"Malik?" they all ask unanimously.
Their eyes melt into his face, and so does the cannon. He steps back, displaying the blade, its tip shining in their field of view.
"Nice blade ya' got there. That's an old one. Carries a bunch of stories. Has it told you any yet?"
A man speaks on the other side. No. He's on another ship. A ship riddled with weapons. The ship is the same as the one the crew stands on, yet it has more stains on it. Some parts look destroyed, its railing burnt, dilapidated, and malformed.
"Who are you?" Malik says, pointing the blade directly at the man.
Calmly, Cyrus moves his hand down, silent.
"Ahh, you must've been young. You don't remember me, Arif, do you?" the man says.
He looks kind, but his eyes carry weight behind them.
"No. No, I don't," Malik says.
Cyrus steps in. "When was the last time we met, Arif? Since we first entered the Mercenaries?"
"I'm not sure. All I'm seeing is new faces, and a face that grew. Ya' know, he's still got that look I'd never forget. Glad to see it."
"Say, Arif, where's the rest of your men?" Cyrus asks lightly.
". . . Ocean bit them. That's why I was turning around, back to Mala. Wouldn't go much past here if I were you."
Malik leans in closer, interrupting the veterans. He fiddles with the knife as he thinks before speaking.
"What bit them, Arif? Were the cannons used?" he says, staring at Cyrus next to him.
Suddenly, the rest of the crew pull him back. They now carry worried expressions, shaking their heads. He tries to step back to him, but they push him aside. Some pretend to ignore him, others signal with their hands for him to stop. They block his view of the man on the other side. The man is confused by this gesture, but he keeps talking normally.
Malik's heart pulses. He feels it again. A warmth drives up his spine, but not a pleasant one. One that warns him. Instantly, he pushes through, effortlessly shoving the crew aside to ask once more.
"Was it fate—"
Zayne pulls him back, hugging his body tight.
Arif sighs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here."
The man walks away, avoiding the weapons laid out on his ship. Weapons that far surpass the caliber of anything found on the ship they stand on. Then, the ship slowly begins to stroll away as the rest watch. It hums in melancholy as it drifts.
Letting Malik go, Zayne says, "What the hell was that man? Were you ever paying attention?"
Then the rest of the crew intervene.
Leave me alone. Your voices are too loud.
You just woke up and you're acting like this? You have no social awareness. Why are you so disrespectful? Who could've raised somebody like you? Why do you act like this? Why . . . why are you alive?
Why are you alive?
Voices crowd his mind, the words syncing with their mouths. That couldn't be theirs, right?
Everyone faces him. Their mouths don't move anymore. They look blank, but their eyes say they are clueless. From behind, he hears stomping boots, then a swift close shut.
Malik asserts, "I wanted you guys to be safe."
Kaya stands beside him. "Malik, we are safe. As long as you're safe, nothing can happen to us." She places a hand on his shoulder, a hand that feels warmer this time.
"You acted strange since you woke up, man. There's something up, and we can't understand until you speak up," Zayne adds.
"I know the events of today," he utters. "I held your necklace, Kaya. And I died last amongst you all."
They question over one another instead of listening. Their badgering is louder than the sea. Their lingering questions halt, and they all lay their eyes on Kaya. She slowly pulls out a pearl-shining necklace from under her shirt and presents it.
Softly, Kaya asks, "Malik, how did you know I had a necklace?"
Malik gulps. "I didn't. I had seen it. Felt it."
Zayne barks, "You can't just say something like that out here! How can you be so sure it wasn't in your head?"
"I know what I saw," Malik insists. "You all died. And everything went ablaze."
A low humming is heard in the distance, like something lurked, but he knows the ship takes him for a fool.
He stares closely at Kaya, but she looks away, tapping her feet on the ground, hugging her necklace tight.
Malik paces to the middle of the ship. He sees the distraught look on the crew's faces as they follow him with their eyes. He recognizes his role now, amongst himself and his peers.
"I should've died in that place, but the fact I'm here now says something," he says. Suddenly, his voice shifts. "I was foretold of your ends, but I cannot allow that."
He coughs, clearing his throat. "You people haven't changed. I have."
Frozen, they freeze once again. Malik walks up to them. The warmth of his hands thaws them as their breaths stabilize.
"There's no need to be scared. I'm scared too. That hasn't changed."
Their expressions don't change. Looking down, he sees their hands tremble, but their bodies are stiff, like they're awaiting orders.
"For you all, I won't change anymore. As long as I'm still here, I'm Malik."
. . .
A sizzle.
Creaks of wood drift as something roasts.
The low rumble from before wasn't a trick. It was a test.
It hums louder this time, but doesn't show itself.
Suddenly—
Boom!
It aims for the heart of the ship.
Malik closes his eyes. He controls the spiral in his grey iris. Turning around, he feels it. On the other side, a large ocean waits to bite them. He feels eyes on his back and braces himself. The eyes hadn't run. For once, they entrusted the one who changed.
It is the size of a small car, and feels like it weighs as much. A cannonball.
Malik feels the warmth again, but this time it burns. He feels the burning sensation of the cannonball. It is diffusing, as if something waits to erupt within it. His thoughts affirm him.
