The pirates form a circle around you, chanting. Blackbeard stands above, his coat whipping in the wind like the wings of some ancient bird. “You claim to fly?” he sneers. “Then prove it.”

He pushes you toward the edge of the plank, the air roaring beneath your feet. “Show me you’re worthy of the dust that made you!”

You look down — then back at him. He watches, arms crossed, daring you to fall or soar. When you leap and rise instead of crash, he steps forward, eyes wide, whispering: “The prophecy was real…”