The rain had not stopped. It fell softer now, not the raging storm that had swallowed their captain, but a steady, weeping drizzle, as if the heavens themselves mourned with them.
Belmarius lay upon the deck, wrapped in sailcloth.
The fabric clung to his form, heavy with rain and blood alike. A coil of rope rested at his side, the compass he had carried for decades placed upon his chest.
Marcellus set down a dented flask, his lips trembling as he whispered, "For the man who made us family."
No one laughed. No one sang. The New Ones stood in a broken circle around their fallen captain, each face hollowed by grief.
Tina Vale knelt beside the shrouded body, her hands pressed flat against the cloth, as though she could still feel warmth beneath.
Tears streaked her cheeks without end.
"You promised me…" Her voice cracked. "You said you'd walk me to the shore. You said you'd stand in my father's place." Her sobs broke into silence, the sea swallowing her words.
Doran Flint's scarred face was set, but his broad shoulders shook. He turned away, unable to look, his hand gripping the railing so hard his knuckles split against the wood.
Servin Crowe, steady as stone all his life, fumbled with the rope in his hands. The knots slipped. His fingers trembled. At last, the rope fell, and for the first time since anyone had known him, Servin sank to his knees and wept openly.
Marcellus sat with his back against the mast, tankard forgotten, his eyes glazed and distant. He had no words left, only the hollow stare of a man losing family twice.
Even Kael Thorne—iron, unbending—stood rigid, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the body. His lips pressed thin, but beneath the hardness, sorrow burned. "He was… our captain for this short while," he muttered, voice like gravel dragged across stone.
The silence was unbearable. The sea lapped at the hull, the rain pattered against wood, and grief wrapped the ship like a shroud.
At last, Gareth stepped forward. His boots felt heavier than iron, every breath cut from his chest. He stood at the head of the body, his hands shaking as he rested them on the compass upon Belmarius's chest.
His lips trembled, words clawing up his throat. When he spoke, his voice cracked, raw with tears.
"He carried us… through storms no one else could have survived. He taught us to fight when we thought we couldn't.
He was… he was more than a captain." Gareth's vision blurred, tears spilling hot down his cheeks. "He was the weight that held us steady."
The words broke, his chest heaving. His knees nearly gave out, but he forced himself to stay standing. "And now… that weight is mine to carry."
He looked up, through the rain, into the faces of the crew. Broken, grieving, waiting. "I'll bear it. For him. For all of you. Even if it breaks me."
The silence deepened, as though the sea itself held its breath.
Then Kael drew his blade, holding it to the rain, its steel catching the dim light. One by one, the crew followed. Marcellus, Tina, Flint, Servin—each lifted their weapon, their hands trembling but firm.
Together, they raised them over Belmarius's body, a salute forged of steel and sorrow.
The captain was lowered into the sea. His shrouded form slipped into the black waters, swallowed by the tide. As he vanished beneath the waves, the rain eased. A break of silver light split the clouds, a fragile shard of moonlight painting the horizon.
No one spoke. No one moved. They only watched the sea, the place where their captain had gone, and for the first time in their lives, the New Ones felt small.
Gareth stood at the bow, rain dripping from his hair, tears streaking his face. He whispered into the wind, too soft for any ears but the sea:
"Good night, Captain."
And the waves carried the words away.
The storm had softened. Only drizzle lingered, falling light on the battered deck, where blood still mingled with rainwater. The sea groaned low, as if mourning with them.
Umbrael's voice, quieter than the rain, reached Gareth. "Master… I'm sorry. In the God's era, I forgot how to feel. But through the contract I share with you… I feel it now. I feel it deeply. This—this sadness. It's crushing me."
A shadowed hand rose, trembling as if human for once, and in it bloomed a small gift: A white lily bouquet, paired with a single purple calla and tiny blue blossoms. The colors glowed faintly against the gray deck, a softness in the storm.
"It means peace," Umbrael whispered. "Not just sorrow."
Gareth blinked against the tears streaking his face. A faint smile, broken but real, tugged at his lips. He reached and held the bouquet."Thank you, Umbrael… thank you."
He turned, seeing Tina crumpled by the rail, sobs wracking her shoulders. He crossed the blood-slick boards, placed the flowers into her hands, and wrapped her in a fierce embrace.
Her voice cracked like a child's. "Dad… he promised me… the Lost Shore , The forgotten shore…"
"I know," Gareth murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "But… he left us this sea. He left us each other."
He pulled back, breath shaky, and whispered to Umbrael through his mind. His voice was steadier now. "Can you make more? For them… all of them."
Umbrael's hollow eyes glowed faint. The sky above shimmered. Slowly, gently, hundreds of lilies and callas drifted down from the clouds, white and violet specks falling like stars. They landed on shoulders, on hair, on the wet planks of the ship.
For the first time since the captain fell, smiles—small, fragile, but real—broke through the tears. Even Kael's stone face cracked with quiet grief, his hand clutching a flower as if it burned him.
