Chapter 3: What Are We Going to Do, Captain?
Elias looked at Jack for a long, silent second, then tilted his head back and stared up at the darkening sky. The clouds above Port Royal were thick and bruised, painted in dusk-orange and storm-gray. The sea air was humid with the promise of rain. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed, marking the coming of night.
"I want freedom," Elias said quietly, voice cracking with something old and heavy. "I want to see everything—every shore, every port, every hellish sea cursed by gods and men."
Jack didn't speak. He watched, eyes focused.
"I want to drink from the sea and die in it if I have to." Elias's voice rose. "I want to do whatever I want. Whenever I want. No lords, no masters, no damn rules."
His hands trembled as he clenched the compass tightly.
"And I want—for once in my goddamn life—to be happy."
The words spilled from him like water from a shattered bottle. Bitter. Raw. Real.
Jack's eyes widened slightly. He wasn't expecting that. For a moment, he was silent. Still. Not fidgeting or muttering. Just... listening.
Because in Elias's voice, he heard something familiar. Not just anger. Not just longing.
Spirit.
Not the kind found in drunken fools who sang pirate songs for coin in taverns. Not the cheap fire of men who chased legends with no stomach for the sea.
No, Jack saw it.
A real pirate.
In soul. In body.
A fire not lit by fantasy but by survival.
Jack Sparrow smiled. Not his usual sly smirk or sarcastic grin. A real one. Faint. But honest.
Elias turned to face him fully, eyes narrowed, tired, but burning.
"You don't have a ship," he said. "You don't have a crew."
He stepped closer, until they stood shoulder to shoulder in the flickering lamplight of the alley.
"You just have me now," Elias said. "So tell me, Jack Sparrow... what are we going to do, Captain?"
The wind blew gently between them, as if pausing to hear the answer too.
Jack blinked slowly. Then tilted his head and muttered, "That is... an excellent question."
He scratched his chin thoughtfully, spinning around in a slow circle like he was scanning for inspiration.
"No ship," he said aloud, counting on his fingers. "No crew. No rum. Actually—minor correction—I do have a flask of rum left, but it's mostly water at this point."
He looked back at Elias. "So, clearly, we are in an optimal position."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "How is that optimal?"
Jack leaned in. "Because we have nothing. Which means we've got nothing to lose. Which, my dear Mr. Foxboy, is the most pirate place to start."
Elias folded his arms. "So what's the plan?"
Jack grinned. "We steal a ship."
Elias blinked. "That's your plan?"
"It's a very traditional plan," Jack said, tapping the compass gently. "And, might I add, highly effective."
Elias frowned. "You make it sound easy."
Jack leaned back against the wall with theatrical flair. "It's not. We'll probably be arrested. Or shot. Or possibly fed to something with too many teeth and not enough eyes. But—"
He reached out and tapped Elias's chest lightly with two fingers. "You want the sea, lad? That's the cost."
Elias looked down at the compass again. The needle shifted faintly. Not north. Still not north. But it pointed somewhere.
He clenched it tight. "Let's do it."
Jack's eyes lit up. "Splendid."
He took a step forward and extended his hand. "From this moment forth, consider yourself a temporary, semi-official, unpaid first mate of the not-currently-floating Black Pearl."
Elias stared at him. "The what?"
Jack waved his hand. "Don't worry. Long story. Ghost ship. Cursed crew. We'll get her back eventually."
Elias slowly shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You're completely mad."
"Thank you," Jack said again with a bow.
They stepped out of the alley and into the streets of Port Royal, now cast in shadows and the glow of lanterns. The air was thick with salt and the sound of distant waves.
"We'll need to be quiet," Jack whispered, crouching near a wall. "Stealth is crucial. Precision. Grace. The art of invisibility."
Then he tripped over a stray bucket and nearly fell face-first into a pile of netting.
Elias rolled his eyes. "Graceful."
"Testing you," Jack muttered as he untangled his foot. "Seeing if you'd laugh. You failed."
They crept along the docks, avoiding the guards and their flickering torches. Port Royal was still alive at night—dock workers unloading barrels, lanterns swaying, ships groaning in the harbor.
Their target was an old brig anchored to the far end, forgotten by most. Jack claimed she was called The Wraith.
"Not the Pearl," Elias whispered.
"No, but she floats," Jack whispered back. "And that's half the battle."
They reached the ship without being spotted, though Elias was sure Jack whispered sea shanties the whole way just low enough to avoid being caught.
They climbed aboard quietly. The deck was slick, the sails ragged. But she was real.
Elias stared out at the open sea. "You've done this before, haven't you?"
Jack was already rummaging through crates. "Far more than is considered healthy."
He paused. "We'll need supplies. Food. Water. Weapons. And a crew."
Elias gave him a look. "We don't know anyone."
Jack gave him a sly grin. "Not yet."
They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city behind them and the vast sea ahead.
Elias felt it. Deep in his bones.
This was the beginning.
Not a dream. Not a game.
He was no longer a boy surviving Port Royal's streets.
He was a pirate.
He opened the compass again. The needle twitched. Shifted. Settled.
It pointed straight out to sea.
"Where does it lead?" Jack asked, watching him.
Elias smiled faintly. "Anywhere but here."
Jack clapped him on the back. "Then set the sails, First Mate fox boy."
And together, with stolen hope and foolish grins, they began to steal the night.
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