The salt water was burning the raw, open wounds on my back, but the freezing rain hitting the deck of the Black Sovereign felt much worse.
I was just twelve years old, surviving on the maggot-filled hardtack crumbs left behind by the crew, sleeping in the dark bilge water alongside the ship rats.
They called me an orphan, a piece of useless meat, a curse upon the sea.
But when the brutal First Mate dragged me by my iron chains toward the execution platform, he had no idea whose blood ran through my veins.
He thought he was ending a nobody.
He didn’t know that the faded, scarred mark on my neck was about to bring the entire ocean empire to its knees.
Read the beginning of my journey below…
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CHAPTER 1
The salt water was burning the raw, open wounds on my back, but the freezing rain hitting the deck of the Black Sovereign felt much worse.
I was just twelve years old, surviving on the maggot-filled hardtack crumbs left behind by the crew, sleeping in the dark bilge water alongside the ship rats. They called me an orphan, a piece of useless meat, a curse upon the sea. My hands were permanently stained with tar and whale grease, my fingernails cracked and bleeding from scrubbing the massive oak planks of the warship until my knees turned black and blue.
To the crew of the black-sailed fleet, I was not a human being. I was a possession. A nameless, voiceless deck boy bought from a slave market in a foggy northern port for the price of a rusted iron dagger.
“Move your useless legs, you filthy little thief!” a voice roared, followed by the heavy, agonizing crack of a leather whip across my shoulders.
I screamed, falling face-first onto the rain-slicked deck. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth as my cheek slammed against the cold wood. The iron chains bound tightly around my ankles dragged heavily behind me, scraping against the deck, making a terrible clinking sound that always brought the crew running to watch my misery.
The man holding the whip was Borros, the First Mate. He was a massive, brutal man with a beard caked in dried salt and a face scarred by dozens of lawless sea battles. He despised weakness more than anything else on the ocean. For months, his favorite pastime had been finding reasons to punish me, ensuring the crew stayed amused during the long, grueling weeks between island raids.
“Please, master,” I whimpered, curling my small body into a ball to protect my ribs from his heavy leather boots. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so hungry. My stomach… it felt like it was eating itself.”
“Silence!” Borros bellowed, kicking me hard in the side. The impact knocked the breath completely out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for air like a dying fish on a dry dock.
Borros reached down, grabbed the thick iron chain around my neck, and hoisted me off the deck with one powerful arm. My toes barely touched the ground as I choked, my hands clawing weakly at his massive, calloused fingers. With his other hand, he held up a small, rotted chunk of salted cod. It was covered in green mold, something even the ship dogs had refused to touch, but to my starving belly, it had looked like a feast.
“The law of the fleet is absolute, boy,” Borros sneered, his breath smelling of foul ale and stale tobacco. “Thieves do not eat. Thieves feed the sharks. You stole from the ship’s rations, and today, you pay the price in blood.”
All around us, the crew began to gather. Dozens of hardened, sun-blackened pirates, privateers, and naval deserters formed a tight circle on the main deck. They climbed into the rigging, stood on top of the water barrels, and leaned over the railings of the quarterdeck. They did not look at me with pity. They looked at me with the hungry, bored eyes of men who had seen too much death and needed a distraction from the gray monotony of the endless sea.
“Throw him into the deep!” one sailor shouted, laughing as he spat a dark stream of tobacco juice near my feet.
“No, let him hang from the yardarm! Let the gulls pick his eyes out first!” another yelled, waving a rusted cutlass in the air.
I looked at their faces, searching for even a single spark of humanity, but I found nothing but cold, cruel amusement. I was completely alone in the world. My mother had died of the winter fever when I was five, and my father… my father was a man I had never known, a shadow from a past my mother refused to speak about before she passed. The only thing she had ever left me was a tiny, faded circular burn mark on the side of my neck, which she told me to always hide beneath my collar, warning me that the wrong eyes seeing it would mean my certain death.
Borros dragged me toward the quarterdeck, my chains rattling loudly against the heavy timber. He threw me down onto the wood, forcing me to my knees right at the base of the grand stairs leading to the captain’s quarters.
“Get up there, you rat,” Borros growled. “We are going to let the Fleet Commander decide exactly how you die. But don’t worry, child. I will make sure I am the one who pulls the rope.”
