The time had come. He had always thought that he would die in one of two ways, either in glorious battle against another mighty vessel, or old and alone in his deathbed. It turned out it would be neither.

It was truly strange. He pictured himself struggling to the end upon an unwanted demise, brandishing all his strength to fight until the very last moment possible. But he wasn’t battling, not even showing any hints of rage or defiance. He was simply… numb. Both in mind and body. It was like if he did not care at all about what was happening, even if he was awfully aware of it. 

Maybe it was instinct. Sometimes, when marsh elks would be tackled and pinned by sand lions, they would simply freeze and let their necks be pressured until suffocation. He had also seen garden rodents play dead when spotted by bigger domesticated animals.

If he had a clear mind, he would reproach himself for comparing his demeanor with the one those feeble animals displayed. To be fair, such denial would be hypocritical. At the moment, he could only focus on staring at the ground while he was led forth.

It felt eternal, yet there weren’t that many tunnels to traverse to reach the ceremonial chamber. On the way, he was followed by a full entourage of soldiers and servants, who made an escape impossible.

Then again, part of him was still debating that he should try to punch one of the two guards by his sides. Maybe, if he acted rough enough, they would be forced to wound him. He really wondered if that would halt or at least postpone the rite.

As always, he pondered but never acted out of line. He should not care about the judgment of the savages around him, yet he did nothing to stop them or deter them. Like cattle to the slaughter, he set foot into the chamber without struggle.

He looked up at last; the fiery glows that emanated from the outer halls illuminated the chamber in an eerie manner. It made no difference if it was day or night, the figures that were perched on the circular stony steps were shadowed by the tall ceiling and walls. It did not help that all wore ritual masks, which hid their expectant expressions.

All were looking at him, their postures changing all ever slightly as he was guided into the sacred room. It truly seemed like they had been waiting for millennia for this ceremony, and they could not delay it any longer.

The pause only lasted for a moment, yet it felt both scarce and everlasting. The soldiers pulled at him again, guiding him down the steps towards the center of the room. There, the priest was shouting chants and loud exclamations for his people to rejoice, but he could not pay him or his sharp staff much mind.

His blue eyes were focused intently on the huge furnace. He could swear it was pulsing, breathing hungrily. The stony pipes that connected it to the ceiling were not hissing with hellish heat yet, but he was sure they were already. It looked like a tomb, its stone as black as night, earthly but manmade.

That hellish contraption would truly be his grave. Before he knew it, he found himself stepping into it. Somehow, he did so without the need of a push or shove; when they let go of him in front of it he moved without word or question.

He was obeying, even if it would only bring pain and misery for all. The chief spent one more minute boasting and pointing at everyone, while he just stared at everything around him. Before they raised the thin stony door that would seal the furnace, he got a good look at his outer surroundings.

He was jealous of their hopeful gazes. He wished he was still out at sea, prey of his vain ideals and fantasies. In truth, the world was unfair, and there was no devious grand plan from the gods to set things right; it took losing everything for him to figure it out.

Darkness had engulfed him. The furnace had been closed shut, trapping him and sealing his fate. Still, as the chants began to fade, he tried to take one last look at himself. After a few seconds, he shook his head and closed his eyes, sighing loudly. His only regret was not wearing a beautiful royal necklace for the ceremony.

Hope it looks nice on you, and that it satisfies your ambitions as much as you dreamed.

He wanted to go out with dignity. When he heard the chants stop and the priest speak more solemnly, he took a prideful stance. If he was to turn into a statue that would be displayed in the temples or hoards, he wanted it to be the most impressive of them all.

His stance was quick to falter. He flinched when he heard the priest lay his hands on the outer pressure plates. His frame began to tremble as much as the mechanisms did. The upper and external lava channels were roaring, struggling to unleash fire onto him.

There was another rumble from stone and metal, but no hissing of hellish magma. Due to it, Olve opened his eyes slowly and unclenched his teeth, confused. There were gasps outside, which were almost silenced by the loud scraping moans that the walls began to let out.

He was surprised and confused, but not as much as the priest. Both jolted when one last rumble shook the chamber. A wall cracked suddenly, for its inner mechanisms broke down due to pressure. That caused a chain reaction; the pressure plates that kept the furnace sealed gave in, releasing the inner weights that kept the stony door lifted.

