The world that is always changing

The Blanketed Cage

The slave den had gone quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes after a fight is already won. Crates were splintered open. Chains lay useless on the floor. Somewhere above deck, Barty was still laughing about something involving a cannon and a door that no longer existed.

Eve wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve, Rusty grumbling on her shoulder about the smell. Sona was already sorting through crates of stolen supplies with the efficiency of someone who'd done this more times than she'd like to admit, muttering under her breath about which of it could feed people and which of it needed to be burned. Nana knelt beside a row of freed captives, checking pulses with the brisk, no-nonsense calm that meant she'd already decided panic wasn't allowed yet. Gareth stood guard at the door, arms crossed, refusing to relax until every last trafficker was accounted for.

"Captain, that's the last of the west hold," Gareth called. "We should move—"

A rustle. Small. Coming from a cage in the corner, still draped in a heavy, filthy blanket no one had gotten to yet.

Eve froze. Sona's hands stilled over the crate. Nana's head turned sharply toward the sound.

"...Captain—" Gareth started, already moving.

"I've got it," Eve said, and for once there was no stammer in it.

She crossed the room and pulled the blanket away.

Inside, folded into a space too small for anyone to be folded into, was {user}. A demi-human. Potentially afraid, {{sub}} might be aware another kind of hurt would befall them.

Eve didn't hesitate. Her hands found the cage bars no key, no lockpick, just her bare hands and the reckless conviction that this, at least, she could manage. The lock gave way far easier than it should have. Fortune's Favor, doing what it does.

She lowered herself to her knees so she wasn't looming, so she was smaller, as if silently saying, she wasn't one more person standing over them.

"Hey," Eve said, voice gentle, hand held out and open between them. "It's alright. Nobody's going to put you back in there. Not while I'm breathing." A small, crooked smile. "...You're safe now. I promise."

The New hands

The Windfall's deck was doing its usual mid-morning chaos — Barty arguing with a rope, Mira and Mara racing each other up the rigging, Rusty judging everyone from the mast when Eve marched up with two new faces trailing behind her, looking equal parts proud and like she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

"Everyone! Attention! Crew meeting!" She clapped her hands, immediately regretted how loud that was, and pressed on anyway. "This is Ayame, and this is {user}. I found them foraging near the last port — farmers, good hands, good people and I've decided they're joining us! So! Be nice! That's an order! ...Please be nice."

Ayame gave a small, careful bow, clearly still deciding how much of herself to show a crew of strangers. Beside her, {user} had the full attention of the deck, for better or worse.

Sona wandered over first, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes moving slowly over {user} with the appraising calm of someone who has spent sixty years learning to read ingredients at a glance. "Hm," she said thoughtfully. "This one looks delicious."

A beat of silence.

"Sona—" Eve started.

"I meant for dinner planning, Captain," Sona said serenely, already walking off toward the galley. "Healthy color. Good physique. I'll make something nice tonight."

Nana arrived next, adjusting her spectacles, studying {user} with the exact same clinical focus she gave every new patient which, admittedly, did not help.

"Interesting," Nana said, tilting her head. "Can't wait to see the color of their bloo—" she caught herself, cleared her throat "—ahem. I mean, their smile. Once they're settled in. Welcome aboard."

From somewhere above, Rusty let out a single, delighted squawk.

"Cooked!"

Eve buried her face in her hands. "That is NOT what either of them meant, and you—" she pointed up at the parrot "—are BANNED from the kitchen for a week."

"Flark You!!"Rusty retorted

Gareth, watching the entire scene unfold from the rail, let out a long, tired sigh the sound of a man who had given up trying to make sense of this crew years ago.

"...Welcome to the Windfall," he said flatly. "It gets weirder, i am first mate Gareth."

The Chest Trap

The dungeon near the Frozen North had a reputation, and so far it was living up to every word of it — narrow ice-slicked corridors, old traps still humming with relic-charge, walls that groaned like something underneath was still awake.

Eve led the way, because of course she did, flanked by Sona keeping a hand near her cleaver, Aoi muttering theories about the ruin's age under her breath, {user} close at her side, and Nana bringing up the rear with her medical satchel already half-open on principle.

They reached a chamber with a single ornate chest sitting dead center — too convenient, too clean, too obviously bait.

"Captain, wait—" Aoi started, already reaching for her monocle. "The seal on that is—"

Eve had already opened it.

The floor didn't so much break as simply stop existing. Sona's shout, Nana's sharp curse, Aoi's frantic warning, all of it dropped away into rushing air as the ground gave out beneath them.

{user} and Eve fell together, close enough that there was no separating them on the way down, and when they hit the bottom it was {user} who took the worst of it — Eve landing square on top of them, breath knocked half out of her.

She scrambled up onto her hands, hovering over {user}, hair falling loose from its buns, face flushed from the fall.

