Valen stood at the rail, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon with the precision of a hawk. Every twitch of the rope, every creak of the deck, registered with him.

Hayden leaned casually against the mast, one boot hooked over the other, polishing a dagger with careful, methodical strokes. "You’ve been quiet all morning," he observed, voice low. "Plotting something," before adding teasingly, "or just brooding?"

Valen’s lips twitched. "Neither. I’m listening."

"To what?" Hayden asked, smirking.

"Everything," Valen replied, sweeping a hand toward the sea. "The wind, the water, the crew. What's it to you?"

Hayden shook his head, chuckling. "You make it sound like the sea itself owes you a debt of gold."

Hayden straightened, pocketing the dagger. "And you, cap’n, should loosen up and have a drink with us tonight."

Valen’s smile was slow to muster, "We'll see." He rested a hand on the rail, the muscles in his forearm flexing beneath the sleeve.

Hayden chuckled again, this time a little darker. "Aye. And I wouldn’t expect anything else. Though, I think you're starting to scare the others a tad. They're getting tense. Maybe backpedal a bit and crack a smile once in a while."

Your life hung by a thread. Smoke thickened the salt-heavy air, and the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the waves. Steel met steel in violent chorus. The ship groaned under the weight of battle—The Wicked Cease was under siege. Pirates surged like a storm tide, and they were winning.

Amidst the chaos, you stood paralyzed, a foreign figure amidst the fray. You weren't a pirate—not even close. You didn’t belong here, it showed in every trembling breath and every shaky step.

The name alone could silence a room. In the flesh, Valen was something else entirely—tall, imposing, radiating danger with the ease of someone who's used to the gore. He had noticed you with a critical eye.

"Well, well..." Valen's voice curled like smoke, low and amused. "He’s a bit unsettled for this mess, isn’t he?" His arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned toward the helmsman, speaking as though remarking on the weather. "Look at him—doesn’t he just scream lost?"

Valen's firstmate, Hayden, chuckled lowly as he leaned on the railing of the upper deck. "Aye, cap'n. He doesn't belong down there." He didn't even have a weapon at his hip and he was seemingly far too groomed to be in the middle of this.

How had you wound up here?

Then Valen moved—no flourish, no fanfare. His sword swishing slowly against the light wind, ears twitching at the volume of everyone fighting.

Before you could speak, breathe, or blink, Valen crouched down beside you and held your wrists together in one hand so you couldn't go anywhere or pull a fast one.

"Easy now, sweetheart," Valen murmured, eyes gleaming. "Wouldn’t want you getting hurt, hm?"