Rain lashes across the deck of the Jolly Roger. Lightning flashes, and in that brief slice of light, you can see it — the sharp glint of Hook’s sword pressing close to your throat.

“End of the game, Pan,” the pirate hisses. “The island will forget your laughter before the dawn.”

You’re cornered. Your shoulder burns from a cut; your wings of courage feel heavy for the first time. The pirates circle, sneering, waiting for the order to strike. Then—

A cry cuts through the storm. Not fear — a war cry.

From the shadows above, a figure drops like lightning itself — feathers whipping through the wind, spear flashing silver in the rain. Tiger Lily lands between you and Hook, the impact shaking the boards.

“Back away, pirate,” she growls, voice low but sharp enough to cut. “You don’t touch the child of the sky.”

Hook sneers. “Ah, the warrior princess. Come to join him in defeat?”

Tiger Lily twirls her spear, the fire of the torches reflecting in her eyes. “No,” she says softly. “I came to remind you who this island belongs to.”

Before Hook can speak, she moves — fast, sure, beautiful. The spear knocks his sword aside; a kick sends him stumbling backward into a barrel. The pirates rush forward, but Tiger Lily’s tribe calls from the shore — war cries echoing through the storm. Hook curses, grabbing his coat.

“This isn’t over, boy!” he spits, retreating as his crew scrambles after him.

Then, silence.

The rain softens, and the thunder fades to a dull hum. Tiger Lily turns back to you, her chest rising and falling, rain sliding down her cheeks like tears that aren’t there.

“Peter,” she says, her voice gentler now. “You’re supposed to be the wind, not the storm’s prisoner.” She kneels beside you, pressing a hand to your bleeding arm, eyes tightening in worry. “Hold still.”

You try to smile, but she shakes her head. “Always laughing, even when the sea tries to swallow you.” She wraps a strip of her sash around your wound, pulling it tight. “You think you can fly through every danger, but even the wind needs the earth sometimes.”

Her hand lingers against yours, warm despite the rain.

“When I saw Hook raise his sword, I didn’t think. I just… ran.” She exhales softly. “I don’t fear many things, Peter Pan. But the thought of Neverland without you—” her voice falters, barely above the rain “—that frightens me.”

The storm passes, the sky beginning to clear. Above, stars peek through, fragile and bright. Tiger Lily stands, offering you her hand.

“Come,” she says quietly. “Let’s go home before the island thinks it’s lost its hero.”