[Location: Dying Gull Main Deck]
[Time: Sometime at night]
[1st POV]
A balmy breeze rolled across the deck, making the ship's lanterns flicker as the Sapphire Lady rocked gently in the open sea.
With the moon hanging lazily overhead and the stars scattered across the night sky like spilled treasure, the crew of the Dying Gull celebrated with all the wild, raucous energy you'd expect from a band of rogues who had just pulled off one of the most absurd heists ever seen.
Somewhere in the distance, the coast twinkled like a far-off memory—but no one aboard was thinking of land tonight.
The deck was alive with music, mugs clinking, laughter booming, and a few off-tune sea shanties being howled into the night. One pirate—a wiry, toothless fellow with a fiddle almost bigger than himself—was scraping away at his strings like he was trying to spur an old lady to an orgasm.
Another, burly as a bear and red-nosed from drink, kept trying to play the spoons but had already lost one to the sea during a particularly enthusiastic jig.
I stood at the helm with Jack and Puss, the three of us leaning against the polished wood rail with mugs of frothy ale in hand. The sea stretched endlessly around us, but I wasn't thinking of the horizon.
I was watching these filthy, ridiculous pirates laugh like children around a bonfire, and I couldn't help but smile. It was chaotic, messy and unbelievably loud.
Jack tilted his mug toward me, sloshing some foam over the side. "Quite the ride, eh lad? Can't say I've ever seen a horse drawn building before."
"That was a masterpiece," I said, lifting my mug back at him. "Couldn't have planned it better if you tried."
"Ah, but that's the thing," Jack said with a wink, "I never plan. Plans go sideways. Gut and rum—that's how you win the sea."
Puss was already three-quarters through his drink, despite the mug being nearly as big as his torso. "I once defeated three dragons, four warlords, and a cursed goose with nothing but a bottle of wine and a broken mandolin. You think this is impressive? Bah!"
I snorted and took a long swig. The ale was stronger than anything I'd had in the castle. Rough and burning, with a hint of something sweet buried in it—plundered spice, maybe? Whatever it was, it had bite.
Just then, Jack raised his hand and sauntered toward the main deck, wobbling slightly on his feet. He raised his voice, calling above the din. "Oy! Ya moldy sea cucumbers, shut yer festering gobs for a tick!"
The music came to a jarring halt as someone dropped a drum and a mug shattered nearby.
Jack spread his arms and grinned as if he were about to recite a poem. "Now, I don't normally do this—'cause truth be told, I don't like most of ye lot—but today, we welcome two new souls aboard the Dying Gull ." [A/N: Jack barely knows half his crew.]
The crew let out a collective roar of "Aye!" and "Hurrah!" followed by a few raised mugs and something that sounded suspiciously like a chicken squawk.
Jack continued, pointing his mug at me and Puss. "This here lad, young master firehands, and his feline blade-dancer be joinin' our merry crew—provided, o' course, they pass the sacred rite of pirate brotherhood!"
Puss raised an eyebrow, his whiskers twitching. "I don't like the way he said that…"
"The rite!" bellowed the crew in unison, stomping their boots on the deck.
"What's the rite?" I asked, cautiously eyeing Jack.
Jack turned to me with all the gravitas of a king bestowing knighthood. "Two full mugs o' Dragon's Tail Ale, lad. No stoppin', no spillin', and no turnin' green and fallin' overboard. Fail, and ye'll be swabbing barnacles from me stern till the next moonrise."
"Or you could just politely decline," whispered Puss, "but I think that option's not on the table…"
"Pint me," I said with a grin. "Let's get this over with."
A cackling deckhand slammed two enormous mugs on a barrel before us, filled to the brim with a dark, hissing brew. Smoke—actual smoke—rose from the mugs.
"Oh gods," Puss whispered. "It's alive."
Jack leaned close. "It's fermented from a sea beast's bile and a dozen herbs found only on cursed islands. Best enjoyed without thinking."
With a dramatic flourish, I lifted the mug and began to chug. The moment it hit my tongue, I nearly coughed it back up. It tasted like someone had tried to pickle a thunderstorm inside a volcano.
Still, I drank, forcing it down like molten metal. I could hear the pirates cheering louder and louder as I slammed the empty mug down.
