The Cursed Prince: Reckoning

Standing on the bow of an imposing ship, a man took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air as he watched the sun slowly crest the horizon. His frown deepened at the vivid red-orange hues that painted the sky. It was the color of fire, of warning—his father had always told him that such a dawn foretold a coming storm. Even now, with the sky clear of clouds and the wind carrying only the salty scent of the sea, he trusted that old wisdom. Scratching his beard, he exhaled heavily before turning on his heel, descending the worn wooden stairs leading below deck. The ship rocked gently beneath him, the creaking of its hull a familiar sound. He moved with ease through the dim corridors, his boots thudding against the planks as he made his way to the first mate’s cabin.

Arriving, he rapped his knuckles against the door and waited only a moment before pushing it open.

“Gullian, you best be up,” he said as the door swung shut behind him.

“Aye, I’m up, sir,” came the gruff reply. Inside, Gullian sat at the edge of his bunk, tugging at the laces of his boots. “Give me just a moment, just need to finish tying these damn things.”

“Good. When you’re done, wake the crew. We need to make for port before that storm catches us. Ain’t no use risking our necks over a few barrels of fish.”

“Storm?” Gullian asked, standing up and stretching his arms.

“Aye. Mark my words, it’s coming. I’ll wager the birds will fly over us soon enough.” The man paused, his tone shifting. “The boys ever see that navy vessel again?”

“I reckon they were poking around north, near the border,” Gullian replied with a shrug. “But the lads haven’t seen a sign of ’em in three days.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “Suppose the rumor about the blockade was true, after all.”

“Maybe,” the man muttered, though his tone was laced with doubt. “Still, tell the lads to keep an eye out. I want no trouble with those military types—too full of their own self-importance for my liking.”

“Aye, I’ll warn ’em.” Gullian smirked. “Not that it matters. We could outrun ’em if we had to—not that I’d ever suggest such a thing, of course.”

The man let out a short, dry chuckle before considering his first mate’s next question.

“So, Nurderdam or Rotterheilm?”

He stroked his beard in thought. “Rotterheilm. Shouldn’t be as many fishermen there this time of year. Might fetch a better price for the silver-scales than we would in Nurderdam.”

“Not to mention our special cargo,” Gullian added with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Should be able to find some perverted noble willing to pay handsomely.”

The man merely grunted, turning toward the door. “Aye. That we should.”

Leaving Gullian to his duties, he made his way to his own cabin. As he reached for the handle, a strange unease prickled at the back of his neck—an instinct honed by years at sea. Pushing open the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. A man, no, a demi-human, in strange, richly embroidered garments, stood at his desk, idly thumbing through the maps and documents strewn across it. His golden wings, folded neatly against his back, caught the dim morning light in an eerie way.

His grip tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white. “Step away from my desk,” he growled, voice low and edged with warning. “And start talking—who the hell are you, and what gives you the right to touch my things?”

Turning with a practiced grace, the intruder smiled and offered a brief salute. “Ah, you must be the captain of this fine vessel. Apologies for the unannounced visit.” His voice was smooth, his demeanor entirely too casual for a man who had broken into another’s cabin.

The captain didn’t return the courtesy. His jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked toward the panel on the left wall where he kept a dagger hidden. He took a slow step in that direction, careful to mask his intent. “I’ll ask once more—who the hell are you, and why are you on my ship?”

“How rude of me.” The man chuckled, as if they were merely exchanging pleasantries at a noble’s banquet. “My name is Titus Vestinus, Captain of the Emerald Guard.”

The captain’s brow furrowed. “The Emerald Guard?” The name meant nothing to him. “Never heard of them before. What nation are you from?”

“That is very understandable,” Titus replied with an amused glint in his eye. “We are a new legion, after all.”

Before the captain could respond, Titus reached down, plucking a dagger off the desk and twirling it between his fingers. A dagger the captain immediately recognized.

His dagger.

His stomach twisted.

