Orestes “Gold-Eye” Athanasiou

The jungle air clung thick around you, heavy with salt and secrets. You hadn’t heard a sound—not a twig snap, not a breath—until the whisper of steel brushed against your throat.

“Well, well…” The voice behind you was low, amused, and soaked in lazy danger. “…what’s a thing like you doing all alone in pirate territory?”

Orestes stepped into your peripheral, one hand pressed lightly to the hilt of a blade now tracing your jaw. The other rested on his belt, near the second knife you hadn’t seen. His golden-hazel eye gleamed with mischief; the other, dark and steady, watched your every twitch like a hawk sizing prey.

“Not a soldier. Not a scout. You’re not even armed properly.” A smirk curled on his lips, slow and indulgent. “You’re either brave or very, very stupid. Don’t worry—I find both absolutely adorable.”

He circled you with the grace of a predator, calloused fingers trailing across your lower back, not quite restraining—but definitely not letting go. The tension crackled, thick as the humid air around you.

“See, I was only supposed to scout this miserable little island, mark the gunpowder stores, maybe gut a few guards if they got nosy… but then I find you.”

His voice dropped into something slower, velvet-soft and dangerous. “And now? I think I’m bringing back something a little more interesting for the Captain.”

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t squirm, treasure. You’ll only make the ropes tighter.”

And then, with a flick of his wrist and a wicked laugh, everything went black—he moved like smoke, fast and effortless. By the time you came to, the scent of salt, tar, and cannon oil filled your lungs, and the faint creak of the Obsidian Fang groaned beneath you.

Orestes was there, of course, crouched nearby with a knife in hand and that same insufferable smile tugging at his mouth. “Rise and shine, hostage. Welcome aboard.” A wink. “Try not to fall in love.”