Since Mikael and Elhaan had returned, the island lingered on the horizon for three more days before finally faded —vanishing into the sea as the old legends claimed it would.
In that time, Mikael had salvaged what he could: a few chests of treasure, Black Mask's sword, and the belongings of the crew who never made it back.
Elhaan had been unconscious for most of those three days, his body slow to recover. Half his magical strength had returned now, though his steps were still heavy and his voice faint.
"There's an old saying," Mikael muttered as he watched the mage stir. "The older a magician gets, the stronger he becomes…"
A small smirk formed on his face. "Who knows—maybe you'll turn into a storm next week."
Elhaan didn't reply. He only exhaled slowly, a faint green flicker dancing across his fingers.
But there was a bigger problem—Mikael had almost no crew left to man the ship.
It had been nearly a month since the island. In that time, he had been forced to run the vessel entirely on his own—steering, sailing, cooking, even fighting off storms. It was exhausting. Maddening. Yet he was growing faster, sharper, leaner with each day.
The small red-haired girl, who had been terrified at first, was now helping quietly—tying ropes, carrying supplies, keeping watch from the lower deck.
---
⚓ Scene Shift — Aboard Another Pirate Ship
A black-sailed Jolly Roger tore through the wind, its flags snapping above the roaring sea.
"Sharks!" a sailor yelled from the starboard side.
Another voice followed: "Prepare for the hunt!"
The captain laughed from the helm, leaning against the wheel. "Try not to make a mess this time, lads."
High in the crow's nest, a man raised a pair of antique binoculars—early 1800s make. He let out a sharp whistle.
"Oi! Pirate ship spotted! Five hundred kilometers south!"
The captain raised an eyebrow. "Are they allies… or are we getting rich?"
The scout adjusted the lens. "Hard to tell… but their flag's a farad down."
Every pirate froze. Even the shark hunters went quiet.
Among pirates, it was a sacred rule—if a high-ranking commander or officer died, their ship's flag was lowered by one farad, the length of a man's hand. And no crew dared attack a ship in mourning.
The captain's tone changed. "Who do they appear to be?"
The scout narrowed his eyes, muttering an enchantment. A ring of glowing purple lenses spun into place, sharpening the view.
"…Oh my," he murmured, almost laughing. "It's your white-haired friend."
The captain froze, then exhaled softly. "Azan?"
The scout nodded. "His ship, at least. Flag's down. Someone important didn't make it back."
The captain's smile turned bitter. "I hope my rival's not dead. He still owes me a duel—and three crates of rum."
Then his voice rang out over the deck: "Call out for the boys! We're heading south!"
The crew roared. The sails turned.
The Wicked Gale began its hunt.
---
Scene Shift — Mikael's Ship
Mikael narrowed his eyes as a dark shape appeared on the horizon—a ship, sails full, racing toward them.
"Another pirate ship?" he muttered.
Before he could raise the spyglass, a massive fireball roared into the air from the other vessel, glowing like a second sun.
"Oh, come on!" Mikael shouted, sprinting across the deck. "I just fixed that sail!"
He bolted to where Elhaan was lounging in the shade, half-asleep on a pile of ropes.
"Elhaan! Wake up! Fireball incoming—do something!"
The old mage opened one eye… then grinned and stuck his tongue out at Mikael.
"…Are you insane?" Mikael demanded. "Do something or I'll throw you at the fireball!"
The blazing sphere drew closer, flames dancing in the sky.
Elhaan just winked.
Snap.
A green spark flickered from his fingers.
The fireball collapsed mid-air into a harmless puff of smoke.
Mikael stared. "…What."
From the smoke, a tall man in flamboyant robes stepped forward—dramatic entrance fully committed. A magician.
He landed on the deck, scanning the ship. "That's strange… where's the crew? Where's the party?"
Then his eyes landed on Elhaan. They locked gazes.
"Oi! Punk!" Elhaan shouted. "What're you doing on my deck?"
The man froze—then screamed. "Elhaan! You ancient demon! You're alive?! I saw your flag a farad down! You trying to prank us?!"
Mikael rubbed his face. "…So you just fireball everyone you think is pranking you?"
"That's pirate diplomacy," the magician replied, shrugging.
He twirled his staff, sniffed the air. "Why does your ship smell like burnt crab and desperation?"
"You're lucky it doesn't smell like roasted mage right now," Mikael shot back.
Elhaan sighed. "Mikael, meet Rael—pirate, pain in the arse, and dropout from the Royal Circle of Showoffs."
"I left with flair," Rael grinned. "Not my fault your court didn't appreciate flaming entrances."
His gaze turned to Mikael. "You're steering this thing?"
"No crew. No helmsman. Just me, the ocean, and one ex-grandmaster with retirement brain," Mikael said.
Rael gave a low whistle. "Respect. If you survived this long, you've got either skill… or stupid amounts of luck."
