Though it was nighttime, the world they arrived in was far brighter than in the dark corridor and Mira had to rub her eyes. The swaying below her feet told her she wasn't on dry land; the familiar scent of the sea welcomed her like a mother's embrace. How long had it been since she'd last tasted the ocean air? Once her eyes adjusted, she took in their surroundings. They were aboard a majestic ship – a fine example of a vessel, if a bit dated. But more importantly was the view. They were surrounded by ocean on all sides as far as the eye could see. Perfection. After everything that'd happened, Mira hadn't gotten the chance to visit the islands of her birth. And while it wasn't the same ocean, a visit to the water was long overdue. Mira took a minute simply to be.
Braig squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the present. His concerned visage peered down at her. "Princess? Are you-?"
"More stowaways!" bellowed a loud voice, followed by the clamor of armor. Several soldiers rushed toward them at once, trapping the pair against the side of the ship. The sight of rolling waves greeted her eyes like an old friend, but she had no time to bask in the tranquility it offered. The soldiers trained their muskets on them. "Bind them!"
Mira held her hands up, pasting on her most innocent smile. "There's been a mistake-"
A metal-plated gauntlet grasped the front of her jacket, bringing her face to face with an intense, surly man. His dark hair, parted in the middle, reached mid cheek just above a well-groomed goatee. He was massive, easily a head taller than Braig. "Who brought this whore aboard?"
"Whore?!" she squawked. "I'm not-!"
"Silence!" The man backhanded her, the metal from his armor splitting her skin and rattling her teeth. Black spots danced in Mira's vision. Behind her, Braig summoned his arrowguns, training them on the soldier who struck her.
"Lower your weapons!" the man barked.
"Release her, or I shoot," Braig growled, tone low and frosty. Her knees hit the deck, and he wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her to his side. She blinked slowly, sending the smallest amount of healing magic into her cheek to take the edge off.
The burly soldier turned his back on them, facing the crew members who'd gathered to see the commotion. "I'll ask again: who brought her aboard?" No one spoke up. "If the perpetrator does not come forward-"
"They're stowaways milord!" a brave sailor called out from the crowd.
Her cheek throbbed, and Mira glared at the men around her. "We didn't mean to board your ship-"
"Be silent whore," the surly man ordered. "One more word from you and I will have you thrown overboard." A single look into his cold, beady eyes told her he wasn't the type to make idle threats. Not after his brutal assault of her person. Her mouth snapped shut. Braig pulled her behind him, moving to shield her from the man.
"My lord Cortes, what shall we do with them?"
"Flog him and throw them both into the brig."
Braig tensed. "As if-"
"If you refuse, I will give her to the crew," Cortes interjected coldly, "then flog you anyway."
Did he mean...? Her keyblade materialized in her hand and she slid into a defensive position. Not happening. Braig followed suit, training his arrowguns on Cortes. She took a deep breath through the nose. "Counteroffer: you put down your weapons and we won't sink this fine ship."
Cortes raised a hand. "Shoot them."
The rest happened in a blur – Braig fired on the armed crewmembers just as Mira encased the two of them in reflective magic, repelling the bullets from their muskets. Stunned horror flashed across the men's faces and many made a cross-sign over their chests. Shouts of "Witch!" broke through the din. Mira tore down the shield, swinging her keyblade at the nearest soldier – only to strike them with empty air. She sucked in a stunned gasp. Not again-!
A cruel sneer spread across the lucky soldier's grizzled face. His hand encased her bicep in a bruising grip. "You're going to regret that, witch- gahh!" he cried, an arrow of pure energy protruding from his shoulder.
Braig jerked her behind him. "What the hell happened?!"
Try as she might, no matter how hard she called, her keyblade would not come. The soldiers had reloaded and trained their muskets on them again. Mira raised another shield just as another round of fire washed over them. "It's not-!"
Cortes stepped out in front of the men, aiming his musket. Inky purple and black miasma rolled off him and his face twisted in hatred. There was a crack as he pulled the trigger. The bullet shattered her shield and whizzed toward them. Blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the cacophony. She reached for Braig, but the projectile was faster, embedding itself into his arm. Grunting, he dropped his arrowgun and it dematerialized. The soldiers seized their opportunity, wrestling him to the ground and pointing a sword at his head. Mira froze, eyes darting between Braig's defiant glare and the blood leaking from his arm. She tried to summon her keyblade again. But her hand remained empty; Mira sucked in a shuddering breath.
"One more move, and I'll cut his throat."
Her heart lurched. There was only one option. "I-I surrender."
"Take him away."
The soldiers dragged Braig away to a location unknown and Cortes turned on her, snatching her jaw in his metal grip. "I chose the crew of this ship as carefully as the disciples of Christ, and I will not allow a witch to ensnare their souls for Satan. When we reach land, you and your compatriot will be burned at the stake. If you cause even the slightest distraction before then," his grip tightened, "I will disembowel him and strangle you with his innards." Bile rose in her throat, and she fought to stifle the tears brimming in her eyes. Cortes threw her down. "Take her to the brig."
Two soldiers grabbed her upper arms, man-handling her toward a barred, square hole in the deck. One of her captors pulled a set of keys from his belt, unlocked the grate, and pushed her in without so much as a word. Mira gasped, casting a low-level anti-gravity spell over herself, marginally slowing her fall. She landed in a crouch just as the grate creaked shut. The locking mechanism clicked into place.
