Nassau - Commonwealth of The Bahamas
"It's been a while, Blackbeard... Hornigold."
The rich, aristocratic baritone drifted down from the rickety wooden balcony of the Old Avery Tavern, cutting through the sweltering Caribbean heat with the clean, undeniable edge of a freshly sharpened blade.
The immediate aftermath of that single sentence was absolute, suffocating paralysis.
The raucous, ambient noise of the pirate republic… the clatter of wooden tankards, the slurred sea shanties, the endless haggling over stolen Spanish silver… seemed to violently snag on a hidden reef. Every soul within earshot froze.
Even Reuben, the typically unflappable Shadow Raven, and Edward Kenway exchanged a fleeting, profoundly surprised glance. They were well-accustomed to Alaric's complete disregard for the conventional laws of time and space, but for the architect of Pennmere to suddenly materialize across the Atlantic Ocean, interrupting a clandestine privateering negotiation in a filthy tavern, was an unexpected escalation.
The Vanguard operatives stationed around the perimeter merely straightened their spines, their hands dropping subtly away from their weapons as they recognized the absolute authority radiating from the balcony.
However, the mild surprise of the Kenway loyalists paled in comparison to the sheer, unadulterated shock seizing the two legendary corsairs seated at the table.
"Y-You," Edward "Blackbeard" Thatch stammered, his massive, calloused hands gripping the edge of the rum-stained table so fiercely the wood groaned in protest.
His dark, famously terrifying eyes widened to an impossible degree, tracking the towering, platinum-blonde figure descending the wooden stairs with a casual, predatory grace. Aside from that single, stuttered syllable, the loudest, most feared pirate in the West Indies was completely speechless.
It wasn't awe that silenced him; it was a primal, suffocating terror. The sheer, overwhelming density of the blonde anomaly's aura pressed down on Thatch's lungs, demanding an absolute, submissive silence.
Benjamin Hornigold, possessing a slightly more pragmatic and deeply cynical disposition, managed to recover his wits far quicker than his towering companion.
"Blimey, curse the seas! Why be folks poppin' up outta nowhere all day like ghosts in the fog?" Hornigold swore loudly, though a strained, cautious smile quickly stretched across his weathered, sun-beaten face as he looked at the approaching monarch of shadows. "How be ye holdin' up, bossman?"
"Bossman?" Alaric paused at the bottom of the stairs, a single, impeccably groomed brow rising toward his hairline before a rich, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest. He shook his head in profound amusement at the crude, yet entirely accurate, title. "I am well enough, Benjamin. How about you all?"
Alaric approached the table, his pristine, black-and-gold military uniform a glaring, majestic contrast to the dirt and rot of the tavern. His electric-blue eyes swept over the group, catching Hornigold's massive, diplomatic grin, before settling heavily on the paralyzed giant sitting across from him.
"You're awfully quiet today, Thatch," Alaric observed, his tone light but laced with a subtle, teasing edge. He took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a thin cloud of fragrant smoke that momentarily obscured his sharp features. "I vividly recall purchasing enough premium liquor to drown this entire island the last time I walked these shores. I would expect a slightly warmer welcome from a man who drank half of it."
Hornigold barked a sudden, grating laugh, reaching over to forcefully slap the frozen Blackbeard on his broad shoulder, effectively answering on behalf of his tongue-tied colleague.
"Pay him no mind, sire, he's just deep in his cups!" Hornigold teased, his eyes glinting with a survivor's desperate humor as he leaned closer to the bearded giant. "Come now, Thatch, ye blasted fool! Forget about that dead man from yer crew and show some manners! Stand up and shake hands with the new boss!"
The harsh, mocking reprimand successfully pierced through the veil of Thatch's lingering dread. The legendary pirate bristled indignantly, his pride warring violently with his survival instincts.
"I ain't drunk, ye blasted, scurvy-ridden fool!" Blackbeard cursed, his deep voice finally returning in a gravelly rumble as he aggressively swatted Hornigold's hand away.
Swallowing the cold lump of anxiety lodged in his throat, Thatch fought against every primal instinct screaming at him to flee. He forced his massive legs to push him up from the creaking chair. Standing at his full, imposing height, the pirate captain offered a heavy, calloused hand toward the blonde aristocrat, forcing a strained but genuine chuckle past his lips.
"It's just..." Thatch hesitated, his dark eyes locking onto Alaric's as their hands finally clasped. The grip was firm, testing, yet Thatch could feel the dormant, oceanic power resting just beneath Alaric's skin. "Ye might be of the exact same height as me, mate... but standin' here, ye feel a damn sight taller."
Alaric offered a slow, approving nod of his head, accepting the pirate's rough compliment with an easy grace as he released the handshake.
"Perspective is everything, Thatch," Alaric murmured smoothly, before turning his attention away from the corsairs and focusing his piercing gaze on his cousin. "Is everything running smooth so far, Edward?"
