Kaelith drew in the salty, heavy air of the port and strode toward Kuluzswka's massive ship. His steps involuntarily slowed as his eyes roamed over this imposing marvel of engineering anchored at the harbor. It was nothing like the clunky galleys of the South, dependent on human strength and the endless rhythm of rowing. Its hull was built from dark, treated wood, specifically curved as if to cleave right through the waves. There were no oar holes along its sides; instead, massive masts reached toward the sky, ready to swallow the wind like a monster's breath.
"Northerners," Kaelith thought to himself, a cynical smirk curling his lips. "They're definitely smarter than the Southerners. Look at this beast... You pocket the coin and provisions you'd otherwise waste on galley slaves. More cargo space, plus you only have to pay a wage to bloodthirsty mercenaries. It makes sense why this Kuluzswka guy's name has spread so fast. He didn't even deign to show up himself."
As he paced down the wooden pier and approached the ship's boarding ramp, a burly guard in worn but high-quality armor blocked his path. The tip of the man's spear tilted at a threatening angle toward Kaelith's chest.
"Hold it right there, stranger," the guard said, his voice deep enough to drown out the noise of the port. "This isn't some fairground for you to stroll through. We were paid shiny gold coin to guard this deck, so clear out."
Kaelith didn't even flinch. Maintaining that cold, indifferent expression on his face, he slowly reached into his cloak. From his pocket, he pulled out that small box—faintly glowing with ancient runes, emitting a purple resonance that made the surrounding air feel heavy. The magical energy seeping from the fine cracks on the box's lid wiped the stern expressions off the guards' faces in seconds. The men were entranced by the magic, their eyes wide. The guard holding the spear hesitantly lowered his weapon and stepped aside to let Kaelith pass.
"Ah, idiots..." Kaelith smiled inwardly as he slid the box back into his pocket. "How pathetic that you think I'm going to hand this over to your master."
The creaking of wood welcomed him as he stepped onto the ship. Following the stairs down below deck, he noticed the ship consisted of three main levels. The first level was the living quarters, where the damp smell of soldiers' sweat mingled with the stench of spilled liquor and cheap stew. Hammocks and crude wooden tables were scattered about. "Great, this is the hole I'll be staying in," he muttered to himself.
The level below was packed to the brim with cargo, massive barrels, and sealed crates. However, Kaelith's attention was drawn further down, to the clinking of chains and muffled groans coming from the darkest, bottommost deck. Slaves or criminals.
"The journey will take a week," he thought as he made his way toward one of the bunks. "There are no laws against the slave trade in the free city of Marituma. Kuluzswka must be gathering these innocents, or criminals, to sell them off there. It might serve me well to slip down to those prisoners and loosen their tongues while we're on the open sea."
With these plans in his mind, he lay down on the hard bed and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, his mind dragged him into a dark abyss.
But this time, those familiar, blurry silhouettes were absent. His mother and father's faces had faded. The person standing before him was himself; but a wilder Kaelith, his eyes bloodshot and his face twisted with hatred.
"Are you a fool, boy?" his reflection in the vision hissed. The voice echoed within his own mind. Before Kaelith could comprehend what was happening, his reflection grabbed him by the collar. "This morning you were saying you'd make the delivery! And now you're going to go down there and save those wretches?"
The reflection's raised fist came crashing down on Kaelith's jaw like a sledgehammer. The pain was so real that Kaelith could taste the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth within the nightmare.
"Drop these heroic fairytales already!" his reflection roared, its fingers locking around Kaelith's throat. "Those fairytales rotted beneath the earth three years ago, right alongside your crew! You need to be someone else now, you need to embrace the blood. And I... I will continue to control you."
The darkness shattered in an instant. Kaelith jolted up from his bed, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest, coughing as though he were suffocating. "Ugh! Cough What the hell was that?" A pain striking like lightning from his neck down to his heart stole his breath. He doubled over, coughing in agony toward the wooden floor. "Damn it... It hurts..."
Just then, a guard approached from the shadows. He held a wooden mug in his hand. "I can't give you clean water, stranger," the man said in a calm voice, "but take this. It'll burn your throat and bring you to your senses."
Kaelith took the mug with trembling hands.
"Name's İlker," the man said, sizing Kaelith up with assessing eyes. "You don't look too good. If you're sick, I have to report it to Captain Bojr. He doesn't want anyone plague-ridden on his ship; he might just toss you out in the middle of the sea instead of the next port."
Kaelith wiped the liquor from his lips with the back of his hand and let out a bitter laugh. "No, I'm fine. Just... nightmares. They haven't left me alone for the past three or four days. Maybe I should see a cleric, huh?"
İlker shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, heading toward the stairs leading up to the deck.
Kaelith buried his head in his hands and sat there for a while. The nightmares had begun to tear not just his mind apart, but his body too. He tried to sleep again, but the pig-like snoring of the other soldiers around him and the creaking of the floorboards only grated on his nerves. "Damned fools, how is a week going to pass in this noise?" Feeling suffocated, he stood up and went up to the deck, hoping to get some fresh air.
When the salty ocean breeze hit his face, he stared out at the dark waters, losing himself in the mesmerizing rhythm of the waves. The sound of the sea had cracked open yet another locked chest in his mind.
"Mother, Mother! Look what I can do!"
That sweet, affectionate voice echoed in his mind. "And what can my sweet boy do?"
The pure joy on little Kaelith's face grew even wider as he looked at the feeble fireball barely flickering to life between his palms. The pride in his mother's eyes would warm Kaelith's heart.
"Well done, my son... Your father knows how talented you are, too. Just ignore his cold demeanor."
The adult Kaelith on the deck swallowed bitterly as he stared into the darkness of the sea. "No, Mother," he whispered against the wind. "You're wrong."
The memories kept crashing over him, as if a dam in his mind had broken. Voices filled with terror mingled with the wind.
"Lord Eldrich! Lord Eldrich! Your son..."
"AHHH! ENOUGH!"
The scream that tore from Kaelith's throat drowned out even the roar of the ocean. He gripped his head tightly with his hands, practically entering a physical battle with his own mind to escape the bloody claws of the past.
Three guards keeping watch in the dead of night quickly approached him, their hands rushing to the hilts of their swords. "What's going on, brother? Pull yourself together, what are you yelling for in the dead of night?"
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Kaelith slowly turned to face them. He quickly hid that momentary vulnerability in his eyes behind his old, cold mask. "Sorry," he said, his voice raspy. "I was lost in thought... My mistake."
Under the suspicious gazes of the guards, he turned his back and headed for the stairs. With the hope of burying his entire past, his nightmares, and everything he had lost into the dark waters, he began to walk with heavy steps back toward his damp bed