He woke up… not because of a sound, nor because of pain, but because of something rare—moisture.
His mouth was dry as stone, but his lips touched something… water. A small drop—barely that, less than a drop—but it was enough to pull him from his coma.
He slowly opened his eyes.
It wasn't the sea. Or the boat.
It was… a room.
A wooden ceiling, full of mold, with ropes hanging from the sides. Beneath his body… something like a bed. A rough pillow, and a blanket that smelled of salt, mold, and blood.
He raised his frail body slowly, his fingers trembling. His skin had changed—dark bronze, sunburnt. Emaciated, as if his bones were screaming to be seen.
His long hair still covered his beautiful face, the face he inherited from his mother, now buried under exhaustion, hunger, salt, and delayed death.
He moved, but his stomach screamed.
Hunger. A burning, ancient, constant pain. But the strangest thing… was that he was still alive.
Suddenly… a sound.
A violent bang.
The wooden door was thrown open with force, its creaking like a knife.
The boy tensed, curling up instinctively.
In the doorway… stood a man.
Taller than average, his face incomplete. His right eye was missing, the left drowned in a strange blackness. He held a rusty axe over his shoulder.
He stared at the boy, unmoving.
Then turned and shouted in a hoarse voice:
— "He's awake! The boy's awake!"
He ran across the creaking wooden floor, his voice echoing through the ship.
— "Captain! He woke up! The boy's awake!!"
And the boy? He remained seated, breathing heavily, caught between dream and nightmare. On a ship he didn't know, with a crew that didn't seem fully alive…
Days passed—unmeasured—and their cursed old ship cut through the sea like a rusty blade through rotting flesh.
The fog never left them, as if it were the shadow of a sin committed long ago. The sun only visited in their darkest moments, burning their weary skin and salting their open wounds.
And the boy… the boy they pulled from the jaws of Gor'Sekra… was no longer just a child. His body had grown terrifyingly thin, as though his bones didn't have enough skin to cover them. His skin had turned a deep, burnt bronze, soaked with burns, cold, and blazing heat. But the worst… were his eyes.
One blue like a forgotten sky, the other green like a dead forest—each belonging to a world that had nothing to do with this sea. His dirty blond hair covered his face, hiding features inherited from an unnaturally beautiful mother, now buried beneath a thousand layers of nightmares.
He didn't speak much, but he heard everything. When the pirates fought, when one coughed blood, when another tried stitching his falling-apart body—he was always there… watching.
At first, they feared him. Not because he was strange, but because he came from a place no one leaves alive. One said, "I told you! We shouldn't save anyone from Gor'Sekra, not even a child!" Another, staring at his hauntingly beautiful face, said, "Maybe he's a creature from the sea… a demon shaped like a boy."
But the man who first found him yelled, "Enough nonsense! That boy died a hundred times at sea and didn't cry. And you're scared of long hair?"
Then came the captain. Tall, hunched, half his face bone, the other half cracked skin like dried earth. His one eye looked as if it could unravel your soul, and the sound of his steps carried a wind from another time.
He said nothing to the boy at first. Just nodded… as if to say: "I'm like you. A walking curse."
And so, slowly, the boy became part of the crew. Not one of them, but they grew used to him.
They taught him how to tie ropes, how to read the stars, how to sing with the wind. They drank rum; he drank old water that tasted like iron. They laughed at filthy jokes; he smiled a smile half pain, half forgetfulness.
But at night… he was alone.
The nightmares never left. He saw the sea turn into a black mirror, saw his face melt into it, saw monsters beneath—never touching, never looking—but they knew him.
Once, he woke up gasping, only to find a pirate watching him. The man lit his pipe and said, "You saw the sea for what it is, didn't you? Not water… but memory."
The Compass
One windless night, something strange happened. The old compass—untouched for centuries—shook. Slowly at first, then rapidly, then stilled… pointing to a direction with nothing there.
Without a word, the captain ordered a course change.
They entered a fog so thick they couldn't see their own noses. Then… the fog parted.
And there it was… the island.
Not an island in the usual sense. It was more like a buried corpse's body part. A giant skull sprouted twisted black trees like snakes. The rocks on the shore looked like ribs, and the air… had no scent, as if it didn't belong to this world.
The Ending They Waited For
No one appeared. No monsters. No spirits. No traps. But one by one… the pirates began to vanish.
"Beard-of-Thorns" evaporated into the air, leaving his hat to fall gently. "Nailmouth" drew his knife, placed it before the boy, and simply said, "It's time to rest."
The sea didn't take them. The curse simply… ended.
The captain was the last to remain. He approached the boy, sat in front of him, and placed a rotten leather necklace in his hands.
Inside… was a compass. But it didn't point to the island, or north.
It pointed to something else. Distant. Mysterious.
He said, in a voice that could never be forgotten:
"Don't fear solitude. You were born in it.
The sea won't love you, but it won't forget you.
This compass… will lead you to the answer, or to madness.
Either way… you'll find yourself."
Then he smiled… and vanished.
Like ash, he flew with the morning's first wind.
A New Beginning
The boy stood alone on the ship's deck. The sea around him still, as if waiting. He opened the pendant, looked at the compass… then lifted his head.
His hair still covered his face, but behind it, his eyes gleamed with something resembling life.
Then he sailed.
Toward wherever the needle pointed.
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HI!! I knew that i'm speeding things stuff but i promise the things that are coming is much better