Chapter 5. The Dark Lord Returns
A/N: If you think you skipped something, you didn’t. This character never appeared in the story before. This his introduction chapter. I love misnomers.
TW: dizzyness, concussion, ghosts. That’s all I could gather. Please tell me if there’s more
Word count: 1 395 words
For context (not necesarry for understanding but does provide some extra context): Rukard’s chapter
Chapter 5.
Where a very confused Dark Lord tries to understand... anything
“Are you awake?"
Squinting, he tried to understand what was in front of him. Everything seemed blue and blurry. A brown circle was floating in front of his face. His logic processor kicked in and informed him that circles don’t float, and, judging by the fact that it was a skin-colored circle, it must be a face. Okay. Someone was looking at him, bending over. How does he usually react to something like that? He searched for some remains of an established etiquette, but his mind was still far from clear.
“Person. Looking. Caring. Do what?” - that’s the closest resemblance to coherent thinking he could conjure. Giving up on trying to do the logical thing, he did the thing that felt the most comfortable and familiar. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he closed his eyes, ignoring the dizziness, and waited for a kiss. And then some. And then some more. Some part of his mind knew that feeling terrible + concerned face = care and loving support. But something wasn’t working. He opened his eyes, trying to understand what’s wrong. Everything was still blurry, but the face - he could now tell it was a face, so some progress there - was very close. He needed to communicate. His mind, building up its processing power, offered him the brand-new, revolutionary idea of speech.
“No… kiss?” - he constructed a sentence. The words felt like little bricks in his mouth, and pushing them out was hard work.
“That’s a new one” - answered something he identified as a voice “normally people start with a ‘where am I?’ or ‘who am I?’. But you have your priorities in order, don’t you?”
A few more seconds of painfully slow word construction and he said, as carefully as a person trying to multiply a four-digit number by a five-digit number in their mind: “those are… good questions… too”
“Okay, you definitely need some more rest” the face moved away, and, seeing how there was a big, cone-like thing under it, he gathered that it was attached to a body. With effort, he could even separate some details, like hair or arms.
“No, please. Answers?” he asked, and the words came to him easier this time. The figure stopped, its face-circle turned to him.
“Okay, if that will make you stop worrying. I can’t help you with the ‘who am I’ stuff - you can get all existential-crisis-y about it once you feel better - but as for the ‘where’ part, you’re on Marry Axling.”
A pause. He tried to find sense in the words the figure spoke. Those were words. They formed sentences. So there must be some meaning in them, right?
“Marry Axling?” he echoed, testing if the words would click the second time around.
“So you never heard of her?” the voice, much clearer now, sounded surprised, “She’s a bit of a legend around these parts. She’s a ship”
“Oh”, he answered, happy to realize he knows what a ship is. Big, watery floaty thing. Got it. After a little pause, he came up with another question “why am I here?”
“Well, that’s the easy part. We fished you out of the water. You were knocked out or something. Took you a good two days to snap out of it”.
“So you saved my life?!” in a wave of gratitude, he pulled himself up, intending to bow or do at least something to express how thankful he was. The floor made a wave-like motion and welcomed him with a hard, wooden landing.
“About that...” - the figure helped him up and offered their shoulder for support - “I think you should see for yourself”.
They half-dragged him to the wall, where something square and shiny was attached. A bit more concentration and squinting, and he could see two people staring at him. “Window? Door?” the options went through his head. With a quiet ding, the word “mirror” snapped into place. So he was looking at himself and the kind stranger. Now that he was standing and not moving, his vision started to focus again. He concentrated on the image, trying to understand what the figure was talking about.
He recognized the face, even though he couldn’t quite attach a name to it. Skin permanently stuck somewhere between dark tan and light-brown. Brown eyes, staring right back at him with a sparkle of curiosity. His long, dark-brown hair was now a nest-like mess. Looking down, he noticed a white shirt and a green vest - something that felt very familiar. So, no surprises there.
Still using the mirror, he studied his rescuer. It was a woman, slightly taller than him - which was more to say about his height than hers. Four thick, black braids were lying on her shoulders, escaping a tight bandana covering her head. She was wearing a simple, at-some-point-white shirt, spacious black pants, a black coat, sturdy, well-worn leather boots, and a tired expression. This combination triggered yet another chain of associations in his head that gave out the word “pirate”.
“Everything seems fine. What was I supposed to worry about?” he asked the woman, looking at her through the mirror, not risking turning his head. The dizziness eased up, but he knew it was still lurking somewhere near.
“Yeah, it’s surprising how many people miss it the first time. Look closer. You’ll see”.
He obediently stared at his somewhat shabby reflection again, trying to find what was wrong. All of his limbs were intact, and the face seemed in place, nose, eyes, and all. He lifted his hair and checked that his ears were there. Yes, both of them, just as before.
He tried to take in the bigger picture, taking a look around the room. That’s when he noticed it. He could see the bed. The bed he was lying in earlier, the one right behind him. He could see it, even though a little blurry, right through his own stomach. He turned his eyes to the woman. He could see her, and at the same time, he could see the little room behind her, like an aquarelle sketch on top of an oil painting.
“Oh”
“So, you see it now?” the woman looked at him
“Yeah...” he kept staring at his reflection. He remembered that creatures like these are referred to as “ghosts”, but he somehow felt that it didn’t apply to him. Despite all the weakness and the fog in his head, he felt… normal. He experienced this before. In a moment of clarity, he remembered where the kissing routine was from: that’s what normally happened when he was in this state. Someone close… someone very, very familiar took care of him in times like these.
“Is this… something I do a lot?”
“You tell me. I doubt it, though. It’s rare for people to have dying as a hobby”
“I’m not dead,” he tried to smile “I’m sure I’ll be fine after some rest”
“Step one: denial. Gotcha. I’ll give you time to come to your senses. For now, I better introduce you to the rest of the crew. Can you walk?”
“Not without help,” he answered honestly. The objects around him started to gain clarity and texture, but walking was now as difficult as talking was ten minutes ago.
“Okay, I’ll help you walk to the deck - it’s not far - and then you can just… lean onto something. You’ll be fine. What’s the worst thing that can happen to you now, right?”
“I could still die,” he argued. It wasn’t just defiance. Some part of him knew that he was alive. He had to be alive. Someone was waiting for him to return, any day now. He remembered a face - pale and always serious but not cold. Never cold. Not for him. The face had a name to it. This time, he didn’t have to concentrate to remember.
“Rukard,” he whispered. “Oh, no. He’d kill me if I’d die”
The woman, still supporting him, turned her head to look him in the eye, her mouth already half-opened to say something, when yet another transparent figure rushed through the door.
"Captain!" they called, their voice somewhere between panicked and bewildered, "there is an octopus… squid… lion… thing. It's swimming towards us. What should we do?"
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