"We aren't winning this fight today, Kael. But we aren't dying today either."
The hull of the Resilient groaned, a low, metallic death rattle that vibrated through the soles of Captain Elias Thorne’s boots. Around him, the world was a chaotic blur of salt spray, black smoke, and the emerald glow of Kraken ink.
"Now," Thorne said, dipping the oar into the black waves, "we find a new deck. And then we hunt."
He hit the freezing water, the shock stealing his breath. When he surfaced, the great ship was gone, replaced by a violent whirlpool and floating debris.
Thorne looked at the horizon, where the faint glow of a distant port flickered through the gale. They had no gold, no cannons, and no ship. But they had the map, the will to live, and a very long list of names for revenge.
Thorne grabbed the ship’s log and shoved it into his waterproof tunic. He watched as his crew scrambled into the tiny rowing boats. They were battered, terrified, and exhausted, but they were alive. As the Resilient began its final tilt, the stern lifting toward the stormy sky, Thorne was the last to leap.
"Captain! The main mast is gone!" shouted Kael, the master gunner, his face slick with blood and seawater. "The pumps can’t keep up. She’s taking on too much!"
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