Chapter Text
The tavern was called The Drowned Rat, which Seth thought was fitting, given the clientele. It was the sort of establishment that existed in every port town across the kingdom—low ceilings stained with decades of pipe smoke, floors sticky with spilled ale, and a permanent stink of fish guts, cheap rum, and desperation. Seth had smelled worse. Not often, but sometimes. Sailors nursed their wages away in the corners. Merchants conducted business that wasn't quite conventional in the booths. And somewhere near the back, a pickpocket was eyeing Seth's coin purse, which was why he kept his hand resting casually near his belt. He didn't expect trouble. He was simply aware of it. He sat at the far end of the bar, back pressed against the salt-rotted wood, where he could see both the door and the patrons. Old habit. The kind that kept men alive when the sea decided otherwise.
The tavern was crowded tonight, which meant the air was thick and warm despite the autumn chill outside. Lanterns swung gently overhead, casting shifting pools of orange light across the faces of the gathered crowd. And there, near the hearth, an old sailor held court. Seth had seen his type before. Sun-cracked skin, missing teeth, one eye allegedly lost to pirate steel that stayed hidden behind an eyepatch while the other wandered over his audience. He had set up near the fire, sat on an upturned barrel like it was a throne, a clay pipe clenched between his remaining teeth, and he spoke in the kind of hush that demanded silence. He was the kind of man who had learned that survival was worth more than honesty, and he was currently milking his audience for all they were worth.
"Now, I ain't one for tall tales," The old man began, which was how Seth knew he was about to hear one. "But what I saw that night... I still wake up screamin'."
A younger sailor near the front leaned in. "What happened?"
The old man's eye went distant. Purposefully distant. The kind that was rehearsed in front of a mirror.
"I was close enough to see her," The old man rasped, leaning forward on his stool. The firelight caught the wet gleam of his remaining eye. "Dormant Tide herself. Black hull, blacker sails. Blacker than a moonless night. Sails like charcoal smoked funeral shrouds. Moves like she's alive, I tell ya. Like the sea itself decided to bear her forward."
A collective shiver rippled through the crowd. Farmers pressed close to fishwives. Dockworkers elbowed past merchants. They had all heard the name. They had all come to be afraid of it together, because that was easier than being afraid alone. Seth’s ear twitched as he took a slow drink of his ale. It was watered down, which felt like a crime, but it was better than listening to this fully sober.
"And the captain?" Someone called out. A young woman, barely old enough to be in a tavern, her voice trembling with the particular thrill of manufactured terror. "Did you see him?"
The old sailor's face went pale. Good acting, Seth noted. Or perhaps not acting at all. Fear had a way of feeding itself.
"I was close enough to see her figurehead," The old man continued, his voice dropping lower as the words poured out like a confession. "Close enough to see him. And I pray every night that I didn't."
The crowd's attention is held through the deliberate dramatic pause and Seth almost scoffs at the obvious display of showmanship.
"The Pirate King. Ghost Captain Harumasa."
Seth's tail bristled. His fingers curled around his mug, just enough for the ceramic to creak.
"He don't fight like a man," the sailor breathed, and his one good eye seemed to glitter in the firelight as the tavern held its breath. "He moves like a sea serpent. His blade tastes the wind before it tastes your throat. I swung at him twice, maybe three times, and he was never where my steel landed. Never. I watched him cut down three o’ my crewmates in the span of a breath. Three men. Experienced mercenaries. And he didn't even look at them when they fell."
Someone in the crowd made a sign against evil. Derman shifted uncomfortably beside Seth. Chen stared straight ahead, lips pressed thin.
"But it was his eyes that got me," The old man's voice dropped lower, until it was barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "His eyes. They ain't right. They're empty. Like there's nothing behind 'em. Like the sea itself is looking through him. Swirling dark vortexes where a man's soul ought to be. I've seen drowned men with more life in their gaze."
Seth took a long drink. The ale had grown warm and bitter in the humid tavern. He barely tasted it. The crowd exhaled. Then the rumors came faster, each one wilder than the last.
"They say he commands sea monsters! That he can call the krakens and all forms of heinous beasts from the deepest depths of the sea bed." A young woman whispered from somewhere in the crowd.
"They say he sold his soul to the deep for immortality. That's why no one can kill him." Another voice added.
"I heard he's not even human. That he's something that crawled up from the trench. Wearing a man's skin." A merchant's apprentice said, eyes wide.
The old sailor shrugged and nodded sagely, allowing each rumor to take root. "I can't say what's true and what ain't. I only know what I saw. And what I saw wasn't natural." He said, which was a lie—he could say, and he was saying it, and he was enjoying every second. "What I can say is this. If you see black sails on the horizon. If you see the Dormant Tide cuttin' through the water faster than any ship ought to move. You pray. You pray to whatever gods still listen. And you hope they're feelin' merciful, because he ain't."
A hush fell over the tavern. And then, from the back corner, Seth snorted. It was quiet. Barely audible. But in the silence the old sailor had so carefully crafted, it might as well have been a musket shot. Seth didn't look up. He kept his eyes on his mug, jaw tight, knuckles white around the handle. Beside him at the bar, his two accompanying crewmates exchanged nervous glances. Derman cleared his throat quietly.