“Looking for this?” Titus asked, feigning concern. “Apologies, but I took the liberty of removing any weapons beforehand. Wouldn’t want unnecessary bloodshed now, would we?”

Cursing under his breath, the captain’s gaze flicked around the room, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. A bottle. A chair. Anything.

“You never answered me, boy,” he said, keeping his voice level despite the mounting tension. “What nation are you from? I ain’t never seen clothes like those before, and I’ve sailed up and down the Azure Coast.”

Titus gave a small chuckle, shaking his head as if chastising himself. “Ah, how forgetful of me. My commander wouldn’t be pleased to hear I failed to mention such an important detail. Let’s keep it our little secret, shall we?” He waited until the captain gave a stiff nod before continuing. “Good. I knew you’d be a reasonable man. Now, let me reintroduce myself. I am Titus Vestinus, Captain of the Emerald Guard, in service to Prince Oisin Emeralay of the Padarian Empire.”

The captain’s blood ran cold. His breath hitched as recognition struck.

“Padaria?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“That is correct.” Titus smiled.

The captain forced himself to regain his composure, though his hands had started to sweat. “Sir, I don’t know what you think this is, but I can assure you, we are but simple fishermen.” He fumbled over the words, cursing himself for the tell.

“Hmm? Is that so?” Titus tilted his head, as though considering the statement. “Well, no matter. My men should be finishing their search any minute now. If what you say is true, then you have nothing to worry about. We will take our leave and be on our way.”

The captain swallowed hard. “A-and just what is it you’re looking for, if I may ask, sir?”

Titus idly spun the dagger in his palm, his movements slow and deliberate. “Well, you see, we’ve heard rumors that a young sea giant has gone missing in these waters. According to some locals, he was stolen by a group of fishermen. A rather common occurrence, it would seem.”

The captain’s pulse pounded in his ears.

Titus smiled, though there was nothing warm about it. “But you see, my commander has a real soft spot for demi-humans. He simply can’t let something like this slide. So, he ordered me and my men to find this young boy before anyone sells him into slavery.

The captain clenched his jaw. “And what does your commander intend to do to those fishermen who captured the giant?”

Titus met his gaze, the dagger still spinning between his fingers before he suddenly stabbed it deep into the wooden desk with a sharp thunk.

“Well,” he said, voice light, “punish them, of course.”

The captain’s throat felt dry. His hands clenched at his sides, his palms damp with sweat. “J-just what kind of punishment?”

“Oh?” Titus feigned surprise, turning to face him fully. His smile widened as he took a step closer. “I thought you were innocent fishermen. Now, why would you need to know what kind of punishment awaits those criminals?”

Before the captain could speak, Titus closed the distance between them, slinging an arm around his shoulder in a mock camaraderie. His grip was unyielding.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice almost gentle, “let’s head above deck, shall we?”

Nodding stiffly, the captain had no choice but to let Titus lead him through the cramped, dimly lit corridors beneath the ship’s deck. The air was thick with the scent of salt, damp wood, and the faint, lingering stench of fish. Every step felt heavier, the weight of the unknown pressing down on his chest.

As they ascended the narrow stairs, the bright glare of the sun forced the captain to squint, momentarily blinding him. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, but before he could fully adjust, Titus’s grip on his shoulder tightened—a silent warning that escape was not an option.

“Well, well… what do we have here?” Titus murmured, voice smooth, unreadable.

The captain’s vision adjusted, and as it did, his breath caught in his throat.

His entire crew knelt on the deck, hands bound behind their backs. Fear flickered in their eyes, but what truly unnerved him were the weapons trained on them.

Long, slender rods of metal and wood, held steady by the strangers in their peculiar dark green uniforms. They weren’t swords. They weren’t crossbows. There were no bolts, no strings, no blades. Just an ominous gleam along the polished barrels, each one aimed with eerie precision.

He had never seen weapons like these before.

“What in the hell…” he muttered under his breath, stomach knotting with unease.

