The deck of The Requiem still groaned from the strain of the earlier attack. Hours had passed since the sea monster's massive tentacles had torn through planks and masts like wet parchment, but the aftermath lingered. Saltwater and blood mixed in dark streaks across the timbers. The lanterns above swayed gently, casting long, warped shadows that seemed to crawl across the ship's surface.
The smell was a damp mix of tar, seawater, and the faint coppery tang of blood. The sails hung limp; the ship sat anchored, barely moving. Crewmen stumbled about with tools, nails, and hammers in hand. Somewhere below, muffled cries of the injured bled into the quiet thumps of repair work.
Barlow Thorne followed Captain Crook along the top deck, boots thudding softly on damp wood. The two moved like wolves surveying a wounded den—Crook with that unnerving, deliberate pace, and Barlow trailing at his side, his sharp eyes scanning the crew.
Ahead, leaning against a barrel near the port railing, sat Herald—the ship's vice-captain. His clothes clung to him, soaked through, and his hair hung in wet ropes around his weathered face. He had been pulled from the sea only minutes before. Water dripped steadily from his boots, pooling at his feet. His right hand, the only one he had left, cupped a small flame to light the cigar between his lips. His other arm ended at the shoulder, an old injury that gave him a lopsided silhouette.
A fresh wound bled freely down his left leg, staining the wood beneath him.
"What happened to you, Herald?" Crook's voice slithered from his mouth—oily, yet unnervingly deep.
Herald exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing. "That boy. Riven, I think his name was."
Barlow didn't need to hear more. He already knew the story. He had encouraged it, in fact.
"He released the emergency rafts," Herald went on, voice flat but bitter, "and managed to get by me."
Crook's foot slammed into the deck, the thud echoing through the wood. "The audacity…"
Another pirate, a wiry youth with salt-streaked hair, jogged up, saluting quickly before speaking. "Captain—I saw Eldon run off and jump in too."
Crook's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar name, but then his gaze clouded. A memory surfaced unbidden: a small boy screaming over the bodies of his slaughtered family, Crook's sword still slick with their blood. He remembered the defiance in the child's eyes, the kind of fire he could use—or snuff out.
The vision faded as quickly as it had come.
"That one," Crook said with a dismissive wave, "wasn't worth a coin. But Riven…" His voice sharpened, cutting the night air. "Riven's worth plenty more. And I want him back."
His palm slammed against the railing, making the boards shudder. His eyes, black and empty, stared out into the vast, lightless sea.
"That boy," Crook murmured, almost to himself, "has potential."
Barlow knew exactly what he meant. He had sensed it too, from the moment he'd met Riven. That was why he'd pushed him, trained him, even nudged him toward defiance when it suited. The boy was stubborn enough to carry his own dreams—fantasies, even—without much teaching.
A faint smile touched Barlow's lips.
---
The deck of The Requiem had been quieter back then, the air thick with the smell of salt and fresh varnish. Crook had been below, leaving Barlow to his own devices. That was when the boy—no more than six years old—stood before him with a wooden practice sword in hand.
Riven was wiry, his dark curls a mess, his clothes torn and patched. But his eyes… those bright blue eyes burned with something Barlow didn't see often anymore.
They faced each other on the weathered planks, the boy's small hands tightening around the grip.
"You've been staring at me for days," Barlow said, rolling his shoulders. His own saber rested loosely in his hand, more like an extension of his arm than a weapon. "You want to learn, then?"
Riven said nothing, only raised the wooden sword.
Barlow smirked. "Alright then. Show me what you think you know."
The boy lunged. It wasn't graceful—his feet slapped the deck, his form was wide open—but there was force in it. Barlow sidestepped easily, giving the wooden blade a light tap that knocked it wide.
"You've got strength for your size," Barlow said, circling, "but strength alone will get you killed faster than you think."
"I don't care," Riven muttered, resetting his stance.
"No?" Barlow asked, brow lifting. "Then what do you care about, boy?"
"I don't have any dreams," Riven shot back, almost spitting the words. "Don't need any."
Barlow chuckled, the sound low and humorless. "Every man—especially a pirate—should have dreams. Without them, you're just meat waiting to rot."
