Though Shawn's body had long fallen unconscious, his mind refused to rest. Somewhere within that quiet void between life and dream, it processed fragments of memory, building order from chaos. It recognized, with unsettling precision, that the vessel it now inhabited was not its original one — yet the soul remained his. Everything foreign within this body was cataloged, organized, and sealed neatly away, waiting for his return to awareness.
The ocean carried him gently, his form bathed in faint moonlight that glimmered off the black water. His wounds, once deep and fatal, were gone. Smooth skin replaced torn flesh, though the faint trace of something unearthly lingered — a dim ring around his finger, its small crystal barely glowing, as if holding back a secret of its own.
The sea should have devoured him. It should have dragged his lifeless body beneath its depths. Yet no beast stirred. No fin cut through the water. The waves merely rocked him, harmless, as if the ocean itself hesitated to touch him.
His body drifted farther from land, drawn by the slow rhythm of the current. Time lost its shape. Only the sound of water and wind remained.
In the distance, a ship appeared — not grand, but sturdy, built for travel more than show. Its sails, patched and uneven, caught the wind like weary lungs taking another breath.
"Captain," a man at the helm called out, squinting against the light. "Something's floating ahead. Could be debris… or maybe loot."
"Loot?" the captain replied, not looking up from his steaming cup of tea. He sat lazily in a worn leather chair, the faint smell of rum lingering in the air. "Permission granted. We've been scraping empty waters for weeks. Maybe fortune's decided to take pity on us."
He paused, swirling his cup. "And tell Dothan to take a look before we pull it in. Last thing I need is another half-dead fish stinking up my deck."
The helmsman nodded and turned toward the hatch. Moments later, a thin man emerged — Dothan, with a tattered scarf wrapped around his neck and a single glass lens fixed over his right eye. He peered through it, adjusting the focus with a quiet click.
"…Not debris," he murmured. "A boy. Floating face up. Looks young… maybe twelve. Still breathing, somehow."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "Still alive, eh? Now that's interesting."
They approached slowly, the hull cutting a soft wake behind them. Ropes were thrown, hooks cast. Within moments, Shawn's body was pulled aboard and laid across the wet deck. The pirates circled, their curiosity half hidden behind greed.
"What do we do with him, Captain?" one asked.
"What we always do," the captain said, his voice low and deliberate. "If he wakes up and talks, we gag him. If he's strong, we sell him. If he's weak…" He shrugged, sipping his tea again. "The sea can have him back."
Laughter rippled through the deck, grim and casual. The crew carried Shawn below, into the dark hold where the air was thick and the smell of salt mixed with rusted iron.
Hours passed. The sound of chains clinked faintly in the dark. Somewhere between the rocking of the ship and the slow creak of the hull, Shawn's eyelids fluttered.
Pain. The first thing he felt was pain — dull, spreading from his chest to his head. His mind was fogged, yet fragments stirred inside him: Feela's mocking smile, the blinding flash, and the endless, suffocating sea.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt bound. He reached for light — yet his world remained black. His sight was gone.
A chill ran through him. The smell of the sea was different now — heavier, confined. He wasn't in the water anymore. He was somewhere enclosed, somewhere that moved beneath his back.
He wasn't drifting anymore.
He was being taken somewhere.
And as he lay there, the faint whisper of chains echoed once more — a quiet, cold reminder that whatever world he'd been given… it had already started taking from him.
The faint creak of wood woke him.At first, it was just sound — the groan of a ship swaying against the waves, chains scraping lightly across the floor. Then came the smell — salt, rust, and old sweat.
Shawn stirred, his fingers brushing against cold metal links. His head throbbed with a dull ache. Everything was black. No matter how hard he tried to blink, no light reached him.
"...Hello?" His voice came out weak, trembling like he hadn't used it in years. "Is… is anyone there?"
The silence that followed pressed against his ears. He swallowed, panic rising. "Please… I can't see anything. Where am I?"
Footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. The sound of boots against wood drew closer until they stopped right beside him.
"Looks like the little one's awake," a rough voice said — deep, steady, the kind of tone used to give orders rather than comfort. "Easy there, boy. You're on my ship now."
Shawn tried to lift his head, his small fingers clutching at the chains binding his wrists. "Who are you? Why… why am I tied?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crouched down. Even without sight, Shawn could sense the presence — heavy, confident, used to control.
"Who are you, kid?" the man asked quietly. "And where do you come from?"
Shawn hesitated. His mind was foggy — there were fragments, images that meant nothing. The only thing solid was his name. "I… I don't know," he said honestly. "All I remember is that my name is Shawn."
From behind the man, another voice called out, "Captain, want me to check?"
"Do it," the captain replied.
Soft footsteps approached. Shawn heard a strange hum, then felt something like warmth — faint but probing — sweep across him. It wasn't painful, but it felt as if the air itself was looking at him.
Dothan's voice came soon after. "He's telling the truth. No lies, no false memory seals. Clean slate."
The captain exhaled slowly. "Huh. So, a stray with no past."
Shawn frowned, trying to sit up though the chains made it difficult. "Who are you people? Why am I tied like this?"
For a moment, no one spoke. The captain stood and turned away, his boots tapping softly. "Because, boy," he said at last, "the world doesn't give anything for free. Everyone's got to survive somehow."
He walked a few paces, the boards creaking beneath his steps. "We've got someone who'll take care of you soon enough."
The way he said it — soft, almost kind — made it sound like an adult lying to comfort a child. But Shawn wasn't that naïve anymore. Something in his gut twisted.
"...You're going to sell me, aren't you?" he asked quietly.
The laughter that followed was sharp, genuine, and cold. The captain didn't even try to deny it.
"Smart kid," he said, a small smile in his voice. "Yes. We sell the ones with potential — young, healthy, easy to train. Some go to rich families. Some…" He paused, the cup of tea in his hand clinking gently. "Well, I don't ask too many questions. Keeps life simple."
Shawn's small hands trembled. "Why?"
"Because that's how the world works," the captain said. "You'll learn that soon enough. Try anything foolish, though—" his voice lowered, colder than before, "—and I'll send you back to the sea myself."
The mere mention of the sea froze Shawn's breath. Images of that last moment — the dark water, the thing that dragged him under — surged up like a tide he couldn't escape. His chest tightened. Without meaning to, he nodded quickly.
"Good boy," the captain said, satisfied. "Rest while you can. It'll be a long day tomorrow."
The sound of boots faded away. The creak of the door closing followed, leaving Shawn once again in quiet darkness.
He lay there, his small body trembling, his heart beating in uneven rhythm. The echo of the sea still lingered in his ears.
Slowly, he exhaled and turned inward — toward that strange pulse of energy resting somewhere deep inside him. The faint light of the body's old memories shimmered at the edge of his mind, waiting to be opened.
He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. "Guess… I'll see who you were," he whispered.
And as his consciousness sank inward, the chains rattled softly — the only sound left to mark the beginning of his new, uncertain life.