The sea was a beast that night. Rain lashed the deck in sheets, sharp as needles. Lightning tore open the sky, clawing across the heavens in crooked veins of white fire. Thunder rolled endlessly, a sound too heavy for the heart. Beneath it all, the ocean heaved and churned like something alive, eager to swallow us whole.
Our ship groaned against the storm. Lanterns swung, their yellow light dim and trembling. Each flame looked ready to die at any moment, yet stubbornly clung to life. To anyone watching from afar, those little lights would have been the only proof that men still lived aboard this vessel.
We were alive , but only barely.
It is strange, how fate toys with us. A few days ago, I was certain my story had ended. Perhaps I should tell it as it happened, so you may judge whether we lived by strength, by luck, or by something darker.
We had been attacked by pirates. Not a small band of cutthroats chasing coin, but a swarm , sails black against the horizon, voices like wolves howling for blood. They numbered in the hundreds. And us? Only two men with blades in their hands. If you wish to count the children on board, you may, but what use is a child against steel and fire?
The battle began with cannon fire.
The first roar of their guns shook the sky, and the sea itself seemed to flinch. Iron balls tore through the storm, burning with unnatural flame. Sorcery clung to them, each one a bomb that could tear through planks and flesh alike. The air filled with the smell of ash and salt, as if the ocean itself had caught fire.
We had no cannons to return fire. No crew to man them even if we did. By every law of battle, by every measure of war, we were already dead.
But then there was Zaman.
I had known him for some time, but never like this. As the first glowing cannonball hurtled toward us, I thought it would be the end. Instead, Zaman raised a hand, and from it shot threads , spider's silk, black as shadow, strong as steel. His web caught the cannonball in midair, wrapping its fury in strands of silence, smothering the fire until it hissed and died. One by one, he plucked the bombs from the sky, as if he were a child playing with marbles instead of defusing death.
The pirates must have thought us cursed. Their cannons thundered again and again, yet none of their shots reached us. Their magic was useless, their iron mouths silenced by a creature no bigger than a man's hand, with the strength of a god hidden in his frame.
And so they changed their plan.
Realizing that firepower would not win, they closed the distance. Their ship loomed, black sails straining against the storm. The collision came like the crack of the world itself. Wood splintered. Our vessel shuddered. Grappling hooks clanged onto our rails, ropes snaked across our deck, and then they came.
Before the first pirate's boots touched wood, Zaman moved.
He sprang into the air, muffler trailing like a banner of blood and storm. The crash of battle swallowed his landing, yet I saw him , calm, unflinching, eyes burning like coals. His voice cut through the chaos, reaching me even as rain drowned the world.
"Kill anyone who steps onto our ship."
Those words pierced deeper than any blade. I was captain. I was meant to guard life, not command death. Yet in that moment, I understood. If I hesitated, if I faltered, all would be lost. The storm would not wait. The pirates would not spare us.
They swarmed across, teeth bared, blades drawn, shouting curses drowned by the wind.
Zaman met them first. His fists shattered bones. He swung from mast to mast on those damned webs , like some demon spider, fists cracking bone. I almost laughed at the madness of it, if not for the bodies piling up. He was not man, not beast, something between. His punches snapped ribs, his kicks threw men into the sea like discarded toys. For every step the pirates gained, he took two more back in blood.
But pirates still came, crawling onto my deck like roaches.
It was my turn.
My hand touched the blade at my side. A weapon I had only recently taken, one I did not yet trust. But even before I drew it, I felt it calling me. Whispering. Not in words, but in hunger.
I unsheathed it, and the storm seemed to pause.
The first pirate lunged. His face was a mask of rage, his cutlass dripping with seawater. I swung. Steel cut flesh. His head tumbled. Blood hit my face, hot even in the storm. For a heartbeat, I just stood there, tasting iron before the rain scrubbed it away.
There was no time to breathe. Another came. I parried, twisted, drove my blade into his liver. The sword hummed, leaving behind a faint trail like ink in water , dark, glowing faintly, unnatural. A third screamed at me, calling me his brother's killer. He rushed forward, blind with fury. I cut him down, and silence claimed his voice.
Elhaan's training guided my stance. Roggan's lessons sharpened my hands. But this was more than memory. My body moved like it belonged to someone else. My mind was blank. My heart beat only for survival. Each swing was death. Each thrust was final.
One. Two. Three. Six men fell in moments. Their blood painted the deck, turning rain into crimson rivers. My hair, soaked and heavy, clung to my face, plastered with blood and salt.
I should've felt something , guilt, horror, maybe even pity. Instead? Nothing. Just the rush. Just the blade singing in my hand. That scared me more than the men I killed.
Across the chaos, Zaman fought the giant. A man towering over others, his axe heavy enough to split the mast. I watched Zaman struck back, his small body thrown like a ragdoll, only for his web to snap and pull him forward again. He slammed into the giant with fists like hammers, striking until the monster collapsed.
Zaman stood over the body, muffler whipping in the storm, corpses piled at his feet. The battle still raged, but on that side of the ship, death had already decided the winner.
And then I saw him.
On the enemy's deck, chained to the mast, sat a man. Shackles bit into his wrists, iron biting flesh. A tattered robe clung to him, torn and soaked, yet his shoulders were broad, his fists knotted with strength. His head was bowed, but when he looked up, I saw his eyes.
Gray. Lifeless. Empty of all that made men men.
He did not watch the battle. He did not care for the slaughter. Around him, pirates screamed and died, blood ran like rivers, and yet he sat unmoved. He looked up, and his eyes were gray, empty. colder , ike something that had already drowned a thousand times and stopped caring.
---
I jumped aboard the ship.
Zaman gave me a nod, his one eye bleeding. The giant had put up quite the fight. Together, we turned our attention to the figure bound in chains.
I tried speaking to him, but he was cold, unresponsive. My instincts screamed danger. Zaman stood on guard, and when I asked for his opinion, he was firmly against freeing the man. The shackles were sunk deep into his flesh, cruel and merciless. My thoughts differed. I knew if we left him there, he would die of starvation.
In the end, we chose to release him.
Zaman pulled out a ridged web-needle from a small pouch on his back. Blood ran down his hand, rain washing it away in thin crimson streams. He cut through several chains until the man was free.
I stood ready in case he attacked.
The man lurched to his feet in a sudden rush and charged straight at me. I swung my sword, cutting his arm, but he didn't stop. He ran past me, leapt over the rail, and vanished into the sea.
I rushed to the side, scanning the waves. All I found was a fading trail of blood spreading across the water, swallowed soon after by the storm.
Zaman and I looked at one another, neither of us able to explain what had just happened.
The good news, we had survived.
Back on our ship, the children waited. Zaman took them to the kitchen, while I heaved the bodies into the sea and watched the pirates' empty vessel drift away on the current.
That's why I said that, we survived fate.
At last, our ship reached harbor.
We had arrived in the city of Andorsa.
To be continued...
So, guys… here ends the first arc.
Now tell me, how did the story feel to you? Which parts made you smile, which stirred your heart, and where did it leave you lost in thought?
The next arc will begin next month. Your love, your words, your quiet encouragement, these are what keep my pen moving.
And yes, a little secret. A contract did arrive. But this tale is not yet a thing for the marketplace, it belongs only to us for now. Unless life presses me to the edge of hunger, I will not part with it.