The tavern air was too thick. Gareth felt it in his chest, a pressure that wasn't just the sea's humidity.
Too many eyes lingered too long, too many whispers ended when he glanced their way.
Kael noticed too. His hand hovered close to the dagger on his belt. "We're being herded," he muttered.
The messenger, pale and breathless from his journey, cleared his throat.
"Captain Belmarius waits. He said there is no time to waste."
No one argued. Gareth adjusted his coat, lowering his goggles, and followed.
Kael kept stride beside him, his heavy boots deliberate against the cobblestones.
Outside, Yimen felt… different. The chaos of trade and drunken songs was still there, but muted. Watching.
Dockside taverns spilled out laughter, yet the laughter didn't reach their eyes. Sailors leaned on railings, hands too close to hidden knives.
Children ran through the alleys, but their games ended when Gareth's shadow passed.
And above it all, the ships. Hundreds of sails swayed in the harbor, their flags snapping in the wind. More than Yimen had ever held before. Too many.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Half these ships aren't traders. They're wolves wearing collars."
Gareth glanced at him. "Collars?"
Kael tilted his chin toward the horizon. "Black flags kept low. They're hiding their teeth. Pirates, all of them."
The messenger quickened his pace, almost stumbling down the planks of the dock. He didn't dare look back.
They wove past piles of cargo and through the salt-stained crowd until a familiar silhouette loomed ahead—a ship far larger than the rest, its sails marked with the crimson insignia of Belmarius.
The crew stood in disciplined silence as Gareth and Kael approached, their gazes sharp, their hands never straying far from steel.
The messenger exhaled relief as he stepped aside, gesturing toward the gangplank. "The Captain awaits in his quarters."
Kael's eyes scanned the horizon one last time. Among the forest of sails, he caught sight of a lone mast—black, weathered, with something heavy tied to it that swayed with the wind.
He squinted. It looked like… bones.
But when he blinked, the mast was gone, swallowed by the press of other ships.
Kael frowned, muttering low. "Something's here. Watching."
Gareth didn't answer. His goggles caught the sunlight as he ascended the plank, the shadow of Belmarius's ship swallowing him whole. /////////
The Captain's quarters were dim, lit by the glow of oil lamps swaying with the ship's gentle roll. Maps sprawled across the table, islands marked in ink and blood-red wax.
Belmarius stood at the window, his coat heavy with salt and steel. His back was straight, his hands clasped behind him. He didn't turn as Gareth and Kael entered.
"You're late," he said, his voice a rumble like distant thunder.
The messenger bowed and slipped out, leaving silence in his wake.
Kael crossed his arms. "We came as soon as you called."
Belmarius finally turned. His sharp eyes lingered on Gareth, studying the faint glow still leaking from beneath the goggles.
For a moment, the Captain's jaw tightened. Then he motioned toward the maps.
"The seas are shifting," Belmarius said. "You've seen the signs. The Howl of Acoma devours fleets whole. But that isn't the only storm rising."
He tapped a finger against a northern island chain, its ink smeared from too many sleepless nights.
"Redhand my trusted comrade who betrayed me a while back said something forced him to do that something black , something ominous."
Gareth's stomach knotted. He remembered Redhand's fire, his defiance in the trials.
He leaned forward across the table, eyes burning.
"The pirates. People who would trade life like a coin. And now every kingdom and every fleet will bleed unless we move first."
Silence pressed heavy between them, broken only by the ship's groan.
Gareth raised his head at last. "So you want our help. Again."
Belmarius's grim smile did not reach his eyes.
"Not want. Need. Because whether you like it or not, boy of the Eclipse… the seas will not move without you."
Gareth looked at the captain and whispered slowly,
Gareth looked at the captain and whispered slowly, his words cutting through the silence like a blade drawn in shadow.
