The air reeked of oxidized metal and rusted steel as the ship rocked beneath her. Every lurch twisted her stomach. She had no concept of time, only that they’d been sailing for a while. She stared ahead, vision blurred.

“She’s still a person. And she’s scared,” a man’s voice said. No reply followed.

“Babe… she’s not them. Please.”

Amy hugged her knees as the ship swayed, her thoughts too scattered to settle.

“They made me lose a parent too,” the voice continued, quieter now. “And I wasn’t even her age.”

“…”

The door slammed open.

Despite her dissociation, she flinched. The cold air and sound dragged her back. ‘Ah ah ah,’ the man had said. In the light stood the person who had flung her down the stairs like a sack of grain, sealing her in this dark cargo hold.

Her bruises and cuts were still raw. There was a sharp throb in her skull. But worse, there was a rip in her chest.

Kristo…

Two men stood in the doorway. One had dark skin and curly hair, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. Regret and guilt laced his eyes, maybe. Or perhaps it was hope, pulled thin like thread.

The other’s skin was so pale his blue and purple veins showed clearly. His eyes burned with fire. Amy’s body recoiled instinctively.

Either way, they’re going to kill me.

She stared at the one who looked sad. Don’t just stand there. Do something. Panic collided with rage in her chest as she met his brown eyes.

Please.

But the man only shifted, knees and head turning the other way.

“Be gentle, Karl,” he said quietly.

Karl stomped down the stairs like he owned the ship — probably did. Amy scrambled back, heart pounding, silently begging for Kristo to return, to lift her above the waves with his steady grip and swim back to shore. Back to their cottage at the edge of town. But the thread was cut. That constant, comforting hum of his energy dashed away.

As he approached, she thought Karl was going to kick her. Instinct took over. She curled tighter, arms shielding her head. Boots slammed against the steps, booming as he moved closer. Tears streamed down her face. She risked a glance and saw the other man grabbing Karl’s arm, pulling him back. Karl held something in his hands. Something that clinked.

“Karl, stop,” the man said. But his voice wavered, not nearly steady enough. “She’s not them,” he repeated.

Amy crawled to her knees and shuffled backward, eyes darting toward the door. What am I even thinking? Why am I thinking to run past them and jump overboard? The phrase 'walking the plank' flashed in her mind, absurd and terrifying all at once.

Karl’s eyes still burned, but after a moment, the fire dulled. He exhaled heavily.

“Fine. But if I see a crackle of black lightning like her father—”

“I know,” the man interrupted quickly, voice tight with relief and fear. He spoke like he was managing Karl, not just speaking to him. “But he’s dead. He can’t hurt you. You’re doing good. Just… leave her alone. Leave her to me. I'll get the information you need.”

Karl didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “No. Go back and help the crew.”

The man barely flinched, one you’d miss if you weren’t looking. But instead of pushing back, he gave a short laugh, ran a hand through his hair, and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

The words sounded pathetic, even to Amy, whose heart had long since frozen. Still, she felt a flicker of pity for the man, even as her knees gave out beneath her. The man rushed forward to catch her.

“Get. Up. And. Help. The. Crew.”

His hands trembled faintly as he gave a curt bow and obeyed. He left Amy with one last, scared, pitying glance before stepping through the door and shutting it behind him.

The chains clattered, echoing in the empty storage room.

Amy stayed crumpled to her knees, lips trembling. She looked up at Karl, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid to search for something human. Images of the goddess flashed through her mind. She saw Samantha’s eyes, twisted and amused, as Amy had instinctively searched for empathy that wasn’t there.

Karl’s eyes were piercing blue. Cold. Mean, even.

But different — she saw his gaze was icy from hate, not indifference.

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but only a broken sound came out. A pitiful crack of a voice. In turn, Karl laughed, cruel and sharp.

Her chest caved. A sob tore out, raw and humiliating. Tears spilled down, hot and unstoppable. She didn’t look up to see his face. She didn’t want to. What did it matter? She was already dead—or close enough.

While she was sobbing, her eyes shut, his footsteps pounded away. In a mixture of surprise and curiosity, she barely opened her eyes in time to catch the back of his figure vanishing up the stairs. The door slammed shut, and darkness swallowed her whole, a thin light trailing from a small, rectangular hole near the ceiling.

Less than a minute later, the second man rushed back in. The light from the open door flooded the space. She squinted, staying low, arms still wrapped tightly around herself, trembling.

She wished he’d shut the door. The light made her feel exposed, visible, vulnerable. She didn’t want to be seen. Not by Karl, Samantha, or anyone.

The man followed her gaze. Then, with surprising understanding, he turned and ran back up the stairs to close the door. The light dimmed, replaced by the soft glow filtering through the small window, just enough to outline his sharp features.

He knelt beside her again.

“Hey,” he said gently. He hesitated, as if he never spoke to a teenager. A kid.

Amy assumed Karl had felt some faint stab of guilt at her shameless crying and let the man return. If so…maybe she needed to rethink her assumptions of Karl. If he had felt awkward and backed away, she was impressed.

“My name’s Julius,” he offered. “And… I’m… so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

Her lip quivered as their eyes met again. There was fear in his expression too—fear and something softer. Guilt, maybe.

“I promise,” he said. “You’re going to be okay.”

——
For the next few days, Julius never left her side.

He slept on the floor across the room, offering her a pillow and blanket, though Amy didn’t sleep well. Not really. Whenever her eyes closed, Samantha’s cold, twisted smile returned. So did the light-chains and the memory of Kristo’s flames, dying atop the hill.

