Kai #2
That was the day I realized my father wasn’t a man anymore. He was something else. Something carved from cruelty. He created his greatest enemy that day.
Mira’s father spent years trying to kill me.
To avenge the woman my father butchered.
But I was never worried. My crew is stronger.
My magic, darker. I’ve taken down sea beasts older than time, creatures whispered about in the same breath as Charybdis, the Kraken, tarlocks, and the Leviathan.
And now that the merciless siren has dragged the old man into the black water and drowned him, I know I was right not to fear him.
He fell for a siren’s song, one voice a pirate should never let into their minds.
That, to me, screamed he was weak minded.
The thought of sirens pulls my eyes to the horizon, searching for the sea’s telltale shift to black, their omen, their feast, their graveyard. I listen hard to the crash of waves against the hull, bracing for the kind of song that could unravel a man’s mind and drag him willingly into the depths.
They say the first sirens weren’t born of the sea. In ancient myth, they were once muses, cursed by the gods, their beauty twisted, their voices turned into weapons. But ours? Ours are worse. Forged in salt, souls, and vengeance.
Touching Mira that night in the pub was unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
It was as if my hand had been set ablaze, fire igniting beneath my skin, a heat only her touch could quench.
I’ve never known a connection so raw, so visceral.
With just a single contact, I could see straight through her.
And she didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch. It was as if I could feel the warmth of her mother’s arms, the way she must’ve felt as a child, safe, loved, protected.
But then came the vision. A siren circling her bed, not with malice, but with grace.
Gliding through glowing water like a guardian, not a predator.
It sent a chill through me. Why did she see that siren?
Why wasn’t it attacking her, especially while she was defenseless?
And why was the water glowing, when it should’ve been black?
So many questions. Too many. The Bleu family, it seemed, was built on secrets.
I hadn’t seen her since the day her mother died, and she’d changed.
Grown. A tiny thing with a sharp tongue and fire in her deep emerald green eyes.
She spoke with the confidence of someone twice her size and hit just as hard.
Those emerald eyes, feral, alive, could bring a lesser man to his knees.
Her frame, all soft curves and wildfire, was a contradiction I can’t ignore.
I’m not supposed to want her. I’m supposed to kill her.
But back at the pub, no matter how hard she pushed, I couldn’t do it. My blade stayed sheathed. Something inside me whispered don’t. I thought it was my magic leading me, so I listened.
Only now, that whisper hasn’t stopped. It echoes in my bones, hums beneath my skin when I think of her.
Magic doesn’t lie and mine is restless. Like it’s trying to lead me somewhere.
To her. I keep telling myself I only hurt her a little.
That maybe my grip was too tight. That maybe I crossed a line.
But I had to send a message that I don’t tolerate being followed. Anyone else would’ve died for less.
Jay, my second, hasn’t let it go. He’s always been that way, ever since I was a reckless boy running headfirst into fights I couldn’t win and he was the one dragging me back out again.
He’s always pulled me in the right direction when I veered too far, kept me sane, or as sane as a man can be on a ship like this.
Yesterday he said I’ve gone soft. But there’s nothing soft about me.
Not even when it comes to her. Especially not then.
Searching for the map fragments has been nothing short of hell.
No one truly knows how many there are or what forms they take; they shift and hide as trinkets, stones, even pieces of living things.
The only lead worth following is this: the oldest creatures of the sea might remember where they lay, and coaxing answers from beings older than time is never simple.
My pursuit of the fountain isn’t about some selfish wish, it's about closing a wound.
My father failed; he left a trail of shame and weakness I refuse to inherit.
I hate him for what he was, and I live to prove I am better in every way.
If the fountain can finally finish what he started, no matter what I would wish for, it will stand as proof that I am the man he never was.
That kind of hunger does not stop for mercy.
This hunt has buried more legends than it has crowned. I will not be another footnote. I will find the fountain, and I will kill anyone who stands in my way.