"Sir. Maybe we should—"
Seth took another drink. Behind them, the crowd had started murmuring, unsure of who had made the sound or what it meant. The old sailor's eye had narrowed, scanning the dim corners of the tavern.
"Is someone doubtin' my word?" he called out, wounded pride creeping into his voice. "I survived an attack by the Void Hunters. I saw what I saw."
Seth set his mug down. Not hard. Not soft. Just deliberately.
Chen leaned closer. "Admiral, please."
"I'm not doing anything," Seth said quietly.
"You're gripping that mug like you want to throw it at that old man's head."
Seth looked down. His knuckles were white. He loosened his grip deliberately, one finger at a time, and set the mug down on the bar with controlled force. He traced the rim of his mug and tried to remember the last time he'd gone to sleep without seeing pirate sails in his dreams. He couldn't. The rumors continued to swirl behind him. He drowned an entire Navy ship with a word. He made a deal with a sea witch. He's not even a man anymore, he's something else, something that wears a man's face—
"He moves like a sea serpent," Seth repeated, low enough that only Chen and Derman could hear. "His eyes are empty vortexes. He commands krakens."
"Sounds scary," Derman offered weakly.
"It sounds stupid." Seth's voice was flat. "He's a man. Made of flesh and blood. Same as you and me. And all men can bleed."
"We've been chasing him for three years without catching him," Chen pointed out carefully. "Maybe he bleeds a little less than most men."
Seth turned his head and looked at his lieutenant. The expression on his face wasn't anger, exactly. It was something colder. Something more focused.
"Oh, he bleeds," Seth said. "I just haven't been close enough to make him yet."
Chen wisely decided to stop talking. He didn't need to. As if hearing their conversation from across the tavern, the old man started again.
"You say he's no man? What if he can't even bleed?" The old sailor was saying now, feeding the crowd's hunger. "What if you cut him and seawater pours out? What if he's already dead and just doesn't know it yet? Perhaps they call him the Ghost Captain because he's an undead sailor bound to roam the seas for all eternity."
Seth closed his eyes. Counted to five. Opened them.
"All this pirate talk is starting to piss me off," he admitted.
"Finally, honesty." Chen muttered. Derman kicked him under the table.
The old sailor had returned to his storytelling, emboldened by the lack of further interruption. He was describing the moment Harumasa had supposedly climbed aboard his ship "like a spider, like a ghost, silent as the grave". And the crowd was eating it up with wide eyes and open mouths. Someone had started a fresh round of drinks. The pickpocket had given up on Seth's pouch and moved on to easier prey.
Seth listened to the rumors grow wilder with each passing minute. Harumasa didn't just command sea monsters—he was one. Harumasa had made a deal with a sea god. Harumasa had drowned a hundred men and kept their souls in a jar. Harumasa could turn into mist. Harumasa could walk on water. Harumasa had a second set of teeth.
Even Seth had to remind himself that this was just a regular human they were talking about. A very real, tangible man he's been chasing the trail of for years. But that was the thing about a ghost. You couldn't catch a ghost because a ghost didn't exist. And Harumasa—elusive, invisible, untouchable Harumasa—had survived for years on the back of stories like these. Every tavern tale made him more myth than man. Every rumor added another layer of legend until the actual person underneath was buried so deep that no one even bothered to look.
Seth hated it. He hated the fear in people's eyes when they spoke the name. He hated the way otherwise sensible sailors crossed themselves at the mention of black sails. He hated that his own crew of trained soldiers of the Imperial Navy went quiet when the topic came up. But most of all, he hated that he had been hunting this man for three years, and he still didn't know what he looked like. No one did. That was the real trick of it. Harumasa's face was a mystery. Anyone who had seen it and lived was either lying or had never actually seen it at all. The wanted posters showed a silhouette. The official reports described a 'man of average height and build'. The bounty offered a fortune for information that didn't exist. Three years, Seth thought, and I have nothing.
He was about to order another drink—a stronger one, this time—when the tavern door slammed open. Everyone turned. Seth's hand went to his sword on instinct. Old habit. Old training. But it was just a soldier, one of his own, red faced and breathless, still wearing his shore leave coat. Underneath, his uniform was Imperial Navy standard issue, same as Seth's, though considerably more rumpled. Seth raised an eyebrow. Private Eugene, if Seth remembered correctly. Young. Eager. The kind of soldier who ran everywhere because walking felt too slow. He scanned the room wildly until his eyes landed on the far corner of the tavern. He spotted Seth immediately and made a beeline for the bar, weaving between tables and pushing through the crowd, ignoring the grumbles of displaced drinkers, and came to a breathless halt in front of him. He saluted. Sloppy, but earnest.
"Admiral Lowell, sir."
"At ease." Seth set down his mug.
"Sir," He gasped loudly, bracing himself against the bartop. "Admiral, I—"
Seth raised a hand, cutting him off. He nodded toward the crowd, still enthralled by the old sailor's increasingly absurd tale.
"Pipe down," He reminded quietly.
