, maybe slightly younger, though the tired lines on his face made it hard to tell. He had dark, neatly trimmed facial hair, and wore a structured uniform coat that suggested authority.

He looked up immediately as you entered.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not one of mine.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I was sent here. There’s been an issue. They told me to fetch you personally.”

Aldren straightened a little, suspicion already forming. “What kind of issue?”

“…It’s regarding the prisoner transfers,” you said. “Something was mismatched in the records. They said it was urgent.”

That did it.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, already stepping away from the desk. “I just finalized those logs.”

He stood up and the keys at his belt jingled as he moved.

“I don’t like interruptions when I’m working,” he added sharply, moving toward you. “This better be worth it.”

You stepped aside slightly as he passed you.

“It’s… what they told me to say,” you replied.

He scoffed. “Of course it is.”

He walked out into the corridor without waiting, already annoyed. You followed him just a few steps behind.

He opened his mouth, probably about to ask where he needed to go when it happened.

A quick movement from the side.

Noah stepped out from the shadowed edge of the hallway.

A heavy candelabrum came down in a single, controlled motion.

Aldren’s body jolted forward, the sound cut short mid-breath. His hand twitched toward his head, but he didn’t even manage to turn fully before his knees gave out.

He collapsed against the wall first, then slid down to the floor.

Unconscious.

You froze for half a second, heart jumping at the suddenness of it, but Noah was already moving.

“Perfect,” he commented quietly.

He dragged Aldren’s body into a small storage room directly beside the corridor with your help. The space barely large enough to hold cleaning supplies and spare cloths.

Noah took his keys and then closed the door.

“…You didn’t warn me about the candelabrum part.” You said.

“No time,” Noah replied.

You shot him a look, but there was no point pressing it. He was already scanning ahead again, keys in hand.

“We head down from here,” he said. “Cell access should be below the west wing storage levels.”

“And Aldren?”

“He’ll wake up eventually,” Noah said. “By then, we won’t be here.”

He walked away from the records corridor, and the place stretched longer across the polished stone floors.

You and Noah moved quickly, but not yet running.

Then Noah slowed, and you noticed it immediately.

Two guards were turning into the corridor ahead of you, walking in your direction. Their hands rested near their weapons.

Noah’s hand tightened slightly at his side.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for explanation, he turned on his heel instantly.

“This way,” he said. You followed without hesitation.

But as soon as you changed direction, another corridor opened ahead, and two more guards were already stepping into view.

Noah stopped just long enough to take it in.

“Fuck.”

Your heartbeat jumped violently.

Something was very wrong.

“Someone saw us,” you said.

Noah grabbed your wrist briefly and pulled you into motion.

“Run.”

That was all he said. And you did.

The castle stopped feeling like a structure and started feeling like a trap that had already closed around you.

Footsteps behind you multiplied.

Metal clinked.

Voices called out, echoing off stone walls, overlapping in commands.

“Stop them!”

“There!”

“Down the west corridor!”

You and Noah moved through the castle, cutting through hallways and passing through doors. Servants screamed as you passed through spaces meant for order and silence. One corridor led into a narrow passage lined with portraits, faces of nobles watching as you ran beneath them.

Noah shoved a door open, and it led into a large, open hall. Probably a ballroom.

You both stumbled into it at speed, the sudden vastness swallowing the sound of your steps for a moment. The floor beneath you was polished marble, reflecting the glow of enormous chandeliers hanging high above and gold details lined the walls. Tall arched windows flooded the space with pale daylight, making everything look almost unreal.

But there was no time to take it in.

Because behind you, the guards were still coming.

“Keep moving,” Noah said.

You crossed the ballroom diagonally, boots slipping slightly against the clean floor as you pushed forward. The scale of the room made everything feel slower, like the distance to the far side kept stretching no matter how fast you moved.

You saw a massive set of double doors at the far end.

It was the only option.

You reached it together and pushed.

The doors opened, you stepped inside, and they closed behind you.

The room beyond quiet, luxurious, with thick carpets that softened your steps instantly. Gold-lined pillars framed the space, massive windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing the city beyond. A long table sat to one side.

And at the far end, a man stood with his back to you.

Looking out the window, toward the balcony.

He had broad shoulders, wearing expensive clothing, with dark brown hair neatly kept.

You stopped immediately. You hadn't seen his face yet, but the blue and red clothes he was wearing and his slicked-back hair made you think, from all the paintings you'd seen in your life, that you had ended up in the presence of the king.

You were absolutely fucked.

Your breath was still heavy from running and your chest rose and fell too fast.

There was nowhere else to go now. No exits you could see.

Noah stood slightly in front of you now.

And then, slowly, the man in front of you turned.

He tilted his head as his gaze slid between you and Noah, observing you for a moment. Then, a small, painfully familiar, smirk appeared on his lips.

“Long time no see, son.”

