The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 45: Unbound

The ship moved slowly over the waves, each ripple carrying it farther from the shore.

Below deck, over a hundred people were gathered—servants, attendants, and others, most of them Black, each bound by their own silent gratefulness to Winston.

The crew, all hand-picked and trusted implicitly by Winston, had mouths sealed tight, their devotion to him absolute.

No one questioned; no one strayed. Only the rhythm of the ship’s creaking wood and the faint murmur of the sea filled the stillness as they sailed toward a distant shore.

In the quieter part of the ship, Kyzzu was guided to a large, well-appointed room, arranged meticulously and furnished with a care that felt foreign to him.

He paused just inside the doorway, a rush of conflicting memories clouding his expression.

The warmth and security of this room were a jarring contrast to the cold, cramped holds he had known before, in a time he struggled to leave behind yet could never fully forget.

Without thinking, Kyzzu’s hand moved to his stomach, fingers pressing gently over the place where Ethan had once been a part of him.

The memory came back, unbidden and sharp, a reminder of that strange and painful journey that had led to this moment.

Winston, watching from the doorway, noted the shift in Kyzzu’s expression. His usual unreadable look softened, if only slightly.

He stepped forward and placed a guiding hand on Kyzzu’s shoulder, silently leading him toward the bed with its soft, inviting duvet.

There was something fragile in the air between them—Winston sensed it but left it unspoken, letting his actions convey what words might ruin.

He helped Kyzzu to sit down, his touch gentle yet steady. "Rest," Winston murmured, his voice low, yet edged with something unfamiliar—a strange tenderness that betrayed his usual stoicism.

Kyzzu looked up at him, catching that uncharacteristic vulnerability flicker across Winston’s face.

The silence between them was thick with words they couldn’t say, with memories they couldn't escape.

For now, in the gentle sway of the ship’s cradle, they allowed that silence to settle, carrying each other’s unspoken burdens as they faced the unknown path ahead.

***

The ship continued its steady course through the dark, open sea, an almost haunting silence filling the night.

Below deck, within the intimate quiet of Kyzzu’s quarters, the lingering scent of salt mingled with a faint trace of lavender from the sheets.

He lay back against the plush pillows, feeling the coolness of the fabric pressing against his fevered skin—a stark contrast to the warmth of Winston’s touch.

Each breath he took was shallow, his body worn down by illness, yet his mind drifted, recalling fragments of his past that seemed both distant and near.

He remembered the first time he had seen the ocean, its vastness pulling him in and overwhelming him.

It had been the same sea, yet so different, an expanse of cold waves mirroring the despair within him.

He was young, heavy with child and sickness, feeling like an anchor was dragging him down, threatening to pull him under.

Winston’s cruelty had been relentless then, his words sharp and unforgiving, each one a wound, each insult a fresh wave crashing over Kyzzu until he felt he might drown beneath them.