Breakout

"Okay, let's wrap this up," Caspien said as he pushed himself up with a slight groan, gripping one of the iron bars of the cell. Lyra followed suit, rolling her shoulders as she stood, while Kaldur stayed seated, his book still resting in one hand as if nothing in the world could be urgent enough to warrant putting it away.

Ethan looked between them, frowning. "Wait—why are you guys so chill? We're still locked up, and who knows what they'll do once this ship stops." His tone was more skeptical than fearful—these three had a certain air about them, one that made him suspect they had a plan, even if they hadn't shared it.

Caspien shot him a wry smile. "Kid, if we're calm, it means we've already got things handled."

Ethan's brow furrowed, but before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Caspien was already moving. He stepped up to the cell door, something small glinting between his fingers. Reaching through the bars, he fiddled with the lock, his movements quick and precise. A soft click echoed through the room.

"Wait… lockpicks? Where the hell did you even get those?" Ethan asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity as his eyes narrowed.

Lyra smirked. "Trust me, you don't wanna know," she said dryly.

Ethan could have sworn he saw Kaldur's eye twitch just the slightest bit.

"Alright, let's keep moving," Caspien said, stepping out of the now-unlocked cell and dusting off his hands. He paused for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the room. The man's head tilted slightly, as if catching a faint sound on the edge of his hearing, and for a heartbeat, he went perfectly still. Then, with a quick motion, he gestured for them to stay put. "Wait here."

Ethan opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. Heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor, accompanied by a gruff voice growing louder.

"Oi, you bastards! We're docking at the port soon. Get ready to be dragged off this ship in chains!"

A shadow passed by the door at the far end of the room before it swung open with a creak, revealing a man in his fifties. His face was weathered by years at sea, a few silver strands mingling with his dark, greasy hair. A permanent scowl carved deep lines into his forehead, his lips already curling into a sneer—until his eyes landed on Caspien standing right in front of him, free.

The man faltered mid-step. "How did you—"

He didn't get the chance to finish.

Caspien moved in a flash, grabbing the man by the head and yanking him sideways. With a sickening thud, he slammed the sailor's temple against the wooden doorframe. The sailor's body crumpled instantly, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

With effortless grace, Caspien snatched the oil lantern from the man's hand before it could shatter on the floor. He turned back to them, grinning as he gave a small wave. "All clear," he said playfully.

Lyra sighed, shaking her head, though the faintest glimmer of amusement tugged at the corner of her lips. "Show-off."

Kaldur simply shut his book with a quiet snap, tucking it somewhere behind his shirt as he stood. He didn't look surprised—just resigned, as if this was always the inevitable outcome.

Ethan's gaze flicked between the unconscious sailor and Caspien. His pulse quickened.

"You're just gonna leave him there?"

Caspien quirked a brow. "You want to prop him up in bed with a cup of tea instead?" He waved a hand dismissively. "He'll wake up with a nasty headache, but that's not our problem."

Ethan swallowed, nodding. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, but one thing was clear—he was sticking with these three.

Lyra took a step forward, only to catch her boot on a tangle of ropes near the doorway. She stumbled, barely catching herself with a sharp hiss.

"Gods, it's darker than a tomb in here." She straightened up, brushing off the misstep with a quick shake of her head.

Ethan blinked. What? The room was perfectly visible to him—dim, sure, but not that dark. He glanced at the others, but none of them seemed to notice anything unusual.

"Catch," Caspien said, tossing the lantern toward Lyra. She snatched it out of the air with ease and adjusted her grip, casting an irritated glance his way.

"Try warning me next time."

Caspien smirked. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would I?"

Ethan hesitated for a moment, his mind still lingering on Lyra's words, but Kaldur had already moved ahead. As if remembering something, the boy's eyes swept over the empty cell one last time. Nothing.

Shaking off the thought, Ethan hurried after them.

***

"What's the plan?" Ethan whispered as they ascended.

"First, we get our weapons," Lyra murmured, her voice low and steady. "Then we slip into the water before anyone notices. If we get caught, escaping through the docks will be a nightmare."