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @ichoosetenderomens

At first it looked like every other morning, the sky was clear, the wind steady enough to keep the sails full without straining them, and the Specter moved smoothly across the water.

You had been on deck, not doing much of anything, just leaning lightly against the railing and letting the sun warm your skin.

It was one of the crew who spotted it first.

“Ship!” someone called from above.

It wasn’t alarmed. At least not yet.

A few heads turned, including yours, your gaze lifting toward the horizon where a shape had started to form, small at first, just a darker line against the bright stretch of water.

Noah was already moving before anyone said anything else.

He stepped out from where he had been standing near the helm, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked out in the same direction, one hand resting on his hip.

“Can you tell who they are?” Davis called up.

The man above shifted slightly, adjusting his position for a better view.

“Not yet,” he replied. “Still too far.”

There was no immediate tension, since pirates ships crossed paths all the time, some ignored each other and some traded.

You straightened slightly, watching as the shape on the horizon grew clearer with each passing minute, the outline of masts and sails slowly taking form.

“They’re adjusting course,” someone else pointed out.

Noah didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed, calculating.

“Toward us?” Ruffilo asked.

A pause.

“…Yeah.”

That was when something shifted.

“They could just be passing,” someone offered.

“They’re not just passing,” Noah said calmly, but there was no doubt in his voice.

By now, the other ship was close enough to make out more detail, the sails darker, the movement more direct, cutting across the water in a straight line that left very little room for interpretation.

“Recognize the flag?” Davis asked.

Another pause from above.

“…No flag.”

A few quiet curses followed that, ans you glanced at Noah. His posture had changed, subtly but unmistakably.

“Alright,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to reach everyone nearby. “Stay ready, but don’t start anything.”

The crew moved, hands drifting closer to weapons, positions adjusting slightly across the deck.

The other ship kept coming.

Closer and closer.

“Still think they’re friendly?” Folio muttered under his breath.

No one answered.

The distance between the two ships closed faster now, the sound of water shifting louder as their paths aligned, the size of the approaching vessel becoming impossible to ignore.

It was bigger, heavier and not slowing down.

“Noah—” Davis started.

“I see it.”

The first cannon fired before anyone could say anything else.

The sound split through the air, sharp and deafening, followed almost immediately by the impact.

The Specter lurched violently as the cannonball struck, wood splintering somewhere along the side with a crack that echoed through the ship.

Everything changed at once.

“Positions!” Noah snapped, his voice cutting through the noise.

Another shot followed, the force of it rattling through the deck beneath your feet.

Men were moving, shouting over each other, grabbing weapons, adjusting sails, preparing for impact and for the fight.

“They’re not slowing—!”

“I know!”

The ships collided moments later.

Wood slammed against wood with a brutal force that sent a jolt through your entire body, the sound was heavy and crushing as the two vessels scraped against each other.

The men on the other ship flooded over the side of the Specter like a wave and it was impossible to notice that they outnumbered you.

They were brutal, swinging without precision, shouting, crashing into the deck with weapons already raised.

Chaos exploded around you a moment later, steel clashed, voices rose and pounded against wood.

Someone shouted in pain.

You stepped back instinctively, your heart jumping into your throat as everything around you blurred.

Noah was already fighting. Of course he was.

You caught a glimpse of him cutting through one of them, his movements sharp and efficient, nothing wasted, his focus absolute even as everything fell apart around him and blood splashed on the deck.

“Stay back!” someone yelled near you.

Another man went down a few feet away, the sound of it sharp and loud. You were too scared to look if it was one of Noah's crew or someone else.

Noah’s voice cut through the sounds.

“Go to your cabin!”

You turned toward him.

Another man rushed him and he moved again, faster this time, his attention already pulled away.

“Stay there,” he added over his shoulder. “And don’t come out until this is over.”

And then he was gone again, swallowed back into the fight.

You knew what you were supposed to do, go below deck like the last time, stay out of the way, and be safe.

But your feet didn’t move yet.

Maybe the months at sea had gotten to your head.

Maybe you had always been stubborn, reckless, a little too quick to act before thinking things through.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that, in the middle of all that chaos, you saw one of them coming toward you.

He wasn’t far, but far enough that you hadn’t noticed him before, too focused on everything else happening at once. He turned in your direction, eyes locking onto you for a moment.

You stepped back instinctively. Once, then wice.

Your breath came a little faster now, your pulse loud in your ears as the noise around you seemed to dull for a fraction of a second.

He started walking toward you.

You moved back again, faster this time, your shoulders hitting something solid behind you before you even realized how far you had gone.

It was the crates.

Stacked unevenly against the side of the deck, where you had no more space.

Your hand brushed against the wood as you steadied yourself, your gaze flicking quickly to the side, searching, thinking...

And then you saw the sword you had been using to train, lying forgotten where it had been left after the last practice.

For a second, you hesitated, then you grabbed it.