Edward Kenway leaned back in his chair, casually resting his hand on the hilt of his cutlass. He offered a relaxed, confident nod.
"Aye, everything is well in hand on the business front, mate," Edward reported, his Welsh lilt carrying over the ambient noise. He gestured vaguely toward the sprawling, chaotic encampment of Nassau. "Aside from the fact that I can't seem to locate exactly where Caroline wandered off to in this miserable, muddy swamp, the negotiations are entirely sound."
Alaric's brow rose in mild amusement. Without bothering to pulse his chakra for a widespread sensory sweep, his elevated, passive perception easily pinpointed the familiar, vibrant signature of his cousin's wife.
He casually raised his right hand, pointing a single finger toward a narrow, winding dirt path leading toward the western edge of the settlement.
"She's just right there," Alaric stated simply.
Following the trajectory of his finger, everyone at the table… including Reuben and the two pirate captains… turned their heads to peer through the hazy, humid air.
Emerging from the doorway of a modest, heavily weathered wooden house located on the periphery of the market square was Caroline Kenway. Despite the suffocating heat and the pervasive grime of the pirate republic, she looked entirely immaculate in her practical, finely tailored dress. She was surrounded by a small, emotional cluster of ragged locals… women and elderly men… who were bowing and thanking her profusely, their hands clasped in deep gratitude. Standing dutifully just a half-step behind her, carrying a large, emptied wooden crate that had undoubtedly held premium Celestial medicines and tea, was one of Reuben's elite Vanguard operatives, acting as her personal escort and shadow.
Sensing the sudden, concentrated weight of multiple gazes fixing upon her, Caroline paused on the dirt path.
She whipped her head toward the direction of the stares, her sharp, intelligent eyes easily cutting through the busy crowd. The moment she spotted her husband, the imposing silhouette of the Shadow Raven, and the unmistakable, towering presence of Alaric standing beneath the thatched roof of the Old Avery, a bright, utterly unbothered smile broke across her beautiful features.
She didn't rush over to join the war council. Instead, she offered a cheerful, elegant wave of her hand, silently acknowledging their presence before turning her attention gracefully back to the grateful locals, seamlessly continuing her own philanthropic business in the heart of a lawless town.
Edward chuckled softly, a look of profound, unconditional adoration softening his rugged face as he watched his wife work.
With the family accounted for, Alaric turned his attention to the immediate logistics of their environment. He walked smoothly over to the long, scarred wooden counter where the tavern's bartender was currently attempting, and failing, to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping on the most dangerous men in the Caribbean.
Alaric didn't speak immediately. He reached into the inner pocket of his regal black-and-gold coat, bypassing his dimensional storage ring entirely, and withdrew a thick, heavy stack of crisp, freshly minted bills. He placed the cash onto the sticky, rum-stained counter with a definitive, heavy thud that made the bartender flinch.
"This should be more than enough to cover everyone's expense for the remainder of the day," Alaric instructed, his voice carrying the effortless authority of a king tossing coppers to peasants. "Make the whole town drunk."
[Withdrawal Amount: $5]
[Balance Remaining: $646,286,326.31]
The bartender stared at the small fortune resting on his bar, his eyes bulging as he recognized the immaculate, intricate watermarks and the bold insignia of the phoenix.
"You accept the Pennmerian Dollar, right?" Alaric asked, his platinum-blonde brow raising in a subtle, dangerous challenge.
The bartender snapped out of his stupor, nodding his head so vigorously it threatened to snap his neck. He practically threw his hands over the cash, sweeping the pristine bills into his apron with a wide, avaricious smile.
"Of course, sire!" the bartender stammered eagerly, his voice pitching high with sheer disbelief at his sudden, overwhelming wealth. "I do accept all manner of currency there is, be it heavy coin or paper note! Your coin is king here!"
Satisfied that the local economy had been sufficiently lubricated, Alaric nodded his head and turned back toward the table of legends.
"I'll be borrowing Reuben and Edward for a bit," Alaric announced, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. He gestured loosely toward the two men, his gaze sweeping over the remaining pirates. "I just bought liquor for everyone. Enjoy the afternoon."
Hornigold, whose mug was already empty, offered a wide, cynical smirk as he leaned back against the rickety wooden railing.
"Well now," Hornigold laughed, a raspy, genuinely delighted sound. "Maybe yer only purpose in sailin' all the way down to Nassau was just to get the miserable people here blind drunk, eh? Not that I be mindin' the charity!"
Alaric merely smiled, a quiet, enigmatic expression that offered no confirmation or denial to the pirate's jest. He turned his back on the tavern, stepping out from beneath the thatched roof and into the blinding Caribbean sun, making a brief, commanding motion with his hand.
Without a word of protest, Edward Kenway and Reuben pushed away from the table. They fell into perfect, disciplined step behind the towering anomaly, leaving the two legendary corsairs sitting in the stifling heat, marveling at the sudden, golden windfall that had just descended upon their lawless shores.
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