Rowan had never been aboard a pirate ship before.
Well, technically, he had never been aboard any ship before.
Unless you counted the little wooden boat he had once tried to build with his father.
Which had sunk.
Immediately.
“Think it’ll be big?” he asked.
Bjorn glanced at him.
“What?”
“The Crimson Tide.”
Bjorn shrugged.
“Probably.”
“How big?”
“Ship-sized.”
Rowan frowned.
“That’s not helpful.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
Lyra walked several steps ahead, her red hair dancing in the warm morning breeze.
“Ye two keep chatterin’ like gulls, and we’ll miss the tide.”
Rowan hurried after her.
“Wait! Do ships really have to leave at certain times?”
“Aye. Depends on the currents, the winds, and whether the captain’s got enough sense to read ’em.”
Bjorn grinned.
“So we’re in trouble?”
Lyra smirked.
“Depends on the captain.”
They followed the winding streets of Larkshore toward the eastern docks.
The harbor was already alive with activity.
Sailors shouted from wooden decks, merchants rolled barrels across the piers, and seabirds circled overhead, occasionally diving toward unattended baskets of fish.
The morning sun shimmered across the Never Ending Lark, turning its rolling waves into ribbons of silver and gold.
Rowan breathed deeply.
The salty air filled his lungs.
He smiled.
“Man, I love this place.”
Bjorn nodded.
“Good food.”
“Beautiful water.”
“Good food.”
“Awesome ships.”
“Really good food.”
Rowan looked at him.
“Is that all you think about?”
Bjorn considered the question.
“No.”
Rowan waited.
Bjorn grinned.
“Sometimes I think about fighting.”
Lyra laughed.
“A true warrior, that one.”
Harvey chirped from Bjorn’s shoulder.
Bjorn patted the Frost Phoenix.
“And Harvey.”
Rowan shook his head.
“Of course.”
They rounded a corner.
And stopped.
Before them stretched a massive wooden pier, crowded with sailors hauling ropes and loading crates.
At its far end rested a magnificent ship.
Its hull was painted deep crimson, trimmed with polished black wood and golden decorations. Three towering masts rose above the deck, their enormous red sails furled neatly against the rigging.
A carved figurehead extended from the bow—a fierce sea serpent with its jaws open, as though preparing to swallow the waves.
Golden letters gleamed along the ship’s side.
THE CRIMSON TIDE
Rowan’s jaw dropped.
“WHOA!”
Bjorn whistled.
“Okay. That’s big.”
Lyra folded her arms.
“Aye. She’s a fine-looking vessel.”
Rowan turned toward her.
“You sound surprised.”
“Looks can be deceivin’, lad.”
Rowan grinned.
“Come on!”
He hurried down the pier.
“Rowan!” Lyra called.
But he was already running.
The wooden boards rattled beneath his boots.
A sailor carrying a barrel stepped into his path.
Rowan swerved.
Another sailor emerged from behind a stack of crates.
Rowan jumped.
Then his foot caught a loose rope.
“WHOA!”
He stumbled forward.
His arms windmilled.
For one terrible moment, he teetered at the edge of the pier.
Then—
GRAB!
Bjorn caught the back of his cloak.
Again.
Rowan dangled above the water.
He looked down.
A large fish surfaced beneath him.
BLOOP.
Rowan swallowed.
“…Hi.”
Bjorn hauled him backward.
THUD!
Rowan landed on the dock.
Lyra arrived a moment later, shaking her head.
“By the tides, wind-boy. Ye haven’t even boarded the ship and ye’re already tryin’ to fall overboard.”
Rowan stood and brushed himself off.
“I had it under control.”
Bjorn raised an eyebrow.
“Sure.”
Harvey chirped.
Rowan pointed at him.
“Don’t start.”
A smooth voice interrupted them.
“Ah! My adventurous friends!”
Captain Vespern stood at the top of the gangplank.
He wore the same crimson coat and polished black boots as the day before, though today a silver chain hung across his chest. His dark tricorn hat rested at a jaunty angle, its white feather fluttering in the breeze.
He spread his arms.
“Welcome to the Crimson Tide!”
Rowan grinned.
“Captain Vespern!”
The captain descended the gangplank with practiced ease.
