Gulliver travel, inspired one-shots

Lilliput Adventure Chapter 2: The Sun Shall Shine Again

Mavri retched as her lungs expelled the last of the water. Her chest burned, ribs grinding as she rolled onto her side. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her as she gagged and gasped for air.

Gasping for air, she turned her head, squinting through the haze of pain, and saw Fildor, her loyal second-in-command, hovering over her with concern etched into his rugged features.

"Easy, Captain," Fildor said, his voice firm but layered with relief. "You're back with us."

As the pounding in her skull subsided to a dull roar, Mavri gathered her bearings. They were still within the confines of an immense glass prison – their giant bottle refuge now beached on unfamiliar shores. The scale was mind-boggling; they were mere insects in comparison. With Fildor's steady support, she managed to sit upright, wincing as she surveyed their damp enclosure, thankful that only a shallow pool of water remained at the bottom.

Her gaze landed on Silvo, methodically performing chest compressions on Linric's unconscious form. The cook glanced up, meeting her eyes for only a moment before redoubling her efforts. Telwin stood at her side, wringing his hands and chewing his lower lip. He was the youngest of their company, only twenty years old. He looked even paler than usual, eyes flickering between Silvo and the sloshing seawater that filled the bottom of their prison.

As Linric sputtered back to consciousness, Silvo heaved a sigh of relief, her brow glistening with sweat. "That's right, you ungrateful barnacle. You're not leaving my kitchen duties just yet," she joked, though her laugh tinged with their situation's darkness.

"Always the charmer, Silvo," Linric croaked, offering a weak grin.

"Someone has to keep spirits up," she retorted, helping him to sit up.

Mavri's knees buckled as she attempted to rise, the acrid taste of brine and defeat lingering on her tongue. Fildor's calloused hands were there, steadying her, lifting her to a stand. A choked sob clawed its way up her throat as memories flooded back—Hilgar's grotesque maw, the screams of her crew, the despairing plunge into watery darkness. She shoved the images aside with a ragged breath.

"Easy, Captain," Fildor murmured, his grip firm yet gentle around her waist.

"Thank you, Fildor," Mavri managed. "I think...you might've cracked my ribs with that robust resuscitation."

"Better a few cracked ribs than a drowned captain," he replied, the hint of a smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Fildor wasted no time, his voice cutting through the stifling heat that bore down on them. "We need to get out before we roast alive in this glass trap." He surveyed their transparent prison, calculating the best way to escape their current hell.

"Agreed. Let's move," Mavri said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

They approached the sloped side of the bottle, where the neck arched towards freedom.

Fildor followed her gaze, brow furrowing. "I'll go first and help pull the rest of you up. The glass will be slippery, so take it slow."

"I can manage on my own," Mavri began but fell silent at the look on his face. There was no point arguing when her injuries would only slow them down further. She nodded in resignation.

 Telwin boosted, Fildor up. He peered back down, arms extended. "Send Linric up first, then the captain. I'll get you both to the top."

"Your turn," Silvo said, wiping her brow. She laced her fingers together, creating a step for Mavri's boot.