Nobody

The salty scent of the sea filled my nostrils, mingling with the stench of sweat and blood that clung to the air like a suffocating fog.

Around me, the ship creaked and groaned with every rise and fall of the waves, its wooden hull slick with seawater and grime.

Rhythmic splashes of the oars cutting through the water were drowned out by the occasional crack of the whip, the sharp sound echoing across the deck.

Above, the sky was a grim, overcast gray, the sun hidden behind thick clouds that promised nothing but more dreariness.

The sea below was a cold, unforgiving expanse, dark and churning, with no end in sight.

A biting chill was carried by the wind, slicing through the thin, tattered rags we wore, sending shivers down my spine despite the sweat that poured from my body.

I pulled the oar, my hands raw and blistered from hours of rowing. My arms felt like lead, every muscle screaming in agony, yet I forced myself to keep moving.

I had to.

The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and the bitter tang of iron, the unmistakable smell of blood—whether it was ours or that of those who came before us, I couldn't say.

Around me, men sat hunched over their oars, their bodies gaunt and hollow, their faces pale and drawn. They stared ahead with vacant eyes, too exhausted, too broken to do anything but row.

Each pull of the oar was mechanical, lifeless, a testament to the fact that we had become nothing more than cogs in the ship's relentless machine.

I faltered, my arms trembling as I paused to catch my breath, but the respite was short-lived. The crack of the whip snapped me back to the present, the lash searing across my back with a sharp, burning pain.

I bit down hard, suppressing the cry that threatened to escape, and resumed rowing.

The man with the whip moved on, satisfied for now, his dead eyes searching for the next target.

Groans of the men beside me filled the air, their pain echoing my own.

The scent of fear hung heavy around us, a bitter, acrid odor that mixed with the salt and sweat, creating a nauseating miasma.

This ship was a floating prison, a vessel of despair drifting aimlessly across the endless sea.

I tightened my grip on the oar and pulled, each stroke a struggle against the crushing weight of hopelessness that threatened to drag me under.

The scent of the sea and the lash of the whip were all that remained of the world, and there was no escape, no salvation on the horizon—just the cold, indifferent ocean stretching out before us, and the relentless beat of the oars driving us ever onward into the void.

Still, I was content.

I did not have to think. I did not have to remember.

The monotony of my routine was a welcome respite from the hell that used to be my life.

I was happy, I was satisfied.

In the prison of despair, I thrived.

Hope was the enemy, despair wasn't. Hope made you suffer, hope made you suffocate, hope made you do things you really had no business doing.

It made you uncomfortable, dragged you out from the bliss known as despair.

Despair was good. It was addicting, even.

No one knew who I was or where I came from, here we were all the same under the overseer's whip.

Here there were no names, no identities.

Slaves did not have a name. They weren't humans after all.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I vomited over the side of the ship.

CRACK!

A sharp pain ran up my side, causing me to wince.

Still, I was expecting it. He was a cranky old bastard, if there ever was one.

It was okay though.

As long as I wasn't forced to hope.

It wasn't long before the rations were distributed.

We were fed two times a day mind you, we were precious goods after all.

Stale bread dipped in suspicious-looking yellow gooey stew.

The food of the Gods I tell you. I couldn't ask for more. It was just that good.

I didn't even throw up after eating a full bowl now. The initial days weren't as pleasant, but hunger taught me how to behave.

But it was good. Like really good.

An acquired taste, you could call it.

After a few minutes, we were forced to get back to rowing. There was a storm brewing, and we needed to row extra hard to steer the ship out of its way.

Those that hadn't finished their food got their bowls taken. They received complimentary lashings as well.

Adjusting the slave collar on my neck, I continued to row, my arms bulging with the strain. The low rumble of the waves was oddly calming, inviting even.

Inviting me to take a dive.

I looked over the side. The water was black, pitch black. This was strange.

Why was the sea black in the middle of the day?

I stared at the water. I could feel something down there. Something deep and ancient.

I could feel it calling ou—

CRACK!

A swollen red back was what it took to pull me back to reality. I didn't even stop rowing. Not cool man.

"Get up boy.", The overseer croaked in a low, gruff voice.

Dressed in faded elven robes, the man was a giant, standing at about seven feet tall.

Beady black eyes atop a pudgy nose, the man had sparse, curly hair that rested lightly upon his pointed ears, indicating he belonged to the elven race.

His greasy brown beard matched the tone of his hair, albeit it was quite unwashed, with rotten morsels of past meals stuck between.

