The stench was unbearable.
A nauseating mixture of sweat, urine, vomit, and rot filled the damp air of the ship's cargo hold. The cold was also oppressive, the kind that stung the skin and seeped into the lungs with every inhalation.
Creaking wooden beams and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull were the only sounds, save for the occasional whimper of those too weak to suppress their misery.
Damon took in his surroundings, his enhanced senses quickly adjusting to the dim, flickering light filtering through cracks in the hull.
Shackled men and women sat hunched together in tight, suffocating rows, their bodies wasted by hunger and dehydration. Some stared blankly into the darkness, their spirits already broken. Others clung to each other, whispering in hushed voices, praying to the Land Gods who would not answer.
