Smashing a wooden chair into pieces, the ruthless pirate captain pointed his cutlass right at my face, forcing my weeping little brother to fight a starving sea monster just to entertain his drunken, roaring crew.
The salt-spray was freezing as it bit into the open cuts on my back, but the cold inside my chest was far worse.
I was only seventeen years old, a starved, forgotten orphan deckhand on the Iron Maw, a massive, black-sailed warship that ruled the frozen waters of the northern seas. My only purpose in life, the only reason my heart kept beating through the endless beatings and the heavy manual labor, was the tiny, trembling boy huddled behind my legs.
My little brother, Toby. He was only nine years old.
We had no mother. We had no father. We had nothing but the shared memory of a warm home that had been burned to ashes years ago by the very men who now held us captive. We were less than dirt to the crew of the Iron Maw. We were just two sets of useless hands meant to scrub the blood off the decks, carry the heavy iron chains, and endure the cruel games of men who had long forgotten the meaning of mercy.
But that evening, the ocean itself seemed to know that something terrible was coming. The waves were high, crashing hard against the thick oak hull of the ship, sending cold sprays of dark water over the railings. The sky was the color of a bruised eye.
The crew had gathered on the main deck, deep into their cups, celebrate a successful raid on a coastal village. The smell of cheap, sour ale and roasting salt-meat filled the damp air. They were singing wild, violent sea shanties, stamping their heavy leather boots against the deck until the timber rattled.
At the center of it all sat First Mate Vance.
Vance was a monster of a man. His chest was as wide as a barrel, covered in thick, dark hair and scars from a dozen mutinies. He had a cruel, twisted mouth that was always curled into a sneer, and his eyes were small, dark, and completely devoid of human feeling. He ruled the crew with an iron fist and a heavy leather whip, taking a special, sickening pleasure in finding ways to break the spirits of the weakest souls on board.
“More ale, you useless little rats!” Vance roared, slamming his massive fist onto a heavy wooden table, causing the iron plates to jounce and rattle. “Where is that lazy cur? Toby! Bring the keg before I skin you alive!”
Toby was already running, his small, thin arms wrapping entirely around a heavy oak keg of dark northern ale. The wooden barrel was nearly half his size, his small knees shaking under the immense weight. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his forehead despite the freezing wind.
“I-I’m coming, sir!” Toby squeaked, his voice cracking with pure terror.
I was across the deck, coiling a heavy, wet anchor rope, my eyes fixed entirely on my brother. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I wanted to run to him, to take the heavy barrel from his hands, but I knew the rules. If I interfered with Vance’s orders, the punishment would be doubled for both of us. All I could do was watch, praying to whatever gods were listening that my brother’s feet would hold true on the slick, wet wood.
Then, the ship took a sudden, violent lurch.
A massive rogue wave slammed into the side of the Iron Maw, tilting the entire vessel at a sharp, dangerous angle. The pirates laughed as they swayed, easily balancing their heavy bodies from years of sea life.
But Toby didn’t have their balance.
His bare, calloused feet slid across a patch of green sea-moss on the deck. He cried out, his small arms losing their grip. The heavy oak keg slipped from his grasp, crashing heavily against the edge of the table before shattering completely on the deck.
Gallons of dark, expensive northern ale rushed across the wood, soaking into Vance’s heavy leather boots.
The laughter on the deck died instantly. The loud sea shanties stopped. The only sound left was the whistling of the cold wind through the high rigging and the heavy sloshing of the ocean against the hull.
Toby fell to his knees, his small hands splashing into the spilled ale. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, his eyes wide with a terror that no child should ever have to know.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Master Vance!” Toby wept, his voice high and desperate as he tried to use his torn shirt sleeves to wipe the spilled liquid off the First Mate’s boots. “The wave… the wave was too strong! Please, sir, I didn’t mean to!”
Vance didn’t move for a long, agonizing second. He slowly looked down at his soaked boots, then up at the terrified child. The sneer on his face turned into a dark, murderous grin.
