Chapter Text
There was a weightless, knowing moment where he was suspended in midair. He barely had time to suck in a desperate breath before a rush of bubbles filled his vision and he plunged into the icy waves.
…
His first memory that was clear enough to retell was of the King. He had been five or six years old; still living with his mother in the slaves’ quarters in the palace. Before that day, he only recalled the barest snippets. His mother’s laugh, her delicate braid of dark hair, long days of waiting for her to finish her duties.
But that day, she had made a mistake, and King Alan had called them both to his throne room. She had begged and pleaded, her tears staining the crimson carpet at the foot of the throne. King Alan had simply frowned and thrust his sword through her chest. Chosen had waited for her to get up. But she simply lay where she had fallen, red seeping from her gaping wound. Chosen wasn’t worried. But he had to admit that it was an odd place to take a nap. Maybe he should try to wake her up? Not even seven, he didn’t yet know death when he saw it.
“You, boy, will take her place as my servant.” The King had ordered.
After that were grueling days of running to King Alan’s bidding, bringing cups and platters to and fro, setting the long banquet tables where the King would laugh and talk with other nobles, and even briefly caring for the infant prince; Alan’s second son. Chosen never found out what happened to the first.
…
The prince’s words were still ringing in his ears, the sharp cry drowning out the sound of the rush of bubbles cocooning him as he slipped into the churning sea. His vision flickered, unsteady from the blow. Everything was a serene shade of blue so overwhelming that he felt like he’d been dunked into another universe; one so vast and fathomless that he was nothing in comparison. How had he thought he was powerful?
…
He had first seen the sea on the day he escaped. He’d ran from the palace; a young man by then, and didn’t stop running until he reached the harbour. He’d never seen such beauty, wide and sunlit waves stretching as far as his eyes could see.
He’d stowed away on board the first ship he saw. When it was captured by pirates, he’d thought that was the end. But the crew took him in, taught him to fight, and trained him in the ways of piracy.
After that, he’d set out on his own. With his ship; The Angel’s Revenge, none dared stand in his way, and he gained the reputation as The Angel Of Death, scourge of the seas, who left no survivors in his wake. His name was whispered in all the lands. Some feared him, some revered him, but all knew that he was not to be trifled with.
But it wasn’t enough to quell his rage. He was furious with the king for murdering his mother and making him his slave. He was furious that this life had been waiting here for him all along and he could have had it from the start.
So he set a course back to his homeland. He was going to kill the king, and make him pay.
…
Seawater stung his face and he flailed uselessly below the waves. A ragdoll for the ocean, he tumbled through the water, carried by the restless sea. He pressed a hand to his lips, holding back a choked cry. It would do him no good, only hastening his end.
…
“Chosen One! For the crimes of piracy, theft, and attempted assassination of His Majesty; King Alan of House Becker, you are sentenced to execution at the gallows! Any last pleas before you hang? ” announced the executioner, scanning the crowd. Chosen knelt on the rough wood, the ropes binding his hands digging into his skin. He could barely make out the faces of the crowd before him, as the sun’s blinding glare left them an anonymous mass.
King Alan loomed over him, face contorted with rage. “I employed you, fed you, clothed you, and this is the thanks I get? You’re nothing but ungrateful sea scum.”
Chosen grit his teeth. “Better than being a coward who murders your slaves to assert your pathetic dominance! I’d rather hang than serve the likes of you!”
Then, the executioner grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and-
“STOP!”
A voice rang out across the courtyard. The crowd went silent, and all eyes turned to stare at the source of the shout. Prince Second, the king’s second son, now fully grown, stepped forward onto the stage.
“Father, please. Spare him.” The prince requested, dipping his head in respect.
The king narrowed his eyes. “Why should I?”
“Because this is The Angel Of Death, scourge of the seas and most feared pirate in history. And he can help us find my brother.”
…
Lungs burning, he struggled once more against the power of the tide, but he was pathetically weak. Already, his strength was fading, replaced by a strange calm. This might be the end of the Dread Pirate Chosen; Angel of Death and scourge of the seas. Ironic, that the sea would claim him in the end. But he could still fight! He could still reach the surface! He clung to that last flaming shred of determination as though it were his lifeline.
