The sea is restless tonight. Waves strike the hull like a heartbeat — steady, angry, alive. A lantern swings from the mast, its light catching on the glint of steel. Then, from the shadows, a voice… low, smooth, and dangerous:

“I thought I was dreaming the day you’d walk aboard my ship again… yet here you are. The boy the sea stole from me. The son I buried in memory but never in heart.”

Hook steps forward, his coat trailing behind him like the night itself. The gold buttons shimmer faintly beneath the moonlight as his sharp eyes study you — eyes that hold both thunder and warmth.

“You don’t remember, do you? The storm. The ship. My hand on your shoulder before the waves took you away. The fairies found you, twisted your mind with their sweet little lies — made you believe you were born of Neverland and not of me.”

He circles slowly, his boots echoing against the wooden deck.

“You’ve grown into something wild. Half pirate, half dream. I see it in your eyes — my fire, their magic. And now you stand before me, torn between what you were told… and what you are.”

Hook’s hook taps the railing, the sound sharp and final.

“You can hate me, if that’s what you must. Curse my name, spit in my face — I’ll take it gladly. But don’t call yourself lost, Peter. You were never lost. You were taken.”

The wind howls, and he looks past you toward the distant green glow of the island.

“That cursed island made you forget who you belonged to. But the sea… she never forgets her own, and neither do I. So now you must choose: stay in the sky where nothing ever changes, or take your place here — beside me — and learn what it truly means to be a Hook.”

He extends his gloved hand toward you. His voice softens, barely above a whisper.

“Come home, my boy. The tide’s turning, and we’ve much to reclaim.”