The Flynn Twins' ships were left adrift, their fate entrusted to the sea. Thomas had neither the time nor the inclination to tow two wrecks back to Port Royal. The bounty could be claimed later with a flag and the crew's testimony. The more valuable prize was now in his hand, a silver compass whose needle trembled with arcane energy, pointing steadily northwest.
On the deck of The Venture, the atmosphere of victory had been replaced by a superstitious tension. The crew steered clear of the cabin table where the compass lay, as if the object were a venomous snake.
"That thing is cursed, Captain," Arthur said, his voice low. "I've heard stories about compasses like this. They bring nothing but bad luck."
"Every treasure map brings bad luck to those who fail, Arthur," Thomas retorted, his eyes fixed on the compass. "This isn't just a compass. It's a clue. An invitation."
"An invitation to our graves!" Master Gunner Riggs spat onto the deck. "That needle points towards the Shattered Sea. No sane captain sails there. It's a nest of Sirens, ghost ships, and death itself."
Thomas knew they were right. The Shattered Sea was a death zone, created by a magical catastrophe left behind by Captain "Storm-Eye" Jack. It was a place where the laws of nature didn't apply. But that's exactly what made it alluring. The greatest adventures were always hidden in the most dangerous places.
He picked up the compass. The needle trembled in his hand, as if alive. My soul is hungry for adventure, not boring sugar patrols, he thought. Being a privateer was a means to an end. But this... this was the purpose.
"We have a choice," Thomas said to his assembled crew. "We can go back to Port Royal, claim our bounty, and take another boring mission from the Governor. Or, we can follow the trail of a legend. We can sail to a place where other captains are too afraid to go, and take whatever waits for us there."
He held the compass high. "I won't force you. But I, as your captain, choose adventure. Who's with me?"
Silence fell over the deck. Then, Riggs laughed, a deep, raspy laugh. "Damn you, lad. I'm too old to die in a bed. I'm in."
Arthur sighed, but then nodded. "Aye, Captain."
One by one, compelled by the magic of the contract and their own bravery, the entire crew cheered in agreement. They might be afraid of the Shattered Sea, but they trusted their captain more.
"Good," Thomas said with a grin. "Helmsman, turn the bow to the northwest! Arthur, get double rum rations for everyone! Riggs, ready the cannons with grapeshot. I have a feeling we won't be fighting ships this time."
For the next two days, they sailed towards uncharted territory. The sky that was once clear slowly turned gray. The sea that was once a clear blue was now a dark, restless gray. The air became cold and damp, carrying a strange scent of ozone and decay.
On the morning of the third day, they saw it. A thick, unnatural wall of fog, rising from the sea surface like a ghostly fortress. It was the border of the Shattered Sea.
As The Venture approached the wall of fog, a chilling silence fell over them. The wind stopped blowing, yet the ship continued to move forward, pulled by an unseen current. Strange noises began to emanate from within the fog—unintelligible whispers, and most chilling of all, a faint, incredibly beautiful melody.
"Sirens," a young sailor whispered, his face pale.
Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine. The needle on the Compass of Sorrow trembled violently, pointing straight into the heart of the fog. The tragedy was in there.
"Prepare earplugs from wax!" Thomas ordered, his voice firm even as his heart pounded. "Anyone who doesn't plug their ears will be tied to the mast! Gunners, man your stations. If you see anything moving in that fog, shoot!"
With the crew's ears plugged and weapons at the ready, The Venture broke through the wall of fog. The world around them vanished, replaced by a suffocating shroud of gray-white. Visibility was only a few meters. The ship felt alone in the universe, a small island of sanity in a sea of madness.
The Sirens' music grew louder, more alluring, creeping in even through the thickest wax plugs, a promise of impossible pleasure.
Then, amidst the hypnotic music, another sound emerged. The slow toll of a ship's bell, coming from somewhere within the fog ahead of them. A toll that signaled death.
The tolling grew closer, a funereal rhythm piercing through the intoxicating Siren song. Every crew member on The Venture stood at the ready, muskets in hand, eyes piercing the seemingly endless shroud of fog. The compass in Thomas's hand trembled violently, its needle pointing straight ahead, towards the source of the bell's sound.
