Name

Welcome, I am…"

"Captain Deanus, also known as the Black Crow in the Empire, the last remaining leader of the Sacred Rebellion's five commanders," I state. "I'm aware of your IdentIty."

He grins."Hahaha – well done, lad, well done," he applauds.

His amber eyes, penetrating and focused, seem to pierce through me, examining me intently.

"So, who are you, and the burning question I need an answer to, how did you end up here?" he inquires.

I remain silent, and he discerns the reason why. He signals to his two bodyguards, Who release their grip on me. Relief washes over me, yet the tension of his scrutinizing gaze remains palpable. "I thrive on tension," I remind myself. In a bid to bolster my resolve, I try to appear unfazed.

"I'm just a castaway. A fallout with former comrades. A gambling victory at the table gone awry," I offer, attempting a feeble smile.

"But the wounds?" an old woman interjects.

"The wounds I tended to were ghastly. A mere scuffle wouldn't result in a shoulder pierced like a harpoon. Either you won too much, or you pilfered from the wrong pockets."

Blast. I thought they wouldn't pay attention to the wounds, but considering they're Black Crow's associates, it's unsurprising.

"Luck hasn't been on my side, I suppose," I respond, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Hahaha…" the captain chuckles.

"Are you employed by the Empire?" he probes. "No," I affirm."

But you seem well-versed in my affairs, don't you?" he presses further.

"Only from hearsay; you're a living legend," I reply, striving to maintain eye contact. It's crucial not to betray any fear. While there's a chance he might dispose of me, I hope he won't hasten his decision. I discern his analytical gaze, locking onto mine. It's as if he perceives something beyond, yet I hope he doesn't. Regardless of his verdict, composure is paramount.

He rises and approaches me. At first glance, he doesn't exude the intimidating aura one might expect. Shorter than me, yet possessing a sturdy frame, he dons a weathered navy suit, a testament to his stature.

Legend has it that the moniker Black Crow stems from two ancient crows that bestowed three scars beneath his right eye. They're profound wounds.

As he draws nearer, scrutinizing me closely, he turns to one of his men and motions for him to approach.

"Jorn, allocate him a cabin. I'll interrogate him personally later," he orders.

Jorn steps forward—an imposing figure, perhaps taller and more robust than I, both physically and mentally. My mind, however, veers to the Captain's calculated demeanor. No inquiries about my arrival. Granted, it's rare for individuals to plummet from airships onto foreign vessels, yet one needs divine luck. Luck, evidently, favored me, albeit leading me into the Black Crow's clutches.

One thing gnaws at me: why wasn't I subjected to interrogation? And what does he intend to ask?

"Move," Jorn directs me. I comply, casting a sidelong glance in her direction. She's nestled in a corner, seemingly disinterested. Whoever she is, a sense of gratitude wells within me.

Jorn guides me through the labyrinthine corridors of the ship, culminating at a crimson wooden door. Eroded paint hints at its antiquity. He swings it open, nudging me inside.

"You'll be here for the interim," Jorn Declares. "Perhaps until you rendezvous with the Captain. You'll receive sustenance as well," he adds.

However, His words barely register. He discerns my aloofness, promptly shutting the door. The fool.

I proceed to scrutinize the confines. Compact, akin to an attic. The flickering bulb provides scant illumination. I unearth a matchbox and candles, stashing them atop a shelf—potentially useful. The bed appears inviting, and the wall boasts two hooks and a mirror. "A modest mirror," I muse, refraining from complaint. Comparable to a lodging. I recline on the bed, noting a diminutive window—of little utility in an escape scenario, though escape isn't on the agenda. A mission looms, and whether providence or meticulous planning led me here, the die is cast. I fibbed regarding the Empire, a fact he may have discerned. I smirk inwardly.

"Perhaps he harbors designs for me," I jest aloud.

The crux remains. I lack a name. Once a captain in the Imperial ranks, I vanished. Permanently. The circumstances remain elusive, save for the inkling that someone harbors grand designs, relegating me to a mere pawn. My demise won't alter the scheme of things, and my aspirations… well, that's a protracted tale.