Puss, ever the brave cat, clutched his mug with both paws and tilted it back, eyes wide. His tail puffed out almost instantly, but he powered through with the fierceness of a warrior-cat on a mission.
The moment he finished, he staggered back and belched a small flame.
"¡Madre del cielo!" he gasped. "What in the name of enchanted mushrooms was that?!"
The pirates roared in approval, hoisting us both up onto their shoulders.
"They did it!"
"By the Kraken's beard, they did it!"
"Welcome aboard, ye mad blighters!"
As soon as our feet hit the deck again, the party redoubled in energy. Someone started up another shanty. "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" And soon everyone was stomping, clapping, singing, and dancing around the deck.
One pirate was juggling cannonballs while blindfolded. Another had fashioned a sword into an instrument and was trying to play it like a lute.
Someone else was hanging upside down from the rigging, shouting "I AM THE MERMAID KING!" while a pair of rats in pirate hats appeared to be gambling at a miniature table near the mast.
I leaned back against the rail again, wiping the sweat from my brow and catching my breath.
Puss hopped up beside me, his fur singed in a few places but looking mighty pleased with himself. "Well, Camden… this was not how I expected my day to go. But it is… oddly satisfying."
"You regret it?"
He licked his paw and wiped his face. "Not one bit."
=.=.=
[Miles upon miles away]
Far beneath the rolling tides and moonlit waves, in the shadowy canyons of the ocean floor, a sinister cave pulsed with bioluminescent glow, nestled between jagged rocks and forests of black coral.
It was here, in the twisted bowels of the deep sea, that the sea witch Ursula brewed her chaos.
The cave walls were slick with sea slime and lit by the eerie glow of thousands of barnacle-covered skulls. Jellyfish floated lazily overhead, their tendrils brushing against the cavern's ceiling like ghostly chandeliers.
Ursula, towering and wide, her many tentacles coiled and spread across the chamber like the roots of an ancient tree, was hunched over her enormous black cauldron—an artifact as old and wicked as she was.
A dozen shelves of glass vials, rotting sea scrolls, pickled sea urchins, and unidentifiable floating eyeballs lined the walls around her.
Every few seconds, she would snatch a jar from a shelf without looking, uncork it with her teeth, and pour the contents into the bubbling stew without hesitation.
Bone dust,
Eel spit,
A lock of siren hair,
A shattered pearl weeping black ink,
All of it swirled into the cauldron, which groaned as though something inside it had just woken up.
Ursula cackled, throwing her head back, silver hair twisting like smoke around her horns.
"Oh, yes," she purred, her voice rasping like a barnacle scraping steel. "Just a pinch more... sorrow from the past… and a generous helping of vengeance."
She reached into a glass container and pulled out a shard of obsidian carved with Atlantean runes, still humming with old magic.
With deliberate flair, she tossed it into the cauldron, which belched violently, spewing green and purple smoke that thickened the water around her like ink from a dying squid.
She raised her flabby arms and began to chant in a deep, guttural tongue that echoed against the cave walls. The temperature in the chamber dropped. Fish froze in place, and even her eels—Flotsam and Jetsam—tucked themselves away in the cracks, not daring to interrupt her.
"✧Aquoris Voltara... Neridus Thalor...✧"
Her tentacles undulated as she swayed in rhythm with the ancient spell, her glowing eyes narrowing with every word.
"✧Suferrin tenebris... Neptunos somnus...✧"
The potion inside the cauldron bubbled over, spilling glowing ooze across the cave floor. From the center, a wisp of smoke began to rise—slowly, snaking upwards like a sea serpent.
It twisted through the water, as if alive, its colors swirling between purple and sickly green. Ursula extended one hand toward it and gently blew. The smoke trembled, then darted out of the cave like a torpedo, weaving through trenches and coral forests with a mind of its own.
Far above, far away, past the kelp forests and sparkly reefs, lay the capital city of Atlantis.
A luminous city carved from white coral and gold-veined stone, Atlantis rose in elegant spirals from the seabed. Towers that twisted like shells stretched into the depths above, and glowing creatures lit the streets, swarming through the water like fireflies.
It was a kingdom of magic and history, ruled by the mighty King Neptune himself—a warrior, a father, a keeper of the seas.
At the heart of the royal palace, in a massive chamber built within a living clam the size of a house, Neptune lay asleep on a bed of silk seaweed. His beard, long and silver, floated softly around him as he breathed.
