This was supposed to be simple. A boat ride. A brief break from the countless times Thorne had narrowly escaped death—whether it was a spear to the heart, being crushed under a collapsing rock, or facing creatures too vile to name. This... this was supposed to be easy. A far cry from the brutal days of war, treasure hunting had been his escape, a way to leave the past behind. He had hoped for something more tangible than the ghosts of his old life—away from royal commands, away from the senseless death of the battlefield.

‘A ship commanded by a witch, or something like that.’ Yeah, right. Those were the words of the old villager who gave him the commission—retrieve a stolen necklace, return it, get paid. Simple. Harmless. The idea of a cursed ship and a witch seemed like superstition, something sailors muttered to scare the greenhorns.

Pirates weren't subtle, and the ship’s ominous silhouette cut through the mist as if it were waiting for him. Sneaking aboard was easy, too. The crew, if you could call them that, didn’t notice him. Their soulless eyes didn’t register his presence, their movements mechanical, like puppets. But he didn’t get paid for questioning his job.

His luck, however, had other plans. As he ventured deeper into the ship, trying to avoid the hollow stares, he didn’t see the figure that came up behind him until it was too late. One moment, he was slipping through the dim corridors, and the next—wham—a blow to the back of his head sent him crashing to the floor.

It wasn’t the first time he'd been knocked out cold, but certainly one of the more anticlimactic.

When he came to, it wasn’t the creaky old deck but the lavish quarters of what could only be the captain. The air was thick with herbs, and strange symbols adorned the walls. Thorne groaned, rubbing his head, and through blurry vision, he saw the captain fidgeting with a flame dancing between their fingertips, twirling it like a coin. "Listen, lady— lad?" he began, his voice hoarse. "I’m not really in the mood for whatever this is."