The weight settled into your hand instantly, familiar. Your fingers tightened around the hilt, your stance shifting almost without thought, muscle memory taking over.

The man was closer now. And when he raised his weapon, you didn’t even think. You just moved.

You turned just as he reached you, your arm coming up fast in a sharp and instinctive motion. And the blade went through him.

There was resistance.

Then not.

The force of it jolted up your arm as the sword pierced through his body, the impact closer, more real than anything you had ever imagined.

Warmth followed. Blood splashed across your hand and the wood beneath your feet.

The man’s expression shifted, shock overtaking whatever intention had been there a second before. His body jerked once, then stilled, his weight faltering as the strength left him all at once.

You let go. Or maybe your grip loosened without you meaning to.

The sword slipped free as he collapsed, hitting the deck with a dull, heavy sound.

And the noise, the shouting and the chaos around you came rushing back at once.

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, your chest rising too fast now.

You stared at him for a moment, at what you had just done.

It had been self-defense, it had been necessary, he would have killed you otherwise.

Then, suddenly, you felt a gaze on you and you looked up.

Noah stood a short distance away, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his hair disheveled, strands sticking to his forehead, his shirt marked with sweat and blood that wasn’t his.

He had stopped, looking at you.

There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place all at once.

He looked surprised, and concerned, too, maybe about your safety and what was about to happen during that fight. But something in his expression, that ghost of a smirk behind his lips, almost made you think he was proud, too.

And that was when the next cannon fired.

The sound was deafening, closer this time, the impact almost immediate as something slammed hard into the side of the Specter with a violent crack that tore through wood and structure alike.

The entire ship lurched. And not like before, but worse. Far worse.

You lost your footing for a second, your shoulder slamming against one of the crates behind you as the deck tilted beneath your feet, a sharp, unnatural angle that sent loose objects sliding violently across the wood.

Water burst through the side of the ship.

Cold, relentless seawater pouring in through shattered planks, flooding the lower parts of the deck almost instantly, rushing around boots and bodies, dragging debris with it.

Shouts turned sharper.

“We’re taking water!”

“No shit!”

“Plug it!”

“We can’t—!”

Another cannon. Another impact.

The Specter groaned.

You felt it beneath your feet, through your bones, that deep, splintering sound of something too large, too solid, beginning to give in under pressure it couldn’t withstand.

The tilt worsened.

Your balance shifted with it, your body instinctively trying to compensate as the world angled sideways, the horizon no longer where it should have been.

Men were slipping now. Falling.

Grabbing onto ropes, onto each other, onto anything that would keep them from being thrown across the deck or dragged toward the flooding side.

“Get off the deck!”

“Abandon!”

“Captain?”

You turned instinctively at the sound of the word, your eyes searching through the chaos. He was still on his feet, though barely steady now, his gaze snapping toward the damage, toward the water flooding in, calculating.

Your eyes met again for half a second.

Another crack split through the air.

Louder. And then, everything gave.

The ship shifted.

A violent, impossible motion as the balance tipped past the point of recovery, the weight of water, of damage, of impact dragging it sideways.

The world dropped out from under you.

You didn’t even have time to react properly before your feet lost the deck entirely, your body thrown violently to the side as everything started to collapse.

The ocean hit you like a wall.

A cold and brutal wall.

It knocked the breath from your lungs instantly as you plunged beneath the surface, the impact disorienting, your body dragged deeper by the force of it, by the weight of everything collapsing around you.

For a second, you didn’t know which way was up. There was only water, and pessure and darkness shifting around you.

Something brushed past you, a piece of wood, maybe a rope, and you twisted instinctively, your limbs moving on reflex, fighting your way upward.

Your lungs burned. You pushed harder.

And then you broke the surface with a sharp gasp, coughing immediately as water filled your mouth, your chest heaving as you struggled to stay afloat.

Everything around you was chaos. You saw pieces of the Specter scattered across the water, broken planks, barrels, fragments of sails drifting and sinking, men shouting, some swimming. The other ship loomed nearby, still intact.

Your heart pounded as you turned, disoriented, searching for something, and then you saw land.

Not far.

A stretch of coastline, closer than you would have expected, close enough that hope hit you almost painfully.

You could make it. You all could...

“Hey!”

You turned sharply at the voice.

Noah.

He was pushing through the water toward you, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt soaked and clinging to him, his breathing heavy.

Relief hit you instantly.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough, urgent as he reached you.

“Yes,” you managed, still catching your breath. “Yes, I—”

Something creaked above you. Both of you looked up at the same time.

A large piece of debris, part of a mast, maybe, or a broken section of the deck, was falling.

“Noah—”

He didn’t hesitate.

His hand grabbed your arm, hard, pulling you closer before pushing you down with him, forcing both of you under the surface just as the debris crashed into the water above.

The impact sent a shockwave through the ocean, the force of it pushing you deeper again, disorienting and violent.

You barely had time to register it before something else hit.

But not you.

Him.

