Jun''s POV


    The night was restless, as most nights were when the firelight cast more than shadows on the clearing. It played tricks on a man''s mind, dragging old memories to the surface no matter how much effort was spent burying them.


    Jun leaned against a thick oak barrel, his arms folded as he watched the girl—or rather, the mess of a girl—huddled near the fire. She was staring at the flames with a distant look, knees pulled to her chest, her thin frame trembling under a patched blanket someone must have tossed at her out of pity.


    His jaw tightened. Pity wasn''t a luxury he could afford. Not for her, not for anyone.


    The girl was little more than a heap of dirt and fear. Her face, pale and gaunt, was streaked with grime, and her hands clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her dark hair hung limply around her face, damp and tangled, and her wide eyes darted nervously at every sudden movement from the men.


    She was like a sparrow in a den of wolves. Fragile. Out of place.


    And yet...


    Jun exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound more growl than a sigh.


    That frailty gnawed at him.


    She was young. Around his age, maybe a little younger, he guessed. It was hard to tell through the dirt and exhaustion, but there was a softness in her features that hadn''t yet been hardened by time or experience.


    His gaze fell to her tattered gown—fine silk, even in its ruined state, the embroidery barely visible beneath the dirt. Her necklace, a jade pendant carved with intricate precision, gleamed faintly in the firelight.


    She wasn''t from this world.


    Not the real world, anyway.


    The pain and suffering that plagued this godforsaken land had never reached her—not before now. She''d lived a life of privilege, he was certain of it. Sheltered behind thick walls, eating meals she''d never had to scavenge for, wearing clothes that cost more than most families would see in a lifetime.


    And now here she was, trembling in the cold with a pack of wolves circling her.


    Jun''s lip curled slightly in a mix of irritation and disdain. She didn''t belong here.


    ~~~


    <u>The Streets of Chenghai, 12 years ago:</u>


    Jun could still hear the cries if he let his mind wander too long. The sobs of hungry children, their voices raw and thin like the rest of their bodies, begging for scraps of food that didn''t exist. The coughing fits of the sick, their faces hollow and lifeless. And the silence of the ones who had already succumbed, sprawled in alleys or curled up under torn rags that did nothing to shield them from the cold.


    He remembered the way his own stomach had twisted, hollow, and relentless, as he scavenged with shaking hands for anything edible. A half-rotten turnip, a moldy crust of bread—it didn''t matter.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    There were no heroes in Chenghai, no miracles. The emperor had abandoned them all, hiding behind his thick palace walls while his people withered and died.


    Jun''s lip curled in disgust as the image of the emperor crept into his mind. A pampered coward, cloaked in silks and surrounded by luxuries that the common folk couldn''t even dream of. What did he know of suffering? Of loss?


    The emperor was nothing more than a pawn, shoved this way and that by the kings and rulers of the neighboring realms. Jun had seen it firsthand—how the emperor bent and swayed, desperate to avoid conflict, eager to please anyone who held more power than he did. A man with no spine, no heart.


    And while he groveled behind his gilded walls, children starved in the streets. Families were torn apart.


    Jun clenched his fists tighter, his nails biting into his skin. His parents'' faces flashed before him—his father''s weathered hands, his mother''s tired smile. The way they''d withered away, working themselves to death for a king who didn''t care whether they lived or died.


    He''d promised himself, all those years ago, that he''d never be like them. Never be powerless. Never be a pawn.


    More than that, he swore to create a world where no child would ever have to cry the way he had. No one would grow up with their stomachs hollow, their hopes crushed beneath the weight of a system that had abandoned them.


    ~~~


    Jun forced himself to push the memories aside, to focus on the present.


    The girl was still by the fire, her blanket drawn tight around her shoulders. She looked so small, so lost.


    He shook his head, his gaze drifting to the pendant around her neck. The jade gleamed softly in the firelight, its intricate carvings catching his eye once again.


    It was beautiful.


    And valuable.


    Jun had seen pieces like it before in the markets of Qianzhou—treasures stolen from nobles and sold to the highest bidder. The pendant alone could fetch enough gold to feed his crew for months.


    It was hard to reconcile the girl''s fragile, dirt-covered state with the life of comfort and wealth she must have come from. But Jun knew better than to let himself feel pity.


    Jun shook his head, forcing the rising feeling to dissipate. She wasn''t some lost kitten in need of saving. She was property—a means to an end. A money purse. That jade around her neck could bring him the fortune he needed, the leverage to push his plans forward.


    Jun exhaled slowly, forcing his jaw to relax. He couldn''t afford to let his thoughts wander down useless paths. His crew had mouths to feed, weapons to maintain, debts to pay. If this little rat''s necklace could line their coffers, then she was worth keeping around. For now.


    He pushed off the barrel, straightening to his full height as he strode toward the fire. The men quieted slightly as he approached, their laughter fading into murmurs. The girl looked up, her wide eyes reflecting the firelight.


    "Come here," Jun said, his tone sharp.


    She hesitated, clutching the blanket tighter.


    "I said, come here."


    Her movements were slow, tentative as if she feared he might strike her. She stood on shaky legs, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she stepped closer. Her hands twisted nervously in front of her, and her gaze flickered between him and the men around the fire.


    Jun crossed his arms, studying her.


    "You need to pull your weight," he said bluntly. "I don''t keep freeloaders on my ship, and I''m not about to start now. If you''re staying here, you''ll earn your keep."


    She swallowed hard, nodding quickly.


    "Good," Jun continued. "Ask the others where you can help. There''s always something that needs doing—cleaning, mending, hauling supplies. And try not to get in the way. I don''t tolerate nuisances."


    "I... I''ll try," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Jun''s eyes narrowed. "Trying isn''t good enough. Do it. Or you''re gone."


    She nodded again, her head dipping so low it was almost a bow.


    His gaze flickered to the pendant once more, but he forced himself to look away. For now, he needed her alive and cooperative. The necklace would bring its reward soon enough.


    "And one more thing," Jun added, his voice lowering slightly. "If any of the men bother you, come straight to me. But don''t think that makes you special. I''m not protecting you—I''m protecting my property. Understand?"


    "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling.


    "Yes, what?"


    "Yes, sir," she corrected quickly, her cheeks flushing.


    "Good." Jun stepped back, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Go on, then. Find something to do."


    She nodded one last time before scurrying away, her movements quick and skittish like the rat he''d named her after.