Their first storm had passed with little more than heavy rain and strong winds, but the second… the second had torn through the sails like a beast with gnashing teeth. It had forced Arthur and his crew to dock at the closest island—a remote stretch of paradise, untouched by war or the politics of the four kingdoms, though they knew who thier monarch was, and his son.
The detour turned into an adventure of its own. The island was rich with fruit and freshwater streams, a welcome reprieve from the salted rations of the ship. They camped under the stars, gathered supplies, and repaired the battered sails. For a brief moment, Arthur felt what his uncle felt, pure freedom.
But the sea was never peaceful for long. Days later, as the morning sun bled across the horizon as Arthur stood at the helm, eyes sharp as he surveyed the waves. Then—
"Ship spotted!" a crewman called from the crow's nest.
Arthur's grip tightened on the wheel; another ship on open waters could mean anything—merchant, pirate, ally, or enemy, knew that from experience…
The sun hadn't fully risen when the quiet sea erupted with the sound of shouting.
Arthur was the first to spot it—dark silhouettes on the horizon, a ship drifting too close, sails tattered, flag unrecognizable.
Alexander squinted, leaned forward, then grinned—a bright, reckless grin that did not belong to a man who'd spent last night comforting a dragon-hearted cousin.
"Well, well, well…" He nudged Artizea with his elbow. "SHOOT OUT!"
Artizea choked on air. "Shoot—what? wait—"
"SHOOT OUT!" he repeated, louder this time, already scrambling toward the deck cannon like an excited child. "Load it up!"
Arthur blinked. "Hold on! We don't even know who they are yet!"
"UM—what if they're friendly?" Arthur asked, "Ever thought about that? Friendly pirates?"
"There is no such thing," Alexander declared. "Shoot now, ask questions later! thats my metto"
"You're insane," Artizea muttered.
"And alive," Alexander shot back, throwing open a crate of cannonballs.
Arthur hovered uncertainly, then something flickered in his expression—something curious, something eager.
He picked up a cannonball, weighing it in his hands.
"This… is heavier than I expected," he admitted.
Alexander beamed. "OH. OH, YOU LIKE THIS. COME HERE—YOU'RE HELPING."
Arthur bristled. "I never said I was helping—"
Too late. Alexander shoved a ramrod at him. "Congratulations, Pendragon. You're promoted."
As they wrestled the cannon into place, the ship rocked—waves slapping hard—and Alexander's foot came down wrong on the edge of a coil of rope.
He hissed sharply. "Damn—!"
Artizea spun at the sound. "Alex?"
But Arthur moved faster, dropping to a knee beside him. "Let me see."
He took Alexander's ankle carefully, his touch surprisingly gentle for a prince raised on war. "You twisted it."
Alexander grimaced. "It's nothing—cannons first."
Arthur glared at him. "You can't fire a cannon on a busted foot!"
Artizea crossed her arms. "He actually can. And has. Multiple times."
Alexander tried to stand—failed—and Arthur caught him under the arm.
"Don't be stupid," Arthur muttered. "Use me for support."
Alexander blinked at him, startled. "You're bossy."
"You're reckless."
They stared at each other for a beat—then both laughed, rough and relieved.
Arthur hefted the ramrod again, glancing at the cannon with a new spark in his eyes.
"This… isn't awful," he admitted. "Kind of thrilling."
Alexander's face lit up like a storm lantern. "You want to fire it?"
"YES—absolutely—NO—wait—maybe—"
Artizea groaned. "Oh great. Two of you now."
Alexander slapped Arthur's shoulder. "Welcome to the crew!"
The pirate ship drifted closer, but slower now, sails drooping—more wounded than threatening.
Artizea raised a brow. "Friendly pirates?"
Alexander squinted. "…Possibly."
Arthur, now gripping the cannon with alarming enthusiasm, asked, "Should we still shoot?"
Artizea sighed. "NO!"
Alexander threw his hands up. "Fine. But if they try anything—I am blowing SOMETHING UP."
Arthur quietly whispered, "…Same."
Artizea rubbed her temples. "Perfect. I'm surrounded by pyromaniacs."
But when Arthur caught Alexander's arm again—steadying him as he tried to walk—she smiled softly.
Maybe not alone, after all.
The cannon boomed so loudly the entire ship rattled.
Alexander let out a maniacal, triumphant cackle that echoed across the sea.
"HAHAHAHA—LOOK AT THEM RUN! BOOM! ANOTHER ONE!"
He fired again, bracing himself with one leg while Arthur frantically reloaded beside him.
Arthur shouted over the thunder, "Why are you laughing like that?!"
"BECAUSE THIS IS LIVING!" Alexander roared.
Artizea ducked as a cannonball whistled overhead. "You're both actually insane!"
It didn't take long before the opposing ship—already damaged—finally dropped its weapons. A torn white cloth was hoisted shakily into the air.
Alexander exhaled sharply, letting the smoking cannon cool beneath his hand.
"Alright," he said, suddenly calm—too calm. "Look out for survivors. Bring them aboard. We need answers."
Arthur blinked. "Wait—just like that? No more laughing?"
Alexander patted his shoulder. "There's a time for lunacy and a time for paperwork. Welcome to post-battle administration."
They rounded up the survivors—only three of them—shivering, bruised, leaning heavily against the railing.
Alexander walked slowly in front of them, hands behind his back like a commander on parade.
"So," he began. "No kingdom crest. No legal pass for these waters. What exactly were you doing out here… or rather, were doing."
One man swallowed hard. "Th-there's a monster beneath the waves… the Megalodon. There were four ships before us… now there is only one."
