The Stowaway

It isn't the loud noise that penetrates the once oriented town that makes it run into the uncertain fate that is to be drawn in its unreadable palms.

The once organized place, moving by the means of business and inquiries, now filled with running footsteps as the people frantically seek the vicinity of being saved. The shrieks, screams, and cries ran around the chaos along with the thunderous sounds of cannons, exploding and hitting every airs and walls.

The triggers of muskets and pistols, the metals clashing in each rapier, completely destroying the landscape of what seems to be now a war zone. The heavy rain that falls hard into the pavements, loud and crashing thunder and lightning.

Everywhere, men and women run their feet to the place where they can keep their lives intact. And in the opposition of what comes as a threat are men, suited with a knowledgeable regalia of white uniforms that speaks justice. Each step and actions call upon the doom of anyone who judges their status. One thing is certain, such regalia that presents their decisive authority calls the priority of fleeing.

However, it wasn't the loud noise, the sight of a war, the frantic civilians, the people who bear the symbols of righteousness or the cruel rainfall that prickles its skin as if it burns that made it run.

It runs for survival.

Although struggling and at the sight of what comes to be the end of its life, it drove its feet to keep running until it could no longer carry its limbs. The gravel felt fiery although flooded with the rain, burning to the feeling against the skin.

The animosity of its drizzle and the sound of thunder felt like a deep warning of the unknown, yet its ears can't lend a time to listen. It runs towards where it could no longer. Just like how it runs with no means of stopping, it also renders itself from thinking straight and just flees to the only place it could assure its safety.

Clutching its chest, the air feels thin and icy. The sound of its breathing, frantic and desperate. As the chaos in the town worsened, one place allowed it to have a chance to breathe. No spare thought and with haste, the place in which it feels grand to be the right place of being hidden becomes another chance of living. The rockiness of the flooring, against its feet, seems wary, yet nowhere else can give it  a chance like this ever.

It rummages to each corner of the unknown place, hoping for security from everything. Yet the beat of its heart makes it feel unsure if it was security it is going to find. The heaviness of its head can't fathom any realizations in such calculations. Eyes close as the fate of uncertainty takes its closing, in the place of the unknown it falls unconscious.

All that rings in its identity is the mark of survival in its feet.

 ...

In the same island, that now reeks with the smell of blood and gunpowder, the rusty smell of wet iron, the marks of fire slowly descending with the touch of rain. The screams and cries continue as the battle commences between the regalia of justice and the soiled fabrics of the loots, the pirates.

With the dark sky above them, terror once again rules the island of raids. The island of Grimesheed Island paints its town with nothing but red as the marines execute the ambush. A famous island for every pirate, syndicates, and outlaws. None of these pirates could have foreseen such an event, that one day this pirate secured piece of land will be under attack by those who scream justice.

No one should ever underestimate the Marines and their ability to locate pirate islands.

The chaos permeates the people around the town, seeking for places to hide and avoid being a collateral. The unfortunate souls of voyagers, witness their journey ends at the edge of the marines' sharp swords.

The once populated docking port starts to see the fast and desperate escape of many pirates' crew, wanting to stray away from all of the novices of the marines and the government on their tails. Not even the mightiest crew that once shook the open shores and town managed to counter the enemies.

" Hurry up lads, we 'have to' weigh anchor!"

The loud voice against the stormy night fought to be heard. His men's footsteps bombarded the whole place, scurrying to each of their positions as they ran to the ship.

Within the strong rain and wind, these men climbed through the shrouds skillfully like they had done these things thousands of times before. The mayhem in the town seemed to have bothered them, yet no signs of cowardice or fear settled in each of their faces.

" Draco, man the helm!"

The same full and loud and high yet manly voice ordered, as he stands at the foot of the aftcastle's stairs.

A young man, with flaring red hair, drenched by the rain did not spout any questions. He quickly runs past the man and obeys the commands.

" Captain, the wind is heading through the west. We have no choice but to make a detour."

Another man, much older than the red haired yet younger and taller than the named captain appeared on his side. His loud and heavy voice screaming through the rain, his drenched blue hair getting darker and his wet clothes sculpting his muscular figure.

" Alright! Take us out of here as fast as you can, savvy?" The captain gave him a firm look.

" Aye." The blue haired man nodded.

" All hands on deck!"

Shouting as he ran towards the men and giving them his orders. 

" We'll maneuver these waves to the south, belay that starboard tack and slacken the larboard sheets! Trim the mainsail and ready the foresail for a quick turn."