…
After convincing King Alan to make Chosen a privateer in his fleet, Prince Second had joined Chosen’s crew along with four other sailors. At first, Chosen was reluctant, but after a month of travel, he had to admit that the young prince was far more capable and clever than he’d let on. Against his better judgement, Chosen found himself befriending Second, and the prince had admitted the reason why he’d joined the crew of privateers.
According to him, the eldest prince; Victim, had run away from the palace after falling in love with a merchant shortly after Second was born. He’d taken to the seas and hadn’t been seen since. With the first in line for the throne missing, that position fell to Second.
But Second had never liked the idea of ruling the kingdom. He’d always dreamed of adventure, and hated the confines of the palace. So when he got the chance to set sail, battle monsters, and find his long-lost-brother, he’d jumped at the chance.
But Chosen knew that it was more than that. Second had become close friends with the rest of the crew. Red, Blue, Yellow, and Green had all taken a shine to the enthusiastic royal, and after a year, Second felt like a real part of the crew. And he was. Chosen had even eventually granted him the position of first mate.
…
Which way was up? He had to reach the surface! His crew needed him! Chosen twisted in the water, trying to get his bearings. He knew he didn’t have much time left. He could feel the relentless, sickening press of the water all around him, demanding he let it in. If he died here, Second would be so angry. Alan would kill him. His thoughts were like a school of fish now, silvery shoals slipping from his grasp.
…
“Beast ho!” Red had called from the crows’ nest, voice high with excitement. As the resident sea monster expert, he was uncannily skilled at spotting the terrifying creatures of the ocean. It was unfortunate that he harboured such love for the deadly beasts, no matter how many times they’d tried to kill him and everyone else aboard The Angel’s Revenge.
Green had sprinted across the deck to load the cannons. “Position?”
“Straight off port side and heading this way.” Red called back. “Looks like a juvenile kraken from the shape and size of it.”
Chosen had scaled the ropes and peered out at the sea. “We have about a minute until it reaches us. Second! Angle the ship towards it to protect the rudder. Yellow! Strap down the cargo. Red! Hurry down before it hits. Green and Blue! Ready your projectiles.”
With perfect obedience, the crew had spurred to action, each person readying their weapons and bracing themselves for impact. Chosen hopped back down onto the deck and readied his cutlass.
There was a splash, and the kraken rose from the sea. It was still young, as Red had predicted, and only measured about as big as the mizzenmast sail. Any bigger, and they’d be in serious trouble. As it was, this was a routine sea monster encounter, albeit a rather inconvenient one.
The ship had lurched, and Chosen ducked as a tentacle whizzed overhead, crashing into the main mast. It groaned, but held steady, causing the ship to tilt precariously. Chosen cursed, scaling the rigging and slicing his sword into the beast’s flesh. It had let out a shriek and the appendage recoiled back into the water. But the fight wasn’t over yet.
A boom sounded, and Green let out a whoop of laughter. The cannons had done their job well, striking the creature square in the side. Its tentacles flailed as it scrambled to retreat, haphazardly yanking itself away. Chosen breathed a sigh of relief.
“Chosen, look out!” Second had cried.
And then one last thick tentacle had slammed into Chosen’s side, sending him careening over the railing and into the waves below.
…
Now, Chosen could feel the energy bleeding from his waterlogged limbs and into the sea around him. Powerless to stop it, he could only hang limply in the deep; suspended in the endless blue. Please, he thought deliriously. Please, don’t let me die here! I want to live!
Suddenly, a face filled his vision; sharp and strange. Scarlet flowing hair like blood in the current, inky eyes as deep as a bottomless abyss, sharp and gleaming teeth grinning at him hungrily. Mesmerized by the gorgeous hallucination, (because what else would it be?) Chosen parted his lips; to speak, beg, or simply let it claim him, he didn’t know. But in the end, nothing escaped. The ethereal man had pressed a slender finger to Chosen’s lips, his other hand finding the nape of his neck. Holding him ever so gently, he tilted Chosen’s head back, forcing him to look up.
Chosen would have gasped then, if he weren’t underwater. Impossibly far above him was a tiny dark shape framed against the sunlight streaming down from the surface. My ship.
A cold terror filled him then. How deep was he? But the lack of oxygen was catching up with him now, and his limbs were heavy and drifting and useless. He choked, salty liquid seeping into his mouth. The man holding him looked almost pitying.
With one last desperate burst of strength, Chosen locked eyes with him, gazing into the pitch-dark of his eyes and the sea and his dimming vision and then, everything was that same black and he knew nothing at all.