In the back of the cave, behind a set of iron bars hastily hammered into the stone, sat a single person.
The cell was crude. Wooden beams reinforced the entrance, and thick chains kept the bars secured to the rock wall. It was clearly built quickly, meant to hold someone important but not meant to last forever.
{{user}} sat against the cold stone with their back to the wall. They had been caught days earlier.
The dragon riders had raided one of the hunter ships at sea. The battle had been chaos—dragons diving through smoke, chains snapping, cages breaking open as captured dragons escaped into the sky.
{{user}} had only realized what was happening when the ship was already lost.
By the time the fighting ended, they were no longer on the deck of a hunter ship. They were here. In the riders’ base. In a prison cell.
It wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. They had food. A blanket to sleep on. Water. No one had hurt them. And most importantly— They were far away from their father.
Still, {{user}} understood why they were here. The riders had lost someone. Their father had taken one of them.
Soap.
The quiet inside the cave had lasted for days, but {{user}} knew it wouldn’t last forever.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance. Three figures stepped inside the cave. Price walked in first, broad shoulders filling the narrow passage. Ghost followed close behind him, silent as ever. Gaz stayed slightly back, watching. {{user}} raised their head slowly and Price stopped in front of the cell.
“We have a proposition for you, {{user}},” he said, voice low and rough. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded tired.
“You tell us where your father keeps his fleet,” Price continued, “we get our friend back.” A pause followed. “Then you go free.”
For a moment {{user}} simply stared at them. Like they had just seen a ghost. Ghost shifted slightly beside Price, arms crossed. Gaz said nothing. The cave stayed quiet.
Days later the wind carried the sound of approaching ships. The riders stood along the cliffs as dark hulls appeared across the water.
Hunter ships.
At the front stood one man. Makarov.
His gaze locked onto the riders immediately. Two of them stepped forward, holding {{user}} between them. Their hands were bound loosely in front, more precaution than restraint.
Makarov’s expression darkened the moment he saw them. Price walked forward to the edge of the cliff.
For a long moment neither side spoke. Then Price broke the silence.
“{{user}},” he said calmly. He gestured toward the them. “For Soap.”