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Chapter 5 - Chapter 5: Hope

The dim light hanging from the cave ceiling took a moment to adjust in Aerax's eyes. Wet rocks, fine sand, and seaweed clung to his feet in thick layers. He trudged forward, breathing heavily—but his vision had cleared.

Escape wasn't freedom. He still needed a way out—along with food, fresh water, shelter… anything.

The deeper he ventured into the cave, the more he realized others had been here before. Axe marks were carved into the stone. Rotten ropes, tangled with seaweed, hung limp against the walls. And then he saw it—

A small boat.

It lay on its side in a deep pool, its hull cracked, a few crossbeams loose, but the main frame still intact. It must have been swept in during a storm, or simply abandoned.

Aerax dropped in front of it, fingers brushing the rotted wood. He chuckled and looked up at the ceiling."The world doesn't want to kill me yet."

The next three days were a struggle.

He cleared out the cave, scavenging what he could from the shore—dried coconut shells, fish bones, sea hemp—to fashion new ropes. Sharp rocks became his tools. Animal hides from carcasses washed ashore were used to patch the boat's hull.

He had once been a slave, forced to serve as a shipwright in the old barracks. He knew how to bend wood using steam and rope. The work was slow, but speed didn't matter—only survival did.

By the fourth day, the boat floated in the cave's underground lake. It was small, crude—but just enough to carry a man to freedom.

That night, strange sounds drifted in from the sea. Aerax crept carefully to the cave's mouth.

Out on the water, under pale moonlight, a large sailing ship was anchored. Its lanterns flickered like fireflies. A merchant ship—no war flags, no sentries.

Opportunity.

Aerax dragged the boat to the cave entrance, tied his gear to the side, and rowed into the darkness. He wrapped a black cloth around his body and kept absolutely silent.

The merchant ship loomed above him. Its hull was painted in dark red lacquer, ropes hanging along the sides. He circled to the stern, where the lights were dimmest, and pulled out a hook he had crafted from fish bones and bent wood.

After several tries, the hook caught the cargo net. Aerax pulled himself upward, hunched his shoulders, and climbed without a sound. His back burned with tension, his fingernails tore and bled—but there was no room for failure.

He reached the deck's edge and paused. Only the sound of the sea remained. No footsteps. No guards.

He slipped over the railing and melted into the shadows, sliding down into the hold.

The hold smelled of rot, wine, and silk. Crates, leather chests, and ceramic pots were stacked neatly in rows. Aerax huddled behind a pile of sacks and covered himself with an old linen sheet.

He had no idea where the ship was going.But anywhere was better than back in chains.

For the first time in days, he closed his eyes.

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