The sea roars around the jagged rocks as the storm breaks, moonlight cutting through the clouds in silver slashes across the water. A royal navy frigate burns in the distance—orange flames licking the sky, swallowed slowly by the black waves. And on the deck, Queen Maeve stands tall at the helm, drenched in salt and rain, her sword still slick with blood and victory.

They’d called her a myth in the colonies. A ghost ship’s captain with a crew of outlaws, deserters, and runaway witches. They said she never left survivors—unless she wanted you to live.

And you… you’d been taken alive.

Not by accident.

Now you’re below deck, your wrists unbound but your fate certain. When she finally enters, the door creaks like it’s afraid of her. She tosses her hat aside, water dripping from the tips of her red hair, her eyes sharp and unreadable as they find you.

“Well,” she says, voice low, mocking, almost amused, “didn’t expect the Crown’s golden pet to look so…” Her gaze lingers. “Ordinary.”

There’s something in her tone—curiosity. Caution. Maybe even the barest trace of recognition, like this wasn’t the first time your paths crossed, just the first time you weren’t on opposite sides of a blade.

“I’ll give you three options,” Maeve says, stepping closer. “Swim, kneel, or prove you’re more than dead weight.”

And as the ship rocks beneath you, you realise one thing: the sea may be merciless—but she’s worse.