The men shouted in response, doing exactly what he had just ordered. The sails flapped against the strong wind, ropes tightened into a knot securing themselves. As they prepare to set sail, still waiting for their comrades who haven't boarded yet.

The disruption in the town could be seen from the port, the sound of cannons and pistols as well as the screams and cries are still heard through the sound of the rain. In no less than anytime, the port will be raided and will be taken over by the marines. Some pirates ships had already left, leaving the chaos behind as the survival instinct came in.

" Captain!"

A deep resonant voice calls out in both frantic anger. He runs through the jack's ladder with the remaining crew at his heels. He is drenched from head to toe, not only by the rain but also by blood dripping from his clothes

" It's Zeki."

He breathes, carefully passing the body he is carrying in his shoulders to a crewman. Immediately giving him orders about the almost unconscious and injured man. The captain quickly ran towards their direction, checking the injured man, frowning upon the sight.

" He was shot by a marine in the market."

The deepness of his voice laced with both concern and anger as he told the captain. His gray eyes that match his silver hair darkening as he remembers what just happened.

"Keep a keen eye on those ropes, me hearties, we need every hand to ensure a smooth transition."

The man with blue hair from earlier, named Felix can be heard in the background, immediately taking the captain's attention back to fleeing.

" Aye, get Calev to take care of Zeki. We'll have to get away from here first."

" Draco, adjust our heading to bearing 180 degrees, due south." The captain dashed to the stern.

" Watch out for the waves and follow Felix's further instructions. This damn storm is not getting any better!"

The waves continued to play along with the heavy rain, the town's mayhem overlapping with the sound of thunder and lightning. The treacherous waters threatened the lives of those who had boarded the ship. In the dark and dangerous night, they sail away from the ruckus that they were not prepared to take in.

Most of them suffered light injuries, small wounds that needed to be attended to. However the strong weather could not be ignored, with some of the pirates' ships almost being capsized due to the waves. Felix continued to give his instructions to navigate them out of this situation.

Seeing his men set aside their wounds and focus on tending the sails, the captain could not help but feel frustrated. The island is known for everyday raids from the marines yet he made the decision on anchoring there.

" Felix!"

The captain shouted when his eyes caught upon something, searching for his navigator in one of the shrouds.

" Aye!"

The navigator immediately responded having seen the same thing, swinging from one of the ropes and landing perfectly in front of his captain.

"The tempest approaches fast, and we'll be dashed upon the rocks if we don't take action!"

Draco recalled, seeing the rocky coastline of the island and feeling the tremendous power of the storm.

"Steer hard to port and angle the bow away from the rocks. Keep the wind on our starboard quarter as we make our escape. We'll need to adjust our sails to catch the wind and gain momentum. Hoist the mainsail high and tighten the sheets to maximize our speed. Let the foresail billow out to starboard, filling with wind to propel us forward. Watch for any shifts in the wind and be prepared to adjust accordingly."

Felix instructions went over and over to each of the crewmen, assuring the captain that they will be able to escape not only the marines but this calamity. The waves almost sink every ship nearby, the wind almost knocking the masts yet Felix is confident to even give his word to his captain.

The rainfall has no sign of stopping, it only worses making it hard for everyone to maneuver their exit. However, advantageous enough for them as they no longer see any signs of marine behind them.

As the time passed by, Felix instructions and observations remained consistent. Their men almost lose energy with the brutal demand of labor, containing their consciousness despite experiencing pain in their bodies.

The tasks becoming more difficult to handle, the rain started to slow down as they made their way to the south and far from Grimshade Atoll.

" Maintain this course until the rain finally stops, savvy?" The captain ordered the navigator.

" Once we are out of the tempest, we shall continue our route."

The captain stepped down from the sterncastle, giving Felix full authority on the deck. He finally noticed the predicament of his men all while still doing their jobs. The scene made him feel frustrated, not liking the occurrences of such unfortunate events.

" Get Calev to treat all of the injured—"

" There is no need."

Down from the hatches, an injured man clumsily climbed to the deck. Ignoring his wounded thighs and brushing past the coldness of the rain breeze. He looked like a mess, his blonde hair ragged and his clothes still damped. The blood in his thigh almost dried up while new blood continued to soak the gauze around it.

" Zeki, you're injuring yourself."

The captain's tone is not harsh, yet the weight of his authority lingers on it.

