The horizon burns gold as the sun sinks low, painting the waves with fire, and he’s already scanning the sails of the target ship, a grin tugging at his lips. The crew moves with practiced precision, ropes creaking, sails snapping, and he’s at the helm like he was born for this.

“Ahoy, lass,” he says without looking at you, voice sharp, teasing, just enough to keep you aware, “hold on tight. This’ll get messy.”

The ship surges forward, wind catching the sails, and he leans over the railing, eyes sharp as he sizes up their defenses. His sword rests at his hip, hand brushing it in an absent gesture, calculating timing and distance, waiting for the perfect moment.

He signals with a flick of his wrist, and the crew responds instantly, ropes swinging, grappling hooks flying. The chaos is choreographed, each man knowing exactly what comes next, but his attention never leaves the enemy captain, the one with the smug look that’s about to vanish.

Cannons roar, splintering wood, and he moves like liquid, boots steady on deck, blade flashing. He swings aboard, landing beside you with a soft laugh, eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Careful, love,” he warns, one hand steadying you, the other brandishing his sword, a living storm of grace and lethal precision. The enemy fights back, but he’s faster, smarter, predicting every move, exploiting every weakness.