Meanwhile, Above the Deck.
The door to the captain's quarters crashed open, its violent swing silencing the crew's laughter and banter.
A shadow loomed in the doorway, stepping out like a storm that had come to claim its due.
This was Vargo, the captain of the Sea Vulture, a giant of a man standing nearly seven feet tall, with a presence that suffocated the air around him.
Muscle and scars told tales of his brutal past.
His eyes, dark and unforgiving, scanned the crew, igniting fear like fire to kindling.
"What in the hells are you worthless shits doing down there?"
His voice was low, each word dripping with menace.
"Have you lost your minds? Beating a slave like rabid dogs when we're this deep in cursed waters? Are you trying to get us all killed?"
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.
The crew knew well the tales of these cursed waters, where the dead turned into resentful spirits, and facing those specters wasn't a game anyone wanted to play.
But how could they resist teaching a lesson to an unruly slave?
Rakko, a wiry pirate closest to the door, swallowed hard, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.
"C-Captain, we were just—"
"Shut your damn mouth." Vargo's roar cut through the air like a blade. He stepped forward, and the deck creaked under his weight.
"I didn't give you leave to touch my property."
Each slave on board was Vargo's property, hurting one was like maiming a limb.
Normally, the captain wouldn't bat an eye, but today was different.
Maybe it was because this slave was different.
Rakko's eyes darted to Jarek, the unconscious boy slumped against the wall below deck.
"But Captain, he's just a—"
"Did I fucking ask what he is?"
Vargo growled, his fist like a hammer as it caught Rakko by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
The smaller man's legs flailed, eyes bulging with terror.
Seeing this, Bogo and the others quickly went into hiding.
"I don't care what he did. Now get back to your posts before I rip your tongues out and feed them to the sharks."
With a savage shove, he tossed Rakko aside, sending him crashing onto the deck. The other pirates scattered like rats, eager to escape the captain's wrath.
Once everyone had scattered, Vargo's gaze drifted to the distant skies, eyes clouded with regret.
"Phellia, forgive me. I failed to protect our...your son..."
"Maybe it's time to send him away, far from everything he hates, for his own good."
Below Deck, Rowing Hold.
The rowing hold was a cursed pit on the ship, where the damned were chained like animals.
Countless men labored in chains, their backs slick with sweat, muscles straining against the oars.
When they faltered, commanders stood ready with whips, their eyes hungry for blood.
This place was the heart of the ship, a brutal engine that fed on flesh and misery.
In a cramped corner of the rowing hold, a makeshift prison housed the livestock and slaves.
Nearby, Jarek lay crumpled in the darkness, bloodied and bruised.
Soon...
He blinked awake, the stench of rot and stale seawater clawing at his throat.
"Boy, can you hear me?"
A rough voice whispered, gravelly and aged.
An old man knelt beside him, weak hands gently probing Jarek's battered ribs.
This was Gerrold, a former Westerosi knight now trapped in the same hell.
"Old man... why do you even bother?" Jarek croaked.
Gerrold chuckled softly, a sound more filled with pain than joy.
"Because someone has to. You're too young to give up. Haha!...Not yet."
Jarek forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace.
"Too young to give up? On this floating graveyard? Is it true? Is there really a Burning Island out there? Somewhere... something worth all this?"
Gerrold's gaze turned distant.
"Aye, boy. They call it the Burning Island. A cursed land of fire and shadows, filled with horrors beyond belief."
"Birds that spit flames, and beasts that can tear you apart in seconds."
"And giants roam there too, monsters that eat whatever stumbles into their territory."
"Boy, if you're meant to die, let it be there, under the open sky, as a free man."
Jarek wasn't interested in dragons, nor did he care for any of the stories from Westeros.
But right now, he needed something to distract himself.
There was no medicine for slaves on this ship, and he was bleeding.
The wounds weren't fatal, but if they got infected, he'd be rotting before long.
Truth was, he didn't think he'd last much longer.
A few more beatings like this, and it'd be over.
No matter how strong a man thought he was, there was only so much flesh and bone could take. He was still human.
Even a beast breaks when you push it too far.
That was the reason Jarek was indulging the old man's stories today.
Otherwise, he wouldn't care about ramblings of a once-proud knight who now lived in chains.
But he needed something, anything, to keep his mind off the pain.
His eyes widened slightly. "Have you seen them?"
A sad smile tugged at Gerrold's lips.
"No. But I've seen dragons. Once... a long long...maybe ...lifetime ago, perhaps in King's Landing."
Gerrold was lying. He knew it, and so did Jarek.
The dragons were gone, lost to time.
But what else could he do?
The boy was weak, no food, no water, and beaten half to death.
If a few empty words kept him going a little longer, then so be it.
There was nothing worse for the old knight than watching a boy he'd seen grow up die.
And this wasn't the first he couldn't save. There was a long, bitter list.
On the other hand, Jarek frowned.
"Dragons? But they're just myths... Targaryens created."
Gerrold shook his head.
"No, boy. The dragons were real. The Targaryens ruled with fire and blood."
"They turned kings to ash and armies to cinders. But that was before you were born, before all of this."
Jarek's gaze fell, a bitter laugh escaping him.
"Doesn't matter to me. I'm just a slave. Just... why should I care about a royal family and their beasts?"
Gerrold's grip tightened on Jarek's shoulder.
"Haha! Who knows? One day, you might escape and have your own dragon."
"Imagine that: burning the slave ships and the pirates. Revenge would be sweet."
Jarek stared at him, searching for a glimmer of sincerity.
"I... I don't want revenge. I just want a simple life. A small house, enough food, and two sets of clothes. That's all... that's enough."
Gerrold didn't take him seriously.
"Boy, that little dream of yours is a fantasy. Only the strong get to have dreams."
"Only the strong can find peace. If you want it, then you have to become stronger."
"If you want peace, then prepare for war. Haha!.. boy ...Vengeance is just the first step on the path to power, on the path to greatness"
At that moment, footsteps echoed in the darkness, soft yet certain.
A young girl stepped from the shadows, face streaked with grime but her eyes bright and sharp.
She carried a chipped bowl of water and a torn piece of cloth.
"Jarek...Gods, did they beat you again?"
This was Mira, a fellow slave. Like Jarek, she had seen hell, but her fate was even worse, she was a girl in a world that preyed on weakness.
Her looks had kept her safe from the worst of the pirates: they found her too ugly to touch, which is why she ended up cleaning the toilets.
"Just another day on the Sea Vulture. Not until we escape will this be our fate."
Tears welled in her eyes as she dabbed at the blood on his face.
"You shouldn't joke about it. One day, they'll pay. I'll kill them all. We'll find the creatures of fire and burn them—"
"Kill them?" He chuckled bitterly, wincing at the pain. "Let's focus on staying alive first. Who knows if I'll even make it?"
"Don't say that," she hissed, her voice choking. "You can't die. Not like this. You're the only one... you're the only one who's ever been kind to me."
His gaze softened.
"And you're the only one who doesn't treat me like dirt. Guess that makes us even, huh?"
Mira shook her head furiously.
"No. It doesn't."
She pressed the cloth to his wounds, hands trembling.
"One day... one day, we'll get off this ship. Both of us. I swear it."
Jarek laughed softly, though it sounded more like a sob.
"You're crazy, you know that?"
Just like this...
Jarek, the old knight, and Mira continued their conversation, their words the only balm for their wounds.
Meanwhile, miles beneath the waves, a pair of predatory eyes opened to life, gleaming with killing intent.
Above the sky the sun was fading...
The night was approaching...
Awakening countless restless spirits.
All hungering for vengeance, thirsting for blood, and eager for death.