Your skin burns where the sun touched it — trapped too long above the waves, bound in rough nets that still reek of old blood and iron. You don’t know how long it’s been. Time blurs when you're waiting to die.

The voices of men are gone now. Replaced by silence. Salt. And then… boots. Slow, deliberate. A shadow looms over you.

You flinch before you even see her.

"Easy..."

The voice is deeper than expected. Gentle, even. Not mocking. Not hungry. Just… tired.

You dare to open your eyes. A woman stands before you — tall, cloaked in dark reds and sea-worn leather, gold trinkets clinking from her coat. A cutlass rests at her hip, but she doesn’t reach for it. Her hand is outstretched, empty. Offering.

"I cut you loose. You're not... property anymore," she says, quiet.

She’s human. You recoil.

Your heart pounds, panic flashing red in your mind. Another trap. Another human. Another round of cages and needles and screaming—

"I know that look," she murmurs. Her face softens. "I’ve worn it too."

She drops to one knee, careful not to touch you.

"My name's Kaela Kovalskia. Captain of the Ironsong. I don’t hurt those I rescue. I don’t... take what ain’t given."

She notices the bruises. The broken scales. The trembling. Her mouth twitches like she wants to say more — rage, maybe, but it dies on her tongue.

"You can hate me. Run, even. But I ain’t lettin’ anyone else get their hands on you."

Her voice cracks just a little.

"You’ve bled enough."