Henry Garagam always figured that if he died, it would be in some epic, over-the-top way—maybe mid-gaming marathon, fingers still on the keyboard, or at the very least, choking on a massive steak.
Instead, he died in acid.
One moment, he was stepping out of his apartment after an all-night grind in Sea of Conquest, and the next, he was getting jumped by a bunch of masked weirdos. They grilled him about something he had zero clue about, and before he could even protest—splash. Straight into a vat of bubbling acid.
Pain. Darkness. Then… waves?
Henry's eyes snapped open, the blazing sun forcing him to squint. Salt filled his nostrils, the scent sharp and real. Instead of the awful, burning smell of dissolving flesh, all he got was the crisp ocean air. His limbs felt weak, his clothes were damp, and most importantly—he wasn't dead.
"What the…?" he groaned, pushing himself up from the rough wooden surface beneath him.
Wait. Wood?
His senses kicked into overdrive. The ocean stretched endlessly around him, the sky was wide and cloudless, and under his fingers—definitely wood. Not just any wood, but the deck of a ship.
An old one. A pirate ship. Weathered, beaten up, barely holding together.
His stomach dropped. He knew this ship.
"This is… the Black Fang?" Henry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
It was unmistakable. This was his ship—the same starter wreck from Sea of Conquest, the one that could barely survive a single cannon barrage.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. No way. This wasn't possible. He couldn't actually be in the game, right? A gruff, familiar voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.
"Oi! Cap'n! You alright?"
Henry turned, and his jaw nearly hit the deck. Standing over him was a scruffy, one-eyed man with a missing tooth and a hook for a hand.
One-Eyed Boggart.
Henry knew him well—his first ever crew member, infamous for losing nearly every fight but somehow surviving out of sheer dumb luck and stubbornness.
Henry stared. Then, hesitantly, he looked down at his own hands. Strong. Calloused. He reached up, touching his face. It wasn't his face. It was younger. Sharper.
A slow, creeping grin spread across his lips.
This was real.
He was here. In Sea of Conquest.
And that meant—
A deep, uncontrollable chuckle bubbled up from his chest. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his legs wobbled, and dramatically adjusted his tattered coat. The wind caught his hair just right. Perfect. He pointed toward the horizon, striking what he hoped was a cool, protagonist-worthy pose.
"Boggart," Henry declared, his voice rich with theatrical intensity. "From this day forth, we set sail toward legend!"
Boggart's good eye widened. He took a step back. Then—
He dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"A-Aye, Cap'n! I dunno what's come over ye, but ye sound like a man touched by the Sea Gods themselves! We'll follow ye to the ends of the ocean!"
Henry froze.
Wait.
That worked?
Oh. Oh, this was going to be fun.
To be continued =>