The sea churned with fury, waves crashing against the hulls of two colossal ships locked in a deadly embrace. The Requiem, a weathered pirate vessel with tattered sails and a hull scarred by countless battles, had grappled itself to the side of the Navy's pristine warship, the Valor. The scent of salt mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder, creating a pungent aroma that clung to the air.
Grappling hooks secured the ships together, their iron claws biting into wood as the vessels rocked in unison. The distance between them was negligible; their sides pressed so closely that cannon fire was rendered useless. The battle had shifted to close quarters, where steel and grit determined survival.
Pirates and Navy sailors clashed with ferocity. Cutlasses met sabers, pistols discharged at point-blank range, and the screams of the wounded pierced the cacophony of battle. The deck of the Valor was a maelstrom of chaos, blood pooling in the grooves of the wooden planks.
Amidst the turmoil, a lithe figure leaped from the Requiem onto the Navy ship's deck. He landed with the grace of a seasoned fighter, rolling to absorb the impact before springing to his feet. His curly black hair, damp with sweat, framed a face marked by determination and youthful ambition. Bright blue eyes scanned the battlefield, taking in the carnage.
A Navy officer charged at him, sword raised high. The young pirate ducked under the swing, his own blade slicing across the officer's chest in a swift, practiced motion. Without hesitation, he drew a flintlock pistol from his right side with his left hand and fired, the shot taking down another sailor attempting to join in on the fight.
"Riven!" a voice called out.
Turning, Riven saw Barlow Thorne, known among the crew as Grim, dispatching a Navy man with a brutal slash. Barlow's presence was commanding, his movements precise and deadly. His grizzled visage bore the marks of countless battles, and his eyes held a depth of experience that few could match.
"You need to stay alert," Barlow admonished, his voice gravelly. "Watch everything at all times."
"I had it under control," Riven replied with a grin, his tone light despite the surrounding violence. "I'm not dying before I become the greatest swordsman and captain the seas."
Barlow shook his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Your recklessness will be the death of you."
Their banter was interrupted as another Navy sailor lunged at Riven. He parried the attack, their blades clashing with a metallic ring. As they struggled, Barlow stepped in, his sword slicing through the enemy with lethal efficiency.
"I said I got this," Riven protested, slightly annoyed.
"And I said to stay alive," Barlow retorted, moving on to the next adversary.
The battle raged on, each side suffering losses. The Requiem's crew fought with desperation, their attacks fueled by the desire for freedom and survival. The Navy, disciplined and well-trained, responded with equal fervor, determined to uphold their duty.
Suddenly, the air shifted. A presence emerged that caused a momentary lull in the fighting. Captain Crook stepped onto the deck, his tall, slender frame exuding an aura of menace. His long black beard and matching hair flowed in the wind, and his piercing eyes scanned the battlefield with cold detachment. Clad in a long black coat and a wide-brimmed hat, he seemed impervious to the elements.
Crook wielded a single sword, its blade etched with ancient runes that shimmered with an eerie light. The weapon was known to be an ancient relic, its power unmatched. With calculated movements, he cut down Navy sailors, his strikes precise and deadly.
Riven watched with a mix of awe and disdain. He despised Crook, viewing him as a tyrant who used fear to command loyalty. Yet, he couldn't deny the captain's prowess in combat.
"He's a monster," Riven muttered.
"He's effective," Barlow replied, his tone neutral.
A commanding voice rang out, halting the battle.
"Enough!" it bellowed. "Stand down!"
Both sides hesitated, weapons still raised but no longer striking. A man stepped forward from the Navy ranks, his presence commanding attention.
I am Corporal Yhal 'Iron Fist' McLain," he said. "And I seek a fair fight—with the infamous pirate of the Driftwind Isles. Captain Crook."
Crook tilted his head. Then he laughed—a deep, rolling sound that didn't fit his thin frame.
"You think you're in position to make demands?"
Yhal flinched at the tone but held firm. "If you don't fight me, pirate, you'll look weak before your crew. That's nothing new, I hear, given your reputation for cowardice."
Gasps rose.
Crook grinned, raising his blade.
"No rules with pirates. But I like your spirit. I accept."
The fighters parted in a wide circle. Riven stepped back, breathing heavy. His heart pounded in his ears.
"If I want to be a captain… this is what I have to get used to," he whispered.
Yhal struck first, a massive right hook. Crook swung his sword to intercept—but the iron knuckles stopped the blade cold.
"It's an ancient artifact," Yhal said, smiling. "Indestructible."
He followed up with a left hook, the force behind it enough to break ribs. Crook slid back just in time.
"You're quick," Yhal said. "They say that about you."
Crook didn't respond. He lunged.
Yhal ducked, countered with a sweeping hammer fist. Crook stepped sideways, slashing. Yhal blocked with a forearm. Sparks flew.
Crook twisted, went for a thrust—Yhal sidestepped, throwing a low punch into Crook's hip. Crook recoiled, barely avoiding the follow-up uppercut.
Riven watched, eyes wide.
"They're… monsters," he muttered.
"Focus," Barlow said. "Observe."
Crook feinted left, then dashed right, dodging a wild hammer fist. Yhal's punch missed and cracked into the deck, splitting the wood. Crook moved like lightning—his blade arcing across Yhal's exposed arm. Blood flew.
The first strike.
Crook backed away, smiling cruelly.
Yhal laughed. "That all? You could've done more damage."
He started forward.
Then stopped.
His legs buckled. His breath caught.
"What—what did you—"
Crook raised his sword lazily. "Three seconds."
Yhal dropped to his knees.
"My sword's relic poisons flesh. Paralyzes a whale for a week. You're… smaller than a whale."