Eugene took a deep breath, calming himself, before nodding, bowing his head a bit in apology.
"Is the cargo loaded?" Seth asked.
Eugene shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. "No, sir. I mean—yes, sir, the cargo's loaded, we're ready to sail, that's not—" He swallowed hard. "Admiral, The King wants to see you."
Seth's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A subtle straightening of the spine. A stillness that hadn't been there before. He stared at the soldier for a long moment, searching for any sign of a joke. There was none.
"The King," he repeated.
Seth looked at Chen. Chen looked at Derman. Derman looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.
"Yes, sir. His Majesty King Mayflower issued a royal summons. It came while you were ashore. Admiral Zhu Yuan said to tell you immediately." Eugene finally caught his breath and stood a little straighter. "She said—the admiral said—that it sounded urgent, sir. The King sent an escort to take you to the capital. They're waiting outside."
Seth nodded slowly. A summons from the king was not unusual—he was an admiral, after all, and he reported directly to the crown on matters of naval security. But the timing gave him pause. They were scheduled to depart at first light, beginning another sweep of the eastern trade routes. Another long stretch of open water, empty horizons and the endless, frustrating search for a ghost. Seth turned and looked up at the clear blue sky. Clouds were rolling in from the west, blotting out the sun. A storm was coming. He could feel it in the air, that particular heaviness that settled over a port before bad weather. The way his fur sensed the change in humidity.
"Did Zhu Yuan state the reason for the summons?" Seth asked, turning back to Eugene.
"No, sir. Just that it was urgent. And that you were to come alone. The King wants to see you personally."
Alone. Seth didn't like that word. He had learned, over years of hunting pirates and chasing ghosts across the archipelago, that alone was usually the prelude to something unpleasant. But this was the king. His king. The man who had commissioned Seth's fleet, funded his expeditions, and personally promoted him to Admiral after the Battle of the Narrow Straits. If King Mayflower wanted to see him, Seth would go.
"Very well," he said, and his voice was steady. Calm. The voice of a man who had made a decision. "Chen. Derman. Return to the ship by sundown. Make sure we're ready to sail at a moment's notice if the king's business is brief. Eugene, report back to Zhu Yuan. I should be back by midday tomorrow at the latest."
"Understood," Eugene saluted before bowing and rushing back out of the tavern.
Chen hesitated. "Sir, if the king is summoning you personally, it might not be brief."
"Then you'll have more time to make sure the ship is ready." Seth stood. The stool scraped against the floorboards. He dug into his coat pocket and produced a small pouch of coins, which he tossed onto the bar with a heavy clink.
"To settle our tab," he said to the barkeep, who nodded quickly. "Keep the change."
The barkeep's eyes widened at the generous tip. Seth was already walking away. He paused at the door, half turning to look back at Chen and Derman. "The day is still young. You're dismissed to do as you please in the town. I won't be here to look after you, so just make sure your behavior is becoming of that of the Imperial Navy. You represent all of us while you’re wearing those uniforms. I'm trusting you both to make sure the crew is ready to sail tomorrow. I won't be long." He paused, considering. "And have that pickpocket in the back arrested, will you?"
"Aye, Admiral." Derman saluted.
Chen just nodded, but there was something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or wariness—that Seth filed away for later.
His eyes flitted to the old man. "Pay for his tab as well,"
Derman crossed his arms, looking bemused. "You hate that storyteller."
"I hate the stories," Seth corrected. "The man himself is just old and lonely. That's no sin."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked out the door. The tavern's front door spilled the smell of ale and warm laughter into the street as the door closed behind him, and for just a moment, Seth caught another fragment of the old sailor's tale.
"—and he looked at me, he looked at me with those soulless empty eyes, and he said—"
Seth walked closed the door fully, leaving the words behind.
Eastwatch never truly experienced a lull in its liveliness, even this early in the day. Decorative lanterns swung from every corner, casting pools of flickering amber light across the cobblestones. Sailors staggered between taverns. Merchants shouted discounted prices at reluctant buyers. Down the street, a woman was singing a shanty about a drowned lover, her voice carrying across the harbor like a siren's call.
Outside the tavern, an escort awaited him, just as Eugene had said. Four royal guards in gleaming silver armor, their faces hidden behind visored helms. They stood in perfect formation beside a white carriage trimmed with gold—the king's own colors. A matched pair of horses stamped impatiently, their breath fogging in the air. Seth approached slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Not because he expected trouble. Just because he had learned, long ago, that expectation and preparation were very different things.
"Admiral Lowell," said the lead guard. His voice was muffled by the helm, but Seth caught the edge of authority beneath it. "Please, step inside."
No sir. No deference. Just an order, politely phrased. Seth climbed into the carriage. The interior was plush—velvet seats, silk curtains, a small lantern that swung gently as the carriage lurched into motion. Seth sat across from a folded newspaper that someone had left behind. He picked it up. The headline read: GHOST CAPTAIN STRIKES AGAIN: MERCHANT SHIP FOUND DRIFTING, CREW MISSING.
