Where the sea sleeps [HoonHao] ✔

01

When he opens his eyes, his body pulls stiff on the spot.

The first thing his eyes see is the sky, bright and blue as day. He doesn't know how he could have gotten here, but he's here. In the middle of nowhere. Well, not quite nowhere. The only thing covering him is his jacket, draped over him like a blanket.

Sitting up, he somehow tenses even more. He's not kidding, every muscle pulls stiff because he's in a boat. On the ocean. The first question that pops into his head is, how on earth did he get here? Though he tries to recollect the last thing he could remember, he's met with a blank slate; he can't recall a thing. No matter how hard he tried to think back. No matter how silent he stayed and how much he worked at calming himself.

When he closes his eyes, there's nothing but pitch black. Which he knows should not be a thing. There should, at the very least, be a flicker of colour; something that popped into his head. He tries again. And again. And again.

Nothing.

He opens his eyes again. The pitch black nothingness was far too unsettling to keep trying. He would rather see colour since he had the choice.

Scanning the boat, he doesn't spot anything to help in moving the boat; it's a rowboat. Still in good condition as well, which he takes as a good sign. Though, while wondering how he got here, he has to wonder how long he's been here. Lowering his head, he notes his attire. It appears of the sort that was once a wonderful outfit made of fine material. Now, it was tattered and torn all over the place. He must look like someone who has just arrived from battle.

A deep sigh passes through his lips. Lifting a hand to his hair, he tugs lightly as he tries to think of something to do other than sit around and stare. It would help if he knew something; memories, his name, anything really, because then at least he would have something to focus on. He's not even sure of the approximate time much less how much time has passed since he woke up.

Casting his eyes out to the ocean, he spots something in the distance; he can't make it out, but at the very least, he's almost entirely sure it's heading his way.

Don't stand up in the boat, he reminds himself. The simple reminder brings about an odd sensation that he's unable to place. Almost as if he's heard those words from someone before and somehow, he was relaying it to himself. Though there's no voice to the words other than his own, so for all he knows, he could be wrong.

Another sigh escapes him. He's nervous. Not quite sure what sort of people the ocean had to offer, he worried whether the upcoming ship (he was able to make out as it slowly starts getting closer) was filled with good or bad people. He inhales sharply, folds his hands together tightly and waits.

The light of day slowly turns darker until night time descends. By then, the ship has gotten so much closer that he can hear someone shouting, and it's huge. He can't recall ever seeing a ship, but even he can tell that it's big. The sails of the ship has a sort of sign on it, painted in white on the black material. There's a person at the very top, feet on the platform and hands keeping him from falling as he hangs along the tower like part of the ship.

It's right in front of him now and all he can do is stare.

A male steps forward where he imagines the way onto the ship is as it's lower than the rest of it on either side.

"Ahoy," he says, his voice so light and faintly accented. Without a closer look, he can't actually see him. "What are you doing down there?"

He can't tell if the guy is serious or not. His throat feels dry, all of a sudden and he's not sure whether to speak or remain silent.