Chapter 13 — The Shadow of Volantis
(Year 288 AD — En route to Volantis)
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The Roar of the Five Ships
The sea roared beneath the Noctis and the four captured ships, as if the gods wished to test the strength of Ronnel's small fleet. The black sails flapped violently, and the masts creaked like old bones.
At first glance, it seemed like the beginning of a legend: five ships under one flag.
But the truth was more bitter.
Thirty-two men and women.
Five ships.
And too much ocean.
It was an impossible equation.
---
Ronnel stood on the Noctis's quarterdeck, his elbows resting on the railing, staring out at the horizon. The sea breeze whipped across his face, yet his expression was cool and controlled. Inside, however, his mind seethed.
With Patrick Jane, Harvey Specter, and Sheldon Cooper working inside, he calculated every variable:
The Noctis was fully operational, but only because it had the majority of men.
The Dawnsaber and the Bonebreaker could barely hold course with five crew members each.
The Shadowwind was sailing with three people, and one of them was injured.
The Heart of Leviathan was practically adrift, towed by the Noctis.
Five ships were power...
But they were also five times the hunger, five times the responsibility, and five times the risk.
---
Lya approached from behind, her step light as the whisper of a knife.
"You have too many ships and too few men," she said bluntly, crossing her arms.
"I know," Ronnel replied, still looking out to sea.
"And what is your plan? To tame the wind?" she replied with a hint of irony.
He smiled slightly, tilting his head at her.
"My plan is to buy the loyalty of the wind."
Lya raised an eyebrow.
"I mean sailors."
"I mean a loyal fleet," he corrected, turning to face her directly. "There are more masterless men in Volantis than flies on a corpse. Mercenaries, freed slaves, deserters... The good ones don't ask questions, and the desperate ones don't set a price. We'll have both."
She stared at him with a half-smile. "You talk like a king... but sometimes you sound like a pirate."
Ronnel lowered his voice, moving close enough so only she could hear him.
"The trick... is knowing when to be who you are."
---
Later, Ronnel gathered the original crew and the captured former pirates on the deck of the Noctis. The atmosphere was charged, with tense faces, sweat on their foreheads, and hands resting near the hilts of their weapons.
Kael, the navigator, spoke first.
"Captain, with thirty-two men we can't hold five ships. It's madness."
Bryna, a former pirate captain, smiled sarcastically.
"Madness? No. It's stupidity." She spat on the ground, staring at him. "Divided like this, we're sitting ducks. A single Lys ship could wipe us out."
Tymor, still covered in soot, chuckled.
"Bah, let them come. We'll burn them and that's it."
Sariah gave him a cold look.
"With what gunpowder, idiot? We barely have enough for a serious fight."
The murmur of complaints grew. The men looked at each other, some murmuring that it would be best to abandon three ships and keep only two. Others, especially the former pirates, argued over which ship each cell should stay on.
Chaos was beginning to brew... just as Ronnel wanted.
---
Ronnel lifted the Night Rain and slammed it down onto the deck with a loud thud. The sound echoed throughout the ship, and silence fell instantly.
"Five ships mean five times the power," he said, his voice deep and controlled. "Five flags under our command. Five times the gold… if we play our cards right."
He paced slowly among them, like a predator circling its pack.
"Yes, we are few… for now. But in Volantis, we will find what we need: cheap men and easily bought loyalties."
Bryna frowned.
"And if they turn on you?"
Ronnel smiled darkly.
"Then I will do the same thing I did with Gerof." His gaze pierced each of their eyes, one by one. "A traitor serves more as a warning than an enemy."
The murmuring died away completely. The former pirates gulped. The original crew avoided meeting eyes. No one wanted to be the next Gerof.
---
When the meeting ended, Ronnel climbed back onto the quarterdeck, Kael at his side.
"Captain, even so... sailing five ships with so few people is an invitation to disaster," Kael said, worried.
