As Nicolas lay on his bed, staring up at the wooden beams of his ceiling, sleep eluded him. His mind raced with questions about the old man's story and the strange letter hidden among the treasure. The cryptic tale of the mysterious tentacled beast gnawed at him. What could be worse than the Kraken? And why did the old man keep that letter so close, yet never mention its contents?
Unable to shake his curiosity, Nicolas sat up, the dim glow of the moon filtering through the window. His fingers brushed against the small satchel tied to his belt—the one that now carried a share of the treasure. The jewels glinted in the soft light, but his attention was fixed on the sealed letter he had secretly pocketed before leaving the old man.
The wax seal was old, nearly crumbling, but the symbol pressed into it was unmistakable: a serpent coiled around an anchor. He had seen it before, among stories of ancient pirate alliances and cursed captains who ventured into forbidden waters. Whatever lay within that letter was tied to something far bigger than a single man's past.
Nicolas hesitated. A part of him wanted to respect the old man's privacy. The man had been through enough, and the last thing Nicolas wanted was to stir up old ghosts. But another part of him, the part that had always longed for adventure and answers, urged him to break the seal.
His fingers itched to open the letter.
Just as he was about to tear into it, there was a knock on the door. Nicolas froze, his heart quickening. It was late—far too late for visitors. He silently slid the letter back into his satchel and grabbed his sword from beside the bed. Cautiously, he approached the door and pressed his ear to the wood.
"Who's there?" he called out, keeping his voice low.
No response.
The silence stretched on, and then another knock echoed through the small room—slow, deliberate, and unnerving.
Nicolas's grip tightened around his sword hilt. He wasn't the type to shy away from a fight, but something about this felt wrong. He threw open the door in one swift motion, ready for anything.
Anything, except for the sight that greeted him.
A figure stood in the doorway, cloaked in shadow, but Nicolas could make out the glint of a pendant hanging from the stranger's neck—the same serpent and anchor symbol as the letter's seal.
"You've taken something that doesn't belong to you," the stranger said in a low, gravelly voice. "I'm here to collect it."
Nicolas instinctively took a step back, sword at the ready. "Who are you?"
The stranger didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a dagger, its blade etched with intricate runes. "Hand over the letter, boy, and I might let you live."
Nicolas felt a chill run down his spine. How did this man know about the letter? And more importantly, why did he want it so badly?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Nicolas lied, his mind racing. He had to think quickly. If this man wanted the letter, there was something valuable in it—something dangerous. But there was no way Nicolas was going to hand it over without understanding the truth.
The stranger stepped forward, and in the dim light, Nicolas caught a glimpse of the man's face. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, and his eyes gleamed with a strange, otherworldly intensity. This was no ordinary pirate or thief.
"I won't ask again," the stranger hissed, his voice dripping with malice.
Nicolas knew there was no time to hesitate. He raised his sword, his muscles tensing. "Then come and take it."
The stranger moved with inhuman speed, closing the distance between them in an instant. Their blades clashed, sparks flying as Nicolas parried the dagger's strike. The force behind the blow nearly knocked him off balance, but he steadied himself, his eyes never leaving his opponent.
The stranger fought with a ruthless precision, each strike aimed to kill. But Nicolas was no stranger to combat. He had fought his way through thugs and thieves before, and his reflexes were sharp. He dodged and countered, forcing the stranger back with a quick slash across the arm.
The man snarled, clutching his wound, but his expression remained cold, calculating.
"You don't know what you're meddling with, boy," the stranger spat, his voice filled with venom. "That letter holds more than you could ever comprehend."
Nicolas didn't respond. He pressed the attack, driving the stranger further into the room. But just as he thought he had the upper hand, the man's lips curled into a dark smile.
Suddenly, the floor beneath Nicolas trembled, and a low, ominous rumble filled the air. It was the same feeling he had felt when the old man had described the attack on his ship—the presence of something vast and unfathomable stirring beneath the surface.
Before Nicolas could react, the stranger darted past him with unnatural speed, heading straight for his satchel. Nicolas lunged to stop him, but it was too late—the man had the letter in his hands.
For a moment, the two stood locked in a tense silence, the only sound the crackle of the hearth's dying flames. Then, with a mocking grin, the stranger tore the letter open, his eyes scanning the contents.
But as he read, his expression darkened.
"This... this is impossible," the stranger muttered, his voice shaking. "He couldn't have known…"
Nicolas took a step forward, his sword still raised. "What does it say?"
The stranger looked up, and for the first time, there was fear in his eyes. Without another word, he shoved the letter into his cloak and bolted for the door, disappearing into the night.
Nicolas stood there, breathing heavily, his mind racing. Whoever that man was, he had taken something far more dangerous than treasure.
And now, whatever was written in that letter was out there, in the hands of someone who knew its power.
Nicolas knew one thing for certain: he couldn't let it end here. Whatever the old man's letter contained, it was tied to the mysterious force beneath the sea—the same force that had destroyed the old pirate's ship all those years ago.
And now, it was his problem to solve.
Without a second thought, Nicolas grabbed his belongings and set off into the night. His adventure wasn't over yet.
In fact, it had only just begun.