Night had plunged the ship into almost total darkness. Only the flickering lanterns, hanging from the masts and railings, cast a trembling glow over the deck. Alistair sat against a barrel, arms wrapped around his knees, his gaze fixed on the black horizon, where the sea seemed to merge with the sky.
The day had been long, too long. The smell of dried blood and gunpowder still lingered in the air. The Windward was nothing more than a shadow of what it had been, its deck strewn with debris and dark stains, reminders of the afternoon's events. The pirates were everywhere, now dominating every corner of the ship. The sailors remained silent, scattered in small groups, each murmuring in low voices, too scared to speak up.
Alistair felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Jack Murdock crouching beside him, his face grave and tired. "You holding up, kid?" he murmured.
Alistair nodded, though without much conviction. "As well as I can."
"We're in a real mess," Jack continued, glancing at the pirates laughing and bickering among themselves. "But we've got to stay alive. Whatever happens, we have to play their game."
Alistair knew Jack was right, but the idea of joining Valgard's crew made him feel sick. Yet, he saw no alternative. Die here or become a pirate? It wasn't really a choice. "Do you think they'll let us go someday?"
Jack let out a slight sigh. "Valgard doesn't have a reputation for keeping prisoners long. He'll keep you if you're useful. If not..." He left the sentence hanging, but Alistair got the message.
The two men remained silent for a while, watching the moving shadows on the deck. It was strange to think that just a few hours ago, this ship was still theirs, with all its flaws, and now it was nothing more than a war trophy for these ruthless pirates.
Early the next morning, Valgard gathered the crew on deck. The surviving sailors of the Windward stood in line, heads bowed, exhausted and nervous. The pirates, on the other hand, stood in groups, scattered around the captain, eyeing their new "recruits" with mocking smiles.
Valgard paced in front of them, his cold gaze piercing through each of the men. "You've had a day to mourn your dead," he began in a deep voice. "Now it's time to look to the future. This ship is now under my command. You all made the choice to live yesterday, and for that, I thank you." He stopped in front of Alistair, his smile slowly widening. "Some of you are already showing promise."
Alistair felt his heart race. He knew Valgard was referring to him, but he didn't like the idea of being noticed so soon.
"You all have a role to play here. But know this: on the Windward, the law of the sea rules. If you disobey, you die. If you try to escape, you die. If you disappoint... you die." Valgard paused to let his words sink in. "Those who succeed, however, will have everything the sea can offer: freedom, wealth, and a place in history."
The crew remained silent, fully aware they had no choice. Valgard turned on his heels and let his men begin reorganizing the tasks on board. The pirates were already giving orders, integrating the Windward's sailors into their activities.
Alistair was assigned to work in the hold, where the stolen goods were stored. It was dirty, difficult work, but he went about it without complaint. Pip and Mary O'Sullivan were sent to the kitchens, under the watchful eye of one of the pirates who kept a close eye on them. Mary, always calm, did her best to avoid drawing attention, but Pip seemed constantly on the verge of panic.
The days passed, each more difficult than the last. Alistair began to adjust to the new routines, though every task, every action, was tinged with bitterness. He observed the pirates, their casual brutality, their interactions with one another. But he also noticed they followed a strict hierarchy, with Valgard at the top.
Valgard himself seemed to have taken a particular interest in Alistair, regularly watching him with an intensity that made the young man uncomfortable. One morning, as Alistair was carrying crates in the hold, Valgard stopped him on the deck.
"Hargrove," he said in a deep voice. "Come with me."
Alistair hesitated for a moment before following the pirate captain toward the rear of the ship. Valgard climbed onto the bridge, where he gazed out at the sea with a piercing eye.
"Do you know why I kept you alive, Hargrove?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the horizon.
"You need men," Alistair replied, trying to hide the tension in his voice.
Valgard let out a brief laugh. "Yes, that's true. But you've got something more." He finally turned to Alistair, his gaze sharper than ever. "I see potential in you. Not just to be a good sailor. But to be a free man."
Alistair didn't answer right away. He knew Valgard wasn't trying to encourage him. It was a test, an evaluation.
"You mean a pirate," he murmured, half under his breath.
"A free man, Hargrove," Valgard insisted. "The laws of the land don't apply here, at sea. You'll learn that quickly." He paused, then added, "If you want to live, you'll have to free yourself from everything you once knew. Roarke, the merchant navy, all of that... it's over."
Alistair felt a deep anger rising within him. But he controlled it, knowing that any mistake could cost him his life. "What do you expect from me?"
Valgard smiled faintly. "The sea will tell us more. But I have a gut feeling about these things. You'll be useful. Very useful."
A few days after this conversation, Alistair sensed the first tensions between the Windward's sailors and Valgard's crew. Some pirates openly mocked the former merchant sailors, calling them cowards or "hold rats." Alistair kept his head down, but he knew the tension was rising with each passing day.
One evening, as the sun set on the horizon, a pirate named Cray, a giant with a thick beard and bulging muscles, attacked Pip near the kitchens.
"You're just a little coward," Cray growled, shoving Pip against a wall. "You really think you can survive here? You're nothing but dead weight."
Alistair, seeing the scene from afar, quickly stepped forward to intervene. "Leave him alone, Cray. He's doing his best."
Cray turned his hard gaze on Alistair, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "And you, you think you can protect him? Is that it? You want to play hero?"
Alistair took a defensive stance, feeling the adrenaline surge through him. He knew Cray was looking for an excuse to fight, and that this kind of situation could escalate quickly.
But before things could escalate further, a voice rang out in the air: "That's enough!"
Jack Murdock emerged from the shadows, his imposing presence reminding Cray that he wasn't alone.