There was a time when the Serpents and the Marauders were locked in a war that turned the Whisperwind Sea into a graveyard. The kind of bloody feud that carved itself into our bones, whether we fought in it or not. The flags may have changed, the winds may have calmed, but that war? It’s never really ended. Not for us. Whenever I see the Marauders’ flag slicing through the horizon, my heart doesn’t just sink—it bleeds. I remember the blood of my crewmates, their screams swallowed by cannon fire and the sea itself.
And even though Zayan and I were too young to truly fight back then, we bear the scars. The history between us, between our crews, hummed beneath the surface every time we were together. It was the unspoken pain that had soaked into our bones, the loyalty that still had the power to tear us apart, no matter how much we tried to deny it. All that shit we wanted to forget but couldn’t.
That’s why we decided to fuck instead.
It was easier to deal with the past when our bodies were tangled up in sheets, with his lips tracing the outline of my scars, and my hands gripping the muscles that carried the weight of a thousand sins. For those fleeting moments, nothing elsemattered. The ocean could swallow us whole for all I cared. As long as we were together in the heat of the moment, the world outside stopped existing.
But sex was a distraction—a damn good one, but a distraction nonetheless. We both knew it. I expected it. He, apparently, only pretended to understand it when he should have craved it.
Somehow, in all of this, he tried to turn what was supposed to be fleeting and fiery into something... softer. Tamer.
I laugh, bitter and sharp.
Did he really think we could live in a fantasy where love, loyalty, and lust could coexist? In this world? With who we are? No. We’re pirates, criminals born of blood and betrayal. The only thing we know for sure is how to destroy each other, and yet he dared to hope we could rewrite the rules.
I grit my teeth, ducking under a thick branch, the bark scraping my arm as I push through.
“Love is for fools,” I mutter, clenching my fists. But his damn face still lingers in my mind, like the echoes of a storm I can’t escape.
Does he know? Could he even guess? The cold weight of a pistol pressed into my trembling hands years ago, crouched below deck on Silverbeard’s orders, fear wrapping around me like a second skin. He couldn’t possibly know. I’d never tell him something so… vulnerable. So pathetic. Not Zayan, not anyone.
Two bullets. That was all I had.
One for any attacker, if they broke through. The other… for myself.
Silverbeard never had to explain it, but the message was clear. If the ship fell—if there was no way out—there was only one path left. That second bullet always had a name. And I always knew exactly where it was meant to go.
I close my eyes, remembering the silence that used to come before battle. The steady hum of the sea, the faint rustle of sails,before the bloodshed began. Those days? They felt endless—an endless cycle of fear and steel, death chasing us with every wave.
But eventually, the fighting stopped. Not because of some treaty or victory. No, the killing just… fizzled out. Both sides finally realizing they couldn’t bleed forever. We didn’t win, and we sure as hell didn’t lose. It was a stalemate—born of sheer exhaustion, not some grand declaration of peace.
That’s why, no matter how much I wish I could, I won’t kill Zayan Cagney—Roche’s right hand. One shot, one moment of madness, and the fragile truce between the Marauders and the Sea Serpents would shatter into chaos. It’d only take seconds for old wounds to tear open, and the bloody times we barely survived would flood back in full force.
The peace we have now—if you can even call it peace—doesn’t erase the memories of those deadly times. We all know what war looks like, and even in the calm, it lingers beneath the surface. Marauders and Serpents, two forces that should never coexist, pretending to tolerate each other. It’s a delicate balance, and some pirates, with their hunger for action, are already restless.
It’s always the same with fools—they romanticize war until it destroys them.
No, killing Zayan isn’t an option. And, deep down, I always knew I wouldn’t kill him. Deep down, that’s exactly why I decided to tangle my fate with him of all people. He’s just like me. He’d understand my pain. He’d bring me relief.
Now, I glance up at the starry sky, my body still thrumming with the heat of my anger, and note the moon’s position. It’s past midnight, for sure—hanging high above like a silent judge, its face cold and unfeeling. Stars scatter around it, distant and indifferent, while a lone cloud drapes a thin veil over its sharp light.
The legends from the islands say the moon is a goddess, ruling the seas with The Lady in perfect harmony. A soft, femininebeauty, they claim. Maybe it’s because these sea-worn fools think of their lovers under its gleam. Maybe it’s because the silver shine reminds them of a gentle caress, something they rarely find in this brutal world.
But I’ve never seen it that way.
For me, the moon’s light has never been kind or comforting. It’s sharp, calculating. A man’s gaze, cold and unforgiving. It cuts through the darkness like a blade, revealing what you try to hide, showing no mercy for the choices you’ve made. Ruthless. Stern. Watchful. Just like the bastard I left behind.
This moon—tonight’s moon—feels like it’s judging me, mocking me for ever thinking I could just walk away. Like it sides with Evil and wants me to turn around and tell Zayan I didn’t actually mean what I said. Like it’s exactly because Zayan understands me that I shouldn’t push him away.
“Fuck you, moon,” I mutter, pushing my way forward. “And fuck Zayan.”
The village comes into view a few minutes later, oil lamps flickering from nearly every wooden building. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of drunken songs, and the streets are mostly empty. Skullcove Haven may be the heart of this island, but it always wears a veil of calm after midnight. A deceptive peace, like the one I’ve been clinging to.
I make for the tavern without breaking stride, running a hand through my hair to smooth the mess and brushing off the last traces of salt from my skin.
As I step inside, the familiar stench of rum, sweat, and smoke hits me, thick and almost comforting. The sound of rowdy voices and off-key singing blends into the background.
“Oi, let’s hear the Serpents spill about that brawl with the navy!” someone shouts, cutting through the din, and the room erupts with laughter. The voices grow louder for a moment before another barks back, “Pipe down, you lot!”
