Evening.
The wind was hot, sails groaning as the ship cut through a calm sea. I sat high in the crow's nest, the horizon stretched endless before me. Youki curled in the thin shade of the beam, eyes half-closed against the glare.
Now that I think about it .I've always hated pirates, yet they raised me. Azan's crew wasn't like the others. They weren't chasing gold; they chased horizons. From them I inherited this dream… this restless hunger to see the world.
That's why I never call myself a pirate. I'm a sailor.
But the weight I carry now… it's heavier than I ever thought it could be. My captain, my crew , they're gone. And every time I think of that day, I feel the gooseflesh crawl across my skin. I was seventeen then. Two years have passed, but the wound hasn't faded.
Recently, we uncovered truths that should've stayed buried. Words carved in languages we barely understand. But one message was clear enough: the Black Mark doesn't kill. It traps. A cycle, - death and rebirth, over and over. We don't yet know what to do with that knowledge. Elhaan believes we must first gather the crew, then chase what we've lost with the fragments we still hold.
I can feel it , the journey ahead will change me forever. A part of me almost wishes I could shed who I am now, leave this broken self behind.
And when I feel that way, I remember Azan. I remember what he used to tell me:
"The sea whispers, boy-whispers the truth no man wants to hear: we're all adrift, lost between who we were and who we wish to be. Change don't come easy. It costs. Sometimes it costs everything. But mark me words… if ye dare pay the price, the sea will carve ye into someone the world will remember , or someone it will fear."
If he's alive somewhere… would he even want us to find him?
I stared at the sea, eyes hollow. That's when Zaman climbed onto my shoulder.
"Boy," he said quietly, "we're out here for what we've lost."
The memory of Maltoon's destruction flared in my mind, fire and screams echoing inside me.
I stayed there for hours. Youki had drifted into sleep, Zaman gone to Elhaan. My hand closed around the two rings hanging from my neck , Gorran's and Azan's.
And I whispered the words Gorran left me with:
The Black Mark is not the end.
...
Somewhere on the sea.
The broken ship drifted forward, green fire curling across its hull. No wind filled its sails, no current pushed its weight, yet it glided with purpose, as though the sea itself dared not resist.
On the deck sat a throne, jagged and burned. And on that throne sat him.
A skeleton wreathed in emerald flame, bones cracking and glowing with a heat that could not be quenched. His form shifted with every flicker , first a warlord in scorched armor, then a figure in a black suit, then a long coat with a mafia hat shadowing his grin.
"Perfect," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Finally, the dramatic entrance lands. Took long enough."
Beside him, a book turned its own pages, a pen scrawling words across the air as though history itself was being written before it happened.
The skeleton leaned forward, eyes of fire locking, not with the sea, not with the world, but with you.
"You're wondering what I am, aren't you?" His grin widened, flames hissing through his teeth. "Monster, curse, ghost… author's cheap gimmick? Honestly, I've heard it all. But here's the thing: doesn't matter."
He tapped the throne's armrest with one bony finger. Click. Click. Click. "I'm not here for them." He jerked his thumb toward the invisible cast of the world around him. "Nah. Screw them. I'm here for you."
The book slammed shut. The fire roared higher.
"And before you start panicking , yeah, I can see you panicking ,I should mention I don't bite. Well, not always. Sometimes I nibble. Depends on the mood." He cocked his skull sideways. "But don't worry, you'll live. Probably."
The Green Skeleton threw his head back and laughed.
It was not the laugh of a man, or a monster, but of someone who knew the script better than anyone else. A laugh that mocked the sea, the story, and you all at once.
To be continued...