The call came in the form of fire.
At the edge of the Silver Maw — a jagged expanse of reefs known for swallowing ships whole — a flare shot into the storm-streaked sky. Crimson smoke. A message known only to those who once ruled the seas: "Parley sought by a ghost."
It was a code nearly forgotten, spoken in hushed tones across taverns and graveyards. The ghost in question? Captain Verrigan Vane, former pirate lord of the Iron Shoals, long presumed dead — a man whose name still made entire fleets change course.
Raizen stood at the prow of the Ashen Gale, the flare still burning in the distance.
"He's not just a ghost," Zuri muttered beside him. "He's a butcher. The last time he held a parley, three islands burned."
"But he knows things," Raizen replied. "About the Hollow Throne. About the architects behind the Crown."
And so they sailed to meet the devil.
They found Verrigan Vane on the deck of a black-keeled sloop, alone, seated on a throne of bone lashed to the mast. He was older now, his once-golden beard streaked with iron, eyes sharp as ever — twin knives that cut through any lie.
Raizen approached him without guards.
"You asked for parley," Raizen said. "Speak."
Verrigan smirked. "The seas are boiling, boy. Thrones are toppling. And you… you remind me of the man I used to be before I gave up on ideals."
"You want redemption?"
"I want revenge," Verrigan said, standing. "The Hollow Throne? I sailed with men who sought it. One of them wore the Crown before it ever passed to your hands. I know where the next piece is hidden. But you'll need me. And I don't come cheap."
Raizen narrowed his eyes. "And what do you want in return?"
"Blood," Vane whispered. "The blood of those who betrayed me."
The crew was divided.
Zuri threatened to leave. Kato refused to speak in Verrigan's presence. Even Rourke, the ever-loyal helmsman, said, "He's death on two legs, Captain. I've seen what he does to mercy."
But others — especially those from the Flameheart War — remembered the chaos that had come before, and the order Verrigan once enforced through fear and power.
A vote was called.
Half for. Half against.
In the end, the decision fell to Raizen.
That night, under lanternlight and storm clouds, Raizen entered Verrigan's quarters. Maps were laid out. Secrets scrawled in ink and blood. Verrigan offered a goblet of dark rum.
"I won't lie to you," the old pirate said. "I've killed more than you've ever seen breathe. But I never broke a deal. That's my justice."
Raizen drank — and shook his hand.
"You break that oath," Raizen said coldly, "and I'll throw you overboard myself."
The Ashen Gale sailed at dawn with a new passenger — and an old evil.
As they passed the reef's edge, Verrigan stood at the stern, watching the waves.
Zuri glared at him. "You think this ends in forgiveness?"
Verrigan laughed. "No, girl. This ends in fire."
But deep in the ship's hold, Raizen held the map the pirate lord had traded for his place on board — a chart that revealed the location of a sunken fortress, once used by the Crown's earliest enforcers.
It was a chance too valuable to ignore.
Raizen looked skyward. The storms were gathering again.
And this time, justice wouldn't be blind — it would be drenched in blood.
END OF THE CHAPTER 5