But something else quickly stole his attention.

Near the mast, caged like an animal, sat a child.

A boy—no older than ten, if he had to guess—with pale blue skin that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. His silver eyes darted about in terror, gills on his neck fluttering with rapid, panicked breaths. He hugged his knees to his chest, his small frame trembling.

A sea giant.

The captain felt his blood turn to ice.

“Seems you weren’t just simple fishermen after all,” Titus remarked.

With a sharp shove, the captain stumbled forward, landing roughly on his knees beside his crew.

“Sir! I don’t know what this is, I swear—I have never—”

Pain exploded in the back of his skull before he could finish. Something heavy slammed into him—one of those strange weapons, he realized dimly as he hit the deck, gasping for breath.

“Save it for the commander,” Titus said coolly, pulling a small green crystal from his coat pocket. It shimmered faintly as he rolled it between his fingers, then pulsed with a soft, eerie glow.

“Commander, this is Titus. We found the boy, sir. What are your orders?”

A brief pause. Then, from within the crystal, a voice crackled to life.

“Take anything of value. Toss the rest and sink the ship. Bring the boy to me on the bridge when you’re finished.”

The captain’s breath hitched. He scrambled forward, desperation breaking through his fear.

“Please, sir! Have mercy!”

Silence stretched over the deck like a noose.

Then the voice responded.

“Mercy?” A scoff. “Did you show his parents mercy when you murdered them? Did you show mercy when you locked this child in a cage like some zoo animal?”

The weight of the accusation pressed down on him like an anchor.

“No,” the voice continued, ice-cold. “The only mercy you will be shown is a swift and painless death.”

Titus slipped the crystal back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. Then, with a single glance at his soldiers, he gave the order.

“You heard the commander.”

The captain barely had time to process what was happening before chaos erupted around him—his crew shouting, struggling against their restraints. But before he could react, there was a sudden, deafening crack, followed by a shrill, unnatural sound. His crew fell silent, confusion and terror filling their eyes as the air around them seemed to hum with an electric tension.

He looked up, his heart skipping a beat.

The soldiers with the strange metal rods were firing.

The rods made a terrible, high-pitched sound that sent a sharp pain through the captain’s ears. The first soldier fired. There was no flash of fire, no arrow, nothing visible in the air. But the captain’s crew gasped and stumbled back as one of them collapsed, blood blossoming from his chest, a dark stain spreading rapidly on his shirt.

Another soldier fired. The captain’s eyes widened as he saw a second crewmember drop, the same terrifying noise ringing in his ears. He had no idea what these weapons were, but the sight of his men falling, bleeding out with no visible cause, sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

“W-what is that?!” the captain choked out, stumbling backward as the soldiers continued to fire, their weapons booming with that unnatural crack.

“Shut your mouth, fisherman,” Titus sneered. “You’re lucky to die quickly.”

The captain’s blood ran cold. He turned, barely able to focus as his crew fell, one by one, the strange weapons sending them to the deck with no chance for a fight.

The fear that gripped him was unlike anything he had ever felt before. These were no ordinary weapons. The soldiers wielded them with ruthless precision, each shot taking down another man before he could even scream.

Meanwhile, Titus had already turned his attention to the boy. He knelt, unfastening the iron latch. The child flinched, pressing himself into the corner of the cage, his body shaking.

Titus’s expression softened.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now.” His voice was gentle, soothing. He reached inside, fingers brushing through the boy’s silken hair. “Hold on tight, okay? We’re going to meet the commander, and he’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

The boy sniffled, hesitated, then wrapped his frail arms around Titus’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder.

Titus rose effortlessly, holding the child close. His soldiers shifted, parting to make way.

“I’ll be heading back first.”

And then—

A pair of massive, golden wings unfurled from his back, catching the light like molten metal. With a single powerful leap, he soared into the sky, his figure vanishing into the clouds, leaving behind a ship doomed to the depths.