I sit in the mess hall, resting my scruffy chin on my rough palm and staring down at these ancient maps. After 107 years sailing these seas, I know every current, every hidden cove, every island – yet none have brought me closer to finding The Hound.

The crew's laughter echoes around me as they drink from overfilled mugs, ale spilling onto the tables. At least they've kept their spirits. Better than I have.

The door slams open. Huniga bursts in, panic in his step, his eyebrows pinched together. Not the usual worry of an approaching storm or sirens – something different.

"Captain, you must come look outside!" He grabs my bicep, yanking me up and pulling me onto the main deck toward the railing.

There, on a tiny island barely more than a rock, stands a figure. A man wearing a hound-shaped helmet, facing our ship. My breath catches in my throat.

"Hard to port!" I yell over the seagulls and waves. The crew scrambles, surprised by my urgency but moving instantly. The Golden Hound turns, sails shifting in the wind before we drop anchor, chains clanking as they hit the ocean floor.

Huniga grips the back of my shirt as I lean over the railing, heart pounding.

"Yo!" My voice carries on the wind toward the figure. "I know who you are! We just need to talk – please, listen to my words!"

The curse was clear: we're only free when The Hound steps aboard our ship. Face to face. After all these years... we might finally be saved.