"I'm no pirate. No bastard. No puppet. We came here on a mission, nothing more. We had an adventure a while back, got to know each other, but as they say—" his eyes flicked to the map strewn with blood-red marks, "the sea ain't to be trusted."
Kael barked a short, humorless laugh, nodding eagerly. "This smart ass is right. At this rate we'll be expelled, branded, or worse. We're not even allowed near the prison island, let alone meddling with its politics."
Belmarius did not flinch. His eyes, cold and sharp as iron nails, pinned them both in place.
"You speak of chains," the Captain said at last. "But the truth is, you've already been chained.
The moment you stepped into Yimen, the sea marked you. You think you walk free? No." His hand slammed down on the map, rattling the lanterns.
"The tide is already watching you. Choosing you."
Kael's grin faltered. For the first time, a trace of unease flickered behind his bravado.
Gareth leaned forward, lowering his voice so only Belmarius could hear. "Then you tell me, Captain. Who's pulling the strings?"
The ship groaned under the weight of silence.
The ship groaned under the weight of silence. The lantern flame wavered, as if the sea itself had leaned closer to listen.
At last, Belmarius spoke. His voice was quieter now, but edged with something dangerous.
"They call him the Wandering Devil. A ghost adrift in the sea. He takes no port, bows to no flag. When he comes, islands vanish. Fleets turn to carcasses. Sailors who swear they've seen him live only long enough to curse his name."
Kael scoffed, though the unease in his eyes betrayed him. "A sailor's tale. Every dock rat has a story like that."
Belmarius's gaze cut through him. "Dock rats don't leave ships gutted and burning with no cannon fired. Dock rats don't leave bones tied to masts as warnings. Dock rats don't make kings shiver in their palaces."
Gareth's jaw clenched. The words crawled under his skin like salt in a wound. "And Redhand?"
Belmarius turned back to the map, his finger tracing one of the northern chains.
The ink had been pressed so many times, it had bled into the parchment like a spreading bruise.
"Redhand escaped and he was last seen in these waters," the Captain said. "My men tracked him, cornered him. And now…" His voice dipped lower, rough as gravel. "Now he sits in chains. Being… persuaded to speak."
Gareth's eyes narrowed. "Persuaded."
Belmarius finally looked at him again.
"Don't mistake me, boy of the Eclipse. Redhand's betrayal cannot be left to rot. But the young boy is still my comrade in the end i still care for him I still love him and all i want is him to return to us , for him to explain what's wrong"
The sea stretched endlessly, glittering under a calm afternoon sun. Two days had passed since the meeting in Belmarius's quarters, and yet the Captain's words still lingered like salt in the air.
The ship cut across the waves with steady grace, its crimson sails filled with wind. Seabirds trailed above, their cries sharp against the quiet hum of ropes and creaking wood.
Gareth leaned on the railing, goggles pushed up, arms taut as he hauled something massive from the water.
With a grunt, he lifted a fish longer than his torso, its scales flashing silver in the sun.
The crew murmured, half in awe, half in unease, as Gareth swung it up and down like a weight, testing his newfound strength.
Kael sat nearby on a barrel, chewing a strip of dried meat, his grin half-pride and half-mockery.
"Show off. Two weeks ago you couldn't lift your own boots without whining."
Gareth smirked faintly, then dropped the fish with a wet thud on the deck. "It's not about showing off. If I can't control this… it'll control me."
Kael raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The waves rocked them gently, the silence between them comfortable but heavy.
Then, on the horizon, the island appeared.
At first, it seemed like a jagged shadow against the sea. But as they drew closer, it grew.
Vast stone walls jutted from the cliffs, stretching higher than any fortress Gareth had ever seen.
Guard towers loomed like watchful eyes, their black banners snapping in the wind.
The port itself bristled with iron cranes, docking stations, and blocky warehouses, their architecture cold and functional.
Yet the main structures deeper inland… they bore the weight of another age.