Freedom is my sole aspiration, yet warfare brooks no quarter. You either survive or succumb.

The faltering bulb finally succumbs, flickering before plunging into darkness. Damnation. I rise, bemoaning the absence of candles. Locating them, I ignite them. The room bathes in a crimson-orange hue. Pleasing.

"So, you're unfazed by the repercussions of your deception?"

That voice!

I pivot towards the door, finding her poised there. How she infiltrated unnoticed eludes me.

"Hmm, your steps... akin to a feline's," I quip, striving for composure, though her sudden appearance rattles me.

"Thank you, but I didn't seek flattery," she retorts, advancing towards me. "I sought the truth."

"Indeed, truth demands pursuit," I remark. "But I can offer elucidation."

"Are you attempting to negotiate?" she queries.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," I reply. "So, what truths does His Majesty seek?" I ask, closing the distance. Her eyes widen as I draw near. What a captivating shade of gray. I offer a faint smile.

"Shall we take a seat first?" she suggests, gently nudging me aside. Hahaha, overlooked, but I acquiesce.

"So, what's your name?" she inquires. "I lack a moniker," I divulge. "Truly?" "Indeed," I affirm, maintaining a stoic façade.

"I don't have a name," I say.

"Seriously?"

"Yes," and I look at her with indifference.

"Hmm… okay," she says. "Let's get to the point. Why did You lie?"

"Maybe I lied, maybe I didn't, it all depends on whether you believe it or not," I say, pretending not to be interested. I want to have some fun with her.

"Answer me," she says.

"Why? What's in it for me? Is there something that guarantees you won't stab me in the back or rat me out to the Black Crow if I don't cooperate?" I say.

"I could kill you myself without his help," she says.

"Seriously?" I wonder. "Don't you think you'll have problems?"

"Maybe, but I don't think you're important. I don't understand what he saw in you at that moment, but maybe he made a mistake," she says indignantly. It's strange. I have a feeling there's more to it than just being the Captain and officer. It's personal.

"You're wrong, the Black Crow doesn't make mistakes," I say nonchalantly.

"Why do you talk like you know him, or maybe…" she trails off.

"That's what everyone says," I say abruptly, without changing my tone of voice or facial expression. "He's the Black Crow, the last surviving commander of the Rebels. If he had made a mistake, do you think he'd still be alive? The others made mistakes and died, but not him."

"You know what, he has made mistakes, many of them, but nobody knows about them," she says and looks at the candle.

"And what might those be?" I ask, pretending to be uninterested, but dying of curiosity.

She falls silent. She doesn't look at me. She looks at the candle flame. Then she makes eye contact with me and says.

"He abandoned his family for the war, he destroyed the lives of thousands of people, killing or demoralizing them, including those close to him, all without him knowing. He's made many mistakes, which is why I want you to tell me the truth. You're not a normal person, that's what my intuition tells me."

"I could tell you, but I need to believe what you're saying," I say and stand up. "Who are you to him?"

She falls silent for a second. She analyzes. She looks at me and says.

"I'm his daughter. Azel Dionysia Blackberry."

I look at her. Surprised. I didn't expect that.

"What do you want from me?" I ask skeptically.

"Your help," she says. I need your help to kill my own father.

That puts me in a dilemma. It could all be a scene orchestrated by the Black Crow, and I'm starting to play along. Or she's telling the truth. There must be a reason. What should I do now? Trust her blindly, or wait…

She notices that I'm deeply thinking and takes a step towards me. The scent of lilac flowers hasn't disappeared. She has a special aura. Damn, she's so beautiful.

"I beg you, you're my only chance," she says.

I look at her and notice a sparkle in her eyes. I close my eyes and sigh. Damn.

"I don't know your motive, but I'll help you. Just know one thing, my trust in you is on thin ice. If I feel betrayed, I'll kill you," I warn her.

She nods, a sign that she understands. Then she asks.

"I understand. Nice to meet you," she says, looking at me strangely, then she asks.

"You really don't have a name?"

I smile and reply.

"No, but you can call me 98."