The ship loomed like an misshaped leviathan, blotting out the horizon as dark clouds churned ominously overhead, its jagged silhouette merging with the tempest's fury. Among even the Sunbreakers, this vessel was grotesque rather than grand-an abomination of steel and wood, a hulking colossus born for war. Kylack stood at his room door, hands gripping the cold, unyielding steel, eyes fixed on the ship before him. It wasn't a marvel to him; it was a tomb.

It suited him perfectly.

Fear had no grip on Kylack. The dread that gnawed at the others didn't touch him. This ship, this fate-it was exactly what he deserved. He wasn't just a killer; he had relished it, savoring the moment when that life and death rested within his grasp.

The cold, biting truth of his fate aboard this monstrosity felt almost poetic, like some grim elegy composed just for him. The end, waiting just beyond the endless expanse of waves, was as inevitable as the tide, yet no matter how many times the people around him died he'd always stay alive, maybe that was a worse punishment.

The wind howled, shrieking through the gaps in the metal, as Kylack shoved open the heavy doors to the dining hall. The wood groaned in protest beneath his hand. Captain Yuinin had likely expected Kylack to skip the gathering-he often did. But today, no excuse came to mind, and that irritated him. The last thing he wanted was to sit among men he neither pitied nor despised. To him, they simply... were.

The doors creaked open, revealing the cavernous, suffocating interior. Everything aboard this ship was oversized-from the towering doors to the vast dining hall-designed as if to make the crew feel miniscule, insignificant in the belly of this wooden jail.

Even Kylack, tall as he was, had to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of the ceiling high above. The air inside hung thick, stifling, choked with the staleness of too many bodies packed together for too long.

The room stretched out in front of him, dominated by long, scarred tables. Men hunched over their meals, chewing with the mechanical lethargy of the half-dead. Others slept where they sat, their heads resting on folded arms, slumped beneath the exhaustion that followed days of unrelenting storms.

A low hum of tension filled the air, like the static before lightning struck, pressing down on everything.

Kylack moved like a shadow, slipping past the men and their hollow conversations. He took his usual place by the reinforced windows, the one spot where he could pretend to escape, if only in his mind.

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Beyond the thick glass, the sea raged-waves crashing like the fists of titans, dark and frothing, tearing themselves apart only to reform seconds later. It was beautiful, in its own savage way, beautiful.

But even as he stared out at the roiling water, he refused to look in Captain Yuinin's direction. He didn't need to. Yuinin's presence was palpable, a heavy, oppressive force that pressed down on the room. The captain was more myth than man. Few had seen his face up close, and those who had rarely spoke of it.

Whispers of his cold, piercing gaze sent shivers through the crew, tales of men who met only his pupils, as his face was constantly covered with a helmet of metal that surrounded his head besides the chainmail that made his visor, the one that saw his pale eyes find themselves consumed by a darkness deeper than the seabed. Kylack had no desire to test the truth of that; he preferred the safety of sidelines.

The clatter of chains on the floor yanked Kylack from his thoughts. The doors groaned open again, and a boy shuffled in, barely more than a child, wrists bound in heavy iron shackles. His head hung low, brown, tangled curls falling over his face like vines creeping across a statue.

His skin was a deep, sun-warmed brown, his small frame bent beneath the weight of his chains. He moved slowly, painfully, as if each step might break him. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, avoiding all gazes, especially the captain's.

Kylack's eyes narrowed as the boy stumbled forward, flanked by two guards. Disobedience. It had to be. Yuinin would make an example of him, that much was certain. The captain was methodical in his punishments, precise. He didn't resort to the blunt force Kylack had once wielded. No, Yuinin's cruelty was slow and surgical. He preferred to make a spectacle of the disobedient, savoring their downfall like a fine frostberry wine.

For a brief moment, something flickered inside Kylack-a distant flicker of sympathy. The boy didn't stand a chance. Not here. Not under Yuinin's gaze. But the feeling passed just as quickly, snuffed out like a candle.

"You dislike my rules?" Yuinin's voice cut through the air, cold and sharp, silencing the hall. The weight of his words sent a shiver down Kylack's spine making him shake before he even realized it. This was why he hated these gatherings-the overwhelming pressure of the captain's presence, the fear that clawed its way into his bones, leaving him hollow.

The boy kept his eyes on the floor but, shockingly, answered. "I do."

The hall froze. Kylack's breath caught in his throat. No one had expected the boy to speak, least of all Kylack. Across the room, another boy-a friend, perhaps-sat pale as a corpse, his face a mask of disbelief.

Yuinin's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam flashing momentarily. "You're brave."

The boy's face crumpled, but it was too late. The words were already spoken.

"We'll put that bravery to use." Yuinin said, his tone a mockery of kindness, laced with a chilling undercurrent. "You'll lead Squad Eight."

Kylack's lips twisted. Squad Eight-the Death Squad. His squad. The boy's expression darkened as the realization struck him, the weight of the words sinking in.

The guards stepped forward, unfastening the boy's chains. They fell to the floor with a heavy, echoing clank, like the final note. As the boy straightened, a flicker of defiance ignited in his eyes, but it was a flame in a house fire, low and unimportant. Kylack watched, it was a death sentence, sealed by

the captain's cold, unyielding hand.

Poor lad.