You felt it more than saw it, the sudden shift in his grip, the tension in his hand faltering for just a second.

Your eyes snapped toward him underwater, your vision blurred by movement and salt.

Something had struck him.

His body jerked slightly, the strength in his hold weakening, his expression tightening just before it went unfocused.

You grabbed him immediately, your hand catching onto his shirt, pulling him closer as you kicked upward, forcing both of you back toward the surface.

You broke through again, gasping, dragging him with you.

“Noah!”

He didn’t answer.

His head tilted slightly, his body heavier now, less responsive, his weight dragging against you as you tried to keep both of you afloat.

“Hey, hey, stay with me.”

There was another crack above. You didn’t even have time to look.

More was falling down.

Your grip tightened on him, your body trying to move, to react, to do something... but there was nowhere to go.

Nowhere fast enough.

The shadow hit the water.

And everything went black.

Consciousness didn’t return all at once.

You heard a dull, distant sound first, waves, maybe, breaking against the shore in a slow rhythm. Then the feeling of something rough beneath you, grains pressing into your skin, shifting slightly every time you moved without realizing it.

It was sand.

Your lungs burned. That was the first clear thing you registered.

And then you were coughing. A sharp, violent, uncontrollable cough shook your body as water forced its way up your throat, your chest tightening painfully with each breath you tried to take, each inhale shallow and unsteady.

You rolled slightly onto your side, one hand digging into the sand as you coughed again, your vision blurred, your head spinning.

You dragged air in greedily, even though it hurt, even though your throat felt raw and your chest ached like it had been crushed.

It took a few long moments before the coughing eased, before your breathing slowed enough for you to actually think.

You stayed there for a second longer, your body heavy, your limbs slow, before pushing yourself up slightly, your arms trembling under your weight.

Everything felt… wrong and distant.

You blinked, squinting against the light as your gaze finally lifted.

All you could see was an endless stretch of sand. Golden, uneven and disturbed only by the marks left behind by the tide.

Beyond that, further inland, you saw a line of dense greenery, trees, wild and untamed, their leaves shifting slightly in the breeze.

You looked down at yourself, your clothes damp but not soaked, your skin no longer dripping with seawater.

You had been here for a while.

Slowly, you started to remember everything, the attack, the cannon fire, the ship, the water, Noah.

Noah.

You pushed yourself up fully now, ignoring the way your body protested, your muscles weak and unsteady as you rose to your feet, your gaze snapping back toward the shoreline as if he might just be there, as if you had somehow missed him.

He had reached you. You remembered that.

He had found you in the water, asked if you were okay, his voice rough, his hand steady on your arm, and he had pulled you down.

Protected you.

He could have stayed where he was. He could have focused on himself, on surviving, on getting to shore or whatever he thought the best idea was.

But he hadn’t.

He had chosen you.

And the last thing you remembered was that he wasn’t moving.

You turned, scanning the shoreline again, more frantic this time, your heart beginning to pound harder with each passing second.

There had to be others.

You started walking.

Fast at first, then faster, your steps uneven in the sand as you moved along the beach, your eyes searching desperately, your breath still unsteady but pushing through it anyway.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice hoarse.

No answer.

“Anyone?!”

You heard only the sound of the waves as an answer.

You kept going, further down the shoreline, your pace quickening despite the way your body ached, your legs threatening to give out with every step.

And then you saw a shape.

Further ahead, partially turned toward the shore, unmoving against the sand.

You didn’t even think, you just ran.

Your feet stumbled slightly as you pushed forward, your heart pounding violently in your chest, louder than the ocean, louder than your own thoughts.

You recognized him immediately.

White shirt, dark hair, disheveled, now longer than months ago, falling messily around his head.

You dropped to your knees beside Noah as soon as you reached him, the impact barely registering as your hands immediately reached for him, turning him onto his back.

“Noah...”

His face was pale. His lips slightly parted, his expression slack.

There was a faint mark along the side of his head, just near his temple, where something must have hit him, the skin darkened and bruised.

His chest wasn't moving.

“No.”

Your hands immediately moved, one pressing lightly against his shoulder, shaking him.

“Noah—hey—hey, wake up.”

Nothing.

“Come on...”

You shook him again, harder this time, panic rising quickly now.

“Noah, c'mon....”

Nothing.

Not even a flinch.

Your hands trembled as they moved, pressing against his chest, as if you could feel something there, anything.

Bit everything was too still.

Your vision blurred.

“No, no, no—”

He couldn’t be.

He couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not after everything.

Not after...

Your thoughts spiraled. You moved without thinking.

Your hands pressed against his chest.

“Come on—”

You pushed. Hard.

His body shifted slightly under the force, but nothing else happened.

“Breathe,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”

You pushed again.

And again.

Your hands pressed down repeatedly.

“You don’t get to—”

Another push.

“You don’t get to die—”

Again.

“Do you hear me?!”

Again.

