Silver Tide

(Fin makes his first appearance in Tiny Embers & Shiny Things—but this is where his story truly begins...)

 

CHAPTER 1

 

The waves lapped at the sides of the Ship. Wooden boards creaked as the Crew went about their work. Fin stood in the Crow's Nest, breathing in the smell of the Sea and the salt in the air.

This Ship, this Crew, was not his Home, but the Ocean held him in her arms and rocked him gently like a mother's embrace. And Fin knew with absolutely certainty that this is where he belonged. With the cry of the gulls and the music of the waves.

He preferred the Crow's Nest these days. Captain Rourke was becoming increasingly agitated lately. They hadn't found any treasure or plunder in what felt like a very long time. Whatever money they did make generally came from when they made port. Whatever they could find to steal or pickpocket. She was on another tantrum now. Her footsteps heavy on the deck and her voice even louder.

"YOU LAZY SEA SWINE!" She shouted at her Crew, "YOU CALL THAT PROPER RIGGING?!"

The Ship had only been repaired maybe a week ago. They'd had a run-in with some very angry dragons. Tiny dragons, but they had been formidable. And then the Ship broke again. Someone had repaired it incorrectly and it needed to be reworked.

He tried not to listen to the Captain's tirade. She had been grateing on all of their spirit. Her voice as sharp and loud as an angry seabird.

Something had to change. They all knew it. And they could feel it approaching like a distant storm.

He could only ignore it for a short time before he heard someone scream. He looked down at the chaos on deck. The Captain had brought out a leather whip and was lashing out at anyone within reach.

Fin was glad he wasn't down there. He made himself busy scanning the horizon. The last thing he needed was for Rourke to see him gawking. It didn't take him long to see it.

"LAND!" He called as loudly as he could. "WEATHERMAIN ON THE HORIZON!"

Some of the Crew, the ones who weren't injured, cheered quietly, clapping in celebration. It didn't last. Rourke started barking orders and raising her whip and the men on deck quickly got back to work.

The rowers started rowing faster. The promise of land lent them strength. It wouldn't be long and they would be off of this blasted ship with their cantankerous Captain.

 

The Ship groaned as it pulled into Weathermain's harbor, the damaged hull scraping against the dock with a sound that made everyone wince. Rourke stood at the helm, her face twisted in fury as she surveyed the port.

"DROP ANCHOR!" she bellowed. "And get this wreck tied down before it falls apart completely!"

The crew scrambled to obey, moving with the practiced efficiency of people who knew what happened when they were too slow.

Fin climbed down from the crow's nest, his boots hitting the deck just as Rourke turned her attention to the Crew.

"Listen up!" she barked. "We're here for repairs and supplies. I want this ship seaworthy by tomorrow morning, or heads will roll. Gus—you're in charge of finding a shipwright who won't rob us blind. Razor—get food and water. The rest of you—make yourselves useful. Find work, find marks, find something that'll put coin in our coffers."

She paused, her cold gaze sweeping over them.

"And if any of you think about running..." Her hand moved to the whip at her belt. "Don't."

The Crew nodded, silent and tense.

"Get moving!" Rourke snapped.

They scattered.

Fin moved with the others, blending into the chaos as the crew dispersed into Weathermain. Some headed towards the shipyards. Others disappeared into the maze of streets and alleys, looking for easy marks or cheap taverns.

No one looked back.

No one checked to see if Fin was following.

He walked down the gangplank, his heart pounding, and stepped onto solid ground for the first time in weeks.

Weathermain was a small port town—weathered buildings, cobblestone streets, the smell of fish and salt and smoke. People moved through the streets with purpose, going about their lives, unaware of the broken pirate ship that had just limped into their harbor.

Fin stood there for a moment, just breathing.

He could go back. Climb back onto that ship. Endure Rourke's rage and the whip and the endless, grinding misery.

Or he could walk away.

Just... walk away.

He looked back at the Ship. Rourke was shouting at someone on deck, her voice carrying across the water. The crew was already gone, scattered to the winds.

No one would notice if he didn't come back.

No one would care.

Rourke had made that clear a hundred times over—he was expendable. Just another body. Easily replaced.

Fin took a breath.

And he walked.

He didn't run. Running would draw attention. Instead, he moved through the streets like he had a purpose, like he belonged there, just another sailor in a port town full of sailors.

He turned a corner.

Then another.

The ship disappeared from view.

Fin kept walking, his chest tight, waiting for someone to shout after him, to grab his shoulder, to drag him back.

But no one did.

The streets of Weathermain stretched out before him, full of strangers and possibilities and the promise of something—anything—other than Rourke's ship.

He didn't know where he was going.

He didn't have a plan.

But for the first time in a long time, Fin felt something that wasn't fear or exhaustion. A feeling he'd only found in the Crow's Nest, or when he watched the seas turn round.

He felt free.

 

The feeling of freedom lasted about ten minutes. Maybe five.

That's how long it took for Fin to realize he had nowhere to go.

He had no money. No food. No plan beyond get away from Rourke.

And Rourke's crew would be crawling all over Weathermain for the next few days—drinking in taverns, working the docks, looking for easy marks. If any of them spotted him, they'd drag him back to the ship. Or worse, tell Rourke he'd run.

Fin stopped walking, his heart sinking.

He couldn't stay here.

But he couldn't go back.

Which meant he needed to leave Weathermain. Soon.

And there was only one way to do that.

He needed another ship.

Fin turned and started making his way back toward the harbor, but carefully this time. He kept to the side streets, avoided the main roads where Rourke's crew might be, and pulled his collar up to hide his face.

When he reached the docks, he stayed in the shadows, watching.

The harbor was busy—ships of all sizes tied up along the piers, crews loading and unloading cargo, merchants haggling over prices. Fin scanned the vessels, looking for... what? He wasn't sure.

A ship that was leaving soon.

A ship with a distracted crew.

A ship that wouldn't notice one scrawny sixteen-year-old stowaway slipping aboard.

His eyes moved from vessel to vessel—a fishing boat (too small), a naval cutter (too dangerous), a cargo hauler (too well-guarded)—and then he saw it.

A merchant ship. Mid-sized, sturdy-looking, with clean sails and a well-maintained hull. The name painted on the side read Fair Winds.

Fin watched as the crew moved about the deck. They were loading supplies—crates of food, barrels of water, coils of rope. They worked efficiently but without the tension Fin was used to. No one was shouting. No one was being threatened.

One of the crew members—a young man about Fin's age—laughed at something another sailor said.

Laughed.

Fin couldn't remember the last time he'd heard laughter on Rourke's ship.

He watched for a few more minutes, studying the rhythm of the work, looking for an opening.

And then he saw it.

A stack of crates near the gangplank, waiting to be loaded. If he timed it right, he could blend in with the workers carrying cargo aboard, then slip below deck before anyone noticed.

Fin took a breath.

This was risky.

But staying in Weathermain was riskier.

He stepped out of the shadows and walked towards the Fair Winds, trying to look like he belonged there.

Fin picked up a crate.

It was heavier than he expected, but he gritted his teeth and lifted it, falling into step behind a sailor who was carrying a similar load up the gangplank.

No one looked at him twice.

He kept his head down, his shoulders hunched, trying to look like just another dockworker helping with the loading.

The sailor ahead of him stepped onto the deck and turned left. Fin followed, his heart hammering.

"Over there," someone called, gesturing to a stack of crates near the mast.

Fin set his crate down with the others, then straightened, glancing around.

The crew was busy—tying down cargo, adjusting rigging, preparing to cast off. No one was watching him.

This was his chance.

Fin slipped toward the hatch leading below deck. He moved quickly but casually, like he had every right to be there.

No one stopped him.

He climbed down the ladder into the dim hold, his boots landing softly on the wooden floor.

The space was cramped and smelled like salt and old wood. Crates and barrels were stacked along the walls, secured with rope. Fin moved deeper into the hold, looking for a place to hide.

He found a gap between two large crates near the back. It was tight, but he could squeeze in. He wedged himself into the space, pulling a piece of canvas over himself for extra cover.

And then he waited.

Above deck, he heard the crew calling to each other. Footsteps. The creak of ropes.

"Cast off!"

"Aye, Captain!"

The ship lurched slightly as it pulled away from the dock.

Fin held his breath.

The Fair Winds was moving.

He felt the familiar sway of the Ocean beneath him, the gentle rocking that had always felt like home.

They were leaving Weathermain.

Leaving Rourke.

Leaving everything behind.

Fin closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

He'd done it.

But his troubles weren't over yet.

They were just begining.

And this moment of peace wouldn't last.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

Fin had been hiding in the hold for two days.

Two days of cramped muscles, stale air, and the constant fear of discovery.

He'd stolen food when he could—a piece of hardtack here, an apple there—slipping out of his hiding spot only when the hold was empty and the crew was busy above deck. He'd been careful. Quiet.

But he was running out of luck.

And he was hungry.

Fin crouched in his hiding spot, listening to the sounds of the ship. Footsteps above. The creak of wood. The distant call of gulls.

His stomach growled.

He had a small stash of food tucked beside him—a half-eaten biscuit, a chunk of dried meat he'd swiped from a barrel. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Fin unwrapped the meat and took a bite, chewing slowly to make it last.

That's when he heard it.

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps.

No—not footsteps. Something else. Lighter. Uneven.

Click. Click. Click.

Fin froze, the meat still in his hand.

The sound was getting closer.

And then he saw it.

A dog.

Old, grey, wiry-haired. It moved slowly, its nails clicking against the wooden floor with each step. Though whether the click came from it's claws or it's hips, Fin wasn't sure. The dog walked with a wobble. One eye was clouded over, and its ears twitched as it sniffed the air.

Fin's heart sank.

The dog stopped a few feet away, its nose working.

It could smell the food.

"No," Fin whispered. "No, no, no—go away. Please."

The dog's head turned toward him, its good eye focusing on the gap between the crates.

It took a step closer.

Click. Click.

"Shoo," Fin hissed quietly. "Go on. Get out of here."

The dog sat down.

And barked.

"WOOF!"

The sound echoed through the hold, loud and sharp.

"NO!" Fin whispered frantically. "Stop! Quiet!"

The dog barked again.

"WOOF! WOOF!"

Footsteps thundered above deck.

"Brave?" a voice called. "What is it, boy?"

Fin's stomach dropped.

The dog—Brave—barked again, his tail wagging now, clearly pleased with himself.

"Brave, what've you found?"

The footsteps were coming down the ladder.

Fin pressed himself further into the gap, his heart pounding.

A crew member appeared—a broad-shouldered man with a kind face and calloused hands. He looked around the hold, then spotted Brave sitting in front of the crates.

"What're you barking at, old boy?"

Brave barked again and pawed at the canvas covering Fin's hiding spot.

The man frowned and walked over.

Fin closed his eyes.

This is it. I'm caught.

The man pulled the canvas aside.

And there was Fin, wedged between the crates, holding a piece of dried meat, looking absolutely terrified.

There was a long silence.

"Well," the man said slowly. "That's not cargo."

 

"Come on, then," the man said, not unkindly. "Out you come."

Fin didn't move. He couldn't. His legs were cramped from two days of hiding, and his mind was racing with panic.

What would they do to him? Throw him overboard? Lock him up? Beat him?

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said, his voice gentler now. "But you can't stay down here. Captain needs to know we've got a stowaway."

Fin swallowed hard and slowly crawled out of his hiding spot, his muscles screaming in protest.

Brave wagged his tail and sniffed at Fin's hand.

"Up you get," the man said, gesturing toward the ladder.

Fin climbed, his legs shaky, the crew member following close behind.

 

When he emerged onto the deck, the sunlight hit him like a physical blow.

Fin squeezed his eyes shut, raising a hand to shield his face. After two days in the dim hold, the brightness was blinding. He stumbled, disoriented, and the crew member steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy there."

Fin blinked, his eyes watering, trying to adjust.

Slowly, the world came into focus.

The deck. The sails. The crew, who had stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

And standing near the helm, a figure Fin assumed was the Captain.

"What's this?" the Captain called.

"Stowaway, Captain," the Crew Member said. "Brave found him in the hold."

The Captain walked over, and Fin got his first clear look at him.

Not tall, not imposing. Middle-aged, with sun-weathered skin and sharp eyes that studied Fin with curiosity rather than anger.

"A stowaway," the Captain repeated. "How long have you been down there?"

Fin's throat was dry. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a croak.

"Two days, looks like," the crew member said. "He's been helping himself to our supplies."

The Captain's eyebrows rose. "Two days? And no one noticed?"

"Brave noticed," the Crew Member said, patting the old dog's head. Brave looked very pleased with himself.

The captain looked back at Fin. "What's your name?"

Fin licked his cracked lips. "Fin," he managed, his voice hoarse.

"Well, Fin," the captain said. "You look half-dead. Someone get him some  water."

One of the crew hurried off and returned a moment later with a waterskin.

Fin took it with shaking hands and drank deeply, the cool water soothing his parched throat.

The captain waited until he'd finished, then said, "Now. Want to tell me why you're on my ship?"

Fin lowered the waterskin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The captain was still waiting, arms crossed, expression patient but expectant.

"I..." Fin started, then stopped.

What could he say? I ran away from a Pirate Crew? That would make them suspicious. Wary. They might turn the Ship around and dump him back in Weathermain.

Or worse—hand him over to Rourke.

"I needed to leave Weathermain," Fin said carefully. "And I didn't have passage."

"So you stowed away," the Captain said.

"Yes."

"Why did you need to leave?"

Fin hesitated. "I... had to get away. From someone."

The Captain's eyes narrowed slightly. "Someone dangerous?"

Fin nodded.

"Are they going to come looking for you?"

"No," Fin said quickly. "They won't follow. They don't care enough."

That, at least, was true. Rourke wouldn't waste time or resources chasing down one runaway crew member. She'd just replace him.

The captain studied him for a long moment, and Fin felt like those sharp eyes were seeing straight through him.

Finally, the Captain sighed. "You're what—sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Sixteen," Fin admitted.

"And you've been at Sea before. I can tell by the way you move."

Fin didn't deny it.

"What Ship?"

Fin's jaw tightened. He didn't want to answer that. Didn't want to say Rourke's name, didn't want to admit he'd been part of a Pirate Crew.

"A Ship I'd rather not go back to," he said quietly.

The Captain's expression softened slightly. "Fair enough."

Fin blinked, surprised.

"You're not... going to throw me overboard?"

One of the Crew Members laughed—not cruelly, but genuinely amused.

The Captain shook his head. "No, Fin. We're not going to throw you overboard. But you can't stay hidden in the hold eating our supplies for free."

"I'll work," Fin said quickly. "I can work. I know ships—rigging and sails. I can earn my keep."

The captain considered this. "Can you cook?"

"No."

"Carpentry?"

"A little."

"Can you follow orders without causing trouble?"

Fin nodded. "Yes."

The Captain glanced at the Crew Member who'd found him. "What do you think, Marcus?"

Marcus shrugged. "We could use an extra pair of hands. And Brave seems to like him."

As if on cue, Brave trotted over and sat down next to Fin, leaning against his leg.

The Captain smiled faintly. "Brave's a good judge of character."

Fin looked down at the old dog, who gazed up at him with his one good eye, tail wagging slowly.

"All right," the captain said. "You can stay. You'll work for your passage—no pay, just food and a hammock. And if you cause trouble, we put you off at the next Port. Understood?"

Fin's chest tightened with relief. "Understood. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," the Captain said. "You'll be scrubbing the deck, mending sails, and doing whatever else needs doing. It's hard work."

"I don't mind hard work," Fin said.

"Good." The captain turned to Marcus. "Get him fed, then put him to work."

"Aye, Captain."

The Captain walked back towards the helm, and Marcus clapped Fin on the shoulder.

"Come on, then. Let's get some food in you before you keel over."

Fin followed, Brave clicking along beside him.

 

The Crew gathered in the galley for supper, cramming themselves onto benches around a long wooden table. The space was tight, but no one seemed to mind. There was laughter, the clatter of bowls and spoons, the warm smell of stew and fresh bread.

Fin sat at the end of the table, trying to take up as little space as possible.

He wasn't used to this.

On Rourke's ship, meals had been tense, silent affairs. You ate quickly, kept your head down, and hoped the captain didn't decide to take her anger out on you mid-bite.

Here, it was... different.

"Pass the bread, would you?" someone called.

"Marcus, tell the one about the sea serpent again!"

"I've told that story a hundred times—"

"And it gets better every time!"

Laughter rippled around the table.

Fin watched, bewildered.

Captain Pratchet sat at the head of the table, eating stew and listening to the crew's banter with a faint smile. He was a man in his forties, with greying hair, kind eyes, and the sort of calm presence that made people feel safe.

He caught Fin's eye and nodded. "How're you settling in, Fin?"

"Good, sir," Fin said quickly. "Thank you."

"No need for 'sir,'" Pratchet said. "Captain's fine. Or Oliver, if you prefer."

Fin blinked. A Captain who let Crew use his first name?

"Eat up," Pratchet continued. "You've earned it. Marcus says you've been working hard."

Marcus, sitting across from Fin, grinned. "Kid's got a good work ethic. Doesn't complain, doesn't slack off. Could teach some of you lot a thing or two."

"Oi!" one of the Crew protested, laughing.

A woman sitting next to Marcus—tall, with dark skin and her hair tied back in a braid—leaned forward. "I'm Kenna," she said to Fin. "Ship's navigator. You've been scrubbing decks all day, yeah?"

Fin nodded.

"Tomorrow, if you want, I can show you how to read the stars. Useful skill to have."

"Really?" Fin said, surprised.

"Sure. Can't hurt to learn." She smiled. "Besides, Brave seems to like you, and that dog's a better judge of character than most people."

As if summoned, Brave clicked into the galley and settled down at Fin's feet, resting his head on Fin's boot.

Fin looked down at the old dog, then back at Kenna. "I'd like that. Learning the stars, I mean."

"Good." Kenna took a bite of bread. "We'll start tomorrow night."

Another Crew Member—a younger man with sandy hair and a crooked grin—leaned over. "I'm Davey. I handle the rigging. If you ever need help with knots or sails, just ask."

"Thanks," Fin said quietly.

He wasn't used to this. People offering to help. To teach. To include him.

It felt... strange.

But good.

Marcus nudged a bowl of stew closer to Fin. "You're barely eating. Come on, have more. You're still too skinny."

Fin took the bowl, his throat tight.

"Where'd you sail before this?" Davey asked casually.

The table went quiet.

Fin froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

Captain Pratchet's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Davey."

Davey blinked. "What?"

"The lad doesn't want to talk about it. Leave it be."

Davey looked at Fin, then nodded. "Right. Sorry."

"It's fine," Fin mumbled.

Pratchet met Fin's eyes across the table. "You don't owe anyone your story, Fin. Not until you're ready."

Fin nodded, grateful.

The conversation shifted, the crew moving on to other topics—Ports they'd visited, cargo they'd delivered, a particularly stubborn Merchant who'd tried to haggle them down to nothing.

Fin listened, eating slowly, letting the warmth of the galley and the sound of laughter wash over him.

 

The sky was clear, stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds on black velvet. The Ship rocked gently, the sails full of steady wind.

Fin stood on deck with Kenna, looking up.

"All right," Kenna said, pointing. "See that cluster there? That's the Navigator's Cross. Four bright stars in a diamond shape. If you can find that, you can find north."

Fin squinted, trying to pick out the pattern among the thousands of stars above.

"There," he said, pointing.

"Good eye." Kenna smiled. "Now, see the two stars at the top of the cross? Draw a line between them, extend it five times the distance, and you'll hit the North Star."

Fin followed her instructions, tracing the invisible line with his eyes.

"I see it."

"Excellent. That's your anchor. No matter where you are, no matter how lost you get, you can always find North."

Fin stared at the North Star, committing its position to memory.

"On Rourke's Ship—" He stopped, surprised he'd said the name out loud.

Kenna didn't react, just waited.

"On my last Ship," Fin corrected quietly, "we didn't navigate by stars much. The Captain just... knew where to go."

"Instinct?" Kenna asked.

"Maybe. Or she just didn't care where we ended up, as long as there was something to steal."

Kenna was quiet for a moment. "Well, here we navigate properly. Can't deliver cargo if you don't know where you're going."

She pulled out a small leather-bound journal and opened it to a page covered in notes and sketches of constellations.