" Captain, I refuse to be treated when I have my comrades right here suffering from the same situation." He reasons out blatantly ignoring his captain.

Zeki staggers to approach the injured men, inspecting their conditions. The captain followed him, doing his own inspections—looking out for the obvious unwell doctor. No matter how concerned he is about Zeki, he will never say no to him when it comes to his patients.

" I understand your principle and honor Zeki, however must you do this here? You are injured and it is still raining. At least take them and yourself to the sickbay."

He pulls Zeki gently by the back of his collar, making the man stumble a bit. He almost glares at the man that holds him stagnant on his ground, but he remembers who that man is and decides to follow his orders this time.

While the captain makes Zeki sit next to the main mast, he endures the pain that continuously runs through his thigh. All while watching everyone get assisted to the sickbay. The clouds start to break through from its dark phase, as the drizzle slowly decreases its momentum. The slight feeling of the tiniest raindrop hit his skin like soft needles that have no pain to be inflicted.

Felix gave his one last order, settling the sails properly as the situation got better for them. Taking over Draco's place in the helm, he steadily guides the ship through the sea hoping for the course to be smooth sailing. His eyes are concerned, glancing at Zeki who he can see from where he is, sitting next to the main mast as Calev dresses his wounds once again.

He feels bad that their doctor, who is not exactly a fighter, has been injured. Everyone, including other pirates crew were so shaken up with the ambush. They were so sure that there would be no raid that was happening in the middle of the day. Felix could not even analyze how it all happened so fast.

As what everyone was doing from that time, he too was busy fighting and getting away prior to the orders of his captain. However, that time felt different. It is as if the marines have different motives while trying to subdue many pirates, crew and criminals. Felix remembers the unusualness of the mission of the latter, as if these low pirates like them weren't the priority of the operation in the first place.

Yet, the navigator decided to take out those thoughts and just felt the relief of having to get away from another disastrous event.

However, whilst everyone was so busy with their expedition of the chase earlier, trying to get into their own ships and safety they did not realize someone was also making a quiet expedition to their ship.

" Captain!"

Everyone's attention turned into the calling man, his head poking through hatches. The captain urged him to speak, noticing the look his man has, it must have been a problem.

"A stowaway. Thar be unconscious down the galley."

...

Nausea; it's nauseous. The shaking, the wavy feeling, each and every move shaking one's senses. The repeated cycle of motion, it won't stop as it seems. No signs of pausing, not even a breath, the motion just pertained as the nausea awoken the sense.

The heavy hitting of ache in the head however does not allow the eyes to open. There are tons of heavy weight sitting in the skull, almost cracking and opening it. Together with the severe aching and the feeling of thousand drums constantly banging in the head rendered unconscious; the person.

It stirs, the person stirs painfully. Groans of pain emit in its mouth, eyes tightly closed when the pain in its head worsen as it moves. Its senses are not back yet, but the pain is evident in its unconscious features. The constant pain and with the unstoppable motion of where it laid down flat made it harder. It is in darkness, no sign of awakening but it feels, as if the whole being was already conscious.

A splash of cold water is being poured in its skin like ice, making it open its eyes sharply and in panic it immediately sits down and analyzes the surroundings. A huge breath is taken in and out, as if it is the first time it has ever felt air. Eyes widening in fear, questions lingering in the reflection of its face. It tries to back away from what it's seeing, only to be hit by a hard wall.

Suddenly, the pain in its head bangs too hard and makes it yelp in pain, immediately its hands come up to touch it head to add comfort but none is given, but only to touch a damp moist on it while the pain is too much to handle. In its small hands, the sight of blood makes it fear for its life more.

Slightly and slowly, eyes scan the place, careful not to trigger the aching in its head. A lot of people, probably more than ten, stare at it with caution and dominance.

Looking up, the blue sky greets its vision. Clouds peacefully floating with the sun rays shine to the horizon. They're outside, and the unknown person has no idea who these people are and why they are looking at it as if their greatest enemy is in their presence.

Running away is the only option it can think of, and so it tries to catch its breath and prepare for the run and ignore the throbbing in its head and the nausea building up in its throat. Quickly analyzing an exit route, only to be horrified with realization of the setting where it got itself.

Cold and fresh wind caressed its face as it took more chances to look around. The wavy motion dances with its body, as if the whole stirring made by the ongoing waves is on rhythm. The sound of the water going against the current, the smell of the sea and the noisy flapping of the sails, the nauseous movement rendered its hope of ever getting away.