Your hands didn’t stop. They couldn’t.

Not when everything inside you was screaming that if you did, if you even hesitated for a second, you would lose him.

“Come on.” you choked out, your voice breaking under the strain, your arms already aching from the force of each push. “Please.”

Another press.

Another.

And then, finally, he jerked.

It was small. Barely anything. But you felt it.

Your hands froze for a split second, your heart lurching violently in your chest, and then he coughed.

A harsh, ragged sound that tore through the silence, his body convulsing slightly as water forced its way out of his lungs, his chest finally rising under your hands.

“Oh my God.” You breathed.

He coughed again, his head turning slightly to the side as he spat out water, his breathing uneven, strained, but there.

He was alive.

Relief crashed into you so hard it almost made you dizzy.

You moved immediately, your hands shifting from his chest to his shoulders, helping him turn slightly onto his side, supporting him as his body struggled to catch up, each breath rough, each cough shaking through him.

“It’s okay, hey... slow, slow.” you murmured, your voice still trembling, your hand instinctively coming up to steady him, to keep him from collapsing back into the sand.

He tried to push himself up, but his strength wasn’t there yet, his movements weak and uncoordinated.

“I’ve got you,” you said, sliding one arm behind his back, lifting him just enough to help him sit up, his weight heavier as he leaned into you without resistance.

He coughed again, water spilling from his lips and dripping down his chin, his breathing still uneven as he tried to steady it, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Your hand moved to his back, rubbing gently.

“Easy… just breathe.”

His own hand moved. Weakly at first, like he wasn’t entirely aware of it, like it was instinct more than anything else.

His fingers brushed against your side. Then slid further, around you, until his hand found the fabric of your shirt at your back, gripping it loosely, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

His arm wrapped around you in a half-formed, unsteady embrace. You didn’t even notice at first.

You were too focused on him breathing, on the fact that he was still here, still alive, still with you.

He leaned into you slightly, his forehead almost brushing your shoulder as another cough shook through him, weaker now, fading.

“It’s okay,” you repeated softly, your hand still moving along his back, slower now, calmer. “You’re okay.”

Gradually, his breathing began to even out.

The tension in his body eased little by little, the grip on your shirt loosening slightly as the immediate urgency passed, though his arm didn’t fully fall away.

He stayed close, leaning.

After a moment, his head dipped forward, his chin dropping slightly as exhaustion seemed to hit him all at once, his body finally giving in to it now that it didn’t have to fight just to breathe.

You shifted instinctively, your arms adjusting around him, pulling him just a little closer without thinking, your hand pressing lightly against his back as his forehead came to rest briefly against your chest.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something you thought about. It just… happened.

And for a second, you held him there.

Your heart still racing, your breath still uneven, but your grip sweet, protective.

After a moment, he stirred slightly, his breath deeper now, slower, before he lifted his head again, pulling back just enough to look at you.

His eyes were open.

Still a little unfocused and tired.

“…We alive.” he rasped finally, his voice rough from the water, barely above a whisper.

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We are.”

Another pause.

His grip on your shirt loosened a little more now, though his hand didn’t fully pull away, like some part of him still needed the contact.

“…Crew?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just woke up. I didn’t see anyone else yet.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.

His eyes lifted back to yours.

“You?” he asked instead, more quietly this time, his voice losing what little edge it had left. “You okay?”

“…Yeah. I think so.”

He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to make sure and he didn’t entirely trust the answer.

Then he nodded, once.

“…Good. Let's go find the others.”

He moved. It was slow at first, his muscles stiff and unsteady as he tried to push himself up from where he had been leaning into you.

“Alright…” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.

You moved with him immediately, your hand coming to his arm, helping him up as he rose to his feet. He swayed slightly once he was upright, his balance not fully back yet, but he caught himself before it became anything more.

You both started waking. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, the sand uneven beneath your boots, marked by debris dragged in by the tide. You spotted pieces of wood, broken planks, fragments of rope, parts of crates split open with their contents scattered and ruined all around you.

The remains of the Specter were all around you.

You passed by a section of railing you both recognized, half-buried in the sand, and something in Noah’s expression shifted for just a second, his gaze lingering a fraction too long before he forced himself to look away.

“…Fuck,” he muttered quietly.

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything to say. That was his home, and he had lost it.

You kept walking.

“Hey!”

The voice came from ahead, cutting through the sound of the waves.

You both turned immediately.

Two figures were moving toward you from further down the shoreline, one slightly ahead of the other.

And when you realized it was Jolly and Michael, relief hit instantly.

You quickened your pace, Noah doing the same despite the way his steps still weren’t entirely steady.

“Hey—!” you called back.

They reached you a moment later, both of them looking just as worn as you felt, clothes damp and dirty, hair disheveled, sand clinging to everything.

“You two okay?” Michael asked immediately, his gaze flicking between you and Noah.

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “Yeah. You?”

