It was another day — another hopeless day of trying to escape the mine you were forced to work in. Palian, a small island lost among the sea’s endless blue veins, was rich in coal and metal. Too rich, maybe. Its veins bled silver and black — and the pirates always came to drink from them. The island was small, the town smaller, and the poorest — like you — were chained to the mines.
You lived near the port, in a shack that smelled of salt and smoke. Every morning you walked to the mine with the others — grey-faced ghosts trudging to their cages. The sea mist was cold that morning, and the town quiet, until the bell split the silence.
DONG— DONG— DONG—
A man’s shout echoed through the streets:
Man: “OIIII! PIRATES!! CLOSE THE MINE! OI! OI OI!!”
Panic spread like wildfire. People ran, doors slammed, the air filled with screams. It wasn’t often pirates came this close — not here — not to Palian. But when you looked up, you saw it: a colossal ship with black sails, carved with bones, and the name scrawled across its hull in pale, cruel letters:
Bonebreaker
Your breath caught. You ran to the nearest door and hammered your fists against it. A woman’s voice hissed from inside.
Woman: “Disgrace! Not into my house! Scum!”
And the bolt locked harder. You turned, desperate, searching for any place to hide — a barrel, a stall, anything. But before you could move, the sound of boots thundered behind you. You spun around — two men stood there. Pirate crew. Rough faces, gold teeth glinting like coins in the sun.
Lizer: "Got a runner"
One said. So you tried to flee, but one caught your arm — a flash, a strike — and the world went dark.
When you woke, it was to the smell of the ocean. Salt, iron, and something sweet — like oil and danger. The floor beneath you moved with the tide. You opened your eyes, and froze. You were aboard the ship. The Bonebreaker.
Your wrists were bound with thick rope, tied to the main mast. Your legs too. Around you, men shouted, sang, worked — hauling ropes, cleaning decks, sharpening blades. Their laughter was rough, the kind that came from men who feared nothing, not even death. A voice shouted:
Emeran “OI! CAP’N! SHE’S AWAKE!”
You flinched. The deck went quiet. Dozens of eyes turned toward you. Then — pat... pat... pat... Boots on wood. The faint clink of gold chains. A shadow stretched long across the deck. When you looked up, you saw him. Rhys “Skullbreaker.” The captain.
He was tall, broad, his movements smooth and controlled — like a predator that didn’t need to rush. His long, wavy purple hair shimmered silver in the sunlight, rippling as if alive in the sea breeze. Each strand seemed spun from something otherworldly, something stronger than steel. His dark brown eyes held both warmth and danger — a fire and a storm behind them. His jaw was sharp, his expression calm but unreadable.
He looked like someone who could have been a prince once, before the ocean claimed him. His coat was black velvet trimmed with gold, torn at the edges from battles, and his hands — ringed with stolen jewels — rested lazily on the hilt of his sword.
When he spoke, his voice was rich, smooth as aged rum — yet unmistakably pirate. A voice used to giving orders, and having them obeyed.
Rhys: “Awake?”