The deck became a garden in the rain.
And in that moment, though sorrow hung heavy, Gareth felt the faintest warmth in the cold.
Gareth barely had time to breathe before a shadow streaked across the deck. A bird—black as midnight, wings slicing the drizzle—slammed into his shoulder.
Startled, he stumbled, catching himself against the railing. The bird clung tight, claws digging just enough to warn him. New to this, he hesitated, then carefully pinned it down with a gloved hand.
Through the rain-slick feathers, he noticed something tied to its leg: a small, rolled piece of parchment.
Gently, Gareth reached down, freeing the bird without harm, and unrolled the letter. He patted the bird's head softly, murmuring, "Easy… easy, little one." The bird tilted its head, eyes sharp and intelligent, as if urging him to read.
The ink on the paper was clear, urgent:
"Return to the Academy within five days. The path ahead has begun—do not falter. All waits there."
Gareth's chest tightened. Five days. The weight of the journey pressed on him, but he held the letter tight, taking a deep breath.
The bird, sensing its message delivered, cooed softly and launched into the gray sky, wings cutting through the rain, disappearing beyond the horizon.
Gareth's eyes followed it for a heartbeat, then he folded the letter carefully. Five days. The world felt impossibly vast, yet the countdown made it sharp, immediate.
He glanced around at the crew, at the flowers falling from the clouds, and whispered to himself, voice trembling but resolute: "I'm getting tired of this let's hope everything look's up."
The longboats cut across the dark water, rain thinning into mist as Gareth and Kael returned to the vast cliffs of Yimen. The fleet lay waiting—rows of blackened sails and scarred hulls, the gathered armada of men and women who had once sworn themselves to Captain Belmarius.
When Gareth stepped ashore, silence spread like wildfire. Hundreds of eyes turned toward him and Kael, searching, demanding.
His throat tightened. He looked at Kael, then down at his hands—still trembling faintly, stained with memory. He took a breath that seemed to drag the whole sea with it.
"The Captain…" Gareth's voice cracked, but he forced the words out. "The Captain is dead."
Gasps, curses, and cries broke the silence, some pirates clutching their blades, others covering their faces. In the roar of grief, a few misheard him, thinking perhaps Gareth had claimed something else—that he himself had taken the mantle. Whispers of "the boy… the new one… Lenziuela?" passed like smoke through the crowd.
Gareth froze at the name. Tina's voice echoed inside him, the way she had once said it with affection, with trust. He clenched his jaw, a storm raging inside.
I don't want them to remember who I truly am. Not here. Not like this.
So he lifted his chin and lied, the word tasting strange on his tongue. "Yes… Lenziuela."
The murmurs shifted. Some bowed their heads, some stared in silence. Then, slowly, one voice began—a hoarse, broken whisper of the old Captain's name. Another joined. And another. Until the cliffs of Yimen trembled with it.
"Belmarius… Belmarius…"
The chant rose not as a war cry, but as a dirge, a farewell that rolled across the sea, carried into the burning hues of the sunset.
Gareth stood there, the false name heavy on his shoulders, Kael grim at his side. His heart broke as the voices lifted—not for himself, but for the man who had been father, leader, and doomed soul.
The sun sank, blood-red over the horizon, as the pirates of Yimen gave their final salute to their fallen captain.
The news spread fast. By the next tide, worn sheets of newspaper clutched in sailors' hands told the tale of Captain Belmarius' death. Gareth's name whispered through the taverns and harbors, carried over the spray of the sea. Not too famous—just a shadow, a rising story. Enough for men to drink over, enough for others to watch the horizon with suspicion.
On the cliffs of Yimen, Gareth sat beside Kael. The lantern between them guttered in the salt wind.
"It's over," Gareth said, his voice low, almost hollow. "The Academy's long project… it's finished. They'll send for us soon."
Kael's jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving the darkening waves. "So that's it, then? Back to the world that pretends the sea doesn't exist."
Gareth gave a small nod.
When they summoned the transporter, the air itself split. A cold wind rushed through, and from the rift emerged a man astride a team of black horses, their manes dark as pitch, their eyes like burning coals. The man wore a sharp suit, his hat slanted like a magician's, shadows spilling from him like smoke.
Before Gareth or Kael could step forward, the door behind them burst open. The crew spilled out—Marcellus with fury written across his face, Tina pale with tears, Doran and Servin silent but grim.
"You can't just leave us!" Tina shouted, voice cracking. "Don't you dare walk away now!"
But before Gareth could answer, another sound broke the air—a fragile voice, small and trembling.
"...Dad?"
Every head turned. A girl stood in the doorway, silver hair shining like molten moonlight. Her eyes, once sealed in endless sleep, were open at last, shimmering with wet tears. She wobbled on unsteady legs, then stumbled forward, clinging to Gareth's.
He froze. The world seemed to stop around him. She was crying, weak and fragile, but alive.