They stepped onto the crew's sleeping level—a dimly lit space lined with hammocks and cluttered with barrels of supplies. But they barely made it three steps before two sailors came into view, seated beside a crate, muttering over a game of cards. One of them shuffled a deck lazily while the other scratched at his stubble.

Ethan froze.

One of the sailors glanced up. His brows knitted in confusion.

"What th—?"

The words barely left his lips before Caspien and Kaldur moved.

Caspien lunged first, quick as a striking viper. His fist shot out, slamming into the nearby sailor's skull with a sickening crack. The man's body went limp, crumpling against a nearby barrel with a dull thud.

The other man barely had time to react before Kaldur was on him. In one smooth motion, he wrapped an arm around the sailor's throat, muffling his strangled gasp with a hand. The man thrashed, boots scraping against the wooden planks, but Kaldur held firm, his expression as calm as if he were reading a book. The struggle lasted only seconds before the sailor sagged in his grasp, unconscious.

The young man eased him down with practiced care, ensuring he didn't make a sound as he slumped against the crate.

"You could've been quieter," Kaldur muttered, brushing dust from his shirt as he shot Caspien an unimpressed look.

Caspien gave an easy shrug. "Relax, no one heard a thing—everyone's busy up top." He nudged the unconscious man at his feet with his boot. "Besides, it's just these two. Doubt they could've raised the alarm fast enough even if they tried."

Ethan watched the scene in silence.

The initial shock was fading now, but something else settled in his chest—an uneasy weight. He had realized by now that this world was far more different than his own, but watching these two dispatch the sailors with such casual indifference made it feel real in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

They didn't hesitate. They didn't even care if these men were dead or alive.

And he was on their side—a fact that left him unsure whether to feel wary or oddly comforted.

Caspien and Kaldur moved without a word, lifting the unconscious sailors and tossing them into nearby hammocks. They arranged them just enough to make it seem as if they'd simply dozed off on the job. It was disturbingly effortless—like they'd done this kind of thing a hundred times before.

Meanwhile, Lyra had crept ahead, her steps silent as she peered through the door leading to the next section of the ship.

"All clear," she murmured.

Caspien gave one final glance at the hammocks, then nodded. "Let's move."

They slipped into the next space—a wide, low-ceilinged chamber lined with wooden racks and iron brackets. The ship's armory. A handful of weapons were scattered about, mounted along the walls or resting in open crates.

Ethan had expected something grander—if this were Earth, there would be cannons, gunpowder kegs, maybe even rifles. But here, there were only cold steel and arrows, blades honed to gleaming edges, and bows drawn tight with careful craftsmanship.

Lyra's eyes swept the room before landing on a small crate near the far wall. A satisfied smile spread across her face as she strode toward it.

"Here they are," she said, her voice brimming with relief.

She reached down and picked up a blade—a little shorter than half a meter—with a long, sturdy rope tied to its hilt. The other end was weighted with a small, dense metal ball. She spun it lightly in her hand, testing its balance, before a faint smile tugged at her lips. Satisfied, she sheathed the blade and hung the rest at her waist with a fluid motion.

Next, she retrieved a set of throwing knives, their edges catching the dim light like shards of silver. One by one, she slid them into her waistband. The blades settled into place, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

Caspien, meanwhile, plucked his two cutlasses from the rack. He turned them over in his hands, the steel gleaming faintly as he inspected their edges. With a quick flourish, he spun the blades through the air, the motion smooth and effortless, before sliding them into their sheaths at his sides. His movements were sharp, almost ritualistic, as if he'd done this a thousand times before.

Ethan turned toward Kaldur, expecting him to do the same—but the man remained where he stood, unmoving, his closed book resting firmly in one lowered hand, while the other remained tucked casually in his pocket.

Ethan frowned. "You're not taking a weapon?"

Kaldur met his gaze briefly, then shook his head.

"I already have one," he said simply.

Ethan wanted to ask where, but something in the guy's expression told him he wouldn't get an answer anyway.