Jolly let out a short breath, running a hand through his hair. “Still breathing.”

“That’s something,” Noah said.

Michael nodded, glancing briefly behind him. “We’ve been looking around. Haven’t found everyone yet other than you.”

“Same,” you said.

There was a brief pause. Jolly’s gaze shifted toward the shoreline, toward the scattered debris, then back to Noah.

“…The Specter’s gone,” he said.

It wasn’t said lightly, and there was obviously some weight behind it.

Noah didn’t respond immediately.

His gaze followed Jolly’s for a second, landing again on the broken remains scattered across the sand, what little was left of something that had carried all of them for so long.

“…Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I figured.”

Another pause.

Jolly shifted slightly. “I thought it could...”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Noah cut in. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “…She’s gone.”

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly before settling again.

“…Fuck,” he added under his breath, softer this time.

You glanced at him, but he was already looking away again, already moving past it the only way he knew how.

“We’ll deal with it later,” he said, more to all of you now. “First we find the others.”

Jolly nodded. “Yeah.”

So you moved again. The four of you walked along the shoreline, spreading out slightly, calling out names every so often.

And slowly, you started finding them. One by one.

A figure further ahead, sitting against a rock, injured but conscious. Another walking along the waterline, limping but alive. And each time, the same exchange.

“You okay?” “Yeah.” “Anyone else?” “Not yet.”

They weren’t all unharmed, some had cuts, bruises, a few deeper injuries, but they were alive.

At some point, without really noticing when it happened, the group had grown.

Five. Seven. Ten.

Familiar faces, exhausted but standing.

Until eventually, Noah slowed.

His gaze moved over the group, counting without saying it out loud.

“Nick is missing,” he said, “And Folio too.”

Before anyone could say anything else, you heard a voice.

“Hey!”

The voice came from further inland this time.

All of you turned.

Folio was running toward you.

Or… trying to. His pace was uneven, his breathing heavy, his hair a mess, his shirt partially torn and clinging to him, like he had been running for a while.

“Folio—” you started.

He reached you moments later, slowing abruptly, bending slightly forward with his hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hey—hey—” Noah stepped forward immediately. “You okay?”

Folio nodded quickly, still breathing hard. “Yeah...yeah, I’m—”

He straightened, looking between all of you.

“There’s...something...” he started, his voice uneven.

Noah’s expression sharpened instantly. “What?”

Folio swallowed, running a hand through his hair again.

“I was with Nicholas,” he said. “When we got thrown off... we didn’t land here. We ended up… further down. Other side of the island.”

A few of you exchanged glances.

“There’s a port,” he continued quickly. “People, life. And guards.”

That made Noah’s posture shift completely.

“…Guards?” he repeated.

Folio nodded. “Yeah. We didn’t have weapons. We didn’t even have time to—”

“What happened?” Noah cut in, more urgently now.

Folio exhaled.

“They saw us,” he said. “We tried to keep moving, just get past them, but—” he shook his head. “They surrounded us. Asked questions. Who we were, where we came from.”

“And?” Noah pressed.

“I think they already knew who we were. They looked at us and understood we are pirates.”

“What about Nicholas?” someone asked from behind you.

“I managed to get out,” Folio said, “One of them got distracted, I ran.”

“And Nicholas?” Noah repeated.

Folio hesitated. “They took him. I'm so sorry.”

“Fuck.” Noah murmured.

“They had him on the ground,” Folio added, his gaze dropping briefly before lifting again. “He wasn’t fighting. We couldn’t. They were too many.”

Noah just stood there for a moment, thinking. His eyes moved past the shoreline, past the trees, lifting toward the higher ground further inland, and you followed his gaze.

There, beyond the stretch of green, the land rose slightly into hills. And on those hills, you could make out shapes of structures, rooftops, stone walls catching the light of the sun.

And above all of it, there was a building.

It was large, different from the rest, of pale stone, tall towers rising above everything else, unmistakable even from that distance.

Probably a court, or an important castle.

Noah went still for a second and his expression changed like he realized something.

He closed his eyes for just a second, then he exhaled quietly and opened them again.

“They were royal guards.” He said. “We’re in Erdling. And that“ he pointed to the large castle, “—is the king’s court.”

“So… they took Nicholas there?” Someone asked.

Noah nodded once. “To the dungeons,” he said. “They keep all the prisoners there.”

“What are the orders, captain?” Jolly asked.

“I’m going,” Noah said.

Jolly blinked. “Wait...what?”

“I’m going to get him,” Noah repeated, already stepping forward slightly like the decision had been made and nothing could have changed it.

Michael let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re not serious.”

Noah didn’t even look at him. “I absolutely am.”

“That’s not—” Michael ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the others. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re talking about breaking into a royal prison,” someone else added. “That’s not a raid, that’s suicide.”

Folio nodded quickly. “There were guards everywhere. And if those were just the ones at the port...”

“I know,” Noah snapped.

