The right-hand man of Davina Jones said his last words. His lips moved, but no sound emerged his voice was gone, stolen by the cannonballs that had torn through his body. Yet in his mind, he started to dream of old times.
He said to himself in his mind, his inner voice quiet, almost peaceful.
Oh, how good the world was. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest not the warmth of life, but the warmth of memory. This feeling... it's a sense of death.
He laughed a silent, broken laugh that only he could hear.
Hahaha.
Hahaha.
After all, he thought, what am I supposed to do in death if it is not to remember the past of what had been?
He smiled. Blood poured out from his mouth, his teeth already dyed red. But what could he care? A man only cares if he can see. If a man cannot see, he also does not care.
And so he did not care.
His memory went back, as far as the point where he met her.
FLASH.
The city near the sea was filled with bodies as they burned.
Flames licked at the sky, devouring wood and stone and flesh. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of death. The cries of the dying mixed with the crackle of fire a symphony of suffering that echoed through the streets.
He was young then his body not yet broken, his eyes not yet blind. He stood in the middle of the chaos, his hands shaking, his heart pounding, his will wavering.
He had been a soldier. A soldier of a nation that no longer existed. A soldier who had fought and lost and survived.
But he did not feel like a survivor.
He felt like a ghost.
A shadow of a man who had been left behind.
He heard a sound.
A cry not of pain, not of fear, but of defiance. It cut through the chaos like a blade, sharp and clear and alive.
He turned.
A girl stood among the bodies. She was young no more than twelve or thirteen her dark skin streaked with ash, her pink coat torn and bloodied. She held a broken blade in her hand, its edge chipped, its purpose unfinished.
She was fighting.
Not against a man, not against a monster against death itself. She stood among the burning bodies and refused to fall.
He moved toward her.
His feet carried him through the chaos, past the flames, past the corpses, past the everything that had been destroyed. He reached her just as a group of soldiers raiders, pillagers, murderers surrounded her.
They laughed.
"Look at this one!" One of them pointed. "A little girl with a broken blade!"
Another grinned. "She's pretty. We could have some fun before we
The girl moved.
Her broken blade cut through the air fast, precise, deadly. It found the grinning man's throat, splitting it open, spraying blood across the street.
He fell.
The others charged.
The girl fought her body twisting, her blade dancing, her will burning. She moved like a storm, like a hurricane, like a force of nature.
But there were too many.
They pressed her, overwhelmed her, brought her down.
He did not think.
He moved.
His body launched forward his blade cutting through a raider's back, his fist shattering another's jaw, his rage consuming him. He fought like a demon, like a monster, like a man who had nothing to lose.
They fell.
All of them.
He stood among the bodies, his breath heavy, his heart pounding, his hands trembling. The girl lay on the ground, her broken blade still in her hand, her eyes dark, fierce, alive fixed on his face.
She smiled.
"Who are you?"
He looked at her at the girl who had fought death itself and refused to fall and felt something shift in his chest.
"No one." His voice was rough, uncertain. "Just a ghost."
She laughed a short, sharp, defiant sound.
"Then I guess I'm a ghost too." She pushed herself up, brushing ash from her torn coat. "I'm Davina."
She held out her hand.
"What's your name?"
He took her hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers warm, alive, real and he felt something he had not felt in a long time.
Hope.
"Brody," he said. "My name is Brody."
She smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Brody." She looked at the burning city, at the bodies, at the destruction that surrounded them. "What do we do now?"
He looked at her at the girl who had fought death and won, who had defied the chaos and survived and made a decision.
"We survive," he said. "We survive and we fight and we never stop."
She nodded.
"Okay."
FLASH.
The memory faded.
Brody lay on the destroyed ship, his body broken, his blood pouring, his will fading. The warmth in his chest the warmth of memory was fading too.
He smiled.
His lips moved, barely a whisper.
"Goodbye, princess."
Brody's eyes closed.
And the sea roared.