“I trust you slept well?”
Bjorn shrugged.
“Until someone started firing cannons.”
Vespern laughed.
“Ah, yes. The morning harbor salute.”
Rowan blinked.
“That’s a real thing?”
“Of course.”
Bjorn slowly looked at Rowan.
Rowan slowly looked at Bjorn.
“…You knew?”
Bjorn grinned.
“Maybe.”
Rowan groaned.
Vespern chuckled.
“Come! Allow me to show you my ship.”
He turned and gestured toward the gangplank.
Rowan hurried after him.
Lyra lingered for a moment.
Her eyes traveled along the hull, examining the polished wood, the rigging, and the sailors moving across the deck.
Then she followed.
The moment Rowan stepped aboard the Crimson Tide, his eyes widened.
The deck stretched farther than he had imagined, lined with neatly coiled ropes, polished railings, and enormous wooden barrels secured beneath the masts.
Cannons rested along both sides of the ship, their dark iron barrels pointing toward the harbor.
Above them, sailors climbed through the rigging with astonishing speed.
One swung from a rope.
Another leapt between wooden platforms high above the deck.
Rowan stared.
“Whoa…”
Vespern smiled proudly.
“Magnificent, isn’t she?”
Rowan nodded.
“It’s amazing!”
The captain placed a hand against the nearest mast.
“The Crimson Tide has crossed waters most sailors wouldn’t dare approach. Storms, whirlpools, reefs, and seas filled with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.”
Bjorn glanced toward the water.
“Creatures that could swallow a ship?”
Vespern nodded.
“Indeed.”
Rowan’s eyes sparkled.
“Have you seen one?”
“Several.”
“Really?!”
Vespern leaned closer.
“Once, a beast rose from the depths with teeth larger than this very mast.”
Rowan looked up.
The mast towered above them.
His mouth fell open.
“No way!”
Vespern chuckled.
“I assure you, my boy, the Never Ending Lark holds wonders beyond imagination.”
Lyra crossed her arms.
“And dangers beyond foolishness.”
Vespern turned toward her.
“Ah. A woman who understands the sea.”
Lyra gave a small smile.
“Aye. Enough to know stories grow bigger every time they’re told.”
Bjorn snorted.
Rowan tried not to laugh.
Vespern’s smile remained perfectly in place.
“Quite true.”
He gestured toward the stern.
“Come. There’s more to see.”
They followed him across the deck.
Rowan examined everything.
He watched sailors haul ropes through wooden pulleys, inspected the enormous steering wheel, and nearly walked into a hanging lantern while staring at the sails.
Bjorn stopped beside one of the cannons.
He ran a hand along its iron barrel.
“Now that’s a weapon.”
Vespern smiled.
“Sixteen cannons. Eight to a side.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Ever fire them all at once?”
“On occasion.”
“What happens?”
Vespern chuckled.
“Usually, whatever we’re aiming at has a very unpleasant afternoon.”
Bjorn laughed.
“I like this ship.”
Harvey hopped onto the cannon.
He peered into its barrel.
Bjorn immediately lifted him away.
“Nope. Not doing that.”
Harvey chirped indignantly.
“You are not a cannonball.”
Rowan laughed.
Vespern watched the Frost Phoenix with growing interest.
“A remarkable creature.”
Bjorn nodded proudly.
“His name’s Harvey.”
“Harvey?”
The captain raised an eyebrow.
“A rather ordinary name for such an extraordinary bird.”
Harvey puffed his feathers.
Bjorn grinned.
“He likes it.”
Vespern smiled.
“Then Harvey it shall be.”
He led them toward the stern, where a broad staircase climbed to an elevated deck.
A tall sailor stood near the steps.
He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark skin weathered by years beneath the sun. His black hair was tied behind his head, and a long scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheek.
A heavy curved sword hung at his hip.
His arms were folded across his chest.
Vespern gestured toward him.
“Allow me to introduce my first mate, Garrick.”
The sailor gave them a brief nod.
“Captain.”
“Garrick, these are our prospective passengers.”
Garrick’s eyes moved across the group.
First Rowan.
Then Lyra.
Then Bjorn.
His gaze settled on the axe resting against Bjorn’s back.
He raised an eyebrow.
“A warrior?”