Ronnel scanned the horizon and replied calmly,
"Only to Volantis. There we'll buy men. We'll recruit what we need... and more."
Kael looked at him, confused.
"More?"
Ronnel tilted his head, his smile fading from his eyes.
"Five ships aren't enough. I need a fleet."
The navigator looked at him as if he'd gone mad. Ronnel, on the other hand, saw only possibilities: purchased ports, controlled routes, cities on their knees.
The Noctis was no longer just a ship.
It was the beginning of a kingdom at sea.
---
Dawn tinged the sky a dark red, as if the sun were bleeding over the horizon. The mist of the Rhoyne River enveloped the fleet's black sails like a shroud, and beneath it, Volantis was awakening.
There was no city like it.
Not in Essos.
Perhaps not in the world.
From the deck of the Noctis, Ronnel gazed down upon the first daughter of Valyria, and what he saw was a living beast.
The harbor unfolded in perfectly orchestrated chaos:
Hundreds of masts pierced the sky like spears.
The murmur of slaves unloading goods was constant, mingled with the shouts of overseers and the crack of whips.
The stench of spices, sweat, fish, and dried blood pounded like an invisible wall.
The fat, bejeweled Triarchal merchants moved chests of gold with heavily armed guards.
Uncontracted mercenaries prowled like wolves, with cheap swords and hungry gazes.
Tattooed slaves, marked for life, crawled through the streets, carrying crates of jade, Myrish wine, Yi Ti silks, and elephant tusks.
And above it all, imposing and dark, rose the Elephant Bridge.
A colossus of black stone that joined the two halves of Volantis over the Rhoyne River. Its watchtowers were armed with ballistae, scorpions, and boiling oil. Whoever controlled that bridge controlled the city.
Kael Dravven, the Lysene navigator, whistled softly, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Volantis..." he murmured. "The first daughter of Valyria... and the most rotten of all."
Sariah drew her bowstring, an almost unconscious gesture.
"Gold buys lives here faster than swords."
Mira smiled, leaning on the railing.
"I like it. Sounds like a place made for us."
Ronnel didn't reply.
His gaze scanned the harbor like a predator examining a herd. Every detail was information. Every move, an opportunity.
It's a chessboard, she thought.
And I already see the pieces.
---
"Sails down! Prepare the anchors!" Kaen roared, his raspy voice towering over the wind.
The Noctis slid between war galleys, slave ships, and crowded merchant vessels, while the four captured vessels followed in its wake. Some Volantisian sailors eyed them suspiciously, others greedily.
Tymor, covered in soot as ever, muttered from the stern,
"They're eyeing us like starving dogs, Captain."
Ronnel smiled faintly.
"Let them look. Wolves don't fear rats."
The original crew was tense. The ex-pirates murmured among themselves, some staring out into the harbor, as if smelling trouble. Bryna, the former pirate captain now serving under Ronnel, strode forward.
"If we dock here, we need clear rules. This city eats idiots."
Ronnel slowly turned his head toward her.
"That's why we'll survive. Because we're not idiots."
The Noctis docked with a creak, throwing hooks into the dock posts. The air was thick with heat and the smell of salt, mixed with human sweat and exotic spices.
Ronnel descended the gangplank first, flanked by Kael and Sariah. The port crowd parted for them, more out of curiosity than respect:
Fat merchants in silk robes appraised the ship with vulture-like eyes.
Ragged mercenaries offered themselves to any captain who would promise them coin and meat.
Red priests whispered prayers to R'hllor, their eyes aglow with fire.
Tattooed slaves carried crates of jade, iron, and spices, not daring to look up.
Mira descended behind Ronnel, with a smile that made half the dock turn to look at her. "What a lovely place," he said sarcastically.
Sariah, on the other hand, touched the hilt of her sword.
"This port reeks of ambush."
Ronnel walked to the end of the dock and stopped. His gaze lifted to Elephant Bridge, then to the black towers guarding the passage.
"No," he muttered, almost to himself. "This port reeks of opportunity."