Alexander nodded thoughtfully. "Mhm. Mhmmhm. Fascinating."
Artizea elbowed him. "See? They were friendly pirates."
"No," Alexander replied instantly, voice dry as sand. "They are mermaid hunters."
Arthur's mouth fell open. "Mermaid hunters?!"
Alexander crouched in front of the nearest captured sailor. "Which—by the way—is extremely illegal. Which also tells me that you lot went poking around the wrong side of the ocean." He tapped the man's forehead lightly. "And now—"
The ship lurched so violently
"Fuck." Alexander cursed.
Artizea's skin prickled.
Arthur whispered, "Please tell me that's thunder."
Alexander shook his head slowly. "That… is something with teeth the size of your torso."
Arthur steadied himself. "What does that mean?"
Alexander looked him dead in the eyes. " The merfolk set their guardian on us.'
"Which means?!" he repeated
"It means you're about to experience a real pirate-life scenario."
A deep, guttural sound rolled beneath the hull—a vibration, almost—but too massive, too alive.
The captured pirates screamed as the ship tilted as a colossal shadow passed beneath them.
Artizea inhaled sharply. "Everyone—hold on to something."
Arthur grabbed a rope, wide-eyed.
Alexander grinned again—slow, wicked, exhilarated. "Round two," he whispered. "Let's see if the big beastie likes cannon fire."
The sea exploded upward, and the Megalodon began its ascent.
"Here, fishy Fishy..." Alexander grinned.
"Raise the Pendragon flag," he ordered, his voice steady. "Ready the cannons, but do not fire unless I say."
The ship in the distance was closing in. It was a fleet, the sails adorned with a golden sun against black fabric.
Arthur exhaled. Egyptian. "Hold fire," he commanded.
"Sir?"
"I said, Hold fire," he repeated.
When the vessel pulled alongside theirs, a gangplank was lowered, and Arthur and a handful of his crew boarded. He was immediately greeted by the captain.
"Your highness," the Egyptian captain said, his tone formal. "I offer my apologies for the misunderstanding. We did not recognize your ship from afar, My prince."
Arthur waved it off. "No harm done," he assured, though the captain visibly relaxed only slightly. "But tell me—what is an Egyptian fleet doing this far out? have you a permit?"
"Secound in command."
"Yes, sir."
"Show his highness our permit."
"Right away, sir."
The captain hesitated, then smirked slightly. "A legend, Your Grace."
Arthur raised a brow. "A legend?"
The captain nodded. "A mermaid."
Arthur's expression remained unreadable, but from behind him, Cesealia pushed forward, her interest piqued.
The captain led them toward the center of the ship, revealing a woman tied
Cesealia gasped.
The mermaid's lilac hair was matted, her golden scales marred with bruises. She was curled up, her breathing shallow, her lips cracked from dehydration.
She needed water.
"You bastards," Cesealia turned to the captain, eyes filled with rage. "Cut her down at once!"
But the captain looked at her like she wasn't even there
"And who are you?"
She scowled. For once, she wished she had a title.
Arthur studied the woman before shifting his gaze to the captain. "What do you plan to do with her?"
The captain smirked. "You mean this creature, Your Grace?" He crossed his arms. "She is a prize, a gift for the King's Brother, your highness."
Arthur's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Breathe. One, Two, Three. Count to three so no one bleeds. But then—
"He was so grateful for a new concubine, he gave my men permission to loosen her up—" he paused, his meaning clear.
The crew laughed.
Cesealia's stomach turned in disgust. Her expression darkened. "You will not touch her."
The captain hesitated. "I beg your pardon—"
Arthur drew Excalibur.
The entire deck fell silent. The men aboard the Egyptian vessel instinctively took a step back. The laughter of the crew had died, snuffed out by the blade of a man who needed no crown to command fear.
"Go on then," Arthur said, his voice low, dangerous. "Beg your pardon." Arthur's gaze remained fixed on the Egyptian captain, his voice calm, but dangerous.
The captain stiffened.
"Your Grace, I must remind you—my king—"
"You speak of a king oceans away, when the first son of the Monarch of humanity, Great King Gilgamesh, stands before you?" His tone dropped lower. Sharper. "A new king can be chosen, as its general. You are speaking to a Pendragon. Act like it."
Behind him, his crew shifted, hands hovering over their weapons, ready to cut these men down should their prince command it.
The Egyptian captain clenched his jaw, his body taut with humiliation as he sank to his knees.
"I humbly beg the life of me and my crew be spared, Your Grace."
His crew behind him unsheathed their weapons, ready to fight at a moment's notice.
He turned to Cesealia. "Take her aboard."
Cesealia didn't hesitate. She was at the cage in an instant, undoing the locks with swift, practiced hands.
The mermaid—battered, dehydrated, trembling—barely had the strength to stand.
The woman barely had the strength to stand, but Cesealia carried her, supporting her frail body as she led her onto their ship.
The mermaid whispered something, so faint it was nearly lost beneath the roar of the waves.
"…thank you…"
Cesealia held her tighter. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Arthur watched them go before returning his attention to the captain.
The Egyptian captain growled under his breath. "You can't just take her."
If Arthur's eyes were sapphire shores, they were now Stormy seas.
The tension on the Egyptian vessel was suffocating.
"One, two, three. Count, so no one bleeds." He told himself.
"I'm going to assume she was not the only woman you've taken."
The man hesitated.
Arthur's expression darkened.
A single glance at his men, and the Egyptian captain gave a curt nod to one of his crew members.
The man reluctantly turned, leading Arthur below deck.