Silence followed.

“Noah… you know the code.” Jolly continued.

“Don’t,” Noah said quietly.

Jolly didn’t stop. “If one of us gets taken—”

“I said don’t.”

“—we leave them,” Jolly finished anyway. “That’s how it works. That’s how we survive.”

“Then I guess I’m a terrible pirate. Because I’m not leaving my brother there.”

Some of the crew shifted slightly. Others just went still.

Michael shook his head. “That doesn’t change the fact that we can’t just walk into a king’s prison and walk out.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Noah said.

Jolly frowned. “Then what are you—”

“I’m going alone.”

That made everything worse.

“Noah—” you started, but he didn’t look at you yet.

“You won’t make it,” Folio said, more quietly now.

“Maybe not.”

“You won’t,” Michael insisted. “That’s not a maybe.”

“I’m still going.”

“You’re the captain,” Jolly said, “You don’t get to just throw yourself away like that.”

Noah stepped closer.

“And you don’t get to tell me what I do. Because I'm the captain.”

For a second, it looked like neither of them would back down. Then Noah exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, forcing himself to pull it back under control.

“Listen to me. We don’t have a ship anymore,” he said, shifting the focus. “We don’t have supplies. We’re scattered and half-dead on a beach.”

No one argued that.

“So here’s what we do.”

Now his voice was fully captain again.

“You search the wreckage. Everything that washed up. Food, weapons and anything usable.”

He looked at each of them in turn.

“You rest a bit. You recover enough to move. Then you go to the port.”

Michael frowned. “Noah—”

“And you take a ship. You think you can do that?” Noah finished.

Jolly nodded, even if there was hesitation behind it. “…Alright.”

Noah continued. “You find a map. Any map. And you head west.”

“West?” Folio repeated.

“First land you can reach,” Noah said. “Doesn’t matter where. You wait there.”

“And you’re not coming with us.”

“No.”

“And if you don’t make it?” Michael asked bluntly.

Noah didn’t hesitate.

“Then you stop waiting.”

Silence.

“If I do,” he added, “I’ll come back with him. Wait as long as you deem appropriate, if I do not return, continue your journey to Saint Marlowe.”

Jolly exhaled slowly, nodding once, even if it was reluctant. “Alright.”

Noah’s gaze moved over all of them one last time.

“And until I’m back… you’re in charge,” he said, looking at Jolly.

Jolly blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Jolly nodded slowly. “…Got it.”

And just like that, everything was set. Even if no one liked it. Even if no one believed it would work.

You could almost hear all their thoughts, mirroring yours.

Because how could he possibly do it?

Break into a king’s prison?

Get Nicholas out?

Make it back alive?

You had done something similar once. But that had been different, way smaller.

This felt like walking straight into death. Noah looked at all of you one last time.

Then he gave a small nod, and then he turned and without another word, he started walking away from the shore.

For a moment, no one moved. The wind shifted softly along the shoreline, and you stood there, watching Noah’s back as he walked away without looking back even once.

Jolly was the first to break.

“…Alright,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face before turning away. “You heard him. Move.”

And just like that, the crew scattered.

Some headed back toward the waterline, scanning for anything useful among the debris. Others moved inland slightly, searching for crates, supplies, anything that hadn’t been completely ruined by salt and impact.

You thought about what you had lost.

You didn't have much but the gold you kept in your jacket was gone now, (and now you only had a thin chain around your neck that you hoped would be useful), with the few clothes you had, the diary you kept and... the shell Noah had given you. It was almost weird that losing that shell made you more sad than losing the gold. It had been a stupid gift from Noah, and for some reason... it mattered more to you than it should have.

Your eyes were still fixed on him.

He was already further away now, his figure cutting a steady path across the sand toward the other side of the island.

You shook your head with a sigh. Because if Noah was stubborn... you were worse.

You moved.

“Hey...where are you going?” someone called behind you, but you didn’t answer.

Your pace quickened. “Noah!”

He didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t.

“Noah!”

That time, he slowed.

Just slightly.

You closed the distance quickly, your steps uneven but determined until you finally reached him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop.

He turned sharply.

“What are you doing?” he snapped immediately, “I told you to stay with—”

“You lost your mind.” The words came out before you could stop them.

He stared at you for a second, caught off guard by the interruption. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you shot back, “You’re insane.”

He sighed. “Go back.”

“No.”

“I’m not arguing with you—”

“Good, because I’m not asking for your permission or anything.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you, like he was reassessing the situation.

“…You can't come with me,” he said.

“And you can't walk into a king’s prison alone.”

“Go back,” he repeated.

“You’re going to break into a royal prison,” you said. “Alone. With no weapons, no plan, no idea what you’re walking into–”

“I have an idea.”

“You still can't do it alone. This is too dangerous.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t understand exactly what this is? I know it better than you. Than any of you.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because it’s him. I’m not leaving him there,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t care what the code says. I don’t care what the odds are.”

