Secondary Era, Year 6024, June 29.

On a sea the color of bruised jade, a gray freighter slid forward like a ghost in fog, the only ripple in a sheet of glass.

“Damn! Lost again! I’m down to one card, like a lone leaf in a stream!” The roar hit the timber walls like rolling surf.

“Hahahahaha—you think you can beat me, kid? Your old man’s still got seventeen cards, and I’ll crush you like a wave on a rock!” Laughter cracked like fireworks in the cramped hold.

A knot of burly sailors crowded a crate-table, their boots like anchors on the planks, their eyes glittering like fish-scales in lantern light.

One scar-faced brute jabbed a finger, his hand a hooked claw, at a sailor wearing a smug face like a cheap mask.

“You—you—mother—!” The scarred one shook like a mast in gale, words splintering like driftwood.

“Enough, Roger. You lost, you pay up. Go sort the cargo,” said a brown‑haired man, his gaze cold as iron in winter light.

“B-But, boss, I—” Roger’s face knotted like a tangled net, his body trembling like a line under a big catch.

“Move. Faster than a knife wind, or you don’t eat,” the boss barked, his words snapping like a whip in dry air.

“Yes…” Roger shrank like a crab to its shell, because when the boss burned, he burned like oil on open flame, no matter how soft he was to his crew.

“Hey, Roger! Bring an extra pair of shorts next time,” someone jeered, laughter dancing like gulls on a gale. “Lose ’em again, don’t come beggin’!”

“You stunted—!”

“Enough! Shut it!” The brown‑haired man’s temper flared like lightning over black water. “You gamble all day—gamble your damn souls? This ship still matter to you? If you’ve got work, get to it like tide to shore. If you don’t, roll back to your bunks and daydream in the dark.”

“But, boss, wasn’t it you who said—”

“What was that?” His voice hit like a thrown harpoon.

“N-Nothing!” The sailor’s face blanched like fish belly, his head bobbing like a buoy in rough chop.

The boss had a weakness for cards, a hook buried deep as a reef, and luck that sank like a stone; otherwise a man of his strength wouldn’t be out here fishing on the rim of the world.

They said he’d once run with the underworld, a name on the mainland like thunder before rain; but his path narrowed like a river choking on silt, and here he was.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled, eyes like stormglass. “Crawl if you ain’t got legs.”

“Pisses me off,” someone grumbled, their voice a simmer like a pot left on coals. “My luck’s darker than storm clouds every time.”

“Damn it, once we sell this haul, I’m hitting the casino and winning it all back,” another vowed, his dream a kite straining at its string.

Relief flooded me like fresh wind off the waves. “Hah—finally out. I was suffocating.” I pushed half my body from a fish crate, scales glittering like frost on my sleeves, my deep‑blue‑to‑black hair clinging to my back like wet kelp.

Why keep it long? Not my choice—someone forced it, like rain that won’t stop on a winter road.

Ridiculous, that a whole country wouldn’t send one ship to sea; if I wanted out, I had to hitch a ride with smugglers who fished at night like shadows.

If my little sister finds out I slipped away, she’ll blaze like a volcano; she’ll absolutely blow up, like thunder over a plain.

She won’t catch me now, though; I knocked her out and tied her up, like a soft bundle in a storeroom, and guilt gnawed me like a rat in grain.

Still, who else would sail out to whip the culprits of the waves—the Ghost‑Siren and her kind—if not me, the knife of ice against the storm?

Rumor said the Ghost‑Siren was savage as a starving shark, power deep as trenches; sea life obeyed her like tides obey the moon and cut ties with the mainland.

The Blue Domain Empire in the deep sea fell silent like a drowned bell; no help would come, just drifting silence like fog.

Any ship passing through drew attacks like blood draws sharks; the ocean had become a no‑man’s land, a border of teeth and cold.

“Who—who’s there?!” The shout cracked the quiet like a dropped oar.

“Hey! I’m not a bad guy,” I hissed, my voice soft as a night wind. “Just hitching a ride—wait, don’t yell! I’m only borrowing your ship to go out to sea.”

“You…”

“Wait. Someone’s coming.” Fear pricked like ice under the skin, and I folded my hands in a quick plea like a monk before a shrine. “If you trust me, please don’t tell. I’m begging you.”

I dove back into the crate, and the fish stench surged like a rotten tide, clamping my lungs like a fist.

“Hey! Kid, work!” Roger’s voice slammed in like a breaker on rock. “We’re hitting the most dangerous stretch, so tie the cargo tight. Mess it up and nobody eats!” The door slammed, thunder in a wooden sky.

“…I—I got it,” came a small reply, thin as smoke.

A dark figure moved in the hold’s shadow like a stray cat; a black‑robed kid stepped out, short as a reed, no older than thirteen by the look of him.

He checked the door like a cautious mouse, then turned back to my crate, his voice careful as a lantern flame. “Come out, big sister. Roger’s gone.”

“I’m a guy! Not big sister—call me big brother!” I shoved the lid wide, bristling like a hedgehog, annoyance sparking like flint.

“A… guy?” The black‑robed boy’s silence was a frozen lake, shock spreading like cracks in ice, though his face hid under dirt like earth over roots.

I couldn’t see him, but my mental sense brushed the hold like a breeze mapping reeds; for me, reading a room was as easy as tracing ripples.

His face was smeared like ash, unwashed for a long time, yet the features were clean as a mountain stream; his body was all sticks and shadow, like a slum kid in winter.

“Kid, did these pirates snatch you as a slave?” My anger rose like heat shimmer on desert stone.

“Um… big brother, I—” His words fluttered like sparrows.

“No need to say it! I get it.” Fury flared like a brushfire. “They even prey on children. You were snatched on your way home, right? Dinner waiting like a warm light, then traffickers grabbed you and sold you to this ship.”

“These bastards! I won’t let it slide,” I snarled, my vow a drawn blade catching frost. “They dare harm the country’s future buds—I’ll make them pay, petal by petal.”

“That’s not it! I came by choice!” His denial rang like a pebble skipping water.

“Huh? By choice?” I pressed a hand to his forehead, my palm cool as river stone. “No fever. What nonsense are you saying? I get it. They threatened you. Don’t worry, kid. I’m scary strong, like winter biting bone. No one on this ship can beat me.”

“Big brother, I really chose this. I need money,” he said, his voice low as dusk. “I looked for work, but nobody dared hire me. The crew looks fierce like wolves, but they aren’t bad. Please don’t fight them, big brother.”

“Uh… kid, you call this not bad?” Indignation rose again, steam from a lidded pot. “Didn’t you hear him? He made you do a mountain of work, and if you fail, no food. Even for child labor, withholding meals is abuse. That’s a chain in the dark.”

“It’s not like that. I think… they have their own troubles,” he murmured, his eyes like rain that doesn’t fall.

“Tch. I’ve seen a hundred child‑beaters, like weeds after rain. What great trouble could excuse—”

“Big brother, please. Don’t fight them,” he pleaded, his words kneeling like a beggar in snow.

The wheel turns, as sure as tides trade places with shore; this time, I swallowed the fire like a coal under ash.

“Fine. Since you say so, I’ll help you stack the crates,” I said, my shoulders loosening like sails catching a softer wind. “But I’m not touching fish again. Not even a scale.”

“Thank you, big brother who looks very cute!” The boy’s smile opened like sun through clouds, bright on a dirty face.

“What do you mean, ‘very cute’…” I palmed my forehead, exasperation rippling like rings on water. “I have a name. It’s Ling Yehan.”

On the mainland, I’m one of humanity’s sharpest blades, a ‘Frost’ hero, a winter gale wrapped in skin.