“You spilled my drink, boy,” Vance said, his voice dangerously low, cutting through the cold air like a knife. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get good ale in these frozen waters? Do you know what we do to wasteful, clumsy trash on this ship?”
“Please, sir!” Toby begged, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked cheeks.
Vance slowly stood up, his massive frame towering over the small boy. He didn’t just use his hands. He raised his heavy, steel-toed leather boot and kicked Toby hard in the chest, sending the nine-year-old flying backward across the wet deck. Toby hit a wooden cargo crate with a dull thud, gasping for air, his tiny hands clutching his bruised ribs.
“Vance, stop!” I screamed, entirely forgetting the rules, forgetting the danger, forgetting everything except the sight of my little brother being broken.
I dropped the anchor rope and lunged forward, throwing my thin body directly between Vance and my brother. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms tightly around Toby, pulling his shaking head against my chest. He was crying hysterically, his small fingers gripping my ragged shirt like a lifeline.
“Ah, the big brother comes to play the hero,” Vance sneered, stepping closer, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wood. The crew gathered around us in a tight, suffocating circle, their faces twisted into ugly, amused grins. They loved a spectacle. They loved to watch the weak suffer.
“Please, Master Vance,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, though every muscle in my body was screaming in panic. “Take my rations for the next month. Whip me until the skin comes off. But please, he is just a child. He didn’t mean to do it. It was the wave.”
Vance laughed, a loud, booming sound that made my skin crawl. “Your rations? You’re already a skeleton, boy. There’s nothing left of you to starve. And your back is already ruined. No, a simple whipping is too boring for tonight. The crew wants entertainment!”
He turned to the surrounding pirates, raising his massive arms. “What do we do with a clumsy deckhand who wastes the crew’s hard-earned liquor? Do we let him off with a scratch?”
“No!” the pirates roared back, laughing, slamming their mugs together. “Throw him to the pit! Let him dance!”
My blood turned to pure ice. The pit.
Beneath the main deck of the Iron Maw was a massive, iron-reinforced cargo hold that had been converted into a fighting arena. But it wasn’t for men. It was where they kept the wild, starving beasts they captured during their voyages across distant lands—massive, long-fanged sea wolves and feral northern bears. They used them to terrify their prisoners, and sometimes, for their own sick amusement, they threw broken crew members or useless slaves inside just to watch them run before they were torn to pieces.
“Vance, no!” I begged, my dignity completely vanishing as I fell flat on my stomach, reaching out to grab the hem of his dirty trousers. “Not the pit! He won’t last a second! Please, I’ll take his place! Throw me in! Throw me to the beasts, let them eat me, but let him live!”
Vance looked down at me, his eyes filled with absolute contempt. He raised his heavy boot and stamped it directly onto the back of my neck, pressing my face hard into the wet, cold wood of the deck. I gasped for air, the taste of salt-water and cheap ale filling my mouth.
“You don’t make the rules here, slave,” Vance hissed, pressing down harder until I felt the bones in my neck popping. “You want to watch? Fine. You’ll watch your little brother become meat. It’ll teach you what happens when you forget your place on my ship.”
He lifted his boot from my neck and turned to two massive ship guards. “Grab the little one. Drag him down to the arena hold. Inform the crew we have a special hunt tonight!”
“No! Ethan, help me! Help me!” Toby screamed as the two large, bearded guards roughly tore him from my arms. His small hands flailed in the air, his fingers reaching out for me as they lifted him off his feet.
I dragged myself up from the deck, coughing, my vision blurring. I tried to lunge forward to grab Toby’s leg, but Vance drew his heavy, tattered iron cutlass. With a swift, brutal motion, he slammed the heavy wooden hilt of the sword directly into the side of my face.
A blinding flash of pain exploded behind my eyes. I crashed back onto the deck, the copper taste of deep blood filling my mouth. Through my blurred vision, I could see them dragging Toby toward the heavy iron grate that led down into the dark, terrifying depths of the ship’s hold.
The crew cheered, a deafening wave of noise, as they began to move toward the viewing grates, eager to see the blood spill. I was left lying there, bleeding, broken, and completely powerless to save the only person I loved in this cruel world.