Olve snarled when light brushed him again, blinded for a second. The next thing he saw, was the chief staring at him and the furnace, mouth agape and dumbfounded. The elder tried to understand what was happening, shout to question his underlings; he did not have much time to do so, only managing a half-yelled call.

Something rolled down the steps of the chamber from an outer corridor, just as the chief tried to summon his most loyal servants and send them to investigate the malfunction. His old eyes blinked dully as a small ball hit his feet, for he had never seen such a thing before.

Olve had seen many things like that ball. That was why he went wide-eyed, recognizing immediately the fuse on it, which was smoking. It only took one second for the blaze to consume the small thread, at which point he had already tried to shield himself.

The chief did not know what a bomb was, and much less what happened when a fuse burned all the way. That was why he was hit squarely by the small blast and sent to the ground. Smoke emanated fiercely from the small but potent shell, filling most of the chamber and sending the tribe into a blind panic.

Olve coughed there, slightly stunned. However, he knew that no tribesman could have set off such a device. He was both surprised and relieved when a shadow stepped closer through the smoke, enough for him to see a silhouette. It was only when a hand latched onto his arm and he heard a growl that he recognized her.

“Muevete! Fast, fool!”

He was forced into a blind run, her pull fierce. Of course, he did not struggle against it, because the alternative was to stay and die, but he questioned her sudden appearance.

“What- How-“ He was not managing to inquire well on any of his doubts, and she refused to glare at him in annoyance while she maneuvered past all the natives stumbling through the smoke. “Why?!”

“Shut up, or I will let a direct stab be my motive, I swear…”

Barbara punched a soldier that moved all too close into her trajectory. She had memorized the steps needed to return to the corridor from where she dashed, and nothing would stop her, not even Olve. He stumbled a little as they ran over each step, but her firm hold kept him from dropping to the ground like some natives. As they reached an upper doorway, they heard the chief stand clumsily and shout for the guards to assemble and stop the chaos.

While the smoke faded slowly in the chamber, the two ran through an outer hall, in which most of the mechanisms were exposed on the walls. The dust and smoke were not as fierce there, so he managed to see what had exactly made the temple rumble.

He glanced wide-eyed at the sword latched into the mechanisms. It had pierced the metal and some chains, preventing the inner workings from moving. She had used her cutlass to break down one of the devices needed to trigger the rite.

“You owe me a new sword, bastardo!”

He gave her a look, managing a few words in his stunned bafflement.

“H-how the hell did you know that would stop the furnace?!”

Her reply made him grimace, a pirate’s tendency to gamble never failing to unnerve him.

“I didn’t, just trusted my guts!”

With how strongly she ran, she managed to lead him out of the main temple. The tall and grand bridges came into view past a stony arc, and so did the endless pits. He tried to catch his breath and process that he was alive, taking a moment while she paused to survey a bridge.

“Why are you-?” He laid a hand onto his neck, having a sudden thought. “You are still after the necklace.”

He paled, remembering that he dropped it in that underground hoard. He had been sure that she had found it on the ground after his abduction. One glance was enough for him to tell she was not wearing it, and it did not help that she turned a little to glare at him.

They exchanged an intense look, just for a second. Her green eyes were aflame as always, and he was sure that he was witnessing the most angered of realizations. She opened her mouth to say something, which he believed to be a fierce interrogation of where the trinket was… but she could not say a word.

Both tensed and forgot about the necklace, at least for a moment, because they heard yells and clicked battle cries. The chief had recovered from his fall and had rallied his people, which were now rushing outwards from the core of the temple to find them. They had been quick to notice that the furnace was empty, without a single trace of lava or burnt flesh.

They could not face or fight such a huge crowd, and she only had two more smoke bombs that she stole from Olivia. The only option was to run and confront any small squads on their escape

“Come on, this way.”

With how surely she ran through a bridge, he could not help but trust that she knew her way out. His blue eyes lighted up a little, his mind awoken fully by adrenaline and the thought that he would perhaps live another day. At the moment, he could not care less about being stabbed or keelhauled at her ship, not when he had been about to be burned alive.

She did no longer need to keep a hold on his arm. Her green eyes narrowed when he pulled a little and freed himself from her hold, but he made no attempts at diverging his moves away from her. In fact, he followed every step she took. After all, she had crept into the den, while he had been unconscious when brought into it.

