Out at sea, far from the islands Linus had crossed, Trunks's black ship steadily cut through the waves. To him, the sea wasn't just a road, but a stage on which to assert his authority.
Trunks stood on the prow of the ship, his long brown hair blowing in the wind, his blue eyes flashing like lightning. Around him, his large crew moved with a discipline strange to pirates. They weren't just men seeking booty, but a disciplined army, knowing their leader wouldn't tolerate chaos.
Marcus, his burly lieutenant, approached him and said, "Sir, we've captured three merchant ships this week. The ports are starting to whisper your name. Some are afraid, some want to join."
Trunks smiled coldly. "That's what I want. Fear alone isn't enough... They must see me as an inevitable fate. Then, they won't resist; they'll come themselves."
Then he turned to his men and raised his voice:
"Wolves! The sea is ours, but the sea alone is not enough. We need eyes in every port, ears in every market. From today, we will not be mere pirates… We will be a network, its threads stretching from Tossa to the gates of Athens!"
The men's voices rose in cheers, stamping their feet, chanting his name:
"Tronix! Tronix!"
But Tronix wasn't content with just chanting. He knew that true power lay not only in swords, but in information.
He sat in his cabin, before a large map of the sea. He pointed to various points:
"Here… the City of Sand. Merchants there sell everything. We will plant our men among them."
"And here… the northern ports. We will send small ships, not to fight, but to trade in our name. Money opens doors that swords cannot."
"As for Athens… it's the target. But we won't attack it directly. We'll make it come to us, weak and conflicted, until we're the only solution."
A young woman, wearing a black coat and with sharp eyes, entered. She was Elara, the spymaster in his crew.
"Sir," she said in a calm voice. "We have news. A white ship was seen crossing the Corridor of Shadows… and escaped."
Tronix raised his eyebrows in interest. "A white ship? And who's piloting it?"
"A young man named Linus… they say he's the heir to Athens."
There was a brief silence, then Trunks gave a short laugh. "The heir to Athens? The sea offers me a worthy opponent. This won't just be a fight for spoils… but for the throne itself."
Marcus approached. "Do you want us to pursue him?"
Trunks answered, staring at the map. "No. Not yet. Let him grow, let him think he's getting closer to his goal. When he thinks he's strong enough… I'll be there to break him before his men."
Then he turned to Elara. "I want eyes watching him. Every island he passes, every man who joins him, every word he says. I want to know him better than he knows himself."
Elara nodded and left quickly.
That night, the crew gathered around the fire on the deck. Trunks sat among them, not as a distant leader, but as one of them, but with a presence that made everyone listen.
"Men," he said in a deep voice, "we are not just pirates. We are the fate of the sea. Whoever stands in our way, whether merchant, king, or heir, will fall. The sea knows no mercy… and so do we."
Voices rose in cheers, and the sea itself seemed to echo their words.
As for Trunks, he sat alone afterward, staring at the horizon. He saw more than just waves. He saw the throne of Athena shining in the distance, like a jewel waiting to be placed on his head.
He whispered to himself, "Linus… heir to Athena… we will see which of us will write his name in the history of the sea."