"I keep records," she said. "Star positions, weather patterns, currents. Helps me plan routes."

"That must take forever," Fin said.

Kenna grinned. "Not as long as you'd think."

She placed her hand flat on the open page.

And the ink began to move.

Fin's eyes went wide.

The sketches of stars shifted, rearranging themselves to match the current night sky. New notes appeared in the margins, written in Kenna's handwriting but forming on their own—wind direction, temperature, moon phase.

"You're a cartographer," Fin breathed.

"Close," Kenna said. "I'm a living map. I can sense direction, distance, position. And I can record it all here." She tapped the journal. "Makes navigation a lot easier."

Fin stared at the moving ink, mesmerized. "That's incredible."

"It's useful," Kenna said with a shrug. "Every ship needs a good navigator. I just happen to be better at it than most."

She closed the journal, and the ink settled back into place.

"Does everyone on Fair Winds have magic?" Fin asked.

"Not everyone. Captain doesn't. Davey doesn't—well, not the useful kind, anyway. But a fair number of us do. It's common enough." She looked at him curiously. "Do you?"

Fin shook his head. "No. I'm just... normal."

"Normal's not a bad thing," Kenna said. "Magic doesn't make you valuable. Your work does. Your character does."

Fin looked down at the deck, her words settling somewhere deep in his chest.

On Rourke's ship, he'd been worthless. Expendable.

Here, he was... valued.

"Come on," Kenna said, pointing back at the stars. "Let me show you the Summer Triangle. You'll need it if you ever sail South."

Fin looked up, and Kenna began teaching him the constellations, her voice calm and patient.

Brave had followed them up on deck and now lay at Fin's feet, snoring softly.

The wind was gentle. The stars were bright.

He felt like he might belong here.

He didn't know how long it would last.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring.

But tonight, standing on the deck of the Fair Winds with Brave at his feet and Kenna teaching him the names of stars, Fin allowed himself to hope.

Maybe this could be home.

 

CHAPTER 3

 

Three weeks later:

Fin had stopped flinching when people called his name.

It had taken time—three weeks of working alongside the Crew, of shared meals and easy laughter, of no one raising a hand or a whip. Three weeks of learning that not every ship was like Rourke's.

Three weeks of feeling safe.

He sat cross-legged on the deck in the evening light, mending a sail under Marcus's watchful eye. His stitches were getting better—tighter, more even. Marcus had shown him the trick of it, patient and encouraging.

"Good work," Marcus said, inspecting Fin's progress. "You're getting the hang of it."

Fin smiled, a real smile that came easier now than it had when he'd first climbed out of the hold.

"Oi! Davey's got a new one!" someone called from across the deck.

The crew began gathering near the bow, settling onto coils of rope and crates. Fin looked up, curious.

"Come on," Marcus said, standing. "You don't want to miss this."

Fin set down the sail and followed.

Davey sat on a barrel, grinning like he'd just won a prize. The crew formed a loose circle around him, and even Captain Pratchet had wandered over, arms crossed, looking amused.

"All right, all right," Davey said, raising his hands for quiet. "So last night, I had the strangest dream."

"They're all strange," Kenna said, laughing.

"This one was particularly strange," Davey insisted. "I dreamed I was a fish."

Groans and laughter rippled through the Crew.

"Not just any fish," Davey continued, undeterred. "A fish with legs. And I was trying to climb a mountain made entirely of cheese."

"Cheese?" Marcus said, shaking his head.

"Giant wheels of it. Cheddar, I think. Maybe gouda. Hard to tell in dreams." Davey's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Anyway, I'm climbing this cheese mountain with my fish-legs, right? And at the top, there's a dragon. But the dragon doesn't want to fight—it wants to dance."

"Of course it does," Kenna muttered, grinning.

"So we dance," Davey said, standing up and demonstrating with exaggerated movements. "A waltz. Very elegant. The dragon's surprisingly light on its feet."

The crew was laughing now, some of them wiping tears from their eyes.

"And then," Davey said dramatically, "the cheese mountain starts to melt. Because the dragon's fire-breath is too hot. So we're sliding down this river of melted cheese, and I'm thinking, 'This is it. This is how I die. Drowned in dairy.'"

"Tragic," someone called out.

"But then!" Davey raised a finger. "A giant seagull swoops down, picks me up in its talons, and flies me to safety. And the seagull looks at me and says, in a very serious voice, 'You're welcome.'"

He paused for effect.

"And then I woke up."

The crew erupted in laughter and applause.

"That's the worst one yet," Marcus said, grinning.

"Or the best," Kenna countered.

Captain Pratchet shook his head, smiling. "Davey, your brain is a very strange place."

"I know," Davey said cheerfully. "But it keeps things interesting."

Fin laughed—really laughed—and the sound felt foreign and wonderful at the same time.

Davey caught his eye and winked. "What do you think, Fin? Believable?"

"Absolutely not," Fin said.

"Perfect."

The crew began to disperse, still chuckling, heading back to their tasks or settling in for the evening.

Fin stayed where he was, watching them.

This was what a Crew should be.

Not fear and cruelty and silence.

But laughter. Stories. People who cared about each other.

Brave clicked over and sat beside him, leaning against his leg.

Fin scratched behind the old dog's ears, his chest warm.

"You all right?" Marcus asked, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah," Fin said quietly. "I'm good."

Marcus studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. You've earned your place here, you know. You're part of the Crew now."

Fin looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Really." Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. "Captain's already talking about paying you once we make Port. Proper wages."

Fin's throat tightened. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just keep working hard." Marcus stood. "Come on. Let's finish that sail before it gets too dark."

Fin followed, Brave trotting beside him.

One of the Crew.

 

It was evening, and the sun was dipping into the water, the sky alive with the colors of the sunset.

Fin stood at the rail, watching the horizon, Brave sitting beside him.

Captain Oliver Pratchet joined him, leaning against the rail.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Oliver said.

"It is," said Fin, "I never get tired of it. The Sea... it feels like Home."

Oliver smiled. "It does for some people. I think you're one of them."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then Fin looked at him. "Oliver... why did you become a Captain?"

Oliver thought for a moment. "I wanted to do honest work. Treat people fairly. Make a living without hurting others. And I wanted the freedom—to chart my own course, make my own choices." He looked at Fin. "Why do you ask?"

"Because..." Fin hesitated. "I think I want that too. Someday. To be a Captain. To have my own Ship. A Crew that chooses to be there, not because they're forced or afraid."

Oliver's expression softened. "I think you will be. And I think you'll be a good one."

"You really think so?" Fin asked.

"I do," Oliver said. "You've got a good heart, Fin. You work hard. You care about people. Those are the things that make a real Captain—not just skill, but character."

Fin's chest tightened with emotion. "Thank you. For believing in me. For... everything."

Oliver put a hand on his shoulder. "Promise me something, Fin."

"Anything," Fin said.

"When you become a Captain—and you will—come back. Let me see it. Let me see the Ship you've earned and the man you've become."

"I promise," Fin said with certainty, "I'll come back. No matter what."

Oliver smiled warmly. "Looking forward to it."

Brave nudged Fin's hand with his nose, and Fin obliged, finding the spot behind Brave's ear that made the old dog's eyes half-close in contentment.

For the first time in his life, Fin felt like he really belonged somewhere.

Like he had a future.

And he was determined to keep his promise.

 

Fin woke early the next morning, before most of the crew stirred. He'd been given a hammock, strung up in the crew quarters, and sleeping had become easier. No more nightmares of Rourke's whip. No more waking in a panic, wondering if today would be the day she decided he was more trouble than he was worth.

He climbed out of the hammock quietly and made his way up to the deck.

The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The air was cool and fresh, and the Ship rocked gently on calm Seas.

Brave was already on deck, sitting near the bow, watching the horizon.

Fin sat down beside him, and the old dog leaned against his side with a contented huff.

"Morning, Brave," Fin said softly, stroking his head affectionately.

Brave's tail thumped against the deck.

They sat together in comfortable silence, watching the sunrise. Fin had learned that Brave liked the quiet hours—before the Crew woke, before the day's work began. Just the Sea and the sky and the gentle creak of the Ship.

"I never thought I'd find a place like this," Fin said quietly. "A Crew that doesn't... hurt people. A Captain who's fair. People who actually care."

Brave looked up at him with his one good eye, as if to say of course you did. I found you, didn't I?

Fin smiled. "Yeah. You did."

He wrapped an arm around the dog's shoulders, and Brave settled more comfortably against him.

"I'm not leaving," Fin whispered. "Not ever. This is home now."

Brave huffed again, satisfied.

An hour later, Marcus found Fin on deck, coiling rope.

"Morning," Marcus said. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Fin said. "Better than I used to."

"Good." Marcus looked out at the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "Storm's coming."

Fin followed his gaze. The sky was clear, the Sea calm. "How do you know?"

Marcus tapped the side of his head. "I can feel it. Pressure in the air. A shift in the wind that hasn't happened yet, but will."

"Your magic," Fin said.

"Yep." Marcus closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "It's still a day away, maybe two. But it's coming. Big one, too."

"Should we change course?"

"Captain will decide. But we'll be ready either way." Marcus opened his eyes and looked at Fin. "Want to feel it?"

Fin blinked. "What?"

"The storm. I can share the sense with you. Just for a moment."

"You can do that?"

"Sometimes. If the person's open to it." Marcus held out his hand. "Come on. It's worth experiencing."

Fin hesitated, then took Marcus's hand.

The world shifted.

Suddenly, Fin could feel it—a distant pressure, like the air itself was holding its breath. A faint electric tingle on his skin. The promise of wind and rain and power, still far away but approaching steadily.

It was incredible.

"Whoa," Fin breathed.

Marcus grinned. "Right? That's what I feel all the time. Helps me know when to reef the sails, when to batten down the hatches, when to find shelter."

He released Fin's hand, and the sensation faded.

Fin stared at him, amazed. "That's... that's amazing."

"It's useful," Marcus said with a shrug. "Keeps us safe. Keeps the cargo dry." He clapped Fin on the shoulder. "You've got good instincts, kid. Even without magic. You'll make a fine sailor."

Fin's chest swelled with pride.

"Thanks, Marcus."

"Don't mention it. Now come on—let's get this rope sorted before breakfast."

 

Later that afternoon, Fin climbed up to the crow's nest, his favorite place on the Ship. No longer because it was an escape, but a way to see the world stretched out in front of him.

From up here, he could see everything—the endless expanse of Ocean, the curve of the horizon, the sails billowing below. The wind was in his hair, the sun warm on his face.

He leaned against the railing and looked out at the sea.

This was where he belonged.

Not on Land.

But here. On the Water. With a crew that cared about him.

He thought about Rourke's ship, about the fear and the cruelty. About how he'd thought that was just how life was.

But it wasn't.

There was kindness in the world. There were people who treated each other with respect. There were places where you could belong.

Fin closed his eyes and breathed in the salt air.

"LAND HO!"

The call came from the lookout that evening, and the crew stirred into action.

Fin joined the others on deck.

Captain Pratchet stood at the helm, looking through his spyglass. "Port's just ahead. We'll dock tonight, resupply, and be on our way by morning."

The crew nodded, already preparing to bring the ship into harbor.

Fin felt a flutter of nervousness. He'd be going ashore with the Crew this time—not as a stowaway, but as one of them.

Marcus caught his eye and grinned. "First time docking as Crew, eh?"

"Yeah," Fin said.

"You'll be fine. Just stick with me."

Fin nodded, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in his gut.

It was probably nothing.

Just nerves.

But as the Fair Winds pulled into the harbor, Fin saw the flags flying over the port.

Naval flags.

And standing on the dock, watching the ships come in with cold, assessing eyes, was a man in a crisp uniform.

Tall. Authoritative. Cruel.

Fin's blood ran cold.

He didn't know the man's name yet.

But he would soon.

 

CHAPTER 4

 

The Fair Winds docked smoothly, the crew working together to secure the lines and lower the gangplank.

Fin stood on deck, his unease growing with every passing moment.

The port was busy—merchants unloading cargo, sailors moving between Ships, the usual chaos of a working harbor. But there was something different here. Something that made Fin's skin crawl.

Guards.

Everywhere.

They wore crisp naval uniforms and carried themselves with the rigid authority of people who expected to be obeyed without question. They watched the docked ships with cold, assessing eyes, stopping Crew Members at random to check papers and cargo.

"This Port's under Naval jurisdiction," Kenna said quietly, coming to stand beside Fin. "Lamont's territory."

"Lamont?" Fin asked.

"Lord Admiral Lamont," Kenna said, her tone carefully neutral. "He runs this region with an iron fist. Strict trade laws, heavy tariffs, inspections on every Ship that docks. Says it's to prevent smuggling and piracy."

"Is it working?"

Kenna shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Merchants hate him. He makes it nearly impossible to turn a profit here. But the Navy loves him—he's ruthless with Pirates."

Fin's stomach twisted.

"Stay close to the Crew," Kenna said. "Don't wander off. And if anyone asks, you're part of Fair Winds' Crew. Official."

"Am I?" Fin asked.

Kenna smiled. "Captain says so. That makes it true."

Captain Pratchet gathered the Crew on deck before they disembarked.

"Listen up," he said. "We're here to resupply and deliver cargo. That's it. No trouble, no arguments with the Guards. Lamont's people are looking for excuses to fine us or seize goods, so we do everything by the book. Understood?"

The Crew nodded.

"Marcus, Kenna—you're with me for the cargo inspection. Davey, take a few others and handle resupply. The rest of you, stay on the Ship unless I say otherwise."

He looked at Fin. "That includes you. Stay aboard, boy"

Fin nodded, relieved. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention from Naval Guards.

Captain Pratchet and the others disembarked, heading toward the Harbormaster's Office.

Fin watched them go, then turned back to the deck.

Brave was sitting near the rail, watching the dock with his ears perked.

"You feel it too, huh?" Fin said quietly, sitting beside the old dog. "Something's wrong here."

Brave huffed in agreement.

An hour later, Fin was helping Davey organize supplies when he heard shouting from the dock.

He looked up and saw Captain Pratchet arguing with a Naval Officer—a tall man in an immaculate uniform, his expression cold and unyielding.

"This is outrageous!" Pratchet was saying. "We've paid the tariffs, passed inspection—"

"And your paperwork is incomplete," the Officer said flatly. "Section twelve, subsection four. You're missing the Merchant Guild Seal."

"We've never needed that before—"

"The Law changed last month. Ignorance is not an excuse."

Pratchet's jaw tightened. "Fine. Where do I get the seal?"

"The Guild Office. Closed for the day. You'll have to wait until morning."

"We can't wait until morning. We have a schedule—"

"Then you'll pay the expedited processing fee."

"How much?"

The Officer named a sum that made Pratchet's face go pale.

"That's robbery," Pratchet said quietly.

"That's the Law," the Officer replied. "Pay the fee, or your Ship stays docked until the Guild Office opens. Your choice."

Fin watched, his hands clenched into fists.

This wasn't Justice.

This was extortion.

Captain Pratchet paid the fee.

He returned to the ship an hour later, his expression grim.

"We're cleared to leave in the morning," he said. "But we're taking a loss on this port. Lamont's fees ate half our profit."

The crew muttered angrily, but no one argued.

"Get some rest," Pratchet said. "We leave at first light."

 

Fin should have stayed on the ship.

He knew that.

But he needed air. Needed to walk. Needed to clear his head after watching Captain Pratchet get squeezed for money they didn't have.

So he slipped down the gangplank and onto the dock, telling himself he'd just walk for a few minutes. Stay close. Not cause trouble.

He made it maybe fifty feet before a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You there. Stop."

Fin froze.

He turned slowly and found himself face-to-face with a Naval Guard—young, officious, with the kind of expression that said he enjoyed his authority a little too much.

"Papers," the guard said.

"I... I don't have any," Fin said. "I'm Crew. On the Fair Winds."

"All Crew are required to carry identification while ashore. That's the Law."

"I didn't know—"

"Ignorance is not an excuse." The guard's eyes narrowed. "You look familiar. Have you been arrested before?"

"No," Fin said quickly. Too quickly.

The guard's hand moved to the club at his belt. "Come with me."

"I didn't do anything—"

"Resisting an Officer. That's another violation."

Panic surged through Fin. "I'm not resisting, I just—"

Another Guard appeared, older, with a scar across his cheek. "Problem?"

"Possible vagrant," the first guard said. "No papers. Acting suspicious."

The scarred Guard looked Fin up and down. "He's got the look of a pirate."

Fin's blood ran cold. "I'm not—"

"We'll let Lord Admiral Lamont decide that."

They grabbed his arms.

Fin struggled. "Wait—please—I'm Crew on the Fair Winds! Ask Captain Pratchet! He'll vouch for me!"

But they weren't listening.

They dragged him away from the docks, away from the Ship, away from the only real family he'd ever known.

And the last thing Fin saw before they shoved him into a holding cell was the Fair Winds, still docked at the pier.

Still so close.

But impossibly far away.

 

CHAPTER 5

 

The holding cell was small, dark, and smelled like salt and mildew.

Fin sat on the stone floor, his back against the wall, trying not to panic.

They'd taken him to a naval building near the Harbor—some kind of administrative office with cells in the basement for "suspicious persons" awaiting processing.

Processing. Whatever that meant.

Fin pulled his knees to his chest and tried to think.

Captain Pratchet would notice he was missing. The crew would look for him. They'd come.

They had to.

But what if they didn't find him in time? What if the Fair Winds left at first light, thinking he'd run off?

What if they thought he'd abandoned them?

Fin's throat tightened.

No. They wouldn't think that. They knew him. They trusted him.

Didn't they?

 

Minutes passed, and then hours. Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Fin looked up as a guard appeared, unlocking the cell door.

"On your feet," the guard said. "Lord Admiral wants to see you."

Fin stood, his legs shaky. "I didn't do anything—"

"Tell it to him."

The Guard grabbed Fin's arm and hauled him out of the cell, marching him down the corridor and up a flight of stairs.

They emerged into a well-appointed office—polished wood, naval charts on the walls, a large desk near the window.

And standing behind the desk, looking out at the harbor, was Lord Admiral  Lamont.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a face that might have been handsome if not for the cold cruelty in his eyes. His uniform was immaculate, every button polished, every crease sharp.

He turned as Fin was shoved into the room.

"This is the boy?" Lamont asked, his voice smooth and cultured.

"Yes, sir," the guard said. "Found on the docks without papers. Claims to be crew on a merchant vessel, but we have reason to believe he's a runaway pirate."

Fin's stomach dropped. "I'm not—"

"Silence," Lamont said, not raising his voice.

Fin's mouth snapped shut.

Lamont walked around the desk, studying Fin with the detached interest of someone examining an insect.

"What's your name?"

"Fin—Finian Bollard."

Lamont studied him. "Bollard. Maritime family?"

"Yes, sir."

"And yet here you are, arrested on suspicion of piracy. How disappointing."

He looked at the guard. "No papers. Pirate, most likely. Or a thief."

"I'm Crew on the Fair Winds," Fin said desperately. "Ask Captain Pratchet. He'll tell you—"

"Captain Pratchet," Lamont said slowly, "has already been informed that one of his 'crew members' was arrested for suspicious behavior. He expressed... concern. But he did not vouch for you."

Fin's heart stopped.

"What?"

"He said," Lamont continued, his tone almost bored, "that you were a recent addition to his crew. A stowaway, in fact. He took pity on you and allowed you to work for passage. But he has no official record of your employment, no contract, no proof that you're anything other than what you appear to be—a vagrant with a criminal past."

"That's not true," Fin whispered.

"Isn't it?" Lamont leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "You stowed away on a merchant vessel. You have no identification. You were found wandering the docks in violation of Port Law. And you have the look of someone who's spent time on a pirate ship."

Fin's hands clenched into fists. "I left that Ship. I'm not a Pirate anymore."

"Anymore," Lamont repeated, his eyes gleaming. "So you admit it."

Fin realized his mistake too late.

Lamont smiled—a cold, satisfied expression. "Thank you for your honesty. That makes this much simpler."

He turned to the guard. "Process him. Piracy charge. He's not going anywhere."

"No—wait—" Fin lunged forward, but the guard grabbed him, yanking him back.

"Please," Fin said, his voice breaking. "I didn't do anything. I just want to go back to my Ship—"

"Your ship," Lamont said, "is leaving at first light. Without you."