With the throbbing ache, comes also the tremendous fear of not recalling anything right before it gets itself in the situation.

Dark and blank, no matter what it tries to rummage in the collection of its mind, it comes empty. Even a single memory that can help itself from trying to find the reasons for its state meets its ends of nothing.

Its careful eyes scans the open place, taking in all of the unfamiliar faces of everyone who bears the eyes of malice and anger. They are in a ship, and by the look of everyone they don't resemble what could be a good and trusty people. Completely rugged men, various weapons that dangle in their hips, the loudness of their strong vocals that terrifies it further. Everything just happens to look quite dangerous in its eyes.

[ Pirates? ]

Nothing comes into its head that can explain its place in the current circumstance it faces. Yet it knows that by the look of such dangerous eyes and appeals, they are the bad guys. The hostile and questionable look they gave made it shudder. Fully grasping the situation, but not quite the reason, it prepares itself for begging. Amidst its continuous ache, it tries its best to compose itself.

 "One question, one answer. who be ye an' what be doin' in our ship?" One person demanded, cutlass in his hands, threats seeping from his dark blue eyes.

The crowd is silent, they all stand in one place but not near. Yet despite the distance of those who chose to stand further, it feels unsafe.

The question hangs in the air, only the sound of the waves that answered the pirate. Although the pirate demanded an answer, he couldn't ignore the confusion and fear that is swimming in the unknown person's eyes.

To the pirates , it looks weak and fragile. The hostility and cautions they give is somehow useless as this person shows no sign of danger. Instead it appears half dead, although contradictory it is not as close as passing. But by the look it has on its face and eyes, it seems like it has lost its spirit.

Regardless of all of that, these pirates couldn't and wouldn't drop their guards down.

After the storm from last night, the crew was bewildered upon the discovery of a stowaway laying almost dead in that galley. One of them immediately informed the captain and was ordered to bring the stowaway to the main deck.

The person looked distraught in its slumber, eyebrows knitted almost all together. The face contorted in a painful expression while its chest rose in a sudden motion, only to be halted abruptly.

It appears with a white and silky skin yet smeared with dirt and soil. An abundant healthy black hair knotted in a ball of mess, clothed with a ragged dressed shirt and huge pants fit for a middle aged man. The small figure contrasted to the clothes it's wearing, making it look more fragile and glasslike.

It remained unconscious until morning. When the quartermaster arrived, he ordered one of the crew to wake it up, by pouring an ice cold sea water. In its eyes was panic as it met everybody, confusion was evident which was quickly replaced with worry and fear.

" The quartermaster be askin yer a question, aye?"

One of them yelled, making it squirmed in fear.

The quartermaster eyes its being with authority, still awaiting its response. Yet his questions remain unanswered as it keeps its mouth shut and presses its lips together in a thin line.

"Bucko, ye said one question, that there been fuckin' two."

A laugh was heard after a moment, turning all the attention including the stowaway's to the man who appeared at the top of the quarterdeck.

He has a telling smirk plastered for the quartermaster in a teasing manner. The stowaway quickly noted how ironic the smile is when he emits a certain aura. An aura of authority over all in the ship.

The man strikes with his own intensity, as if each step he shows the magnitude of his power around the ship. No one dares to stop in his way, parting a path for him to walk towards the stowaway.

Still the teasing manner in which never ceases, displays the ironic features of what his presence gives. The way his eyes fiercely looked at the stowaway's face. His emerald green eyes, haunting the darkness of the despicable gaze.

He has dark brown hair that falls all of his nape yet chopped in his front to his forehead. The dark base of it shows the vivid streaks of red, looking fierce and fiery which creates a bold contrast.

It is swept backwards, along with a small yet intricate single braided strand on the right side. The color of his hair to his silky honey skin makes his emerald green eyes blend with it naturally.

In his right eye, is the clear display of a line of scar that ran across at the top of his brows to the bottom of his eyes. Amidst the smirk of what seems to be playful, there was darkness in his eyes that shaded its greens.

The stowaway can't help but stare.

He doesn't look that much terrifying than this quartermaster, but the stowaway feels there way too much than what meets the eye.

 "Same difference."

The quartermaster only rolled his eyes at the smirking captain. Not giving him his full attention, as there are more concerning issues up in their noses than the grammatical error he probably did or did not.

On the other hand, the quartermaster looks more terrifying to the stowaway's perspective. The way he looks at it, there is no mistake of the hostility he has on it.