The heavy oak doors of the quarterdeck swung open, and two elite ship guards stepped out, their iron chestplates gleaming in the dim lantern light. Behind them walked Fleet Commander Vance, the supreme leader of the black-sailed armada.
Vance was an older man, his hair completely white, but his frame was as solid as an ancient oak tree. He wore a dark, heavy naval coat lined with silver thread, a stark contrast to the ragged clothing of the crew. His eyes were cold, sharp, and gray like the winter sea. He carried himself with an absolute authority that made even the wildest, most violent men on the ship instantly lower their voices.
In his hand, Commander Vance held a heavy iron cup filled with red wine. He took a slow sip, looking down at me from the top of the stairs as if I were nothing more than a piece of seaweed washed up on his clean deck.
“What is the meaning of this disturbance, Borros?” Vance asked, his voice deep and calm, yet carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves against the hull. “The storm is rolling in from the north. I do not have time for petty squabbles among the deck hands.”
“This isn’t a petty squabble, Commander,” Borros said, bowing his head slightly but keeping his arrogant, cruel smile. “This worthless orphan deck boy was caught red-handed. He broke into the secondary galley and stole from the officers’ salt rations. He is a thief, a parasite living on your ship. I brought him here to be sentenced to the depths before the entire crew.”
Commander Vance walked down the stairs slowly, his heavy boots making a slow, rhythmic thudding sound that felt like the beating of a death drum. He stopped three paces away from me, looking down at my shivering, bleeding form.
“Is this true, boy?” Vance asked, his gray eyes drilling into my soul. “Did you take what does not belong to you?”
“I was starving, Lord Commander,” I sobbed, my voice cracking as I held my chained hands up toward him. “They haven’t fed me in three days. They told me if I didn’t finish scraping the lower hull, I wouldn’t get a single crumb. I couldn’t bear the hunger anymore. Please, have mercy.”
“Mercy is a luxury for the weak, and the sea has no room for the weak,” Borros interrupted, stepping forward and striking me hard across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the blow knocked me sideways, my head hitting the base of the mast. “Do not speak to the Commander unless you are spoken to, boy!”
The crew cheered at the strike, mocking my weakness. I lay there in the rain, my face swelling, my body trembling from a combination of freezing cold and pure terror. I felt completely broken. I wanted to just give up, to let them throw me into the dark ocean waves and let the deep water swallow my pain forever.
But as I struggled to pull myself back up to my knees, the heavy iron chain around my neck pulled tightly against my throat. The sudden, violent movement tore the collar of my ragged canvas shirt completely down the side, ripping the old fabric away from my shoulder.
The cold rain hit my bare skin, washed away the grime and sweat from my neck, and exposed the ancient, faded burn mark hidden beneath.
Commander Vance lifted his iron cup to his lips to take another sip, his eyes casually drifting over my bruised shoulder.
Suddenly, his entire body went completely rigid.
The gray-haired warlord stopped moving. His eyes widened, expanding until they looked like they might burst from his skull. The cold, unshakeable authority on his face vanished, replaced by a sudden, terrifying look of pure, unadulterated shock.
The heavy iron cup slipped from his fingers.
It slammed against the wooden deck, the dark red wine spilling out like a pool of fresh blood, splashing across the boots of his guards. But Vance didn’t even look down. He didn’t care about the wine. His gaze was locked entirely on my neck, staring at the scarred, circular mark as if he were looking at a ghost rising from the grave.
The laughter of the crew instantly died. The sudden, absolute silence that fell over the massive warship was deafening. The only sound left was the whistling of the wind through the sails and the heavy thud of the ocean waves.
Borros frowned, looking confused by the Commander’s sudden silence. He stepped forward, raising his whip once again. “Commander? Shall I drag him to the railing and cut his throat now? We can be done with this garbage before the rain gets heavier.”
“Step… step back, Borros,” Vance whispered, his voice trembling in a way that none of his men had ever heard before.
“Sir?” Borros asked, his smile faltering. “The boy is a thief. He deserves—”
“I said, step back!” Commander Vance suddenly roared, his voice exploding across the deck like a cannon fire.
Borros stumbled backward in sheer shock, nearly tripping over a rope coil. The elite guards instantly drew their weapons, not pointing them at me, but standing at absolute attention, their faces filled with confusion and fear.
Commander Vance slowly dropped to his knees right there on the wet, filthy deck. He did not care about the rain or the dirt ruining his expensive silver-lined coat. He crawled toward me, his hands shaking violently as he reached out toward my neck.