He wanted to ask a million things, mainly her escape plan and what intentions did she have in regards to his life. It needed to wait. They did not run down some stairs at the end of the bridge, no, they jumped them down, alarmed by how close the horde seemed to be now.

Once below, Barbara snarled and lighted a match; the light of the pits did not reach entirely the outer pathways near the caverns. The natives could see perfectly in the dark, so there was no point in trying to hide.

She glared at the crossing in front of them. On her way in, she had memorized the engravings and statues, using them as landmarks. There were two sculptures in a distant corner, and she knew that there were some stairs that preceded some halls near the caverns.

When she sprinted for that path, he followed. The light of the match was so faint that he almost collided with one of those two statues, which was a grim reminder of what he almost became.

“I-is this the right way to-?”

She stopped and slammed a hand on his mouth, strongly enough to hurt. He was given the most annoyed and flaming of stares, and if looks could kill, he would have dropped down dead. He cowered a bit, not only for her glare, but because some clicks echoed in an upper floor.

Not all the tribe had gathered in the sacred chamber, and it was a very stupid move to speak out of turn. She made a point by letting go very slowly of his face, never breaking eye contact while she did so. There was a small knife and flint gun on her belt, and she really did not want to put them to use.

With one last mouthed curse, she pointed at the opposite path; it was not one she had traversed in her way in. His words echoed through the tunnels, something that forced her to redirect her steps. Instead of up, she marched sideways to seek another set of stairs to ascend. She ignored completely his meek apologetic gestures, leaving him to follow her fierce stride in apprehensive silence.

A small group of natives had gathered in the path she had traversed before, and now she needed to find her way again. But she could manage. She trusted herself more than anyone else, and with reason. While he was the force that allowed a vessel to sail, she was the mind that directed it. Her crew never doubted her calls, for they always led them to safe ports or bays full of loot. The sea was her guide, and she could feel it calling to her, deep inside.

She knew where to go, she felt it. Problem was that the tribe was as adept in the dark as she was in the sea. As they ascended some uncharted stairs, they stepped into a big chamber, and in it, there were many stony balconies.

The light of the match gleamed softly in the shadows, and it was noticed. Olve was the first to see something move above, while Barbara eyed the paths in front of them. He dared lay a hand on her shoulder to warn her, and though she did raise a fist to threaten him for his impertinence, she was quick to catch what he was trying to tell her. She did not bother to silence her next curse, knowing they were being seen.

“Maldita sea…”

What had been a faint raspy creak intensified into a rough rasp. At least eight savages dashed in the upper balconies, finally lunging for the nearby stairs to reach them. Two began to let out clicked shouts, which were answered in the distance. Both recognized the yells of the chief and the way the horde turned in their direction.

She was daring, she knew this could have happened. The risks were many, and the chances low. Still, she was a gambler, and adrenaline surged through her, sending her into a fiercer sprint. He struggled to match her speed, but he did manage to evade the natives that rushed into the chamber they left behind.

They had barely ascended to the needed ground for them to leave through the pathways she entered from. The caverns were near, but only their most concealed depths, which not even the natives roamed much.

The tunnels began to turn shoddier, their stone more natural and untouched. Soon, there was light again, but it did not come from the glows of lava they had seen on the bridges. The more they ran, the more cracks and gaps would plague the walls and ceilings.

Olve saw glimmers in those small holes, and it was only when they expanded that he knew what caused them. There was amber pushing out from inside, everywhere. They had reached an area by the caverns, one that overlooked some deep chasms.

The den was no longer black and dark, but murky and golden. Wherever they were now, the tribe did not usually walk on. Rocks were fallen all over, making the tunnels resemble more a mine than a temple. The cracks were not only one the walls and ceiling. Both cringed as they ran, almost tripping on the holes that they began to come across on the ground. That could have been bad enough, something that could have slowed them down and let the natives get them… It got worse.

Barbara gasped and slowed down suddenly. Olve was running blindly behind her, looking back at their pursuers, and for it, she threw an arm sideways to stop him. Both huffed as they made collision, his drive halted forcefully. Both stumbled a little and tried to keep their balance while staring down at the big drop in front of them. The path they had been following was not narrow, and it did not lead downwards, yet it had still taken them to a dead end.

