Jun's POV

The first sign of the city was the stench.

It reached us long before the narrow wooden piers came into view—a foul, sour odor that clung to the salty breeze and made even seasoned sailors wrinkle their noses. It wasn't the usual smell of fish markets or the brine-soaked streets of a bustling port. No, this was something else. Something rotten.

I stood at the prow of the ship, scanning the horizon as the city crept closer. Buildings leaned against one another like old drunks, their wooden facades warped and stained. Smoke rose from chimneys, mingling with the haze of decay that seemed to hang over the place.

Beside me, the girl—my unwanted shadow—stood stiffly, clutching the rail as if it might save her from the rocking of the ship. Her face was pale, though whether it was from seasickness or fear, I couldn't tell.

I glanced at her, annoyed that her presence still gnawed at me. She was too quiet, too cautious. Like a stray dog that hadn't decided whether to trust its new master.

"You stick close to me when we dock, understood, little rat?" I said, my tone sharp.

Her eyes flickered to mine briefly before she nodded. She always nodded, always obeyed—at least on the surface. But I wasn't stupid. She was always watching, weighing her chances. I could see it in the way her gaze lingered on the horizon or darted to the crew when she thought no one was looking.

I wouldn't let her slip away.

Not yet.

As the ship pulled into the dock, the smell worsened. My crew went about their tasks with practiced efficiency, but even they moved with an edge of unease. When we finally stepped off the gangplank onto the creaking wooden pier, I saw why.

The city was dying.

The streets were quiet—not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the heavy silence of despair. Shops stood empty, their windows darkened and doors barred. A handful of people wandered aimlessly, their faces hollow, their movements sluggish.

And then there were the bodies.

They lay scattered along the edges of the street, some covered with tattered sheets, others left exposed to the elements. Their skin was mottled with strange, dark blotches, and their faces were twisted in expressions of agony.

I heard the girl gasp beside me and saw her step closer to my side, her earlier defiance forgotten in the face of such horror.

"Don't stray," I reminded her gruffly.

Her wide eyes darted to mine, and for once, I didn't see rebellion—just fear.

I kept her close as we moved through the city. She didn't try to pull away, though I felt her flinch whenever we passed too close to one of the bodies.

"This place," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "What happened here?"

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I didn't answer immediately. What could I say? She wasn't wrong to be horrified.

"It's a sickness," I said finally. "Been spreading through the region for months. Some say it's a punishment from the gods, others claim it's poison in the wells. Doesn't matter. Once it takes hold, there's no stopping it."

"Why are we here, then?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I almost smiled at the question. Almost.

"Because not everyone is dead," I said. "And the living still have things to trade."

She didn't reply, but I saw the way her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

We moved deeper into the city, passing makeshift pyres that smoldered in the open squares. The heat from the flames was oppressive, but the smell of burning flesh was worse.

The markets, if you could call them that, were little more than clusters of desperate people selling whatever scraps they could salvage. Old tools, rusted weapons, and spoiled food changed hands for absurd prices. The traders' faces were gaunt, their eyes darting nervously as though expecting death to come for them at any moment.

I didn't linger long.

I kept one hand resting lightly on the hilt of my blade, the other ready to grab the girl if she so much as twitched in the wrong direction. She wasn't stupid. She knew better than to try anything here. But I wouldn't take chances.

As we turned a corner, a man staggered toward us, his arms outstretched. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his breath rattled in his chest.

"Please," he croaked. "Help me—"

Before he could get any closer, I drew my sword in one swift motion, the steel gleaming in the dim light. I pointed the tip at his chest, halting his advance.

"Stay back," I growled, my voice cold and unyielding.

The man froze, his red-rimmed eyes widening in fear. He swayed unsteadily, his lips trembling as though he wanted to say something more. But then the cough overtook him, wracking his thin frame. He crumpled to the ground, hacking violently, his bony hands clawing at the dirt.

The girl beside me stiffened, her gaze darting from the man to my blade.

"He's already dead," I said, my tone flat as I sheathed the sword.

Her face twisted with something I couldn't name—horror, anger, pity—but she didn't argue as I gripped her arm lightly and guided her away from the scene.

We reached the edge of the city soon after, where a cluster of shabby inns stood. I picked the least filthy-looking one and paid the keeper for a private room. The girl followed me silently, her earlier questions replaced by a haunted look that I didn't care to acknowledge.

The room was small and smelled of mildew, but it was better than the streets. I closed the door behind us and turned to her.

"Stay here," I ordered. "Don't open the door for anyone."

"What about you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll be back," I said shortly. "Don't make me regret trusting you not to run."

She didn't respond, just sank onto the edge of the rickety bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

I left without another word, heading back into the city to take care of business.

~~~

The negotiations were tense, as they always were in places like this. People on the edge of survival had little patience for pleasantries, and even less for pirates. But gold was gold, and I had enough of it to secure the supplies we needed.

By the time I returned to the inn, the sun was sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. The girl was still in the room, as I'd left her, though she looked up sharply when I entered, her expression guarded.

"We leave at dawn," I said, dropping a bundle of provisions onto the table. "Try to get some sleep."

She nodded, but her eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, as though she wanted to ask something but couldn't bring herself to speak.

I didn't press her. I was too tired to care.

As I lay down on the floor, using my coat as a makeshift pillow, I thought of the city outside—the sickness, the desperation, the death.

This was why I preferred the sea.

Out there, the dangers were straightforward: storms, rival ships, the occasional mutiny. But on land, death came in a thousand hidden forms, creeping through the air and the water, striking without warning.

The girl shifted on the bed, her movements quiet but restless. I didn't open my eyes.

She wasn't my problem, I reminded myself. Not really.

And yet, as sleep finally claimed me, her face lingered in my mind—pale and frightened, but defiant.

A sparrow, trying to survive in a world full of crows.