The ship drifted quietly through the mist. Its sails barely moved in the cold wind. Ahead, the haunted island rose from the sea, its black rocks resembling fangs. At its center stood a giant skull, half-buried in the ground, as if time had tried and failed to bury it.
Mikael stood at the rail. Salt clung to his long blond hair, sticking loose strands to his face. His coat, too big for him, belonged to a man he no longer remembered. The spray from the sea had darkened it nearly to black. His blue-gray eyes were fixed on the monstrous skull, and he felt a tightening in his chest.
"That's it," he whispered. "The place from the stories."
Beside him, a small girl clung to the railing. Yuki, no more than eleven. Her flame-red hair was in messy braids, and her freckled cheeks were pale with fear. She tugged on his sleeve.
"Is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling. "That it's cursed?"
Mikael remained silent. Not because he didn't know. But because he feared it was true.
Below deck, the crew lived as if the fog posed no threat. Some laughed, some sharpened blades, and some sang half-drunk tavern songs about the island. Yet their eyes told the truth; they all knew the stories. Every man who landed there had been swallowed by it.
But none of them knew what their captain carried.
In his cabin, Captain Azan stood alone. The old pirate's white hair fell past his shoulders, tied in a rough knot. His face bore the marks of storms and betrayals, a map of scars and victories. Yet his hand trembled as he stared at his palm.
A black circle sat there. Smooth, perfect, as dark as spilled ink.
It pulsed faintly against his skin—cold, silent, alive.
Azan's jaw clenched. He was no stranger to curses, but this was different. This was the Black Mark, the sentence no man escaped.
The door creaked.
Mikael entered, his shadow stretching across the lamplight. His gaze moved from Azan's weathered face to the mark on his palm. His expression grew serious.
"You're not going to tell them, are you?" Mikael asked quietly.
Azan's lips pressed into a thin line. "If I could hide it, I would. But there's no hiding from the sun."
"They deserve more than silence."
Azan's eyes looked up. In the light, the lines in his face appeared deeper than ever. "Then say it aloud, Mikael. Say what no sailor dares: no one survives the Black Mark."
The words hung in the air like a noose.
Azan turned to his drawer and took out a small silver ring. Its surface was worn smooth, edges dulled by time. He placed it in Mikael's hand.
"You were just a boy when we found you," Azan said. "Washed ashore with nothing but this ring. I kept it, waiting for the day you were ready."
Mikael's fingers closed around it. His throat tightened. "Ready for what?"
"To carry more than just my name."
The call came from above. "Captain Azan! We're ready!"
Azan squared his shoulders. His coat tails swayed as he moved toward the deck.
The crew gathered beneath a bruised sky. Shadows stretched long across the boards, reaching like dark hands. The wind whispered through the sails in a language none of them understood.
Azan stood tall before them. His voice carried over the deck, steady and strong. "I, Azan, son of Ikhram, step down today as your captain."
Shock rippled through the men. Murmurs, curses, and questions filled the air.
Then Azan lifted his hand.
The Black Mark pulsed black against his skin.
The murmurs stopped. Silence fell like a blade.
A sailor near the front muttered, "That's it… the curse." Another swallowed hard. "No one survives."
CLACK.
A figure landed on the deck with the weight of judgment itself.
Ibrahim, one of the Seven Grandmasters.
He was tall and gaunt, wearing a black coat that swept the deck like a shadow. A thin scar cut down his cheek and vanished beneath dark glasses that gleamed in the lamplight. His voice was flat as iron when he spoke. "Anyone who moves dies."
The crew froze.
Azan placed a hand on his shoulder, unafraid. "I believe in my men."
Ibrahim nodded once before stepping back into the mist of the sails.
Azan turned to face his crew—his brothers, his lions. His weathered face softened just slightly with pride. "This ship needs a future. I won't be the one to sink it."
His voice rose like thunder. "For the last time, my lions, my brothers—we hunt together!"
With that, he leapt into the waiting longboat. One by one, the grandmasters followed. Their oars cut through the water as they disappeared into the fog, toward the cursed island.
Only Mikael and Yuki remained.
Mikael gripped the silver ring so tightly that it dug into his palm. The fog closed around the longboat until it was gone. He felt the world grow smaller and emptier.
Inside him, a whisper stirred. He would never see his captain again.
Azan's boots pressed into wet sand. The island stretched before them, deceptively beautiful. Lush jungle swayed under a gray sky.
Elhaan, the old mage, narrowed his eyes. "This place is wrong."
Black Mask said nothing as he cut a path into the jungle with his twin blades.
No birds. No insects. No life.
Ibrahim muttered, "Too quiet."
Then it came.
A sound.
Low, groaning, inhuman.
Every pirate froze.
And they knew—the hunt had already begun.
To be continued…
Author explains the Black Mark:
The Black Mark is well known in the pirate world. It is just a piece of black paper. Whoever gets it dies as the last ray of sun disappears on the horizon.
Some believe a traitor from the crew will kill you. Others think a monster will eat you or a sea creature!
It is rare and small, but famous people have died from it. No one knows how it kills, but the one thing they all know is that it kills.
[In a later chapter, you will find out how it kills.]