I cowered away from him, terrified that he was going to strangle me himself. “Please, don’t hurt me,” I whispered.
Vance did not strike me. His trembling fingers gently brushed against the faded burn mark on my skin. His eyes filled with sudden, heavy tears that began to mix with the rain on his weathered cheeks.
“It can’t be,” Vance whispered, his voice breaking with deep emotion. “For ten years… we thought the flame had died out forever.”
He looked directly into my tear-filled eyes, his face completely pale. “Child… tell me the name of the woman who raised you in the northern ports. Tell me her name right now.”
I swallowed hard, the entire crew leaning forward, holding their collective breath as the storm raged around us.
“Her name… her name was Eleanor,” I whispered. “Eleanor of the Sea Throne.”
Commander Vance let out a ragged, choking gasp, his hands dropping to the deck as he stared at me in absolute awe, while Borros and the rest of the crew watched in a terrifying, suffocating silence.
CHAPTER 2
The silence on the deck of the Black Sovereign was so absolute that I could hear the rhythmic creaking of the massive wooden masts against the rising wind.
Borros stood completely frozen, his whip hanging uselessly in his large hand, his mouth slightly open as he looked between me and the kneeling Fleet Commander. The rest of the crew, hundreds of hardened killers and ruthless sailors, stared in utter bewilderment. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
“Eleanor…” Commander Vance whispered the name as if it were a holy relic, a word forbidden from being spoken on the high seas for over a decade. He looked at my face, his sharp eyes scanning every line of my jaw, the shape of my nose, the color of my eyes, as if he were looking through a foggy window into the past. “The Sea Throne… she survived the burning of the capital? She was alive all this time?”
“She died when I was five, sir,” I said, my voice shivering from the bitter cold. “She told me to never show anyone the mark on my neck. She said men with black sails would hunt me down and kill me if they ever found out who I was.”
A painful, agonizing look of grief passed over Vance’s aged face. He closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment, a single tear escaping and running down into his thick white beard. When he opened them again, the sorrow was gone, replaced by a fierce, burning fire that made my chest tighten with fear.
“She was wrong, child,” Vance said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling tone that carried an immense weight. “She was trying to protect you from the traitors. She didn’t know that those of us who remained loyal have been searching every port, every slave market, and every godforsaken island in the North for you.”
“Commander!” Borros finally found his voice, stepping forward arrogantly, his heavy boots splashing through the spilled red wine. “What is the meaning of this? You are kneeling before a slave! A common thief who broke into our stores! The men are watching. We cannot show weakness over a ragged orphan boy because of some old tavern rumor or a random scar!”
Vance did not look up at Borros. He remained on his knees, his eyes locked onto mine, but his hand slowly moved down to the hilt of his heavy naval sword.
“Borros,” Vance said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do you know what this mark is?”
“It’s a burn, sir! Probably from a blacksmith’s iron or a kitchen accident,” Borros snorted, looking around at the crew to gather their support. A few of the older sailors didn’t laugh this time; their faces had gone completely pale, their eyes fixed on my neck as a terrifying realization began to dawn on them.
“This is not a common burn,” Vance said, slowly rising to his feet. As he stood up, his posture straight and powerful, the aura of the supreme Fleet Commander returned tenfold. He turned to face the hundreds of men gathered on the deck. “This is the Brand of the Leviathan. It was forged in the sacred fires of the Sea Throne’s royal shipyard. Only one bloodline in the entire ocean empire carries this mark on their flesh. The bloodline of the Grand Admiral, the rightful ruler of the seven fleets, who was murdered ten years ago by the High King’s traitors.”
A collective gasp echoed across the deck. Men began to whisper frantically among themselves. Some of the older pirates immediately took off their hats, holding them against their chests, their aggressive stances instantly dissolving into deep reverence.
“The Grand Admiral?” Borros stammered, his confidence finally beginning to crack, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead despite the freezing rain. “But… the Grand Admiral’s entire family was slaughtered in the grand palace during the coup. The High King himself confirmed that no heirs survived.”
“The High King lied to prevent a rebellion,” Vance roared, his voice echoing off the black sails above us. “He wanted the world to believe the true lineage was dead so he could control the oceans through fear. But the Grand Admiral’s wife, Lady Eleanor, escaped into the night with their only son. The boy who stands before you today.”
