Chapter 1: Fractured Memories, Fractured Lives
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The wooden planks beneath her boots creaked softly as she descended the final steps onto the main deck. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and gunpowder, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the galley below. It was a peculiar blend—one that seemed to encapsulate the essence of life aboard this ship. For a moment, she paused, letting the cacophony of sounds wash over her: the rhythmic clanking of chains, the distant shouts of sailors adjusting sails, the occasional squawk of seagulls circling overhead. These details felt familiar, yet foreign all at once, like echoes of a melody she couldn’t quite place.
Her name came to her first, unbidden but clear. *Eryndra.* A simple enough name, though it carried weight in ways she didn’t fully understand. She repeated it silently, testing its shape on her tongue. Eryndra. Yes, that was her now—or rather, the person whose body she inhabited. This girl, barely twenty years old, had lived most of her life aboard this very ship. Fifteen when she first stepped foot here, sixteen when she took command as captain. The timeline clicked into place, fitting snugly alongside the fragmented memories surfacing in her mind.
She recalled flashes of her earlier life before the sea claimed her—a quiet existence in a bustling city nestled within one of the five nations of the Western Continent. Her family had been ordinary, perhaps even fortunate by some standards. They weren’t wealthy, but neither were they destitute. Their home stood in a district where cobblestone streets wound between rows of modest brick houses, each adorned with flower boxes spilling over with vibrant blooms. Life there had been predictable, safe—until it wasn’t.
The memory surfaced slowly, like oil rising to the surface of water. She saw herself again, younger, standing in the doorway of her childhood home, clutching a worn leather satchel filled with hastily packed belongings. Her parents’ voices echoed in her ears, sharp and urgent, pleading with her to reconsider. Marriage plans had been set in motion; introductions arranged, dates circled on calendars. But she had refused, vehemently, stubbornly. Why? Because of him—the paladin grandfather who had appeared unexpectedly, speaking of destiny and duty, of powers beyond comprehension.
And then… the creature.
A shadow flitted across her vision, accompanied by a dull ache spreading through her temples. She pressed two fingers to her forehead, willing the pain away. The image was hazy, incomplete, but she could still feel the chill that had run down her spine that day. A fallen creature, corrupted by forces older than time itself. Seven types, according to the lore of the game she once played. Shadow Servants, they called them. Beings twisted by the influence of the Seven Shadows, remnants of something far worse lurking just beyond the veil.
Her breath hitched as another fragment emerged—a contract signed in blood-red ink, binding her fate to the paladin’s cause. Her parents’ faces swam before her eyes, contorted with anger and fear. “You’re throwing your future away!” her father had shouted, his voice cracking under the strain. Her mother had wept silently, wringing her hands as if trying to scrub away the stain of betrayal. Even her siblings had reacted differently: her elder brother too preoccupied with civil service exams to intervene, her younger brother retreating into silence, unable to meet her gaze.
Only the paladin had remained steadfast, guiding her out of the city under cover of darkness. She remembered little else after that—just fragments of conversations, snippets of arguments, and the overwhelming sense of guilt that had gnawed at her insides. Guilt for deceiving them all. Guilt for leaving without looking back.
But why pirates? That question lingered unanswered, hanging heavy in the recesses of her mind. Perhaps the answer lay buried deeper, locked away behind walls of self-hypnosis designed to shield her from corruption. Whatever the truth, it mattered less now than survival. Survival in a world teetering on the brink of chaos, where danger lurked around every corner and trust was a luxury few could afford.
She exhaled sharply, shaking off the weight of those thoughts. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t change anything. Not here, not now. Instead, she focused on the present—the disheveled man approaching her with a lopsided grin plastered across his weathered face. His shirt hung loosely over broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms corded with muscle earned through years of hard labor aboard the ship. Despite his unkempt appearance, there was a certain charm to him, an easygoing demeanor that put others at ease.
“Cap’n,” he greeted, tipping an imaginary hat. “Sleep well?”
Eryndra forced a smile, mimicking what she assumed would be the girl’s usual response. “As well as can be expected,” she replied, her tone measured. Inside, however, nerves coiled tightly. Every word felt like walking a tightrope, balancing between authenticity and imitation. Would he notice? Could he tell she wasn’t truly Eryndra?
To her relief, he didn’t seem suspicious. Instead, he chuckled, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Rough night, eh? Don’t worry, we’ve got smooth waters ahead. For now, anyway.”
She nodded absently, grateful for the casual banter. Small talk was safer ground, easier to navigate without risking exposure. Still, her curiosity burned brighter than ever. There was so much she needed to know—not just about this girl’s life, but about the crew, the ship, their purpose. And above all, the vice-captain.
Speaking of which…
“Where’s the vice-captain?” she asked casually, tilting her head toward the helm where several crew members bustled about preparing for departure.
The sailor gestured vaguely toward the stern of the ship. “In the captain’s quarters, last I checked. Said somethin’ about goin’ over charts.”
“Right.” She gave him a curt nod, turning on her heel and heading in the indicated direction. Each step brought a fresh wave of unease, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on maintaining the façade. If anyone suspected her true identity—or lack thereof—it could spell disaster. Pirates weren’t known for their leniency, especially toward impostors.
Reaching the door to the captain’s quarters, she hesitated briefly before knocking twice. When no response came, she pushed it open cautiously, peering inside. The room was dimly lit, dominated by a large oak desk cluttered with maps, compasses, and various nautical instruments. Behind it sat a figure hunched over a parchment, quill in hand, scribbling furiously.
For a moment, she simply watched, taking in the sight of the vice-captain. He—or she, she corrected mentally—was leaner than the sailor she’d spoken to earlier, with sharp features framed by unruly black hair streaked with gray. Their clothes bore signs of wear and tear, patched together from scraps of fabric salvaged during voyages. Yet despite their disheveled appearance, there was an air of authority about them, a quiet confidence that commanded respect.
Clearing her throat softly, she stepped fully into the room. “Vice-captain,” she began, closing the door behind her. “We need to talk.”
The figure looked up, surprise flickering briefly across their face before settling into a neutral expression. “Captain,” they acknowledged, setting the quill aside. “What brings you here?”
Eryndra crossed the room, pulling out a chair opposite the desk and sitting down. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, adopting what she hoped was a composed posture. “Yesterday’s incident,” she said evenly. “I want to make sure everything’s in order.”
The vice-captain arched an eyebrow, leaning back in their seat. “Everything’s fine,” they replied, though their tone suggested otherwise. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this conversation?”
Her stomach tightened, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “Just covering our bases,” she said lightly. “Can’t afford any slip-ups, not with the marines breathing down our necks.”
A smirk tugged at the corners of the vice-captain’s lips. “Fair enough. But if you’re worried about yesterday, don’t be. We handled it. End of story.”
Eryndra nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in her mind. Something about their dismissive attitude rankled, raising questions she couldn’t yet articulate. Still, pressing further risked revealing too much, so she let the matter drop—for now.
“Good,” she said finally, rising from her seat. “Keep me updated if anything changes.”
“Will do, Cap’n,” the vice-captain replied, already returning their attention to the map spread out before them.
With that, she exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her. As she made her way back onto the main deck, her thoughts churned with unanswered questions and mounting uncertainties. Who was this girl she pretended to be? What secrets did the crew harbor? And most importantly, how long could she maintain this charade before the cracks began to show?
For now, though, she had no choice but to press on. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode forward, ready—or as ready as she could ever be—to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
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*(End of Chapter)*
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