"K-Kaya?" Malik utters.
He opens his crusted eyelids; his muscles feel tense, and his body aches. Grunting, his vision dehazes as he notices his surroundings.
He lies in a bed, his wrist plugged into a tube. A monitor chirps as he tries to make sense of it. The tube pulls on him every time he tries to breathe.
Looking around, he sees everyone else in the crew—except one. One that should've been there.
Malik ignores it, pretending to headcount each of the crew that stand before him. Behind them, he sees that nobody guards the door, leaving it wide open.
"You scared us, Malik," Kaya says, relieved.
Malik asks, "How long have I been out for?"
From a distance, Zayne stands beside the bed. "You were out for a good nine days, man."
Lias interjected, "I could've sworn it was twelve though?"
Zayne gave a puzzled expression, then shrugged carelessly.
Malik's eyes widen. His heart beats, and his throat feels raw when he attempts to speak. Urgently, he pulls off the tube and jumps out of the bed.
He remembered it. The inferno of the explosion, and how how he would witness it. Way too much time has passed, as if it waited for him to wake up, just so he could see it.
Everyone else in the room calls out for him, but he dashes out to the main deck. Below his feet, he sees a mark he hadn't seen before, more like a slash, scarred into the floor, reminding him of his body.
Even if his body succumbed to a thousand wounds, he wouldn't take his chances. Not this time.
His eyes dart toward the sky. Nothing is coming toward them, but he feels it. He feels the warmth looming once more. Circling the ship, Malik sees him. His back faces the ocean, and his old nature calls for him to talk to the waves beside the railing.
Momentarily, the crew rush out of the medical room, all in a swarm. They carry frantic expressions, all their eyes pinpointed on him.
"Malik!" the rest of the crew yell in unison.
He pays no attention to them—only the man. The man puts his head down as he clears his throat, but doesn't speak.
The longer Malik stares, the more he can feel something sharp in his pocket, begging to taste the outside. He reaches in and feels it again, only real this time. Pulling it out of his pocket, his hand hugs it tightly.
Zayne takes a step. "Malik, why do you have that?"
"Why are you on this ship?"
Zayne walks back lightly, careful with his words.
Malik exhales. The rest stare at him with blank expressions. They grow even quieter every time he speaks.
Malik averts his gaze to the crew, acting like nothing they could say would change anything—like the man he saw before him. Instead, his bayonet points toward him, begging for even a word.
"Why hide from me when I know who I am? You, of all people, should know best."
. . .
Silence.
Malik gulps. He turns away to the other side of the ship.
Clutching his hair, he shouts in frustration, then takes a deep breath. Sighing, his eyes lock onto the crew again.
I never knew how long I would be told lies. Now I don't know how long they'll be silent.
The rest of the crew walk up to him carefully, as if he would bite.
Amaya walks forward, the crew watching closely. She walks closer with open arms, and a forced innocent gleam on her face.
He gets up, walking past them. "How can you expect me to trust you when you treat me like this?"
Amaya flinches, stepping back and blending in with the rest.
"From the looks of it, it appears you haven't been told anything."
. . .
Their eyes widen. Their words stumble, stacking on top of each other.
Malik tenses, closing his eyes. "Who do you think I've—"
Slam!
A dent forms within the railing. He clenches his fist, his muscles shaking as he struggles to maintain his calm.
He enters the medical room again, leaving the deck as he crosses his arms. He signals for the rest of the crew to enter.
Malik sways the blade in the air, furrowing his eyebrows. Then he drags the blade along the wall, scraping, as the rest flood inside the room.
Zayne interrupts him as he stays outside the room, guarding. "Malik."
He ignores him, waiting for all of them to pay attention.
"Tell me what all of you saw," Malik insists.
He stares at her, but she remains silent.
Kamil leans in. "You were in a coma. A little birdie also said you went somewhere that isn't here."
"Yeah. I was in that place."
Raising an eyebrow, the rest of them ask, "What place?"
". . . Does it even matter anymore? Besides, I saw the events of today—yesterday."
The crew huddle around him. A frown carves on each of their faces. Kaya especially stands closest to him, positioned between him and the others.
"You people have never seen the world I lived in. It was a few feet away from you, yet you ignored it. Why?"
Malik studies each of their faces, then tilts his head as something feels off. He questions why they all look the same, and why they all wear that same expression.
He walks away from his position, stomping his feet against the floor. Now he stands in front of the window. Light beams onto his face, but he looks back at them again.
Still, they remain staring at the spot he once stood. He carefully steps in front of them, waving his hand in their faces. Then they begin to smile. Their smiles curve downward, resisting itself, like holding in a laughter.
He presses his ear close to them. They are breathing—but seconds too late.
"Do any of you have something to say?" Malik asks.
They tilt their heads as they lean in closer, unable to keep a straight face—every one of them, looking away from him.
Malik only hears his own thoughts in this room, only the blade in his hand listens to him.
Suddenly—
Slash!
He scars the wall cleanly, but nobody scolded him.
Sighing, he walks out of the room. He tries to look back, but shakes his head. Walking, he stands beside the man by the railing.
Looking above, doves cried above him instead of seagulls, and the sun still gleamed brightly, but why did they not move? Were they playing a trick on him?
Suddenly, a dove stride down, and clasped its feet into the railing, its beady eyes facing Malik. A bird of harmony, warning him.
Shifting his attention, Malik stared at him again, then the dove flew away.
He wouldn't speak regardless. At least there's a chance he's listening.
Malik continues his routine and closes his eyes. Darkness consumes his field of view, so he opens them again. But sometimes, maybe even the dark can listen.
Listening, he forces his eyelids shut. The waves continue their cycle, but something doesn't. A sound he once listened to. Malik leans in closer to it—a rumble, something that disrupts the waves.
He steps back, holding his blade upward. Then—
"Hey, Malik! You've changed a lot since we've met."
Malik opens his eyes. He looks around. The whole crew huddles around him, and he sees the man by the railing speak to another man.
A ship—boarded, weapons laid about the deck.
The ship hugs another, drowning out the sound of the waves.
The crew doesn't smile anymore. They laugh. Everyone is laughing, even the man he stood beside, but they don't say a word, paying attention to everything but Malik.
But he isn't laughing.
He heard it this time.
The explosion again. The feed had only taunted him. He could feel the warmth, the necklace, the blade still in his hand. Yet he wonders how he got here. He knew what would happen, but couldn't he prevent it?
Malik peers behind them all. He stares at it—and it stares back.
A cannon. Facing toward him.
It wouldn't wait for the blade to point at it.
He sees the ship burned to a crisp, but he can still hear those laughs.
Laughing. Cackling, even.