But as Vance turned to follow them, a deep, raspy voice echoed from the darkness of the quarterdeck stairs.
“What is all this racket on my deck?”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it had a strange, heavy weight to it that made the nearest pirates immediately stop their cheering.
Out from the shadows walked Captain Robert.
He was an old man, his long hair and thick beard completely silver, blowing wildly in the cold sea wind. He wore a faded, high-collared naval coat that was torn at the edges, and a heavy iron ring with a strange, worn symbol hung around his neck. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were completely covered by a thick, scarred piece of dark leather tied tightly around his head.
Captain Robert was completely blind.
He had lost his sight twenty years ago during a legendary naval battle against the High King’s fleet. He rarely came out of his cabin anymore, leaving the daily running of the ship to Vance. Most of the younger crew members thought the old man was crazy, a useless relic of the past, but the older pirates still feared him like a ghost. He could navigate a ship through a violent storm by the mere smell of the wind and the feel of the current beneath the wood.
Vance stopped in his tracks, his arrogant smile returning as he turned to face the old man.
“Just clearing out some trash, Captain,” Vance said carelessly, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “The little deck boy spilled the winter ale supply. He’s clumsy, useless, and a waste of space. I’m throwing him into the hold cage to give the men some sport before the storm hits.”
Captain Robert didn’t answer right away. He stood perfectly still, his head tilted slightly to the side, his sightless face turned toward the sound of Toby’s distant, muffled weeping as the guards held him near the iron grate.
“A child?” Robert muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are breaking a child for a spilled drink, Vance?”
“He’s a slave, old man,” Vance snapped, his voice growing sharp with impatience. He didn’t like being questioned in front of the crew. “He has no name, no family, and no value. I run this deck now. Go back to your cabin and drink your rum. Let the men have their fun.”
The crew watched silently, a tense energy filling the air. Vance was openly challenging the old Captain’s authority, showing everyone who really held the power on the Iron Maw.
Captain Robert didn’t get angry. He slowly walked forward, his heavy wooden cane tapping rhythmically against the deck planks. Tap. Tap. Tap. He walked right past Vance, ignoring the First Mate entirely, and stopped directly in front of the two guards who were holding Toby.
“Bring the boy to me,” the Captain ordered quietly.
The guards looked at Vance, unsure of what to do. Vance nodded subtly, a mocking smirk on his lips. He wanted to see the old, blind fool try to do something. He wanted the crew to see how helpless the Captain really was.
The guards shoved Toby forward. Toby stumbled, falling directly against the old Captain’s long coat, his small body shaking uncontrollably as he continued to sob.
“Hush now, little bird,” Captain Robert whispered softly, his rough, weathered hands reaching down. He didn’t look at the boy with eyes, but his hands began to move over Toby’s face, feeling the tears, feeling the small, sharp features of his frightened face.
Then, the Captain’s heavy, calloused hand slipped down to Toby’s shoulder, his thumb accidentally sliding beneath the collar of the boy’s torn shirt, pressing against the bare skin of his neck.
The moment the Captain’s hand touched that specific spot, he froze.
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the old man’s body. His sightless face went completely pale, his lips parting in absolute shock. His hand began to tremble violently as his fingers frantically traced a specific, raised, star-shaped burn scar hidden deep beneath Toby’s collar—a scar that had been there since the day our family home was burned.
Captain Robert dropped his wooden cane. It clattered loudly against the deck.
The old man fell to both of his knees right there on the wet wood, his hands gripping Toby’s small shoulders with a desperate, terrifying strength.
The entire ship went dead silent.
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CHAPTER 1
The salt-spray was freezing as it bit into the open cuts on my back, but the cold inside my chest was far worse.
I was only seventeen years old, a starved, forgotten orphan deckhand on the Iron Maw, a massive, black-sailed warship that ruled the frozen waters of the northern seas. My only purpose in life, the only reason my heart kept beating through the endless beatings and the heavy manual labor, was the tiny, trembling boy huddled behind my legs.
My little brother, Toby. He was only nine years old.
