The Regal Dawn
The freezing water of the bay bit into Lucian’s skin like a swarm of angry needles. He swam with rhythmic, practiced strokes, keeping his movements entirely beneath the surface to avoid catching the harsh glare of the Imperial searchlights sweeping across the channel. Behind him, Garrick moved with surprising grace for a man of his immense size, like a giant shadow gliding through the deep. Silas, however, was a chaotic mess of flailing limbs, desperately clutching a waterproofed satchel of his remaining alchemical horrors while trying not to drown.
Lucian broke the surface just under the wooden pylons of the central military docks, gasping silently. The smell of brine, tar, and wet iron filled his lungs. He pressed his back against a barnacle-encrusted pillar, waiting for his two companions to surface.
Garrick emerged first, his breath a low, controlled hiss. Silas popped up a second later, sputtering and coughing up seawater, his crooked glasses completely fogged.
“Quiet,” Lucian whispered, his voice slicing through Silas’s distress. He pointed upward.
Above them, the heavy, measured footsteps of Imperial sentries echoed on the wooden planks. The military docks of Crimson Bay were a fortress within a fortress. And sitting at the heart of it, bathed in the moonlight and the glow of strategically placed lanterns, was their prize.
The Regal Dawn.
She was a masterpiece of Imperial naval engineering. A sleek, triple-masted supply cutter built from dark ironwood, designed purely for speed and evasion to break through blockades. Her lines were predatory, sweeping back from a razor-sharp bow that looked capable of cutting through solid rock. She didn’t carry the heavy broadside cannons of a galleon; instead, she bristled with dual-purpose swivel guns and a reinforced hull, trading raw firepower for the ability to outrun absolutely anything on the water.
“She’s a beauty,” Garrick rumbled softly, his eyes tracing the ship’s profile with genuine reverence. “But she’s locked down tight, Captain. Look at the boarding ramp. Two heavy guards, plus a roving patrol on the main deck.”
Lucian’s silver eyes narrowed as he analyzed the patrol routes. Commander Valeria had not been idle. She hadn’t just waited at the West Channel; she had reorganized the dock security. Standard protocol dictated a shift change every four hours, but the guards on the Regal Dawn were cycling irregularly—every twenty to thirty minutes—a classic anti-infiltration tactic Valeria had perfected back at the Academy.
“Valeria knows I want this ship,” Lucian murmured, a sharp, dangerous smile playing on his lips. “She’s practically gift-wrapped it in Imperial steel, daring me to open it.”
“Are we absolutely sure we can’t just steal a fishing boat?” Silas chattered, his teeth clicking together from the cold. “A nice, quiet fishing boat? With no guns?”
“Where’s the poetry in that, Silas?” Lucian chuckled softly, drawing one of his silver flintlocks and checking the waterproof seal on the firing pan. “We don’t just survive. We make a statement. Garrick, you take the port side mooring lines. Silas, I need a distraction that draws the deck patrol to the starboard stern, but without blowing the ship to pieces. Can you manage ‘subtle’?”
Silas reached into his dripping satchel and pulled out a small, metallic sphere the size of an apple. “Phosphorus and highly compressed sulfur gas. It will create a localized hiss and a blinding green flash, followed by a smell that will make them think a demon just soiled itself on their deck. Completely harmless structurally.”
“Perfect. On my mark.”
Lucian sank back into the dark water, swimming silently toward the anchor chain of the Regal Dawn. The cold was numbing, but the adrenaline singing in his veins kept him hyper-focused. He reached the massive iron chain and began to climb, his muscles burning as he hauled himself up inch by inch, timing his movements with the sound of the waves slapping against the hull to mask the clinking of metal.
He reached the hawsepipe—the opening where the chain entered the ship’s bow—and hoisted himself through the narrow gap. He dropped onto the foredeck, rolling silently into the shadow of a massive coil of hemp rope.
He was aboard.
Down the deck, he saw the roving patrol: three Imperial marines in polished armor, their muskets held at the ready. They were highly disciplined, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows.
Three… two… one… Lucian counted down in his head.
HSSSSSS!
A brilliant, unnatural green flash erupted from the water near the starboard stern, followed by a loud, shrieking hiss that sounded like a dying sea monster. Thick, noxious yellow smoke immediately began to billow over the railing.
