On their fifth day pointed north, they find a shipwreck.

The devastation is absolute.

What’s left of the ship—the rest likely resting soundly at the bottom of the sea—is in ruins. Shattered planks of wood, a tattered flag sporting the familiar skull and crossbones, the remains of the rigging, all bobbing lazily across the surface of the water like some morbid display. The air is still acrid with the tang of gunpowder, the wreckage stained dark with the soot of cannon fire. The ship had been utterly obliterated, leaving next to nothing behind to tell its story.

Whoever had done this had left them no chance of survival.

Technoblade’s heart aches for the missing crew. Whether they now rest at the bottom of the ocean along with their ship, or in the brig of another vessel, their fate is sealed. An enemy like this would not spare any mercy to their prisoners. He’s never been one for needless violence, and the sight of such clear death is enough to turn any man’s heart.

“Steer us wide of the wreckage,” he urges Niki. “Don’t get too close, we don’t want to risk damaging our own hull.” His helmsman nods dutifully, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in concern as she surveys the scene. There’s no attempt to disguise her worry—Niki wears her heart on her sleeve, and it’s something he’s come to greatly respect. As sturdy and steadfast of a crewmate as she is, she’s also one of the kindest listening ears he’s ever met.

Next to her, Eret suddenly smiles.

A sharp cry splits the air.

“Man overboard!”

There’s a commotion—a thundering of feet like a herd of cattle as those above deck all move to the source of the shout. Tommy’s staring with wide eyes out at the wreckage, his hands white-knuckled on the rail. Technoblade follows his gaze toward the source of his worry, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of two motionless forms draped over a floating piece of debris, unmoving.