We had no mother. We had no father. We had nothing but the shared memory of a warm home that had been burned to ashes years ago by the very men who now held us captive. We were less than dirt to the crew of the Iron Maw. We were just two sets of useless hands meant to scrub the blood off the decks, carry the heavy iron chains, and endure the cruel games of men who had long forgotten the meaning of mercy.
But that evening, the ocean itself seemed to know that something terrible was coming. The waves were high, crashing hard against the thick oak hull of the ship, sending cold sprays of dark water over the railings. The sky was the color of a bruised eye.
The crew had gathered on the main deck, deep into their cups, celebrating a successful raid on a coastal village. The smell of cheap, sour ale and roasting salt-meat filled the damp air. They were singing wild, violent sea shanties, stamping their heavy leather boots against the deck until the timber rattled.
At the center of it all sat First Mate Vance.
Vance was a monster of a man. His chest was as wide as a barrel, covered in thick, dark hair and scars from a dozen mutinies. He had a cruel, twisted mouth that was always curled into a sneer, and his eyes were small, dark, and completely devoid of human feeling. He ruled the crew with an iron fist and a heavy leather whip, taking a special, sickening pleasure in finding ways to break the spirits of the weakest souls on board.
“More ale, you useless little rats!” Vance roared, slamming his massive fist onto a heavy wooden table, causing the iron plates to jounce and rattle. “Where is that lazy cur? Toby! Bring the keg before I skin you alive!”
Toby was already running, his small, thin arms wrapping entirely around a heavy oak keg of dark northern ale. The wooden barrel was nearly half his size, his small knees shaking under the immense weight. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his forehead despite the freezing wind.
“I-I’m coming, sir!” Toby squeaked, his voice cracking with pure terror.
I was across the deck, coiling a heavy, wet anchor rope, my eyes fixed entirely on my brother. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I wanted to run to him, to take the heavy barrel from his hands, but I knew the rules. If I interfered with Vance’s orders, the punishment would be doubled for both of us. All I could do was watch, praying to whatever gods were listening that my brother’s feet would hold true on the slick, wet wood.
Then, the ship took a sudden, violent lurch.
A massive rogue wave slammed into the side of the Iron Maw, tilting the entire vessel at a sharp, dangerous angle. The pirates laughed as they swayed, easily balancing their heavy bodies from years of sea life.
But Toby didn’t have their balance.
His bare, calloused feet slid across a patch of green sea-moss on the deck. He cried out, his small arms losing their grip. The heavy oak keg slipped from his grasp, crashing heavily against the edge of the table before shattering completely on the deck.
Gallons of dark, expensive northern ale rushed across the wood, soaking into Vance’s heavy leather boots.
The laughter on the deck died instantly. The loud sea shanties stopped. The only sound left was the whistling of the cold wind through the high rigging and the heavy sloshing of the ocean against the hull.
Toby fell to his knees, his small hands splashing into the spilled ale. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, his eyes wide with a terror that no child should ever have to know.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Master Vance!” Toby wept, his voice high and desperate as he tried to use his torn shirt sleeves to wipe the spilled liquid off the First Mate’s boots. “The wave… the wave was too strong! Please, sir, I didn’t mean to!”
Vance didn’t move for a long, agonizing second. He slowly looked down at his soaked boots, then up at the terrified child. The sneer on his face turned into a dark, murderous grin.
“You spilled my drink, boy,” Vance said, his voice dangerously low, cutting through the cold air like a knife. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get good ale in these frozen waters? Do you know what we do to wasteful, clumsy trash on this ship?”
“Please, sir!” Toby begged, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked cheeks.
Vance slowly stood up, his massive frame towering over the small boy. He didn’t just use his hands. He raised his heavy, steel-toed leather boot and kicked Toby hard in the chest, sending the nine-year-old flying backward across the wet deck. Toby hit a wooden cargo crate with a dull thud, gasping for air, his tiny hands clutching his bruised ribs.
“Vance, stop!” I screamed, entirely forgetting the rules, forgetting the danger, forgetting everything except the sight of my little brother being broken.
