The captain sat on the crows neck, contemplating the starry night over his head. Tiny drops of water fell on his thick black hair and ran down his flawless, ebony skin. His tricorn hat laid on his side; it wasn't usual to see the man without the headpiece that identified him as the captain of the crew.
Down in the warrant quarters, some crew members laid on their cabinets. Some whispered to themselves. The lucky ones, slept.
The ones that laid awake were restless thanks to the on land fight they'd gotten into a few hours before. The ones that slept dreamt of the treasures they'd found and the women they'd met. But the ones who whispered talked about something else. They talked about their captain. After all, they were the ones closer to him.
The quartermaster commented how out of character the man had behaved after the cave. The sailing master wondered what kinds of mysterious thing he'd encountered inside. And the gunner stood that the man had had a close encounter with dark magic.
But only the captain knew.
As the night grew darker and the rain stronger, the captain drowned himself in the words the corpse had pronounced before him and the meaning they withheld.
In the twilight of the gods, a son shall rise,
Born of fire, under the stormy skies.
Stronger than the sire, with destiny's eyes,
He'll wield the power where the old serpent lies.
A clash of wills, a test of might,
Brothers in arms, forced to fight.
A crew divided, by day and night,
Their bond severed by the oracle's sight.
In the heart of chaos, the prophecy's seed,
A battle that'll make the heavens bleed.
For from the stronger son's fateful deed,
Shall grow the tree from which fate is freed.