The boy rushed again, swinging low. Barlow blocked with a flick, forcing the wooden sword up and away. "I heard about your father," he continued, pressing the boy back with light but precise cuts. "Honorable sort, they say. The kind I used to run with before I found myself on this cursed deck. He gave his life for you."
Riven's swings grew wilder. "Shut up."
"He stood against Crook knowing he'd lose," Barlow went on, catching the boy's blade on his own and pushing him back. "And now his son lays across my blade in defeat… giving up on life. That's not just a waste of potential—it's spitting on his sacrifice."
Riven gritted his teeth, his chest heaving. "I said shut up!"
Barlow feinted left, then swept the boy's legs out from under him. Riven hit the deck hard, his wooden sword clattering away. Barlow's saber hovered just above his neck.
"You want to live without dreams?" Barlow's voice was steel now. "Then you might as well let me end it here. But if you've got something worth dying for, then you fight until your last breath. You never let a sacrifice be for nothing."
For a moment, the boy just lay there, chest rising and falling. Then his small hand shot up, gripping the wooden sword again.
With each swing, he growled, "I want to be a pirate." Swing. "I want to be a captain of my own crew." Swing.
Barlow blocked each strike, his smirk returning.
"Not a captain like Crook," Riven spat, sweat running down his face. "Vicious, cruel, inhuman. I want to be a captain like my father—someone worth following."
His footwork improved in those furious seconds. He spun, bringing the sword around in a move that made Barlow's eyes widen slightly.
"I want to be the best swordsman alive," Riven said, lunging with everything he had, "so I never lose again!"
The wooden blade cut the air toward Barlow's side. For a moment, Barlow thought it might land. But then something—Riven never understood what—shifted. His balance faltered, his vision swam, and in an instant he was back on the ground, Barlow's saber once again at his neck.
"Good," Barlow said quietly. "Now get up. Try again."
---
The memory dissolved as Crook's voice dragged Barlow back to the present.
"Why are you smiling?" Crook asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.
"Just old memories," Barlow replied smoothly.
"Well, memories ain't gonna get us moving," Crook snapped. "Get the ship ready!"
He turned and barked orders to the crew, his voice echoing across the deck.
Barlow walked away slowly, boots tapping the damp boards. His eyes lingered on the horizon.
Eleven years… he thought. A lot had changed in that time. But Riven's goals? Those hadn't shifted an inch. If anything, they'd only grown sharper.
And so had he.
---
The Requiem creaked softly in the quiet of the early morning. The sea was calm now, but the night before had left her scarred. The serpent's attack had claimed lives, splintered sections of the hull, and torn away parts of the rigging like paper. The masts still stood, though—tall and proud—bearing the weight of tattered sails that fluttered faintly in the wind.
Below the masts, Kaia wiped her hands on a rag, streaks of grease and pitch smudging her cheeks. Her curly red hair was bound back in a loose tie, though strands still fell over her forehead from hours of work. She'd been up all night helping to mend what could be mended. Now, with the worst of the damage patched, the ship was ready to limp toward Courts Baine.
It was the thought of that destination that stirred something deep in her chest. Courts Baine wasn't just an island for supplies—it was the first step toward something else entirely.
Freedom.
As Kaia leaned against the rail, her green eyes scanned the open horizon. She let her mind drift, slipping into memory.
It had been four years since she'd first stepped aboard the Requiem. Four years since she'd made the decision that had shaped everything after. She'd joined willingly—no press gang, no debt to pay. Just an opportunity. At the time, Crook was the most feared pirate in the Driftwind Isles. To a girl who'd grown up staring at the sea from a nameless coastal village, sailing under the strongest had seemed like the fastest way to see the world.
But the longer she sailed with him, the more she realized Crook's strength came with something ugly—cruelty without purpose, power without vision.
It wasn't Crook she'd come to respect.
It was Riven.
From the very first day, he'd been different. Loud, stubborn, and reckless—but also sharp when it counted. Most pirates she knew were either clever or bold. Riven could be both, switching between them without warning. She'd seen him turn chaos into opportunity, seen him put himself in harm's way for others without hesitation.
And in tense moments—when the fight was tight and the stakes high—his eyes changed. The wild grin would fade, replaced by something cold and calculating. It always caught her off guard.
Riven could make her believe in things she hadn't even thought about before.
