I watched Moonie hastily disappear. My hands still trembled—I gripped the railing to steady them, letting the endless expanse of clouds below calm my racing thoughts.
It had been years now, but I still hadn’t acclimatized to pirate life. In the Imperial Fleet, there had been protocols, procedures, chain of commands that were respected without question. Aproper XO’s job involved paperwork, training schedules, and crew evaluations. Here? I spent half my time preventing murder.
Beside me,The Black Wraith’smassive wing extended outward, its wooden spokes splayed like the ribs of some ancient beast. Canvas membranes billowed between each strut, taut and gleaming with morning dew. The wing flexed, its tip curling slightly upward as we caught an updraft, the entire structure trembling with barely contained power. No wonder the crew endured Viper’s rages—there was no feeling in the world like soaring on wings that moved as if they were alive.
A burst of laughter from the crew’s quarters below deck drew my attention. At least they respected me—or feared me enough to follow orders. The whole “Reaper” persona had certainly worked. Better to be the threatening shadow that kept order than the disgraced ex-fleet officer with a bum leg.
Maximus Blackwood, with his spotless uniform and dreams of captaincy, was nothing but ash scattered on the winds. He’d died the day they arrested me, stripping me of my rank. The Reaper had risen in his place.
The crew whispered about me, of course. Tales of how I’d earned my nickname grew more outlandish with each telling. I never corrected them. Let them think what they wanted—it made my job easier. They followed orders, kept their heads down when I passed, and came to me with problems before they escalated to the captain’s attention.
But,by the goddesses, I missed the simplicity of fleet life. The clean uniforms, the polished brass, the certainty and order of it all, the pride in it. Here, every day was a delicate balance of managing Viper’s moods and keeping the pirate crew—over a hundred souls—long enough to earn their pay.
Under my well-worn breeches, my leg twinged, a phantom pain shooting through a limb that no longer existed. I shifted my weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. One day, I’dfinally save enough for a decent prosthetic—one that didn’t creak and groan with every step. Newer top-of-the-range models could even be surgically attached to my body, permanently—as close to a ‘real limb’ as I’d ever get. Perhaps I’d even grow to accept it, rather than battle the revulsion that flooded through me when I attached my current one each morning.
Duty called, so I made my way below deck, the familiar scent of Sage’s cooking guiding me through the narrow corridors. The galley was his domain—a cramped space that he’d somehow transformed into a miracle of efficiency. Copper pots hung from hooks in the ceiling, swaying with the ship’s movement. His prized herb garden thrived in small boxes mounted to the walls, the plants secured against turbulence. Every surface gleamed—Sage wouldn’t tolerate anything less than spotlessness in his kitchen.
The man himself stood at the iron stove. His meticulously clean apron—a patchwork of fabrics from every port we’d visited—was tied tightly around his waist, the numerous small pockets bulging with dried herbs. Beneath it, he wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled precisely three turns up his forearms, as fastidious about his appearance as he was about his kitchen.
Sage stirred what looked like gruel but was actually porridge in a massive pot. Pebble-grade fluxstones—the smallest grade of the energy-storing rocks—powered the heating elements, their blue glow reflecting off the polished surfaces. Sage’s dark skin glistened with sweat from the heat, but his face lit up when he saw me.
“Reaper! Good to see you.” He gestured with his wooden spoon. “I’ve added dried berries to make this more palatable. The crew won’t even realize they’re eating something healthy.”
I laughed. “They’ll spit the berries out, knowing them.” Leaning against a pole, I got straight down to business. “You wanted to report someone stealing food?”
Sage’s expression darkened as he wiped his hands on his apron. “Three nights in a row now.” He pulled out a leather-bound notebook, flipping it open to reveal neat columns of numbers. “See here? Ten portions of dried beef missing. Four water skins. Enough hardtack to feed a small family.”
“You’re certain?”
“I track every morsel that leaves this kitchen. These aren’t random snacks, Reaper. Someone’s stockpiling.”
I frowned. Sage’s methodical nature was one reason I trusted him. If he said supplies were missing, they were missing. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Wanted to be double sure it wasn’t just my imagination. But after last night…” He shook his head. “We can’t risk the captain getting any wind of this.”
I sighed, twisting my metal rings around my fingers. “Leave it with me, Sage. I’ll figure out who’s—”
A crash echoed near the galley, followed by shouts and the thunder of boots on wooden planks. My leg protested as I spun around, but I ignored the stabbing pain and rushed toward the crew quarters.
The scene that greeted me could’ve been lifted from a tavern brawl. Greybeard had Patty in a headlock, her face turning an alarming shade of red. The rest of the crew formed a circle around them, whooping and placing bets.
“STOP!” My voice cracked like a whip across the cabin.
Greybeard released Patty immediately. She stumbled forward, gasping for air.
“Everyone who isn’t these two—get to your stations. Now!” I barked. The crowd scattered like startled pigeons, leaving only the two combatants. “What in the seven hells is going on here?”
“She stole my book!” Greybeard jabbed a finger at Patty.
I blinked. “Your… book?” A laugh threatened to escape. “Didn’t know you could read, Greybeard, let alone owned anything more complicated than a wanted poster.”
Patty snickered, and Greybeard’s weathered face turned crimson beneath his facial hair.
“It’s just… it’s my adventure book.” He shuffled his feet. “The one about the princess who falls in love with the dragon instead of the knight. I like to read it before bed sometimes. Helps me sleep.”
Patty’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Oh, that explains the tissues by your hammock. Getting all weepy when the dragon shows his soft side, are we?”
“That’s—that’s not—” Greybeard sputtered.
