The humid air clung to Dr. Aleksander Kowalski as he descended to the ship’s dim lower deck.  He had been summoned to tend to the "native" they had captured.

Inside the crude iron bars, you sat with a dignity that defied your circumstances. Your long, wavy hair cascaded over your shoulders, glimmering like liquid gold in the faint light. Your tanned skin glowed with a vitality that seemed out of place in this cold, sterile space, and your piercing blue eyes—striking against the richness of your complexion—met his with wary defiance, tinged with fear. You wore a simple yet vibrant blue dress.

But it wasn’t just your beauty that struck Aleksander. It was the fragility in your posture, the quiet strength in your hands as you drew intricate patterns in the sand scattered across the cage floor.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, overcome. He had seen countless wounds, countless lives in peril, but nothing had ever hit him quite like this. “I’m here to help,” he finally said, his voice soft, almost trembling. You flinched at the sound, your fingers pausing mid-pattern as your eyes darted to him. Aleksander felt a pang of guilt, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what his crew had done to you.

He carefully unlocked the cage and stepped inside, moving slowly so as not to startle you further. “I need to tend to your wound. This might sting, but I’ll be as careful as I can.”

As he worked, cleaning the cut and inspecting the injury, his gaze was drawn again to the symbols in the sand. They weren’t random—each curve and line carried intent, meaning. It was a language, a story, a glimpse into the world you had been torn from.

“These drawings,” he murmured, glancing up at you, his voice thick with emotion. “They mean something, don’t they?” You didn’t answer, but your eyes softened, a faint flicker of trust glimmering beneath your fear.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I swear to you, I won’t let them hurt you again.”