I dropped the anchor rope and lunged forward, throwing my thin body directly between Vance and my brother. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms tightly around Toby, pulling his shaking head against my chest. He was crying hysterically, his small fingers gripping my ragged shirt like a lifeline.
“Ah, the big brother comes to play the hero,” Vance sneered, stepping closer, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wood. The crew gathered around us in a tight, suffocating circle, their faces twisted into ugly, amused grins. They loved a spectacle. They loved to watch the weak suffer.
“Please, Master Vance,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, though every muscle in my body was screaming in panic. “Take my rations for the next month. Whip me until the skin comes off. But please, he is just a child. He didn’t mean to do it. It was the wave.”
Vance laughed, a loud, booming sound that made my skin crawl. “Your rations? You’re already a skeleton, boy. There’s nothing left of you to starve. And your back is already ruined. No, a simple whipping is too boring for tonight. The crew wants entertainment!”
He turned to the surrounding pirates, raising his massive arms. “What do we do with a clumsy deckhand who wastes the crew’s hard-earned liquor? Do we let him off with a scratch?”
“No!” the pirates roared back, laughing, slamming their mugs together. “Throw him to the pit! Let him dance!”
My blood turned to pure ice. The pit.
Beneath the main deck of the Iron Maw was a massive, iron-reinforced cargo hold that had been converted into a fighting arena. But it wasn’t for men. It was where they kept the wild, starving beasts they captured during their voyages across distant lands—massive, long-fanged sea wolves and feral northern bears. They used them to terrify their prisoners, and sometimes, for their own sick amusement, they threw broken crew members or useless slaves inside just to watch them run before they were torn to pieces.
“Vance, no!” I begged, my dignity completely vanishing as I fell flat on my stomach, reaching out to grab the hem of his dirty trousers. “Not the pit! He won’t last a second! Please, I’ll take his place! Throw me in! Throw me to the beasts, let them eat me, but let him live!”
Vance looked down at me, his eyes filled with absolute contempt. He raised his heavy boot and stamped it directly onto the back of my neck, pressing my face hard into the wet, cold wood of the deck. I gasped for air, the taste of salt-water and cheap ale filling my mouth.
“You don’t make the rules here, slave,” Vance hissed, pressing down harder until I felt the bones in my neck popping. “You want to watch? Fine. You’ll watch your little brother become meat. It’ll teach you what happens when you forget your place on my ship.”
He lifted his boot from my neck and turned to two massive ship guards. “Grab the little one. Drag him down to the arena hold. Inform the crew we have a special hunt tonight!”
“No! Ethan, help me! Help me!” Toby screamed as the two large, bearded guards roughly tore him from my arms. His small hands flailed in the air, his fingers reaching out for me as they lifted him off his feet.
I dragged myself up from the deck, coughing, my vision blurring. I tried to lunge forward to grab Toby’s leg, but Vance drew his heavy, tattered iron cutlass. With a swift, brutal motion, he slammed the heavy wooden hilt of the sword directly into the side of my face.
A blinding flash of pain exploded behind my eyes. I crashed back onto the deck, the copper taste of deep blood filling my mouth. Through my blurred vision, I could see them dragging Toby toward the heavy iron grate that led down into the dark, terrifying depths of the ship’s hold.
The crew cheered, a deafening wave of noise, as they began to move toward the viewing grates, eager to see the blood spill. I was left lying there, bleeding, broken, and completely powerless to save the only person I loved in this cruel world.
But as Vance turned to follow them, a deep, raspy voice echoed from the darkness of the quarterdeck stairs.
“What is all this racket on my deck?”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it had a strange, heavy weight to it that made the nearest pirates immediately stop their cheering.
Out from the shadows walked Captain Robert.
He was an old man, his long hair and thick beard completely silver, blowing wildly in the cold sea wind. He wore a faded, high-collared naval coat that was torn at the edges, and a heavy iron ring with a strange, worn symbol hung around his neck. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were completely covered by a thick, scarred piece of dark leather tied tightly around his head.
Captain Robert was completely blind.
