The tavern's air was thick with smoke and the tang of spilled rum. Lanterns swung in the rafters, their light flickering over scarred wood and patrons who dared not breathe too loudly. Outside, the harbor waves crashed against the docks with a rhythm that mimicked the tension inside. Every eye in the room followed Him as he moved, silent and inevitable, toward the far table where Blackbured waited.
Blackbured: "You actually came. I wasn't sure you would."
Him: "I come when it suits me."
The map lay between them, its edges tattered, ink faded, yet unmistakably precise. Trails of hidden coves, reefs, and currents led toward the Devil's Lighthouse. Legends surrounded it like a shroud—ships disappearing without a trace, crews driven mad by storms that appeared from nowhere, treasures cursed by the Dutchman himself.
Blackbured's fingers hovered over the parchment, trembling slightly.
Blackbured: "This map… it isn't just ink on parchment. It's every sailor's nightmare stitched together. The Devil's Lighthouse isn't marked for fools."
Him: "Then it isn't meant for fools."
A tense silence filled the room. Him's eyes were unreadable, scanning the map with detached precision. Blackbured swallowed, trying to steady his nerves.
Blackbured: "I've charted the reefs, tracked currents for weeks. The Crown sends fleets around here—no one dares approach. But with you, with the Victoric… maybe we stand a chance."
Him: "Maybe. Or maybe the sea decides for us."
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the tavern shutters. A sudden crash of waves against the docks made several of Blackbured's men jump. Him did not flinch. His gaze never left the map, the faintest shadow of a smile—or nothing at all—traced across his face.
Blackbured: "There are rumors… of traps, storms that rise without warning, and something darker. They say the Dutchman didn't just hide treasure… he protected it."
Him: "Then I will break his protections."
Blackbured: "And if you fail?"
Him: "I do not fail."
The younger captain exhaled sharply, trying to push down the dread crawling up his spine.
Blackbured: "You're certain you want to do this? One misstep, one wrong current, and we're all ashes."
Him: "Certainty is for those afraid of the sea. We do what must be done."
He slid the map slightly toward himself, studying a section of jagged reefs known as the Whispering Rocks. Even here, the parchment seemed to pulse with danger, as if warning them off. Him's hand rested lightly on it, as though commanding it to reveal its secrets.
Blackbured: "If the treasure exists… it's worth the risk. More than gold, more than weapons… the Dutchman's secrets could change everything."
Him: "Then we find it."
The tavern seemed to shrink around them, the other pirates' whispers fading into insignificance. The air grew thick with anticipation, as if the room itself held its breath for the voyage to come. Outside, the night deepened, and the harbor waves thrashed with urgency, foreshadowing the journey ahead.
Him rose, coat sweeping behind him. Boots struck the floor with cold finality.
Him: "At dawn, we sail. Make ready, and tell your men: the sea answers to no man, but I command it enough to get us there."
Blackbured nodded, a mixture of fear and awe tightening his chest. He knew then that the voyage would be more than a hunt for treasure—it would be a test of survival, a trial where only the strongest would endure. And above all, it would be Him who carried the weight of the sea itself.
The harbor at Cryl Outpost was alive with murmurs as the night deepened. Lanterns swayed in the wind, casting jagged shadows across the timbered docks. Sailors haggled over supplies, their voices rough with salt and smoke. But everywhere the Victoric's black sails were remembered, the whispers stopped, as if the sea itself had drawn a line in respect—or fear.
Him strode along the main pier, boots echoing against the wooden planks. Blackbured followed, clutching the map to his chest like a talisman. The wind tugged at their coats, carrying the faint, acrid scent of burning tar from nearby ships.
Blackbured: "The crew… they're uneasy. They've heard the stories."
Him: "Stories do not sink ships."
Blackbured: "No… but the Dutchman's curse does. They say any man who sets foot near the lighthouse is followed by shadows that whisper at the edge of his mind."
Him: "Then shadows will be the least of their concerns."
As they walked, a small cluster of sailors gathered near a tavern's side entrance, their eyes wide and voices hushed. One, older than the rest, stepped forward, shaking as he spoke.
Sailor: "They say the Dutchman's treasure isn't just gold… it's locked with blood. Men who tried to claim it vanished. Their ships found empty, or worse… floating, with no crew but their screams echoing from the hold."
Blackbured: "I've heard that too. Some claim the Dutchman made a pact… with something that lives beneath the lighthouse, guarding his secrets."
Him stopped, his gaze sweeping the harbor. His shadow stretched long in the lantern light, cutting across the wooden boards like a blade.
Him: "Pacts do not matter. Only skill, will, and timing."
The sailor's eyes flicked to Him, a shiver passing through him. Even the bravest of the outpost's men had heard of the nameless captain and his ship.
Sailor: "If you sail there… you'll meet storms that don't answer wind or tide. And… and shadows that aren't shadows, creeping under decks and whispering your name."
Him: "Then I will meet them."
The sailor swallowed, knowing nothing he could say would alter the course of the Victoric. Even the sea seemed to obey Him's step, the waves settling beneath the hull as if bowing in recognition.
Blackbured: "Every legend… every warning… they're all true to some extent. I've studied the currents, charts, and survivor tales. Nothing lines up exactly, but the dangers… they're very real."
Him: "Then we will make them reality—or destroy them trying."
A gull cried overhead, its echo swallowed by the roar of distant waves. Blackbured glanced back at the map, tracing the jagged line leading to the Devil's Lighthouse. The path was narrow, riddled with reefs, strong currents, and places that sailors whispered about but never charted.
Blackbured: "I just… I've never seen anyone face something like this before. Even the old pirates—"
Him cut him off, voice flat as iron: "Then watch, and learn."
The night deepened around them, winds whipping, waves slapping against the docks. Lanterns flickered as if in warning. Somewhere in the distance, a ship's bell tolled, echoing across the harbor—a reminder that time was slipping away. Dawn would come, and with it, the voyage into legend and madness.
Blackbured clenched his jaw, trying to steel himself. He knew the rumors weren't just stories. They were the truth, and the truth would meet them on the sea.
Him: "Rest if you must. Tomorrow, the Devil's Lighthouse begins."
Blackbured nodded, eyes fixed on the black silhouette of the Victoric, moored like a predator waiting for the hunt. Shadows seemed to cling to it, moving as if alive. And somewhere deep in the back of his mind, dread gnawed.
But even with that fear, Blackbured could not deny the thrill. The hunt was beginning. And Him, as always, would lead.