Fin's world tilted.

"No. No, they wouldn't—"

"I've already informed Captain Pratchet that his vessel will be seized if it remains in Port past dawn. He has no choice." Lamont's smile widened. "He seemed quite distressed. But ultimately, he values his ship and his crew more than one stowaway with a questionable past."

"You're lying," Fin said, but his voice was weak.

"Am I?" Lamont gestured toward the window.

Fin looked.

From here, he could see the harbor. See the Fair Winds, still docked at the pier.

And he could see figures moving on deck—crew members preparing to leave.

"They're abandoning you," Lamont said softly. "Just like everyone else in your life. Because that's what people do to filthy pirates. They discard them."

Fin's vision blurred.

"Take him back to the cells," Lamont said, turning away. "And make sure he understands—if he causes trouble, the sentence will be worse."

The guard dragged Fin toward the door.

"Wait!" Fin shouted. "Please—just let me talk to them! Let me explain—"

But the door slammed shut, cutting off his words.

 

Fin sat in the darkness, in the holding cell, shaking.

They were leaving.

Fair Winds was leaving without him.

Captain Pratchet. Marcus. Kenna. Davey.

Brave.

They were all leaving.

And he was alone again.

Just like always.

Fin pressed his hands over his face and tried not to cry.

But the tears came anyway.

CHAPTER 6

 

They moved Fin that night.

Two guards hauled him out of the holding cell and marched him through the dark streets to a larger building—the prison proper, built of stone and iron, overlooking the Harbor.

They'd put a heavy burlap sack over his head before they even left the holding cell. He couldn't see—could barely breathe. Fin stumbled as they dragged him through what felt like endless dark streets, the sound of the harbor fading behind him. When they finally stopped and shoved him through a doorway, they ripped the bag off his head along with a few strands of hair.

The halls were dark, barely lit by Torchlight, and made of stone.

"Lord Admiral's orders," one of the guards said as they shoved Fin down a corridor. "Wants you to have a nice view."

The other guard laughed—a cruel, knowing sound.

They stopped at a cell near the end of the row. It had a small barred window set high in the wall, just large enough to see out.

To see the harbor.

To see the ships.

The guard unlocked the door and pushed Fin inside.

"Enjoy the sunrise," he said, smirking.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Fin stood in the darkness, his chest tight.

The cell was small—stone walls, a bucket in the corner, two narrow cots. And sitting on one of the cots, leaning back against the wall with a battered hat pulled low over his face, was a man.

Tall, lean, muscular. Suntanned skin. Long dark hair and stubble on his chin. He didn't move when Fin entered, didn't acknowledge him at all. Just sat there, seemingly asleep.

Fin moved to the other cot and sat down, pulling his knees to his chest.

He stared at the window.

It was still dark outside, but he could see the faint glow of lanterns on the docks. The silhouettes of ships.

One of them was Fair Winds.

Fin's throat tightened.

They were still there.

Maybe... maybe they were waiting. Maybe Captain Pratchet had argued with Lamont, demanded Fin's release. Maybe Marcus and Kenna were looking for him right now.

Maybe.

Fin clung to that hope, fragile as it was.

 

Hours passed.

The sky began to lighten—deep blue fading to grey, then pink, then gold.

Dawn.

Fin stood and moved to the wall beneath the window, pressing his hands against the cold stone.

He didn't want to look but he felt like he had to. Had to prove Lamont wrong. They wouldn't leave without him.

He could see the harbor clearly now.

And he could see Fair Winds.

Crew members were moving on deck. Preparing to cast off.

Fin's heart started to pound.

"No," he whispered. "No, please—"

The sails unfurled, catching the morning breeze.

The lines were cast off.

The ship began to move.

"Wait!" Fin said, louder now. "Wait—please—"

But they couldn't hear him.

Fair Winds pulled away from the dock, gliding smoothly into the harbor.

Fin pressed himself against the wall, his hands gripping the stone, his vision blurring.

He could see figures on deck. Marcus. Kenna. Davey.

And near the bow, a small grey shape.

Brave.

The old dog was standing at the rail, looking back toward the shore.

Looking for him.

Fin's breath hitched.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm right here—"

But the ship kept moving.

Farther and farther away.

Until it was just a shape on the horizon.

And then it was gone.

Fin sank to the floor, his back against the wall, his hands shaking.

They'd left.

They'd really left.

Without him.

He tried to hold it in—tried to stay quiet, stay strong, not break down in front of the stranger in the cell.

But the tears came anyway.

Silent at first. Then harder. His shoulders shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He pressed his hands over his face, trying to muffle the sound.

And then a voice spoke from across the cell.

Quiet. Gruff. Kind.

"It's okay to cry, kid. No shame in that."

Fin looked up.

The man hadn't moved. His hat was still pulled low over his face, his posture relaxed.

But his voice was steady. Certain.

"They left me," Fin said, his voice breaking. "They just... left."

"I know," the man said quietly.

"I thought..." Fin's throat closed. "I thought I finally had a family. A home. But they didn't even tried to—"

"They tried," the man said.

Fin blinked, wiping his eyes. "What?"

The man shifted slightly, tilting his hat back just enough to reveal his face. Weathered. Grief-worn. But not unkind.

"I heard the guards talking," he said. "Your Captain came here last night. Demanded to see you. Argued with Lamont for over an hour. Threatened to report him to the Naval Council."

Fin stared. "He did?"

"Yeah. Lamont told him if he didn't leave by dawn, he'd seize the Ship and arrest the entire Crew. Your Captain had a choice—lose you, or lose everything."

Fin's chest ached.

"He chose the Ship," Fin whispered.

"He chose his Crew," the man corrected gently. "Thirty people depending on him. Cargo to deliver. Families waiting for them at the next port. He couldn't save you without condemning all of them."

Fin sat quietly beside the wall. He wanted to protest but knew it wouldn't do any good.

"It wasn't fair," the man continued. "None of this is fair. But it wasn't abandonment, kid. It was an impossible choice."

Fin looked down at his hands, tears falling like rain. He felt like he was breaking- falling apart.

"They didn't want to leave you," the man said. "But Lamont gave them no choice. That's what he does. He takes away choices and calls it Justice."

Fin was quiet for a long moment. Then he asked, "Who are you?"

The man was silent.

Then he pushed his hat back fully, meeting Fin's eyes.

"Name's Snive," he said. "Snive McLaine."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"And I know exactly how you feel."

Fin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to pull himself together.

"How do you know?" he asked quietly. "How I feel?"

Snive leaned back against the wall, his expression distant.

"Because I watched my Ship sink," he said. "Watched it burn. Watched my family drown. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

Fin's breath caught.

Snive's jaw tightened. "Lamont calls it 'pirate hunting.' Says he's protecting honest merchants and keeping the Seas safe." His voice turned bitter. "But it's not about Justice. It's sport to him. Entertainment."

"Your family was on the Ship?" Fin asked.

"My wife. My son." Snive's voice cracked slightly. "My boy was about your age. Maybe a year older."

Fin's chest ached. "I'm sorry."

Snive nodded, not looking at him. "Lamont's ship came out of nowhere. Didn't give us a chance to surrender, didn't ask questions. Just opened fire. We weren't even fighting back—we were running. But he chased us down anyway."

He paused, his hands clenching into fists.

"I was hauled aboard his ship as a survivor. He didn't care about my family. Didn't care that they were drowning. To him, we were all just 'filthy pirates.' Subhuman. Not worth saving."

Fin stared at him, horrified.

"He locked me up," Snive continued. "Brought me here. Said I'd stand trial for piracy. But there won't be a trial. There never is. He's already decided I'm guilty."

"That's not right," Fin said.

"No," Snive agreed. "It isn't. It's cruelty. And Lamont's very good at it."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Fin said quietly, "I'm sorry about your Family."

Snive looked at him, his expression softening. "And I'm sorry about yours. That Crew—they cared about you, kid. I could hear it in your Captain's voice when he was arguing with Lamont. He didn't want to leave you behind."

"But he did," Fin said.

"Because Lamont forced him to." Snive's voice hardened. "Don't blame your captain, kid. Blame the man who put you both in that position."

Fin looked down at his hands.

"What happens now?" he asked.

Snive shrugged. "We wait. Lamont will decide our fate when he feels like it. Could be days. Could be weeks. He likes to make people suffer."

"And then?"

"Execution, probably. Or hard labor. Depends on his mood."

Fin's stomach twisted.

"Unless," Snive said slowly, "we get out of here first."

Fin looked up. "You have a plan?"

"Not yet." Snive's eyes gleamed. "But I'm working on one."

Over the next few days:

Fin and Snive fell into an uneasy routine.

The guards brought food twice a day—stale bread, thin soup, water that tasted like rust. They were let out once a day to empty the waste bucket and stretch their legs in a small courtyard, always under heavy guard.

The rest of the time, they sat in the cell and talked.

Snive told Fin about his life before Lamont—about sailing with his family, about his son who'd wanted to be a navigator, about the small coastal town they'd called home.

Fin told Snive about Rourke's ship, about Fair Winds, about the Crew that had become his family.

"You've got good instincts," Snive said one evening. "Leaving Rourke's ship took guts. Not many people walk away from a Pirate Crew and live to tell about it."

"I didn't have a choice," Fin said. "I couldn't stay there anymore."

"That's still a choice," Snive said. "And you made the right one."

Fin looked at him. "You think so?"

"I know so." Snive leaned forward. "You could've stayed. Could've let Rourke break you down until you were just like the rest of her crew—cruel, desperate, willing to do anything to survive. But you didn't. You chose to leave. You chose to find something better."

"And look where it got me," Fin said bitterly.

"It got you here," Snive said. "With me. And we're going to get out of this. Together."

Fin wanted to believe him.

But hope felt dangerous now.

 

"You know," Fin said one afternoon, "I've seen someone escape before."

Snive looked up, interested. "Yeah?"

"About a month ago. Maybe less." Fin smiled slightly at the memory. "There was this performer—part of a traveling troupe. Wore a coat covered in rhinestones. Very... flashy."

"A performer?" Snive raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. My old captain—Rourke—she sent me to steal from them. I thought I was grabbing a dragon." Fin shook his head. "Turned out I grabbed the performer instead. We stuffed him in a sack and brought him back to the ship."

Snive's lips twitched. "You kidnapped a performer by accident?"

"It gets worse," Fin said. "We locked him in the brig. And he picked the lock in maybe ten minutes. Had a lockpick hidden in his coat."

"Smart."

"That's not even the impressive part." Fin leaned forward. "He escaped onto the deck—which was on fire, by the way, because the dragons came back to rescue him—and he just... ran. Vaulted over the rail, hit the water, and swam to shore with four tiny dragons flying around him like a glittering cloud."

Snive laughed—a real, genuine laugh. "That's incredible."

"I know. I just stood there watching, thinking, 'He just escaped a pirate ship. With dragons. Like it was nothing.'" Fin smiled. "I'd never seen anyone move that fast or think that clearly under pressure."

"Sounds like he had practice," Snive said.

"Maybe. Or he was just that desperate to get away." Fin's smile faded slightly. "I felt terrible about it. Kidnapping him, I mean. He didn't deserve that."

"But you let him go," Snive said.

"I didn't stop him," Fin corrected. "I just... watched."

Snive studied him. "That took courage too, you know. Not stopping him. Letting him escape even though it would've made your captain angry."

Fin shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

"Exactly." Snive leaned back. "You've got a good heart, kid. Even when you were on that pirate ship, you knew right from wrong. That matters."

Fin looked down at his hands.

"Anyway," Snive said, grinning, "if a flashy performer in a rhinestone coat can escape a pirate ship, we can escape a prison. We've just got to be smart about it."

"And fast," Fin added.

"And fast," Snive agreed.

 

A week later:

Fin was sitting by the window, watching the ships in the harbor, when Snive spoke.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"About what?"

"About what we do when we get out of here."

Fin turned. "You really think we can escape?"

"I know we can." Snive's expression was determined. "I've been watching the guards. They're lazy. Predictable. There's a shift change every evening at sunset. For about ten minutes, the corridor's empty."

"Ten minutes isn't much time."

"It's enough." Snive stood and moved to the door, running his hands over the lock. "I can pick this. I've done it before."

"With what?"

Snive grinned and pulled a thin piece of metal from his boot. "Pulled a nail from the door frame. Been working it loose for days, then bent it just right. Not as good as a proper lockpick, but it'll do."

Fin stared. "You've been planning this the whole time."

"Of course I have." Snive looked at him seriously. "I'm not dying in here, kid. And neither are you."

"But even if we get out of the cell," Fin said, "how do we get past the guards? Out of the building? Out of the city?"

"One step at a time," Snive said. "First, we get out of this cell. Then we figure out the rest."

He sat back down, tucking the metal piece back into his boot.

"When?" Fin asked.

"Soon," Snive said. "I'll know when the time's right."

Fin nodded, his heart pounding.

They were going to escape.

And when they did, Fin was going to make sure Lamont paid for what he'd done.

 

CHAPTER 7

 

"Tonight," Snive said.

Fin looked up from where he sat by the window. "You sure?"

"As sure as I'll ever be." Snive pulled the thin piece of metal from his boot and tested it between his fingers. "Guards just changed shifts. New crew's on duty—they're always a little slower, a little less focused. If we're going to do this, it's now."

Fin's heart started to pound. "What do I need to do?"

"Stay close. Stay quiet. And if I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

"Got it."

Snive moved to the cell door and crouched in front of the lock, inserting the makeshift lockpick.

Fin watched, barely breathing.

The lock was old, heavy iron. Snive worked carefully, his face a mask of concentration.

Seconds ticked by.

Then—click.

The lock opened.

Snive grinned. "Still got it."

He eased the door open, just a crack, and peered into the corridor.

Empty.

"Come on," he whispered.

They slipped out of the cell and into the dim hallway, moving as quietly as possible.

The prison was a maze of stone corridors and locked doors. Snive led the way, keeping to the shadows, pausing at every corner to listen.

Fin's pulse hammered in his ears.

They reached a stairwell and started climbing.

Halfway up, they heard voices.

Snive grabbed Fin's arm and pulled him back, pressing them both against the wall in the narrow space beneath the stairs.

Two guards descended, their boots heavy on the stone steps.

"—don't know why Lamont keeps them here so long," one was saying. "Just execute them and be done with it."

"He likes to make examples," the other replied. "Keeps the other pirates scared."

They passed within inches of where Fin and Snive were hiding.

Fin held his breath, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

The guards continued down the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

Snive let out a slow breath. "That was close."

"Too close," Fin whispered.

"It's going to get closer. Come on."

They climbed the rest of the stairs and emerged into a wider corridor—this one lined with offices and storage rooms.

"We need to get to the back of the building," Snive said. "There's a loading dock. Less guarded."

They moved quickly, ducking into doorways whenever they heard footsteps.

At one point, a guard rounded the corner unexpectedly.

Snive shoved Fin into an open office and followed, pulling the door almost closed.

The guard walked past, humming tunelessly.

Fin and Snive stood frozen, barely daring to breathe.

The guard's footsteps faded.

"Okay," Snive whispered. "Let's—"

The door started to open.

Fin's eyes went wide.

Snive grabbed the top of the door frame and hauled himself up, bracing his feet against the wall. Fin did the same on the other side, his arms screaming with effort.

The door swung open.

A different guard stepped inside, carrying a stack of papers. He walked to the desk, set them down, and turned to leave.

Fin's grip was slipping.

The guard paused, frowning at something on the floor.

Snive's boot.

It had fallen off.

The guard bent down, picked it up, and looked around, confused.

"Where the hell did this come from?" he muttered.

He shrugged, tossed the boot onto the desk, and left, closing the door behind him.

Fin and Snive dropped to the floor, gasping.

"Did that just happen?" Fin whispered.

"Apparently." Snive grabbed his boot and shoved it back on. "Let's go before he comes back."

They slipped out of the office and continued down the corridor.

The loading dock was at the back of the building, just as Snive had said.

But there were two guards stationed at the door.

"Of course there are," Snive muttered.

Fin looked around. There was a stack of crates nearby, a few barrels, and a laundry cart piled high with linens.

"Wait here," Fin whispered.

"What are you—"

But Fin was already moving.

He crept over to the laundry cart and gave it a hard shove.

It rolled across the floor, picking up speed, and crashed into a stack of crates with a tremendous BANG.

The guards jumped, drawing their weapons.

"What was that?"

"Check it out!"

They hurried toward the noise, leaving the door unguarded.

Snive stared at Fin. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Thought fast, like the guy with the  rhinestone coat," Fin said, grinning.

"Remind me to thank him if we ever meet."

They sprinted for the door, slipped through, and found themselves outside.

The night air was cool and fresh. The harbor stretched out before them, dark and glittering.

"We're not out yet," Snive said. "Come on."

They ran.

 

The streets near the prison were quiet, but they could hear shouts behind them—the guards had discovered the escape.

"This way," Snive said, pulling Fin into a narrow alley.

They ducked under a low archway, squeezed between two buildings, and emerged near the docks.

"We need to get out of the city," Snive said. "Lamont will have every guard looking for us by morning."

"How?"

Snive looked at the harbor, his eyes narrowing. "We steal a boat."

"Steal a—"

"You got a better idea?"

Fin didn't.

They made their way to the docks, staying in the shadows.

There were dozens of small boats tied up along the piers—fishing vessels, dinghies, rowboats.

Snive picked one at random, a small sailboat with a single mast.

"Get in," he said, untying the mooring line.

Fin climbed aboard, and Snive followed, pushing them away from the dock.

The sail caught the wind, and the boat glided smoothly into the harbor.

Behind them, the prison loomed against the night sky.

But they were free.

Fin looked at Snive, his chest heaving, his hands shaking.

"We did it," he said.

Snive grinned. "Yeah, kid. We did."

 

CHAPTER 8

 

They made landfall three days later on a small, rocky island far from any major shipping routes.

It wasn't much—a few scraggly trees, a freshwater spring, and a beach littered with driftwood. But it was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Snive pulled the stolen boat onto the sand and secured it. "We'll rest here for a few days. Let things cool down before we move on."

Fin nodded, exhausted. They'd been sailing nonstop, taking turns at the tiller, surviving on the meager supplies they'd found in the boat—stale bread, dried fish, and a single jug of water.

"First things first," Snive said. "We need food, fresh water, and shelter. Think you can handle gathering firewood?"

"Yeah," Fin said.

"Good. I'll see what I can catch for dinner."

 

Over the next few days, they fell into a rhythm.

Snive taught Fin how to fish with a makeshift line, how to build a proper fire, how to read the stars for navigation. He showed him how to tie knots that wouldn't slip, how to patch a sail with scraps of cloth, how to judge the weather by the color of the sky.

Fin soaked it all in, hungry for knowledge.

One evening, as they sat by the fire roasting fish, Snive said, "You're a quick learner."

"I had good teachers," Fin said, thinking of Marcus and Kenna and the crew of Fair Winds.

Snive nodded. "They taught you well. But there's more to being a sailor than knowing how to tie knots and read stars."

"Like what?"

"Like knowing when to fight and when to run. When to trust someone and when to keep your guard up. When to take a risk and when to play it safe." Snive poked at the fire with a stick. "Being a sailor—being a Captain—means making hard choices. And living with the consequences."

"Oliver believed I could be a Captain," Fin said.

"I think you already are," Snive said. "You just don't know it yet."

Fin blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Back in that prison, you could've given up. Could've let despair swallow you whole. But you didn't. You kept going. You trusted me, worked with me, got us both out of there." Snive met his eyes. "That's leadership, kid. Not the fancy title or the big ship. It's the choices you make when everything's falling apart."

Fin looked down at his hands, Snive's words settling deep in his chest.

"You've got a good heart," Snive continued. "You care about people. You know what it's like to be powerless, and you don't want anyone else to feel that way. That's the kind of Captain people will follow."

"But I don't have a Ship," Fin said. "Or a Crew."

"Not yet," Snive said. "But you will."

A week later:

They were running low on supplies again.

"We need to move on," Snive said. "Find a port where we can resupply. Maybe pick up some work."

"What kind of work?" Fin asked.

Snive grinned. "The kind that pays well and doesn't ask too many questions."

They set sail the next morning, heading for a port town Snive knew—a rough place called Crow's Landing, where pirates, smugglers, and outcasts gathered to trade goods and information.

