One winter night, far out on the open sea, a blizzard raged. Snow howled across the waves in dense, blinding sheets. Lightning flashed above, illuminating the chaos in bursts of ghostly white.
Amid the storm, three warships clashed.
Two bore the same crest: twin feathered dragons, standing on hind legs, their claws raised as if forever reaching for one another. Their cannons roared in unison, hammering the lone ship between them.
The third vessel flew no flag. Its sails were black as pitch, and below its bowsprit was the carved figure of a winged woman
Painted on its side, just above the waterline, were the words "Crownless Angel"
Cannons thundered. The snow turned gold and red with firelight. The Angel rocked violently, her hull groaning under the bombardment. Her crew scrambled to return fire, but the ship was outgunned, outnumbered, and currently sandwiched.
Below deck, a boy darted through the narrow corridors, small and quick. He was perhaps ten or eleven, wearing a thin tunic and short brown trousers. A satchel bounced at his side.
He wasn't part of the crew. Just a stowaway.
He'd paid a sailor, now likely dead, to hide him aboard. He didn't care where they were going, only that it was far from where he'd come. He'd heard rumors of distant lands filled with treasures and strange histories.
Now he just hoped he'd live long enough to see one.
"Please, please let this end soon," he whispered to himself, ducking past smoke and splintered beams. "That sailor said it'd be safe… Are we being attacked by pirates? Is this a war?"
He found a storage room, shoved the door closed, and dragged a heavy crate in front of it. His breathing slowed. He was safe—
..for now.
Crates were stacked around him, some nailed shut, others cracked open. He moved between them, curiosity briefly outweighing fear.
"Maybe I can find something worth selling, I can't be low on funds..."
One box stood out—a small wooden chest, reinforced with golden corners. Inside lay a violet crystal, smooth and shard-like, nestled in black velvet.
"Huh. Fancy rock."
He weighed it in his hand. It had a faint shimmer, not glowing exactly, but not dull either.
"Probably worth something."
He tucked the box into his satchel just as a deep boom echoed overhead. The ceiling shuddered. A moment later, a massive bolt of lightning struck the Angel's deck. A burning mast collapsed, crashing through the floor above and blowing open the ceiling of the storage room.
Snow poured in. A beam of moonlight filtered through the swirling flakes, lighting the room in eerie silver.
The boy shielded his head, coughing through smoke and sawdust. The deck was caving in.
"If these guys can't win this fight, wouldn't that mean I'd drown alongside them? I'll have no choice but to somehow find a rowboat, or hop aboard the other ship, though I'll probably be killed on sight."
He turned toward the door—but before he could move the crate, it exploded inward. Four men stormed through the wreckage, muskets slung and blades drawn.
He ducked behind a tall stack of barrels.
They didn't see him.
"Find it!" barked one. "Check every damn box!"
The boy froze.
What are they looking for?
They began tearing open crates, tossing aside hay and splinters. The boy didn't dare move. But he was small, small enough to slip through gaps in the barrels. Step by step, heart pounding, he crept around the edge of the room.
He made it to the breach that the lightning had opened. Fighting still raged outside—he could hear steel on steel and voices shouting through the storm.
I'll just run. No one's looking for me. I'll slip through and get off this cursed boat.
He bolted.
Across the ruined deck, fire flickered and smoke swirled. Sailors—pirates, he realized now, fought against the invaders in close quarters. The boy ducked low, weaving past men locked in battle.
He tripped.
His satchel spilled open. The violet crystal rolled from the broken box and came to rest beneath a barrel.
He groaned, scrambling to gather his things.
A shadow loomed over him.
One of the attackers— a tall man with pale skin, a twisted grin, and a sword stained with blood—stepped forward. His arms were lined with scars, his boots heavy on the shattered deck.
He didn't speak at first. Just stared down, mocking.
The boy backed away, hands raised.
"I'm not with the crew!" he said quickly. "I just snuck aboard! I—I swear I didn't do anything!"
The man saw the spilled contents of the bag, including the now-visible crystal. His eyes narrowed.
He didn't believe the boy for a second.
"Give it to me," he said, stepping forward with a dark smile.
The boy hesitated.
"He must want to sell it too," he thought.
"Okay," he said, voice shaking. "Just don't hurt me."
He reached for the crystal, but the man started raising his blade, nearly ready to swing down.
The boy flinched, curling his fingers around the shard.
BOOM
A second bolt of lightning split the clouds—
Brighter and louder than before. It struck through the open hole in the deck, straight toward the boy.
It hit the stone in his hand.
The world vanished in violet light.
A split-second later, the barrels around him—filled with powder—ignited in a single massive blast.
---
Aboard the Starboard Feathered Dragon
Admiral Caelis stood atop the aftcastle, wind whipping through his coat. His men were winning. The enemy cannons were silenced, the Crownless Angel was crippled, and his men were boarding as planned.
"We'll secure the deck within minutes, Admiral!" an officer called.
Caelis nodded. "No survivors. Retrieve the package and burn the rest."
Then, through the blizzard, lightning struck again—its glow cutting through the storm like a blade.
But this time, something was different.
The arc this time was too bright and too loud, and just when he could barely see after the flash subsided, a second flash blinded him—
BOOM
A violet pulse exploded from the Angel's forward deck—followed by a fireball that engulfed half the vessel.
The shockwave reached the Feathered Dragon ships a heartbeat later, tearing through, shattering windows, and ripping sails from their masts.
Caelis was thrown backward. When he staggered to his feet, dazed and bleeding, he saw the remains of the Crownless Angel.
There was almost nothing left.
The forward half had been vaporized. Only part of the aftcastle remained, already slipping beneath the waves.
The package had been on board.
Destroyed... or cast to the very bottom of the ocean—
Likely never to be seen again