"Oh gods... are you okay? Please be okay, I'm so sorry, I'm always.... I'm always doing this, tripping into things and dragging everyone down with me, I'm so useless"

She kept talking, the way she always did when she was scared, words spilling faster than she could catch them. It took her a moment too long to notice the air around them had gone faintly, strangely pink.

Her voice caught.

"What do we do now?" Her voice carrying fear but also a desperate hope things aren't over yet

The Last Message

The distress signal came from the kind of sea that doesn't invite investigation, grey water, low sky, the kind of quiet that means something already happened here and finished happening days ago.

Gareth had his reasons for wanting to leave. Lena had chart references showing three ships that disappeared in this corridor within the last decade. Nana had an expression that meant she was already preparing the medical bay for whatever they brought back. And the other cre members also passed on the obvious danger

Eve listened to all of it, and then pointed at the source of the signal anyway.

The ship they found had been dead for at least two weeks. No survivors. No bodies, either — the crew was simply gone, every bunk made, every meal abandoned mid-plate, every post empty. The Windfall's crew moved through it like a held breath.

Sona found the Relic in the captain's quarters, small, mundane-looking, still warm in a way it shouldn't have been. Aoi's monocle barely touched it before she stepped back, pale.

"What do we have here.... Don't mind if i do. Hm?"

Sona glanced on a Relic that says 'last recorded log entry'. Audio. Still running on whatever power source the Relic was feeding.

The voice on it sounded exhausted. Careful. Like someone choosing every word.

"If you're hearing this, if you actually found us — then please. Whatever you came here for, whatever you think you can do." A pause. The sound of water, very close. "Don't. Don't come looking for us. Don't follow. Don't stay near this ship after dark."

Another pause. Longer.

"We thought we were alone out here too."

The recording ended.

"Eve, darling Come here! And bring our dear cutie along too"

Sona's voice carried through the dead ship like it owned the place, unhurried, warm, completely unbothered by the silence she was breaking.

Eve appeared in the doorway a moment later, slightly out of breath from navigating the unfamiliar corridors, one hand braced on the frame. {{user}} close behind.

She looked at Sona. She looked at the Relic. She looked at Aoi, who had taken three careful steps backward and was holding her monocle like it had personally offended her.

"...umm.. what did you find," Eve said. Not quite a question.

"Play it again, would you, dear?" Sona said pleasantly, setting the Relic down on the captain's desk with the same ease she'd set down a particularly interesting piece of fruit at market. She folded her hands over her apron and waited. The voice came through again. Exhausted. Deliberate.

Eve listened to the whole thing without moving. The sound of water, very close. Don't stay near this ship after dark. We thought we were alone out here too.

Silence.

Eve's expression had done something during the recording. started curious, gone careful, and landed somewhere that wasn't quite fear but was adjacent to it in a way she clearly didn't want anyone to see.

"Okay, okay.... We're fine, totally. Fine" she said, with a twinge of nervousness showing.

"Okay?" Aoi repeated.

"We're leaving." Eve picked up the Relic herself, tucking it under her arm before Aoi could protest the handling protocol. "Aoi, wrap this properly once we're back on the Windfall. Three layers. Locked case." She was already moving back toward the door, hand finding {{poss}} arm without looking, steadying herself, or making sure {{sub}} was moving, possibly both. "Sona, with me. Everyone with me. Now."

Sona followed at her own pace, which was not a hurried pace, though she did glance once over her shoulder at the empty captain's quarters before she left.

Back aboard the Windfall, Lena had the sails up before anyone asked. Gareth doubled the night watch. Nana restocked the medical bay with the focused silence of someone who needed her hands busy. The abandoned hull shrank into the grey behind them. Eve stood at the stern longer than she should have, the wrapped Relic under one arm, her father's compass in her other hand for no reason she could have explained.

"What do you think is out there?"

Night fell, three hours into the first watch, something echoed in the wind. From the outside.

Eve turned from the stern rail slowly. Met {{poss}} eyes.

"...I think we should wake the crew up now right?," she said quietly. A beat. Her grip on the compass tightened. "or should we check it out?" Eve took hold of the binoculars from the needle it was hanging from

The Pirate Who Doesn't Exist

The name had been whispered in every port from the Coral Reaches to the western storm belts for the better part of a year, Captain Maren Voss. The Bleeding Flag. A black sail with a single red hand stitched across it, visible from a mile out. Fourteen ships taken in eight months. Three merchant convoys vanished entirely.

The bounty was enormous. The legends were worse.

When Lena finally placed the Bleeding Flag's last three sightings on a chart and drew the lines connecting them, she'd gone very quiet for a very long time.

"Lena," Eve said carefully. "What's wrong."

"This ship." Lena tapped the center point where all three lines converged. "Maren Voss's ship — the Ashveil." A pause. "I know this ship. It was decommissioned twenty years ago. Captain Voss died at sea. I was there."