Without her keyblade, escaping the brig would be difficult. She ignored the flare of guilt and shame at her failure; she couldn't afford to fall apart. Every passing second was one in which Braig suffered for her weakness-
"Tulio - psst, Tulio!" a voice hissed.
Mira whipped around, instinctively calling for her keyblade, but it didn't come. She clenched her empty fist. "Who's there?"
A disheveled blond man stepped into the moonlight, hands held aloft. He was thin and very dirty, but otherwise in good spirits. His red shirt was covered in dust, but his face lit up in a giddy smile. "Hello - I'm Miguel. Who are you?"
"Why are you in here?" she whispered, keeping her voice low to prevent it from carrying up to the deck. Cortes didn't specify what constituted as a distraction and she wasn't eager to find out.
Miguel took a seat in the center of the brig, sitting cross-legged and peering up at her. "My partner and I were caught stowing away."
"That's something we have in common, then. Where were you trying to go?"
"We didn't actually intend to board!" he laughed, and her eyes flicked up to the grate then back to him. "It's a funny little adventure, you see. My partner, Tulio, he's sleeping over there," Miguel gestured behind him, "and I had a small run-in with the city guards. We hid in some barrels to escape them."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why were they after you?" If they were criminals, she would be hard-pressed to fight them off if they had a mind to attack her. Even if he was scrawny, she was outnumbered and disarmed. And with Braig's fate in the balance, she needed to be careful.
He rubbed his beard, humming lightly. "Let's just say, we won a lot of money playing with some loaded dice. At any rate, those barrels were meant to be provisions for this great expedition to the new world... or something like that, and now we're here in this brig awaiting enslavement on a sugar plantation." Enslavement? For cheating at dice and stowing away? That was ludicrous! "But enough about me, that was quite the commotion up there. I'm very curious to know why you're down here, miss...?" He smiled boyishly. Had he not been covered in filth, it might've even been charming.
She relaxed fractionally, taking a seat on the dusty floor. "My name is Mira." The truth of them travelling from another world would have been too fantastical - not to mention forbidden, so she settled with the excuse they'd already been provided with. "We were caught stowing away as well..."
He gaped. "But we've been at sea for weeks!"
Mira floundered. "Uh... has it been that long? The days have kinda melded together-" Dark shadows blocked the light, shrouding them in darkness, and Mira's mouth snapped shut. Had they been too noisy? Her heart thundered in her chest when the grate above creaked open.
Distantly, someone said, "Throw him in," and she leapt to her feet, eyes wide. There was shuffling and grunting, and a familiar voice groaned in pain. Under the cover of shadows, Mira whispered a desperate gravity spell, catching Braig as he fell, and collapsing in a heap. Though he was lighter thanks to the spell, he was still too large and heavy for her. The guards locked the grate and moved away, allowing light to filter through once again.
"Are you alright?" Miguel scrambled toward them, gripping Braig's shoulders and heaving the scarred man off her. "Do you know him?"
"I'm fine – help me sit him up! Please," she added softly. "He's my friend." With the blond's help, she pushed Braig into a sitting position.
"Princess?" he mumbled weakly.
Mira shushed him. "I'm fine. Just… hold on; I'll patch you up, okay?" she whispered, worrying her lip between her teeth. She glanced at Miguel. "Thank you… Can you give us a moment?"
Miguel offered a small smile. "We can speak more in the morning. Goodnight, Miss Mira."
He returned to his dark corner; once he was out of sight, Mira whispered in Braig's ear, "I need you to stand, okay? I can't lift you on my own, and I don't think we should let anyone else see my magic." Her master had told her to be wary of demonstrating her abilities if she was trying to blend in on an unknown world. With Cortes's promise of a fiery end, she now understood why.
He grunted, and they slowly shuffled to the opposite side of the brig. Helping him out of his coat and shirt, Mira winced at every pained noise he made. Angry red welts maligned his skin and blood oozed from some of the lacerations. Such barbarism... Whispering a quiet "curaga," she blocked as much of the soft glow as she could with her body, ears straining for any sign that Miguel had seen the magic. There was none. The bullet in his arm landed on the floor with a 'thunk' as the wound healed. In the fading glow of her spell, she took in Braig's drawn expression and mussed hair. She cupped his cheek. It was clammy. "I'm so sorry…" she sniffled.
He leaned into her touch. "That Cortes is a real jackass," he growled. "Did anyone...?"
Mira let out a shuddering breath and shook her head. "No. They threw me down here and haven't bothered me since."
"Good." He shifted into a more comfortable position. "Did you notice he used the darkness to break your shield?"
"You saw it too?" For someone to have that much concentrated dark energy, something was throwing this world out of balance.
"Mhm. I was going to suggest we cut our losses and leave, but we should poke around and see if anything else is off around here. If you're up for it, that is."
"I should be the one saying that. Are you sure we should stay?"
He grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'll go where you go, Princess. Lead the way."
"What if I lead us into another mess?" she asked in a small voice.
"Then we'll deal with it. Though..." he huffed, "we've got to do something about that keyblade of yours. Talk about unreliable."
She flinched. "I'll work harder..."
"Focus on getting some rest for now. You'll need it after using all that magic."
"Right..." she mumbled. Within minutes, his breathing evened. Mira shifted away from him and curled into a ball on the unforgiving floor, nursing her bruised pride. She glanced at Braig, envious of his easy slumber. He stuck his neck out for her and was a good friend. Reliable. Unlike her. She had to work harder. But unless she discovered the source of the problem with her keyblade, she had little hope of solving it...