Jormun’s ship cut through the waves as it led the way for Jormun’s fleet to sail away from Serpent’s Fall. The city was starting to vanish behind them, only ten miles away but still beyond what even a fourth-tier mage could reliably see with any detail.

Jormun, on the other hand, could still see the city quite clearly. It was even still in range of his magic senses, and if he wanted to, he could take in every street, every burning home, every corpse left behind by the pirates. It had been a profitable raid, with the holds of all thirty-three ships in the fleet packed with gold, silver, various enchanted items, and many human beings bound for slave markets.

However, it wasn’t the sacked city or the ships filled with looted treasure that caught Jormun’s interest. Rather, it was the skull of the horned serpent, still perfectly visible at the top of the highest hill in the city. The Grand Temple of the Eagle of Rain built within the hill still smoldered, black smoke rising from its burned ruin obscuring a few details of the skull, but Jormun could still easily pick out most of the scorch marks on the great white bone.

Those marks were made by terrible lightning bolts hurled by the gods, or so the legends claimed. Jormun wasn’t a superstitious or religious man, but that skull was proof that it fell in some terrible calamity.

A mysterious smile played at Jormun’s lips as he watched the skull vanish into the distance, the twenty metal plates inscribed with water-propulsion enchantments on his ship pushing them onward far faster than any normal wind-powered ship would be capable of. In fact, Jormun’s seven ships were rapidly separating from the rest of the fleet, so fast were they.

Jormun didn’t care if the other ships were outpaced. They were allied crews, not particularly loyal to him. They’d slowly trickle away anyway as more distance was put between them and Serpent’s Fall, and he had no interest in babysitting them or getting them to stick around. He’d gotten what he wanted from the city, and he had no more use for those ships.

‘Speaking of…’ Jormun thought to himself as he turned his attention away from the ruined city and toward the young boy that he’d taken from it. He was the last scion of the Artabasid family, one of the greatest noble Houses of the Halcyon Federation. They had been one of the three leading ducal families that had ousted the monarchy centuries ago to form the Federation, but their own ambitions grew too great and they were massacred by their own enemies within the Federation. Now, this boy was all that remained.

It was a lucky break that he yet breathed, for finding people with appropriate lineages was hard work. Jormun was painfully aware that even a few generations without bloodline awakening would be enough to render subsequent generations completely unable to do so, effectively ending it in all but name.

The Artabasids were one such example; old stories claimed their family came into being when a sea serpent learned to walk on land, take a human shape, and then took a human wife, but their power just a few years ago was entirely mundane. Their magics were no better or worse than anyone else’s, and there was no practical evidence of any sort of ancient Inherited Bloodline that had been successfully passed down to their contemporary scions.

At least, the Artabasid boy that Jormun had taken from Serpent’s Fall exhibited none of the characteristics of possessing an Inherited Bloodline, and from what Jormun knew from his own research, neither did the boy’s immediate family when they still walked among the living.

The boy himself was in a guest room next to Jormun’s cabin. When Jormun’s magic senses fell upon him, he could see that even after a week in captivity, the boy was still quaking in fear.

Jormun could hardly blame him, of course. The pirate lord knew better than most how badly it hurt to lose everyone in his life along with his home. Despite this sympathy, it didn’t shake Jormun’s convictions about what was to come next.

With a sigh that was somehow mournful, nostalgic, and anticipatory all at once, Jormun tore himself away from the deck of his ship and descended one level. He’d been sailing with his crew for more than thirty years, some had even escaped the Serpentine Isles with him more than fifty years ago, they were incredibly loyal to him and didn’t need him there to micromanage their every movement. They knew where they were going, and they’d steer the ship true. Jormun was free to indulge himself in distractions far more than just about any other captain ever could, for his crew had earned their autonomy.

The second level immediately below the deck was mostly dedicated to the crew quarters, with the rank and file sleeping toward the bow while Jormun, the officers, and guests had their much larger quarters toward the stern. The Artabasid boy’s cabin was next to Jormun’s, where the pirate lord could keep an eye on his charge, and that was Jormun’s destination.

He gently knocked on the boy’s door, and though he received no response, he still pushed the door open after waiting for a respectful amount of time—he could see into the cabin with his magic senses anyway, he knew he wasn’t walking in on something he shouldn’t be seeing.

