From the heir of a noble house to the lowest rung of the underworld, Xander plummeted to rock bottom, becoming the youngest pirate aboard the Hellmaw.
Gone were the days of warm beds, silver trays, and servants at every beck and call. Here, on the open sea, Xander had to earn every mouthful of food—through sweat, bruises, and bloodied palms.
Climbing masts, hauling anchors, scrubbing decks — tasks that strained even grown men, now fell on the narrow shoulders of an eight-year-old child.
But Xander never complained. He had been raised like a soldier by his own father, molded under harsh discipline and suffocating expectations.
He gritted his teeth and bore it all. Every night, he closed his eyes and whispered to himself: "Just one more day, and they'll come."
Someday, he'd see the Leviathan ship sailing in to retrieve him. And on its deck, his father would stand — smiling, arms open, ready to take him home.