---
As they moved through the cobblestone streets, the bustle intensified:
Cries of slave auctions.
Scents of expensive perfumes mingled with the stench of filthy bodies.
Camel caravans and elephants laden with treasure from half of Essos.
Merchant House spies hid among street vendors, watching each new face.
Kael lowered his voice, leaning closer to Ronnel's ear.
"Captain, nothing moves here without the Triarchs knowing. If we don't play our cards right, we could end up at the bottom of the Rhoyne before nightfall."
Ronnel smiled crookedly.
"That's why we won't play by your rules. We'll make them ourselves."
His cold, gray eyes fixed on a group of tattooed mercenaries waiting near a tavern.
"Today we plant seeds," he said softly, almost like an oath. "
Men, ships, gold, information...
Before Volantis understands, his blood will run through my veins."
---
The Tavern of the Red Lamps
The night in Volantis burned under the crimson glow of thousands of lanterns hanging in alleys, balconies, and docks.
The port experienced its own chaos:
Prostitutes tattooed with red fire offered false smiles.
Drunken mercenaries fought over bottles and old wounds.
Thieves lurked in the shadows, looking for easy coins or poorly defended throats.
Ronnel advanced through the crowd, flanked by Kaen, Sariah, and Mira. His mere presence opened the way.
The murmurs grew as the young man with gray eyes and a runeblade passed: a beardless captain, but with five ships under his flag.
The Tavern of the Red Lamps seethed with noise, sweat, and smoke.
The air smelled of rum, salt, and violence.
Sweaty bodies bumped into each other, dice rolled across the tables, and fights erupted as quickly as they died down.
Ronnel didn't speak as he entered. He didn't need to.
The Night Rain, hanging behind him, emitted a blue glow that drew glances like a flame in the darkness.
It was Kaen who broke the murmur. His voice was clear and sharp:
"The captain is looking for men. Gold for loyalty. Silver for silence. Uncertain course, sure loot."
The din gradually subsided. Until a sailor with a gray beard, weathered skin, shark tattoos, and a glass eye stepped forward.
"Who's the kid?" he snorted, jerking his chin toward Ronnel.
Ronnel took two steps forward. The lamplight made the runes on his sword seem to move, as if breathing.
"I am the one who will give you a ship, plunder... and a name no one will forget," he said in a deep, measured voice. "Or I am the one who will leave you to rot in cheap rum until you are cast into the Rhoyne like garbage.
Decide quickly."
The man held his gaze... and then let out a hoarse laugh.
"Captain!" he exclaimed.
The effect was immediate. Ten more men followed him, beating the ground with their fists.
That night, thirty-seven men joined his crew.
---
At dawn, Ronnel entered the Freed Slave Market, a place where men who had been property yesterday sold their strength for a new master.
There were dozens:
Former rowers with muscles carved by pain.
Sailors punished by their former owners.
Gladiators branded with blood tattoos.
All of them broken. All of them hungry for purpose.
Ronnel climbed atop a barrel in the center of the plaza.
He didn't raise his voice.
He simply let his presence speak first.
"Listen to me," he said finally, his tone low but firm, like suppressed thunder. "
You have been property. Branded flesh, blood sold.
I offer you something different: a name, a place, a future."
There were murmurs, hesitations, bitter laughter. Ronnel lifted the Night Rain and planted it in the ground.
The runes glowed with an unnatural brilliance, and silence fell.
"Under my banner there are no chains. But there is duty.
You will fight, sail, and trade. And you will live... not as slaves, but as wolves of the sea."
A huge gladiator, tattooed to the neck, looked at him suspiciously.
"And if we don't want to serve another master?"
Ronnel smiled faintly.
"Then you are of no use... you rule with me."
More than twenty men stepped forward.
By noon, he had recruited forty-five.
---
That afternoon, in a less bustling tavern, Ronnel met with the Black Knives, a small, uncontracted mercenary company. Twelve battle-hardened men, led by a captain named Veyran Dross, a colossus with a half-burned face.