The boy glared at Jormun as the pirate entered his somewhat cramped cabin. It was roomy by the standards of the ship, but there still wasn’t much space between the bed, the one dresser, the one desk, and wooden chair. A door to the tiny bathroom was in a back corner, with a toilet, sink, and shower. The boy was laying back in his bed reading a book Jormun had brought him the day before, and apart from the one glare, he didn’t move a muscle as Jormun gave him a polite greeting.

“Ben,” Jormun warmly said, his plain face breaking out into a fatherly smile. Jormun wasn’t a handsome man, nor was he particularly tall, but he was fit, his aura was immense, and he had an air of confidence that none could deny. He was attractive enough to put most people at ease, but Ben Artabasid couldn’t have cared less.

Ben himself was short, skinny, and dressed in rags. The people of the Halcyon Federation were dark-skinned, but he had been bleached quite pale from years spent in secluded prayer and meditations. He was well-educated and about as intelligent as an eight-year-old could be expected to be. He was certainly smart enough to be terrified of Jormun and the situation he found himself in.

After waiting a few moments for a response from the Artabasid boy, Jormun availed himself of the empty chair and sat down.

“You’ve been quiet this past week. I would’ve figured you’d have opened up by now,” Jormun said as if he were simply an adopted parent or similar authority figure taking in a willing charge, not a pirate who had kidnapped the boy from the only home he had left.

Things were quiet in the cabin, with Jormun sitting, smiling, and waiting for Ben to speak, while Ben did his best to ignore Jormun’s presence. However, after waiting long enough to be sure that Jormun wasn’t going anywhere, Ben simply asked, “Where are you taking me?”

Jormun’s smile grew wider as the boy finally spoke enough to ask a question, and he happily responded.

“There’s an island in the southwest of the continent,” Jormun explained. “It’s located in the middle of a large lake filled with mist, monsters, and all kinds of unsavory things. Despite this, it’s a warm place, filled with light, clean air, and very few people. To call it a paradise wouldn’t quite do it justice.”

“Why?” Ben asked.

“That, I’m afraid, will have to wait until we arrive,” Jormun answered with a mysterious tone. “There’s something there that I think you can help me with, something I think only you can help me with.”

Ben frowned. He didn’t think anything Jormun could want would be good, nor would it be worth the amount of blood he’d spilled in the raid on Serpent’s Fall, but he had no way to articulate that sentiment, so he simply glared at Jormun again and went silent.

“I understand what you’re going through, you know,” Jormun said, sensing that Ben wasn’t going to speak again. At the boy’s doubting look, Jormun continued, “I grew up in the Serpentine Isles. Have you ever heard of them?”

Despite himself, Ben shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jormun said with an almost wistful tone. “The Serpentine Isles are a group of islands to the west, perhaps a bit southwest of the Bull Kingdom. I assume you’ve heard of that place?”

Ben nodded.

“Good. Well, the Isles were a beautiful place, and the island I grew up on, in particular, was known for its gorgeous beaches, sturdy trees, and tough sailors. We lived on the shores, for the mountains and jungles further inland were too dangerous for our people to live—too many monsters and beasts that we couldn’t deal with. We were weak. And poor. The best land on the islands was essentially ceded to the wilds, for we lacked the strength to claim it, leaving us with naught but the shores.

“Our land was too poor for our people, we couldn’t farm it well with what few nature mages we could entice to our cities, and to survive, the Jarls that ruled us had little choice but to use the one thing that we had that we could afford to lose in order to put food on the table: our ships.”

So far, Jormun’s smooth, nasally voice had the airy and nostalgic tone expected of one recalling fond memories of home, but that quickly changed. His smile turned bitter and his voice grew sharper. He stared out the window of the cabin, his eyes glazed over, glaring at something he could only see in his memories.

“We raided up and down every coast on the continent. Wherever our sails were seen, people prayed to their gods for salvation. We took what we did not have with blood, steel, and fire. Obviously, the nations on the receiving end of this treatment tried to take the fight to us to put an end to it, to protect themselves from our mighty and fearsome sailors, but our ships were too fast and our people too determined, and all attempts to conquer our islands failed. A few fleets were burned, but we always recovered and the Serpentine Isles themselves remained safe.

