Orimo Kuzan sat slumped in the cold prison cell, wrists cuffed, chest wrapped in rough bandages.
He exhaled slowly, staring at the faint red seeping through the cloth.
"It's probably going to be a permanent scar on my chest," he muttered to himself.
"A cross… fitting."
A guard stomped by and threw a piece of dried meat through the bars.
"Here's your food, brat."
The chunk slid across the stone floor, stopping at Orimo's foot.
He didn't touch it.
Instead, he leaned his head back against the wall and thought:
I can rest here… and maybe train a bit too.
From the next cell, a deep voice echoed through the darkness.
"Young man," the prisoner said.
"What are you training for?"
Orimo didn't hesitate.
"To take down Morgan Tarek."
The man's eyes widened in the shadows — visible even in the dim torchlight.
"You mean it?"
"Yes."
A quiet chuckle followed, low and surprised.
"Alright then… If that's truly your resolve, I'll train you while you're here."
His tone shifted, suddenly sharp.
"Just follow my commands."
Orimo nodded once.
"Okay. I got it."
The torches flickered, casting long shadows as Orimo dropped to the ground and prepared to begin.
In that silent cell, surrounded by stone and ash, he began reforging himself.
Meanwhile…
Across the world, the giants stirred.
Dravon Solmere — captain of the Ember Pirates — rose from his ship's deck, cloak billowing.
Sylphira Noctem drifted through the navy's shadows like a whisper of death.
Ashveil Pirates' Captain Ashveil Kenny sharpened his blades, watching the horizon.
Each of them planning.
Each of them moving.
And deep within the darkness…
Orimo trained in silence — forging himself through ash.