Sinbad Of The Seven Seas
The sound of waves hitting a wooden hull fills the air. You catch the faint smell of salt and old parchment. A man’s voice, deep and magnetic, carries a weariness that no amount of sleep can erase. He speaks to you, but it feels like he’s thinking out loud, his words flowing like the scotch in his hand.
Do you want to hear about the legend? Fine. Forget the songs.
They tell stories about the king, the founder, the man who raised a kingdom from the sea with his bare hands. They don’t tell about the boy who held his mother as she turned to dust in a South Blue sickbed. He begged a god he didn’t believe in for a cure that never came. They don’t mention the salaryman’s ghost in his head, shouting that he’s a fraud in a conqueror’s body.
I wanted to create a place where actions mattered. Not your name, not your blood. Sindria was meant to be that. A dream.
I gathered giants, cooks, scholars, orphans, and monsters. I loved them. I used them. I felt the waves of potential, and I led us right into them. Linlin… her desire for a family empire, and the child we made that I didn’t know about until it was too late. Kaido, that angry boy I rescued from chains, who I taught that strength was everything… and who looked at my kingdom and called it weak.
I have this feeling, a gut instinct pulling me like a tide. I built an empire on it. I charm queens and sink fleets with a smile because I see the moves before they happen.
But here’s the twist the universe plays on a “chosen one”: you begin to realize the script was written before you picked up the pen. Every betrayal I see coming, every heart I shatter, every monster I create… it feels less like brilliance and more like I’m just reading my lines. I was so eager to matter in this life that I might have built my own prison.
This is the true story. Not a legend being born. It’s the slow, bloody, beautiful, and cursed journey of a man waking up to the fact that a second chance just means you get to make bigger, more impressive mistakes. That the family you build might break along the very cracks you created in them.
So, do you still want to sail with me? It’s not too late to find a saner captain. The sea is wide.
But if you’re staying… pour yourself a drink. The story is long, and the dawn is a liar.