"It's not pretty," Snive warned. "But it's safe enough if you know how to handle yourself. And it's far from Lamont's reach."

Fin nodded, his stomach twisting with nerves.

This would be his first time in a Pirate Port as a free man—not a prisoner, not a stowaway, but someone choosing to be there.

It felt strange.

And a little bit thrilling.

Crow's Landing was exactly as Snive had described—rough, loud, and chaotic.

The docks were crowded with ships of all sizes, their crews unloading cargo, haggling over prices, and drinking in the open air. The buildings were ramshackle, cobbled together from driftwood and salvaged materials. Music and laughter spilled out of taverns, mingling with the smell of salt, smoke, and fried fish.

Fin stayed close to Snive as they made their way through the crowd.

"Keep your head down," Snive muttered. "Don't make eye contact. And if anyone asks, you're my apprentice."

"Apprentice?"

"Sailor in training. It'll keep people from asking too many questions."

They stopped at a tavern called The Broken Mast—a sagging building with a crooked sign and a door that didn't quite close properly.

Inside, it was dim and smoky, packed with rough-looking men and women nursing drinks and playing cards.

Snive found a table in the corner and ordered two ales.

"Now what?" Fin asked.

"Now we listen," Snive said. "Information's the most valuable thing in a place like this. You hear the right rumor, you can make a fortune. Or save your life."

Fin nodded, trying to look casual as he sipped his ale and listened to the conversations around them.

Most of it was mundane—complaints about the weather, arguments over card games, gossip about other crews.

But then Fin heard something that made him sit up straighter.

"—heard Lamont's building some kind of super-ship. Silver, they say. Enchanted."

Fin's eyes snapped to the speaker—a grizzled sailor with a scar across his nose.

"Load of nonsense," another sailor said. "No such thing."

"I'm telling you, it's real. My cousin works in the shipyard. Says it's massive. Hull made of silver metal—actual metal, not paint. They've got enchanters working on it."

"Why would Lamont build something like that?"

"To hunt us, you idiot. To wipe out every Pirate on the water. Once that thing's finished, we're all done for."

"How long until it's ready?"

The scarred sailor shrugged. "Months, at least. Maybe longer. Enchantments like that take time."

The conversation drifted to other topics, but Fin kept listening, his mind racing.

He looked at Snive.

Snive's expression was dark, his jaw tight.

"You heard that?" Fin asked quietly.

"Yeah." Snive took a long drink. "I've heard whispers about it before. Didn't think it was real. But if it is..."

"If Lamont finishes that ship, he'll be unstoppable," Fin said.

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"We should do something about it," Fin said.

Snive looked at him. "Like what?"

"I don't know yet. But we can't just let him build a weapon like that."

Snive studied him, then nodded slowly. "You're right. But we can't take on something that big with just the two of us. We'd need a Crew. A good one."

"Then we find one," Fin said.

"It's not that simple, kid. A Crew has to trust each other. Work together. You can't just throw people on a boat and hope for the best."

"So we take our time," Fin said. "We find the right people. We prove ourselves. And when the time comes, we'll be ready."

Snive's lips quirked into a small smile. "You're starting to sound like a Captain."

"Maybe," Fin said. "But I've got a lot to learn first."

"We both do." Snive raised his ale. "To finding a Crew. And to whatever comes next."

Fin clinked his mug against Snive's. "To whatever comes next."

Snives eyes fell on a table in the corner where a card game was in progress.

"But today we still need coin," Snive said, "Watch and learn." He stood, walked over to the card table, then slid into an empty seat. "Room for one more?"

The other players looked him over, then nodded.

Fin stood behind Snive, watching as coins changed hands and cards were dealt.

Snive played carefully at first—losing a few hands, winning a few, keeping it even.

But Fin noticed something.

The way Snive's fingers moved. The way he palmed cards when no one was looking. The way he read the other players' tells.

Snive was cheating.

And he was good at it.

By the time the game ended, Snive had won enough coin for supplies—and then some.

One of the other players scowled. "You're lucky tonight."

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Snive said with a grin, pocketing his winnings.

They left before anyone could ask too many questions.

 

Outside, Fin looked at Snive. "You cheated," He said quietly.

"I did," Snive said, unapologetic. "And now we've got coin for supplies. You have a problem with that?"

Fin thought about it. "No. I guess not."

"Good. Because out here, you do what you have to do to survive." Snive clapped him on the shoulder. "Now let's—"

"HEY!"

They both froze.

A sailor stepped out of the tavern behind them—one of the men from the card game. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face like thunder.

"I've been watching you," the sailor said, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you cheated."

Snive's hand moved to the knife at his belt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me." The sailor's eyes flicked to Fin, then back to Snive. "You palmed cards. I saw you. And I want my coin back."

"Not happening," Snive said.

The sailor's jaw tightened. "THIEF!" he bellowed. "CHEATER!"

Heads turned. Other sailors from the tavern started spilling out into the street.

"Run," Snive said.

"What?"

"RUN!"

Fin didn't need to be told twice.

They bolted down the street, the angry sailor and his friends hot on their heels.

"STOP THEM!" someone shouted.

"CHEATERS!"

Fin's heart pounded as they weaved through the crowded market. Snive knocked over a cart of fish, sending it spilling across the cobblestones. Their pursuers slipped and stumbled, cursing.

"Split up!" Snive yelled. "Meet at the boat!"

"What?!"

"GO!"

Snive veered left down an alley. Three of the sailors followed him.

 

Fin darted right, two sailors chasing after him.

He ducked under a clothesline, his small frame slipping through easily. One of the sailors wasn't so lucky—the line caught him across the chest and sent him sprawling.

The other sailor kept coming.

Fin sprinted around a corner, his lungs burning.

A woman leaned out of a second-story window, hanging laundry on a higher clothesline. She saw Fin running, saw the angry sailor behind him, and without hesitation, dropped her laundry basket.

It landed perfectly on the sailor's head.

He stumbled, cursing, clawing at the basket.

"Thank you!" Fin shouted up at her.

She winked.

Fin kept running.

 

Meanwhile, Snive was having his own problems.

Snive vaulted over a stack of crates, then squeezed through a narrow gap between two buildings—too narrow for the bigger sailors chasing him.

One sailor tried to jump the crates but tripped, crashing into them with a loud clatter.

The other two tried to follow Snive through the gap. One got stuck. The other had to go around.

Snive kept running.

But the sailor who went around was fast—too fast.

Snive spotted a chicken coop ahead. He kicked it as he passed.

Chickens exploded into the street, squawking and flapping.

The sailor ran straight into the chaos, tripped over a rooster, and went down hard.

Snive grinned and kept going.

 

Fin reached the docks, gasping for breath.

He spotted their boat and sprinted toward it.

Snive appeared from the opposite direction, also running, also out of breath.

"GO GO GO!" Snive shouted.

They leapt onto the boat. Snive cut the mooring line with his knife. Fin grabbed an oar and pushed off from the dock.

The angry sailors reached the edge of the dock just as the boat drifted out of reach.

"COME BACK HERE!"

"Next time, don't play cards with strangers!" Snive called back, grinning.

One of the sailors threw a fish at them.

It missed.

Fin and Snive rowed hard, putting distance between themselves and Crow's Landing.

When they were finally far enough away, they both collapsed, laughing and gasping.

"That," Fin said between breaths, "was insane."

"That," Snive said, still grinning, "was a lesson. Sometimes doing what you have to do gets you into trouble. But if you're clever and fast, you can get out of it."

Fin shook his head, still catching his breath, "Maybe just play cards next time. No cheating."

"Where's the fun in that?"

The next morning, Fin and Snive stood on the docks, watching the ships come and go.

"So," Fin said. "How do we find a trustworthy Crew? We're gonna need all the help we can get to take that Ship from Lamont."

"Carefully," Snive said. "We look for people who've been wronged. People who have nothing to lose and everything to prove. People like us."

"And then?"

"And then we give them a reason to follow us." Snive looked at him. "We show them we're different. That we're not like the other pirate crews out there. That we have a Code."

"A Code?" Fin asked.

"Rules we live by. Principles. Things that make us better than the people who hurt us." Snive's expression was serious. "If we're going to do this—if we're going to build a Crew and take on Lamont—we have to be worth following. Understand?"

Fin nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Good." Snive clapped him on the shoulder. "Now let's see if we can find someone who needs what we're offering."

They walked into the crowded port, and Fin felt something shift inside him.

He wasn't just surviving anymore.

He was building something.

Something that mattered.

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Finding a Crew wasn't as simple as Fin had hoped.

Over the next few weeks, Fin and Snive traveled from port to port, searching for crew members.

Most of the sailors they met were already attached to ships, and the ones who weren't had good reasons for it—reasons that made Snive shake his head and walk away.

"Too drunk," he muttered after one conversation. "Too violent," after another. "Too stupid to trust with a mop, let alone a ship."

Fin was starting to lose hope when Snive nudged him and nodded toward a man sitting alone at a corner table in a Tavern.

He was older than Fin—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties—with dark hair pulled back in a neat queue and a clean-shaven face that stood out among the scruffy pirates and sailors around him. He wore a faded naval coat with the insignia torn off, and he was bent over a piece of parchment, sketching something with careful precision.

"That's Emerson Crane," Snive said quietly. "Used to be a Naval Officer. Cartographer. Good sailor, better tactician."

"Why isn't he with the Navy anymore?" Fin asked.

"Disgraced. Refused an order from Lamont himself, from what I heard. Got stripped of his rank and tossed out."

Fin's pulse quickened. "He stood up to Lamont?"

"Apparently. Doesn't mean he'll want anything to do with us, though. He's been turning down every crew that's approached him."

"Why?"

Snive shrugged. "Pride, maybe. Or he's waiting for the right offer."

Fin looked at the man again—at the careful way he worked, the straight line of his shoulders, the quiet dignity in his posture.

"Let's talk to him," Fin said.

Snive raised an eyebrow. "You sure? He doesn't look like the type to follow a kid and a scruffy pirate."

"Only one way to find out."

They approached the table, and the man—Emerson—looked up, his expression guarded.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was clipped, educated.

"Maybe," Fin said. "Mind if we sit?"

Emerson's eyes flicked between Fin and Snive, then he gestured to the empty chairs. "Suit yourself."

Fin sat down, and Snive followed.

"I'm Fin," he said. "This is Snive. We're putting together a Crew."

"Good for you," Emerson said, returning his attention to his map.

"We heard you used to be in the Navy," Fin continued.

"Used to be," Emerson said flatly. "Not anymore."

"We also heard you stood up to Lamont."

That got his attention. Emerson's hand stilled, and he looked up, his eyes sharp. "Who told you that?"

"Word gets around," Snive said.

Emerson set down his pen. "If you're looking for someone to badmouth the Navy, you've come to the wrong man. I may not wear the coat anymore, but I still have standards."

"We're not looking for that," Fin said. "We're looking for someone who knows what's right and isn't afraid to stand by it. Even when it costs them."

Emerson studied him for a long moment. "You're young."

"I know."

"Too young to be Captaining a Crew."

"Maybe," Fin said. "But I'm doing it anyway."

"Why?"

Fin hesitated, then said, "Because someone has to. And I'm the only one who knows what needs to be done."

Emerson leaned back in his chair, his expression skeptical. "And what exactly needs to be done?"

"Lamont's building a weapon," Fin said. "A Ship. Silver, enchanted, unstoppable. When it's finished, he's going to use it to hunt down every Pirate on the water, and probably shoot down some who aren't."

"I've heard the rumors," Emerson said. "I heard she's called 'the Moonlight Wake'. Beautiful but brutal. I don't fancy the notion... What does that have to do with me?"

We're going to stop him," Fin said carefully.

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "Stop him how?"

Fin glanced at Snive, then back at Emerson. "We're going to steal it."

Emerson blinked. Then he laughed—a short, sharp sound. "You're insane."

"Probably," Fin agreed. "But we're going to do it anyway. And we need people who know how to sail, how to navigate, how to think strategically. People like you."

Emerson shook his head. "I'm not interested in suicide missions."

"It's not a suicide mission," Fin said. "It's the right thing to do. Lamont's going to use that ship to destroy people. Families. Crews who've done nothing wrong except try to survive. If we don't stop him, no one will."

"And you think a kid and a washed-up pirate can pull that off?" Emerson's tone was cutting, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of interest.

"Not alone," Fin said. "That's why we need you."

Emerson was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming on the table.

"What makes you think I'd follow you?" he asked finally.

"I don't know if you will," Fin said honestly. "But I know you stood up to Lamont once. You lost everything because you did what was right. That tells me you're the kind of person we need."

Emerson's jaw tightened. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough," Fin said. "And I'm asking you to give us a chance. One job. If you don't like how we work, you can walk away. No hard feelings."

Snive shot Fin a look—surprised, maybe even impressed.

Emerson stared at Fin for a long moment, then sighed. "One job."

"One job," Fin agreed.

"And if I don't like it, I'm gone."

"Fair enough."

Emerson folded his map and tucked it into his coat. "What's the job?"

Snive grinned. "There's a merchant ship coming through tomorrow. Small crew, light cargo. We heard they're carrying a chest of silver meant for Lamont's shipyard."

Emerson's eyebrows rose. "You want to rob a ship heading to Lamont?"

"Poetic, isn't it?" Snive said.

Emerson looked at Fin. "You're serious about this."

"Completely," Fin said.

Emerson shook his head, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "Fine. One job. But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."

"Deal," Fin said.

 

That night, back on their boat, Snive pulled something from his corner of the small Ship—a sword in a worn leather scabbard.

"Here," he said, holding it out to Fin.

Fin stared. "What's this?"

"A sword. What's it look like?" Snive's tone was gruff, but his eyes were serious. "It's not fancy, but it's sharp and it's balanced. Figured you should have one of your own."

Fin took it carefully, drawing the blade. It was simple, well-used, but solid.

"I hope tomorrow doesn't bring a fight," Snive said. "But if things go sideways, you'll have a way to defend yourself."

Fin looked up at him. "Thank you."

Snive nodded. "Just don't do anything stupid with it."

Fin grinned. "No promises."

Snive taught Fin the basics—how to hold it, how to move, how to read an opponent. Fin was a quick learner, his movements sharp and instinctive.

Snive was proud, and confident that if the time ever came, and if he needed to use it, Fin would be able to handle it.

 

The next day:

They waited in a narrow channel between two rocky islands, their stolen boat hidden in the shadow of the cliffs.

Emerson had studied the charts and picked the perfect spot—a place where the merchant ship would have to slow down to navigate the rocks.

"They'll come through here just after noon," he said, pointing to the map. "We'll have maybe ten minutes to board, grab the chest, and get out before they can call for help."

"And if they fight back?" Fin asked.

"Then we fight," Snive said. "But we don't kill unless we have to. Agreed?"

Fin nodded. "Agreed."

Emerson looked between them, his expression unreadable. "You're really going to try to do this without bloodshed?"

"If we can," Fin said. "We're not murderers. Lamont doesn't deserve that silver—he took it from people who couldn't fight back. We're taking it to stop him—putting it to better use."

Emerson didn't respond, but Fin saw something shift in his eyes.

 

The merchant ship appeared right on schedule, its sails catching the wind as it navigated the narrow channel.

"Now," Emerson said.

They moved quickly, rowing their small boat out from the shadows and pulling alongside the merchant vessel.

Snive threw a grappling hook, and it caught on the rail with a solid thunk.

"Go!" he hissed.

Fin climbed first, hauling himself up the rope and over the rail. Snive and Emerson followed.

The crew of the merchant ship shouted in alarm, scrambling for weapons.

"We don't want trouble!" Fin called out. "We're just here for the chest!"

"Like hell you are!" one of the sailors yelled, drawing a cutlass.

Snive stepped forward, his own blade in hand. "Easy now. No one has to get hurt."

The sailor hesitated, looking at his crewmates.

Fin spotted the chest—small, iron-bound, sitting near the mast.

"There," he said, pointing.

Emerson moved toward it, but one of the sailors stepped in his way.

"Touch that and you're dead," the sailor growled.

Emerson didn't flinch. "I don't want to fight you. But I will if I have to."

The sailor lunged.

Emerson sidestepped smoothly, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted, disarming him in one fluid motion. The cutlass clattered to the deck.

The other sailors froze, staring.

"Anyone else?" Emerson asked calmly.

No one moved.

Fin grabbed the chest. It was heavy, but he managed to lift it.

"Let's go," he said.

They climbed back down to their boat, the merchant crew watching in stunned silence.

As they rowed away, Fin looked back at the ship.

No one was hurt- except maybe that one guy's wrist. No one was dead.

They'd done it.

Fin felt the sword at his side.

He hadn't had to use it. Not once.

Hadn't even needed to draw it.

And there at the bottom of the boat, the chest sat resting at his feet.

Back at their camp, they pried open the chest.

Inside were bars of silver—dozens of them, stamped with Lamont's seal. Next to those were bags of silver coins.

"Well," Snive said, grinning. "That went better than expected."

Emerson was quiet, staring at the silver.

"You all right?" Fin asked.

Emerson looked at him. "You meant it. About not killing."

"Yeah," Fin said. "I did."

"Why?"

"Because we're not like them," Fin said. "We're not like Lamont, or Rourke, or any of the people who hurt us. We're better than that."

Emerson was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "All right."

"All right?" Fin asked.

"I'm in," Emerson said. "For more than one job."

Snive clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Crew, Em."

Emerson smiled—small, but genuine. "Glad to be here."

CHAPTER 10

 

With Emerson on board, the crew felt more solid—more real.

They had a Tactician, a Mentor, and a Captain who was learning as he went. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"We need more hands," Snive said one evening as they sat around the fire. "Three people can sail a small boat, but if we're serious about taking the Moonlight Wake, we'll need a proper crew."

"Agreed," Emerson said. "We'll also need someone who can handle the rigging. The Wake's going to be a big ship—multiple masts, complex sail systems. We'll need an expert."

"Know anyone?" Fin asked.

Emerson shook his head. "Not anymore. Most of the riggers I knew are still with the Navy."

"Then we find someone new," Fin said.

Two days later, in Crow's Landing:

Fin was walking through the market when he heard shouting.

"THIEF! STOP HIM!"

A figure darted through the crowd—small, quick, moving like water through the press of bodies.

Fin caught a glimpse of dark hair, a flash of something shiny clutched in one hand, and then the figure was gone, disappearing into an alley.

The merchant—a large man with a red face—stood in the middle of the street, panting and furious.

"Did you see him?" he demanded, grabbing Fin's arm. "Little rat stole my pocket watch!"

"Sorry," Fin said. "Didn't see anything."

The merchant cursed and stomped off, still shouting.

Fin looked at the alley where the thief had vanished.

Then he followed.

The alley was narrow and cluttered with crates and barrels. Fin moved carefully, listening.

A soft sound—breathing, quick and shallow—came from above.

Fin looked up.

The thief was perched on a narrow ledge about ten feet off the ground, pressed against the wall like a cat. He was young—maybe Fin's age, maybe younger—with messy dark hair and sharp, wary eyes.

And in his hand, glinting in the sunlight, was a gold pocket watch.

"Nice hiding spot," Fin said.

The thief flinched, nearly losing his balance. "Go away."

"Relax," Fin said. "I'm not going to turn you in."

The thief eyed him suspiciously. "Why not?"

"Because I don't care about the watch," Fin said. "But I am curious how you got up there so fast."

The thief's expression shifted—still wary, but a little less hostile. "Climbed."

"I can see that. You're good at it."

"Best in Crow's Landing," the thief said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

"Ever worked on a ship?" Fin asked.

The thief blinked. "What?"

"A ship. Ever been a rigger? Worked the sails, climbed the masts?"

"Yeah," the thief said slowly. "Why?"

"Because I'm putting together a crew, and we need someone who can handle rigging. Someone fast, agile, good with heights."

The thief stared at him. "You're offering me a job?"

"Maybe," Fin said. "Depends. What's your name?"

The thief hesitated, then said, "Thomas. But everyone calls me Swing."

"Swing," Fin repeated. "I like it. I'm Fin."

Swing shifted on the ledge, still clutching the pocket watch. "Why would you want me on your crew? You don't even know me."

"I know you're fast, you're good at climbing, and you're resourceful," Fin said. "That's enough for now."

"I'm also a thief," Swing said bluntly.

"I noticed."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

Fin shrugged. "Depends on what you steal. And who you steal it from."