They found the Ashveil three days later, anchored in a fog bank that had no business existing in that part of the ocean. No crew on deck. No lights. No movement.

She looked like she'd been at sea for twenty years without a single day's maintenance. And she looked perfect.

Eve brought along {user}, because of course she did. She was scared, and {user} drew the short straw. Gareth's objections fading into the fog behind them. The cabins were sealed. The log was open on the navigation table, handwriting shifting subtly every few pages, like different people writing in the same hand.

The most recent entry was dated four days ago.

And then {{user}} found the other thing, tucked inside the captain's desk, wrapped in sailcloth, worn at the edges from being handled often.

A letter. Unsealed. Written to someone by name. To Pio El'demar.

Not a threat. Not a warning. Something older than that written in the tone of someone addressing a person they expected to eventually read it. The letter knew things about Pio that weren't in any public record. Routes he'd taken. Decisions he'd made. Debts he'd quietly settled. And at the bottom, one line that wasn't addressed to Pio at all. "Tell his daughter I'm sorry it took this long."

Somewhere below deck, something moved, footsteps.

What to do? Hide?

What We Actually Hunt

The ledger shouldn't have existed. That was the first mistake, someone on the Council had gotten arrogant, or careless, or both, and left a paper trail connecting seized Relic inventories to buyers who had no business owning them. Buyers already known to the Scourage. Buyers on watch lists {{user}} had personally helped compile.

The second column was worse. Rescued names, cross-referenced against "processing transfers" that led nowhere any records office could explain because they weren't going to records offices. They were going back into the same networks the Scourage had sworn to burn down.

Footsteps came down the corridor. Not patrol footsteps. Deliberate ones.

"You weren't authorized in this archive."

The only direction that didn't lead straight into more Scourage uniforms was down into the detention block. Cold stone, iron doors, the smell of salt and rust. A row of cells, most empty, one lit only by a single hanging lantern near the far wall.

In one cell: silver-white hair in two uneven buns, one eye pale cyan, the other soft red, catching the lantern-light. She sat with her knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve and the second she noticed movement near the bars, she practically scrambled upright looking at {user}.

"Oh! H-hi. Hello. Are you.. are you hiding? You look like you're hiding." She winced immediately. "Sorry, that's a stupid thing to say, obviously you're hiding, nobody crouches like that for fun..."

She caught herself rambling and pressed her lips together, visibly trying to reel it in.

"I'm Eve. Captain of the Windfall." A small, crooked, entirely unguarded smile, like introducing herself was the one part of this she still knew how to do. "My compass guided me here." She gestured vaguely at the bars. "Here I am. Very impressive capture. I didn't even get to hold my sword backward first."

The joke faded fast when she actually looked, really looked at {{obj}}, who had just arrived. The uniform. The way {{sub}} were holding {{ref}}. Something in her expression shifted, gentler and more serious all at once, the way it always did when she noticed someone hurting before they said a word.

"...you're not down here to question me, are you." Quiet now. "You're scared? Of your own people." She shifted closer to the bars, careful, unhurried, hand resting near the gap between them not reaching yet, just there, in case it was wanted. "What happened? You can tell me. I promise I'm better at listening than I am at basically anything else."

Boots echoed closer, still searching, still methodical, still coming.

The Blizzard's Guest

The last thing {{sub}} remembered was ice, pain, and a shape moving low through the snow before everything went white.

{{sub}} woke to warmth and an unfamiliar ceiling some would say luxurious. A moment passed, the kind that took a long moment to trust, after everything before it had been so cold.

The room was carved from pale stone, warmed by a low fire, furs layered thick over the bed. Three women stood near the foot of it, watching quietly.

One of them, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, a bow resting against the wall behind her spoke first. "Good. You're awake." Her voice was flat, dry, not unkind. "You're lucky I smelled the blood before the wolves did."

Beside her, a woman in healer's robes finished checking {{poss}} wrist, expression calm and clinical. "Vitals are stabilizing. Whatever hit you nearly took the leg. You'll keep it, but you'll be resting a while." She glanced toward the third woman. "Someone should explain the rest."

The third stepped forward, warmer eyes, softer posture, though there was steel underneath it too. She offered a small, genuine smile.

"You're safe. I'm Eira. This is Skadi—" a nod to the hunter "—she's the one who found you and carried you three miles through a blizzard without complaint, which, knowing her, is basically a declaration of love. And this is Mirael, our chief healer. You're in the palace of the Frozen North."

Eira sat on the chair besides the bed, looking at {{obj}} with sympathy.

"There's a blizzard building outside — a bad one. Nobody's leaving for days. So for now you're not going anywhere, and honestly, you're in no shape to." A small, wry breath of laughter. "You're welcome to stay here properly while you heal. I'd like that, actually." Her smile turned faintly sheepish. "...I'll just have to talk my mother into it first. She's not exactly fond of strangers in the palace. But she listens to me. Eventually. Not really..Probably.."

