When Jhin woke up, the first thing he saw was the sea. His head was propped up on the lip of a ship, allowing him to see miles and miles of ocean, sparkling in the hot sun overhead. With a grimace of sore muscles, Jhin turned his head towards the deck itself, seeing an unfamiliar crew working, laughing, and eating some sort of fish. Come to think of it, the ship itself looked incredibly smaller then what he remembered of Gangplank's, even being made out of a different type of wood. He came to the obvious conclusion that he was in fact, on a different ship.
Relief washed over him that he was far away from Gangplank, but it was soon replaced with nervousness. If he wasn't with Gangplank, where was he? How long had he been sleeping? Where are they going?
"He's awake!"
Jhin turned his attention to a group of sailors peering at him a few feet away, eyeing him up and down. He tried to sit up, trying to adjust himself, only to be knocked back down from the intense pain in his head.
"Easy now," one of the men said, sitting down on his heels. Jhin took a long moment to regain himself, closing his eyes to disperse the pain. Opening them again, he locked gazes with the sailor kneeling next to him.
"Where am I?"
"On a cargo ship heading North, but that's not important right now. You should feel lucky you're even alive."
"Yeah, we thought we were given a corpse with how bad your head was," the sailor to his right had a thick Bilgewater-esque accent, his face young and covered in freckles.
"Gangplank was sure happy to get rid of you it seemed," another one said,"and that man ain't scared of anything."
"I used to think the same thing," Jhin mused, attempting a laugh but only causing more concussive pain."Wait, you said heading North? Where exactly?"
The shadows grow stronger with every passing second, driving him mad. "He's coming," they told him "It's coming". Like a drum to a never ending song, his head beat with rage and fear of what was yet to come. The shadows showed him images of war, chaos, and death for his country, making him yell out in frustration. He knew the others could hear him, for the walls were thin, but he took no shame in that. None of his acolytes could ever truly handle the way of the shadows, how they whispered and belittled.
Old images of torn away towns, strewn corpses, and heartbreak filled his brain, seeming to be trapped under his skull. Memories from long ago were surging back in armada's, opening wounds that had once been scars with ugly force. It hurt, but Zed knew this was just the shadow's warning him of a war yet to come.