“What in the Emperor’s name is that?!” one of the marines shouted.
“Incendiary! Move, move, check the stern!” the sergeant barked.
All three marines broke protocol and rushed toward the distraction. It was a completely natural reaction, and a fatal mistake.
As they ran past Lucian’s hiding spot, he surged forward like a coiled viper. He grabbed the last marine by the back of his breastplate, clamped a wet hand over his mouth, and dragged him backward into the shadows with terrifying speed. A single, precise strike with the pommel of his flintlock to the base of the skull, and the marine went limp.
Lucian didn’t stop. He moved fluidly down the deck, the shadows his cloak. The remaining two marines were coughing violently as they reached the sulfurous smoke. Before they could raise the alarm, Garrick heaved his massive frame over the port railing.
With a brutal, silent efficiency, Garrick wrapped his tree-trunk arms around the two coughing guards, smashing their helmeted heads together with a sickening crunch. They dropped to the deck instantly.
“Deck clear, Captain,” Garrick grunted, breathing heavily.
“Good. Secure the remaining mooring lines, but don’t cast off yet. Silas, get to the helm and familiarize yourself with the steering mechanism. I have an errand to run.”
Lucian turned away from the main deck and headed toward the raised quarterdeck, slipping inside the captain’s quarters.
The room was immaculate. Polished mahogany, brass navigational instruments, and a large desk covered in naval charts. It smelled of expensive tobacco and Imperial arrogance. Lucian walked over to the desk, his wet boots leaving dark footprints on the pristine rug.
He found a piece of high-quality parchment, dipped a quill in a silver inkwell, and began to write. His handwriting was elegant, a stark contrast to his current soaked and feral appearance.
My Dearest Valeria,
Your ambush at the West Channel was a beautiful piece of tactical work. Truly, it reminded me of our final year at the Academy. You always did have a flair for the dramatic.
However, you still focus too much on the walls of the maze, forgetting that the prize sits in the center. I realized I was in desperate need of a faster vessel, and the Regal Dawn simply looked too lonely sitting here.
Do try to keep up, Commander. The sea is vast, and you have a lot of sailing to do.
With the utmost affection, Captain Lucian
He folded the parchment neatly and pinned it to the center of the nautical chart on the desk using a silver dagger with a ruby pommel—a dagger he had stolen from a corrupt Imperial governor years ago. It was a calling card, a deliberate provocation.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the captain’s quarters flew open.
Standing in the doorway was an Imperial officer, his sword already drawn, his eyes wide with shock at seeing a dripping pirate standing casually at the desk.
“You!” the officer shouted, raising his blade. “Guards! The pirate is—”
Lucian didn’t even draw his sword. He picked up a heavy brass astrolabe from the desk and hurled it with terrifying velocity. The heavy instrument struck the officer squarely between the eyes with a loud crack. The man crumpled to the floor instantly, unconscious before he even hit the wood.
Lucian stepped over the body, adjusting his wet coat.
“Time to go,” he muttered.
He stepped back out onto the deck. “Garrick! Drop the sails! Silas, take the wheel!”
“Captain!” Garrick yelled from the bow, his voice tight with urgency. “We have a problem! Company!”
Lucian looked toward the docks. The alarm bells were ringing, shattering the night. But it wasn’t just standard guards rushing down the pier.
At the head of a column of heavily armed Imperial stormtroopers, marching with purposeful, terrifying calm, was Commander Valeria. Her silver hair caught the moonlight, and her eyes, even from a distance, seemed to burn with a cold, unrelenting fire. She had realized the distraction at the West Channel for what it was, and she had come for her ship.
She drew her rapier, the steel singing in the night air.
“Do not let them cast off!” Valeria’s voice boomed across the docks, carrying absolute authority. “Sink the ship if you must! Fire!”
A volley of musket fire ripped through the air, splintering the wooden railing inches from Lucian’s head.
Lucian grinned, a wild, reckless expression that showed his teeth. He grabbed a hanging rope and swung himself up onto the mainmast rigging.
“Hold on to your spectacles, Silas!” Lucian roared over the gunfire. “It’s going to be a rough launch!”
The true escape from Crimson Bay had finally begun.