Bjorn grinned.
“Yep.”
Garrick looked him up and down.
“Bit small.”
Bjorn’s smile vanished.
Rowan winced.
“Oh no.”
Bjorn stepped forward.
“Excuse me?”
Garrick shrugged.
“Just an observation.”
Bjorn folded his arms.
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing about your sword.”
Garrick glanced down at the curved blade hanging from his belt.
“My sword?”
Bjorn nodded.
“Looks a little small.”
The first mate’s eyes narrowed.
Lyra sighed.
“Here we go.”
Vespern chuckled.
“Now, now. No need for unpleasantness.”
Garrick stepped closer.
“You think you could handle a blade like mine?”
Bjorn grinned.
“Probably with one hand.”
Rowan covered his face.
“Bjorn…”
Garrick’s mouth curled into a smile.
“Care to prove it?”
Bjorn’s eyes lit up.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Vespern raised one hand.
“Gentlemen—”
But Garrick had already drawn his sword.
SHING!
The polished blade flashed in the sunlight.
Several nearby sailors stopped working.
Bjorn reached for his axe.
Rowan stepped backward.
Lyra folded her arms.
“Should we stop them?”
Rowan sighed.
“Would it work?”
Lyra considered the question.
“…No.”
Bjorn drew his axe.
Garrick smiled.
“First one to lose their weapon loses.”
Bjorn nodded.
“Fine by me.”
The two circled one another.
Sailors gathered around them, whispering excitedly.
Rowan glanced toward Vespern.
“Is this allowed?”
The captain smiled.
“An occasional friendly contest keeps the crew sharp.”
Lyra muttered something under her breath.
Rowan looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothin’, lad.”
Garrick moved first.
WHOOSH!
His sword flashed toward Bjorn.
Bjorn raised his axe.
CLANG!
Steel struck steel.
The sound rang across the deck.
Bjorn grinned.
“Not bad!”
Garrick twisted his wrist.
His blade slipped free.
Then he struck again.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
Bjorn blocked each blow, his boots scraping against the wooden planks.
Rowan watched in amazement.
Garrick was fast.
Really fast.
His movements were smooth and controlled, each strike flowing into the next.
Bjorn fought differently.
He relied on strength, quick reactions, and powerful swings that forced Garrick to retreat.
The two seemed evenly matched.
Until Garrick suddenly ducked beneath Bjorn’s axe.
He stepped sideways.
Then hooked his sword beneath the axe’s handle.
TWANG!
Bjorn’s weapon flew from his hands.
It spun through the air.
Rowan’s eyes widened.
“BJORN!”
The axe landed several feet away.
THUNK!
Silence.
Garrick straightened.
He smiled.
“Looks like I win.”
Bjorn stared at his empty hands.
Then at the axe.
Then back at Garrick.
“…Again.”
Garrick chuckled.
“Another time.”
Bjorn stepped forward.
“Come on! I wasn’t ready!”
Garrick raised an eyebrow.
“You drew your weapon.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And you agreed to the rules.”
Bjorn opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Rowan approached and picked up the axe.
He handed it back.
“Hey. You almost had him.”
Bjorn frowned.
“Almost doesn’t count.”
Lyra stepped beside him.
“Aye. But ye learned somethin’.”
Bjorn looked at her.
“What?”
She nodded toward Garrick.
“Strength ain’t always enough.”
Bjorn glanced at the first mate.
Garrick had already returned his sword to its sheath.
He gave Bjorn a small nod.
“Good power. Poor balance.”
Bjorn’s eyes narrowed.
Garrick continued.
“You swing like you’re trying to split a mountain.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Usually works.”
“Not against someone who moves.”
The nearby sailors chuckled.
Bjorn tightened his grip on the axe.
“Next time, I’ll be ready.”
Garrick smiled.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Vespern clapped his hands.
“Excellent! A spirited introduction!”
Rowan sighed.
“That’s one way to put it.”
The captain led them into his private cabin.
It was unlike anything Rowan had ever seen.
Polished wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with strange artifacts, rolled parchments, and glass bottles containing colorful liquids.
A large desk stood beneath a round window overlooking the harbor.
Maps covered nearly every available surface.
Some showed familiar coastlines.
