Through Smoke and Ashes

Eight||Aye Aye Captain

My chest tightened with every passing second, each breath more strained than the last. A persistent pressure weighed on my lungs, as if the air itself had thickened. I kept stealing glances at my hands each time I reached for my glass or adjusted my fork—rough, calloused, and stained with dirt from the forest floor. But nothing else. No scars. No burns. No sign that I had ever touched a substance potent enough to bring dragons to the edge of death.

And yet, I had. I'd been coated in Rin toxin, and somehow, I was still alive.

My thoughts spiraled. Every theory I conjured dissolved beneath a tidal wave of confusion and fear. Why had it spared me? What made me different?

I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice the Captain was speaking until his hand slammed down on the table. The jolt sent plates rattling and utensils clattering. I jumped, my eyes snapping to meet his.

"Do I have your attention now, girl?" he growled, his voice cutting through the tense air like a knife.

I nodded quickly, my voice catching before I managed a quiet, "Yes."

He leaned back again, shoulders relaxing into an easy posture that seemed at odds with the intensity he had just shown. His fingers tapped once against his goblet, then stilled.

"Good. Now," he said, eyes narrowing into slits, "what are you doing on this island?"

The question lingered in the air between us like a blade suspended by a single thread. My hands had begun to shake again, so I slid them under my legs, anchoring myself as best I could. I inhaled deeply, summoning whatever shred of courage still clung to my bones.

"I could ask you the same thing," I replied. My voice surprised me—steady, confident, even a little defiant.

His gaze sharpened. If he was impressed, he didn't show it. "What does it look like, girl? Do you think we're out here having a civil tea party with those winged abominations?"

It took me a beat too long to realize he expected an answer. I shook my head. "No."

"Exactly." He jabbed a piece of half-cooked meat with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. The sight made my stomach churn. My appetite was already fragile, but now... I couldn't stop thinking about the man he'd killed earlier. How his blood had pooled around his body, dark and thick. I glanced down at the meat on my own plate. It was red in the center, the juices bleeding out beneath my fork.

I set it down. I couldn't eat. Not after that.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I winced, wishing I could take them back.

His laugh came deep from inside his chest. It didn't sound right coming from such a man who could so easily take away another's life. "Is the suspense not killer enough for you?"

He found this amusing. I did not.

My throat tightened and my eyes stung. I could feel tears building behind my eyes as they stung like salt had been put into them. My throat became tight and it was harder to breath. Swallowing was hard enough on its own, now it was impossible. The thought of showing this man that I was weak made my tears dry up. In fact, I was enraged that I was the one who was in fear and not him.

But then something changed.

His expression faltered. His hands, so steady moments ago, began to tremble. His eyes, those pitiless, predatory eyes, widened with something I'd never seen on him before: fear.

He was staring. Not at the tent flaps. Not at an approaching enemy. At me.

"Demon..." he hissed, voice strained, barely more than a whisper.