The Pirate Isles—scattered remnants of land, drifting at the boundary between the Fleetlands and the Driftwaters. A haven for outlaws, merchants of the underground, and those who had abandoned the laws of the sea. These isles, shrouded in near-perpetual mist, were protected by more than just secrecy. Rocky rings, unpredictable currents, and the ever-shifting nature of rising waters made them near impossible to navigate without prior knowledge.
The naval fleet, though with its power, never made these isles their highest of targets. Much of a hassle, with not the greatest promise of success. And so, the Isles remained, thriving in their lawless existence.
To safeguard these havens, pirates developed their own systems—coded directions, isle compasses, and the once-revered Isle Maps, though the latter had become outdated due to increasing navy interference. In their place, codes like "two easts and a west" had taken over, guiding those who understood their meaning through the treacherous waters.
And through those very waters, battered and barely holding, a ship emerged from the thick fog.
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The vessel limped into the harbor, its tattered sails barely holding, its hull scraped and weathered from the voyage. It was a miracle it had made it at all.
High above, Gego dangled from the mast, his tiny body swaying like a lifeless flag, dizzy spirals in his eyes. On the deck, Mk was curled up, face a sickly shade of green as he groaned in misery.
Jack, on the other hand, stood at the helm with his arms crossed, a satisfied grin stretching across his face.
"Ha. Skipping navigation lessons didn't backfire after all, Geo." He muttered to himself.
With a stretch, he turned on his heel and strode toward the captain's cabin. Inside, the damage wasn't as bad as the deck, but things were certainly out of place. He dug through scattered belongings until his hands found what he was looking for—two weighty bags of rubies.
Stepping back onto the deck, he held them up with a satisfied nod. "Alright, up on your feet, boys. We got a lot of work to do."
Mk let out a weak groan, slowly pushing himself up, though his legs wobbled like a newborn fawn. "I think my stomach is still on the last wave…"
Jack ignored him and turned his gaze upward at Gego, who remained frozen in his daze. With a smirk, Jack wobbled toward a nearby bucket, hefting it weakly before lobbing it up toward the mast.
It landed perfectly upside-down on Gego's head with a dull thunk.
The monkey yelped, flailed, then tumbled down, landing squarely on Mk's already suffering head.
"Ow—!"
Gego, now fully awake, blinked and chirped, seemingly unbothered by his earlier predicament.
Jack grinned, slinging the ruby bags over his shoulder. "Now that's more like it. Let's get moving."
Mk inhaled deeply, rubbing his temples and slapping his cheeks lightly to shake off the lingering dizziness. As his ears cleared, the world around him came to life.
The low hum of conversation, the clatter of boots against wooden planks, the distant echoes of laughter and heated arguments—it all blended into a symphony of life.
Then, as he stepped off the battered ship and onto the harbor, he saw it.
Green lanterns bathed the docks in an eerie glow, swaying gently from posts and buildings like spectral beacons. Above, a patchwork of pirate Jolly Rogers flapped against the wind, each bearing different symbols—some simple, some intricate, but all carrying the weight of names and reputations known only in these parts.
The people, though, were what struck him the most. Men, women, even children, of every shape, size, and background. Some dressed in fine coats with gold trimmings, others in tattered rags. A towering man with a beard like a ship's rope walked past, chatting with a woman no taller than Mk's shoulder, her mechanical leg clicking with each step. A group of children ran through the streets, laughing as they weaved between the legs of hardened pirates, unfazed by the cutlasses at their waists.
"I've never seen this much diversity…" Mk muttered
Before he could take it all in, a man in ragged clothing stepped in front of them. His beard was unkempt, his coat little more than loose threads held together by sheer will. He gave Jack a knowing look before jerking his thumb toward the ship.
"Need someone to watch your vessel, captain? Me and my lads can keep an eye on it 'til your return—for a few rubies, of course."
