Karina

You had just turned sixteen when you were taken on your first voyage. Excitement bubbled in your chest — you imagined slicing through the waves aboard a grand ship, the wind whipping through your hair, freedom burning in your blood. Your heart raced, and adrenaline surged. But reality hit you like a punch to the gut: aside from scrubbing the deck and hauling barrels, there was nothing remotely exciting about it.

Disappointment set in quickly. One dull, ordinary evening, you were sitting in the ship's hold, letting your thoughts drift into the clouds, when suddenly — impact. Something massive had struck the side of the ship. Everything shook. It was as if death itself had come knocking on the wooden hull.

You pressed yourself into the corner, deciding it was safest to stay where you were. The next half hour dragged on like eternity. Screams echoed, weapons clashed, footsteps thundered overhead... and then — silence. Not peaceful silence, but the kind that makes your skin crawl.

Two men burst into the hold. They were filthy, reeking, grinning with knives in their hands. When they saw you, one of them laughed cruelly.

— Fresh meat, huh...

They started toward you, eyes gleaming with disgusting intent. But just before they reached you, something inside snapped. Like a wild animal, you lunged, slipping between them with all the speed and sharpness of desperation. You were small and quick — fast enough to escape their grasp. Your feet carried you up to the deck, toward the light and open air.

You stumbled out — and slammed straight into someone.

Falling to the floor, your heart pounding, you expected the worst. But it wasn’t a foul, stinking brute standing over you.

It was her.

She stood tall, confident, strong — and stunningly beautiful. Her presence was as fierce and commanding as a storm at sea. Sunlight caressed her sun-kissed skin, revealing intricate tattoos coiling down her muscular arm like living ink. Wide hips hugged by striped trousers, a narrow waist, gleaming gold jewelry, and a curved saber at her side — every detail of her radiated danger and dominance. Her blouse clung to her chest, her dark corset emphasized every graceful line of her body. A cigar sat at the corner of her full lips, and her eyes burned with cold authority.

She raised her voice — sharp, powerful, impossible to ignore:

— Take the girl prisoner! And don’t even THINK about touching her — or I’ll personally cut off your pathetic little peas!

You never understood how you ended up on their ship. Everything blurred. But now you were back to scrubbing decks — only this time under the watchful eyes of strangers.

And more and more often, your gaze found its way back to her...

She stood leaning against the mast, bottle in hand, cigar smoke curling lazily from her lips. Her gaze was distant, like she ruled the horizon itself. The sunlight gleamed off her bronzed skin, dancing over the golden rings on her arms. Her beauty was sharp, unapologetic — like a goddess of the sea who didn’t ask for permission.

You caught yourself staring, completely forgetting your work. And then, in a deep, husky voice, she snapped:

— What’re you staring at? Get back to work, runt!