Veyran sized him up silently, sipping cheap wine.
"You're too young to command five ships, kid."
Ronnel didn't smile.
"I don't command ships. I command destinies."
The silence stiffened. Veyran gave a dry laugh.
"I like you. But the Black Knives don't come cheap."
Ronnel slid a chest across the table, filled with Lysene silver looted from defeated pirates.
"This covers your price." He added, leaning forward,
"But I don't hire you for your gold. I hire you for your loyalty. The day you hesitate, I'll slit your throat in your sleep." Veyran stared at him for a long moment... Then he took a sip from his wineglass and smiled, showing his broken teeth.
"For the first time in years, boy... I'm afraid of a captain. We're in."
Twelve more warriors joined his cause.
---
As night fell, Ronnel gathered all the new recruits in an abandoned warehouse near the dock. Nearly two hundred men looked at him expectantly, tensely, some defiantly.
Ronnel walked among them like a judge among criminals.
He asked them one by one:
If they knew how to sail.
If they knew how to fight.
If they knew how to trade.
And, above all…if they could obey.
Those who doubted, he expelled.
Those who lied, he expelled.
Those who showed fear, he scorned.
In the end, one hundred men and women remained standing.
All with different skills.
All with the same goal.
One fleet. One name. One future.
Ronnel looked down on them from the top of the warehouse, the Night Rain shining like an omen.
"From this day forward, you are not slaves.
You are not pirates."
They're not mercenaries. You're the Storm.
The roar that followed shook the docks.
---
The following days became a whirlwind of smoke, gold, and secrets.
The loot Ronnel had obtained in the Reach—during the tournaments he participated in disguised as a simple sailor—was priceless in Volantis. He brought:
Golden wine from Arbor, normally reserved for kings and Triarchs.
Rare spices from Oldtown, nearly impossible to find east of the Narrow Sea.
Silks dyed with unique pigments, which no Volantis workshop could replicate.
Three chests of pearls and moonstones won in rigged bets during the festivities.
But Ronnel did not stoop to selling in the open markets. The legal outposts were infested with Triarch spies and absurd taxes. Instead, he sought out the Guild of the Black Snake, a clandestine guild that moved contraband and stolen treasures under the Triarchs' noses.
---
The room was dark, lit only by three oil lamps. Incense smoke curled in the air, and the walls were covered with black curtains to muffle any sound.
Ronnel, with Mira and Kael behind him, sat across from Velthar, a shadowy merchant with obsidian rings on his fingers.
"Your silks smell of Arbor," the man said, stroking one of the fabrics. "I can sell this to three Triarchs before dawn."
"You won't sell them," Ronnel replied calmly. "You'll trade them."
Velthar raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Why ask for gold when you can ask a higher price? What does the boy want with ships?"
Ronnel smiled faintly.
"Maps. Steel. Secrets."
Silence. A few seconds later, Velthar chuckled softly.
—The boy plays like a Triarch… but with sharper fangs.
The deal was brutally effective:
The Dominion silks were turned into forbidden nautical charts of the Basilisk Isles, secret routes used by smugglers and slave hunters.
The chests of pearls were exchanged for Qohor steel, black swords and spears tempered with arcane rituals.
Some of the golden wine was traded to two merchant families… but not for gold. Ronnel demanded privileged information about debts, trade routes, and bribes paid at the Triarchal court.
When it was all over, he had turned noble wares into weapons, routes, and secrets.
The Volantis board had just tilted… and no one knew it.
---
The Warg's Eyes
Ronnel's nights were a battlefield.
He sat on the floor of his cabin, closed his eyes, and let his spirit spill out like mist.
First, he merged with the carrion crows nesting atop the towers of Elephant Bridge. From there, he saw the entire city, breathing like a monster of stone and smoke.