Jack didn't hesitate. "Fine by me." He flicked a ruby toward the man, who caught it with the grace of someone who had spent years catching thrown coins.
With a nod, the man reached into his tattered coat, pulled out a piece of old cardboard, and placed it in front of the ship. It simply read: Claimed.
With a sharp whistle, three men emerged from the shadows, taking their positions like statues around the ship.
Jack smirked, turning back toward the harbor. "That's taken care of."
As they walked down the wooden docks, the scene before them was one of both routine and chaos. Ships of all sizes lined the harbor, their crews either preparing for departure or celebrating their arrival. Merchants shouted out their wares, ranging from exotic spices to stolen treasures. A tattooed man leaned against a barrel, flipping a knife between his fingers, while another pirate haggled with a blacksmith over the price of a repaired saber.
Mk tilted his head, watching the structured movement of the people. "Huh… this is oddly civil for a 'pirate isle.'"
Just as the words left his mouth, a sudden crack echoed through the air.
A man went flying across the dock, landing face-first on the planks with an unceremonious thud. Before Mk could react, two rough-looking figures grabbed the unconscious man by his boots and, without a word, dragged him toward the water—then promptly dumped him overboard.
No one so much as batted an eye.
Mk stared. "…Never mind."
Jack let out a laugh, slapping Mk on the back. "It's not as bad as it looks. These isles run on a simple truce—handle your own business and only your own." He gestured around. "See? No one's bothering with anyone else's problems. Keeps things running smooth."
Mk exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah… fits about right with me."
As they walked through the harbor, the sounds of the isle grew louder—the clang of metal from blacksmith shops, the calls of merchants advertising their wares, and the occasional burst of drunken laughter spilling from a tavern. Mk's eyes wandered across the bustling streets, drawn to the sheer variety of shops that lined the way.
Antique stores with odd trinkets, dusty books, and rusted weapons stood beside herb vendors selling pungent spices and dried medicinal plants. A jeweler displayed golden rings and gemstones behind reinforced glass, while a butcher shouted about the quality of his freshly carved sea beast meat, the thick scent of salt and iron filling the air.
"A place like this…" Mk mused aloud, his eyes shifting back to the countless pirates around them. "With this many criminals in one spot, wouldn't it be a field day for the navy?"
Jack gave a short nod, his gaze scanning the crowd ahead. "You'd think so. The navy pays well for anyone who can expose these isles. But…" He glanced at Mk with a knowing smirk. "They're not as obsessed with justice as they pretend to be."
"What do you mean?" Mk frowned.
Jack gestured around them. "The navy doesn't waste resources unless they're guaranteed results. They don't cast their nets unless they know the catch is worth it." He kicked a loose rock off the cobblestone road. "And these isles? Always shifting, always hidden. Never a hundred percent certain—unless there's a traitor among the pirates."*
Mk let that thought settle for a moment, then gave a short nod. "So, it's not just about finding the isles. It's about making sure they stay found."*
Jack chuckled. "Bingo"
Just then, something caught Jack's eye—a small shop on the side of the road with a wooden sign hanging above the entrance. A simple drawing of a compass was painted onto it, slightly faded from time.
"Aha!" Jack grinned. "Compass means maps. That's exactly what we need."*
"You sure?" Mk raised a brow. "What if it's just a shop that sells actual compasses?"
"Then we buy a compass," Jack said without hesitation, stepping toward the store.
As Mk followed, he barely had time to react before bumping into a passerby—a burly man with a scarred face and a tattered red coat. The impact sent Mk stumbling back a step.
"Oi, watch it!" The man growled, glaring down at him.
"Uh—sorry?" Mk offered, though the man had already turned and walked off.
Gego, perched on Mk's shoulder, gave an exaggerated shudder, mimicking the man's scowl. "Gehhh! Watch it!"
"Oh, shut up." Mk sighed, adjusting his footing before catching up with Jack.
Jack, however, had barely noticed, already pushing open the compass shop's door with a confident stride.