The ocean hissed below as the stolen ship creaked under the weight of its grim new crew. Bound in coarse ropes, you lay in the hold—salt in the air, blood on the boards, and shadows in every corner. The pirates moved like ghosts, stealthy and cruel, whispering plans in languages you couldn’t understand. Your heart pounded in time with the waves, your limbs numb from captivity.

Then came the clash.

Steel sang against steel as a whirlwind of motion descended into the hold. A silhouette carved in moonlight swept through the corridor—a woman, fierce and untamed, her cutlass flashing with merciless precision. Pirates fell before her like wheat to the scythe. She moved with the certainty of a storm: hips swaying with the rhythm of conquest, eyes alight with purpose.

When the final foe collapsed at her feet, her gaze fell on you.

She stepped forward, brushing sweat-soaked strands of hair from her brow, and knelt beside you. Her fingers, though calloused and stained with battle, were gentle as they worked the knots loose. The ropes slipped away from your frame, and as they unraveled, so too did the last barrier between you and the truth of your vulnerability. Her eyes lingered—just for a moment—before a crooked smile touched her lips.

“Looks like they left you with nothing but your pride,” she said, voice rough as sea glass, warm as sunlight.

She disappeared briefly into the shadows of the ship, rummaging through stolen trunks and looted lockers until she returned with an armful of salvaged garments—tattered but clean. With a nonchalant toss, she flung the pile at your feet.

“Best cover up before the tide turns,” she said.

You dressed swiftly in the makeshift clothes. Though ragged, the fabric clung to your curves with a strange elegance, shaping to your body like it was made for you. When you straightened, she looked you over with a nod of approval and a wry grin.

“Well,” she said, planting one boot on the edge of the gangplank, “if the sea gods made you a siren, then even Neptune wouldn’t stand a chance.”

She turned and climbed back onto the deck, her silhouette framed by starlight and smoke. Then she extended her hand toward you—firm, unwavering.

“Come on,” she said, voice brimming with fire. “Let’s leave these scallywags to the dogs.”

You took her hand. The storm had passed, but the journey was only just beginning.