Looking up to see those malicious eyes glaring at me, I stood up from my seat.

It was less of a seat and more of a wooden protrusion, but you get my point.

Standing next to him, I came level with his chest.

Too much of a height disparity.

Surprise surprise. The world wasn't fair folks.

Turning his back to me with a grunt, he started walking towards the back of the deck, where the crew's quarters were located.

I had seen a few slaves be called here from time to time.

Problem was, they seldom returned.

And when, and if, they did return, they weren't the same anymore.

It didnt matter anyways. It would be better if they really did kill me. At least that way I would get a chance to meet my wife.

'No, you can't hope. Hope will get you a fate worse than death.'

'You don't have a wife. You don't have any friends. You don't have anyone. You are free.'

'You are nobody.'

Yeah. That's what I was. Just a man.

Life was about rowing, and the sea, and the stale bread with the divine stew.

It always had been.

The door of the captain's cabin opened inwards with a creak, the supervisor entering with his head downcast.

I quickly followed, setting my eyes upon the man who sat upon the wooden chair of authority, his legs tucked behind a wooden table made from exquisite mahogany.

The man had large, green eyes sitting below a blonde fade hairstyle. He had a square jaw that rested on his long, bony hands as he stared at me, sizing me up from top to bottom.

Looking away, I saw a single, well made bed sitting at the corner of the room, looking like it had not been used in quite some time. The dark circles below the man's eyes were also proof of that.

Aside from that, the room was very bare, with a few shelves and bookstands scattered here and there. The luminosity was provided by a lantern that was attached to the cabin wall.

"You may leave the room, Hans.", the captain spoke, his voice lighter than I had expected.

Answering to the captain's authority, the overseer elf bowed his head slightly before heading out the door, closing it lightly behind him.

"Come, please sit." the man spoke again, his voice kind.

Suspiciously kind. Why would a slaver show mercy to his slave?

I hesitantly walked over and sat in the chair opposite the man, with the table placed in between.

Since I had entered the room, I had been trying to avert my gaze from something placed on the table.

I had absolutely done a good job ignoring it till now, but now that I was so close, the fragrant aroma of roasted fish wafted up to my nose.

I looked down.

That was my first mistake.

Roasted whole fish, inlaid with a myriad of condiments and spices, glazed with melted cheese and hot sauces.

Two loaves of french bread sat on the side, the fresh counterpart of the ones we were given. Different sauces adorned the edges of the plate, and a glass filled with red wine sat beside it, ready to drink.

It was tempting. Too tempting. It looked like a set-up. The food was probably drugged or something.

"Please eat. I had it prepared for you.", the man lilted.

I moved my hand towards the plate. I pulled it back.

Wait. I had posion resistance anyway.

I extended my hands and picked up the cutlery with both hands.

Despite the gut wrenching hunger that came from surviving on less than the bare minimum for weeks, I maintained a modicum of restraint, lest the food be taken away from me.

All that went out the window once I took a bite.

A ravenous fit overtook me, and I literally dug into the plate, using both hands to shove as much food into my mouth as possible, forgetting completely about the man watching the spectacle.

This reminded me of the old days, when Patty and I used to sneak food from the pantry in Bentley's mansion.

I stopped myself, before I could remind myself of Patty's fate.

'Patty? Who's that?. I've always been here on this ship, rowing away.'

Choosing to focus on the food, I filled my mouth with bread dipped in sauce, chewing slowly to relish the taste for as long as I could.

I was interrupted from my reverie by the familiar jingle of my runes. I hadn't heard that sound in a long, long time.

Closing my eyes to focus, I summoned my runes, and noticed a line of ancient text flashing at the top.

[You have been poisoned]

[Poison Grade: Basic]

[Minor poison resistance is in effect]

[Posion neutralized]

I felt strangely lightheaded, like I had been cured of an ailment I didn't even know I have.

Then it all clicked into place.

I had been getting drowsier. The food was indeed drugged.

I opened my eyes to find the elf captain standing at my side, his hands moving towards my face.

'Kill him.'

can't. He's too strong.'

'Wake up'

'Besides, I've rowed a boat my whole life. What can I do against him?'

'Wake up!'

Cupping my head with one hand, he moved his other towards my thigh, bending down to caress it.

'Kill him.'

'I can't. I... can't. I'm too weak. I can't do anything right.'

'WAKE UP!'

It all happened in a moment. My eyes came into focus, my hand reaching for the man's throat.

[You have been cu—]

And then the vessel shook.