Story
Nera woke before the bell, curled under a blanket that still felt too soft to trust. For a moment she lay still, listening to the creak of timbers and the gentle churn of waves. No footsteps rushing toward her. No barked orders. No clatter of chains. Just the steady breathing of a living ship.
She rose cautiously, testing the deck with bare feet. The boards were warm from yesterday’s sun. She liked that. It made her feel grounded, like the ship carried her instead of owning her.
Galenor was already in the workshop, rummaging through drawers with his usual cheerful chaos. Tools clinked. Metal rang. He struck gold when he found a gear he had been searching for and held it up in triumph. Then he spotted her.
"Early again, little shadow," he said.
Nera dipped her head, unsure if she should apologize. She edged closer and watched his hands. He pretended not to notice and made space at the bench. She took it as permission.
He handed her a broken clasp, a simple thing, bent in two places. She examined it, quietly moving her fingers along the metal. Galenor smiled when she reached for the tool she needed without asking.
She worked in silence. Silence was safe. Silence was familiar. But here it did not feel like punishment. When she finished, the clasp snapped shut with a clean click. Galenor grinned.
"Good," he said. "Again."
His praise landed awkwardly inside her chest. Heavy. Strange. But warm.
Later, she slipped onto the deck where the others moved through their routines. Caelin barked orders, her voice sharp but never cruel. Nera instinctively stepped out of her way, but Caelin only nodded toward a coil of rope and said, "If you are free, help me with that." No threat. No sting. Just a task.
Nera picked up the rope, hands steady. Caelin watched her work for a moment and raised a brow, impressed by the neatness of her knots. Nera felt a small bloom of pride, quick and embarrassing.
She moved across the deck like a shadow, quiet and unnoticed unless she wished otherwise. Pelonias greeted her with a gentle hum at the charts, and she lingered near him, feeling calmer in his quiet presence. Junia brushed past, offering a smile and a reminder to return later for ankle exercises. Nera nodded, unable to find words, but grateful.
Toward midday, she found Cassandra sorting scraps near the stern. Cassandra looked up, saw Nera, and offered a soft glance of recognition, not pity. They did not speak. They did not need to. The shared silence was easy.
In the afternoon, the ship hit a rough patch of waves and a lantern fixture shook loose near the companionway. Before the fixture could fall, Nera darted forward, caught it with both hands, and held it steady until the swaying eased. Galenor spotted her and laughed.
"That is why we keep you," he said.
Her cheeks warmed. She looked down but smiled.
As evening settled in, Nera climbed to the deck and stood by the railing. The sea stretched dark and endless, but for once she did not fear it. The wind tugged playfully at her hair. Lantern light flickered across her hands, clean now, not cut or burned from workshop accidents she was never supposed to make.
Behind her, the crew laughed around a pot of Yasmira’s stew. The had sound startled her at first. Loud voices always did. But there was nothing sharp in the noise. No anger. No danger. Only life.
She rested her fingers against the railing. The wood was smooth and solid. She felt the ship’s steady pulse beneath her touch, like a living heartbeat.
For the first time, she realized she was not waiting for the world to collapse on her.
For the first time, she felt she could grow here.
A place where her hands mattered.
A place where her fear could soften.
A place where no one called her property.
A place she might someday call home.

Background

Nera was born in the Empire, not to a family but to an inventory. Her earliest memories were of cold stone, iron lamps, and the murmur of adults discussing her as a number, not a child. Her features suggest some Montosho blood mixed with Imperial stock, but it is hard to know, as she doesn't know either parent. She grew up in a slave quarter attached to a large farm, a place where daily life was defined by obedience and silence. She learned to speak quietly, walk quickly, and keep her head low.

Her world was work. Sorting scraps. Carrying buckets. Sweeping floors. Eventually she was moved to a workshop where slaves repaired delicate items looted from ancient ruins. She never touched the fine things themselves at first. Only the broken pieces. Bent axles. Snapped chains. Loose screws. Yet even in that controlled environment she learned to see how things fit together. When adults thought she was not watching she memorized the movements of their hands.

She was never taught to read, but she could take apart a clock by the age of eight and put it back together without losing a piece. It did not matter. She was still property.

Life in the Empire

As she grew older the work changed. She was sent with groups of young slaves who sorted through heaps of salvage brought from ruined districts. Most of it was trash. Some of it was dangerous. She learned quickly that hesitation meant punishment and curiosity meant risk. A child punished in her group might disappear for days. No one ever explained where they went.

The Empire gave her food, clothing, tasks, and pain, but never affection. She learned to keep her face still. She learned not to cry unless alone. She learned to be useful first and alive second.

