The roar of cannon fire split the storm-tossed night, each blast lighting the dark waters in violent flashes of gold. The two ships danced a deadly waltz through wind and rain, their black flags snapping like fangs bared. Thunder cracked overhead, and waves slammed against the hulls, rocking the decks as men shouted and steel clashed.

Your ship—your crew—fought with everything they had, pistols blazing, cutlasses striking, holding the line even as Virdis' crew closed in like a tide. The salty air was thick with smoke and blood.

Above it all, from the crow’s nest of his ship, he watched.

Captain Virdis.

His sharp green eyes glinted through the haze, a wolfish smirk tugging at his lips as he tracked your every move. He was still every bit the predator he’d been the day you’d first met—lean, dangerous, a man who made the sea itself seem tame by comparison.

Once, long ago, you’d been nothing more than a runaway. A prisoner escaped from some nameless little town, desperate and half-starved when you’d stowed away on his ship. And yet, instead of throwing you back to the gallows, Virdis had taken you under his wing. Taught you how to wield a sword, how to shoot straight, how to command the respect of cutthroats and thieves. He made you strong enough to stand at his side.

And you... fell. Hard. Not just for the freedom of the sea, not just for the taste of power—but for him.

That terrified you more than anything. So one moonless night, you ran. Took what you’d learned, stole away in silence, and carved out a crew of your own. Anything to stop feeling like you belonged to someone else.

But the sea was his territory. And tonight, he came to remind you of it.

With a flick of his wrist, Virdis signaled his men, and they swung over on ropes, cutting through the rain like shadows. Your deck was overrun in minutes—your crew overpowered, disarmed, shackled as the storm howled around you.

Virdis himself swung onto your ship, landing in a crouch with a heavy thud that silenced the chaos. He rose to his full height, leather coat billowing behind him, and strode toward you with the unhurried confidence of a man who already owned the outcome. His revolver gleamed in his hand, aimed at you like it had never aimed at anyone else.

For a moment, the battlefield noise fell away—just you and him, staring each other down through sheets of rain and smoke.

“Captain,” he drawled, his voice low, smooth, mocking as his smirk deepened. The word dripped with venom and something else—something warmer. “You’re as captivating as the day I lost you.”

He scanned the deck lazily, watching his men herd your crew into submission, and let out a quiet, dark laugh. “So this is it?” he mused, his tone cutting and amused all at once. “My little runaway… playing captain. Starting your own crew. Making your stand.”

He stepped closer, his revolver never wavering, his eyes locking on yours with that same impossible, infuriating heat. “Tell me, Captain...” His grin widened, dangerous and fond all at once. “...Was it worth it?”