He had lost his sight twenty years ago during a legendary naval battle against the High King’s fleet. He rarely came out of his cabin anymore, leaving the daily running of the ship to Vance. Most of the younger crew members thought the old man was crazy, a useless relic of the past, but the older pirates still feared him like a ghost. He could navigate a ship through a violent storm by the mere smell of the wind and the feel of the current beneath the wood.
Vance stopped in his tracks, his arrogant smile returning as he turned to face the old man.
“Just clearing out some trash, Captain,” Vance said carelessly, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “The little deck boy spilled the winter ale supply. He’s clumsy, useless, and a waste of space. I’m throwing him into the hold cage to give the men some sport before the storm hits.”
Captain Robert didn’t answer right away. He stood perfectly still, his head tilted slightly to the side, his sightless face turned toward the sound of Toby’s distant, muffled weeping as the guards held him near the iron grate.
“A child?” Robert muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are breaking a child for a spilled drink, Vance?”
“He’s a slave, old man,” Vance snapped, his voice growing sharp with impatience. He didn’t like being questioned in front of the crew. “He has no name, no family, and no value. I run this deck now. Go back to your cabin and drink your rum. Let the men have their fun.”
The crew watched silently, a tense energy filling the air. Vance was openly challenging the old Captain’s authority, showing everyone who really held the power on the Iron Maw.
Captain Robert didn’t get angry. He slowly walked forward, his heavy wooden cane tapping rhythmically against the deck planks. Tap. Tap. Tap. He walked right past Vance, ignoring the First Mate entirely, and stopped directly in front of the two guards who were holding Toby.
“Bring the boy to me,” the Captain ordered quietly.
The guards looked at Vance, unsure of what to do. Vance nodded subtly, a mocking smirk on his lips. He wanted to see the old, blind fool try to do something. He wanted the crew to see how helpless the Captain really was.
The guards shoved Toby forward. Toby stumbled, falling directly against the old Captain’s long coat, his small body shaking uncontrollably as he continued to sob.
“Hush now, little bird,” Captain Robert whispered softly, his rough, weathered hands reaching down. He didn’t look at the boy with eyes, but his hands began to move over Toby’s face, feeling the tears, feeling the small, sharp features of his frightened face.
Then, the Captain’s heavy, calloused hand slipped down to Toby’s shoulder, his thumb accidentally sliding beneath the collar of the boy’s torn shirt, pressing against the bare skin of his neck.
The moment the Captain’s hand touched that specific spot, he froze.
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the old man’s body. His sightless face went completely pale, his lips parting in absolute shock. His hand began to tremble violently as his fingers frantically traced a specific, raised, star-shaped burn scar hidden deep beneath Toby’s collar—a scar that had been there since the day our family home was burned.
Captain Robert dropped his wooden cane. It clattered loudly against the deck.
The old man fell to both of his knees right there on the wet wood, his hands gripping Toby’s small shoulders with a desperate, terrifying strength.
The entire ship went dead silent.
CHAPTER 2
The only sound remaining on the vast expanse of the Iron Maw was the high, mournful whistling of the wind through the high black sails and the rhythmic, heavy thud of the dark northern waves slamming against the thick oak hull. A moment ago, the deck had been a chaotic theater of drunken laughter, clinking iron mugs, and the terrifying screams of my little brother. Now, it was as silent as a graveyard at midnight.
I lay on my side, my cheek pressed against the freezing, salt-encrusted wood, a thick stream of warm blood slowly trickling from my cracked lip onto the deck. My vision swam with dark spots from the brutal blow Vance had delivered to my face, but my eyes remained wide, fixed entirely on the surreal sight before me.
The great Captain Robert, a man whose name was whispered with fear and begrudging respect across every hidden pirate port from the frozen fjords to the southern trade routes, was on his knees.
His hands, thick and covered in old battle scars, were shaking so violently they looked like dry leaves caught in a winter gale. His fingers remained glued to the back of Toby’s neck, tracing the star-shaped burn scar over and over again, as if his mind refused to believe what his sense of touch was telling him.
