There are three things of which he is sure.

Number one: his name. He knows the weight it holds, the money it represents, the power it contains.

Number two: His neck hurts. All the time, like an itch he can't scratch. It's excruciating, and although he's not sure how it happened, he knows the face of the man who did it.

Number three: He's married. Or engaged—one of the two. He has a ring on his finger that says so. Of these things, he is sure.

All the other things, he's not sure about. But there are also things he thinks might be true. He is angry, for one, but he's not sure of who he's angry at. He just feels swirling feelings of betrayal.

Who knows what happens when you die? He couldn't tell you. He isn't sure he's ever been dead. He isn't sure if he's alive now. Simply put, there are two parts to him now; one is sure of only three things. One does whatever a certain person tells him what to do. And when that person tells him to take that ring off his finger, he no longer becomes sure of that third thing. Without a concrete band to remind him, the surety fades to nothing.

But somewhere deep down, that other part of him is very much aware. He screams to get out, begs to have his words heard. Shouts to himself that he loves that one, he hates that one, he needs to protect that one. He needs to kill that one, or this will all go too far. He wants to rest again, to spend his days buried at sea where he belongs.

The first part is his mind; the second part is his soul, but his body does not listen to either. He is disconnected, sliced into three pieces. He is at war with himself, fighting to get out so he can go back to being dead, where he belongs.

And so, because that part of him is buried deep into his bones, he won't be the same. He will not retain the same values as he used to. He is not the same.

The funny thing is, this man is evil. He kills and he sleeps fine at night. He doesn't mind that life. And yet, even he—supposedly the evilest man in the sea—is quite aware that this is bigger than himself. That whatever is happening around him is far eviler than him. That even the Devil, down in hell, is trying desperately to stop it.

Because this is bad. This is very, very bad. The dead were not meant to come back. Why? They don't come back the same.

This is chaos.

Vallin Bardarian knows it.