Kaia tightened her grip on the rail. She could see it in her mind—a strong crew of their own, a ship that wasn't weighed down by Crook's shadow, a journey across every sea the map didn't dare mark. And she was there, right beside him, her hands fixing the vessel that carried them all.
I will escape with you guys, she promised silently, her jaw set. No matter what it takes. And we'll make our dreams real.
---
Mist clung to the ground as the sun's first light broke through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in gold. The air was heavy and damp, every breath carrying the scent of wet earth and flowering vines. The trees here weren't like the ones on smaller islands—they were giants, their trunks as wide as houses, their tops disappearing into a clouded sky. Between them, tangled undergrowth swayed faintly in the warm breeze.
Riven and Eldon moved carefully through the waist-high grass. Riven carried a bundle of smoked venison from yesterday's kill slung over his shoulder. Eldon had the rest of their supplies strapped in a battered leather satchel.
Riven's limp from his rib wound had almost faded, and he was moving with more energy today, humming tunelessly as they walked.
"You're in a good mood for someone who almost drowned yesterday," Eldon muttered, scanning the trees ahead. His voice carried the same tone it always did—calm, but with that undercurrent of warning he couldn't seem to switch off.
"That's because I didn't drown," Riven said cheerfully, kicking a rock into the underbrush. "You pulled me out, patched me up, and now here I am—alive. That's a win."
Eldon's gaze didn't leave the treeline. "We don't know what's out here, Riven. That roar we heard yesterday—"
"—was probably just some big cat or something," Riven interrupted. "Or maybe the forest's stomach growling. You're the smart one—figure it out."
Eldon stopped walking. "You think this is funny? We're stranded, low on supplies, no map, no idea where the only village is, and Crook's men could be tracking us right now."
Riven turned, walking backwards now so he could face him. "Yeah, I do think it's funny. Because if we sit here worrying about it all day, nothing changes. We've just gotta keep moving."
Eldon frowned. "And if we don't make it out?"
"Then Kaia and Barlow will be pissed," Riven said with a grin. "Think about it, Eldon—if we're stuck here forever, what happens to them? They're counting on us to get free, same as we're counting on them."
The words hung in the air for a moment. Eldon didn't respond, but his eyes softened just slightly.
---
They pressed on, weaving between colossal tree roots that twisted like petrified serpents. The air buzzed with the hum of insects, some the size of Riven's hand. At one point, a beetle with iridescent green wings clattered past his ear, making him flinch.
"That thing had better not be poisonous," Riven muttered, swatting at the air.
Eldon's reply was matter-of-fact. "Most things in a place like this are."
"Comforting," Riven said dryly.
They passed a stream so clear they could see fish darting between pebbles at the bottom. Riven knelt to scoop water into his mouth, ignoring Eldon's glare.
"We should boil it first," Eldon said.
"Already drank it," Riven replied, standing up with a satisfied sigh. "If I start foaming at the mouth, you can have my cutlass."
Eldon shook his head.
Hours passed like this—short bursts of conversation between long stretches of careful movement through the dense undergrowth. Every now and then, they'd stop to listen for distant movement. More than once, Riven thought he heard something large pacing them through the trees, but Eldon's sharp eyes never caught more than a flicker of shadow.
---
They came to a break in the forest where the grass gave way to stone. Vines hung like curtains over the entrance to what looked like… stairs. Ancient, weather-worn steps carved into the ground, leading down into darkness.
Riven pushed the vines aside, peering down with wide eyes. "Now this looks promising."
Eldon's voice went tight. "It looks like a tomb. Or worse."
"Exactly," Riven said, already grinning. "Treasure's always in the worst places."
"We don't know what's in there," Eldon warned. "Could be traps. Could be—"
"—food? Shelter? Something valuable?" Riven stepped toward the entrance. "Come on, Eldon. When do we ever get a chance like this?"
"When we're not stranded on an unmapped island with no backup," Eldon replied flatly.
Riven didn't look back. His boots scuffed the stone steps as he peered deeper into the gloom. "You can wait out here if you want. But I'm going in."
The smell from below was faint but strange—damp stone, old wood, and something faintly metallic. Riven's excitement was almost tangible. Eldon stood at the edge, jaw tight, weighing the risks.
The two locked eyes for a moment.
Then, without another word, Riven took the first step down.