"Raise the sails!"
"Load the cannons! Move!"
"Hey! Stop drinking—it's midday!"
"Move your asses! NOW!"
"We've got a long voyage ahead!"
The harbor of Ogefil Island had always been chaotic. Today, it was war.
Ships crowded the docks—seven large vessels, several smaller ones—their masts piercing the sky like a forest of ambition. Crews swarmed every deck, every pier, every inch of available space. Shouts overlapped. Feet pounded wood. Ropes flew and caught and pulled.
Preparation for war.
From High Hill, two figures watched.
Solna stood at Ashan's side, her voice carrying the weight of report. "Seven large ships. Several smaller support vessels." She paused. "Hundreds of pirates. Among them, a few who can use urja—hired, not loyal, but present."
Ashan's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. Blue meeting blue. Infinite.
"The patrons? How did they respond to our... requests?"
Solna's lips curved. "Some resisted. Brief resistance." A dark chuckle. "One threat. One beating. They're all aboard now."
"Don't push them too hard." Ashan's voice was calm and absolute. "The island is in your care."
Solna bowed—deep, formal, final. "Safe voyage, Captain. Bountiful returns."
Ashan's presence vanished. Not a step. Not a blur. Gone. Solna's shoulders shuddered. I'll never get used to that.
.....
On the flagship...
"Y'ALL HEAR ME?" Toric's voice carried across the deck, across the fleet, across the ocean. "We raid every island! Kill anyone in our path! LOOT EVERYTHING!" His hand shot skyward. The fleet answered.
"YEAH!" "CRIMSON SERPENT PIRATES!" "CRIMSON SERPENT PIRATES!" "LONG LIVE THE CRIMSON SERPENT PIRATES!"
A voice cut through—hesitant, confused. "Um... aren't we supposed to pray to the Lord of Storms for protection?" A slap. A scoff. "Idiot. The Crimson Ghost is the Lord of Storms' servant for us." The chanting resumed. Louder.
On the last day of the second month, the Crimson Serpent Pirates set sail. Seven large vessels tore through the blue sea. Their flags—dark skull, crimson serpent, venomous fang—flew high, touching the zenith, blazing under the sun's relentless rays.
And from a hundred throats, the old shanty rose:
"The ship is the mother, the sea is the father,
One holds us close, the other drags us farther.
She keeps us alive with plank and nail,
He decides our fate with tooth and gale.
Pray to no gods—only tighten the rope,
For the sea gives death, and the ship gives hope."
.....
Captain's cabin.
"Here, Captain." Dunstan's finger traced the map spread across the desk. "These four islands. Small. Spread thin in a half-circle." The cabin was sparse but comfortable—cushions, desk, map table. Baskets of fruit sat near a metal chilim. Charts lined the walls. "Beyond these—" Dunstan's finger moved "—the old pirate hideout. Now a naval base. Suryazar Rajyam and Hunter Union forces. Joint occupation."
Ashan studied the map. Silent. Calculating. "Your recommendation?"
Dunstan considered. "They'll expect us. The small islands will be guarded. Tight. We need a surprise." A pause. "Night attack. But—"
"Then night attack." Ashan's voice cut clean. "We take all four in swift succession. No information reaches the main base."
Dunstan's expression shifted—bewilderment, concern, fear. "But Captain—how? Without alerting them?" Please don't say something insane. Please—
Ashan's smirk was thin. Cold. Absolute. "That's my problem. I'll go ahead. Give the signal. Then you attack." He leaned back. "Final plan. Relay it to Toric."
Dunstan opened his mouth.Then closed it. The words would not come. The Captain's eyes—those terrible, knowing eyes—held no room for argument. "As you command, Captain."
He bowed. Turned. Reached the door. Paused. "Captain." His voice dropped. "There may be mutiny. The hired pirates—some factions don't get along."
"I know."
The calm answer stirred something in Dunstan's chest. He knows. He knows everything. I was worried for nothing.
He nodded. Left.
Ashan stared at the map. Mantriks first. Atma marga sadhakas. They're the real threat to my forces. Yoddhas—sharir marga—can be handled after.
A thought. What's the samyama marga equivalent called? Atma sadhakas are Mantriks. Sharir are Yoddhas. But samyama?
That snake is still hiding information.
He settled onto the goat-hide mat. Cross-legged. Centered. Wait and chase. The game begins again.