Cricket

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