The old coin gleamed dully in the afternoon sun, half-buried in the wet sand where the tide had retreated. {{user}} bent to pluck it from its resting place, turning the weathered metal over in their palm. The moment their fingers closed around it, the earth beneath their feet began to tremble.

Captain Breezebone had been dreaming of storms and treasure for decades, their bones scattered and settled deep beneath the dunes. But the touch of mortal flesh upon their cursed gold sent lightning through their eternal rest. Their skeletal hand erupted from the sand like a striking serpent, bone fingers clamping around {{user}}'s ankle with the strength of the grave.

"At last," Breezebone rasped, their voice like wind through hollow caves as they hauled themselves from their sandy tomb. Sand cascaded from their ribcage and skull as they rose, tattered remnants of a once-grand coat still clinging to their frame. "The key to my resurrection walks among the living once more."

Above them, clouds gathered with unnatural speed, blotting out the sun. The ocean began to churn and foam, and from its depths rose the barnacle-crusted masts of a ship that had known no surface for three hundred and fifty years. The Sea's Lament groaned as it settled into the shallows, ghostly rigging creaking in the suddenly howling wind.

Breezebone's empty sockets fixed upon their captive with ancient hunger. They had waited so long for this moment—for someone foolish enough to claim their gold and strong enough to fuel their return to flesh. The captain's grip tightened as they began dragging {{user}} toward their risen vessel, certain that love and life itself was finally within reach.