Rain.
It fell without mercy from the black heavens, cold and relentless, soaking the deck and every man upon it. The sea below churned like a living beast, waves rising and crashing against the hull of the pirate vessel as if trying to tear it apart plank by plank. Thunder rolled across the sky in deep, rumbling waves, and lightning tore through the darkness in blinding flashes.
Nikandros Pontikos stood near the starboard rail, gripping the slick wood to steady himself as the ship pitched violently beneath his boots. Water streamed down his dark hair and into his eyes, stinging them with salt.
Another crack of thunder split the heavens.
The sea answered with a roar.
Nikandros tilted his head upward and whispered a prayer.
"Pontus… lord of the deep… keep your storms from swallowing us tonight."
He barely finished the words.
"SHIP!"
The shout came from somewhere above, shrill with alarm.
Nikandros turned sharply as a lookout scrambled down the rigging, nearly slipping on the rain-soaked ropes.
"A ship! Warship from Rosaria—"
The man never finished.
A deafening boom shattered the night.
For a heartbeat, Nikandros thought the thunder had struck the sea again—but then the deck exploded in splinters as a cannonball smashed into the ship's side.
The blast knocked him flat on his back.
Wood fragments flew like knives through the air. Men screamed. The ship lurched violently to one side as water sprayed across the deck.
Nikandros groaned and rolled onto his side, his ears ringing.
Gods… cannon fire.
He forced himself up, gripping a rope for balance as the ship rocked beneath him.
Through the curtain of rain, he saw it.
A massive warship cutting through the storm.
Lanterns burned along its hull like glowing eyes, and lightning illuminated the painted crest on its sails, the golden roses of the Rosarian Empire.
Nikandros spat into the rain.
"Rosarian bastards."
Another cannon roared.
"MOVE YOUR ASSES!"
The voice was rough and commanding.
Nikandros turned to see Captain Kolton stomping across the deck, his coat whipping wildly in the storm wind. The captain's gray beard was soaked through, his face twisted with fury.
"Nikandros!" the captain barked.
Nikandros straightened slightly.
"Aye?"
"Stop staring and help with the damned cannons!"
Nikandros nodded once and ran.
The deck was chaos.
Pirates rushed in every direction, hauling ropes, loading powder, shouting curses into the storm. A man slipped near the mast and crashed to the deck. Another pirate dragged him up before a wave could sweep him overboard.
Nikandros reached the cannon line near the port side.
A broad-shouldered man was already there struggling with a powder charge.
"George!" Nikandros shouted.
The man looked up through the rain.
"Well look who survived the first shot!"
"Barely," Nikandros replied.
Another thunderclap shook the sky.
"Help me with this!" George yelled, shoving a cannonball toward him.
Nikandros grabbed it, the iron sphere heavy and slick in his hands. Together they rammed the charge down the cannon barrel.
"Ready!"
George lit the fuse.
The cannon erupted with a violent roar.
Nikandros barely saw where the shot landed before another explosion struck their ship.
This one was closer.
Much closer.
The impact blasted through the deck just a few paces away.
The force of it hurled Nikandros backward.
For a moment the world vanished.
He slammed into something hard—maybe the mast, maybe a crate—and a burst of white pain filled his skull.
Then there was nothing.
Warmth.
Strangely warm.
Nikandros blinked slowly.
The storm was gone.
Instead he stood in a quiet room lit by candlelight.
The scent of lavender drifted through the air.
And before him stood Violette.
Her hair was the color of burning copper, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes—green as polished emeralds—looked at him with a mixture of sadness and desperation.
"Nik…" she whispered.
He felt his chest tighten.
"Violette."
She stepped closer.
"Please," she said softly. "I am begging you. Do not leave."
Nikandros reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Her warmth felt real.
Too real.
"I am leaving for us," he murmured. "We need coin, Violette. We need a future."
"You could work for my father," she insisted. "You know he would take you in."
Nikandros let out a dry laugh.
"Your father is a captain in the Royal Navy."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to wear their uniform?" Nikandros shook his head. "I am Aelyrian. I will never serve the Rosarian Empire."
"You married a Rosarian," she said quietly.
He had no answer for that.
So he ignored it.
"There is nothing you can say that will change my mind," he said firmly. "You already know this."
Violette's eyes filled with tears.
"I don't want this life for you," she said. "Being a pirate… Nikandros, it is evil. Cruel. Inhumane."