Swing tilted his head, studying Fin. "You're serious."

"Completely."

"What kind of crew is this?"

"The kind that doesn't ask too many questions about your past," Fin said. "As long as you pull your weight and don't steal from us."

Swing was quiet for a moment. Then he grinned—quick and sharp. "All right. I'm in."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." Swing dropped from the ledge, landing lightly on his feet. "When do we start?"

"Now," Fin said. "But first—give the watch back."

Swing's grin faltered. "What?"

"The watch. Give it back to the Merchant."

"Why?"

"Because we're not thieves," Fin said. "Not like that. We take from people who deserve it—people like Lamont. Not honest Merchants trying to make a living."

Swing looked down at the watch, his expression conflicted. "It's really shiny."

"I know," Fin said. "But you're going to give it back anyway."

Swing groaned. "Fine. But only because you asked nicely."

They found the Merchant still grumbling in the Market.

Swing approached, holding out the watch. "Sorry. Didn't mean to cause trouble."

The merchant snatched it back, glaring. "You little—"

"He's with me," Fin said, stepping forward. "It won't happen again."

The Merchant looked between them, then huffed. "See that it doesn't."

He stomped off, muttering under his breath.

Swing looked at Fin. "That was painful."

"You'll survive," Fin said.

"Can I at least steal from bad people?"

"As long as it doesn't get us killed, sure."

Swing grinned. "I like this crew already."

Back at camp, Snive and Emerson looked up as Fin and Swing approached.

"Who's this?" Snive asked.

"Thomas Hayes," Fin said. "But everyone calls him Swing. He's our new rigger."

Swing gave a little wave. "Hi."

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "He looks like a child."

"I'm not a child," Swing said indignantly. "I'm just... compact."

Snive snorted. "Can you actually rig a ship, or are we taking Fin's word for it?"

"I can rig anything," Swing said confidently. "Sails, ropes, masts—you name it, I can climb it."

"Good," Emerson said. "Because we're going to need it."

Swing looked around at the small crew, then at the stolen boat pulled up on the beach. "This is it? This is the whole crew?"

"So far," Fin said. "But we're growing."

"And what exactly are we doing?" Swing asked.

"Stealing a Ship," Snive said.

Swing's eyes lit up. "A Ship? What kind of Ship?"

"A silver one," Fin said. "Enchanted. Unstoppable. Very shiny."

Swing stared at him. "You're joking."

"Nope."

"That's insane."

"So we've been told," Snive said.

Swing grinned. "I'm definitely in the right place."

A week later:

They were running low on supplies, so they sailed to a nearby port to stock up.

Swing was supposed to be helping load crates onto the boat.

Instead, Fin found him on the dock, staring at a merchant's stall.

"Swing," Fin said. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Swing said, not looking away from the stall.

Fin followed his gaze.

The merchant was selling jewelry—rings, bracelets, necklaces. And right in the center of the display was a bejeweled silver belt buckle, polished to a mirror shine.

"No," Fin said.

"I wasn't going to—"

"Yes, you were."

Swing tore his eyes away from the merchant's stall, looking pained. "It's so shiny, Fin."

"I know. But we're not stealing from merchants, remember?"

"But it's right there."

"Swing."

Swing groaned. "Fine. But this is torture."

"You'll survive," Fin said, steering him away from the stall.

Emerson, watching from the boat, shook his head. "This is going to be a problem."

"Probably," Snive agreed. "But he's a hell of a climber."

"True."

That night, they were anchored in a quiet cove, and Swing was up in the rigging, adjusting the sails.

Fin watched him work—quick, confident, moving along the ropes like he'd been born to it.

"He's good," Emerson said, coming to stand beside Fin.

"Yeah," Fin said. "He is."

"Still think this is going to work?" Emerson asked. "Building a crew out of misfits and outcasts?"

Fin looked at him. "You're here, aren't you?"

Emerson smiled faintly. "Fair point."

"We're all misfits," Fin said. "All of us have been cast out, or hurt, or left behind. But that doesn't mean we're broken. It just means we know what it's like to need a second chance."

Emerson was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "They wanted me to be a Lord, you know. Like my cousin, Ashford. Big estate, fancy title, all of it."

"Why didn't you?" Fin asked.

"Because that wasn't the Life I wanted," Emerson said. "I wanted the Sea. I wanted to see the World, not sit in a manor house counting coins, wearing fuzzy slippers," He paused. "My family didn't understand. They thought I was throwing my life away."

"Were you?"

Emerson looked out at the water, the moonlight glinting on the waves. "No. I was choosing it."

Fin nodded. "That's what we're all doing here. Choosing."

Emerson glanced at him. "You're wiser than you look, you know that?"

Fin grinned. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."

Emerson laughed—a real, genuine laugh.

Fin realized then, that like the crew of Fair Winds, like Snive, he was maybe finding family again.

Piece by piece.

Growing stronger every day.

Fin felt the seed of hope begin to grow in his chest.

And he knew whatever was ahead, they would get through it together.

 

CHAPTER 11

 

They sailed into the port of Saltmere on a grey morning, the sky heavy with clouds that threatened rain.

It was a bigger port than Crow's Landing—busier, louder, with ships of all sizes crowding the docks. Merchants shouted their wares, sailors hauled cargo, and the air smelled of salt, fish, and tar.

"We need supplies," Snive said as they tied up the boat. "Food, water, rope. Maybe some sailcloth if we can afford it."

"I'll handle the rope," Swing said, already eyeing the market stalls.

"No stealing," Fin reminded him.

Swing sighed dramatically. "You're no fun."

Emerson pulled out a small pouch of coins—part of their share from the silver they'd taken from Lamont's shipment. "I'll get the food. Snive, you handle the water?"

"Got it," Snive said.

"What about me?" Fin asked.

"You," Emerson said, "should walk around. Listen. See if there's any news about the Moonlight Wake or Lamont's movements."

Fin nodded. "All right."

 

He wandered through the market, keeping his ears open.

Most of the conversations were mundane—haggling over prices, complaints about the weather, gossip about other crews.

But then he heard a voice that made him stop dead in his tracks.

"—I'm telling you, I can navigate better than half the sailors in this port. I just need a ship that's actually going somewhere."

Fin's heart stuttered.

He knew that voice.

He turned slowly, scanning the crowd.

And there she was.

Kenna.

She was standing near a ship's gangplank, arguing with a grizzled captain who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"I don't need a navigator," the Captain said. "I've got one."

"Then you need a better one," Kenna shot back. "Because if you're planning to sail through the Shallows with the charts you've got, you're going to run aground before you make it halfway."

The Captain scowled. "Watch your mouth, girl."

"I'm not a girl, I'm a Navigator," Kenna said. "And I'm right."

The Captain muttered something under his breath and walked away.

Kenna sighed, running a hand through her short hair.

Fin's throat felt tight.

She looked the same—sharp eyes, confident posture, the same no-nonsense expression she'd always worn.

But there was something different too. A weariness in the set of her shoulders. A frustration in the way she watched the captain walk away.

Fin took a breath and stepped forward.

"Kenna," he said.

She turned, her expression already annoyed. "Look, I don't need—"

She stopped.

Her eyes went wide.

"Fin?" she whispered.

"Hi," Fin said quietly.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Kenna crossed the distance between them in three quick steps and pulled him into a fierce hug.

Fin hugged her back, his chest tight, his eyes stinging.

"I thought—" Kenna said. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Me too," Fin said.

She pulled back, her hands on his shoulders, looking him over.

"You're alive," she said. "You're here."

"Yeah," Fin said. "I'm here."

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What happened? After Lamont's Guards took you—we tried to find you, but they forced us to leave. The Captain—he was devastated. We all were."

"I know," Fin said. "I saw Fair Winds sail away. I knew you didn't have a choice."

Kenna's looked horrified. "They made you watch? Fin I'm so sorry. We should have fought harder. We should have—"

"You would've been arrested too," Fin said. "Or worse. You did the right thing."

"It didn't feel right," Kenna said quietly.

"I know," Fin said. "But I'm okay. I got out."

"How?"

"Long story," Fin said. "But I had help. And now—" He hesitated. "Now I have a Crew."

Kenna blinked. "A Crew?"

"Yeah. Small, but growing. We're—" He paused, trying to find the right words. "We're trying to do something. Something important."

Kenna studied him, her sharp eyes taking in the changes—the way he stood a little straighter, the confidence in his voice, the quiet determination in his expression.

"You're a Captain," she said, half a question, half a statement.

"I'm trying to be," Fin said.

A slow smile spread across her face. "I knew it. I knew you had it in you."

Fin felt his cheeks flush. "I'm still learning."

"Aren't we all?" Kenna said. Then her smile faded slightly. "Fin, I need to tell you—about Fair Winds. About what happened after."

Fin's chest tightened. "What happened?"

"The Captain—Oliver—he never forgave himself for leaving you behind," Kenna said quietly. "Even though we had no choice. It ate at him. And then Lamont's fees kept getting worse. The taxes, the inspections, the impossible regulations. He couldn't make it work anymore."

"So what did he do?"

"He retired," Kenna said. "Left the Sea entirely. Became a land merchant. He took Brave with him—the old dog's living by a fireplace now, warm and comfortable."

Fin felt a pang in his chest—relief mixed with sadness. "Is he... is he okay?"

"He's alive," Kenna said. "Safe. But he's not the same. Losing you, losing the Sea—it broke something in him."

"I'm sorry," Fin said.

"It wasn't your fault," Kenna said firmly. "It was Lamont's. All of it."

Fin nodded slowly, processing. Captain Pratchet was safe. Brave was warm and loved. Fair Winds was gone, but the people he'd cared about were okay.

"What about you?" Fin asked. "What happened after the crew disbanded?"

"I couldn't leave the Sea," Kenna said. "It's in my blood. So I've been looking for work—been on a few Ships since Fair Winds, but none of them felt right. Most Captains don't want a Navigator who questions their decisions." She smiled wryly. "Apparently I'm 'difficult.'"

"You're honest," Fin said. "And you're good at what you do."

"Thanks," Kenna said. "But honesty doesn't pay the bills."

Fin took a breath. "What if I offered you a job?"

Kenna raised an eyebrow. "On your Crew?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of Crew is this?"

"The kind that doesn't prey on innocents," Fin said. "The kind that stands up to people like Lamont. The kind that treats people fairly and keeps their word."

Kenna's expression softened. "That sounds like the kind of Crew I've been looking for."

"We're planning something big," Fin said. "Something dangerous. But something that matters."

"How big?"

Fin glanced around, then lowered his voice. "We're going to steal Lamont's silver ship."

Kenna stared at him. "The Moonlight Wake?" She whispered.

"You've heard of it?"

"Everyone's heard of it," Kenna said. "It's supposed to be unstoppable. Enchanted. A weapon."

"Exactly," Fin said. "And if Lamont gets it operational, he'll use it to destroy every Pirate Crew on the water. We can't let that happen."

Kenna was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching his face.

"You're serious," she said.

"Completely."

"That's insane."

"So I've been told."

Kenna laughed—a short, sharp sound. "You really have become a captain, haven't you?"

"I'm trying," Fin said.

She looked at him for another moment, then nodded. "All right. I'm in."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Kenna said. "You gave me a Home once, on Fair Winds. Even if it was just for a little while. And I've been looking for that feeling ever since." She smiled. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't sail into a reef."

Fin grinned. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, kid." She paused. "Wait—do I still get to call you 'kid' if you're a Captain now?"

"Only if you want me to call you 'Living Map,'" Fin said.

Kenna laughed. "Fair enough. Now, where's this crew of yours? I want to meet them."

Back at the boat, Snive, Emerson, and Swing looked up as Fin approached with Kenna.

"Everyone," Fin said, "this is Kenna. She's our new Navigator."

Kenna gave a little wave. "Hello."

Snive grinned. "A Navigator? Now we're talking."

Emerson stepped forward, offering his hand. "Emerson Crane. Good to have you aboard."

Kenna shook it. "Likewise."

Swing was staring at her. "You're really good at navigation?"

"Best you'll find," Kenna said confidently.

"Can you navigate to shiny things?" Swing asked.

Kenna blinked. "What?"

"Ignore him," Fin said. "He has a problem."

"I don't have a problem," Swing protested. "I just appreciate shiny things."

Kenna looked at Fin. "This is your crew?"

"Yeah," Fin said.

She smiled. "I like them already."

That evening, they sat around a fire on the beach, sharing a meal and stories.

Kenna told them about her time since Fair Winds—the Ships she'd worked on, the Captains she'd clashed with, the Ports she'd seen.

In return, Fin told her about his escape from prison, about meeting Snive, about building the Crew piece by piece.

"You've come a long way," Kenna said quietly.

"We all have," Fin said.

She looked around at the small crew—at Snive's steady presence, Emerson's quiet competence, Swing's restless energy.

"You're building something good here," she said. "Something worth fighting for."

"That's the plan," Fin said.

Kenna smiled. "Then let's make it happen."

 

Later, when the others had gone to sleep, Kenna and Fin sat by the dying fire.

"I need to tell you something," Kenna said.

"What?"

"Marcus is here. In Saltmere."

Fin's heart skipped. "Marcus? From Fair Winds?"

"Yeah," Kenna said. "He's been working odd jobs on the docks. I ran into him a few days ago."

"Does he know you're looking for a Ship?"

"He does," Kenna said. "And I think—if you asked him—he'd join us."

Fin felt hope flare in his chest. "You think so?"

"I know so," Kenna said. "He misses the Sea. And he misses having a Crew that feels like Family."

Fin looked at her. "Will you help me find him?"

"Of course," Kenna said. "That's what Family does."

 

CHAPTER 12

 

The next morning, Kenna led Fin through the crowded docks of Saltmere.

"Marcus has been working here for a few weeks," she said. "Loading cargo, mending nets, whatever pays. He's good with his hands, and people trust him. He took it hard when Oliver called it quits. We all did. But Marcus—he's the kind of person who keeps going, even when it hurts."

Fin nodded, his chest tight with anticipation.

They found him near the end of the dock, coiling rope with practiced efficiency. He was exactly as Fin remembered—broad-shouldered, sun-tanned, with kind eyes and calloused hands.

"Marcus!" Kenna called.

He looked up, and his face broke into a smile. "Kenna! I didn't know you were still in Port."

"I wasn't planning to be," Kenna said. "But something came up."

Marcus set down the rope and walked over, wiping his hands on his trousers. "What kind of something?"

Kenna stepped aside. Fin had been behind her.

Marcus froze.

"Fin?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi, Marcus," Fin said.

For a moment, Marcus just stared. Then he crossed the distance in two long strides and pulled Fin into a crushing hug.

"You're alive," Marcus said, his voice thick. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Fin said, hugging him back. "I'm okay."

Marcus pulled back, his hands on Fin's shoulders, looking him over as if he  needed to reassure himself that Fin  was all there. "We thought—after Lamont's Guards took you—we didn't know what happened. The Captain tried to find out, but they wouldn't tell us anything."

"I know," Fin said. "I saw Fair Winds leave. I knew you didn't have a choice."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "We should have fought harder."

"You would've been arrested too," Fin said. "Or worse. You did the right thing."

Marcus shook his head. "It wasn't right. It wasn't fair."

"I know," Fin said quietly. "But I'm here now. And I'm okay."

Marcus looked at Kenna. "Did you know about this?"

"Just found out yesterday," Kenna said, grinning. "He's a Captain now."

Marcus blinked. "A Captain?"

"Trying to be," Fin said.

Marcus studied him—the way he stood, the confidence in his voice, the quiet determination in his eyes.

"You've changed," Marcus said.

"A lot's happened," Fin admitted.

"Tell me," Marcus said.

They sat on a stack of crates near the water, and Fin told him everything—the escape from prison, meeting Snive, building the crew, the plan to steal the Moonlight Wake.

Marcus listened without interrupting, his expression growing more serious with every word.

When Fin finished, Marcus was quiet for a long moment.

"That's a hell of a plan," he said finally.

"I know," Fin said.

"It's also insane."

Fin smiled. "People keep saying that."

Marcus looked out at the water, his brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because we need you," Fin said. "We need someone who knows the sea, who can read the weather, who can keep a crew steady when things get rough. Someone we can trust."

Marcus looked at him. "You want me to join your Crew."

"Yeah," Fin said. "If you're willing."

Marcus was quiet again, his fingers drumming on the crate.

"I'm not a Pirate, Fin," he said finally. "I've always been an honest Sailor. I don't steal, I don't raid—"

"We're not that kind of Crew," Fin said. "We don't prey on innocents. We don't attack honest merchants. We take from people who deserve it—people like Lamont. And we protect people who can't protect themselves."

Marcus looked at him, surprised. "You have a code."

"Yeah," Fin said. "We do. An unspoken Code."

"And you follow it?"

"Every day."

Marcus was quiet for another moment. Then he said, "What happened to Fair Winds—to the Captain, to all of us—that was because of Lamont. His greed, his cruelty. He made it impossible for honest people to survive."

"I know," Fin said.

"And now he's building a weapon to make it even worse."

"Exactly."

Marcus looked at Kenna. "You're part of this?"

"I am," Kenna said. "And I wouldn't be if I didn't believe in it."

Marcus nodded slowly. Then he looked back at Fin. "You really think you can pull this off? Stealing the Moonlight Wake?"

"I think we have to try," Fin said. "And I think we have a better chance with you on our side."

Marcus smiled faintly. "You always were good at asking for help."

"I learned from the best," Fin said.

Marcus laughed—a warm, genuine sound. "All right. I'm in."

"Just like that?" Fin asked.

"Just like that," Marcus said. "Fair Winds was my Family. And when it fell apart, I lost that. If you're building something new—something better—then I want to be a part of it."

Fin felt relief and gratitude wash over him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Marcus said. "Wait until we actually pull this off."

The crew looked up as Fin, Kenna, and Marcus approached the boat.

"Everyone," Fin said, "this is Marcus. He's joining us."

Marcus nodded "Hello," He said.

Snive grinned. "Another Fair Winds sailor? We're collecting the whole set."

"Not quite," Kenna said. "There's still one more."

Fin looked at her. "Davey?"

Kenna nodded. "He's here too. In Saltmere."

Marcus's expression darkened. "I've seen him. He's—" He hesitated. "He's not doing well, Fin."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been drinking," Marcus said quietly. "A lot. He tells stories in the taverns for coins and drinks. People think he's just a drunk rambling, but—" He shook his head. "He's lost, Fin. And I don't know if he wants to be found."

Fin's chest tightened. "We have to try."

"It won't be easy," Kenna warned. "He's not the same person you remember."

"None of us are," Fin said. "But that doesn't mean we give up on him."

Marcus looked at him, something like pride in his eyes. "You really have become a Captain."

Fin smiled. "Thanks Marcus."

"I'm serious," Marcus said, " Now then, let's go find Davey." 

That evening, Marcus stood at the bow of the boat, looking out at the horizon.

The sky was streaked with orange and pink, the sun sinking low over the water.

Fin joined him.

"Storm's coming," Marcus said quietly. "Two, maybe three days out."

"How can you tell?" Fin asked.

Marcus pointed at the clouds. "See the way they're layered? And the color of the water? The sea's restless. It knows."

Fin looked at the horizon, trying to see what Marcus saw.

"You'll learn," Marcus said. "The sea talks, if you know how to listen."

"Will you teach me?" Fin asked.

Marcus smiled. "Of course."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment.

"I missed this," Marcus said. "The Sea. The Crew. Having a purpose."

"I'm glad you're here," Fin said.

"Me too," Marcus said. "And Fin?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For giving me a reason to come back."

Fin looked at him—at the steady, kind man who'd fed him when he was hungry, who'd taught him to mend sails, who'd made him feel like he belonged.

"You gave me that first," Fin said. "On Fair Winds. I'm just returning the favor."

Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. "Then let's make this count."

CHAPTER 13

 

The tavern was called The Rusty Anchor, and it looked exactly like the kind of place where broken sailors went to forget.

The building sagged, the paint was peeling, and the sign creaked ominously in the wind. Inside, it was dim and smoky, packed with rough-looking men and women nursing drinks and playing cards.

Fin stood in the doorway with Kenna and Marcus, his stomach twisting.

"He's usually in the back corner," Marcus said quietly. "Telling stories to anyone who'll listen."