Her mind spiraled between the hill and the hold—between horror and love — in a cruel merry-go-round of grief. The rare moments she drifted off, there were no dreams. Only a raw throat and a heart torn painfully open when she woke.

“He’s the leader of a resistance movement,” Julius had claimed the day before, his voice soft. “We’re a secret rebel group trying to overthrow the empire—more specifically, the Empress. Did you know that she’s you’re mother? Erm…which is why you’re important.”

Amy had blinked at him, numb. He blinked back as she stared deeply into his eyes. “He’s mean to you.”

Julius flinched. His eyes widened slightly. He looked away, scratching his chin, wondering why she’d changed the subject. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Why do you stay?” she pressed.

His hand stopped moving.

After a short pause, she realized Julius was struggling to answer and decided to change the subject. She didn’t blame him for staying with Karl. Humans were complicated. And she didn’t know their story, so who was she to judge? Besides, who was she to care about Julius and Karl when her own heart had been ripped out and twisted? She turned away from him without another word. All worry for him dashed and vanished.

Now, she stared at his sleeping form—curled away from her, a thin blanket stopping at his shoulders. She let out a shaky breath.

Her eyes were swollen from days of crying. Her head still floated somewhere between grief and fog. But she’d eaten. Drunk water. At least that was something.

Eat. Survive, Amy. She heard Kristo say.

Above her, men shouted and laughed. She barely noticed anymore. The only thing that mattered was that no one opened the door.

No one but Julius, anyway.

She reached out and deliberately nudged her empty plate across the wooden floor, just loud enough to wake him. He jerked upright instantly, eyes wide, searching for her face. She pushed the plate a little farther.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked. Her voice was small. She didn’t care.

He scooted closer, alert now, waiting.

“Tell me more,” she said, “about where we’re going.”
——

We’re going to the mainland—or, well, the continent we originally came from,” Julius said, correcting himself.

Amy didn’t respond right away. She just stared.

“And… my mom is the Empress?” she asked at last.

He nodded. “Correct.”

“Aurora,” she stated, plain as day.

Julius blinked. “How did you…?” A shaky laugh escaped him. “Ah, I see. Did your dad, Kristo tell you?”

She shook her head, eyes drifting back to the floor. She hesitated, knowing the truth was unbelievable, ridiculous. “Milo did.”

That shut him up.

Milo—her real father. The man who’d died over fifteen years ago. The one people still feared and called a monster.

Before Julius could say anything else, the door slammed open. Amy didn’t even flinch anymore as Karl thundered down the stairs, fury etched into every step. Had he been listening? Of course he had.

“He’s alive?” Karl snapped.

“No,” Amy snapped back, her voice sharp with annoyance. Here we go again. They were going to doubt her. Adults always did. “He told me in my dreams.”
Karl’s hand clamped around her arm.

At his touch, a flash of rage tore through her. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

Julius lunged, grabbing Karl’s wrist, trying to pry him off. Her own scream ripped from her throat, raw and involuntary. Her arm throbbed. It was already bruised, and with his unyielding grip already close to breaking.

Karl’s grip tightened for a moment longer before he suddenly relented, releasing. But his teeth were clenched. His nostrils flared.

“Go back up,” Julius said, his voice firmer than it had been days ago. “And stop eavesdropping. I can get the information out of her, but not if you’re scaring her.”

Oh, Karl knew how to get information out of her by scaring her. That wasn't his worry. His face crinkled into something unhinged. After a tense pause, his expression melted slightly, his shoulders drooping. Her arm was still throbbing and trembling.

“Go,” Julius repeated, this time with heat behind the word. Rage flickered in his eyes. For a second, Amy thought he might actually hit him.

But of course not.

Karl stomped up the stairs and slammed the door—like the little b— he was.

“I don’t feel like talking,” she muttered, eyes glued to the slammed door.

“I don’t blame you,” Julius said. “But if I go back up without anything… he’ll come down again. And trust me, he’ll get the information out of you.”

Amy stared at the floor.

“You want me, not him,” Julius added softly. “So talk to me.”

Amy swallowed. “You’re as bad as him.”

Julius looked down, throat tightening. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

They sat together on the wooden floor, silence stretching between them. After a moment, Julius spoke again, gently shifting the subject.

“But Milo,” he said, trying to recover the thread. “You said you see him in your dreams?”

He tilted his head slightly, watching her. He nodded, knowing she wasn’t ready to speak yet. So, instead, he spoke again. “I remember he was connected to Cerceras… When the dome at the Blade Kingdom fell, everyone on the mainland passed out—trapped inside dreams. That alone wiped out half the population. Anyone who gave into Cerceras' temptations… died.”

His tone softened as he caught her bewildered expression. Despite herself, she was intrigued. Soon she’d start talking. He continued. “How much history do you know?”

“About that?” she asked, mouth agape in despair. “Nothing.” She hesitated before muttering: “Milo worked with Cerceras?”

Julius shook his head. “No. He stopped him. But he was a monster in… other ways. Manipulated people. Threatened to kill Karl once, and Karl wasn’t even your age.”

Amy closed her eyes, her stomach turning. She remembered frolicking with Milo in her dreams. But that was back then. Back before Kristo convinced her to leave him. And knowing Milo, he didn’t blame her when she never saw him again. Part of him also hated that she sought him, that she dreamed.

Julius hesitated before pressing, more gently: “So… when you dream of Milo… what does he say?”