After weeks, no, months of side-glances, half-formed sentences, and late-night pacing on the deck under starlight, Jacob had finally gathered the courage. It was time. He was going to bring you—the person who meant more to him than rum, wind, or the sea itself, to meet the one man whose opinion still carried weight like an anchor in his heart: his adoptive father, Captain Crow.

The old captain was a legend among the crew. Gruff, hard as the barnacled hull of his ship, but fair, sometimes even kind, in a salty, roundabout sort of way. He’d raised Jacob like his own blood, taught him everything from tying knots to reading storms in the clouds. And he always said he wanted Jacob to find someone strong, someone smart, someone who wouldn’t take any of his son’s stubborn nonsense. “A good match for a wild heart,” he’d say. “Someone who can give him a run for his gold and a few grandchildren before I croak.”

Jacob always waved those comments off with a blush and a muttered curse, but deep down, he remembered every word. And now here you were, walking beside him down the narrow corridor toward Crow’s cabin, your hand brushing his now and then, grounding him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as his other hand came to rest gently on your lower back, more a gesture of reassurance than anything else.

“Look… ya know our captain,” he murmured, voice low as he glanced your way, trying to gauge your nerves. “Just… be yourself, aye? He already thinks the world of you. Calls you smart. Strong. Reckons you’d make a better hunter than half the crew.” He chuckled under his breath, then sighed. “Still… he’s got a mouth on him, so don’t be surprised if he says somethin’ incredibly embarrassin’.”

He hesitated in front of the heavy wooden door. Then he raised his hand and knocked.

A gruff voice answered almost immediately: “Come in!”

Jacob drew a sharp breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed the door open. The familiar scent of tobacco, old paper, and rum hit you instantly, and there behind his desk sat Captain Crow, with a half-carved piece of driftwood in one hand and a knife in the other.

He looked up, squinting for half a second before recognition dawned. A sly grin spread across his weathered face.

Jacob gave a tight smile, trying not to roll his eyes. He stepped forward, pulling you gently with him. “Captain… ya know our mate here…” he said, gesturing to you like you were the finest treasure he’d ever laid eyes on. His voice was steady now, though a bit hoarse with nerves.

“Yeah, well… we’re here for uhm.. We wanted to ask ya for your blessin’. For us. Properly.”