"And buying drinks with whatever coins they throw at him," Kenna added, her voice tight.

Fin took a breath. "Let's go."

They made their way through the crowd, weaving between tables.

And then Fin saw him.

Davey.

He was slumped in a chair in the corner, a half-empty mug in front of him, his clothes rumpled and stained. His hair was longer than Fin remembered, unkempt and greasy. His eyes were unfocused, his face flushed.

But he was talking—gesturing wildly with his hands, his voice loud and animated.

"—and then the fish sprouted wings," Davey was saying, his words slightly slurred. "Great big feathery wings, and it flew right over the Ship, singing a song about cheese!"

A few people at nearby tables laughed. Others ignored him.

Someone tossed a coin onto the table. "Tell us another one, Davey."

Davey snatched up the coin and grinned. "Another? Oh, I've got plenty. Did I ever tell you about the time I dreamed of a mountain made entirely of butter? It was glorious—"

Fin's chest ached.

This wasn't the Davey he remembered—the cheerful storyteller who'd made the whole Crew laugh, who'd dreamed of impossible things and made them feel real.

This was a shadow. A broken version of someone who'd once been whole.

Kenna touched Fin's arm. "You sure about this?"

"Yeah," Fin said. "I'm sure."

He walked over to the table and sat down across from Davey.

Davey blinked at him, squinting. "Do I know you?"

"Yeah," Fin said quietly. "You do."

Davey stared at him for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. "Fin?!"

"Hi, Davey."

Davey's mouth opened and closed. "You're—you're not real. Fin's dead. You're a dream. I dream about you sometimes. About all of them."

" I didn't die," Fin said. " I'm real. I promise."

Davey shook his head, laughing—a hollow, bitter sound. "No. No, you can't be. You're gone. They took you. Lamont's Guards took you, and we left you, and you're gone."

"I'm here," Fin said. "I'm right here."

Kenna and Marcus stepped forward, standing on either side of Fin.

Davey looked at them, his expression crumbling. "Kenna? Marcus?"

"We're here too," Kenna said gently.

Davey's hands started to shake. "This is a dream. It has to be. I'm drunk, and I'm dreaming, and when I wake up you'll all be gone again."

"You're not dreaming," Marcus said. "We're real. And we're here for you."

Davey stared at them, tears welling in his eyes. "Why?"

"Because you're Family," Fin said. "And we don't leave Family behind."

Davey let out a choked sob. "I'm not—I'm not worth it. Look at me. I'm a mess. I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing," Fin said firmly. "You're Davey. You're the person who told me stories about fish with legs and mountains made of cheese. You made me laugh when I was scared. You made the whole Crew feel like anything was possible."

"That was a long time ago," Davey whispered.

"It doesn't have to be," Fin said. "You can come back. We can help you."

Davey shook his head. "I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to do it alone," Kenna said. "We'll be with you. Every step of the way."

Davey looked at her, then at Marcus, then at Fin. "You really came back for me?"

"Of course we did," Fin said.

Davey's face crumpled, and he buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Fin reached across the table and put a hand on Davey's arm.

 "Come with us. Please."

For a long moment, Davey didn't move.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

 

Getting Davey out of the tavern wasn't easy.

He was unsteady on his feet, leaning heavily on Marcus as they made their way to the door.

A few patrons called out, asking where their storyteller was going.

"He's done for the night," Kenna said firmly.

One man stood up, blocking their path. "He owes me a story. I paid him."

"Here," Fin said, tossing the man a coin. "Consider it paid."

The man caught the coin, looked at it, then stepped aside.

They made it outside, and Davey took a deep, shuddering breath of fresh air.

"I don't feel good," he mumbled.

"I know," Marcus said. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

Back at the boat:

The Crew looked up as Fin, Kenna, and Marcus returned with Davey.

Snive stood. "Is he all right?"

"He will be," Fin said. 

Emerson stepped forward, his expression serious. "What does he need?"

"Water. Food. And some rest," Marcus said.

Swing appeared with a blanket and draped it over Davey's shoulders. "Here. You look cold."

Davey looked at Swing, confused. "Who 're you?"

"I'm Swing," Swing said. "I'm part of the crew. And you are too, now."

Davey blinked. "I am?"

"If you want to be," Fin said.

Davey looked around at the small group—at Snive's steady presence, Emerson's quiet competence, Swing's earnest kindness, Kenna and Marcus's familiar faces.

"I don't know if I can be part of anything anymore," Davey said quietly.

"You don't have to decide right now," Fin said. "Just rest. We'll figure it out together."

Davey nodded, his eyes already drooping.

Marcus helped him lie down, and within minutes, Davey was asleep.

 

Davey slept a lot over the next few days. When he was awake, he was quiet, withdrawn, clearly struggling.

The Crew gave him space, but they were there—offering food, water, a listening ear.

Davey slept a lot. When he was awake, he was quiet, withdrawn, his hands shaking whenever he saw someone drinking.

Marcus made sure he ate. Kenna sat with him when he couldn't sleep. Swing told him ridiculous stories to make him smile. Emerson gave him small tasks—mending rope, organizing supplies—to keep his hands busy.

And Fin was there, every step of the way.

 

On the third day, Davey sat by the fire, staring at his shaking hands.

"I can't keep doing this," he said quietly.

Fin looked up. "Doing what?"

"Drinking. Drowning. Losing myself." Davey's voice cracked. "I don't want to be that person anymore."

"Then don't be," Kenna said gently. "You can choose something different."

"It's not that simple," Davey said."It's not going to be easy. Getting sober, staying sober."

"No," Marcus agreed. "It's not. It's going to be hard. It's going to be a battle. Every single day. But you can do it."

Davey looked around at them—at the faces of people who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

"I'm going to need a lot of help. Will you help me?" he asked. "I can't do this alone."

"We're here," Fin said. "Whatever you need. We'll fight it with you," Fin said. "Every day."

"All of us," Kenna added.

"You really mean that?" Davey asked.

"Of course we do," Fin said. "You're Family. And Family doesn't give up on each other."

Davey took a shaky breath. "Then I'm going to try. I'm going to get sober. For real this time."

"One day at a time," Marcus said.

"One day at a time," Davey repeated. "Ya know Fin, it just occured to me, you're sounding more like a Captain all the time."

"I'm trying," Fin said.

"You're doing more than trying," Kenna said. "You're succeeding."

 

 

One evening, Davey sat by the fire, staring into the flames.

"I used to dream every night," he said quietly. "Beautiful dreams. Impossible things. And I'd wake up and tell everyone about them, and they'd laugh, and it felt—" He paused. "It felt like magic."

"What happened?" Fin asked.

"The dreams turned dark," Davey said. "After Fair Winds fell apart. After we lost you. I started dreaming about drowning, about being trapped, about losing everyone I cared about. So I started drinking to make them stop."

"And did it work?" Fin asked.

Davey shook his head. "No. It just made everything worse. Made me worse."

"You're choosing something different now," Fin said.

"I'm trying," Davey said. "Some days are harder than others. But I'm trying."

"That's all any of us can do," Fin said.

Davey looked at him. "Thank you. For not giving up on me. For giving me a reason to try."

"You gave me that first," Fin said. "On Fair Winds. I'm just returning the favor."

A week had passed and Davey was standing at the bow of the boat, looking out at the water.

He looked better—cleaner, steadier, his eyes clearer.

Fin joined him.

"How are you feeling?" Fin asked.

"Better," Davey said. "Not perfect. But better."

"That's all we can ask for," Fin said.

Davey was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I had a dream last night."

"A good one or a bad one?"

"A good one," Davey said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I dreamed we were sailing on a silver ship. And the sea was calm, and the sky was full of stars, and everyone was laughing."

Fin smiled. "That sounds like a good dream."

"It felt real," Davey said. "Like it could actually happen."

"Maybe it will," Fin said.

Davey looked at him. "You really think we can do this? Steal the Moonlight Wake?"

"I think we have to try," Fin said. "And I think we have a better chance with you on our side."

Davey's smile widened. "Then I'm in. For real this time. And I'm staying sober. That's my choice. My promise."

"Good," Fin said. "We could use a storyteller. Someone to remind us why we're doing this. "

"I can do that," Davey said. "I think I can do that."

"And I meant what I said before. We're here for you. Every day."

"I know," Davey said, "Thank you. No one could ask for a better Crew, or a better Captain. I'm in. Let's do it."

Over the following days, the Crew prepared.

Between Ports, Snive drilled Fin in swordplay. Emerson corrected his footwork. Marcus taught him to anticipate his opponent's next move. Slowly, Fin's confidence grew. He was getting better with the sword all the time

 

CHAPTER 14

 

They sailed into the port town of Greywater on a clear morning, the sun glinting off the water.

It was a small town—smaller than Saltmere, with weathered buildings and narrow streets. The docks were busy but not crowded, and the air smelled of salt and fish.

"We need supplies," Snive said as they tied up the boat. "Food, water, maybe some rope."

"I'll handle the rope," Swing said.

"Buy the rope," Fin corrected.

Swing sighed. "You're no fun."

"I need to check the charts at the harbormaster's office," Kenna said. "Make sure we have updated routes for the next leg."

"I'll go with Swing," Emerson offered.

"Actually," Kenna said, "can you help Marcus with the water barrels? They're heavy, and we need a lot."

Emerson nodded. "All right."

"Swing, stay out of trouble," Fin said.

"I always do," Swing said innocently.

Marcus looked up at the sky, his brow furrowed. "Storm's coming. Maybe a day, maybe a half-day out."

"How bad?" Fin asked.

"Bad enough," Marcus said. "We should stock up and be ready to move if we need to."

Fin nodded. "All right. Let's split up, get what we need, and meet back here in an hour."

Fin and Davey were walking through the market when they heard shouting.

"Please! I'm trying! I just need more time!"

Fin stopped, looking toward the sound.

A crowd had gathered near the center of the square, and in the middle of it was a Merchant—a thin, tired-looking man with grey hair and worn clothes.

He was on his knees in front of a tall, uniformed officer.

"You've had time," the Officer said coldly. "Lord Admiral Lamont's taxes are due. You haven't paid."

"I can't pay!" the Merchant said desperately. "The fees are too high! I've sold everything I can, but it's not enough!"

"That's not my problem," the Officer said.

Fin's chest tightened.

Davey touched his arm. "Fin, we should go."

But Fin didn't move.

The Officer gestured to two Guards. "Take him. Public punishment. Let everyone see what happens when you don't pay."

The Guards grabbed the Merchant, hauling him to his feet.

A woman in the crowd cried out—his wife, maybe.

"Please!" the Merchant begged. "I have a Family! I'll find a way to pay, I swear!"

"Too late," the officer said.

The Guards dragged the Merchant to a wooden post in the center of the square and tied his hands.

One of them pulled out a whip.

Fin's blood went cold.

"Fin," Davey said urgently. "We can't—"

But Fin was already moving.

Remembering Captain Rourke, her whip held aloft. The sailor's screams.

He pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding.

Emerson appeared beside him, grabbing his arm. "Don't. We can't help him if we're caught."

"I'm not going to stand here and watch," Fin said.

"Think," Emerson said. "We need you for the bigger mission. Don't throw it away for—"

The whip cracked.

The Merchant screamed.

A little girl started screaming and crying."Papa!"

Fin tore his arm free.

"Fin—"

But Fin was already stepping into the square.

"Stop!" he shouted.

The crowd went silent.

The Officer turned, his expression annoyed. "Who are you?"

"Someone who's not going to let you do this," Fin said.

The Officer 's eyes narrowed. "This is official business. Leave, or you'll be arrested too."

"He said he'd pay," Fin said. "Give him time."

"He's had time," the Officer said. "Now move, or I'll have you removed."

Fin didn't move.

The Officer gestured to the guards. "Arrest him."

The Guards stepped forward.

And then a voice cut through the square—cold, sharp, and unmistakable.

"Wait."

Everyone froze.

A man stepped through the crowd, tall and imposing, dressed in a pristine naval uniform with gold trim and polished buttons.

Lord Admiral Lamont.

Fin's stomach dropped.

Lamont walked slowly toward him, his eyes fixed on Fin's face.

"You," Lamont said quietly. "I know you."

Fin's heart hammered in his chest.

Lamont stopped a few feet away, studying him. "The boy from the prison. The one who escaped."

The crowd murmured.

Lamont's lips curled into a cold smile. "I remember you. The defiant little brat who thought he could escape me. Finian Bollard," He tilted his head. "You should have stayed in your cage."

Fin forced himself to meet Lamont's gaze. "I'm not going back."

"No," Lamont said. "You're not. Because this time, I'll make sure you don't get the chance."

He gestured to the guards. "Seize him. And anyone with him."

The guards moved.

Emerson stepped forward, drawing his blade. "Not happening."

Snive appeared on Fin's other side, his own weapon ready. "You want him, you go through us."

Kenna, Marcus, and Davey pushed through the crowd, forming a circle around Fin.

Everyone was so focused on what was unfolding that they didn't notice Swing untying the Merchant.

The Merchant didn't need to be told to run. He ran, scooping up his little girl, and disappeared into the crowd.

Swing joined the circle around Fin.

Lamont's smile widened. "A Crew. How quaint." He looked at Emerson. "And you—I know you too. Emerson Crane. The disgraced Officer who refused an order."

Emerson's jaw tightened. "I refused to murder innocent people."

"Semantics," Lamont said. He raised his voice. "Arrest them all."

The guards surged forward.

"Go!" Emerson shouted.

The crew scattered.

Fin ran, his heart pounding, the sounds of shouting and clashing steel behind him.

Kenna grabbed his arm, pulling him down a narrow alley. "This way!"

They sprinted through the twisting streets, the crew regrouping as they went.

"The boat!" Marcus shouted. "We need to get to the boat!"

They burst onto the docks, Guards close behind.

Snive cut the mooring lines as the others leapt aboard.

"Go, go, go!" Kenna yelled.

Fin grabbed the tiller, and the boat lurched forward, catching the wind.

Arrows whistled past them, splashing into the water.

But they were moving, pulling away from the dock.

Lamont stood at the edge of the pier, watching them go, his expression cold and furious.

"I'll find you!" he shouted. "You can't run forever!"

Fin didn't look back.

Further out to Sea, the crew was silent, catching their breath.

Finally, Emerson spoke. "That was reckless."

"I know," Fin said.

"You could have gotten us all killed."

"I know."

Emerson looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. "But you did the right thing."

Fin blinked. "What?"

"You couldn't stand by and watch someone be tortured," Emerson said. "That's not who you are. And it's not who we are, either." He paused. "That's why we follow you."

Kenna nodded. "He's right. You lead with your heart, Fin. That's what makes you a good Captain."

"Even when it's dangerous?" Fin asked.

"Especially then," Marcus said.

Davey grinned. "Besides, it was kind of exciting."

Swing held up a small silver compass, admiring the way it caught the light. "And I got this!"

Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Swing said. "It was just sitting there! On a desk! By an open window!"

Emerson's eyes widened. "Swing. Which desk?"

"The fancy one," Swing said. "In the big building with all the Guards. The window was open, and I saw it sitting there in the sunlight, and it was so shiny—I couldn't help it! I just reached in and—"

"That was Lamont's Office," Emerson said flatly.

Swing froze. "What?"

"You stole Lord Admiral Lamont's personal compass," Emerson said. "Through his Office window."

Swing looked down at the compass. Then back at the crew. "...Oops?"

Kenna buried her face in her hands. "We're doomed."

Fin started laughing—he couldn't help it.

"It's not funny!" Kenna said.

"It's a little funny," Snive said, grinning.

Swing looked worried. "Should I... should I throw it overboard?"

"No," Fin said, still laughing. "Keep it. We've already made an enemy of him. Might as well have a souvenir."

 

The storm Marcus had predicted rolled in—dark clouds, heavy rain, wind that howled and tore at the sails.

"All hands!" Marcus shouted. "Secure the rigging! Reef the sails!"

The Crew moved quickly, working together.

Swing climbed the mast, his small frame moving nimbly through the ropes even as the boat pitched and rolled.

Kenna held the tiller steady, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Emerson and Snive worked the sails, their movements precise and coordinated.

Davey and Fin secured the cargo, lashing down everything that could shift.

And Marcus stood at the bow, reading the storm, calling out directions.

"Hard to starboard! Now! Port side, ease the sail!"

The boat groaned and shuddered, but it held.

Hours passed—rain, wind, lightning splitting the sky.

And then, slowly, the storm began to ease.

The wind died down. The rain became a drizzle.

The crew collapsed on the deck, exhausted but alive.

"Everyone all right?" Fin asked.

A chorus of tired "yes" and "fine" answered him.

Marcus looked at Fin. "Good work, Captain."

Fin smiled. "Good work, Crew."

"We made it through," Marcus said, "But we're at the edge of it now. Any of Lamont's Ships that are tailing us will likely try to sail through."

"That'll give us some time," Fin said. He stood up and leaned against the mast. "Even so we have to keep going."

"Aye," Snive said as he and the others stood too. "Let's put as much distance between us and those Ships as we can."

Everyone knew their tasks, and busied themselves to keep the small Ship sailing.

Taking the helm, Fin looked towards the storm.

Somewhere out there, among the churning waves and flashing lightning, was Lamont- Cursing them and the bad weather.

Fin set his course and sailed on.

The chase had only just begun.

 

That night, after they had put enough distance between themselves and Greywater to feel comfortable, they anchored in a sheltered cove to rest and make repairs.

As they worked, Kenna pulled Fin aside.

"We're Wanted now," she said quietly. "Lamont knows who you are. He'll be looking for us."

"I know," Fin said.

"That makes the heist more dangerous."

"I know that too."

Kenna looked at him. "Are you sure about this?"

Fin looked out at the Crew—at Snive mending a sail, Marcus checking the rigging, Davey telling Swing a story, Emerson sharpening his blade.

"Yeah," Fin said. "I'm sure. We're doing this. For them. For everyone Lamont's hurt."

Kenna smiled. "Then let's make it count."

Later, the crew sat around a small fire on the beach, the flames crackling softly, the sound of waves gentle in the background.

Fin stared into the fire, thinking about the Merchant, the little girl's screams, Lamont's cold smile.

"You did good today," Snive said quietly.

Fin looked up. "I put everyone at risk."

"You saved a man's life," Marcus said. "And his family."

"Swing saved him," Fin said. "I just made a scene."

"You made a stand," Kenna said. "There's a difference."

Fin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I've been thinking. About what kind of Crew we want to be."

The others looked at him.

"We're not like Rourke," Fin continued. "We're not cruel. We don't hurt people for fun or power. And we're not like the Navy—we don't follow orders blindly, even when they're wrong."

"So what are we?" Davey asked.

Fin took a breath. "We're the kind of Crew that stands up for people who can't stand up for themselves. We're fair to each other. We don't prey on innocents. We keep our word. And we treat every person like they have worth—because they do."

The Crew was silent, listening.

"I think we need an official Code," Fin said. "Something we all agree on. Something that defines who we are."

"I like that," Marcus said.

"What would it say?" Kenna asked.

Fin thought for a moment. Then he said:

"One: We treat our crew fairly. No whips, no abuse. Everyone gets respect and a fair share."

Snive nodded. "Agreed."

"Two: We don't prey on innocents. No attacking honest merchants, families, or people just trying to survive."

"Three: We protect those who can't protect themselves. We stand against tyrants and bullies."

"Four: Every person has worth. We don't discard people or treat them like they're nothing."

"Five: We keep our word. If we make a promise, we honor it."

Emerson smiled. "That's a good one, Captain."

"Six," Swing said, holding up Lamont's compass with a grin. "We only steal from those who deserve it."

Everyone laughed.

"Six," Fin agreed. "We only steal from those who deserve it."

"And Finally, Seven: Freedom over control. Anyone can leave if they want. No one is trapped here."

Kenna raised an imaginary glass. "To the Code."

"To the Code," the crew echoed.

Fin looked around at his Family, smiling.

Snive.

Em.

Kenna.

Marcus.

Davey.

Swing.

Together they could weather any storm. And now with a Code, they had a clear set of rules to guide them.

 

CHAPTER 15

 

Two days after Greywater, they sailed into the small coastal village of Driftwood Bay.

It was quiet, tucked into a rocky cove with weathered buildings and a handful of fishing boats bobbing in the harbor. The kind of place where people minded their own business and didn't ask questions.

