Chapter Text
There is an all-consuming void where you once were. A hunger, deep and ravenous and sitting cold and sharp in the pit of your belly like a knife. This is all you know, as the ship crumbles and smolders all around you, as you fall out of your shattered pod onto your hands and knees, weak as a newborn kitten and cutting your palms on crushed glass.
Every inch of you aches, joints and bones stiff and creaking as if you haven’t moved in an age. Maybe you haven’t. Who knows how long you were in that pod? All you know is that the scent of blood, even your own blood, causes your head to pound, the cold knife of hunger in your belly suddenly ripping through you a thousand fold.
With pain comes clarity; the blood has stoked your hunger. You must feed it or the unthinkable will occur. You must find some other creature’s blood to spill before you begin to cannibalize yourself.
And you are not alone in this room. A young woman has also been freed from her pod by this freak dragon attack, a wood half-elf with a deep brown, freckled complexion and hair nearly as red as the blood pooling in the lines of your palms. She hasn’t noticed you yet; she’s too busy patting herself down, checking for injuries.
Easy prey.
By some small miracle, you’ve been left with a dagger, still sheathed at your belt. Whoever took you to this terrible place, they thought so little of you as to underestimate you. You will find who did this. And they will not live long enough to regret it.
But first you must slake the hunger. You’ll circle around just out of the half-elf’s line of sight and creep up behind her. It takes very little effort to end a life, really. In the span of a heartbeat you can have seized her by the hair and slit her throat in the same motion. Her blood won’t even stain your hands.
It will be quick. It will be…
Merciful.
The silhouette of an almost-there memory bubbles up then, like a great leviathan skimming below the surface of black water. You were called ‘merciful’ once.
Merciful Alde.
You were called it with scorn. No matter; once you’re off this gods-forsaken ship, you can find whoever called you that and kill them, too. But first you’ll have to feed, before this hunger eats you alive.
You slowly begin to pull yourself to your feet, lifting yourself off your hands and knees and--
Glass crunches underneath your boot.
The half-elf finally turns to you, ears twitching and luminous green eyes widening. You know that look, you remember the shape of that look, well worn within the pages of your life. You are deeply unsettling for most to look upon-- corpse-pale and white-haired, with big, wet eyes clouded like a blind man’s, your face too round, too youthful for a human of your years. But it hardly matters. You don’t like looking upon their eyes, either.
“...Gods, they took children, too?” the half-elf gasps in horror, and a somehow familiar indignation rises within you.
“I am twenty six,” you snap before you can stop yourself, voice hoarse and aching from disuse, and strange as it is, you know your words to be true: speaking it aloud has returned the memory to you.
…Gods damn it. She knows you’re here now, and you’re still clumsy as a bedridden invalid. How are you going to kill her now?
The half-elf grimaces. It’s easier to look at her mouth than at her eyes. “...Whoops. Sorry, my bad. Must be tough for you, having one of those faces.”
…Her voice is pretty. Maybe the prettiest you’ve ever heard. Certainly the prettiest you ever remember hearing. It’s measured. Mellifluous. That’s a good word for it. You like that word.
…The half-elf has crossed the room to you in the span of you having that thought. She’s fast. Gods damned wood elves. She’s crossed the room, and now she’s crouched down beside you, a hand on your arm. Not-- not grabbing you, or restraining you, or hauling you to your feet, but just… resting there. A warm, comforting weight. A reassurance. To a stranger.
To a stranger who was planning to kill her.
“Are you hurt? Can you stand? I can heal you if you need it, but we need to get out of here while we still can.”
“No, no I--” you begin, and your voice cracks as you raise a hand to push her away. You’re so hoarse, you notice now that your indignation has worn off, that your throat is dry and ripped and raw. This is from no mere disuse; this is some violence that has been enacted upon your person.
The half-elf catches sight of your hand then, and hisses in sympathy. “Oof, those cuts look nasty. Hold on, the glass should pop out when I--”
She sings a soft, wordless melody. It’s only a few notes; it doesn’t take her more than a second, two at most. It’s still the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. And you thought her voice was pretty before…
You barely even notice the electricity tingling in your palms as she heals you.
She pats you on the shoulder. “There, that’s better, isn’t it? I’m Adana, by the way.”
“...Alde,” you offer, almost against your will.
“‘Alde?’ I like that. Well, come on now, Alde. We need to get going. I’m going to be your buddy at least until we’re out of this mess. Can you stand? Better yet Alde, do you know how to use that knife at your belt?”
“...I can. And I do,” you find yourself answering again, utterly dumbfounded by this strange creature who seems to have… adopted you on the spot. You were supposed to kill her. But instead the hunger is gone; it’s died down to but a whisper, easily drowned out by that soft, soothing voice.
She’s not just adopted you; she’s domesticated you.
“Wonderful!” Adana says brightly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to use this thing,” she gestures to the rapier hanging from her waist, “But I still remember my fencing lessons. My teacher was a real slave driver; not the sort of woman whose lessons you forget.”
She flashes a grin at you. “We may just get out of this alive yet.”
…She will. You are going to ensure it.