Before his mind turned to rot, my father knew nearly everything, where the pieces were hidden, the curses tied to them, the monsters guarding them. Now he rages at shadows, forgets my name, talks to ghosts that never answer back.
Pirates don’t mourn. We survive, and survival means never getting attached, to crew, to blood, to anyone.
We set sail for a place called Pike, a strange, reclusive town buried deep in the jungle, where vines grow thicker than rope and the air tastes like earth and secrets.
It rests right on the borderline between Jasper’s Ocean and Sapphire’s, an eerie place where the sea changes color and depth without warning.
It was put there by the gods to separate magical beings and mortals.
Our goal is to find Veyra, a woman said to live in the jungle’s heart, and one who only appears if she chooses to.
Veyra is rumored to be in direct communion with Mother Earth herself.
She doesn’t just hear the land and sea, she feels them, breathes them, becomes them.
Many have ventured into Pike seeking her wisdom.
Most are turned away. Some leave cursed, marked by omens that follow them to their graves.
Veyra doesn’t entertain fools or those with darkness in their hearts.
She’s a brutal judge of character, and if she senses something off, she won’t just reject you, she’ll ruin you.
Quietly. You won’t even realize you’ve been judged until it’s far too late.
Visiting Veyra is a dangerous move, but she may be the only one who can get me closer to what I need.
I won’t pretend to be a saint, but I’m not wicked either.
Somewhere in between, maybe. I’m counting on the magic I carry to draw her in.
Maybe even earn her trust. What I can do is rare, feared in most parts of the world and outlawed in the rest. I’ve spent my life keeping it buried, hidden beneath sharp smiles and sharper blades.
But power like mine doesn’t go unnoticed. There are things that feed on it. Nyx.
Few speak of them anymore, and those who do whisper like they’re afraid the shadows are listening.
They’re old, older than sirens, older than sea magic.
Born from the dark when the gods stopped watching.
They walk like men, but they’re not. Their eyes are dark and their smiles like shards of broken glass, hidden behind whatever skin they wear.
Draining magic from the living, slowly, methodically, until nothing’s left but an empty shell for them to inhibit. No screams or blood. Just… gone.
Most believe they’re extinct. A myth to scare children, to scare witches.
But magic like mine calls to them. And I’ve felt eyes on me when no one else was around.
They say there’s no way to kill them. I don’t know if that’s true.
I just know if I ever come face-to-face with one… I’ll have to try or I’ll end up dead.
“Cap’n! Ship off the starboard side, full sail and heading straight for us!” one of my men shouts, yanking me from my thoughts. I pivot toward the west end of the deck.
A vessel I’ve never seen before carves through the fog, its inky black sails rippling like shadows torn from the underworld.
A chill scrapes down my spine. Something ancient clings to that ship, something foul.
Wrong. “Ready the cannons! Battle stations, we’re under attack!
” I bellow. Before the words leave my mouth, their cannons ignite.
Wood splinters. Shrapnel sings. The Leviathan groans as the blasts hit, precise and brutal. Anger boils inside me from the hit.
Figures swing aboard, thick ropes hissing through the air.
Half-man, half-creature. Their snarls sound like metal grating bones.
Clawed feet slap the deck. I’ve never crossed paths with these creatures.
But I know what they are: kappas. My crew meets them head-on, blades drawn, the clash of steel ringing across the chaos.
“Hold the line!” I command. “No one crosses over. We fight here. That ship looks like a place no pirate ever returns from.” Or worse.
A place that keeps you. Changes you into one of them.
Dark, twisted magic rolls off them in waves.
One of them barrels toward me, a grotesque thing, half-hammerhead, half-human, dragging a saw-toothed sword behind it.
I duck the first swing, sidestep the second.
Fast, but clumsy. I counter. Slice clean through its arm in one motion.
It stumbles. Then straightens. And the limb grows back.
My heart hammers once, hard. Sea beasts can do that. But they don’t breathe above water. This one does. They’re not just monsters. They’re something from the depths of hell, twisted in dark magic.