All can be cut, but me.
He charges forward, wielding the rusty bayonet, facing the cannonball point-blank. Raising his arm, it comes closer. Then he jumps, angling his body.
The cannonball is seconds away from catastrophe. Its heat intensifies until it makes contact.
Gripping the blade tight, he braces and—
SSSHHHK!
The blade hisses in disappointment, and the cannonball is split in half. Both halves are swallowed by the ocean, engulfed.
Malik stands atop the railing, the rusty bayonet twirling in his arm, smiling with him. He stares where the projectile came from, beyond the blindness of day.
All was cut, but me.
A voice agrees, but Malik keeps his smile.
And all will be cut, but us.
. . .
Beneath the bright glare of day, it emerges.
Creaking, a wooden ship appears, an array of cannons lining across it. An unethically large cannon rests at the bow. About the same size as the ship it aims for, it holds over a dozen men. Their eyes are wide, but they stand tall at the edge of the ship. A figurehead of a woman is carved on the sail, coated in red . . .
Is that the symbol of Ishkana?
Looking closer, Malik sees that the woman's eyes have a slash across them. His nerves ease, but he resists the urge to look at Kaya.
The sail nearly grazes the ship's side. Suddenly, Malik makes a leap for it.
"Malik!" the rest of the crew yell, still in shock, but he won't listen.
Narrowly gliding his feet across the sail, he fails to lose balance. The sea begs for him to fall, but he only looks forward.
Then he leaps, reaching the top of the monstrous cannon they wield.
Standing above them, he looks down upon them. Their pitiful eyes dart toward him.
Malik peers at them closely. Olive skin. Smaller but bulkier stature. Some have dark eyes, others amber. All wear masks over their mouths, as if talking were worse than the wrath of the sea.
Abruptly, Malik jumps down. Crashing into the wooden floor, he eyes each man on the ship.
Then, the men who keep their gaze begin to laugh.
Malik walks toward one and pulls his mask down.
"What's so funny? I want to laugh, so tell me the joke," he insists.
The man goes silent as the rest of the crew continue.
"I said—"
SHIIING!
Malik slices the large cannon with his blade. The bayonet blitzes through it cleanly as it rolls down the base of the ship.
"What's so funny, huh? Why aren't you laughing now?" He asks.
Hesitant, the man opens his mouth. Malik looks inside and steps back.
A symbol labeled on a bracelet—a large serpent with wings—is wrapped tightly around his tongue. The rest of it is carved, making it nearly impossible for him to speak properly.
Sticking his tongue out, the man begins to tear up. He makes the only sound he can.
Malik walks toward the rest and sees their eyes. Red, with tears carving down their fake faces. They kneel, begging, hands together.
How did I not notice until now? I would've sworn they ridiculing me, right?
From behind, Malik hears blood dripping onto the ship's floor. He turns to see the unmasked man carving into his arm with a shard of glass.
"Stop that! Don't hurt yourself!" Malik says, regretful.
As he yells, the man shows a message on his arm.
"Not our will."
Malik looks back to his ship and catches Kaya's gaze. Her mouth is slightly open, mouthing an oath of sorts.
He shakes his head, looking around. The tears don't stop, nor does the blood dripping on the floor.
Stomping to the middle, Malik calls their attention.
"Listen! I know you're scared. I was too. You are lost, and so was I. Now leave. I promise nothing will bane your lives as long as I'm around."
Malik squeezes the blade in his hand and points it in a random direction across the bright sea.
"Follow the edge of my bayonet . . . and you shall fulfill your desires."
Their tears dry. Their emotions look real this time. Together, they point toward a console behind the ship's wheel.
Malik walks toward it, the men huddled around him. Then, he sees it.
The console displays a sonar. Red blips for all ships in the perimeter. Some blink brighter than others.
What? What is this? I thought this was an old ship.
I'm guessing they emphasize the brighter ones. A more valuable target. But what do I do now? Will these men follow my words? What if they're trying to take advantage of my empathy? If so . . .
SHIIIIIINNG!
Malik slices the remaining smaller cannons in one fell swoop. They fall into the ocean and slowly submerge.
The men salute him.
Then Malik shakes, turns around, and glides on the sail. At its edge, he swiftly jumps back to his ship.
Standing on the railing, he looks at them one last time. This time, his expression is colder, the blade dangling near his mouth.
A voice speaks. "Never come back."
. . .
The men leave, their ship barely visible in the day. Malik stands watch. He exhales and jumps down. Shaking his head, something about the confrontation feels off.
He looks around and sees them. His crew. Even he is there this time.
Malik quickly retreats to his room. Something bothers him.
. . .
Nighttime.
A slight breeze falls upon the ship.
He stands alone, twiddling his fingers. Then he hears light footsteps. Turning around, he is relieved to see her. Kaya approaches and hugs him tightly. He pats her back, caressing her dark hair.
Warmth ensues between them, a pressure that could console the sea in its worst storms.
Dark eyes look at him. "You let us live another day, Malik. I'm grateful," she says, then walks away, swaying her hips.
He watches stroll away. Her touch, her posture, the way her hair moves in the wind. It made his heart skip a beat.
Did I only do it for you?