His blue eyes are piercing like the cutlass he's holding, no hint of playfulness unlike the other man. His siren-like eyes added to the intimidating stare, giving the coldness and enchanting gaze. His blonde hair completely shining over the sunlight yet the way he looked at the unknown figure felt pure hatred.

 "What do we have here? Care to explain your identity."

The captain finally turned his attention to it. Crouching in front of it, forcing each other to meet each other's eyes.

They eye each other down, one with dominance and one with fear. Anyone can't miss how the fear in its pupil dances around as the captain takes extra measures by touching its face and decreasing their proximity. Every breath is no longer breathable. It is scared, especially because it has no knowledge of anything.

 Anything.

"I... I don..t kn—now."

Its voice cracked, almost tearing the linen in its throat.

Everyone stared at it in confusion, the room remained silent. No one offers a single word, they just look at it as it feels itself getting smaller and smaller. It scanned the room to look for a response, yet it found nothing but stares and the atrocity in the quartermaster's face.

He doesn't believe in the stowaway.

"Answer." He deadpanned.

The stowaway swallows the nausea in its throat that is threatening to spill at any moment. Its hands shake in panic as it thinks of a good way to respond to the glaring man, yet it could not think of anything. Nothing comes to its mind, no matter how hard it thinks, only the ache responds to its effort.

"I don't know."

This time the stowaway said clearly and loudly. The pain in its throat and head sharpen, but it grounded itself in mere effort.

"I have no idea who I am."

It whispers, both shock and confusion dawning into its own voice.

Confusion is dominating the deck, whispers and murmurs with another are heard, asking each other if they heard the stowaway correctly. The captain stares at the frail figure with big thoughts swarming across his mind.

It looks like it's not lying or planning a scheme, it doesn't appear as a threat. He watches as the realization quickly drowns its face, the fear in its hazel eyes darkens, the almost tearful look makes its appearance more pitiful than suspicious.

The stowaway is on the verge of a panic attack as it tries to remember anything but fails to no avail. It doesn't remember anything, nothing comes to its memories. Only haze and fog roams its empty recollections.

It doesn't even remember its name, was it ever called with anything at all?

[ Who am I? ]

It desperately searched for an answer in its head, but the ache only worsened.

[ Who am I? Why am I here? Who are these people? Why can't I remember anything? ]

Blank, it is completely blank. It can't remember its identity, or why it ended up in this ship. What was it doing before, how did it come to be with these pirates? No answer, no response, no memories, nothing.

All it knows is fear, it is scared more than anyone. As it holds it head in hope to lessen the pain it endures, breathes rigidly as it tries to swallow the terrible and uncomfortable amount with the threat of spilling out.

The pirates that surround it scares it more than anything. It has no clue of what can happen. It quivers as it looks up to the man who bears the feeling of high authority. Only to be met with a scornful gaze, it is evident that his response never satisfied anyone in the ship.

"Listen here stowaway, I don't think you understand anything as we speak."

The quartermaster is quick to reply, pointing the cutlass near its face.

The stowaway backed down to the wall, hoping for a space to hide. It couldn't contain the man's glare in front, it looks deadly.

"Drop your cutlass mate."

The captain nudged the weapon out the way, the latter man looked at his captain with a questionable look.

"He's completely no danger."

The captain added after the quartermaster continued to eye him.

"Still, he could be lyin'" 

He retorts to his captain, eyes determined to point to his belief.

"Let's see."

The captain hummed, he then turned to meet the stowaway's eyes on the same level.

The stowaway is quick to make himself look smaller, hoping it would protect himself from the next thing.

The captain's eyes held no resentment or doubt, instead he looked curious but no one could ever miss the darkness behind those eyes. Authority is seeping out of him like an open faucet, no one could ever mistaken this man as not the captain.

He just has the eyes of those men who knew what they had in their hands, and for that the stowaway found himself begging.

"P...ple..ase don...t h—hurt me." The stowaway begged.

"We won't if you won't give us reasons too."

The captain simply assured, but to the poor stowaway it sounded more like a threat.

Tears started to pour in his eyes as he couldn't endure the throbbing pain in his head and the nausea he had been containing.

"Please, I... really don't know. I just can't remember who I am."

He cries, as he silently hopes for mercy.

"Captain, let's throw him away, the scallywag could be a spy from the marine. Probably foolin' us."

The quartermaster harshly suggested.

" Scallywags, what yall think?"

