I was seventeen when my world ended for the fourth time.
Seventeen years of peace, of books and sea air and my parents' warm voices. Seventeen years of thinking maybe, just maybe, this life would be the one that lasted. And then the town screamed.
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The boy stood at the window, watching his town burn. Men with swords ran through the streets, cutting down anyone too slow to run. Houses blazed. Bodies littered the roads.
"Pirates..." he whispered.
"PRINCE! STAY INSIDE!" His father's voice boomed from downstairs.
The boy—Prince—ran down the stairs. His father grabbed his fishing knife from the wall.
"Stay inside with your mother," his father ordered, shoving furniture against the door. "Lock everything. Don't open the door for anyone!"
"But Father—"
"I have to help the others!" He was already moving toward the back door, knife in hand.
And then he was gone.
Prince's mother rushed in from the bedroom, her face pale. "Where did your father go?"
"He went out to fight."
"No..." Her hands gripped his face. "Prince, you can't go outside. Promise me—"
The door exploded inward. The furniture scattered across the floor. Three men stepped through, blood on their swords, grins on their faces.
"Look what we found," the leader said. "A pretty woman and a boy."
Prince's mother stepped in front of him instantly. "Please," she said. "Take money. Take jewelry. Take anything in this house. Just leave my son alone."
The pirate leader laughed. "Lady, we already took all the money from this shithole town. This is just the extra part. The fun part."
Two of them grabbed Prince's mother. Prince lunged forward, screaming "NO!"
A fist caught him in the stomach. He hit the floor.
"Stay down, boy." A boot slammed into his ribs.
His mother screamed. The back door burst open. Prince's father stumbled in, covered in blood, fishing knife in hand.
"LET HER GO!" He lunged forward and drove the knife into the nearest pirate's side.
The man screamed and stumbled backward. Then the leader's sword swung. Prince's father's arm flew off in a spray of red.
His father fell screaming. The leader hacked again. His leg came off. He collapsed in a pool of blood.
"FATHER!" Prince tried to crawl forward, but hands slammed him back down.
His mother fell beside his father, holding his face. The pirates butchered them both right there. Prince couldn't move. All his past lives meant nothing. He was just a boy watching his parents die.
His mother turned to look at him, eyes still sharp. "Don't say your name," she said, loud enough for the pirates to hear.
Then louder: "He's not our son. Just a helper boy. From the streets. Worthless."
Prince's father coughed blood. "Not blood. Just a street kid."
They're protecting me, Prince realized. Making him worthless to save his life.
The leader spat. "Doesn't matter. We're taking all the young ones anyway. Tie him up."
They grabbed Prince and tied his hands. He tried to fight but they dragged him outside anyway. He looked back once, saw his parents in the pool of blood, then the door slammed shut.
The town burned. Bodies everywhere. Women dragged toward the ships. Children pulled like livestock. Fire consuming everything.
The pirates shoved Prince into a group of kids near the shore. Maybe a hundred of them. Some shaking. Some empty-eyed. Some screaming for parents.
They marched the children to two waiting ships and threw them into the cargo hold. The smell—sweat, fear, vomit—made Prince gag. The hatch slammed. Darkness. Crying all around.
Two days in that hold. Stale bread once a day. Rusty water. Kids fought over scraps. Prince forced himself to eat.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father's arm. His mother's face. The blood.
On the second day, the ship's motion changed. The rocking smoothed out. They'd stopped. The hatch opened and light stabbed down into the hold, making Prince squint and shield his eyes.
"Feeding time, you little rats!" A pirate threw bread down like they were feeding pigs. The kids scrambled. Prince grabbed a piece, forced it down his throat.
The pirate pointed at him with a scarred finger. "You. Need to piss?"
He pulled Prince up to the deck. Sunlight blinded him after two days in the dark. When his vision cleared, he saw they were anchored near an island—all rocks and trees and empty beaches.
"Move." The pirate shoved him toward the railing. "Do your business. Don't think about jumping unless you want to drown."
