Keres was not getting used to the movement of the slave ship. She hadn't had anything in her stomach for fucking days.
She had found herself in many a grim situation, but this.. This was truly fucking tragic.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chains, the cold iron biting into her wrists, the cuffs seething with magic that kept her own abilities locked away. Her body ached from cuts and bruises she’d sustained during the fight to resist capture, the dull throb of hunger gnawing at her insides. The stench of sweat, blood, and rot filled the cramped space, mingling with the groans of those too weak to fight back anymore. With the voices of the ghosts that clung to every single one of them.
Her head pounded.
Dark eyes narrowed as Thackett leaned in, whispering his intentions. She cast a skeptical glance toward him, her lips curling into a grim smile.
“We.." she muttered back, her voice rough from exhaustion but still laced with bitter sarcasm. “A bunch of half-dead miscreants, taking on a ship of armed slavers.." she sighed. "It's starting to feel more unlikely by the day, Thickett."
Her eyes scanned the hold, taking in the state of their fellow captives. Most were wounded, feverish, and malnourished. If they made a move, they would need more than desperation to back them up.
“These people can barely stand, let alone fight.” She shifted her position, feeling the iron cuffs tug at her wrists again, reminding her of the frustrating powerlessness she felt without her magic.
But despite her scathing words, a flicker of defiance burned within her. She hated feeling helpless, hated the idea of being carted off like a caged animal. And even though she knew the odds were stacked against them, part of her wanted to believe in some sliver of hope.
She shrugged, her gaze hardening as she met Thackett’s eyes. “But I’d rather die fighting than rot away in this hellhole or be sold into another one. So, what’s the plan?”