“I know,” you said.

And you did.

That was the problem.

You knew Noah was doing all of this, was planning this weird suicide mission in his head, because he had a heart, and it was telling him to try to save his friend.

You took a small step closer.

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be going alone.”

His expression shifted again, frustration flickering back in.

“You’re not coming.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, “This isn’t your fight.”

You stared at him.

“…You almost died.”

That wasn’t what he expected.

You saw it in the way he blinked, just slightly.

“You weren’t breathing. You weren’t moving. You were just—” you cut yourself off, “You almost died.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t look away.

“And I... I hated the feeling. When I thought you... were dead. So I wanna help. If I can. And I know I'm not completely useless so please, Noah, let me help.”

You were rambling at this point and you weren’t even sure what you were saying was making completely sense, but you hoped Noah would understand.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything and he just stood there, looking at you, like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t expected to hear.

The wind moved between you, lifting a few strands of his hair across his forehead.

“…You’re rambling,” he said finally.

It wasn’t harsh. If anything, it sounded quieter than before.

You let out a small, frustrated breath, dragging a hand through your own hair.

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. “I just—” you shook your head slightly. “You get what I mean.”

“I do.”

There was another short pause and you weren’t even sure what you were actually talking about.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he said. “None of this was supposed to be your problem.”

You frowned slightly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, I am in this. I have been in this since I decided to join you,” you said. “And right now ‘this’ includes you trying to get yourself killed.”

“I’m not trying to get killed.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He shot you a look. “This isn’t like before,” he continued. “What you did for me—” he shook his head slightly, “—that was different. Smaller. This is…” he exhaled through his nose. “This is a king’s prison.”

“I know.”

“You need to understand that–”

“You need to understand that I'm going with you and nothing will change my mind.”

You weren't even entirely sure why you were doing it, when you could just be safe with the others. But you were doing it. Because for some reason, the thought of letting Noah go was unbearable.

“…If you come,” he said, his voice measured now, “you do exactly what I say.”

You straightened slightly. “That depends—”

“It’s not a negotiation.”

You held his gaze for a second, then nodded once. “…Fine.”

“If I tell you to run, you run.”

“I’m not leaving you—”

“You run,” he repeated, firmer now.

A pause. You didn’t like that. At all.

But you understood why he was saying it.

“…Fine,” you said again, quieter this time.

He watched you for a moment, like he was trying to decide if you actually meant it.

“You stay close.”

“I can do that.”

“You don’t try anything reckless.”

You raised an eyebrow slightly. “Define reckless.”

He gave you a look, “You.”

That almost made you smile. “Said the pirate.”

Another breath left him, like something in him was finally… giving in.

“…Alright,” he said.

You blinked, “What?”

He met your eyes again, “…Alright. You’re coming.”

For a second, you just stared at him. Like you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.

“Wait...really?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” he said immediately.

A small breath escaped you, with a little smile, even if nothing was actually funny at the moment.

“I won’t.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “we’ll see about that.”

But he didn’t take it back.

He turned slightly again, adjusting his direction toward the trees.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could hear the sound of your footsteps shifting through the sand, then onto firmer ground as you reached the edge of the trees.

The shade swallowed you both almost immediately, the light dimming, the air cooler beneath the canopy.

Your thoughts refused to stay quiet.

Your words, your rambling, echoed back at you. Because you felt like you had said too much, admitted something you didn't even want to admit to yourself yet.

You wondered if he had noticed, if he had understood, if he thought anything of it at all.

You glanced at him briefly.

He was walking beside you, focused, like nothing had changed, like your words hadn’t lingered.

Maybe they hadn’t.

Or maybe he just wasn’t saying anything.

You looked away again, exhaling quietly.

The path narrowed, forcing you a little closer together. Your shoulders brushed, but neither of you moved away.

Ahead, through the thinning trees, the city began to take shape. You could see, still far away but noticeable now, pale stone and tall walls.

“…I don’t know which one of us is more insane.”

His voice broke the silence, quiet.

You glanced at him, but didn’t answer, because honestly, you had no idea what to say anymore. Everything you were feeling and doing felt insane.

So you just kept walking beside him, step by step, toward the city.

Noah taglist pt 1: @mushrumink @sullyselena @buttercupbabyyy @pathion @pipidoll @missduffsblog @vibecops @myexistencesucks @overmydeadbodysblog @margocos-blog @heyitsjay316 @sallyba3 @bartxnhood @lacy1986 @iamamatus @dream-machine-love @amoursims @suessmausnici @whimsicaldiamonds @imyourliquor-youremypoison @punkprincess1999 @bored-rato @thepeoplesblog @dxthrone @illmakeyousaywow @xmads-omensx @sikowitzbitch @tosoundlessdarkistare @sadbitchenergy @flowery-mess @anything-morethan-human @lekyswixexx @english-fucker @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @ichoosetenderomens