Then he leaped into the cat-like eyes of the harbor, slithering through damp alleys, listening to the conversations of smugglers, mercenaries, and spies.
Finally, when his body allowed it, he sank into the rats that lived beneath the floors of the richest houses. Through them, he heard secrets that no guard or courtesan could ever obtain.
What he discovered was game-changing:
Three merchant families were planning to block access to the Rhoyne, demanding a brutal toll from all independent fleets.
A group of privateers hired by the Triarchs planned to sink the Noctis if Ronnel didn't pay a "protection tax."
Several nobles were recruiting crews for illegal expeditions to Sothoryos, where the forests concealed gold mines and cursed stones.
Every secret was a hidden knife.
And Ronnel began collecting knives.
---
While Ronnel watched, his hands acted.
---
Mira — The Poison in Silk
Dressed in red veils, Mira infiltrated the courtesans of the Tiger Temple. There, merchants and nobles talked too much after wine.
One night, sitting on a senator's lap, she whispered in a honeyed voice:
"They say the Triarchs plan to raise taxes on the routes to Qarth... but I hear someone is already offering a safer way... to the north."
The man, drunk with desire, blurted out the name of the rival merchant family.
Ronnel smiled when he told him.
Mira spread false rumors about safe routes and nonexistent dangers, pushing the merchants' decisions into Ronnel's pocket.
---
Kael — The Wind of Rumors
Kael drank cheap rum in taverns packed with sailors, listening, talking, manipulating.
"They say Volantis is preparing a war against Pentos," he whispered through his teeth, as if afraid of being overheard.
The rumor spread like wildfire. Sailors, fearing forced recruitment by the Triarchs, volunteered to join the Noctis. Ronnel didn't recruit men; men sought him out.
---
Tymor — Controlled Chaos
Tymor operated silently.
A rival merchant's ship mysteriously burned in the middle of the night.
Another lost his entire cargo when "rats" pierced his wine barrels.
A third captain woke up with his throat slit, and the next day his crew asked for work with Ronnel.
Every accident was a move on the chessboard.
And every move left Ronnel with more men and fewer rivals.
---
Fleet Division
By the end of the week, Ronnel had 100 new crew members.
They weren't just sailors: he selected them one by one, testing their loyalty, skill, and ambition.
The division was as follows:
Dawnsaber — Captain: Bryna the Red. 20 expert raiders.
Bonebreaker — Captain: Silas Kaern. 18 war veterans.
Shadowwind — Captain: Tovahr. 15 spies and smugglers.
Heart of Leviathan — Captain: Veyran dross. 17 boarding warriors.
The Noctis — Captain: Ronnel. 25 elites under direct command.
Each ship received new weapons, secret maps, and clear orders:
obey the Noctis without question, without question, without fail.
---
The night the five ships lined up at the docks, their black sails billowing with a new emblem: a stag under the moon.
Ronnel, on the prow of the Noctis, spoke in a gravelly voice, looking down at a hundred expectant souls:
"Once you were nothing.
Now you are mine.
We serve not Volantis, nor the Triarchs, nor the old gods.
We serve the Storm."
The roar that followed shook the docks.
Ronnel's fleet was no longer a collection of ships.
It was an omen.
--
That night, under the stars, the crew celebrated. Wine, laughter, and music filled the deck.
Mira approached Ronnel, touching his arm with light fingers.
"Captain... you should dance with me. It's not every day we buy half a port."
Before he could respond, Lya appeared. Her gray gaze was filled with suppressed fire.
"It's not every day we survive Volantis. Some of us prefer to drink quietly."
Sariah, leaning on the railing, rolled her eyes.
"Some of us prefer not to pretend this is a party."
Ronnel smiled, amused, as he poured wine into his glass.
"Relax... there's enough sea for everyone."
Mira gave a soft laugh. Lya looked at him with a half smile. Sariah simply drank.
But none of them noticed that, under the moonlight, the Night Rain runes glowed more brightly. As if the sword itself understood that the game had just begun.
---