When Varro purchased her she expected nothing to improve. He did not beat her often, but only because he preferred his property unmarked. His runners were tools, and he expected them to risk their lives for whatever scraps they could drag from the ruins. Nera obeyed because she knew the alternative was worse.

Her world was defined by fear, not hope.

The Necropolis Incident

When Varro sent her into the ruins she went because she had no choice. The broken ankle came from a fall she did not even remember clearly, only the pain and the rising panic as the sun lowered. She knew the stories. Everyone born in imperial lands did. Night in Necropolis was death.

She thought she would die there.

Instead the Blue Marlin crew lifted her from the dust. She was certain they would give her back. Slaves were always given back. When Varro spat on her she shrank in on herself. She had seen slaves crippled and sold for less.

For the first time she saw strangers step between her and an angry master. It confused her more than the city’s shifting streets.

Joining the Blue Marlin

As the captain chose to take her aboard, Nera steps into a world she does not understand. No one asks for her owner. No one calls her property. She expects punishment for mistakes that never come. It takes weeks before she trusts any raised voice. Months before she speaks freely.

Galenor becomes the first person who looks at her hands and sees potential, not labor. Under his patient instruction she learns to repair tools, clocks, trinkets and locks. She learns to move quietly not from fear but from choice. She learns that stealth can be a skill rather than a survival instinct.

She remains thin, watchful, and hesitant, but the longer she stays, the more she grows into herself.

Personality and Temperament

Nera is cautious by nature and by history. She rarely speaks first and often watches before acting. Loud arguments make her flinch. Sudden anger from others can make her freeze. Yet beneath the fear sits a sharp, analytical mind. She sees details quickly. She notices loose clasps, missing screws, patterns in motion. Her strengths are subtle.

She has a quiet desire to be helpful, but she does not yet understand how to express it. Praise embarrasses her. Kindness disarms her. She has never learned what safety feels like and sometimes reacts badly when she receives it.

She is not helpless. She is resilient. Broken things still work. They just work differently.

Role aboard the Blue Marlin

Nera becomes Galenor’s shadow. She assists with repairs, learns the structure of the ship, and eventually becomes the person who can slip through tight spaces to reach problem spots others cannot. Her hands are precise. Her steps are soft. In time she becomes valuable for scouting, sabotage, and lockwork, though she never loses the caution that shaped her early years.

She builds quiet friendships. She listens more than she speaks. She avoids conflict, but when pressed she shows a surprising spine. Hardship taught her endurance, not boldness, and that endurance becomes her strength.

Relationships With the Crew

Nera forms attachments slowly and cautiously. Her bonds grow from observation first, then trust, then quiet loyalty. Early on, she measures people by how safe they feel, not by how kind they appear.

Galenor

He is the anchor of her new life. His patience, curiosity, and respect for her skills give her something she has never known. He becomes mentor, protector, and quiet father figure, though neither of them would ever use the word. He teaches with calm hands and steady tone, and she thrives under clear expectations without cruelty.

Junia

Junia tends her first, mending her ankle and checking on her through the following days. Nera is intimidated by Junia’s confidence but drawn to her gentleness. She watches the healer move through the ship with quiet command and slowly copies her composure. Junia is the first person Nera approaches when overwhelmed.

Scarnax

He frightens her at first. His voice carries the weight of command, and she expects punishment whenever he raises it. But Scarnax never once treats her as property. When she realizes that, her fear shifts into respect. She studies him the way she once studied broken mechanisms, trying to understand strength that does not harm.

Amaxia

Amaxia is difficult for Nera. The amazon’s bluntness and intensity make her flinch, but she admires the woman’s strength. Amaxia, in turn, grows protective in her own rough way. She respects survivors. Nera senses this and relaxes around her long before she can explain why.

Caelin

Caelin is the first to make her laugh. The boatswain’s dry wit and unshakable routine give Nera a sense of structure. Caelin never coddles her, never mocks her, and never treats her as fragile. This helps Nera find her footing aboard the ship.

Cassandra

Cassandra recognizes the way Nera moves long before Nera speaks. The lowered eyes. The careful silence. The instinct to shrink rather than stand. She remembers those habits in her own body. Cassandra becomes one of the few people Nera relaxes around, and they share quiet support without needing to ask or explain.

Pelonias

Nera likes that he rarely raises his voice. She often finds herself near him without realizing she has gravitated toward calm. Pelonias, in turn, treats her with polite respect and does not pry. That alone makes him safe in her eyes.

Roleplaying Notes

Speak softly. Pause often. Keep your eyes down until trust builds. Flinch at anger but not at work. Handle objects delicately. Notice small details others miss. Be humble, careful, and quietly clever. Avoid eye contact. Let your confidence grow slowly, like a cracked gear beginning to turn again.

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