The thickness of ash was still in his lungs. Zyren's eyes cracked open, struggling with the weight of the darkness around him. His heart racing—he could see the Cragling falling, struck by his arrow.

  He was about to take a step when something touched his chest. Startled, he dodged backward, slamming into a tree. With no escape, Zyren lunged forward and stabbed with his dagger.

  "Easy, friend."

  The voice was low and calm. Familiar.

  The ship swayed beneath them. A distant boom above deck, followed by a crash and the creak of timbers under strain. Rain lashed the planks in frantic bursts, the sound like thousands of tiny fists pounding against the hull. The vessel pitched sharply, sending unsecured items sliding across the floor.

  Parvani's hand was steady on Zyren's wrist, unmoved by the drawn weapon. "Bad dream?" she asked, loosening his hold and crouching down beside him.

  Zyren's pulse was racing, sweat beading on his brow. He gave a shaky nod.

  "I brought food," Parvani said, setting a warm bowl nearby. The smell of broth and fish rose into the air.

  As she stood, slightly adjusting her scarf, Zyren analysed her. Her skin was browned and cracked by years at sea. The colourful scarf held on her thick black hair.

  "Storm's rolling in.” She said looking upwards, as the ship rocked sharply to the side, the timbers groaning in protest. “I'll have some help to stir the pots,” She smiled gently at him, "You'd best stay below. Ride it out down here."

  Then she was gone, climbing back up the ladder without waiting for a reply and leaving a warm feeling inside him.

  The lantern above flickered, casting long shadows across the cramped cargo hold. Rope coils, casks, and netted sacks swayed in rhythm with the hull's groaning bones.

  Zyren sat still for a few breaths, trying to peel his mind away from the nightmare. He reached for the soup, the warmth of the bowl a minor anchor.

  The events of the past days crashed back into his consciousness—the ambush in the forest, Kaelith's betrayal, being brought aboard this pirate vessel against his will. Now he was trapped here, with the very creatures that had hunted him through Thornhold's outskirts, unable to escape the ship that had attacked the Swift Breeze just days before.

  His eyes swept the dim space, half out of instinct—half dread. Shapes emerged: a pair of crates lashed to the wall. A stack of empty sacks. And then, hunched nearby, the Cragling.

  It was already halfway through its soup.

  Its body was enormous—broad-shouldered and hunched, thick greenish skin marked with long, puckered scars that disappeared into the collar of a ragged tunic. One side of its jaw curled slightly from an old burn, distorting the shape of its mouth even at rest. Its eyes were small, amber, alert. The creature's breathing was deep and measured, each exhale carrying a faint earthy scent that reminded Zyren of the Burned Forest—of danger and death.

  Zyren froze.

  Above, the ship creaked and groaned, timbers protesting the storm outside. The sway had grown sharper. Rain rattled overhead like hailstones, punctuated by the occasional crash of waves against the hull that sent tremors through the entire vessel.

  "These pirates," the Cragling said between spoonful’s, voice rough but clear, "they're mad."

  Zyren stared, breath caught. The thing was speaking—calmly. Casual, even. His fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt. Every instinct screamed at him to keep his distance. This was the same creature whose kind had nearly killed him in the Burned Forest, whose massive fists could crush his skull with a single blow.

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  "They just unshackled me like it was nothing," the Cragling continued, licking the edge of the spoon.

  Zyren said nothing. The memory of a sword whistling past his ear—the same creature chasing him back in Thornhold—was too fresh, too vivid. His muscles tensed, ready to spring away if the beast made any sudden movements.

  "You looked like you were choking in your sleep," the Cragling said, not looking up. "What was it?"

  Zyren kept his voice flat. "Just a dream." Mentioning the passage through the Burned Forest didn't seem like a good idea at the moment. The last thing he needed was to remind this creature of its homeland—or worse, discover some connection between them.

  The Cragling chuckled, deep and dry. The sound sent a chill down Zyren's spine—too human, too knowing.

  Zyren watched him cautiously. "Why are you even talking to me? Just yesterday you almost killed me!"