Slowly, a massive, dark shape began to emerge from the fog. It grew bigger and taller, a silhouette that dwarfed The Venture. It was a Spanish Frigate, a mighty warship. But something was wrong. Its sails were shredded, not from cannon fire, but as if torn by gigantic claws. Its rigging hung in tatters, and from its mainmast, a bronze bell swung slowly with the ship's rocking, producing that haunting toll. No flags were flying. No shouts of command. No signs of life.
"By hell," Riggs whispered. "It's a ghost ship."
As they got closer, the faded name on its stern became visible: La Sombra Dolorosa. The Shadow of Sorrow.
"It's not a ghost ship," Thomas said, his instinct taking over. "It's a ship that just became a ghost. Arthur, prepare a boarding team. Bring lanterns. I'm going up there."
"Captain, that's madness!" Arthur protested. "The Siren's song... it's getting stronger."
"That's why we have to be fast," Thomas replied firmly. "Riggs, stay here. If I'm not back in half an hour, or if you see anything other than us trying to get back to this ship, rain down everything you've got on that deck."
With steely resolve, Thomas led five men, including Arthur, into a small longboat and rowed through the calm gray water towards the silent Frigate. The closer they got, the more the Siren's song pierced their minds, promising heaven and warmth in the midst of a cold and dead sea. It took every ounce of discipline to stay focused on the task.
They threw grappling hooks and climbed onto the deck of La Sombra Dolorosa. The atmosphere was gruesome. Everything was in its place—cannons loaded, ropes coiled—but not a soul was present. The deck was clean, too clean. There were no bodies, but there were dried, dark stains in some places. On a table on the main deck, a chess game was paused mid-match.
"They just vanished," one of the crew whispered, his voice trembling.
"No," Thomas said, pointing to an open cargo hold. It was full of silk cloth and porcelain. "Pirates would have taken this. Whoever attacked this ship, they didn't want treasure."
They entered the lavish captain's cabin. On the desk, a logbook lay open. The last entries were written in an increasingly panicked and chaotic hand.
Day 3 inside the fog. The song never stops. The crew is restless. They say they see beautiful faces beneath the waves...
Day 4. Our best wine is running low. Several barrels mysteriously went missing last night. The cook swears he locked it. I blame the madness of the fog.
The final entry was written in smeared ink, as if the writer was dragged away mid-sentence.
They are on the ship! Not ordinary Sirens! Their song is the color of wine... they are not sinking us... they don't want our gold... they want...
The writing ended there. Just as Arthur shined his lantern on the bottom of the page, they saw it. A bloody fingerprint, but the fingers were too long and slender for a human, and at the tips were sharp claw marks.
"Captain," Arthur said tensely. "We have to go. Now."
Before Thomas could answer, a horrifying, high-pitched shriek tore through the silence from the top of the mast. It wasn't a human scream.
They ran back out onto the deck. From all sides, climbing the ship's hull with unnatural speed, the creatures emerged. They had the upper bodies of incredibly beautiful women and the shimmering tails of fish. Sirens. But their eyes were completely black, without pupils, and when they opened their mouths to sing, what was revealed wasn't human teeth, but a row of needle-sharp teeth like a fish from the deep sea.
The Sirens weren't singing to allure. They were shrieking to hunt.
"Back to the longboat!" Thomas yelled, drawing his sword.
The fight was a nightmare. The creatures moved with terrifying speed and agility, their claws capable of tearing through wood and flesh with ease. Thomas's crew, though brave, was overwhelmed. One sailor was pulled from the railing, his scream cut short by the sound of water.
Suddenly, a massive roar from The Venture pierced the fog. Riggs had kept his promise. The cannons weren't firing balls, but grapeshot. A rain of hundreds of small lead spheres struck the Frigate's deck, tearing several Sirens to pieces and forcing the others to leap back into the sea.
The opportunity was not wasted. Thomas and his remaining men jumped back into their longboat and rowed with all their might.
They made it back to The Venture and immediately cut the anchor line, allowing the ship to drift away from the cursed Frigate. As La Sombra Dolorosa was swallowed by the fog again, the Sirens' song slowly faded, replaced by the gasping breaths of the surviving crew.
Thomas stood trembling, not from fear, but from rage. These creatures were an insult to the sea.
He looked at the Compass of Sorrow. Its needle was no longer pointing towards the ghost ship. Now, the needle pointed slightly more north, deeper into the heart of the Shattered Sea. Towards their lair.
