After searching the ship once more for remaining captives, Eleven darted above deck, swords drawn as he scanned the deck. Chaos reigned. Explosions, fires, undead, and loose captives- a far from orderly escape, but such was the nature of things. He leapt forward to cut down one of the undead with a snarl, then swung indecisive eyes between the boarding plank and Captain's cabin.

Until a familiar voice on the wind seized all thoughts of infiltration and charge, instead honing in on the direction as his body turned. Surprise and relief swelled in his chest right alongside numb disbelief. He'd hardly dared to hope- but there he was, unarmed but towering and still fighting. Eleven grinned.

"Hendrik!"

An explosion rocked the ship and sent him to his knees before he quite made it to the knight. Clasping his falcon blades firm against salt-washed planks, Eleven's head snapped up and turned a frantic search until they found him again. He stood slowly, swaying with the lull of the ship as he closed the distance.

"Are you injured?"