Toby had stopped crying out in terror, though his small frame still shuddered with silent, hitching sobs. He looked down at the old, blind man kneeling before him, his young eyes wide with deep confusion.
First Mate Vance stepped forward, his heavy leather boots creaking loudly on the planks, breaking the heavy silence. The smug, arrogant sneer had returned to his face, though his eyes darted suspiciously around the silent circle of the crew. He hated losing the attention of his men, and he hated when the old Captain reminded the crew that he was still alive.
“What is the matter with you, old man?” Vance mocked, crossing his massive arms over his chest, his voice dripping with condescension. “Did you lose your footing on a bit of spilled ale? Or has the rot finally taken whatever is left of your fragile mind? Get up off the deck before the men think their legendary captain has gone soft for a crying slave rat.”
Captain Robert didn’t answer him. He didn’t even acknowledge that Vance had spoken. The old man slowly lifted his weathered, blind face toward the dark sky. The thick leather band covering his ruined eyes was wet with sea spray, but beneath the cloth, I could see his jaw working, his teeth grinding together so hard the muscles in his jaw stood out like taut ropes.
“The star…” Robert whispered, his voice so low and gravelly it was nearly swallowed by the wind. “The scar of the northern fire…”
“What are you muttering about?” Vance snapped, taking another step closer, his hand dropping down to rest heavily on the iron pommel of his cutlass. He looked toward the two large guards who were still standing by the iron grate of the cargo hold. “Guards! Stop standing around like brainless cattle. Take the boy and throw him down to the arena hold. The sea wolves haven’t eaten in three days, and I am tired of waiting for a show.”
The two guards hesitated. They looked at Vance, then they looked down at Captain Robert, who was still kneeling, his heavy hands firmly anchored onto Toby’s shoulders. In the pirate code, the First Mate handled the daily punishments, but the Captain’s word was absolute law. Even a blind captain held the ancient weight of the sea throne.
“I said, drag him away!” Vance roared, his face darkening with rage as his authority was publicly questioned by his own men.
One of the guards, a massive, bearded brute named Gunnar, took a cautious step forward, reaching out a large, dirty hand toward Toby’s arm. “Forgive me, Captain, but Vance’s orders are—”
“Touch this child,” Captain Robert said, his voice suddenly shifting from a broken whisper to a deep, resonant growl that vibrated through the very timbers of the ship, “and I will personally rip your tongue out through your throat and feed it to the gulls.”
Gunnar stopped instantly, pulling his hand back as if he had just touched a red-hot iron plate. He went pale under his thick beard, taking a hasty step backward into the crowd of pirates.
Vance’s face twisted into an ugly, furious snarl. He drew his heavy cutlass entirely from its sheath, the dark steel catching the dull light of the storm lanterns hung from the rigging. He pointed the blade directly at the old man’s chest.
“You’ve finally crossed the line, Robert,” Vance hissed, his voice dangerous, dropping all pretenses of respect. “You sit in your dark cabin all day, drinking yourself into a stupor while I do the real work. I lead the raids. I bleed for this ship. I command the loyalty of these men. You are nothing but a blind ghost clinging to a title that doesn’t belong to you anymore. If you want to protect a worthless piece of slave trash, then maybe it’s time we find a new captain for the Iron Maw!”
A tense, suffocating murmur rippled through the surrounding crew. A mutiny was being declared right in front of them. Some of the younger, greedier pirates who had been recruited by Vance placed their hands on their weapons, their eyes gleaming with the promise of more gold under a younger, more ruthless commander. But the older, hardened sailors—the ones who had sailed through the great naval wars—remained perfectly still, their faces grim, their eyes fixed on the blind old man.
I dragged my broken body forward, crawling on my stomach across the cold wood, ignoring the sharp pain in my face and ribs. I had to get closer to Toby. If a fight broke out, if swords started swinging, my little brother would be the first to die in the crossfire.
“Ethan…” Toby whimpered, seeing me crawl toward him. He tried to pull away from the Captain’s grip, but the old man’s hands remained firm, though the grip was no longer terrifying—it was protective.