Kael stepped forward, kneeling. His iron-hard face softened as he scooped her into his arms with a careful strength. "Hey, little one," he murmured, steadying her, "your brother's here too." He glanced at Gareth, a rare grin tugging at his mouth. "Right, bro?"
For a moment, Gareth almost smiled. Almost. The weight on his chest loosened, if only a little.
They spent the night together—Kael, Gareth, and the crew gathered around the silver-haired girl. Her laugh was faint, but real. She clung to Gareth's hand, then Kael's, her small world blooming anew.
But dawn came. And with it, the horses.
The man in the suit waited by the black steeds, their hooves pawing at the stone. His hat dipped in silent patience.
The portal shimmered in the sand, its light blacker than night. The horses pawed at the ground, smoke trailing from their hooves. The man in the suit waited, silent beneath his tilted hat.
But the crew wasn't silent.
Tina stood in front of Gareth, tears streaking her cheeks. "Don't you dare leave us now. Not after all this. You—You can't just walk away!"
Marcellus's voice cracked. "You're our anchor. Without you, the sea will swallow us whole."
Even Servin, who rarely spoke, shook his head. "We followed the captain… now we'll follow you. Don't abandon us."
Their words stabbed deeper than any blade, but Gareth only clenched his jaw. His eyes drifted to the silver-haired girl at the doorway. Her tiny hands rubbed her tired eyes as she stumbled forward.
"...Papa?"
The word froze him. The girl clung to his leg, her small frame trembling. She looked so much like her mother—so much like the past he could never escape.
Kael stepped forward, gently lifting her into his arms. "Easy there, little one. You'll wear yourself out." He smiled, soft in a way Gareth had never seen. "Don't worry. Big bro here will look after you."
The crew fell silent. For a moment, the only sounds were the waves crashing against the shore and the restless hooves of the dark steeds.
Gareth finally knelt, his hand brushing the girl's silver hair. His voice was steady, though his smile trembled."Listen to me, all of you. Protect her. Raise her well. Don't let her carry the same weight we did. Let her grow… free."
The girl's small fingers reached for him, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Papa… don't go…"
Gareth swallowed hard, forcing a wide smile through the breaking in his chest. "I'll always be with you. Always."
The crew bowed their heads as Kael touched Gareth's shoulder. "It's time, brother."
Gareth rose, his boots heavy on the sand. He mounted the black horse, the beast's mane writhing like smoke. Kael followed, steady as ever.
The crew stood together, silent at first—then one by one, voices rose. A chant, low and raw, carrying into the sunset.
"Lenziuela… Lenziuela… Lenziuela…".
The sound grew, not wild but solemn, echoing over the waves. Gareth kept his head high, his false name becoming a crown he never asked for.
The black steeds pawed at the sand, smoke curling from their hooves. The portal shimmered, waiting.
The crew stood unmoving, the salt wind whipping at their cloaks, their faces carved from grief.
Tina stepped forward, her fists trembling at her sides. "Don't you dare leave us now. Not after all this. Don't you dare…"
Gareth's voice broke, but he forced the words out, steady and sharp as a blade:"Protect her. Raise her well. Don't let her carry the same weight we did. Let her grow… free."
The silver-haired girl clung to his leg, tears blurring her bright eyes. Her voice cracked, raw and fragile:"You… don't go…"
Gareth bent to her level, brushing a hand across her hair. His smile shook, but it was wide, almost convincing."I'll always be with you. Always."
Kael's hand pressed his shoulder. His voice was quiet, solemn. "It's time, brother."
Gareth rose, climbed atop the black horse. Kael mounted beside him.
For a moment, there was only silence. The waves slapped the shore. The horses snorted smoke. The portal hissed.
Then, one voice rose. A hoarse whisper."Belmarius…"
Another joined. Then another. Until the cliffs themselves seemed to echo."Belmarius… Belmarius…"
The chant swelled—not a shout, but a dirge. A mourning song without melody. The pirates of Yimen raised their voices into the sunset, each one breaking, each one hollow, until the air trembled with the name.
And then, like the sea itself had turned, the name shifted."Lenziuela… Lenziuela… Lenziuela…"
The chant rolled like thunder across the horizon. Gareth sat rigid on the black horse, his head bowed, the false name weighing heavier than any crown.
The silver-haired girl, held in Kael's arms, raised her drowsy head. Her lashes fluttered, her voice faint as the tide."…Bye, papa…"
Her eyes closed.
Gareth forced a smile—wide, bright, broken. His chest burned, but he kept it.
The man in the suit lowered his hat. The portal yawned wider, blacker than night.
The crew's chant swelled one last time, echoing against the cliffs, rolling across the endless sea.
"Lenziuela… Lenziuela…"
The sound followed them as the horses reared and plunged into the portal, swallowed whole by the dark.
When the shimmer faded, only the waves remained, and the chant lingered like a ghost over the horizon
The horses reared, the portal yawned open, and the two brothers vanished into the black dimensions—leaving the chant to echo long after they were gone.
Bye my friends.