"I tolerated you being a privateer," she continued. "But a pirate? I cannot be married to a man like that."
Something dark stirred inside him.
"You speak as if I had a choice."
"You always have a choice."
The words struck a nerve.
Before he even realized what he was doing—
His hand moved.
The slap echoed in the room.
Violette fell backward, clutching her cheek in shock.
Nikandros froze.
Gods… what have I done?
Her eyes filled with fury.
"GET OUT!" she screamed.
"Nikandros, GET OUT!"
"GET UP!"
Nikandros' eyes snapped open.
Rain hammered his face.
Captain Kolton loomed above him.
"GET UP, YOU LAZY BASTARD!" the captain roared.
Nikandros groaned and pushed himself upright.
The battle still raged.
Smoke and fire choked the deck.
Pirates clashed with armoured sailors as the Rosarian warship loomed beside them, grappling hooks binding the two vessels together.
"They're boarding!" someone shouted.
Nikandros staggered to his feet—
BANG.
The pistol shot exploded inches from his ear.
Captain Kolton's head vanished.
Blood and brain matter sprayed across Nikandros' face as the captain's body collapsed forward.
Nikandros stared in shock as the corpse fell onto him.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then rage flooded his veins.
He shoved the body aside and rose slowly.
Rosarian sailors poured onto the deck.
Their uniforms were dark blue, trimmed with gold, their helmets gleaming beneath the lantern light.
Nikandros reached for his weapon.
His rapier slid from its sheath with a sharp hiss.
It was a beautiful blade—thin, elegant, far too refined for a pirate.
A gift from Violette.
He tightened his grip.
A Rosarian sailor lunged toward him with a cutlass.
Nikandros moved first.
His rapier darted forward like a striking snake.
The blade slipped between the sailor's ribs.
The man gasped.
Nikandros twisted the sword and ripped it free.
Another sailor rushed him.
Nikandros ducked beneath the swing and drove his elbow into the man's throat. As the sailor choked, Nikandros dragged the rapier across his stomach.
Blood spilled onto the rain-soaked deck.
The fight around him was savage.
Steel clashed.
Men screamed.
Nikandros moved through it like a predator.
A sailor tried to stab him from behind.
Nikandros grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it, and drove the rapier through his eye.
Another came.
Then another.
Nikandros killed them all.
But then—
A voice cut through the chaos.
"Enough."
Nikandros turned.
An older man stepped forward through the rain.
His uniform was immaculate despite the battle—dark navy coat, silver epaulettes, polished boots.
A Rosarian officer.
Likely the captain.
His gray hair was tied neatly behind his head, and his thin mustache curled slightly at the ends.
The man studied Nikandros with mild amusement.
"You wield a gentleman's weapon," the officer said with a faint accent, his words smooth and almost musical, "like an ape swinging a club."
Nikandros wiped blood from his face.
"I am no gentleman."
The officer smiled.
"That much is obvious."
He drew his own rapier.
The blade gleamed even in the stormlight.
"Come then," the officer said softly.
They moved at the same time.
Steel clashed.
The officer was fast.
Faster than any man Nikandros had fought.
Their blades flashed in the lightning.
Nikandros lunged.
The officer parried effortlessly.
The Rosarian officer countered with a precise thrust aimed for Nikandros' throat.
Nikandros barely deflected it.
They circled each other on the rain-slick deck.
"You are skilled," the officer admitted.
"But unrefined."
He struck again.
This time Nikandros felt the difference.
The man fought like a duelist—not a soldier.
Every movement precise.
Every strike calculated.
Nikandros attacked harder, faster.
The officer turned aside every blow.
Then the counterattack came.
A sudden slash.
Pain exploded across Nikandros' face.
The blade cut across his eye.
Nikandros screamed.
Blood poured down his cheek.
He staggered backward—
Lightning split the sky.
And then thunder struck.
Not in the distance.
On the ship.
The mast exploded into flames as lightning crashed through it. Fire spread instantly through the soaked ropes and sails.
The deck descended into chaos.
Nikandros wiped blood from his ruined eye.
The officer stepped back calmly.
"Well," he said dryly, "that is unfortunate."
The ship began to burn.
Explosions ripped through the powder stores below deck.
Nikandros looked once at the raging fire.
Then at the sea.
With the last strength in his body—
He ran.
And leapt over the railing.
The sea swallowed him whole.