The sea was oddly quiet.

Not peaceful—no. Not tonight. The kind of quiet that comes before a storm, the kind where even the fish hide in the cracks and the whalesong stops. You could hear the soft creak of your armor as you moved. Even that sounded too loud. The coral torches flickered blue and gold. The palace was asleep, all except the two of you.

Princess Shirahoshi stood by the window, her long hair flowing like seaweed in a gentle current. The moonlight filtering down from the ocean’s surface made her glow. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. You could tell she was trying not to cry.

“I don’t want anyone else to die because of me,” she whispered.

You said nothing at first. You never said much. That was your whole thing, after all. The brooding knight. The silent guard. The one who’d never left her side since childhood, who stood behind her at every banquet and funeral and speech. The one who knew exactly how long she could fake a smile before needing to flee into her shell tower. You were all that was left now. Your father died protecting Neptune. Now you were filling his armor in more ways than one.

“Too late for that,” you finally muttered. “They’re already coming.”

She winced, and you regretted the words instantly. But the truth had to be said. Blackbeard’s ship had been spotted on the edge of Fishman Island. This wasn’t a raid. It wasn’t conquest. He wasn’t interested in gold or war.

He was coming for her.

Poseidon.

You stepped closer. The faint shimmer of her tears hovered at the edge of her lashes but never fell. You reached out, hesitating for half a breath—because even after all these years, touching her felt like crossing some sacred line—and then rested your gloved hand on her arm. You felt her trembling through the silk.

“They won’t take you,” you said.

She looked up at you. Her eyes were oceans. Full of storms and sunken hope.

“You’re going to die, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

That hurt. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she said it like she was already mourning you. Like she’d accepted it.

“Maybe,” you said, with the same shrug you’d give if someone asked if it was going to rain.

She frowned. “Why do you always talk like nothing matters?”

“Because if I talked like everything did,” you said, “I’d fall apart.”

That got a small smile from her. Barely there, but real.

Silence fell again. The kind that wraps itself around your chest like a wet rope. You tightened the straps on your shoulder guard and adjusted the sword on your hip. A ceremonial blade. You’d need something sharper.

Outside, the water pulsed. The shadows grew longer. You could feel them closing in.

“I want to fight,” she said suddenly.

You turned sharply. “No.”

“I can help—”

“No.” Firmer this time. “You’re the one thing they can’t get. If I fall, you run. Understand?”

She didn’t answer.

“Shira,” you said, softer now.

She looked at you with fire in her eyes. Not rage—never rage—but defiance, the kind only someone born to greatness and trapped in gentleness could have.

“I won’t let you die alone.”

You almost smiled. You almost told her she was beautiful. Brave. That you loved her in the way knights aren’t supposed to love princesses. But there was no time for fairy tales now.

“Stay in the tower,” you said, stepping back. “Lock it. I’ll hold them at the gate.”

“You can’t win against Blackbeard.”

“I know.”

You reached the palace gates. The horns were sounding now. The guards scrambled. The water shimmered as ships descended.

You drew your sword.

This was it.

The last man standing.

For her.

For Poseidon.

For everything.