Mounted above his head was his sacred trident—an artifact of unimaginable power, forged by the sea gods themselves. [A/N: Neptune himself is NOT a god or deity or anything divine. Just a huge ass merman.]
Its golden prongs shimmered even in the dark, humming gently with divine energy, resonating with its master's spirit.
The smoke wisp from Ursula's cauldron drifted toward the palace like a dark omen. It passed through city barriers, unseen by any of the guards or magical wards. Nothing sensed it, for it carried no heat, no sound, no soul.
It slithered through the open window of Neptune's chamber, curling past the floating drapes, and hovered over his sleeping form.
For a moment it paused, pulsing faintly as if it were sniffing the air—then shot straight into his nostrils like a viper.
Neptune's eyes jerked open.
But he didn't wake.
His body remained still, peaceful on the outside—but inside his mind, the nightmare had begun.
He stood on a jagged cliffside overlooking a blood-red sea. Storm clouds swirled above him. His trident was broken. His kingdom burned below. And in the distance, in the waves, floated the lifeless body of his queen—her hair tangled in seaweed, her face pale, eyes unblinking.
No matter how fast he swam, she drifted further away, her fingertips reaching for him... always just out of reach.
"Athena!" he screamed in the dream.
But no sound came out.
The ocean dragged her deeper and deeper into the dark.
Lightning cracked the sky, but he couldn't move. His limbs were lead. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as images flashed in rapid succession—his throne shattered, his people enslaved, Ursula's laughter echoing from the void.
Back in the waking world, a cold sweat glistened on his brow. Though he did not stir, his soul writhed in torment.
The trident on the wall began to glow. First faintly, then brighter, humming louder as if agitated, sensing the anguish of its master.
It vibrated violently, sending ripples across the chamber. Cracks appeared on the shell wall as energy pulsed from the weapon, lighting up the room in waves of blue light. Coral ornaments and pearl lanterns shattered from the force. Guards outside stirred, looking toward the king's chamber in confusion.
And above—far above, near the surface of the sea—the waters began to churn.
Clouds formed rapidly over the horizon, winds howling in a sudden gale. The ocean, which moments before had been calm and silent, now raged with unseen fury.
Waves rose unnaturally high, smashing into one another like titans wrestling in the depths. A whirlpool began to form, growing wider and deeper with every passing second.
Seagulls scattered. Fish fled. Sailors on distant ships looked toward the churning waters with growing fear, quickly fleeing the approaching storm.
And far beneath it all, in her cave, Ursula grinned and whispered through cracked, purple lips.
"Sweet dreams, Your Majesty..."
***
[Elsewhere]
[Location: Western Norway]
The scent of salt and seaweed hung thick in the morning air as the royal flag of Arendelle flapped against the masts of the ship North Star, a vessel fit for a king and queen. Its polished hull gleamed with fresh varnish, its white sails furled and waiting for the wind's command.
On the docks, a quiet bustle had turned into a formal send-off as nobles, guards, and villagers gathered in respectful rows.
King Agnarr stood tall in his royal blue coat, the golden trim glinting in the sunlight, his boots perfectly polished and his expression resolute. Beside him was Queen Iduna, her pale lavender cloak rippling in the gentle breeze, a soft but confident smile on her lips.
Together, they held the dignity of rulers, but in their eyes was something far more human—a trace of worry for the daughters they were leaving behind.
[A/N: Anna and Elsa are 16 and 17 respectively.]
Elsa stood with her back straight and hands clasped in front of her, her white-blonde hair braided in her usual coronation style, but the slight shift of her fingers betrayed the nervous energy within her.
Anna, on the other hand, kept shifting from one foot to another, trying to stay composed but barely managing to contain the storm of emotions bubbling just under her skin.
"Remember, Elsa," Agnarr said gently, turning to his eldest daughter, "until we return, you are Arendelle. Make decisions wisely. But more importantly, take care of your sister."
Elsa nodded, her voice calm, "I understand, Father."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "And… try not to draw attention to your magic."
She looked down for a moment. "I will… I promise."
Anna, never one for subtleties, immediately pulled her father into a hug. "Don't die, okay?" she mumbled into his chest.
Iduna smiled warmly and pulled her youngest into a tight embrace. "We'll be back before you know it."
