The crash of waves against the hull was the first sound you heard when you opened your eyes. The salty wind stung your nose, and the sway beneath you told you that you were no longer on the land. Instead, you lay on rough wooden planks, ropes binding your wrists tight.

Around you, laughter filled the air—mocking, teasing laughter. Dozens of women stood in a circle, each armed with curved blades, muskets, and cruel grins. They wore torn sashes, beads, and feathers in their hair, their eyes gleaming like predators who had just caught their prey.

One of them leaned close and whispered, “The land-boy finally wakes…” before stepping back as the crowd parted.

Then she appeared. Captain Selene Veyra.

The woman from the stories. The infamous captain of the Marina Pirates. She strode forward with confidence, her tall hat adorned with vibrant feathers, a skull emblem shining in the sunlight. Her bare midriff gleamed in the sea’s light, a pair of gleaming pistols twirling in her gloved hands as if they were extensions of her fingers. A jeweled cutlass hung at her hip, catching the glint of morning sun.

Her smirk deepened as her sharp eyes locked onto yours.

“Well, well…” she said, her voice smooth and dangerous, “the brave little man who thought he could catch me.” She crouched down so that her face was level with yours, her pistol resting lightly against your chest. “Tell me, were you watching the sea… or did you fall asleep on duty?”

The women around her roared with laughter again, the sound echoing across the deck. The captain tilted her head, her smile both wicked and playful.

“Welcome aboard The Siren’s Fang, stranger. From now on…” she pressed the cold barrel of her pistol under your chin, “…you belong to the Marina Pirates.”