He tossed the paper aside and stared out the window as Eastwatch blurred past. Wooden buildings gave way to stone. Stone gave way to marble. The streets grew wider, cleaner, emptier. They were entering the royal district now, where common folk only went if they had business or death wishes. And Seth wondered, with a dull sense of dread, what this visit to the capital would bring.
He had been to the royal castle before. Twice. Both times for promotions he hadn't asked for. It was hard to feel like he earned it when a spot only opened because the predecessor had gone after the Pirate King and never returned. Three years, he thought. Three years, and I've never even seen his ship. Dormant Tide. He'd heard the name a hundred times, in a hundred different voices. Some said she was a galleon, bristling with cannons. Others said she was a sleek schooner, built for speed. A few claimed she wasn't a ship at all, but something else—something that only looked like a ship until you got close enough to see the truth. Seth didn't care what she looked like. He cared about finding her. He cared about running her down and boarding her and finally, finally putting a face to the name that had haunted his career for three years.
The journey from Eastwatch to the capital took about fifteen hours by carriage. When they arrived, the slowly castle rose out from beyond the wall as they approached, just as grand as he remembered it. It was beautiful, in the way that sharp teeth were beautiful. White marble towers spiraled toward the night sky, their peaks crowned with gold. Flags bearing the royal crest—a sea serpent coiled around a crown, because of course it was—snapped in the wind. Guards stood at every entrance, every window, every shadowed corner. The carriage rolled to a stop before the main gates, and Seth stepped out onto a carpet of crushed white stone that crunched beneath his boots.
"Follow me," said the lead guard.
Seth followed. They passed through corridors lined with paintings of kings long dead, and climbed staircases that spiraled higher than Seth cared to count. They walked past servants who pressed themselves against walls to let them pass, eyes downcast, hands trembling. Seth noticed the trembling. He filed that away too. Finally, they reached a set of heavy oak doors carved with scenes of naval triumph—ships sinking, pirates drowning, the crown triumphant. The lead guard knocked twice, paused, then knocked once more.
A voice came from inside, "Enter."
The doors swung open. King Mayflower sat behind a desk that could have housed a family of four. He was not a large man—slight, actually, with thin shoulders and delicate hands—but he had a presence that filled the room like smoke. His eyes were dark and quick, missing nothing. His beard was trimmed to a precise point. His crown, embedded with gems and detailed with a golden snake coiled around the rim, sat slightly askew on his head, as if he had been running his fingers through his hair.
"Admiral Lowell." The king smiled. It did not reach his eyes. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Seth dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "Your Majesty."
"Oh, get up, get up." The king waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't summon you here to kneel on my floor. Close the doors, would you? And leave us."
The guards bowed and retreated, pulling the heavy oak doors shut behind them. The sound echoed through the chamber like a stone dropped into a deep cavern. Seth rose. He stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back, and waited. The king studied him for a long moment, his smile having dropped the instant the door closed. Then he reached into his desk, pulled out a rolled parchment, and tossed it across the polished surface. It skidded to a stop at Seth's end.
"Read it."
Seth picked it up and unrolled it. It was a bounty notice. The largest he had ever seen.
WANTED: THE PIRATE KING, HARUMASA. DEAD OR ALIVE.
REWARD: ONE MILLION GOLD CROWNS.
BY ORDER OF HIS MAJESTY, KING MAYFLOWER.
Below the text was a sketch—not a portrait, because no one knew what Harumasa actually looked like, but an artist's interpretation. A hooded figure with empty eyes and a blade made of shadows. It looked like every other piece of propaganda Seth had seen in the past several years.
He looked up. "Your Majesty?"
The king leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He smiled again, and this time the coldness of it made Seth's stomach tighten.
"I'm done playing games with this pirate, Admiral. I've hired several people to rid the kingdom of this problem. None have succeeded. But you? You've gotten the closest by far. And yet. Three years you've been chasing him, and his head is still attached to his neck." The king's voice was calm. Pleasant, even. But there was something underneath it, something sharp and patient, like a blade waiting for flesh. "I want him dead. I want his crew hanged. I want his ship burned to ash and scattered across the waves."
Seth kept his face neutral. "I've been trying, Your Majesty. The Pirate King is known to be elusive."
"Trying." The king savored the word like a bad taste. "Trying is what men do when they're afraid to commit. I don't pay you to try, Admiral. I pay you to succeed."
Seth's jaw tightened. He forced it to relax.
"I understand."
"Do you?" The king stood. Circled around the desk. He was shorter than Seth, but he moved with the casual confidence of a man who didn't expect to be told no. "I've received reports, Admiral. Disturbing reports. Whispers that the Pirate King isn't just evading you. That he's making sport of you. Sailing circles around your fleet. Raiding ports the day after you leave them."
The king stopped in front of Seth. Looked up at him.
"Is that true?"
Seth met his gaze. "He's clever, Your Majesty. I won't deny that. But he's not invincible. No man is."
"I'm beginning to wonder if he is a man." The king's voice dropped. "The stories they tell about him, Lowell. I'm sure you've heard them. Everyone has. He moves like water. He kills without sound. His crew calls him the Ghost Captain, did you know that? Not to his face, of course. But behind his back."