Others displayed islands Rowan had never heard of.
One enormous chart stretched across the far wall, marked with red lines, strange symbols, and several dark circles.
Rowan approached it.
“Whoa…”
Vespern smiled.
“Ah. My collection.”
Bjorn glanced around.
“Lot of maps.”
“Knowledge,” Vespern replied, “is the greatest treasure a captain can possess.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
“Thought ye said treasure was the greatest treasure.”
Vespern chuckled.
“A close second.”
Rowan studied the enormous chart.
His eyes moved across the winding lines.
Then he noticed something.
Near the center of the map, far beyond the familiar coastlines, a dark circle had been drawn around a stretch of open water.
Beside it was a single word.
UNKNOWN.
Rowan pointed.
“What’s there?”
Vespern followed his gaze.
For a moment, his expression changed.
Then he smiled.
“An area best avoided.”
Rowan frowned.
“Why?”
“Unpredictable currents. Dangerous storms. Ships that vanish without warning.”
Bjorn crossed his arms.
“Sounds fun.”
Lyra gave him a look.
Bjorn shrugged.
“What?”
Rowan stepped closer to the map.
“Do you think there could be ruins out there?”
Vespern studied him.
“Perhaps.”
Rowan turned.
“Really?”
The captain walked toward his desk.
“There are many stories about the Never Ending Lark. Sunken kingdoms. Forgotten temples. Ancient treasures resting beneath the waves.”
Rowan’s heart quickened.
“Have you found any?”
Vespern smiled.
“Not yet.”
Lyra leaned against the wall.
“And what exactly are ye searchin’ for, Captain?”
Vespern turned toward her.
“Adventure, of course.”
Lyra didn’t smile.
“Aye?”
“And perhaps a little fortune along the way.”
Bjorn chuckled.
“At least he’s honest.”
Lyra glanced at him.
“Is he?”
Vespern spread his hands.
“My dear, suspicion is a useful quality at sea. But too much of it can keep a person from recognizing opportunity.”
Lyra tilted her head.
“And too little gets ye robbed.”
The captain laughed.
“Fair enough.”
Rowan looked between them.
He could feel the tension.
But he couldn’t quite understand it.
Vespern seemed friendly enough.
He had offered them passage.
Shown them his ship.
And even allowed Bjorn to challenge his first mate.
What was there to worry about?
Rowan stepped forward.
“So… about that passage.”
Vespern’s smile widened.
“Ah, yes.”
He moved behind his desk and unrolled a smaller map.
“Tell me, Rowan. Where exactly are you hoping to go?”
Rowan hesitated.
He reached into his pocket.
His fingers brushed the compass.
Then he remembered Lyra’s warning.
Not everyone searching for treasure wanted to share it.
He looked at the map.
“West.”
Vespern raised an eyebrow.
“West?”
Rowan nodded.
“That’s where we’re headed.”
The captain chuckled.
“My boy, west is a rather large direction.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Better than east.”
Vespern laughed politely.
“Indeed.”
Lyra stepped forward.
“We’re still decidin’ our course.”
Vespern studied her.
Then nodded.
“Of course.”
He rolled up the map.
“Well, perhaps we can discuss the details tomorrow.”
Rowan blinked.
“Tomorrow?”
“Aye. A voyage requires preparation. Supplies, crew assignments, favorable winds.”
Lyra nodded.
“That much be true.”
Vespern smiled.
“In the meantime, I would be delighted to offer you passage aboard the Crimson Tide.”
Rowan’s eyes widened.
“Really?!”
“Provided we can agree upon a destination.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Sounds fair.”
Lyra remained quiet.
Vespern extended his hand.
“What do you say?”
Rowan looked at Bjorn.
Bjorn shrugged.
“I’m in.”
He looked at Lyra.
She hesitated.
Then gave a small nod.
“We’ll discuss it.”
Rowan smiled.
“Alright!”
He shook Vespern’s hand.
The captain’s grip was firm.
His smile never wavered.
“Wonderful.”
By the time they returned to the docks, the afternoon sun had begun to sink toward the horizon.
The harbor glowed with warm golden light.
Sailors hurried across the piers, securing ropes and preparing ships for the evening tide.
Rowan walked beside Bjorn, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Can you believe it? We might actually have a ship!”
