The celebration was at its height. Sailors laughed, mugs clashed, and the youngsters showed off their agility with sleight of hand and acrobatics between the tables — the mood lighter than it had been in months. After drinking and celebrating for a while, the girl they all called the Sister made her way over to Kael to talk about his past.
She sat across from him, ignoring the noise of the tavern, and began to recall stories that Kael believed buried beneath salt and years. She spoke of the merchant who had been forced to take up arms, of the routes he opened when no one else dared, and of how his name came to be synonymous with respect before it was synonymous with fear.
"Girl, you seem to know a lot about me," said Kael, breaking the silence after listening to her for a while. "But don't let yourself be carried away by every rumor that surrounds me."
She wasn't put off by his blunt tone. She rested her elbows on the worn wood of the table.
"Even so, I know that many of those things are true," she replied with a certainty that unsettled the Captain.
"How can you be so sure?" Kael asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Let's just say that in the past, I've benefited from your achievements."
Kael set his mug aside. This wasn't the talk of an ordinary admirer.
"You're not as young as the rest of them. How did you end up with kids like these?"
"Things just worked out that way," she answered with a sad smile. "I ended up helping a lot of them out of bad situations, and they helped me survive."
"I can see you've had a hard life."
"Not entirely. It wasn't always like this."
Kael turned the mug in his fingers, slowly, watching the dark reflection of the wine without drinking. His brow knitted as if he were trying to work out something that sat just at the edge of his memory.
"There's something about you that feels familiar... you remind me of some old acquaintances."
"Also?" she asked, with a spark of curiosity.
"There's something about that young boy who leads you that makes me think I know you from somewhere — but I can't place either of you."
"Let's say a long time has passed," she replied, closing the subject for now.
"Yes... I'm getting old and I don't remember every face. Tell me something — is he really your brother? You don't look much alike."
"We're not blood," she finally admitted. "But I've looked after him since he was young, and he thinks of me as his sister."
Kael leaned back in his chair. His posture shifted without him noticing — the crossed arms relaxed, the shoulders dropped — and for the first time all evening, his voice lost that edge of a man who weighs every word.
"You're a good girl. You should stay away from dangerous things like these and get far from these lands."
"We can't. We have a goal."
"Will you tell me what it is?"
"Only if you accept us as part of your crew. If not, we'll call our plan a failure and find another way."
Kael let out a rough laugh, returning to his practical facade.
"You sound very determined. But you always need to know when it's better to stop fighting. That's how I've managed to reach my age."
---
The Spark of Jealousy
While Kael and the girl shared that quiet exchange, on the other side of the tavern, Torin hadn't taken his eyes off the scene. His mug had sat untouched for a while, forgotten between his fingers, his knuckles white from gripping it too hard. Every time she leaned over the table to speak more closely with the Captain, every time Kael let out one of those low laughs and she smiled back, the boy's jaw tightened a little more. His leg bounced under the table with a restless rhythm.
He couldn't hear what they were saying over the music and the noise of the sailors, but he didn't need to. The way she looked at the old pirate — with an admiration he had never seen her direct at anyone — burned worse than the alcohol he had stopped drinking.
"I can't believe this. He's charming the Sister," he hissed to his leader, leaning so sharply he nearly knocked over the table. "I won't allow it."
"Leave them," the young leader replied without lifting his eyes from his own cup, his calm a sharp contrast to his companion's tension. "It's not a problem."
"How can you say that?" The boy slapped the table with an open palm. "We can't let some dangerous old man just take her."
"Nothing like that is going to happen," the leader said, finally looking him in the eye. But Torin was no longer listening. His gaze had gone back to the Captain's table, where she had just rested her chin in her hand, absorbed in some story Kael was telling with slow, unhurried gestures.
Late in the night, when most were slurring their words and empty mugs had piled up like small towers on the tables, Torin got to his feet. He crossed the tavern in long strides, weaving through sailors who could barely stand, and without a word drove a punch straight at Kael's jaw. The Captain — eyes half-closed and head resting on his arm — took the blow on a glance. His chair tipped backward and he went down with it, taking the table and three mugs that shattered against the flagstones. The crash cut through the laughter of the tavern like a blade.