The Jolly Roger groaned against the black tide as if mourning with her captain.
"Drop the anchors!" Hook roared, voice raw, blood dripping from the stump of his hand.
No one moved. The crew stood frozen, hollow-eyed, each man heavy with the knowledge that the sea had claimed Ivory. To dive after her now was madness—the monster would have torn her apart before she ever touched the depths.
"Did you not hear me?" Hook bellowed, staggering forward. His boots slipped on the deck slick with his own blood. "Drop them!"
Still, the crew stood in silence, their grief mutinous. Then, in the aching quiet, one gunner raised a cannon and fired into the sky—a single thunderclap of farewell. A musketeer followed, discharging his shot into the night. One by one, others joined, until the stars themselves seemed drowned beneath the storm of iron salutes.
"Stop it!" Hook's roar cracked with something deeper than fury. "She is not dead. I will not have it said she is gone." His voice broke into a rasp. "I will bring her back."
But the men only lowered their heads, unwilling to challenge his grief, unwilling to hope.
From the shadows came Smee, clutching something wrapped in oiled cloth. His eyes shone wet as he unwrapped it—a curved blade of steel, forged to glimmer like moonlight.
"She made this for you, Cap'n," Smee said softly. "Said it was to honor your name."
Hook stared at the weapon, and for a moment, his rage faltered. Ivory's last gift. His lips trembled. Then, with a sudden ferocity, he thrust out his bleeding arm.
"Stitch it to me," he snarled. "Sew it to the bone if you must. It will be mine. She will be with me always."
The crew shuddered as Smee obeyed. Needle bit flesh, thread pulled through, blood welled black in the moonlight. Hook's scream tore across the deck, but he did not flinch. When it was done, he raised the gleaming curve where his hand had been.
"From this night," he vowed, voice ragged, "I am never without her."
Night thickened. A funeral feast sprawled across the mess tables—meat untouched, ale swallowed without laughter. The Jolly Roger was a tomb adrift, her men too broken for song. Hook sat apart, untouched plate before him, eyes burning with something darker than grief. At last, he rose without a word and strode onto the open deck.
The sea breathed silver under the moon. And then—stillness. The air itself seemed to bow. Hook's body froze, breath caught in his throat as moonlight lengthened into form. She came to him, radiant and terrible—Selene, elder of the moons.
Her voice poured into his skull like molten silver:
From the glow, she stepped—her feet never touching wood nor water, her form woven from silver itself. Selene, goddess of the elder moon.
Hook staggered back, heart thundering. She was terrible, radiant, untouchable. But her eyes, twin shards of ice, flicked to him with the faintest curve of amusement.
"Oh, poor you," she said softly, as though mocking a child who had dropped a toy. "The woman you loved is gone. Snatched away by the jaws of fate." She tilted her head, her smile cruel. "But is that not the way of life? People come. People go. And yet—you remain."
Hook's jaw clenched, blood still dripping from the ragged stump of his wrist.
Selene drifted closer, unbothered by the crew's stares, unbothered by the grief that soaked the ship. She leaned toward Hook, her whisper sliding into his bones.
"You are alive. You are strong. And I… I can give you more than she ever could. Riches beyond measure. Glory that time itself cannot tarnish. The world has stolen from you, James Hook—yet I can make you greater for it."
Her hand stretched, pale and flawless, as if offering both mercy and poison.
"Destroy the Nocti clan for me. I will give you their locations, I will guide your sails. Hunt them. End them. In exchange, I will place the Jakhumi Shell in your hands."
The words seemed to tremble the air. Even the sea leaned in to listen.
"This is no trinket, no ordinary bauble. No, no…" Selene's voice curled like smoke. "When you sound this shell, the Leviathan will rise."
Hook's breath caught. The name struck him like steel in an open wound. Images of Ivory's last breath flashed before him, swallowed by the abyss.
"Yes," Selene whispered, savoring his silence. "The very beast that devoured your love. The past is past, my child. But the future—ah, the future can be rewritten. With the Leviathan as your slave, you can command the oceans. You can carve your name across every horizon. You can become the first true King of the Seven Seas."
Her laughter was low and rich, honey over venom. "With Leviathan by your side, no one will dare cross you. They will tremble before the name Captain Hook."
She leaned back, silver hair rippling like a tide, and her smile gleamed with cruel promise.
"So. Accept my proposal, James. Destroy the Nocti clan. In return, I will pave your path in gold and blood. Together, we will open the gates to your brightest future."
Ivory's face burned behind his eyes. The Leviathan—the beast that had devoured her—bowed to this goddess. Fury scorched through his veins, but Hook bowed his head, masking the fire with feigned devotion.
"As you command, my goddess," he whispered, every word sharpened with venom she could not hear. "Grant me the shell, and I shall be your vengeance."
Selene smiled, moonlight bending as she dissolved into the waves, leaving only her command echoing in the hollow of his chest.
Hook's eyes snapped open. The deck was silent, the sea still. His hook glimmered, fresh with blood, as he pressed it to his chest.
"I'll play your pawn," he murmured into the night. His lips curled into a smile that held no mirth. "But one day, Selene… I'll find your throat."
And with that vow, the tide turned—not for Selene, not for the crew, but for the man who now bore Ivory's name in steel.
The world seemed to collapse into silence. Hook's chest rose and fell, heavy, caught between grief and the glittering promise of vengeance. His lips parted—whether to accept or to curse, he could not tell.
Then—
"Hook!"