“Until, that is, the Bull Kingdom finally got its act together and built up a proper navy. They sent more than two hundred ships to our homeland and burned everything they found to the ground. Our people were subjugated, and those that resisted were massacred.”

Suddenly, Jormun’s darker tone lightened and he began to smile again, but the shift was so abrupt that Ben couldn’t help but feel some discomfort.

“My father was a Jarl, did you know that?”

Jormun stared at Ben so hard that the boy couldn’t help but shake his head, if only to relieve the pressure put upon him by the gaze of someone so much stronger than him—Ben was mortal, not even a first-tier mage, and Jormun might as well have been a god as far as the boy was concerned given the power difference.

“As I said before, our islands were ruled by the eight Jarls. We had eight islands, so one Jarl per island, or so it was supposed to be. A few Jarls in our history had tried to become High Kings by conquering the other islands, but one Jarl per island tended to be our norm, and that was what we had when the Bull Kingdom arrived.

“My father was the Jarl of the island furthest from the shores of the Bull Kingdom. We fought as well as we could for our land, but our fleets were burned and our hardened sailors slaughtered. We had little to fight back with after that defeat, and of our eight islands, five submitted. My father and two other Jarls, however, did not.”

Jormun’s tone darkened once more, and his eyes darted back to the window. However, Ben was starting to get into what Jormun was saying, and he was no longer pretending not to pay attention. He wanted to know where all of this was going.

“For almost a year, my father resisted those that had come to enslave us, those that had come to subjugate our ancient homeland. The fighting was so intense that the other two Jarls were killed, and their islands obliterated by some fell weapon devised by the Bull Kingdom.

“And then the Bull came for my island. I remember the day that they came like it was only yesterday. So many red sails appeared from the haze of light and distance that it seemed like the sea itself was birthing ships to punish us for our crimes. We had no more ships to defend ourselves, so my father took all who were willing to continue to fight and shuffled us inland, away from the safety of the shore and into the jungles of the inner island.

“Still, the Bull came for us. Those we left behind in our cities and towns were murdered by the Bull’s Legions, and those who fled fared little better. However, we fought well enough that it seemed the Bull decided to turn its island-destroying weapon upon us.”

Jormun paused for a moment, seeming to search for the proper words to say at this moment. He wasn’t the most articulate of men and describing the absolute destruction of his home wasn’t something he was equipped to do, even more than five decades after the fact. Still, Ben remained silent, finally seeing what it was that Jormun believed made them so similar.

“The ground opened beneath my feet,” Jormun said, finally finding the words necessary to continue. “I was barely even your age at the time, and I was as weak as a newborn kitten. My father hadn’t even started my training, yet. So I fell into the depths of the earth, and into the darkness waiting for me. From above, I could hear the screaming of my dying countrymen, I could feel the earth continuing to rend and the Endless Ocean rushing in to fill the cracks, and most of all, I heard the laughing of the Bull’s Legions as my people died.”

Asking how Jormun could hear these things didn’t occur to Ben, but he did have some questions.

“How did you survive?” Ben couldn’t help but ask.

“There was water at the bottom of the ravine that opened up beneath me,” Jormun said, a smile blooming on his face with Ben showing interest in his story. “Fortune favored me that day since the water cushioned my fall enough that I wasn’t killed on impact, and I missed the stones and the spikes that many others fell upon. All around me, my home crumbled and shook itself apart, but I managed to climb out of that ravine despite my age.

“What I found when I reached the top of the ravine was heartbreaking, and it’s not something I’ll ever forget. Some of these details have escaped me with the help of time, you understand, but that sight… I will remember that with perfect clarity even on the day I die.

“What I found was bare earth, devoid of the jungle that had once covered the interior of the island. Massive portions of the island were in the process of falling into the sea miles in the distance, while the mountain at the center of the island bellowed fire from its summit. The ground kept shaking itself apart, and the sky had turned black from the mountain’s rage. My father was locked in combat with the leader of the Bull’s fleets, and he was, only moments after I pulled myself back up, struck down by that man’s fists.

“The island, however, kept breaking into pieces, and it eventually grew too much for the Bull, so the Legion soldiers fell back to their own ships. My people, however, had no more ships of their own, and they all drowned. I was the only survivor.”

“No one else got away?” Ben asked, even his eight-year-old mind doubting Jormun’s story.