Huge government buildings of gray stone and brick, their tall windows rimmed with iron bars, arches and columns reminiscent of their history, gave the place a grim, industrial grandeur.
The whole island was alive.
Steam hissed from pipes that lined the walls. Trains rattled along tracks cutting between barracks.
Guards in long coats patrolled with rifles slung across their shoulders.
Prison wagons creaked under the strain of iron wheels, carrying unseen souls deeper into the labyrinth.
Kael whistled low.
"Gods above. The last prison we saw before was a children's game compared to this."
Gareth said nothing.
His eyes traced the sprawl, the sheer scale of it.
This wasn't just a prison.
It was a city of chains.
They docked under the gaze of mounted cannons.
Inspections were swift and merciless—papers checked, crates pried open, names recorded by cold-eyed clerks in black gloves. Every crew member was scrutinized.
Even Gareth and Kael were forced to stand under the weight of searching stares.
Only when Belmarius himself stepped forward, his insignia flashing, did the gates open.
The Captain led them through, his boots striking stone with steady confidence.
He didn't speak until the vast iron doors closed behind them, shutting out the sea.
Then he looked back at Gareth and Kael, his voice quieter, almost somber.
"We're not here for pirates. Not here for war." His eyes darkened, the steel in them momentarily bending to something older, heavier. "We're here to visit someone from my past."
The prison reeked of brine and rust. Chains clinked faintly as guards led them down a corridor of iron doors and heavy bolts, each step echoing like a drumbeat.
Belmarius walked in silence, his jaw set hard, his eyes refusing to meet Gareth or Kael's.
At the far end, a cell unlike the others waited — not dank, not forgotten. A lantern burned steadily within, light spilling across walls scratched with maps, circles, and lines like a madman's plotting.
Inside sat a wiry old man, hair like tangled ropes, eyes sharp as a hawk's despite the years. He looked up before the guards even spoke.
Prisoner (smirking faintly):"Captain Belmarius. Took you long enough. And you've brought… children?"
Kael (snorting):"We're not kids, old man."
Prisoner (ignoring him, gaze fixed on Gareth):"And yet… one of them is marked. A boy stitched by eclipse and tide."
Belmarius stepped forward, voice low.Belmarius:"Cut the riddles, Marek. Tell them what you told me."
The prisoner — Marek, Belmarius's former quartermaster — leaned closer, fingers tracing one of the chalked maps on the wall.
Marek:"Redhand didn't betray you by choice. None of us do. Something… bends men. A shadow, wearing the sea like a cloak. The more you resist, the deeper it digs. That's why he turned. That's why I turned."
Gareth's chest tightened.Gareth:"You're saying… this Wandering Devil forces loyalty? Makes traitors out of comrades?"
Marek's eyes gleamed, fever-bright.Marek:"No. Worse. He doesn't make traitors. He makes believers. Redhand serves him because now, deep down, Redhand wants to."
The lantern flickered. Chains rattled.
Marek (whispering now):"And he's watching you, boy of the Eclipse. The tide has chosen. The sea wants its piece."
Belmarius's hand tightened on the bars, veins standing out on his wrist. He muttered under his breath, like a curse.Belmarius:"Damn you, Marek. You could've stayed silent."
Somewhere far from the prison's cold stone, the sea opened wide beneath a burning Yemen sun.
The horizon split — not with sails, but with a shadow vast enough to drown a fleet.
It was a ship, no — a city of iron and wood, its hull black as night, towering masts crowned with ragged banners that snapped like thunderclaps.
Every oar stroke churned the waves like a heartbeat, every creak of timber a groan older than empires.
The gulls scattered. The waters themselves seemed to bow.
At the prow, a single figure stood unmoving, coat whipping in the salt wind. His face hidden, his presence undeniable. A predator cloaked in silence.
And behind him, tens of thousands of sailors — killers, zealots, the broken and the damned — roared as one.
The Wandering Devil's vessel had arrived.
The seas would not know peace again.