Bjorn grinned.
“Pretty good one, too.”
Rowan nodded.
“Did you see those sails?”
“Yep.”
“And the cannons?”
“Yep.”
“And the maps?”
“Yep.”
Rowan laughed.
“This is going to be awesome!”
Bjorn glanced back toward the Crimson Tide.
His smile faded slightly.
“…I’m gonna beat that guy next time.”
Rowan blinked.
“Garrick?”
Bjorn nodded.
“He got lucky.”
Lyra chuckled.
“Aye. Lucky ye swung that axe like a lumberjack choppin’ firewood.”
Bjorn frowned.
“Hey!”
Rowan laughed.
“She has a point.”
Bjorn sighed.
“Great. Everyone’s a sword expert now.”
Harvey chirped.
Bjorn looked at him.
“Not you too.”
Lyra smiled.
But as they reached the end of the pier, her expression grew serious.
She glanced back toward the Crimson Tide.
Rowan noticed.
“Lyra?”
“Aye?”
“You’ve been quiet.”
She looked at him.
“Have I?”
Rowan nodded.
“Ever since we met Vespern.”
Lyra stopped walking.
Bjorn turned.
“Something wrong?”
She studied the ship in the distance.
Its crimson sails fluttered gently against the darkening sky.
“Aye,” she said softly.
Rowan frowned.
“What?”
Lyra crossed her arms.
“I don’t trust him.”
Bjorn raised an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
“Too smooth.”
Rowan blinked.
“Too smooth?”
“Aye. Every answer ready. Every smile polished. Every word exactly what ye want to hear.”
Bjorn shrugged.
“Maybe he’s just friendly.”
Lyra shook her head.
“Maybe.”
Rowan looked toward the ship.
He thought about Vespern’s stories.
The beautiful cabin.
The maps.
The promise of adventure.
“He seems alright to me.”
Lyra sighed.
“That’s what worries me.”
Rowan frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him.
“Ye see the best in everyone, wind-boy.”
Rowan smiled slightly.
“Is that bad?”
Lyra’s expression softened.
“No.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“But sometimes, ye’ve got to remember that not everyone deserves it.”
Rowan fell quiet.
The wind swept across the harbor.
Far above them, Harvey circled through the golden sky.
Bjorn looked toward the Crimson Tide.
“Well, if he tries anything…”
He patted his axe.
Lyra rolled her eyes.
“Aye, aye. Ye’ll chop him.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Exactly.”
Rowan laughed.
But as they continued toward the town, he glanced back one last time.
Captain Vespern stood on the upper deck of the Crimson Tide.
Even from this distance, Rowan could see him watching.
The captain raised one hand.
Rowan waved back.
Vespern smiled.
Then turned away.
High above the harbor, Captain Vespern stood beside Garrick.
The first mate folded his arms.
“Well?”
Vespern watched the three travelers disappear into the crowded streets.
“The boy is eager.”
Garrick grunted.
“And the warrior?”
Vespern smiled faintly.
“Strong. Impulsive. Predictable.”
Garrick glanced toward the docks.
“He’ll be trouble.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the girl?”
Vespern’s smile faded.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked toward the horizon.
“She knows the sea.”
Garrick nodded.
“Aye.”
“And she knows men like us.”
The first mate frowned.
“Then why invite them aboard?”
Vespern reached into his coat and withdrew a small brass instrument.
It resembled a compass.
But its needle spun endlessly, refusing to settle.
He studied it for a moment.
Then smiled.
“Because the boy carries something I’ve been searching for.”
Garrick glanced at the instrument.
“The compass?”
Vespern nodded.
“Not just any compass.”
He slipped it back into his coat.
“A compass that knows where destiny hides.”
Garrick’s eyes narrowed.
“And you think it’ll lead us to the ruins?”
Vespern looked west.
Far beyond the harbor, the Never Ending Lark shimmered beneath the fading sunlight.
His smile widened.
“Oh, Garrick.”
He rested one hand on the railing.
“I think it’ll lead us to something far greater.”
The wind shifted.
The crimson sails rustled overhead.
And somewhere beneath the endless waters of the Lark, a deep current began to stir.
As though the sea itself had heard his words.
And was waiting.