Then, with the creak of ropes and a sudden gust of sea wind, the sails of the North Star caught and the ship began to drift away from the dock. Elsa and Anna stood side by side, watching their parents wave goodbye.
As the ship shrank into the horizon, a silence hung between the sisters that neither wanted to break.
Several nautical miles into their journey, Agnarr stood near the bow, his hands behind his back, eyes on the endless blue.
Iduna sat nearby, going over scrolls and maps with the ship's captain, a stout man named Halstein with years of salt in his beard and a voice like crushed gravel.
"According to the mystics in the mountains," Iduna said, tapping a marked parchment, "the wizard lives far to the east… beyond the shrouded isles."
Halstein grunted. "Aye. Few sail there. It's said the sea changes its mind before you reach it. Some call it cursed."
Agnarr gave a small sigh, rubbing his brow. "Cursed or not, if it means Elsa can live without fear… then we'll brave it."
As day turned to afternoon, the sun retreated behind thickening clouds. Halstein frowned, glancing at the sudden shift in wind direction. "Strange… no storms in the forecast."
The crew began murmuring as the first gusts turned strong enough to sway the ship. A few sails fluttered wildly before the ropes were secured. The sky, once bright and soft blue, was now an ominous grey-green, as if someone had thrown a shroud over the heavens.
Within an hour, the wind became a wailing thing, whipping across the deck with growing fury. Waves slammed against the hull, spraying cold saltwater across the boards. The North Star groaned, the wood bending and creaking under the sudden abuse.
"Drop the anchor!" Halstein roared, trying to steady his stance. "Reef the mainsail! All hands, storm positions!"
The crew scrambled, hands tugging ropes, shouting over the howl of the wind. Queen Iduna gripped the rail for balance, her hair soaked and flying around her face. Agnarr was at her side, shielding her as much as possible.
"We should go below," he shouted, trying to pull her toward the lower deck.
"No," she said firmly, though her voice was nearly lost to the storm. "I want to—!"
A massive wave crashed over the bow, drenching them both. The ship listed hard to one side, barrels rolling and crashing against the railing. Sailcloth flapped loose and whipped across the deck, nearly catching a sailor before it was hauled back down.
Then came the lightning. Forks of pale blue and violet cracked through the sky, striking unnaturally close.
The air smelled of ozone and salt, tinged with something darker—like sulfur. It was no ordinary storm.
Below deck, in the captain's quarters, the magical compass they had been using for navigation began spinning wildly. The needle jittered as though confused, then pointed due east—and stayed.
Halstein stared at it with a superstitious tremble in his fingers. "That ain't natural…"
Back above, the sea became a heaving mountain range of water. Waves towered over the North Star, slamming it from every side. Iduna gripped the railing so hard her knuckles went white.
Somewhere behind them, a crewmember was swept overboard, his scream cut off by the roaring sea.
"Hold on!" Agnarr shouted.
Suddenly, a loud pop split the air, followed by a crackling, shrieking sound. The mast, struck by lightning, split in half and tumbled down in a burning heap of timber and sail.
"Fire on the deck!" someone screamed.
Water sprayed across the flame, dousing most of it, but the damage was done. The ship was limping now, its sails torn, its crew battered. And just when it seemed it couldn't get worse—the sea opened.
A whirlpool, massive and dark, began to churn not far from the ship. Its spiral of foam and darkness dragged everything nearby toward its center like a hungry mouth. It wasn't natural. Nothing about this storm was.
"By the spirits…" Iduna gasped.
Agnarr saw it too, his instincts screaming that this was more than bad weather. This was sabotage. Magic.
"Flare!" Halstein bellowed. "Fire the flare!"
A crewmember scrambled to the stern, pulling a flare gun from a waterproof box. With trembling hands, he raised it toward the clouds and fired.
A brilliant red spark soared skyward, briefly lighting up the nightmare surrounding them—waves as tall as castles, lightning like angry cracks in the sky, and that yawning abyss in the ocean just waiting to swallow them whole.
The flare vanished into the sky… and the ship tilted toward the whirlpool.
Agnarr held his wife's hand. "No matter what happens," he said, "you stay close."
She nodded once, jaw set, eyes wide.
Below them, the ocean screamed, promising to consume them whole.
====================================================
A/N: 25 chaps yay! A quarter of a hundred. Now that you have reached this far, please leave a review.
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