"Survival had never been this difficult or deadly," Moon muttered aloud, though she hadn't meant to. What else could she say? The storm had been raging for hours, its fury battering the ship relentlessly. The waves, like monstrous fists, hammered against the hull, making the entire vessel rock and sway in terrifying rhythm. Moon had lost track of time, but if her calculations were right, it had been two months since she boarded this cursed ship. Two months adrift at sea with no land in sight. Her stomach growled again, louder this time, a cruel reminder of her growing hunger. The others around her cast furtive glances in her direction.
"What? Never heard someone's body tell them they're hungry?" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended, but she couldn't care less. The sea had a way of gnawing at your nerves, and she wasn't in the mood to apologize for being rude. The group of passengers shifted awkwardly, eyes avoiding her as if her hunger were some contagious disease. She glanced out the window again, longing to see a glimpse of land—something, anything to tell her she wasn't alone in the world. But there was only endless water, stretching in all directions. If she could just wait a little longer, they would reach an unknown land. A place where she could finally be free.
"Miss," a soft voice interrupted her thoughts. Moon turned to find an elderly woman beside her, her face wrinkled like an old leather bag, her eyes kind but tired. She was holding a small piece of bread wrapped in clear plastic, the kind they gave travelers to store their belongings. "I saw you were hungry," the lady said with a gentle smile. "I have some bread to share. Would you like some?"
Moon blinked, taken aback by the woman's unexpected kindness. She wasn't used to this—sharing. But her stomach was a constant, gnawing ache, and the bread, though small, seemed like a lifeline. She hesitated, then nodded, unable to refuse. The elderly woman carefully stood, her frail legs trembling as she shuffled closer. "You must be starving, dear," she said as she tore the bread in half and offered it to Moon.
As Moon took a bite, the woman settled beside her, her thin, weathered hands trembling slightly. "So tell me, what is a little girl like you doing on this ship?" the lady asked, her voice soft but probing. The question struck a chord with Moon, but she wasn't ready to share her past. Not yet.
The truth was, three months ago, just after her seventeenth birthday, her adoptive parents had signed her up for a program called TSE (The Serpent's Echo). She had heard whispers of its horrors—relentless training, no rest, battles fought to the death. And the rumors of people disappearing, never to be seen again, sent chills down her spine. When families signed their children into TSE, they were promised food, shelter, and supplies for twelve years.
The worst part, however, was the lieutenant. According to the stories, he was a nightmare given form. A cruel man who would take someone's eye if they dared to look at him. Some said he had no mercy, that his cruelty knew no bounds. If he heard you breathe too loudly, they said, he would tear your lungs out. Moon had always dismissed these stories, but a part of her was relieved she hadn't had to face him.
The elderly lady chuckled, as though reading Moon's thoughts. "It's alright, dear," she said kindly. "Some secrets are meant to stay hidden."
Moon nodded gratefully, thankful that the lady hadn't pressed her for more. She felt a weight lift from her chest. But then, the lady's tone shifted, becoming more serious.
"Have you heard about the war around TSE?" she asked, her voice low. "My grandson signed up—he did it to make sure I could eat. But I haven't heard from him in months. And the war... it's gotten worse, they say." She paused, her eyes misting over. "That's why I boarded this ship. It was cheap."
Moon felt a pang of guilt. She had been so focused on escaping that she hadn't thought about the real cost of the program. The elderly woman's grief was palpable. "Excuse me, Miss," Moon asked, trying to steer the conversation away, "do you know where we're headed? I boarded this ship without being told where it was going."
The woman's face darkened, her eyes widening. "Oh, honey, you've made a grave mistake," she whispered. "You boarded this ship without knowing where it's going? That's a dangerous gamble." She glanced around, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. "The place we're headed... it's a nightmare. Even if it's the last place on Earth, you wouldn't want to be there. It's called Bla-"
Before she could finish, a loud voice interrupted.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for safety reasons, we ask that you disembark in ten minutes. Don't worry, we'll be back on the sea by the evening." A worker called out, his tone hurried. He moved on quickly, and as he did, murmurs spread through the passengers. Some whispered about rumors of robbers aboard.
Moon turned back to the elderly woman, but she had already moved away, joining the others who were speaking anxiously about the situation. Alone again, Moon was left with only her hunger and the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. Her stomach growled, a reminder of the days without proper food. The bread had barely been enough to quiet it. She missed her home—the warmth of her bed, the simple meals that had always been there.
She glanced out the window once more, her gaze drawn to the horizon. This time, there was something different—a town, colorful and alive, even in the pouring rain. The warm glow of candles lit the streets, and the smells of fresh food and spices flooded her senses. It made her stomach grumble again, louder than before.
The ship slowly neared the shore, the wheels creaking as it came to a halt. The captain's voice broke through the haze of longing. "You may now disembark. Please, take your belongings."
Without another thought, Moon stood, her legs suddenly filled with energy. Real food. It felt like a dream. She could almost taste it. The rich, warm aromas of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and spiced vegetables filled the air as she made her way to the stairs.
That's when she saw him—a small boy, no older than six, sitting on the wet ground beside a jewelry stand, his small body shivering from the cold rain. His arms were thin, and his cheeks were sunken, hollow from hunger. His eyes, though young, were filled with a painful emptiness that tugged at Moon's heart. He held a rag with a single coin in it, a sad offering for survival. A lady passed by, admiring a necklace that could feed a family for months. Instead of helping the boy, she snatched the coin from his rag, laughing as she walked away.
Moon's blood boiled. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing. The injustice of it all ignited something fierce in her. She turned to leave, but the man behind her shoved her aside. "Move, girl! You're blocking the way!"
Startled, Moon stumbled back, muttering an apology. She moved out of the way, but her mind was focused solely on the boy. Once the crowd had passed, she rushed down the stairs and knelt in front of him. His eyes met hers, swollen from tears, the rain mixing with his sorrow.
She couldn't leave him like this. Not after everything she'd just witnessed. She took off her jacket and draped it over his frail shoulders. "What's your name?" she asked gently. He didn't respond, his head bowed low. "Are you mute?" she asked again, softer this time. He nodded.
Moon's heart clenched. This wasn't going to be easy, but she couldn't turn away. She would help him. She had to.