Captain Robert slowly, deliberately stood up. Despite his advanced age and his blindness, his tall frame was imposing. He let go of Toby’s shoulders but kept the boy positioned closely behind his long, heavy coat, shielding him completely from Vance’s pointed blade.
The old man reached up to his neck, his fingers wrapping around the heavy iron ring that hung from a leather cord beneath his collar. With a sharp tug, he snapped the cord, holding the ring high in the air for the entire crew to see.
It wasn’t just a simple iron ring. As the light of a nearby lantern flickered across it, I saw the intricate engravings on its surface—a majestic, crowned sea hawk clutching a broken trident. It was the ancient, forbidden crest of the Royal Fleet of the Sea Throne, a massive naval empire that had been betrayed and slaughtered twenty years ago.
The older pirates in the front row gasped, their eyes widening in shock. A few of them even took a step back, crossing their arms over their chests in an ancient sign of naval respect.
“You think you know this ship, Vance?” Captain Robert said, his voice dead and cold, matching the dark ocean surrounding us. “You think you know these waters? You think you brought these boys aboard as mere prizes from a common coastal raid?”
Vance scoffed, though his blade wavered slightly at the sight of the iron ring. “They are orphans from a burned village in the North. Their father was a weak, cowardly merchant who couldn’t even defend his own walls. I kept them alive because we needed small hands to clear the bilge pumps and scrub the blood off the decks. They are nothing.”
“You lie,” Captain Robert whispered, his sightless face turning directly toward the sound of Vance’s voice. “Or perhaps, you are simply too stupid to realize the depth of the blood you spilled.”
The old man slowly reached up to his head, his calloused fingers finding the tight knot of the dark leather band that had covered his eyes for over two decades. With a slow, deliberate motion, he untied the knot, letting the thick leather strap fall to the deck.
The crew held their breath. Many of the younger pirates had never seen what lay beneath that cloth.
The skin around his eyes was heavily scarred, ruined by old burns from a naval fire long ago. But as his eyelids slowly opened, we saw that he wasn’t completely empty-eyed. His left eye was milk-white, blind and useless, clouding over with thick cataracts.
But his right eye—though heavily clouded at the edges—still possessed a faint, piercing ring of brilliant, striking sea-green color. A color so rare, so distinct, that it belonged to only one royal bloodline in the entire northern world.
And then, Captain Robert looked down toward where I was crawling on the deck. He couldn’t see me clearly, his clouded eye focusing on the shape of my form, but he spoke with an absolute certainty that shattered the remaining sanity of the ship.
“Tell me, boy,” the Captain asked, his voice trembling with a deep, emotional ache. “What was the name of the harbor fortress where you were born? What was the name your mother whispered to you before the fire took her?”
I stared up at the old man, my heart stopping in my chest as I looked at the piercing green of his right eye. For years, I had hidden the truth. For years, I had forced myself to forget, knowing that if the crew ever found out who we really were, we would be executed to prevent a rebellion.
But looking into that eye, looking at the iron ring in his hand, the truth could no longer be contained.
“The fortress was Stormwatch,” I said, my voice echoing clearly across the silent deck, strong and steady despite the blood in my mouth. “And our mother was Queen Eleanor. She told us to survive… she told us to wait for the return of the High Admiral.”
The old Captain closed his eyes, a single, heavy tear escaping his milk-white eye, tracing a path down through the deep wrinkles and scars of his weathered cheek.
He slowly turned back toward Vance, his face hardening into an expression of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
“Twenty years ago, you told me my sons were dead in the fire, Vance,” Captain Robert said, his hand slowly dropping down to the hilt of his own sword—a massive, gold-engraved cutlass that had remained rusted in its sheath for two decades. “You told me the royal lineage had been wiped out, and you convinced me to take this ship into the dark to live as outlaws.”
The First Mate’s confident posture completely vanished, his face turning an ash-grey color as his own men began to slowly turn their weapons toward him.
“You lied to me,” the Captain whispered, drawing his blade with a sound like tearing silk. “And now, you are going to pay.”