He even asks for the opinions of the crowd who has been watching the whole thing unfold, in which they all shout in agreement. No one could ever risk anything, they wouldn't let their guard down.

Everyone is in an uproar in agreement to the quartermaster ideas. It could be possible that this unknown person could be anything. He could be here trying to steal their possessions or he could be indeed in a plot to ambush this pirate crew to their demise.

After all they were from a fight with those bastards, it makes sense if those damn marines send someone over, if that's the case.

The stowaway looks at everyone with horrified eyes, completely swallowed by the fear that aside from not knowing his own identity, he will die with nothing in remembrance.

[ Who would weep if I died, who would look for me? Is there actually anyone? ]

He continued to cry as the whole crowd got louder.

"Silence!" The captain roars.

"He's completely harmless." He repeated.

" A spy for the marines, you say? Well, I say let's wait." He stood up, turning his gaze to the other man across the deck, leaning against the mainmast with daggers in his hands, sharpening it with each other.

The stowaway followed the eyes of the captain and searched for the person he was looking at. The man in the main mast appears to be uninterested, as it continues to sharpen his weapons all while his captain is looking at him. However, despite his lack of interest his ear catches everything.

"One way or another, we will get its identity anyways. If he refuses to talk then no one shall converse with him." The captain continued.

"Calev, tie him up in the foremast! Give the lad at least one water a day! Calev is the only one allowed near him, savvy! You take care of him until he talks, and I mean to make him talk!"

He orders to everyone, making sure everyone got and understood his word.

"Happy?" He queried, side eyeing the quartermaster who only rolled its eyes.

"You heard him! No one will engage with the stowaway!"

He repeats the orders before he leaves everyone in the deck and returns to the steerage. Although he would want to interrogate it more, the captain's words are absolute in the ship.

Everyone responds " Aye. Aye."

They all scatter around to tend to their duties and tasks like any other normal day, leaving the stowaway on the floor, unsure of its fate. His eyes follow everyone to where they disappear into, hoping someone would pity him and help him. But it seems like everyone understood every word the captain had said, as he was completely ignored by the passers by like he was nothing or did not exist at all.

After all those glares, stares, questions, and hostility, the stowaway is quickly treated like an invisible being as no one ever dares to look at him once again. The captain's words are too powerful.

The man in the main mast let out an annoyed sigh before it stuffs his daggers to his holster in his shin and hips. The stowaway attention fixated on him, wondering what was about to happen.

Calev dragged his feet towards the stowaway, with no single word or look, he holsted him with ease and asked a nearby crew to hand him a rope. His voice is emotionless, not deep yet not high but it sounded empty.

As he walks towards the other side of the ship, the stowaway fights his best to keep anything in his stomach as the motion of being carried gives him a suffocating feeling and harshen the headache he still has.

Every minute it worsens, the headache and nausea, he is even surprised at how he managed to keep it all together when most people could have probably puke already. But he quickly arrived with the conclusion that it's better to keep things inside rather than showing these people how vulnerable he truly is. It might become a disastrous sign that these can easily get rid of him; not that it's not obvious.

Calev hears a little cry escaping the stowaways lips, he sniffles and sniffles as if he's trying his best to keep his composure. He did not say anything or beg for something, instead the stowaway remained quiet.

Even after tying it up in the mast, he remained unworded. He stared into the horizon, the scene made Calev stop and observe him.

In his eyes is nothing but a weak man who looks like he is on the verge of his own death if not taken care of. Calev took note of how frail and thin this stowaway is. From the way he breathes, the way he moves, to the way his eyes look. Nothing about him seems suspicious or there is no lying in his own state.

Calev still carries the orders from his captain. To make this man talk, and usually he has no problem doing any means to do the orders given to him. However, seeing this person—this particular person on the verge of death, he is unsure whether it will make so much difference if he talks now.

" Say, you don't know your name?"

Calev's voice is deep, but it comes out as a whisper as he has no intention to make himself loud and clear.

The stowaway however still found that voice frightening. Squeezing his body against the rope while trying to keep the distance from the scary man. He gives no answer, just like always. His tears dried down showing the obvious tear marks on his cheeks.

" No talking?"

Calev asks instead of interrogating him, after all interrogation is not his job—it's Elijah's. Torture is more suited in his resume.

When the stowaway did not answer again, Calev decided to leave him under that grazing sunlight of the afternoon.

" Who am I?"

He heard the stowaway whisper to the wind, and that whisper reached him.