Seth said nothing. The king turned away. Walked to the window. Stared out at the horizon beyond the harbor, invisible but present, forever waiting.
"I lost a ship last week," he said quietly. "Gemina. Thirty seven good sailors. Disappeared between Eastwatch and the Sunken Isles. No survivors. No debris. Just gone."
Seth's chest tightened. Of course he'd heard about Gemina. Every sailor in the kingdom had.
"Pirates?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Who else?" The king's reflection in the window glass was pale and hollow eyed. "They left a message. Carved into the ship's bell, which they hung from the lighthouse at Raven's Point. It was engraved with their symbol. They're clearly mocking us."
Seth closed his eyes. "That sounds like him."
"It sounds like a challenge." The king turned. His face was calm again, but his hands were shaking. Seth pretended not to notice. "I'm giving you everything, Lowell. More supplies. More men. Whatever resources you need. I want this pirate's head on a pike in the capital square within the year. Do you understand?"
Seth saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The king did not return to his desk immediately. He stood at the window for a long moment, his back to Seth, one hand braced against the stone frame. The candlelight caught the gold threading of his coat and made him look almost haloed. Almost holy. Seth waited in silence. Kings spoke when they were ready, and not a moment before. The king turned and walked back toward his desk, but he didn't sit. Instead, he braced his hands against the polished wood and leaned forward, his posture tense. The crown caught the candlelight and threw fragmented gold across the walls. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, like he was sharing a secret.
"There is something else," Mayflower said finally, and his expression shifted. The cold amusement was gone. In its place was heavy concern. "Something I could not trust to anyone but you."
Seth remained still, waiting. The king reached into his coat—a deep velvet thing, the color of dried blood—and withdrew a second parchment. This one was folded, creased, worn at the edges. He held it for a moment, turning it over in his fingers, before extending it toward Seth.
"Yesterday evening. A merchant ship limped into port at Dawn's Harbor, hull cracked, sails in tatters, half the crew dead or dying. They reported seeing a ship anchored off the northern coast of Elpis Island. Black sails."
Seth's breath caught. The world seemed to narrow. His heart didn't race, he was trained to be calm under pressure. But he felt something shift in his chest. A tightening. A focus. He stepped forward and took the parchment, unfolding it carefully. It was a map. Not a naval chart—too rough, too hastily drawn—but a working sailor's map, marked with currents and depth soundings and small notations in a cramped hand. Elpis Island sat at the center, its familiar crescent shape rendered in faded ink. And there, along the northern shore, someone had drawn a small black X. Ship matching Dormant Tide's description sighted here. Dawn's first light. Anchored. Not moving. Seth stared at the words. His thumb traced the edge of the parchment.
"Elpis," he said slowly. "That's—"
"Dangerously close to the mainland," The king finished. "Yes. I'm aware."
"And they say the ship had black sails?" Seth questioned.
"Fully furled, but unmistakable. One of my coastal lookouts confirmed he saw her through a spyglass just before dawn. He described the hull as dark as whalebone. One flag. One marking. And the shape of her—" The king shook his head. "He's been sailing these waters for forty years. He knows every ship in the royal fleet and every merchant vessel that regularly runs the trade routes. This one was unfamiliar. And she was flying no colors."
"Dormant Tide," Seth said.
"That is my assumption. And if it is true—" The king pushed off from the desk and began to pace, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor. "They've never been this brazen, Lowell. Never this close to the mainland. Elpis is barely four days' sail from the capital. Three days. Do you understand what that means?"
Seth understood. Elpis was a dead island. No ports, no settlements, no resources worth claiming. Once, centuries ago, it had been a thriving colony with fishing villages, trading posts, a small garrison of the royal navy. Then the waters had turned strange. Currents shifted. Storms came without warning. Ships that sailed too close to Elpis sometimes never sailed away at all. During the island's final bustling days, it had been a semi-successful whaling outpost, but the whales had moved on and so had the people. The colony had been lost a hundred years ago, give or take a decade. Now only ruins remained, half swallowed by jungle, slowly being reclaimed by the sea. The last attempted settlement had been abandoned decades ago before a landslide had destroyed the only village on its northern shore. The navy used it occasionally for training exercises, but otherwise it sat empty, a forgotten scrap of land in a forgotten corner of the archipelago. If Harumasa had chosen to anchor there, he either didn't know it was being watched, or he didn't care.
"They're planning something," Seth said slowly, working through it as he spoke. "They wouldn't risk invading New Eridu’s waters otherwise. But... Elpis has nothing. No supplies. No fresh water. No strategic value. If they were"
"Exactly." The king stopped pacing and turned to face Seth. "These pirates have never been this close. I don't know what they're planning. But whatever it is, it does not bode well. An attack on a coastal town? A raid on a shipping lane? Something worse? This is a matter of national security, Admiral. We don't know if they're planning a raid, a blockade, or Gods forbid an invasion. But whatever it is, it cannot be allowed to happen. And more importantly, the most wanted man in the kingdom is sitting in a bay three days from my capital, and I want him gone. This is the first real lead we have had on this pirate in years. Years, Lowell. I will not let it slip through our fingers."
