The sea was kind to us that morning — wind steady, sails full, hull cutting clean through blue waters like she was born for it.

“Land!” one of my deckhands called from the crow’s nest.

I stepped from my quarters, boots striking the deck with purpose. And there it was — an island untouched by trade routes, not marked on any chart I owned. The kind of place that whispers of profit.

I smirked.

“Set course. Slow and quiet. We’ll see what fortune hides there.”

By midday we moored along the beach, sand pale and undisturbed. No smoke rising. No ships in sight. Good. That meant whatever waited inland had yet to be claimed.

I adjusted the belt at my waist, checking my blade and pistol out of habit.

“Stay sharp,” I told the crew. “Anything breathing here could be worth more than your yearly wages.”

They followed without hesitation. Greedy men, yes — but loyal to coin and to me.

The jungle swallowed us quickly. Dense trees towered above, vines heavy, air thick with heat and the scent of wild growth. Every snapped twig sounded louder than it should have. Birds scattered at our passing.

I led the way. Adventure is wasted on cautious men.

The trees thinning just enough to reveal stone faces rising around us. High mountains encircled a clearing like nature’s own fortress.

A pond, still as glass, cradled between cliffs. Waterfalls poured down from impossible heights, mist catching the sunlight in shimmering arcs. The sound drowned out all else — steady, powerful, eternal.

I stepped closer, eyes scanning not for beauty — but for value.