Vance turned back to me, and before the eyes of the entire armada, the most powerful Fleet Commander on the sea did something that nobody had ever seen him do.
He placed his hand over his heart and bowed deeply to a twelve-year-old boy covered in dirt and chains.
“My Lord,” Vance said clearly, his voice filled with unwavering loyalty. “You are not a slave. You are not a deck boy. You are the rightful heir to the Sea Throne, the true commander of this fleet, and the son of the man who gave me my commission.”
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My mind was spinning. The Grand Admiral? The Sea Throne? I had spent my entire life believing I was nothing but a mistake, a piece of trash to be thrown away, and now the most feared warlord on the ocean was calling me his master.
“This is madness!” Borros screamed, his face turning a dark, angry red. He realized that his power, his status, and his control over the crew were slipping away in a matter of seconds. “You expect us to believe this garbage? You expect hardened pirates to take orders from a starving little rat who steals rotted fish? I don’t care who his father was! On this ship, survival is determined by strength! He is weak! He belongs to me! I bought him with my own silver, and I have the right to execute him!”
Borros took a violent step forward, his massive hand reaching down to grab my hair, intending to drag me to the edge of the ship and throw me overboard before anyone could stop him.
But he never touched me.
With lightning speed, Commander Vance drew his heavy steel cutlass. The blade flashed in the lantern light, stopping a mere fraction of an inch from Borros’s throat. The sharp metal bit into the First Mate’s skin, drawing a thin line of bright red blood.
“Touch him again, Borros,” Vance whispered, his eyes colder than the arctic ice, “and I will skin you alive and hang your flesh from the main mast to feed the gulls. The boy is no longer a slave. He is your master. And you are standing in the presence of royalty.”
Borros froze, his eyes wide with terror as he felt the cold steel against his neck. He looked around at the crew, desperately seeking help, but he found none. The sailors were no longer looking at me with amusement. They were looking at me with a mixture of awe, fear, and profound respect.
“Guards,” Vance ordered, never taking his eyes off Borros. “Remove the chains from the young master. Bring him the finest clothes in my cabin, a warm blanket, and the best food from the high table. And as for Borros…”
Vance slowly lowered his sword, a cruel, satisfied smile spreading across his face.
“Lock him in the heavy iron bilge cage. The same cage where he forced the young master to sleep in the dark. Let him think about the laws of the sea until the fleet council assembles tomorrow morning at the secret stronghold.”
The two elite guards immediately stepped forward. One of them produced a heavy iron key, kneeling before me with his head bowed as he unlocked the heavy shackles around my ankles and wrists. For the first time in months, the painful weight was lifted from my body. I stood up, my legs shaking, but I stood tall.
The second guard grabbed Borros by his arms, twisting them behind his back. The massive First Mate tried to struggle, but another guard slammed the hilt of his sword into Borros’s stomach, forcing him to his knees on the very spot where I had just been humiliated.
As they dragged Borros away into the dark depths of the ship, he screamed curses at me, his voice filled with rage and desperation. But the crew didn’t listen to him anymore. They opened a wide path for me, every single man bowing his head as I walked past them toward the captain’s quarters, wrapped in Vance’s warm, heavy wool cloak.
The storm was getting louder, the waves crashing violently against the ship, but for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of the dark waters. I looked down at my hands, no longer bound by iron, and realized that my life of misery had ended.
But as I entered the warm, torchlit cabin of the commander, Vance stepped in behind me, his expression suddenly becoming incredibly grim as he closed the heavy oak door.
“My Lord,” Vance said quietly, looking out the rain-streaked window toward the horizon. “Tomorrow we reach the pirate stronghold of the Black Gulf. The entire fleet council will be there, including the High King’s personal enforcer, Grand Admiral Kaelen—the very man who murdered your father and took his place on the naval throne. He is there to demand our absolute submission to the crown.”
My heart stopped. I turned to look at Vance, the warmth of the cabin suddenly feeling cold. “The man who killed my father is there?”
“Yes,” Vance replied, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. “And when he sees you, he will try to finish what he started ten years ago. Tomorrow, the true battle for the ocean empire begins, and the entire fleet will have to choose between a murderer’s gold… or your bloodline.”
I looked down at the burn mark reflected in the polished glass of the captain’s table, realizing that tomorrow, I would either reclaim my father’s kingdom, or die on the very execution platform where I had spent my childhood scrubbing blood.