"Both," Mikael said.
Rael clapped his hands. "Then let's find you a proper crew before you sail into a volcano."
Elhaan arched a brow. "Thought you came here to mourn."
"I did," Rael said, "but this is more fun."
His eyes dropped to the ring around Mikael's neck. For a moment, his smile faded. "…He gave it to you, didn't he?"
Mikael nodded.
Rael didn't speak for a moment, then called toward the other ship: "Someone get the captain! Tell him Azan's ghost is haunting his ship—and he brought a smart-mouthed successor!"
---
📜 Scene — Aboard The Dagger's Oath
The sails of Ilyaas's ship cut through the waves. In moments, it loomed over the Dagger's Oath.
With a single leap, Ilyaas landed on the deck—boots slamming into the wood.
Only three people stood there. That wasn't right.
Then from the shadows stepped an old man—silver-haired, robes worn thin.
"Mage Elhaan?" Ilyaas asked.
"who would even believe that I'm younger then you ," Elhaan said with a tired smile.
What happend !? Ilyaas said now serious and concerned.
Ilyaas's voice was tight. "Where are the crew? The commanders?"
Elhaan's smile faded.
"They're dead."
The words fell like lead.
No one moved. No one breathed.
A heavy-set man from Ilyaas's boarding party — shoulders like barrels, a warhammer slung across his back — stepped forward.
"Ibrahim?" His voice cracked. "The man who shattered three warships with his bare hands?"
His grip on the hammer tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"That lunatic used to laugh mid-fight. And now he's just… gone?"
Before anyone could answer, a samurai stepped from the shadows, his hand resting on the curve of his blade.
"Even Black Mask fell?" His tone was low, but the disbelief was clear. "I always wanted to cross swords with him. Just once."
No one laughed. No one even smiled.
A young pirate with an eyepatch stared at the deck, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They were… unstoppable. Everyone knew that. Azan's crew didn't die. They ended legends."
Someone near the rail swore under their breath and turned away, blinking hard.
Others just stood frozen — like if they didn't move, maybe the truth wouldn't be real.
Even Rael, still half-draped in theatrical robes, had gone still. His smirk was gone, eyes fixed on nothing.
When he finally spoke, it wasn't loud, and it wasn't for show.
"…Bloody hell."
The sea kept rolling beneath them, but the deck felt like the world had stopped.
The Deck of the Dagger's Oath
The sun was now sinking into the sea.. air was cool, brushing the salt from the waves onto their faces. The horizon looked like some one set it on fire . The yellow dim sun spears to be looking to the two ships moving side by side. Like lovers .
Elhaan leaned against the railing, the wind tugging at the frayed edges of his robes. His gaze drifted far beyond the sparkling waters, as if searching for something he'd already lost.
Ilyaas stood beside him, arms crossed, the set of his jaw as hard as the deck beneath their boots. They had spent years chasing storms and outrunning death together, yet neither spoke for a long moment.
"I think I'm done, Ilyaas," Elhaan said quietly.
The words were almost stolen by the wind.
Ilyaas turned his head. "What do you mean?"
"I think… I'll retire," Elhaan murmured. "From piracy. From this storm of curses, monsters, and flaming ships. That kid—Mikael—he's not ready for the sea yet."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And I'm too tired to shape him into something he's not ready to become."
Ilyaas said nothing at first, only giving a slow, deliberate nod. The wind ruffled his coat, and his gaze never left the rolling light ahead.
"I want you to keep this ship for him," Elhaan continued, his voice steady now. "The Dagger's Oath—Azan's ship. Keep it safe. Until the boy is ready to claim it for himself."
This time, Ilyaas met his eyes and nodded again, but there was something heavier there. An understanding. A silent agreement between men who had survived too much together to need more words.
"You decided where you'll go?" Ilyaas asked.
Elhaan smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I might vanish inland. Somewhere green. Peaceful. Live with the treasure we salvaged."
Ilyaas arched a brow. "You? On land? What can a pirate do without sails beneath him?"
A dry laugh escaped Elhaan. "Believe it or not, I used to work in a restaurant before all this mess."
He tilted his head back, studying the stars like old friends.
"With the gold we have, I won't need to see another sea. For once… I just want a quiet, peaceful life."
The waves whispered against the hull, and for the first time in years, Elhaan's voice carried no trace of the sea in it
🌑 Scene — Funeral at Sea
Night fell. The deck glowed with soft green candlelight, flames steady against the wind.
A small rowboat floated beside the ship, holding the folded coats and sashes of the fallen. No bodies—only memory.
Elhaan spoke first. "May the sea carry them, as they carried us."
Mikael gripped the ring at his neck. Ilyaas cut the rope.
The boat drifted into the dark, green fire reflecting on the waves.
"Their love was the sea," Elhaan said. "Now the sea holds them."
They watched in silence, until the boat vanished into the horizon.