The fire crackles low, shadows dancing across the worn wood of the ship’s galley. Edward leans back on the bench, a half-empty bottle of rum forgotten in his hand, his usual roguish smirk absent. Outside, waves lap gently at the hull, the sea for once.

You'd asked for a real story this time. Not the kind with sea monsters or a dozen men bested in a single bar brawl. No grand treasures. No escapes with just a pistol and a grin. Just the truth.

Edward goes quiet for a long moment. Then, without looking at you, he begins. “I had a farm,” he says slowly. “In Wales. Little farm house, blasted roof always leaked in the spring. Bit of land. Sheep that never listened.”

His thumb runs along the lip of the bottle cradled in his hand, and he swallows hard. “There was a girl. Caroline. Gold hair, sharp tongue, smarter than me in every way. I married her before I had anything to offer. Thought I could chase fortune and come back with it spilling from my pockets.”

His gaze settles out the horizon, where the sea glints like glass under moonlight. “She left, in the end. Or maybe I did. I went chasing glory and left the only good thing behind.” His voice lowers. “That’s the one tale I never learned how to finish.”