Arthur approached him, his face pale. "We have to get out of here, Captain. We can't fight them."
"We can't run from them either," Thomas replied, his voice as cold as steel. He clenched his hand around the cursed compass. "Those creatures are a plague. And I am the cure."
He turned to face his shaken crew. "Helmsman, follow this compass! We're sailing straight into hell and showing the devils who the real captain is!"
Thomas's order to sail deeper was met with a silence more terrifying than a shout of protest. The crew, their faces pale under the dim lantern light, stared at their young captain with a mix of fear and blind faith. The magical contract bound their will, but Thomas's mad bravery ignited a fire in their souls. They would follow him, even if it was to the bottom of the ocean.
The Venture moved forward, fully swallowed by the fog of the Shattered Sea. The world narrowed to a small circle around the ship. Time seemed to lose all meaning. Their only guide was the endlessly trembling needle of the Compass of Sorrow.
The Siren's song was now a constant backdrop to their lives. It was no longer music coming from a single direction, but whispers seeping into every plank of the ship, into every nightmare of the crew. Thomas saw the impact: the sailors became more quiet, more irritable, their gazes often blank as if listening to a voice no one else could hear.
"This is worse than a battle, Captain," Arthur said one night, his eyes red from lack of sleep. "This weapon attacks the mind. How do we fight something we can't stab with a sword?"
"With a better weapon," Thomas replied. He had locked himself in his cabin for hours, re-studying everything he knew about Siren legends from books. He gathered his officers—Arthur, Riggs, and the clinically curious 'Doc' Bones.
"Their song is hypnotic because it's beautiful," Thomas explained, pointing to a rough sketch on a map. "So we won't fight it with beauty. We'll fight it with noise. Pure chaos."
His plan was simple. "Riggs, I want you and your men to get all the empty barrels ready. We'll beat them like war drums. Arthur, prepare all the ship's bells. We'll ring them non-stop. When we approach their lair, I want us to create the worst, most deafening sound this sea has ever heard. We'll ruin their music."
"And when they're confused?" Riggs asked.
"That's when your cannons sing," Thomas replied. "Use grapeshot. I don't care about the wrecks there. I want every creature that lands on them to be torn to shreds. The boarding team will coat the ship's rails with tar and prepare nets. If any of them manage to get on board, they won't be able to stand properly."
The plan gave the crew something they had lost: a purpose. Fear was replaced by busy preparation. They were no longer passive prey; they were hunters sharpening their fangs.
As dawn broke the next day, their surroundings began to change. Sharp black rock pillars like a dragon's teeth began to jut out of the gray sea, forcing the helmsman to navigate through a deadly labyrinth. The Siren's song was now much stronger, echoing between the rocks, feeling like a physical pressure in the air.
Then, they saw it.
In front of them lay an amphitheater of death. Dozens of shipwrecks from various eras—from majestic Spanish Galleons to sleek pirate Sloops—were snagged and shattered among the rock formations, creating a man-made island of tragedy. It was on these wrecks that the Sirens nested. Hundreds of them. Their beautiful, naked forms stood in stark contrast to the backdrop of rotting wood and the scattered bones of sailors.
Their song here was so powerful, so pure, that even with earplugs, the crew could feel it vibrating in their bones, pulling their souls towards a sweet despair.
The compass in Thomas's hand spun wildly; its task was done. It had led them to the center of tragedy.
Thomas stared at the hellish scene, his face hardened into a mask of steel. The fear had vanished, replaced by cold rage.
He turned to Riggs, his eyes gleaming. "Riggs! Play our opening song!"
Riggs gave a wide grin. "RING THE BELLS! BEAT THE BARRELS!"
Immediately, The Venture erupted in a deafening cacophony. The ship's bells clanged without rhythm, the crew hammered the sides of empty barrels with axe handles, creating a horrendous industrial noise. The beauty of the Siren's song was instantly contaminated by the brutal racket. In their lair, the Sirens looked confused, their song faltering for the first time.
Thomas drew his sword. "GUN CREW, READY! BOARDING TEAM, PREPARE NETS AND SWORDS!"
He looked straight into the heart of the death lair. "We are going to cleanse this cursed place from the face of the sea!"