Prince's hands were still tied, making everything humiliating and difficult. But as he stood there, trying to maintain some shred of dignity, he heard voices drifting from behind some barrels stacked on the deck. Casual conversation, like they were discussing the weather.
"...Navy recruiters are running late again," someone said, sounding annoyed. "Captain's getting impatient."
Prince froze. Navy? The Navy was supposed to be the good guys. The ones who protected people from pirates.
"They're always late," another voice replied, irritated but unconcerned. "But they pay well, and they don't ask questions about where the merchandise comes from. That's worth waiting for."
"Course they don't ask. Half of them used to be us anyway. Same rats, just wearing different colored coats and pretending they're respectable."
They laughed at that, and Prince felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. His hands clenched into fists.
"You sure the deal's still on this time?" the first voice asked.
"Captain got the letter yesterday. Navy wants kids for their training programs. Strong ones preferred, but they'll take whatever we bring. Young enough to break and mold into proper soldiers, but old enough to hold a sword and follow orders when they're needed."
Prince's mouth went completely dry. So that's what they were. Not prisoners. Not slaves to be sold. Cargo for the Navy. Merchandise. Future soldiers to be broken and shaped into weapons.
"And what happens to the ones that don't make it through the training?" someone else asked, almost curious.
"Then they don't make it. Not our problem anymore once we hand them over and collect our coin."
Another laugh, casual and cruel, like they were discussing broken tools instead of children's lives.
Pirates. Navy. Same monsters, just different masks, Prince thought, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ached. My parents died for this. My town burned for this. So these bastards could sell kids to other bastards who'd turn them into more bastards.
Something shifted inside him in that moment. Something dark and cold and hard. If he survived this—when he survived this—he'd remember. He'd learn. He'd grow strong. And then he'd hunt every single one of them down and make them pay in blood and screaming.
"You done yet, boy?"
Prince nodded, making his face look weak and scared. It wasn't hard. But underneath the fear, anger burned now. Hot and sharp and useful. Fear made you freeze. Anger made you move.
They shoved him back down into the hold. Darkness again. Kids whispering to each other in the corners.
Night came. The ship rocked gently. Most of the kids had cried themselves to sleep. Prince moved carefully to the ladder leading up to the hatch. His rope bindings had loosened over the two days of wear. He found a nail sticking out from the wooden wall and started rubbing the rope against it. Slow. Patient. The fibers frayed and split.
"What are you doing?" a boy whispered from the darkness.
"Surviving," Prince whispered back.
The rope finally gave way. Prince waited, listening to the sounds above. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. He counted the rhythm of the watch changes, Then, when the deck went quieter, he climbed.
The hatch wasn't locked from below—why would it be? They were in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to run. Prince pushed it open just a crack. Cold night air rushed in, sharp and clean after two days of breathing human misery. Stars filled the sky above. Pirates slept on the deck in scattered groups. Guards stood near the bow, but they were looking outward, not back toward the hatch.
The island was close. Maybe 50 meters of dark water. Prince could see the rocky shore, the tree line beyond. Jump wrong and he'd smash into the rocks. Swim wrong and he'd drown. Get caught and they'd beat him half to death. Stay and the Navy would break whatever was left of him.
Prince made his choice. He slid out of the hatch, crawled to the railing, and slipped over the side as quietly as he could.
The freezing water hit him like a punch, driving the air from his lungs. For a second he sank, panic clawing at his chest. Then instinct kicked in and he forced himself to move. Don't splash. Don't breathe loud. Just move. Swim. Survive.
He reached the rocks and his fingers scraped against barnacles and stone, tearing skin, leaving blood. Prince pulled himself up anyway, shaking from cold and fear and adrenaline. Then he ran into the trees without looking back.
Branches slapped his face. His lungs burned. His legs screamed.
"HEY! SOMEONE'S ON THE SHORE!" A shout from the ship, distant but clear.
Prince ran faster, pushing deeper into the forest. Behind him, pirates crashed through the underbrush, cursing and shouting. But the forest was thick and the night was dark and Prince was small and desperate.
He disappeared into the shadows like a ghost.
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