Ethan nodded once. Skye knew what he wanted before he had to say it.
A faint ripple of magic unfolded in the cramped cabin—small, contained, and surgical.
[SYSTEM] Silence Ward: Active
The ocean kept breathing outside the hull. Inside, the world went soundless.
Ethan brought the Dragonblood Dagger down. Not to kill—yet. Just enough to turn the pirate’s swagger into panic.
The man’s mouth opened in a scream that never reached the corridor.
Skye watched, ears twitching, expression pinched between disgust and reluctant respect. She’d lived long enough to know that mercy didn’t keep you alive. But seeing a human choose cruelty with such calm intent still made her fur prickle.
Ethan leaned close. His voice stayed level. “We can do this the easy way, or we can waste time. Your call.”
The pirate’s bravado collapsed into frantic nods.
“How many of you boarded?” Ethan asked.
“Seven!” the pirate blurted. “Seven of us. That’s it!”
“Where’s the crew?”
“In the dining hall. All tied up. One of ours is watching them.”
“The bridge?”
“Empty. We don’t need the ship—just the haul.”
Ethan listened for lies the way some people listened for music.
“Any Awakened among you?” he asked.
The pirate shook his head so fast his teeth clicked. “No. We’re all just… regular. Just men.”
“Last question.” Ethan’s eyes were cold in the dim light. “Where did you come from?”
“Meltwater Bay,” the pirate whispered. “We sailed out of Meltwater Bay.”
“Good,” Ethan said, as if they’d just finished a polite interview. “That’s everything.”
He stepped to the water bucket, rinsed his hand, wiped the dagger clean.
The pirate sagged with relief—too early.
A heartbeat later the blade flashed. The pirate went still.
Skye stared. “You thanked him.”
“It costs nothing,” Ethan said, and she couldn’t tell if he meant the words or the act of killing.
Skye followed as he moved into the corridor. The Jellyfish felt different now—no longer a ship, but a maze filled with armed strangers. Down the hall, muffled voices drifted from the dining hall. The crew. The pirates.
Skye padded beside him, tail high, trying to pretend she wasn’t watching his hands.
“You talk like you’re not a mortal,” she muttered. “You move like you’re not a mortal.”
Ethan didn’t look at her. “Tonight, everyone on this ship is a mortal. That’s the only reason this works.”
He didn’t add the rest: in his first life, the world had fallen apart. The dead walked. The living lied. He’d survived waves of hunger and teeth and betrayal, learned to count exits and shadows the way other people counted blessings.
Seven pirates wasn’t an army. It was a problem.
Five were left.
If he fought them all at once, he’d get shot. So he wouldn’t. He’d peel them apart.
Even with the years of peace he’d been forced into after the transfer, his instincts hadn’t died. And his body was no longer ordinary.
A Talent. A boosted frame. Stamina up. Agility high enough to turn a mistake into a blur.
As long as they were just men, he wasn’t afraid.
And if they weren’t?
Skye was his last card.
They reached the intersection leading toward the dining hall.
Ethan lifted his knuckles and rapped them against the bulkhead.
Thud.
He waited two seconds.
Thud.
Again, patient and steady, like a heartbeat coming from inside the ship.
Thud.