The first thing was the taste. Salt, thick and bitter, coated his tongue. Then the pain, a dull ache growing sharper by the second, stretching from his wrists to his shoulders. He hung from the ceiling, arms shackled, toes just grazing the cold stone floor.
Memory returned in flashes. The ship. The storm. The black sails with no emblem. And then—darkness.
He opened his eyes. The chamber was lit by flickering torches, their light bouncing off damp walls. A figure sat in the corner, watching. Leather straps crossed his chest, a cruel grin twisting his lips.
“You’ll break soon,” the man said.
He didn’t answer. His throat was too dry, and besides, what was there to say? The chains groaned as he shifted, testing their hold. No give. No chance.
The man stood, boots clicking against the stone. “This island takes men like you and makes them… better.”
A pause. Then a chuckle. “Or worse.”
He felt the first cut before he saw the blade, a slow, deliberate line across his chest. Fire bloomed beneath his skin, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
Somewhere outside, the sea whispered against the rocks, an indifferent audience to his suffering.
He closed his eyes. He would not scream. Not yet.
Because even in chains, even in darkness, there was always one thing left.
Defiance.
