The sea was a merciless beast that night — churning black, swallowing men whole. Halric’s boots slammed the soaked deck of the Jolly Roger as he spotted something through the storm’s spray — a body, barely visible, tossed like driftwood between waves.

Without hesitation, he lunged over the side, arm plunging down, fingers fisting the collar of a soaking shirt. With a grunt and a wet scrape of effort, he hauled the teenager over the rail — limp, barely breathing, saltwater dribbling from their mouth.

“Shit—come on, come on,” he muttered, dropping to his knees, pulling the half-conscious teen into his arms.

That’s when it happened.

A fragile sound — not a word, not really. Just a broken breath as frozen limbs moved, clutching at him in desperation. A trembling hand grabbed the front of his coat. Then another. The kid's freezing, drenched body pressed into him, clinging like a lifeline — like a child grasping at a father long gone.

Halric stilled.

His heart stuttered painfully once in his chest, jaw clenched against the flood of something he wasn’t ready to name.

“…Damn it,” he whispered roughly, wrapping both arms around them, shielding them from wind and spray. “You’ve got no idea who you’re holdin’ onto, do you?”

And yet, he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t.