Seth nodded. He was already thinking ahead, already running calculations in his head. The distance from Eastwatch to Elpis. The wind conditions this time of year. How quickly they could get Incorruptible Heart underway. Three days to Elpis, if the weather held. Another day to scout, to plan, to strike. He could be back within two weeks. The king turned away from Seth, walked to the window, and stared out at the darkening sky. The clouds Seth had predicted earlier had finally arrived, heavy and gray, promising rain by morning.
"You want me to sail for Elpis immediately," he said.
"I want you to sail for Elpis alone." The king's voice sharpened. "I am not telling anyone else about this, Lowell. Not the admirals. Not the council. Not even my own spymaster. If word gets out that we have a lead on the Ghost Captain—if even a whisper of this reaches the wrong ears—every bounty hunter, every glory-seeking privateer, and every fool with a rowboat and a death wish will converge on Elpis. They'll scare him off before we even raise anchor. And then we lose him. Again. I'm not going to jeopardize this because some dockside gossip gets drunk and runs his mouth."
He turned back to face Seth. His expression was unreadable.
"You're going alone, Admiral. You and your crew. No reinforcements. No supporting fleet. No fanfare. You're to take Incorruptible Heart and sail for Elpis upon your return to the port. Off the record. No stops. No detours. And when you get there, I want you to burn that ship to the waterline and bring me the Ghost Captain's head."
Seth understood. Three years of chasing a ghost had taught him the value of numbers, of reinforcements, of having more eyes on the horizon. He didn't like it, but he understood.
"You're trusting me to do this quietly," He said.
"I'm trusting you to do this effectively." The king corrected. "That is why I summoned you personally. I could not risk sending this information by carrier. A letter would be too easy to intercept. Too many hands along the chain. And I could not announce it in open court without causing a panic." He paused, and a brief look of exhaustion flickered across his face.
"You and your crew will handle this. No one else. This here is your new objective." He pointed to the map. "Forget the trade routes. I'm reassigning Admiral Zhu Yuan's fleet to cover your routes while you're gone. Her ships will run the patrols, protect the merchants, keep up appearances. The patrols will be just one day behind rotation. No one will notice such a minor reshuffling of assets."
Seth considered this. It was unexpected to say the least. Obviously Zhu Yuan was competent. Reliable. If anyone could hold down his sector while he was away, it was her. And the lull in patrol rotation would mask his absence. Most ships would assume he was still running his usual route, just out of sight. But Zhu Yuan's fleet was also nearly twice the size of his own, and far better equipped for extended campaigns. To reassign her to routine patrol duty while he hunted the kingdom's most wanted—
"The patrols are just a formality anyway," the king continued, waving a hand dismissively. "The trade routes have been quiet for months. Zhu Yuan's fleet is wasted on them. But your ship? Incorruptible Heart is built for speed. For hunting. This is what you were made for, Lowell."
Seth inclined his head. "I won't let you down, Your Majesty."
"I know you won't." The king's smile returned, thin and tight. "That's why I chose you."
"How long do I have?" he asked.
"However long it takes for you to return to the port. But I want you to leave by morning. Early morning, Lowell. Before the sun peaks in the sky. Every hour we wait is another hour for someone to talk, for someone to notice, for him to catch wind and slip away."
"Your Majesty," he said carefully, "if the Dormant Tide is truly docked at Elpis, that means Harumasa is there. Or close by. If we move quickly, if we catch them off guard—"
"Then you may finally bring me his head." The king finished the sentence with a quiet intensity that bordered on hunger. "I have waited a long time for this, Admiral. Do not disappoint me."
"I won't, Your Majesty."
The king held his gaze for a long moment, as if searching for something in Seth's expression. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him. He nodded once, sharply, and walked back to his desk. He sat down. Picked up a quill. Began writing, already dismissing Seth with nothing more than a slight tilt of his head.
"You're dismissed, Admiral."
Seth bowed. Turned. Walked toward the doors. His mind was already racing ahead, already planning the route, already estimating how quickly they could make the crossing if the storm hit.
"Oh, and Lowell?"
Seth stopped and turned back. The king was watching him. He set down his quill and leaned back in his chair, studying Seth with an expression that was suddenly, unexpectedly soft.
"You are beloved, Admiral," the king said. "Did you know that?"
Seth blinked. "Your Majesty?"
"The citizens of this kingdom speak your name with respect. They tell stories about you too—though I suspect yours are somewhat more accurate than the ones they tell about our pirate problem." The king's mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. "The people love an honest man, Lowell. And you are nothing if not honest. That is a rare quality. Rarer than you know."
Seth wasn't sure where this was going. He stood a little straighter and said nothing.
"Which is why I am going to do something I do not often do. I am going to offer you protection."
Seth's brow furrowed. "Protection, Your Majesty?"
"The citizens adore you. The sailors respect you. If anything were to happen to you, the kingdom would mourn. I would mourn. So I'm sending members of my personal elite squadron to accompany you on your journey. They're the best of the best. Trained in combat, stealth, and sorcery. I trust them with my life, Admiral. And now I am trusting them with yours."