There was nowhere to run but back, and that was also forfeited. The huge drop was covered and layered by big amalgamations of shining amber, but its end was not evident. A faint echo reached them from those depths, and Olve was sure that it was the big river of lava that flowed under the bridges.

While he panted there in shock, she turned slowly and glared. She pierced the figures with her gaze, standing proudly while they neared. Sure enough, behind all the soldiers that sneaked closer, there came the chief.

When the amber’s light brushed the elder, she noticed that he had a small limp. However, his determination had not faltered at all. He pointed at the two and shouted again in a frustrated but triumphant manner, believing them cornered. They were, but she still had an ace in her sleeve.

The soldiers tried to step closer to seize them, but that only prompted Barbara to let a sharp laugh. They stopped when she moved, uncannily fast. Before Olve could register what yanked and turned him around, he was in a chokehold and had a knife to his neck.

Barbara snorted and smirked, seeing the chief gasp and yell out to his underlings to halt. Olve was as startled as they were, and he did not doubt to try to get free from her hurtful hold.

“What the-?!”

“Stay still or I’ll cut. I promise I will.”

She was threatening him and the natives, and if either dared disregard her warning, she would follow on it. Sadly, the chief was not all that convinced by the threat.

Olve cringed when the elder growled and pushed some soldiers aside, wielding his own staff. He pointed at Barbara, and it was clear that he was calling her bluff, shouting to deny her obvious demand of passage. It only took one more step towards them for her to make a point.

The knife was pressured a little on Olve’s neck, without hesitance. The chief exclaimed in shock as some blood poured; it did not help that Barbara stared into his eyes, coldly and meticulously. Her stance and hold on the knife were firm, uncaring for the way Olve hissed or squirmed in pain.

She did not kill him, and she really had no intentions of doing so. That, however, the others did not know. And to her surprise, the chief did not seem to care if she did now. Her green eyes began to widen when the old man looked at her in another way. His expression began to twist while he eyed them both, in a way that was far too judging.

Those eyes, they had eyed Olve with reverence and admiration before, but now they hinted nothing but antipathy. Upon seeing him overpowered, he lost all consideration for his previously perceived might. Now he was examining her instead, finding her fierceness and determined brashness noteworthy.

The chief let out a laugh that made both shiver. He then pointed his staff at her, and she instantly knew what the words he said next meant. She was considered worthy, more than him. The soldiers began to advance slowly again, encouraged by their elder. She pressured the knife a little more to try to deter them, but to no avail, the act only made the chief smile with indifference.

Olve was now less worried about being cut, because he sensed her reluctance. Even if she did slice his throat all the way, the natives would not be faced by it. They were going to seize them, or at least her. All knew that she would not turn the knife on herself, too prideful.

Indeed, she was glaring holes through the chief, returning his intense stare even while losing ground, each second more cornered between them and the pit. Her defiance was clear, but she was powerless against such a crowd.

Her blood was boiling, not only because her threat had failed to make them way. She was used to the way some people looked at her in an enthralled manner, and even if those eyes showed the same wicked fascination, it was all the more eerie and ominous. The bastard was eyeing her like if she was something, not someone. And she had promised herself long ago that she would be the one to set her own rules and paths. She was nobody’s tool.

Olve felt the knife move, once more. It leaned away, but her arm did not release his neck. His heart skipped a beat when he felt her pull him back, far too much. He only needed a second to remember she had been standing right in front of the pit, at its edge. Of course, he panicked upon her move.

“Wait, no, don’t-!”

She did indeed lean back and let herself drop, pulling him down with her. He did not manage to free himself from her hold before both tumbled backward into the huge hole, something he considered suicidal. She went down willfully and calmly, while he screamed as he fell into what he believed his death. As their figures disappeared into the shadows and the gleams of the amber, the natives rushed to the edge to peek down wide-eyed.

The chief tried to reach out, tried to call for her to stop. But his shout was ignored. He stood there, looking down, losing his offering again. There was silence… until a loud splash echoed in the far distance below.

The elder growled in annoyance and commanded all to move, for he knew that there was still a small chance to retrieve them. The depths of the caverns laid below, and it was not lava what flowed through them. Her leap was not meant to deny them their god through her death, for water could have met their descent.