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Hope is a fragile thing: it is delicate and intricate, woven together by the fine strands of imagination, capturing our deepest wishes. Yet it is vulnerable. Jay was slowly becoming aware of this.
The longer he remained aboard Misfortune’s Keep, the more time slipped through his fingers.
Part of him resigned himself to his fate; he knew his team had likely resolved to abandon him to his demise. He also understood that he deserved it. He had hurt his friends, and therefore, it felt selfish even to consider that they might come to rescue him. The pirates had no trouble reminding him of this.
Jay’s exhaustion was so embedded in his mind and body that he was sure it would never leave him. He waited impatiently for sleep to pull him under, but it never came. He curled tightly into himself, cradling an arm over his surely bruised ribs, if not broken. His elemental power thrummed under his skin, just out of reach, escaping his grasp. The vengestone cuff left gruesome abrasions on his ankle that he didn’t even want to think about.
Deep lacerations and wounds covered every inch of his body. Dry blood crusted and clung heavily to him, making his blue gi a reddish-brown. In addition to blood, sweat and grime coated him thickly and uncomfortably. Oh, how I would kill for a shower right about now.
The tall, burnished wooden walls of his cell only deepened his restlessness. Gaps in the grate above him allowed the moon’s glow to seep in, illuminating the space. Distantly, he could hear the crew’s snores and the sound of the propellers churning the cool night air.
Inevitably, his mind shifted back to his team. The crushing loneliness settled in, and he allowed it to consume him. He missed them. He thrived on his friends, on their bond. Without them, he felt more alone than ever.
He couldn’t fail them, however. Despite whatever doubts and qualms clouded his mind, he knew he could not fail his team, no matter what. They were already deprived of Kai and Zane; Jay couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.
Jay pushed himself up with shaky arms, his eye narrowing as the pirates' jarring laughter and invective remarks swelled into a dizzying uproar. Blood gushed from his nose, filling his mouth, and he spat it out onto the floor. He was sure it was broken. Great, he thought bitterly. Just what I needed.
His exhausted mind begged him to give in, to fall to the deck in a mess of limbs and succumb to his injuries. But he set his feet under him and pushed his body upright. The crew’s shouts crescendoed. Jay glared at Nadakhan, catching a glimpse of amusement flashing in the djinn’s eyes.
“Ah, it seems our canary is not yet finished,” he proclaimed, his tone dripping with delight. “Let us see how long he lasts before he is groveling.”
Jay’s next opponent, a man much taller and stronger than him, stepped forward. Brass goggles obscured his eyes, but he smiled cruelly and crookedly at Jay. “Well, well, birdie… you lasted longer than I thought you would.”
He slid into a fighting stance, wincing slightly as it pulled on his ribs and the lashes on his back. The previous fight had torn them open again, and they were now trickling blood down his torso. His depth perception was impaired since a few pirates had thought it entertaining to drag a blade across his left eye. Now an eyepatch, provided by Clancee, covered the grotesque sight. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to raise his fists. Jay refused to go down without a fight.
The pirate - Jay had internally started to refer to him as Goggles - lunged forward so quickly that he hardly had time to block the strike. Goggles aimed another hit toward Jay’s solar plexus, and he narrowly sidestepped the punch, barely avoiding the blow. He was about to counter when something connected with the left side of his face - right in his blind spot.
Jay crashed to the deck, his head smashing against the hard surface. His ears rang, and his vision swirled in his right eye. One of his ribs cracked when he hit the floor; he felt and heard it. His diaphragm constricted, and he struggled to catch his breath as his chest seized up. Each gasp felt like someone was twisting a knife deep into his torso.
Unbearable scents of spices and ozone intensified, cloying his nostrils. A silky, low voice sounded beside Jay’s ear, sending unease clawing up his spine. Nadakhan laughed deeply. “That was certainly entertaining.” The pirates’ cheers felt deafening. “But you’re not done yet.” A sadistic grin spread across the djinn’s face.
Jay planted his palms against the deck, heaving his upper body up, though his weight remained slanted and unstable. He avoided looking at Nadakhan, instead focusing on his calloused, scarred hands.
Hope is a delicate, naive thing: not as defiant as he once believed. Jay was aware of this now.