Seth met the king's eye. "Your Majesty, I have my own crew. The Incorruptible Heart is well manned. I don't need—"
"You are a symbol, Lowell." The king's voice was quiet but firm. "A symbol of the Crown's commitment to justice. Of the Navy's strength. Of everything we are trying to protect." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "If something were to happen to you—if you were to fall in battle, or be captured by pirates, or simply... disappear—do you know what that would do to the morale of this kingdom?"
Seth's jaw tightened. "I'm not planning on disappearing, Your Majesty."
"No one ever does." The king's eyes were unreadable. "But the sea is unpredictable. Pirates are unpredictable. And I would rather have you overprotected than underprotected. These soldiers are loyal and disciplined. They won't get in your way. Think of them as insurance. A little extra steel at your back when you finally corner that sea serpent. They'll accompany you to Elpis. They will fight beside your crew. And they will make sure, by any means necessary, that you return to me alive."
There was something in the way he said it. Something that made Seth's skin prickle, though he couldn't say why. It wasn't unusual for the crown to assign additional personnel to high priority missions. He had worked with royal soldiers before—elite units, yes, but soldiers like any other. They followed orders. They did their jobs. They reported back to their commanders, and that was the end of it. That being said, the King's own elite squad was more than Seth had expected. But he had made his priorities clear. He wanted Harumasa dead, and he was willing to spare no expense to make it happen.
"I'm honored, Your Majesty," Seth said carefully. "But my crew is well trained. We've handled difficult engagements before—"
"Not like this one." The king's voice sharpened, just for a moment, before smoothing out again. "Not against him. I've read your reports, Admiral. I know how close you've come. I also know that every time, he's slipped away. This time, I want to make sure that doesn't happen."
He stood again, circling around the desk until he was standing directly in front of Seth. Close enough that Seth could smell the wine on his breath, the expensive cologne on his collar.
"These soldiers are the same ones who delivered my summons to Eastwatch," the king said. "They're already waiting for you at the port now. Ready to sail. All I ask is that you bring them along."
Seth met the king's gaze for a long moment. There was something in those dark eyes—something that made Seth's instincts bristle, the same way they did when he sensed a storm coming. But he couldn't name it. Couldn't find the source of the unease. The king was being magnanimous. Protective, even. Seth was a valuable asset, and valuable assets were worth protecting. So he pushed the unease aside.
"Your Majesty is generous," Seth said carefully, bowing his head. "I accept. Thank you for your hospitality. I'll ensure your soldiers are treated well aboard my ship."
"Good." The king smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. It looked almost warm as he clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture almost paternal. "Consider them an addition to your crew for this mission only. When the Ghost Captain is dealt with, they will return to my side."
Seth nodded. "I'm grateful for the support."
"I'm grateful for your service. Now go. The tide waits for no one, Admiral. And neither does your quarry."
He walked back to his desk, sat down, and picked up his quill. The conversation was over. Seth had been dismissed.
Seth bowed again, deeper this time. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I'll send word as soon as we have news."
"See that you do." The king didn't look up. His quill scratched across the parchment, steady and deliberate. "And Lowell?"
Seth paused at the door, one hand on the handle.
The king looked up, and his eyes were dark, quick and unreadable. "May the winds favor your hunt."
Seth nodded and bowed once more. He pushed open the doors and stepped out into the corridor, pulling them shut behind him. The heavy oak boomed closed, and the sound echoed through the stone hallway like a drumbeat. The hallway beyond was cold and quiet, the torches flickering in their brackets. The guards were waiting for him in the antechamber, silent and still in their gleaming armor. The lead guard who had spoken before stepped forward.
"This way, Admiral."
Seth followed them back through the winding corridors, past the trembling servants and the paintings of dead kings. His mind was racing, turning over everything the king had said. The sighting at Elpis. The reassignment of Zhu Yuan's fleet. The soldiers. Something about the entire thing just felt wrong. He couldn't name it. Couldn't pinpoint it. The king had been reasonable. The king had been generous. The king had given him a map, a mission, and a group of elite soldiers to protect him. Everything was above board. Everything was proper. And yet.
'You're a beloved admiral, Lowell. The citizens adore you.'
Seth had never thought of himself that way. He was a hunter. A weapon pointed at the kingdom's enemies. The idea that citizens—ordinary people, people who had never seen a pirate ship or heard the scream of cannon fire—might think of him as someone worth adoring was strange. Uncomfortable, even.
‘If something were to happen to you, the kingdom would mourn.’
He pushed the thought aside. He wasn't planning on dying. The guards led him out of the palace and back to the waiting carriage. A new pair of horses stood motionless, their eyes flitting towards him for only a second before looking forward once more. Seth climbed inside without a word, and the carriage lurched into motion, carrying him back toward the port. He pulled out the map again, studying it in the dim lantern light. The black X seemed to pulse on the page, a promise and a threat all at once. Dormant Tide. The Void Hunters. The Ghost Captain. Three years. Three years of chasing shadows, following rumors, hunting a ghost. And now, finally, a real lead. A ship with black sails, anchored at an abandoned island, just three days away. Seth folded the map carefully and tucked it into his coat, close to his chest.
