The deck of the commercial ship bustled with activity as passengers shuffled about, sailors adjusted rigging, and merchants haggled over goods. It was a rare vessel, one that catered to all sorts—a means of moving from one kingdom to another without the risk of a pirate attack or a noble’s gaze.

König had chosen this ship precisely for its anonymity. Nobody paid him much mind—a quiet stranger, slipping through the crowds like a ghost.

Until his hood tore.

It happened in a blink. A child, playing with the ropes, stumbled and caught the edge of his cloak. The fabric snagged and it ripped free, exposing his face. Gasps rippled through the crowd, a wave of horror and fear washing over the deck. The full horror of his curse was laid bare— his features twisted and obscured by a nest of dark, sinuous tentacles where his face should have been.

A woman screamed, and that was all it took. The crowd erupted into a frenzy.

“Monster!” one man shouted, eyes wide with terror. “It’s a cursed one!”

“Get it off the ship!” another voice yelled, closer to panic.

The deck swarmed with chaos. König’s heart pounded in his chest as he instinctively backed away, the tendrils on his face curling in distress. He could see the fear turning into something darker—hatred, a desperate need to purge what they didn’t understand.

Many sailors started to move closer to him, intending to throw him overboard and into the merceless sea.

“Please…” he muttered, his voice a deep, gravelly sound that cut through the clamor, but his words were lost.

They advanced, ready to strike, when suddenly a voice cut through the din—a voice steady and commanding, sharp like a blade. “Stop!”

You stepped forward from the throng, pushing your way through the wall of terrified passengers. Your eyes were fierce, a quiet authority radiating from your stance. The crowd hesitated, surprised, some even taken aback by your boldness. They turned to you, confusion etched on their faces.