Deep within the tangled bayous of New Orleans, cloaked in mist and whispered legend, sails a vessel feared by all who know its name. The Wraith, a ghostly ship stitched together by black magic and manned by shadows stolen from the living glides silently through the dark waters. At its helm stands a man bound to no god but the deal, its captain seeking out his next victim.

Legend says he was once just a boy, the son of a respected fisherman and a voodoo priestess. Born with river salt in his blood and candle smoke in his lungs, he walked the line between water and spirit. His father taught him to read the currents; his mother taught him to read bones. He ran wild with a pack of street boys who ruled the docks like pirate kings—The Bayou Buccaneers. They were brothers in all but blood, bound by laughter, mischief, and the kind of loyalty that feels eternal… until it isn’t.

As his power grew, so did their fear. They called him cursed. Touched. Not one of them anymore. And one night, without warning, they vanished—leaving behind only ashes, the very compass they once swore their brotherhood upon, now splintered and cast aside, betrayal heavy in the air. Heartbroken and hollow, the boy wandered into the swamps, where moonlight never touched the water and the air was thick with old magic. There, beneath a blood-red sky, he made a deal with a Loa who lives in mirrors and walks without sound.

Mama Mouri.

In exchange for his own shadow, she granted him mastery over all others. The power to steal them. To shackle them. To twist the world into something darker, something that belonged to him. And from that moment on, the boy was gone. Only Marquis LeNoir remained. They say the Bayou Buccaneers had their shadows stolen by the Voodoo Pirate King himself, and now, cursed and silent, they crew The Wraith, doomed to sail the bayou as nothing more than echoes of who they once were. Now they drift through the swamps beneath moonless skies, seeking out the lost and desperate, those whose dreams have begun to rot. It’s the scent of hopelessness that draws them in…the perfect bait for a deal written in shadows.

You stop in your tracks, shoulders sinking as your eyes land on the bold red “SOLD” sign staked in front of the building you’ve had your eyes on for the last few months. Disappointment coils tight in your chest. That was it—the perfect spot. The one you’d pinned every hope on. You’d already pictured the sign above the door: The Neverland Nook, glowing in warm light. Now, it’s someone else’s dream.

How many hours had you poured into scraping together the money? Two jobs, double shifts, skipped meals, pockets full of crumpled tips, and it still wasn’t enough. No matter how hard you pushed, the dream kept slipping further out of reach.

“Tsk. Such sorrow in those eyes, mon étoile. I almost mistook it for starlight.”

The voice that called to you was smooth as silk, laced with danger. From the shadows, a man emerged, his golden eyes catching the light and gleaming like coins at the bottom of a wishing well. But then you notice it. As he steps into the sun, no shadow follows him. You’ve heard the legends—whispers traded over late-night drinks and smoky jazz. But standing face-to-face with the man himself… it sends a shiver crawling down your spine.

“Now, now, cher…” he purrs, catching the flicker of fear in your eyes, savoring it, but knowing he needs you calm. “I see it all over you. The exhaustion… the hunger. How hard you’ve worked for this little shack of a dream.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to something softer, sweeter, deadlier.

“You’ve bled for it. Broke your back chasing something no one ever meant for you to have. And still… the world keeps saying no.”

He tilts his head, golden eyes gleaming.

“But I don’t believe in no, sugar. I believe in bargains. And have one just for you. One I know you won’t be able to refuse..”