This time, he thought, you won't escape.
Those were his final thoughts as he let himself drift to sleep for the remainder of their journey.
When they arrived back in Eastwatch, the sun was still low in the sky, the pale morning light just barely visible over the horizon. The port was quieter than Seth expected. By the look of things, Chen and Derman had obeyed his instructions. Incorruptible Heart sat at anchor in the center of the harbor, her white sails furled, her hull gleaming in the fading light. She was a beautiful ship—Seth had always thought so. Sleek enough to be fast, sturdy enough to take a hit. Three years of chasing pirates had left their mark on her—scars on her hull, patches on her sails, a few replacement planks that didn't quite match the original wood—but she was still the finest vessel in the fleet, as far as Seth was concerned.
And there, standing in a neat formation beside the gangplank of his ship, was the king's elite squadron. There were eight of them. All men, all tall, all armored in the same gleaming silver plate as the guards who had escorted him. They carried swords at their hips and daggers in their boots, and their faces were hidden behind visored helms that revealed nothing of their expressions. They saluted as Seth approached. In unison. Perfectly synchronized.
"Admiral Lowell," said the soldier at the front. His voice was deep, muffled by the helm, but Seth caught the edge of something tight beneath it. "The king has assigned us to your command. We're ready to sail at your order."
Seth studied them for a moment. There was something about the way they stood—too still, too disciplined—that made his instincts prickle again. But he pushed it aside. They were royal soldiers. Elite soldiers. It made sense that they would be well trained.
He nodded. "Welcome aboard. Find the quartermaster. He'll assign you berths and introduce you to the rest of the crew. We sail within the hour."
The soldiers saluted again and filed up the gangplank, disappearing into the belly of the ship. Seth watched them go, something uneasy twisting in his gut. Stop it, he told himself. The king is helping you. This is a good thing. He took a deep breath and followed them aboard. Despite the early hour, the deck was alive with activity. Sailors coiled ropes, checked rigging, lashed down supplies. Chen was at the helm, reviewing a chart by lantern light. Derman was barking orders at a group of men struggling with a heavy crate near the bow. Everyone moved with purpose, with efficiency. Seth had trained them well.
"Admiral on deck!" someone called out, and the crew snapped to attention.
Seth waved them back to work. "At ease. I need the senior officers in my quarters in ten minutes. We have a change of plans."
Chen looked up from his chart, eyebrows raised. Derman stopped mid shout and stared. But neither of them opposed the order. They knew better. Chen met him at the railing, his face creased with concern.
"Admiral. What's this about? The quartermaster said the king assigned us reinforcements."
"He did." Seth didn't slow down. "Eight soldiers. Elite squadron. They'll be staying in the crew quarters."
Chen fell into step beside him, keeping his voice low. "Sir, with respect, we don't know these men. We don't know their training, their loyalties—"
"We know they serve the crown," Seth said sharply. "Same as us. That's enough."
Chen's mouth tightened, but he didn't argue. He had served under Seth long enough to know when further discussion would be unwelcome.
"Is the ship ready to sail?"
"Yes, sir. Cargo is loaded, supplies are stowed, crew is accounted for. We can depart whenever you give the order."
Seth nodded. He walked to the helm and looked out over the darkening sea. The clouds had thickened, heavy and gray, and the first drops of rain had begun to fall. A storm was coming. But the winds were favorable for now. And Seth had a pirate to catch.
"Raise anchor!" Seth called out, his voice carrying across the deck. "All hands to stations! We leave immediately! Set sail for Elpis Island!"
Chen hesitated. "Wait—Elpis? Sir, the storm—"
"We'll outrun it." Seth's voice was iron. "Or we'll sail through it. Either way, we're not waiting."
Chen saluted and turned to relay the orders. The anchor chains began to rattle. The sails unfurled, canvas snapping in the rising wind. And Incorruptible Heart slid out of the harbor, chasing a ghost she had never seen, toward a horizon that promised nothing but sea and storm and the unknown. Behind them, the lights of Eastwatch grew smaller and smaller until they were just pinpricks in the distance, then nothing at all.
Seth walked to his quarters at the stern, pushed open the door, and closed it behind him. He stood in the center of the small cabin for a long moment, just breathing. The map was still in his hand. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the creases against his desk. Elpis Island. A jagged shape in a sea of blue. And there, on the northern shore—a small X marked in faded ink. Seth traced the X with his fingertip. Three years of chasing rumors and following false leads. Three years of hearing the name whispered in taverns and shouted in battle. Three years of wondering if the Pirate King was even real, or just a story that had grown too big to die. And now, finally, a destination. Outside, the rain fell harder. Seth looked up at the small window of his cabin and the brightening sky beyond. Somewhere out there, on an abandoned island, a ship with black sails waited. And soon, so would he.
Three days to Elpis.
Three days to the Pirate King.
Three years of hunting, and finally, finally—
This time. This time, I'll find you.
And that was a promise.
The wind howled. The waves rose. And the Incorruptible Heart sailed on, carrying its admiral and its crew towards a destination none of them were prepared for.