Yuming's POV

The sea was calm, deceptively so, and the morning sunlight bathed the deck in a soft golden glow. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. The city we left behind still haunted my dreams, though I tried to push it from my mind. Life aboard the ship was already strange and relentless enough without adding nightmares to the mix.

Jun's voice barked across the deck, cutting through my thoughts. "Little rat!"

I stiffened, looking up from the coiled rope I'd been half-heartedly assisting with. He stood near the mast, his sharp gaze fixed on me.

"Get over here," he said, gesturing with his chin.

I swallowed my irritation at the nickname and trudged over, unsure of what to expect. Jun was holding a sword—a plain, slightly battered one from the ship's supplies—and as I approached, he tossed it to me without warning.

I barely caught it, the weight nearly pulling me off balance.

"You're not going to survive long if you can't defend yourself," he said bluntly. "Hold it properly."

I gripped the hilt, adjusting my hands to what I thought was a reasonable stance. The blade felt foreign in my hands—too heavy, too cold, and entirely too dangerous.

Jun sighed, stepping closer. "That's not going to cut it. Literally."

Before I could respond, he moved behind me, his hands lightly adjusting my grip. His closeness was unnerving, though his movements were efficient and devoid of hesitation.

"Spread your feet," he instructed. "Balance yourself. If someone charges at you, you'll need to move fast."

I obeyed, though the position felt awkward.

"Now, swing."

"At what?"

"Anything. But preferably not yourself."

I rolled my eyes but complied, swinging the sword in a wide arc. The momentum nearly threw me off balance again, and Jun stepped back, shaking his head.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"I didn't ask to do this," I snapped. "You're the one throwing weapons at me."

"Because you're more useless than a broken compass otherwise," he retorted, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Again."

We continued for what felt like hours. My muscles burned, and my hands ached from gripping the hilt. Jun's patience surprised me; he corrected my form each time I faltered, demonstrating moves with his own sword when words weren't enough.

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"Better," he said at last, after I managed a series of clumsy swings without losing my balance.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, glaring at him. "Glad to know I've impressed you."

He smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't get cocky, little rat. You're still hopeless in a real fight."

Reaching into the chest where he'd retrieved the sword, he pulled out a small, sheathed dagger.

"This is yours now," he said, holding it out.

I hesitated before taking it, my fingers brushing his as I did. The contact was brief, but Jun pulled away as if he'd been burned.

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked, frowning.

"Because I don't have time to keep saving your skin," he replied bluntly. "Keep it with you. Always."

Despite his harsh words, the gesture wasn't lost on me. I tucked the dagger into the folds of my tattered dress, feeling its weight like an unspoken promise.

~~~

The next morning, I woke to the sound of footsteps and hushed voices outside the cabin. The crew was preparing to dock, the promise of land once again looming on the horizon.

Jun appeared at the door, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Get ready. We're leaving soon."

I nodded, gripping the dagger he had given me. The weapon felt both reassuring and alien, a reminder of how far I was from the life I once knew.

The city we docked at was no better than the last—perhaps even worse. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of a collapsing building. The air was thick with decay, and every step felt like venturing into a tomb.

Jun stayed close, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. I clutched my dagger tightly, though I doubted my ability to use it if the need arose.

"Stay close," Jun muttered, his eyes scanning the empty streets.

"I'm not going anywhere," I replied, keeping my voice low.

We moved cautiously through the ruins, gathering supplies where we could. Most of the buildings had already been picked clean, but Jun managed to find a few useful items—a coil of rope, a bag of grain, a rusted lantern.

It wasn't long before we realized we weren't alone.

A low moan echoed from the shadows, sending a chill down my spine.

Jun froze, his body tensing. "Stay behind me," he ordered.

I nodded, gripping the dagger so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

The moan grew louder, and soon figures began to emerge from the alleys. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, their eyes vacant and clouded.

I recognized them instantly—the sick, the same mindless, zombie-like people we had encountered before.

Jun drew his sword, his expression hardening. "Run to the ship," he said.

"What?"

"Run!" he repeated, his voice sharp. "I'll hold them off."

Panic surged through me, but I obeyed, my feet carrying me toward the docks as fast as they could.

The sound of clashing steel and guttural moans filled the air as Jun fought behind me. I didn't dare look back, fear propelling me forward.

As I neared the docks, I stumbled, my foot catching on a loose stone. The dagger slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.

I scrambled to retrieve it, but before I could, a hand grabbed my ankle.

I screamed, kicking out with all my strength. The grip loosened, but another figure loomed over me, its lifeless eyes fixed on my face.

"Move!" Jun's voice rang out, and a moment later, his sword sliced through the figure that had grabbed me.

He pulled me to my feet, his grip firm but not rough. "Run!"

We sprinted together, the ship coming into view just as more of the sick emerged from the alleys. The crew was already aboard, shouting for us to hurry.

The gangplank was raised as we leapt onto the deck, the sick reaching the edge of the dock but unable to follow.

I collapsed onto the planks, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Jun stood over me, his sword still drawn, his expression unreadable.

"You're lucky I was there," he said, his tone sharp.

I glared at him, though my voice wavered. "I didn't ask for your help."

"No," he replied, sheathing his sword. "But you needed it."

He turned and walked away, leaving me to process everything that had just happened.

As the ship sailed away from the cursed shore, I couldn't shake the image of his face—calm and resolute, even in the face of death.

He wasn't just a pirate.

He was something more.