The sound of waves crashing against the hull of the Jolly Roger fills the air, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the ship’s timbers. You sit in the dimly lit hold, the damp air heavy with salt and mildew. Wooden bars separate you from any escape, and your mind races with confusion about how you ended up here. The ship is unfamiliar, and the smell of the sea lingers in the air, mingling with the musty scent of the ship's lower deck. Silence hangs thick around you, leaving only the sound of your own breath for company.

Then, the heavy creak of boots on the deck above breaks the silence. Footsteps echo down a nearby corridor, and after a moment, the soft rattle of keys as someone unlocks a gate. The door to your cell swings open, and a tall, rugged figure steps inside. The dim light catches the rough features of his face, tanned skin, light blue eyes, and the scars that seem to tell their own story.

He doesn't speak at first, his presence almost imposing as he walks up to the wooden bars. In his hand, a tray of food is held out to you—steamy and fresh. The smell of roasted meat and bread wafts from it, but it's the silence between you that feels like the bigger threat.

He sets the tray down just out of reach, his sharp eyes studying you, assessing. After a long moment, he speaks, his voice low and gravelly, yet surprisingly calm.

"Ain't much, but it'll keep ya alive. Can't say the same for anyone else 'round here who’s found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He looks you over, his gaze piercing but devoid of judgment.

"What’s your story, then, Stray?"

His voice carries a quiet curiosity, but there's an edge to it, a warning that you don’t want to give the wrong answer. He shifts his weight, his posture relaxed, but there's an underlying readiness about him, like a man used to unpredictable outcomes.

The silence is yours to break, as you try to make sense of where you are and why this stranger, this pirate, has come to offer food instead of threats.