  "Thought you were with the humans or a bounty hunter," the Cragling said, setting the bowl aside. "Turned out I was wrong. Maybe."

  He rubbed his wrists where the shackles had rubbed raw rings into the thick skin.

  "Before they tossed you down here, the captain told me his version of things. Said their enemies are those imperialistic demons."

  The ship heaved again, more violently this time. Something above slammed—a hatch or a barrel—and bootfalls ran fast across the upper deck. Storm winds howled just outside the hull, a banshee's wail that seemed to find every crack and seam in the wood. The lantern overhead swung like a pendulum, flinging light across the creature's cragged face, momentarily illuminating features that seemed almost thoughtful.

  "Who're those?" Zyren asked quietly, trying to focus on the conversation rather than how easily the Cragling could cross the small space between them if it decided to attack.

  "Humans!" the Cragling said. "Everyone has reasons to hate the Empire. I didn't need much convincing."

  "Well, count me out of that," Zyren said, sitting up straighter, though his limbs still trembled from the nightmare. "I've got no war with anyone."

  The Cragling raised a brow ridge. "Then you're either lucky—or na?ve."

  The Iron Kelpie groaned under its own weight as it tilted hard to starboard. One of the nearby barrels snapped a rope and toppled, spilling a mess of salted fish. The smell hit fast—sharp and briny, filling the already close air with an overwhelming pungency.

  The Cragling grunted, shifting his weight before he tipped with the floor. "I'm not built for boats," he muttered, grabbing a beam to stay upright. "Feels like the sea's trying to break the hull out of spite."

  Zyren managed a small breath. "How did you end up in Thornhold?"

  "They caged me." The Cragling said, simple and sharp. "Then locked me in a ship and sent me there." He smirked. "I played along. Waited. You'd be surprised how careless people get when they think you're broken. Some of them regretted it."

  Zyren paused. He studied the Cragling again—not just the body, but the calm, intelligent eyes. There was nothing bestial about him now. At the same time, the scene of carnage he found with Kaelith came to mind. Had this been the creature responsible? The thought made his throat tighten. He was trapped in a swaying wooden box with something that could tear him apart without effort.

  A silence stretched between them, filled with the creaking of wood, the thrum of wind. Above, pirates shouted to one another in languages Zyren didn't recognize—no panic, just practiced response.

  The door opened again with a crash of wind. Kaelith ducked inside, soaked from head to toe, bracing herself against the tilt of the ship. She looked like she belonged in the storm now—hair pulled back, sleeves rolled, a curved blade at her hip. Seawater dripped from her clothes, forming small puddles on the floor that slid with each pitch and roll of the vessel.

  "How you two doing?" she asked, voice casual as she picked her way through the tilted floor.

  The Cragling raised a hand. "Still breathing."

  Zyren didn't answer.

  Kaelith's eyes landed on him, smile flickering without guilt. "Still mad?"

  He didn't move. The betrayal sat sharp in his chest—she'd led him into this. Lied by omission. Used charm as leverage.

  "It's almost over," she said, crouching to tie down the loose barrel. "Few more days if we're lucky. Until then, you're part of the crew. No dead weight here."

  Her voice was smooth. Confident. Like nothing was wrong between them.

  "We didn't ask for this," Zyren said, his voice low.

  "No," she agreed, voice calm. "But you're here. And there's work to do."

  She stood, brushing her hands off. "We give shelter. We expect help. You don't have to like it."

  Outside, the storm raged louder. Waves slammed against the hull, the impact reverberating through the timbers like the blows of a giant's fist. The ship lurched, then dropped suddenly as it crested a wave, sending Zyren's stomach into his throat.

  Zyren looked toward the stairs but didn't move.

  They weren't needed up there.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he reached for the fallen crate, pushed it upright, and began to clean. The Cragling moved to help, groaning as the deck tilted again.

  "Maybe you're not as useless as you look," Kaelith teased, climbing back up.

  As she vanished, Zyren watched the hatch swing closed behind her.

  The Iron Kelpie bucked like a wounded beast beneath his feet—but somehow, the noise above felt… quieter now.

  Maybe he was just listening differently.