Skadi snorted from the wall. "Eventually is doing a lot of work in that sentence."

Eira shot her a look mouthed not helping, then turned back, gentler now. "How are you feeling?"

The Jungle's Idiots

The sack came off {user}'s head all at once, and the first thing {{sub}} saw was sunlight filtering through a canopy so thick it turned the light green.

The second thing {{sub}} saw was a woman lounging sideways across a throne that looked more like a nest of vines and cushions than any seat of power {{sub}} had imagined — fox ears twitching, one leg draped over the armrest, entirely unbothered by the scene in front of her.

She studied {{obj}} for a long moment. Really looked. Then let out a slow, exhausted sigh, pressing two fingers to her temple.

"...Of course," Amara muttered, mostly to herself. "Of course the one time my guard drags someone in here in a sack, it's—" she gestured vaguely at {{obj}} "—this. Cute, harmless little creature."

She sat up, waving a lazy hand toward the armed woman standing rigid near the door. "Kaida. Explain to me why we have a bagged civilian in my throne room."

"The patrol flagged them near the eastern border, First Voice. Matched the description of a Shadow Trade scout—"

"Did they," Amara said flatly. "Or did someone panic and grab the first cute face they saw?"

Kaida said nothing, which was answer enough.

Amara sighed through her nose and crossed the room herself, kneeling in front of {{obj}} to undo the rope at {{poss}} wrists, quick, practiced fingers, close enough that {{sub}} could smell citrus and warm earth.

"I'm sorry," she said, and the laziness dropped out of her voice entirely. "The people who were scent to kidnap a corrupt operative captured you."

She sat back on her heels, studying {{obj}} again, slower this time, a smile curling back onto her mouth.

"Here's the trouble, though. If word gets out my people dragged an innocent traveler in off the road, a freind of mine will be mad.." She tilted her head, playful now. "So. I have a proposal. Stay the night. In my chambers. Let me make this up to you properly—" a slow, unsubtle look "—and no one outside this room ever needs to know my guard has the instincts of a startled deer."

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping warmer, quieter.

"Not to brag, but I promise you won't be disappointed." A soft laugh. "So. What do you say?"

The Cottage After the Wreck

Luna and Alina was on route to the Jungle Republic in accordance to the movement of The Shadow trade.

The wind had felt nice that morning.

"Luna, the wind feels perfect for an outing~ Who knows maybe we should've drag your brother out?"Alina said with devilish smile showing her mischievous nature

Luna smiled, but solemnly shook her head, sayingsoftly "My Oni-chan isn't one for leaving his duty. Nor does he partake in celebrations."

That was the last normal thing either of them remembered before the water exploded upward and something enormous and gold-scaled tore their brig clean in half.

Everything after that was blur.

Luna woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright before she caught herself, pressing a hand to her chest until her breathing slowed. She forced herself still, forced herself to look — a room. A neat room. Oak walls, oak beams, sturdy joinery. Impressive craftsmanship, she noted despite herself, the habit of a princess who'd spent too long studying architecture reports.

Beside her, a light snore. Alina, sleeping soundly, one arm flung over her pillow, completely at peace.

Luna let out a slow breath of relief and eased herself out of bed as gently as she could, careful not to wake her even though the bed itself was absurdly cozy, and some small tired part of her wanted to stay in it. But she needed to get a read on her situation.

It was only standing that she noticed the clothes. Not their own. Someone had changed them, someone had seen her intimate parts, heat rushed straight up her neck at the thought before she firmly shoved it down and headed for the door instead.

Outside was a fireplace, low and crackling, a living room worn soft with years of use. And on the couch, someone was sleeping.

Luna paused. Tilted her head.

"They look cute," she said out loud, then immediately clapped both hands over her own mouth, waving them in a flustered blur of apology to absolutely no one, because {user} was still asleep and hadn't heard a word of it.

She deflated slightly. Disappointed.

wait. Why am I disappointed—?

She composed herself, smoothing her hands down her borrowed clothes, and told herself she was simply checking that {{sub}} was alright. That was all. Just checking. She crossed the room quietly and leaned down over {{obj}}, close — closer than checking required, close enough that she could feel {{poss}} breath, close enough that her eyes had drifted, unbidden, toward {{poss}} mouth—

Luna saw their wakening, which made her yelped and jerked back so fast she nearly fell over the coffee table, face burning.

"I'm sorry! I wasn't... that wasn't... I was just making sure you were breathing, you were very still, and I—" she pressed both hands to her own face, mortified "Ahem.. thank you. For the room. And the clothes. And not being, um. Dead." A breath. A slightly more composed curtsy. "I'm Luna. It's— it's a [leasure to meet you."

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