"We need supplies," Snive said as they tied up. "And we should keep our heads down. Lamont's probably got word out about us by now."

"Agreed," Emerson said. "Quick in, quick out."

They split up—Kenna and Swing to get food, Marcus and Davey to handle water and rope, Snive and Emerson to check for news.

Fin wandered through the village, keeping his hood up, his eyes scanning the streets.

Everything seemed normal—fishermen mending nets, merchants selling their wares, children playing in the alleys.

And then he heard it.

Shouting. Running footsteps.

Fin turned towards the sound.

A woman burst out of a narrow alley, stumbling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was older—maybe in her forties—with dark hair streaked with grey and sharp, intelligent eyes.

Behind her, three men in Lamont's colors rounded the corner, weapons drawn.

"There!" one of them shouted. "Don't let her get away!"

The woman looked around desperately, searching for an escape.

Her eyes locked on Fin's.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Fin stepped forward, blocking the alley entrance.

"Get behind me," he said quietly.

The woman hesitated, then ducked behind him.

The guards skidded to a halt, glaring at Fin.

"Move," the lead guard said. "That woman is a fugitive. She's wanted by Lord Admiral Lamont."

"For what?" Fin asked.

"That's none of your concern. Now step aside, or we'll arrest you too."

Fin didn't move. "I don't think so."

The guard's hand went to his sword. "Last chance, boy."

"Fin!"

Marcus appeared at the end of the street, Davey and Snive close behind.

The Guards looked at them, then back at Fin.

"You're making a mistake," the lead Guard said.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Fin said.

The Guard cursed, then gestured to the others. "Fall back. We'll report this to the Lord Admiral."

They turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Fin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

The woman stepped out from behind him, her hands shaking. "Thank you."

"Are you all right?" Fin asked.

"I will be," she said. "Once I'm far away from here."

"Who are you?" Marcus asked, approaching cautiously.

The woman looked at them—at Fin, Marcus, Davey, Snive—and seemed to make a decision.

"My name is Lena," she said. "Lena Iversteen. I worked for Lord Admiral Lamont." She paused. "But I escaped. And now he wants me back."

Fin's chest tightened. "Why?"

"Because I know too much," Lena said quietly. "And because he doesn't like it when people defy him."

Fin understood that all too well.

"Where will you go?" Marcus asked.

Lena looked around helplessly. "I don't know. Anywhere he can't find me."

Fin glanced at the others. Snive gave a small nod. Marcus shrugged. Davey looked hopeful.

"Come with us," Fin said. "At least until you're safe."

Lena's eyes widened. "You'd do that? For a stranger?"

"We protect people who can't protect themselves," Fin said. "That's part of our Code."

Lena's expression softened. "Thank you."

Back at the boat, the crew gathered. Lena sat on a crate, catching her breath.

Kenna handed her a waterskin. "Here."

"Thank you," Lena said, drinking deeply.

Emerson leaned against the mast, his arms crossed, watching her carefully. "You said you worked for Lamont. Doing what?"

"I was a cook," Lena said. "In his household. I prepared his meals, managed the kitchens, kept the staff fed."

"And he let you go?" Kenna asked skeptically.

"No," Lena said, "I ran. Three days ago. I couldn't stay there anymore." Her jaw tightened, "I couldn't be part of it anymore. The cruelty. The way he treats people—his servants, his crew, anyone he sees as beneath him." She looked at Fin. "He's a monster."

Fin believed her. He'd seen it himself.

"We'll take you as far as the next port," Emerson said. "After that, you're on your own."

Lena nodded. "That's more than I could ask for. Thank you."

Lena proved herself useful, over the next few days.

She cooked—really cooked. Hearty stews, fresh bread, meals that made the crew feel human again.

"This is amazing," Davey said, savoring a bite. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My mother," Lena said, smiling faintly. "She ran a tavern when I was young. I grew up in the kitchen."

"Well, we're grateful," Marcus said.

Lena also worked—mending sails, scrubbing the deck, helping wherever she was needed.

"You don't have to do all this," Kenna said one afternoon.

"I want to," Lena said. "You saved my life. The least I can do is pull my weight."

And she talked—carefully, cautiously—about Lamont.

"He's obsessed with control," she said one evening as they sat around the fire. "Everything has to be perfect. Everything has to be his way. And if you defy him..." She trailed off, her expression dark.

"What happens?" Swing asked.

"He makes an example of you," Lena said quietly. "I saw it happen to a servant who spilled wine on his uniform. Lamont had him whipped in front of everyone."

The Crew was silent.

"That's why I ran," Lena said. "I couldn't watch it anymore. I couldn't be part of it."

Fin looked at her—at the pain in her eyes, the determination in her voice.

She wasn't lying. He was sure of it.

A week later, they were anchored in a quiet cove, resting after a long day of sailing.

Lena was cooking dinner, humming softly to herself.

Fin pulled the Crew aside.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

They gathered at the bow, out of Lena's earshot.

"What's on your mind?" Snive asked.

"Lena," Fin said. "I think we can trust her."

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"She's had a week to betray us," Fin said. "She hasn't. She's worked hard, she's been honest, and she hates Lamont as much as we do."

"So what are you saying?" Kenna asked.

"I'm saying we tell her," Fin said. "About the Moonlight Wake. About the plan."

The Crew exchanged glances.

"She worked in his household," Marcus said. "She might know things that could help us."

"Or she might run straight back to Lamont," Emerson said.

"She won't," Fin said. "I trust her."

Snive looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "If you trust her, Captain, so do I."

One by one, the others agreed.

"All right," Fin said. "Let's tell her."

That evening, after dinner, Fin sat down across from Lena.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Of course," Lena said, setting down her bowl.

The Crew gathered around.

Lena looked at them, her expression curious. "What's this about?"

Fin took a breath. "We haven't been completely honest with you."

Lena's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"About why we're here," Fin said. "About what we're planning."

"We're going to steal the Moonlight Wake," Emerson said bluntly.

Lena stared at him. Then at Fin. "You're serious."

"Completely," Fin said.

Lena laughed—a short, sharp sound. "You're insane."

"Sometimes a little insanity is necessary," Snive said.

Lena shook her head, still smiling. "Lamont will kill you."

"He'll try," Fin said. "But we're going to do it anyway."

Lena's smile faded. "Why?"

"Because he's a tyrant," Fin said. "Because he hurts people. Because someone has to stand up to him."

Lena was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "I can help you."

The Crew exchanged glances.

"How?" Kenna asked.

"I worked in his household for three years," Lena said. "I know the layout of his estate. I know his routines, his security. And I've seen the Moonlight Wake. I know where it's docked, how many guards are stationed there, and when the shifts change."

Fin's pulse quickened. "You'd help us?"

"Lamont is a monster," Lena said. "If you're going to take something from him—something he values—then yes. I'll help you."

Fin smiled. "Then welcome to the Crew, Lena."

Lena's eyes glistened. "Thank you."

Over the next hour, Lena laid out everything she knew.

The Moonlight Wake was docked at Lamont's private shipyard, heavily guarded. The enchantment was complete, but the ship hadn't been fully crewed yet—Lamont was still selecting his Officers.

"He's planning a grand unveiling," Lena said. "A ceremony to christen the ship and show it off to the other naval commanders. It's supposed to happen in two weeks."

"That's our window," Emerson said. "Before it's fully operational."

"But the security will be tight," Lena warned. "Lamont's paranoid. He has guards everywhere, and he's been obsessed with the Ship ever since the Enchanter died."

"The Enchanter?" Fin asked.

Lena nodded. "The one who created the enchantment. Lamont forced him to work until he literally died from exhaustion. The Ship is irreplaceable—the knowledge died with the Enchanter."

The Crew was silent, the weight of that settling over them.

"So if we steal it," Kenna said slowly, "Lamont can never get it back. He can never make another one."

"Exactly," Lena said. "That's why he'll do anything to protect it."

Fin looked at his crew—at their determined faces, their steady resolve.

"Then we'll have to be smarter than him," Fin said. "And we'll have to be ready."

Lena smiled. "I think you already are."

CHAPTER 16

 

The next morning, the crew gathered around a makeshift table on the deck—a piece of driftwood balanced on two crates.

Lena had sketched a rough map of Lamont's estate and the shipyard, using charcoal on a scrap of canvas.

"This is the main gate," she said, pointing. "Heavily guarded. At least six men at all times, more during the day."

"So we don't go through the gate," Emerson said.

"No," Lena agreed. "The shipyard is here, at the far end of the estate. The Moonlight Wake is docked at the main pier."

She drew a long line representing the pier, with a small rectangle at the end.

"How many guards?" Kenna asked.

"During the day, at least a dozen," Lena said. "But at night, it's different. Lamont runs his guards on strict rotations—four hour shifts. There's a shift change at midnight."

"How long does the change take?" Emerson asked.

"About fifteen minutes," Lena said. "The old guards leave, the new guards arrive. For those fifteen minutes, the deck is empty."

Fin's eyes lit up. "That's our window."

Lena nodded. "If you time it right, you can board the ship without anyone seeing you."

"We don't go through the front," Fin said, studying the map. "We swim."

Everyone looked at him.

"The shipyard is on the water," Fin continued. "If we approach from the Sea, we avoid the gates, the patrols, all of it. We swim to the Ship during the shift change, climb aboard while the deck is empty, and sail away before the new guards arrive."

Snive nodded slowly. "It could work. If we're fast."

"Swing can climb," Kenna said. "He can go up first, secure a line for the rest of us."

Swing grinned. "I can do that."

"How long do we have once we're on deck?" Marcus asked.

"Fifteen minutes," Lena said. "Maybe less if the new guards arrive early."

"That's enough time to cast off and catch the wind," Emerson said. "If everything goes perfectly."

"And if something goes wrong?" Davey asked.

"Then we improvise," Fin said.

Lena looked worried. "Lamont's christening ceremony is in ten days. If you're going to do this, you need to do it soon. Once the ceremony starts, security will be impossible."

"We go the night before the ceremony," Fin said. "Nine days from now. The guards will be focused on preparing for the event. They won't expect anyone to try something the night before."

"The shift change happens at midnight every night," Lena said. "That's your best chance."

"Then that's when we go," Fin said.

Over the next hour, they refined the details of their plan.

Step One: Approach the shipyard from the Sea just before midnight.

Step Two: Wait for the shift change—when the deck is empty.

Step Three: Swim to the Moonlight Wake.

Step Four: Swing climbs aboard first, secures a rope for the others.

Step Five: The crew climbs aboard quickly and quietly.

Step Six: Cast off and sail away before the new Guards arrive.

"Fifteen minutes," Emerson said. "That's not a lot of time."

"It's enough," Fin said. "If we're ready."

"What about after?" Davey asked. "Once we have the Ship, where do we go?"

"Somewhere Lamont can't follow," Fin said. "Somewhere safe."

"There's no such place," Lena said quietly. "Not while he's alive. He'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."

"Then we'll keep moving," Fin said. "And we'll use the Moonlight Wake to protect people. To stand against tyrants like him."

Lena looked at him for a long moment. Then she smiled. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I have to," Fin said.

"Then I'm with you," Lena said. "All the way."

The crew nodded, one by one.

"To the Moonlight Wake," Kenna said.

"To the Moonlight Wake," they echoed.

The next nine days passed in a blur.

They gathered supplies—rope, weapons, dark clothing for the night swim. Everything they'd need for the heist and the escape.

Marcus studied the weather, watching the skies. "The night should be clear," he said. "No moon. Good for staying hidden."

"Good," Fin said.

Swing practiced his climbing, scaling the mast over and over until he could do it silently, quickly, even in the dark.

Kenna and Emerson drilled the crew on moving quietly, on speed, on what to do if the guards came back early.

"Fifteen minutes," Emerson said. "We have to be fast."

Davey kept spirits high, telling stories and cracking jokes when the tension got too heavy.

Lena taught them the layout of the Ship as best she could remember—where the rigging was, how the sails were stored, the fastest way to cast off.

And Fin... Fin thought about the plan. About what could go wrong. About Lamont's face when he realized his perfect weapon was gone.

He thought about Fair Winds. About the Captain who'd shown him kindness. About Brave, the old grey dog.

He thought about Rourke, and the whip, and the sailor's screams.

He thought about the merchant in Greywater, and the little girl crying for her father.

This wasn't just about the Ship.

It was about standing up. About saying no more.

And he was ready.

It was the night before the ceremony. The crew gathered one last time on their small boat, anchored in a hidden cove a few miles from Lamont's estate.

"Everyone clear on the plan?" Fin asked.

Nods all around.

"We wait for the shift change," Fin said. "The deck will be empty for fifteen minutes. That's our window. We move fast, we stay quiet, and we don't waste time."

"And if the guards come back early?" Marcus asked.

"We adapt," Fin said. "But they won't. Lena said the shifts are like clockwork."

Snive clapped him on the shoulder. "We're with you, Captain."

"I know," Fin said. "And I'm grateful."

The Crew checked their gear one last time—knives, rope, dark clothes.

Lena stayed behind with the boat. "I'll keep watch," she said. "If you're not back by dawn, I'll assume the worst."

"We'll be back," Fin said.

Lena smiled faintly. "Good luck."

Just before midnight, the Crew slipped into the dark water, swimming silently toward the distant lights of Lamont's shipyard.

The water was cold, the current strong, but they pushed forward.

Ahead, the Moonlight Wake gleamed in the starlight—a silver ghost against the black water.

It was beautiful.

And it was about to be theirs.

They waited in the water, treading silently, watching.

And then—movement on the deck. The guards were leaving.

The shift change.

"Now," Fin whispered.

They swam.

 

CHAPTER 17

 

The water was freezing.

Fin's arms burned as he swam, his breath coming in short, controlled gasps. Around him, the crew moved silently through the dark water, shadows against shadows.

Ahead, the Moonlight Wake loomed—massive, gleaming, impossibly beautiful.

The hull looked like wood—rich, dark timber with visible grain—but it gleamed silver in the starlight, the enchantment shimmering just beneath the surface. It was wood that had become something more. Something magical.

Fin's heart pounded.

Almost there.

They reached the hull, pressing against the cold, smooth surface. Swing was already moving, his small hands finding holds in the seams and planks, climbing like a spider.

Within seconds, he was at the rail.

He peered over, scanning the deck.

Empty.

Swing grinned and secured the rope, dropping it down to the others.

One by one, they climbed—Fin, Snive, Emerson, Kenna, Marcus, and Davey.

Fin hauled himself over the rail and dropped onto the deck, water dripping from his clothes.

The deck was silent. Empty. Perfect.

"We did it," Davey whispered, grinning.

"Not yet," Emerson said. "We need to move. Fast."

Fin nodded. "Snive, Marcus—get the mooring lines. Kenna, check the rigging. Swing, Davey—"

Footsteps.

Voices.

Fin froze.

The Crew looked at each other, eyes wide.

The Guards were coming back.

Early.

"Hide!" Emerson hissed.

They scattered.

Fin's eyes darted around the deck—crates, rigging, shadows—and then he saw it.

A door at the far end of the deck. The captain's quarters.

"There!" he whispered urgently.

The crew sprinted across the deck, their wet footsteps barely audible.

Fin reached the door first, yanking it open.

The others piled in behind him—Snive, Emerson, Kenna, Marcus, Davey, Swing.

Fin pulled the door shut just as the guards stepped onto the deck.

Inside the captain's quarters:

The crew pressed against the walls, breathing hard, trying to stay silent.

Fin's heart hammered in his chest.

Outside, he could hear the Guards talking.

"—ceremony tomorrow. Can you believe it?"

"Lamont's been insufferable. Acting like this Ship makes him a God."

"Well, it is impressive. Look at it. That enchantment—wood turned to silver. Fastest ship ever built."

"Still. I'll be glad when this is over."

Footsteps moved across the deck, slow and steady.

Fin held his breath.

The guards were patrolling. Right outside.

Kenna looked at Fin, her eyes wide. 'What do we do?'

Fin shook his head. 'Wait.'

Minutes passed.

The guards didn't leave.

More voices joined them—new guards, arriving for their shift.

"Anything to report?"

"All quiet. Ship's secure."

"Good. Lamont wants extra patrols tonight. He's paranoid someone's going to try something before the ceremony."

"Who'd be stupid enough to try that?"

Laughter.

Fin clenched his fists.

The Guards settled in. They weren't leaving.

Emerson leaned close to Fin, his voice barely a whisper. "We're trapped."

Fin nodded grimly.

They couldn't leave. Couldn't take the ship. Couldn't do anything but wait.

Hours passed.

The crew sat in the dark captain's quarters, silent and tense.

Fin's eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the small window.

The room was large—larger than any cabin he'd ever seen. A wide desk sat against one wall, covered in maps and documents. A bed in the corner, neatly made. Shelves lined with books and navigational tools.

This was meant for someone important. Someone Lamont trusted, or possibly even Lamont himself.

Fin moved quietly to the desk, careful not to make a sound.

He rifled through the papers—supply lists, crew rosters, patrol schedules.

And then he saw it.

A letter, signed at the bottom in elegant script:

Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont.

Fin stared at the name.

Quincy.

He'd never heard anyone call Lamont by his first name. The man insisted on his title—Lord Admiral Lamont—always formal, always distant.

But here it was. His real name.

Fin picked up the letter, scanning it quickly. It was a formal order, something about naval inspections and tax enforcement.

Cold. Bureaucratic. Cruel.

Fin folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his shirt.

Evidence. And ammunition.

He found more documents—letters, orders, all signed Quincy Lamont.

Fin took them all.

Snive raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Insurance," Fin whispered. "And a souvenir."

Dawn broke.

The crew was exhausted, cramped, and desperate.

Outside, the guards had finally thinned—most of them leaving to prepare for the ceremony.

But there were still too many. And the ship was locked down tight.

"We can't take it now," Emerson whispered. "There's no way."

"So what do we do?" Davey asked.

Fin looked out the small window at the growing crowd gathering on the docks.

Banners. Decorations. Naval officers in their finest uniforms.

The christening ceremony was about to begin.

"We wait," Fin said.

"For what?" Kenna asked.

"For our chance," Fin said. "It'll come. It has to."

Some time later, they heard footsteps on the deck.

Voices.

Fin peered through a crack in the door.

A Crew was boarding—maybe a dozen men in naval uniforms, carrying supplies, loading the cargo hold.

Emerson pressed close to the crack, watching.

His breath caught.

"Fin," he whispered. "I know them."

Fin looked at him. "What?"

"The Crew," Emerson said, his voice tight. "Those men. I served with them. They were my Crew. Before I left the Navy."

Fin's pulse quickened. "Will they help us?"

"I don't know," Emerson said. "But I have to try."

"Em—"

"It's risky," Emerson said. "But it's our only chance. If I can talk to them before the ceremony starts—"

Fin hesitated. Then he nodded. "Go. But be careful."

Emerson slipped out of the captain's quarters, moving silently across the deck.

 

The crew waited, tense and silent.

Minutes passed.

Fin kept watch through the crack in the door, his heart pounding.

No shouts. No alarms. No sounds of a struggle.

Davey leaned close. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Fin whispered.

More minutes passed.

Kenna looked worried. "What if they caught him?"

"They didn't," Snive said quietly. "If they had, we'd hear it. Guards would be swarming the ship."

"Then what's he doing down there?" Swing asked.

"Staying hidden," Fin said. 

Marcus nodded. "If he hasn't been dragged above deck, the plan must be working."

Fin took a breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Trust him. He knows what he's doing.

The ceremony had begun.

From the Captain's quarters, Fin could hear the crowd—cheering, music, speeches.

And then, a voice that made his blood run cold.

Lamont.

"Today," Lamont's voice rang out, loud and proud, "we unveil the greatest weapon ever created. The Moonlight Wake—a Ship that cannot be caught, cannot be sunk, and cannot be stopped."

The crowd roared.

"This Ship," Lamont continued, "will bring order to the Seas. It will hunt down pirates, smugglers, and criminals. It will be the instrument of justice."

Fin's jaw tightened.

'Justice. Right.'

 

Lamont stood on the dock at the bow of the pier, the champagne bottle raised high, the crowd watching in awe.

Beside him stood the captain—a stern-faced man in a crisp naval uniform, waiting for his moment of glory aboard his new command.

"I christen this ship—"

The Moonlight Wake lurched forward.

Lamont stumbled, nearly dropping the bottle.

The crowd gasped.