Panic spread among the Navy ranks. Some sailors leaped overboard, while others dropped their weapons, surrendering.
Upon seeing this, Crook yelled "fire."
Many of his pirates started shooting the Navy men who had dropped their weapons, killing them all.
Crook approached Yhal, his expression devoid of empathy. "I hope you saw that," he said, driving his sword through the corporal's skull.
Riven turned away, bile rising in his throat. He leaped back onto the Requiem, Barlow following close behind.
"This is the life of a pirate," Barlow said solemnly.
Riven clenched his fists, determination burning in his eyes. "Not for me. I won't become like him."
---
The lowest level of the ship creaked and groaned with the weight of the sea. Lanterns swayed gently, casting flickering shadows across rusted beams and barrels stacked high with stolen supplies. The air smelled of salt, grease, and old blood — the stink of Crook's reign.
Riven leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The wood behind him was damp with sea mist that had seeped even this far into the hull. His dark hair still clung to his forehead from the rain, and his shirt bore bloodstains — not his, but from men who didn't get back up. The artifact's glow still haunted his eyes, even though it had long since faded.
He wasn't alone.
"Late," Riven muttered.
"No, you're just early," a voice answered from the shadows. A gangly figure stepped forward, holding a thick book clutched tightly against his chest like a shield. Eldon Mire. His blond hair was tangled and sea-drenched, long strands falling over thin shoulders. His green eyes caught the lanternlight like polished glass, reflecting thought instead of emotion.
"You're always the first to arrive," Riven said with a small smile. "Even when you're hiding."
Eldon gave a half-hearted shrug, sitting cross-legged near the wall, the book still in his lap. "Reading calms me. Hiding keeps me alive. I prefer both."
Riven sat across from him. "You missed it. The fight. The power."
Eldon didn't look up. "Didn't miss it. I just didn't want to die. Like the others."
There was a beat of silence. Just the groaning of the ship above.
Footsteps thudded on the wood above — light, rhythmic, confident.
"Speak of suicide," Eldon muttered.
A loud clang echoed as the hatch above opened and a figure descended the ladder with the grace of someone used to working on failing parts in a storm.
Kaia Flint dropped into view, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. She was nearly as tall as Riven, wiry from labor, and wore a heavy toolbelt slung low on her hips. Her curly red hair was pulled into a loose braid, frizzing at the ends. Her bright blue eyes were sharp, clever — and just a little wild.
"I fixed the damn sail again, in case anyone cares," she said, flopping down next to the boys. "Pretty sure this ship's held together by spite and my wrench at this point."
Riven chuckled. "We'd be halfway to the seabed without you."
"You're welcome," she said with mock pride, then looked him up and down. "So… how was the fight? Heard it from up top. Sounded like hell. Didn't see much. I was, you know, fixing everything."
Riven leaned forward. "The artifact... Kaia, Crook took down a corporal with just one cut. That is the kind of power that could change the sea. I'm telling you, if I can get one... we won't need Crook. Or anyone else."
Kaia raised an eyebrow. "You thinking of stealing his?"
Eldon snorted. "He'll try."
Riven ignored them, his voice turning serious. "I'm getting out of here. We all are."
A quiet passed between them. Even Kaia stopped fiddling with her tools.
"I overheard something," she finally said, reaching into her belt for a metal bolt to twirl between her fingers. "Crook was talking to his vice. Said we're heading toward Courts Baine."
Eldon perked up. "The island of forest?"
Kaia nodded. "That's the one. He said something about needing new supplies and maybe... getting rid of 'dead weight.' Sounded like a threat."
"What's on that island?" Riven asked, voice low.
Eldon sat straighter, pulling his book open to a page marked with old ink. "It's mostly untamed. Big island. One village on the edge, the rest is thick, dense forest. The kind that swallows you whole. Legend says people go in and never come out. Monsters. Traps. But also treasure. Relics from a forgotten age."
"Perfect," Riven muttered, grinning.
"Perfectly stupid," Eldon said sharply. "If we escape there, we might never get out. That forest isn't some children's maze — it kills."
"That's why they won't follow us," Riven said. "Think about it. Crook's men won't dare chase us into that place. We go in. Lay low. Find a map. Get out."
Eldon ran a hand through his soaked hair. "You're not thinking. That forest isn't mapped. Even the villagers don't go far. And you want to just… wander?"
Riven stood. "No. I want to find one of those ancient places. Something real. Something powerful. And maybe a map or two along the way."
Kaia grinned, tossing the bolt in the air and catching it. "What are bars for, Eldon? Drunks talk. Some of them even draw treasure maps when they've had too much rum."
Eldon looked between them, exasperated. "You two are insane."
"We're free," Riven said. "Or we will be."
Eldon sighed and rubbed his temples. "You realize Crook will hunt us. He'll burn every island looking for us. You think he'll forgive betrayal?"
"I despise nothing more than pirates like him," Riven said, voice hardening. "He kills for fun. Chains us with fear. I'll risk it. For all of us."
He stepped forward, extending his hand into the center of their circle.
Kaia didn't hesitate. She slapped her grease-streaked hand over his. "I've been waiting for a reason to leave. And I can't think of a better one than an adventure with you, Captain."
Riven gave her a warm smile — the kind that always got him in trouble.
Eldon groaned. "Gods help me."
But after a pause, he extended his thin hand and placed it atop theirs. His voice shook, but not with fear — with anger. "Crook killed my parents. Forced me to help him. I was too weak to fight back then. But I'm not alone anymore."
Riven nodded, gripping their hands tightly. "As your captain, I swear I'll protect you both. I'll make your dreams come true, or die trying."
The three of them sat there, hands stacked, hearts set. For the first time in years, they weren't just survivors. They were something else.
A crew.
And the storm was only just beginning.