“The only one I know about,” Jormun admitted to the boy. “I managed to remain on the fragments of the island surviving on fish until a ship from another Serpentine Island that had been sent to look for survivors picked me up. I was the only person they’d found, they told me.

“And so, there you have it,” Jormun concluded, giving Ben a smile filled with camaraderie. “The story of my people. Of how my family fell.”

Ben nodded, his eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t due to Jormun’s story, though, that brought them on. Rather, hearing all of this was reminding him of everything that he had lost only a few years before, and those wounds were still raw.

“Listen, Ben,” Jormun said, leaning forward in his chair to impress upon the young boy the seriousness of what he was about to say. “The only goal I have ever had in life, the only thing I have ever truly desired, was to bring ruin to those who brought it to me. I have a plan, and for that, I need your help. Will you lend me your aid? If you do so, I will give everything I have to help you achieve your own revenge. What do you say?”

Ben wiped his eyes and looked back at Jormun, his bright blue eyes meeting the pirate’s dark green. He’d likely never have another opportunity like this, and he wasn’t quite savvy enough to realize any other options.

So, he nodded. Ben wanted revenge as much as anyone else would for the deaths of his family, and if Jormun could deliver on it, then Ben was going to do what he could to help Jormun with his own revenge.

That the pirate kidnapped him and sacked Serpent’s Fall was entirely forgotten, lost in the recollections of Ben’s own lost family, just as Jormun wanted.

—

It took three weeks to reach the island that Jormun had told Ben about, the one in the middle of the lake. Jormun’s ships were fast and made great time, but it was still just barely this side of eternity for the young boy, and he was excited to reach their destination.

In those three weeks, Jormun made sure to speak with him at least once a day, and they would swap stories about home. Jormun talking about how his father would leave on raids and return half a year later with some gold or silver trinkets for him and his mother, while Ben would just babble a few barely coherent stories about how nice his mother was. Not terribly interesting for Jormun, but the pirate listened anyway.

Ben was even let out of the cabin on occasion, and now that they had reached their destination, he was gleefully staring over the deck railings into the lake below. The boy didn’t see any of the sea monsters that Jormun claimed inhabited the lake, but he did occasionally see a few brief flashes of light beneath the deep black waves. The lake gave off a cloud of mist that he couldn’t see through, though, and it had a quiet stillness that somewhat unnerved him. The waves barely made any noise as the ship cut through them, and the other six ships in Jormun’s fleet quickly vanished into the mist.

Still, Ben couldn’t help but be elated that they had reached their destination, and he practically ran to the rowboats when it was time to come ashore.

It was about noon, but the mist covered the island and gave it an eerie darkness that began to weigh on Ben as they reached the shore, blunting his joy, somewhat.

“Something wrong, Ben?” Jormun asked, noticing the young boy’s subdued behavior.

“This place is scary…” Ben said, the forest just beyond the sandy beach as dark as night.

“Oh, it’s not that bad!” Jormun said with a hearty laugh. “I’m sure it’ll be no problem for a brave young man such as yourself!”

Ben nodded, grateful for the compliment, but his attention was fixed upon the dark forest on the island, not on Jormun, so he missed the pirate’s brief, avaricious smile directed his way as the rowboat reached the shore.

“Let’s go, then,” Jormun said, and he and Ben got out of the boat. There had been about half a dozen others in the boat, but none of them got out, and Ben’s heart began to race as Jormun took his arm and began to steer him towards the trees.

“Isn’t anyone else coming?!” Ben asked in panic, but Jormun just smiled at him and kept leading him onward. The pirate was so confident and Ben so scared that he didn’t press for an answer, and he just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He kept his eyes locked on the ground, and when he looked up, he only ever looked at Jormun.

They kept going like this for what seemed like an eternity. They must have gone miles inland from the shore, but Ben was far too scared to ask any more questions. It was dark in that forest, and he could feel eyes upon him, even if he couldn’t see them beyond the veil of inky blackness within the forest.

Every so often, he felt something cold slide along his body, as if some unseen revenant had brushed their cold, dead fingers along his skin, and it was only Jormun’s presence that kept him from losing his nerve and running away. Not that he even knew where he was, anymore, and his only anchor to reality was Jormun’s hand firmly wrapped around his wrist.