Lamont and the Captain stood frozen on the pier, staring in disbelief as the Ship pulled away.

"STOP!" the Captain shouted.

But the Ship was already moving too fast.

Lamont's face went white, then red with fury, the champagne bottle still clutched uselessly in his hand.

"STOP THEM!" he screamed at the Guards.

But it was too late.

The Moonlight Wake surged forward, impossibly fast, the silver-enchanted wood gleaming in the sunlight.

Fin was at the wheel, grinning like a mad man.

He leaned over the rail, waving.

"See you later, Quincy!" he shouted. "Thanks for the ship!"

The Crew burst into laughter.

The look of surprise and outrage on the Lord Admiral's face was priceless.

The Captain's face turned purple with rage. "That's MY ship!"

"Not anymore!" Swing called back, grinning.

Em waved, "Fairwell, Captain!

Some of the other Crew Members joined him, waving goodbye to not just the Captain, but their old lives.

"Good-bye !"

"We won't miss you!"

More laughter followed.

The crowd on the docks erupted in chaos.

And Lamont—Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont—could only stand there on the pier, champagne bottle in hand, flabbergasted and furious, as his perfect weapon sailed away.

His humiliation was complete.

And Legendary.

 

CHAPTER 18

 

The Moonlight Wake cut through the water like a dream.

Fin had never felt anything like it—the Ship responded to the slightest touch of the wheel, impossibly fast, impossibly smooth. The silver-enchanted wood hummed beneath his hands, alive with magic.

"She's incredible," Kenna breathed, standing beside him.

"She is," Fin agreed, grinning.

Behind them, the crew was still laughing, still celebrating, the adrenaline of the escape coursing through them.

But Fin's thoughts turned to the hidden cove where they'd left Lena and their old boat.

"We need to pick up Lena," Fin said.

Marcus checked the horizon. "The cove's not far. We can be there in less than an hour."

"Then let's go," Fin said.

Lena was pacing on the beach of the hidden cove when the Moonlight Wake appeared on the horizon.

She froze, staring.

The Ship was massive—gleaming silver-wood, sails billowing, moving faster than anything she'd ever seen.

And at the helm, waving and smiling  broadly, was Fin.

Lena's hand flew to her mouth. "They did it. They actually did it."

The Moonlight Wake slowed as it approached the cove, dropping anchor just offshore.

A rowboat was lowered, and Fin, Snive, and Kenna rowed to the beach.

Lena ran to meet them. "You're insane! All of you!"

Fin grinned.

"How did you—? When did—? I can't believe—"

"We'll tell you everything," Kenna said, laughing. "But first, we need to get you aboard."

Lena looked at the Moonlight Wake, her eyes shining. "That's really Lamont's Ship?"

"Not anymore," Fin said. "It's ours."

 

They rowed Lena out to the Moonlight Wake, and she climbed aboard, staring around in awe.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"It is," Snive agreed.

Fin looked back at the cove, where their old boat sat anchored—small, battered, but faithful.

She'd carried them this far. Through storms and escapes, through every step of the journey.

The Crew gathered at the rail, looking at the little boat.

"She served us well," Marcus said quietly.

"She did," Davey agreed.

Fin raised his hand in a salute. "Thank you."

One by one, the Crew followed—Snive, Kenna, Marcus, Davey, Swing, and  Emerson.

Even Lena raised her hand in salute.

A silent goodbye to the Ship that had brought them Together.

And then Fin turned to the Moonlight Wake, placing his hand on the silver-wood rail.

"Hello," he said softly. "Welcome to the Family."

The Crew gathered on the deck of the Moonlight Wake, a fire burning in a brazier, food and drink passed around.

Lena had cooked—a feast, somehow, from the supplies they'd brought and what they'd found in the Ship 's stores.

"This is amazing," someone said, savoring a bite.

"Thank you," Lena said, smiling.

Emerson sat with his old crew—Garrett, Finn, Tobias, Mara, and the others—catching up, laughing, sharing stories.

"I can't believe you're here," Garrett said. "I thought we'd never see you again after you left."

"I thought the same," Emerson admitted. "But here we are."

"Here we are," Garrett echoed, raising his cup. "To New Beginnings."

"To New Beginnings," the Crew echoed.

Fin stood then, and everyone went silent. 

"I stand here now," Fin began, "Looking at the faces of his Crew. The people who made all of this possible. To those of you who are new here: we have a Code.

 We treat our Crew fairly. No whips, no abuse. Everyone gets respect and a fair share.

We don't prey on innocents. No attacking honest merchants, families, or people just trying to survive.

We protect those who can't protect themselves. We stand against tyrants and bullies.

 Every person has worth. We don't discard people or treat them like they're nothing.

We keep our word. If we make a promise, we honor it.

We only steal from those who deserve it.

And lastly- Freedom over control. Anyone can leave if they want. No one is trapped here.

If any of you disagree, or feel this is not the Life for you, you can leave when we make port. No one will stop you.

But if you choose to stay, we're Family. One Crew United. All opinions matter. What say you?"

They were silent for only a moment. Then one of Em's friends stood.

"I'am Garrett Aversworth. And I stand with Captain Fin. I say, 'Aye!'"

One by one the other Crew Members stood. Each saying 'Aye!'

Until everyone was standing.

None had chosen to leave.

Fin stood there, his heart full.

This was it. This was what he'd been fighting for.

Not just the Ship. Not just the escape.

But this—Family, Freedom, a Crew that had chosen to be here.

Snive sat down beside him. "You did good, Captain."

"We did good," Fin corrected. "All of us. Thank you. All of you. Enjoy the celebration!"

The Crew cheered and everyone took their seats again. The feeling was warm and electric. Everyone buzzed with excitement.

Kenna joined them, looking out at the stars. "So what now?"

"Now?" Fin said. "We sail. We protect people who can't protect themselves. We stand against tyrants like Lamont. And we live by our Code."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus said, grinning.

Swing held up Lamont's compass, the firelight glinting off the silver. "And we only steal from those who deserve it."

Everyone laughed.

Davey raised his cup. "To the Moonlight Wake!"

"To the Moonlight Wake!" the Crew roared.

And as the stars shone overhead, the silver Ship rocked gently on the waves.

After the celebration, and most of the Crew had gone to sleep, Emerson found Fin at the helm, staring out at the dark water.

"Can't sleep?" Emerson asked.

"Too much to think about," Fin said.

Emerson leaned against the rail. "You know Lamont's going to come after us."

"I know," Fin said.

"He'll never stop. Not until he gets this Ship back. Or destroys us trying."

"I know that too," Fin said. He looked at Emerson. "Are you afraid?"

Emerson thought for a moment. Then he smiled. "No. For the first time in a long time, I'm not afraid. Because I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Fin smiled. "Me too."

They stood in comfortable silence, the wind in their hair, the sea stretching endlessly before them.

And somewhere, far behind them, Lamont was plotting his revenge.

But tonight, they didn't care.

Tonight, they were Free.

 

CHAPTER 19

 

Three weeks had passed. The Moonlight Wake had become everything Fin had dreamed of—and more.

The Ship was fast. Impossibly fast. The silver-enchanted wood responded to the slightest touch, cutting through the water like a blade through silk.

And the Crew—his Crew—had become a family.

Garrett and the others from Emerson's old Navy days had settled in quickly, their skills and experience invaluable. Lena had claimed the galley as her domain, feeding the Crew meals that made them feel human again.

And Fin... Fin had found his place at the helm.

They'd sailed along the coast, keeping to smaller ports, staying ahead of Lamont's reach.

And they'd started living the Code.

In the Port of Harborview, the Merchant was desperate.

"Please," he said, his voice shaking. "They took everything. My cargo, my coin. I can't pay my Crew. I can't feed my Family."

Fin listened, his arms crossed, his expression serious.

"Who took it?" he asked.

"Pirates," the merchant said. "Captain Voss and his crew. They've been terrorizing this coast for months. The Navy won't help—they say we're too small, too far from their patrol routes."

Fin glanced at Snive, who nodded.

"Where's Voss now?" Fin asked.

"Anchored in the cove north of here," the Merchant said. "Drinking and celebrating, I'd wager."

Fin smiled. "Then let's pay him a visit."

Captain Voss was a brute—tall, scarred, with a cruel laugh and a Ship full of men just like him.

They'd been drinking, celebrating their latest haul, when the Moonlight Wake appeared on the horizon.

Voss squinted at the gleaming silver ship. "What in the—"

The Moonlight Wake closed the distance impossibly fast.

Fin stood at the bow, his Crew behind him.

"Captain Voss!" Fin called out. "I'm here for the cargo you stole from the Merchant in Harborview."

Voss laughed. "And who are you, boy?"

"Someone who doesn't like bullies," Fin said.

Voss drew his sword. "You want the cargo? Come and take it."

Fin grinned. "Gladly."

The fight was short.

Voss's crew was drunk, disorganized, and unprepared for the speed and precision of Fin's crew.

Emerson and Garrett moved like a well-oiled machine, disarming pirates left and right.

Kenna and Marcus secured the cargo.

Swing darted through the chaos, tripping pirates and stealing weapons.

And Fin faced Voss.

The captain swung his sword, heavy and wild.

Fin dodged, his movements quick and controlled.

"You're out of your depth, boy," Voss snarled.

"Maybe," Fin said. "But I'm faster."

He disarmed Voss with a flick of his wrist, sending the sword clattering to the deck.

Voss stared at him, breathing hard.

"You can leave," Fin said. "Take your crew and go. But if I hear you've hurt another innocent merchant, I'll find you. And next time, I won't be so generous."

Voss glared at him, then spat on the deck. "This isn't over."

"Yes," Fin said. "It is."

The Merchant back in Harborview wept when Fin returned his cargo.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you. I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't have to," Fin said. "Just take care of your Family."

The merchant nodded, still crying. "Who are you?"

Fin smiled. "Just someone who believes people deserve better."

As the Moonlight Wake sailed away, the Merchant stood on the dock, watching the silver Ship disappear into the distance.

And that night, in the tavern, he told the story.

"A young captain," he said. "With a Ship made of silver-enchanted wood. He came out of nowhere, faster than the wind, and took back what was stolen. He didn't ask for payment. Didn't ask for anything."

"What was his name?" someone asked.

The Merchant shook his head. "He didn't say. But the way he moved—like a tide you couldn't stop. A silver tide."

The name spread.

Two weeks later, Davey sat in a tavern in the port of Saltmere, a single mug of ale in hand—his one for the evening—surrounded by Sailors and Merchants.

He'd learned his limits. One drink, savored slowly, and then water for the rest of the night. It was enough.

"You want to hear a story?" he said, grinning.

The crowd leaned in.

"There's a Captain," Davey began. "Young, fearless, with a Ship unlike anything you've ever seen. Silver-enchanted wood, faster than the wind, impossible to catch."

"What's his name?" someone asked.

"Captain Finian Bollard," Davey said. "But the people he's helped—they call him something else. Silver Tide."

The crowd murmured.

"He stole the Ship," Davey continued, "from Lord Admiral Lamont himself. Right out from under his nose. During the christening ceremony, no less. Lamont was standing there with a champagne bottle in his hand, and the ship just... sailed away."

Laughter erupted.

"And now," Davey said, "Silver Tide sails the coast, protecting Merchants, standing up to tyrants, living by a Code. Fair treatment. Honest shares. No preying on innocents."

"A Pirate with Honor?" someone scoffed.

"A Pirate with a Code," Davey corrected. "And a Legend."

The story spread.

From tavern to tavern, port to port, the name grew.

Silver Tide.

At his estate, Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont sat at his desk, his face twisted with fury.

In front of him was a report—sightings of the Moonlight Wake, stories of the young Captain who'd stolen it.

"Silver Tide," Lamont spat. "They're calling him Silver Tide."

His aide shifted nervously. "The name has spread, my lord. The common people seem to... admire him."

"Admire him?!" Lamont roared. "He's a thief! A criminal!"

"Yes, my lord. But the stories—"

"I don't care about the stories!" Lamont slammed his fist on the desk. "I want him found. I want him captured. And I want my Ship back."

"We're doing everything we can, my lord."

Lamont stood, pacing. "Issue a warrant. A wanted poster. I want his face on every dock, every port, every corner of this coast."

"What should it say, my lord?"

Lamont's eyes burned with rage.

"WANTED: Captain Finian 'Silver Tide' Bollard. For theft, piracy, and crimes against the Crown. Reward: 10,000 gold pieces."

The aide nodded and hurried out.

Lamont stared at the map on his wall, at the vast expanse of Ocean.

"You can't run forever, Finian," he muttered. "And when I find you, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

Aboard the Moonlight Wake, Fin was standing at the helm, the wind in his hair, the sea stretching endlessly before him.

Kenna approached, holding a piece of parchment. "Captain. You need to see this."

Fin took it.

It was a wanted poster.

His face stared back at him—sketched roughly but recognizable.

"WANTED: Captain Finian 'Silver Tide' Bollard."

Fin stared at it for a long moment.

Then he started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Kenna asked.

"He gave me a Title," Fin said, grinning. "Lamont himself. He made it official."

Snive walked over, looking at the poster. "Silver Tide. I like it."

"So do I," Emerson said, joining them.

Davey grinned. "It's got a nice ring to it."

Fin looked at his crew—at their smiling faces, their steady loyalty.

"Silver Tide it is, then," he said.

The Crew cheered.

And as the Moonlight Wake sailed on, the Legend grew.

Captain Finian "Silver Tide" Bollard—the Pirate with a Code, the thief who stole Lamont's perfect weapon, the young Captain who protected the innocent and stood against tyrants.

The name spread across the Seas.

And it would never be forgotten.

CHAPTER 20

 

Weathermain.

Fin hadn't been back since the day he'd slipped away from Rourke's ship—skinny, desperate, and alone.

Now, he stood at the helm of the Moonlight Wake, watching the familiar harbor come into view.

"You sure about this?" Snive asked, standing beside him.

"I made a promise," Fin said. "I have to keep it."

Snive nodded. "We'll wait here. Take your time."

Fin smiled. "Thank you."

The town looked the same—weathered buildings, fishing boats bobbing in the harbor, the smell of salt and smoke in the air.

But Fin felt different.

He walked through the streets, his head high, his steps steady.

People stared at him—at his clothes, his confidence, the way he carried himself.

He wasn't the scared, skinny kid who'd stowed away on Fair Winds anymore.

He was Captain Finian "Silver Tide" Bollard.

And he'd come back to keep his word.

Fin found the small house near the edge of town—modest, well-kept, with smoke curling from the chimney, just as Kenna had described.

Before he could even knock, he heard it.

Barking.

The door flew open, and Brave came barreling out—older, greyer, clicking with every step, but his tail wagging furiously.

The old dog circled Fin, sniffing, whining with recognition.

"Brave!" Fin laughed, kneeling down. "Hey, boy. I missed you too."

Brave licked his face, his whole body wiggling with joy.

"Bravery! What is it, Boy?"

Oliver appeared in the doorway.

He was older—more grey in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes—but his expression was the same. Kind. Steady. Warm.

"Fin?" Oliver said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Hello, Captain," Fin said, standing.

Oliver stared at him for a long moment. Then his face broke into a smile. He rushed over and pulled Fin into a tight hug.

Fin hugged him back, his chest tight with emotion.

"You came back," Oliver said, his voice shaking. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I told you I would," Fin said.

Oliver pulled back, looking at him. "You've grown. You look... different."

"I am different," Fin said. "A lot's happened."

"Come inside," Oliver said, his eyes glistening. "Tell me everything."

The house was warm and cozy—a fire crackling in the hearth, simple furniture, the smell of tea and woodsmoke.

Brave curled up in his spot by the fire, his head resting on his paws, watching Fin with half-blind eyes.

Oliver poured tea and sat across from Fin.

"Tell me," Oliver said, his voice heavy. "What happened after Lamont arrested you? I argued with him for an hour—threatened to report him to the Maritime Council. But he had his Guards, his authority. He ordered us to leave Port immediately or he'd seize Fair Winds and arrest the entire Crew." His hands tightened around his cup. "I've regretted leaving you every day since."

"It wasn't your fault," Fin said firmly. "You did everything you could. You fought for me. That meant everything."

Oliver's eyes glistened. "I should have done more."

"You did enough," Fin said. "You believed in me. You showed me what a real captain looks like."

Oliver studied him for a moment, then stood.

"This is what a real Captain looks like," He said, reaching into a drawer beside his chair.

He pulled out a folded piece of parchment and handed it to Fin.

Fin unfolded it.

A wanted poster.

WANTED: Captain Finian 'Silver Tide' Bollard.

Fin looked up, surprised.

Oliver smiled. "I'd heard of you. Stories have been spreading up and down the coast. A young Captain with a silver Ship, protecting Merchants, standing up to tyrants. Living by a Code." He paused. "I'd thought they'd killed you. I didn't know it was you until I saw the name. But when I did..." His voice caught. "I knew you'd done it. You became a Captain. You got your Ship. You kept your Promise."

Fin's throat tightened. "I told you I would."

"You did," Oliver said. "And I'm so proud of you, Fin."

Fin's throat tightened. "I wanted you to see it. The Ship. The Crew. Everything I promised I'd become."

"I'd like that," Oliver said.

Oliver stood on the dock, Brave at his side, staring at the Moonlight Wake.

The Ship gleamed in the sunlight—silver-enchanted wood, sails billowing gently in the breeze, impossibly beautiful.

"It's magnificent," Oliver breathed.

"It is," Fin said, standing beside him.

The Crew waved from the deck—Snive, Kenna, Marcus, Davey, Swing, Emerson, Garrett, Lena, and the others.

"That's your Crew?" Oliver asked.

"That's my Family," Fin said.

Oliver smiled, his eyes still on the ship. "You did it, Fin. You really did it."

"I couldn't have done it without you," Fin said. "You believed in me. You taught me what it was to be a good Captain. You gave me Hope."

Oliver looked at him, his expression soft. "You gave yourself Hope, Fin. I just reminded you it was there."

Fin knelt down, scratching Brave behind the ears. The old dog leaned into his hand, panting softly.

Goodbye, Old Friend," Fin whispered.

He stood and turned to Oliver. 

"Take care of yourself," Fin said.

"You too, Captain," Oliver said, his voice thick. "And take care of that Crew of yours."

"I will," Fin said. "I promise."

Oliver pulled him into one last hug. "Fair winds, Fin."

"Fair winds, Oliver," Fin said.

 

As the Moonlight Wake sailed away, Fin stood at the helm.

Oliver stood on the dock, Brave beside him, both of them waving.

Fin waved back, his heart full.

He'd kept his promise.

He'd come back.

And now, he was ready for whatever came next.

Snive joined him at the helm. "Was it worth it?"

"It was worth it," Fin said, "Every bit."

Fin and Snive watched as Weathermain grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

"So," Snive said after a moment. "What now, Captain?"

Fin looked out at the endless sea, at the horizon stretching before them.

"Now?" he said. "We sail. We protect people. We live by the Code. And we make sure everyone knows—tyrants like Lamont don't get to win."

Snive grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

Kenna appeared beside them, holding up the wanted poster. "You know Lamont's not going to stop, right? He'll keep coming."

"Let him," Fin said. "We'll be ready."

Emerson leaned against the rail. "You really think we can make a difference?"

"I know we can," Fin said. "We already have."

The Crew gathered around him—his Family, his chosen people.

"To the Moonlight Wake," Davey said, raising an imaginary cup.

"To the Moonlight Wake," the crew echoed.

And as the silver Ship cut through the water, faster than the wind, Captain Finian "Silver Tide" Bollard smiled.

This was just the beginning.

EPILOGUE

Somewhere on the open Sea:

The Moonlight Wake sailed under the stars, her silver hull gleaming in the moonlight.

Fin stood at the helm, alone, the wind in his hair.

He thought about Rourke—still out there, still cruel, still dangerous.

He thought about Lamont—obsessed, furious, plotting his revenge.

He thought about Fair Winds, and Captain Oliver Pratchet, and Brave the old grey dog.

And he thought about his Crew—the people who'd chosen to follow him, to believe in him, to stand with him.

He wasn't afraid.

Not anymore.

Because he wasn't alone.

And as long as he had his Crew, his Ship, and his Code, he could face anything.

The Legend of Silver Tide had only just begun.

And the Seas would never be the same again.

THE END

🏴☠️⚓💙