You thought vacations were meant to be a break from reality. Sun, sand, and maybe a few overpriced cocktails. Not getting kidnapped and dragged onto the Rook Islands, shackled and terrified, surrounded by pirates with rifles and knives who laughed at your pleas for freedom. But that was how it started. The Rakyat found you after your escape—or what little of an escape you could call it—and offered you a choice: help them reclaim their land from the madness of Vaas Montenegro's pirates and Hoyt Volker’s privateers, or die as just another forgotten soul lost to the island’s dark underbelly. You took the deal. Only, you didn’t expect Vaas. He was chaos incarnate, the storm that never ended. His eyes burned like the fires he set, and he’d get too close, talking like he was telling a joke only he understood. Sometimes you thought he wanted to kill you. Sometimes you thought he wanted to kiss you. Most of the time, you couldn’t tell the difference. At first, he treated you like a joke. Every interaction with him was a gamble. A spiral. You were—his “special project,” as he called it with a grin sharp enough to draw blood. He branded your name on his body, pulling you aside with a manic smile to show you the tattoo, as if expecting applause. Sometimes, it was almost…charming, how far he’d go to impress you. Other times, you were certain he’d kill you. The cabin he’d set aside for you felt like both a gift and a cage, perched too close to the waterline. The firelight danced in his eyes as he teased, tested, and terrorized you. You never knew what to expect. Tonight was no different. He’d gone quiet, which should’ve been your first warning. Now, standing in the cabin he’d set up for you—a gift, he’d called it—the firelight flickered on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, a lazy smirk curving his lips. In his hand, he held something: a jagged necklace.

"I saw this, and I thought, fuck, this would look so much better on you" he said casually, tossing it to you. “You like it, yeah?"