Jormun eventually came to a halt in a small clearing, and by then, Ben was an absolute mess. He could barely see from the darkness and the tears in his eyes, and he wasn’t even bothering to hide it anymore. He was sniffling and jumping at the slightest of sounds, his shirt completely soaked through from sweat, and any excitement that he once had for reaching their destination was long gone.

In front of the two in the center of the clearing was a small pond filled with more black water surrounded by tiny crystals that emitted soft, white light. It didn’t seem entirely natural, and Ben had no idea what it was doing here, but he was too scared out of his wits to question it. All he wanted was to get out of the forest and never return, to return to his home with his mother and father and curl up in his bed and sleep for a month.

But his parents were gone, his home inhabited by others, and the only person left he felt he could rely on had an iron grip upon his wrist, keeping Ben from fleeing from the forest.

“Let’s get in,” Jormun said with a warm smile, barely visible to Ben through the darkness thanks to the crystals by the pond.

Ben, at this point, was practically frozen in fear, but Jormun didn’t care. He just dragged the boy towards the pond. Ben began to resist as they approached the pond, but Jormun was so much stronger than he was that he might as well have been trying to stop the tides from receding.

Ben’s feet entered the pond, the water so cold that his feet, already cold from his sweat and the trek through the cold, damp forest, began to stiffen. Ben tried pulling away one last time as Jormun pulled him into the center of the pond, but again, he couldn’t get away from the pirate.

His heart racing, his blood thundering through his ears, Ben couldn’t hear what Jormun said next. However, he saw a quick flash of something in Jormun’s other hand, and when he glanced over to see what it was, he felt something sharp slide into his throat.

Ben sputtered, his mouth filling with blood. He had no idea what had just happened, but he felt such indescribable pain in his throat that he blanked on everything else. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t, and when he looked at Jormun in terror, he saw the pirate calmly wiping blood off of his knife on his shirt.

Blood poured out of Ben, and when the boy tried to stem the flow with his free hand, it did nothing. He couldn’t make a sound, the wound in his throat preventing him from making anything more than a pained whimper as the strength left his limbs. The eight-year-olds body grew cold and he lost the ability to stand as his legs weakened.

Drops of blood slipped from Ben’s fingers, landing in the pond. They didn’t dissipate in the water, however, instead keeping their form and glowing a bright blue for some reason—Ben’s blood was normally crimson, just like everyone else’s. Each drop of blood that fell into the black water was like a star in the night sky, but Ben was hardly in a state to appreciate it. Eventually, only a few seconds after Jormun slashed his throat—or a few lifetimes, Ben wasn’t sure as time lost all meaning—the young boy slipped from Jormun’s grasp and collapsed into the pond, all of his blood flowing out into the water.

Jormun stepped away, letting Ben’s body sink into the pond as if pulled under by some unseen force. The boy’s blood continued to leak from him, glowing blue in the black water. Soon enough, Ben’s body completely disappeared, vanishing into the pond as if the pond were bottomless. But his blood remained, drifting up to just below the surface.

With a strange fascination, Jormun watched as the glowing blue blood twisted into ancient runes, shapes so aged that they had fallen out of memory. First forming one rune, then twisting into another after holding the first for a moment, and then another, and a fourth, until the blood had formed more than twenty runes in sequence, all but the last relatively familiar to Jormun from the nineteen other sacrifices he’d made across the world.

The water suddenly erupted from the pond like a geyser, accompanied by enough magic power that even Xaphan or Naiad would’ve been fearful of whatever was in the depths of the pond if they had been present. But the eruption lasted only a moment, and then a silent serenity fell upon the clearing.

Old magics that had been cast upon the pond were undone with that sacrifice, and whatever being that slept in the depths of the earth, bound by the power concentrated in that pond, seemed appeased. Jormun smiled, his job here done, and he turned to leave. However, just as he was about to leave the clearing, he heard a soft slithering in the grass behind him and a hiss in his mind.

Just one more… You know where…

Jormun’s heart rate finally began to accelerate and he spun around to see what was slithering through the grass behind him.

He saw nothing but the empty clearing, but he knew who that voice belonged to. It was the same voice that had called out to him when he was alone on the shattered remnants of his home island. It was the same voice that had soothed him when his body had sunk beneath the earth after the island had been destroyed. It was the same voice that had assured him that he had dormant power within him, something that the voice could bring out.

And now, that voice only needed one more seal removed before it could act upon the world once more.