High noon burned across the southern coast like a brand.
The Great Southern Ocean stretched endless and cobalt under a merciless sun, its surface flashing silver with every swell. Heat shimmered above the white sand, and the air hung thick with salt, tar, and the distant cry of seabirds.
On the beach, King Antares Antis stood with his arms loosely crossed, expression relaxed, almost lazy — the posture of a man who had already knew the outcome of the day.
Above him, the Red Sons and their commander Adam circled in wide, silent patrols. Their ant-shaped helmets and black capes cut dark silhouettes against the blazing sky.
Below, Lady Sira and Yajin flanked their king. Behind them, one hundred elite veteran Ashfang warriors stood in perfect ranks, crimson skin gleaming, heavy weapons ready. They were not here for ceremony. They were here to load cargo… or to kill.
Antares watched the horizon.
First one ship appeared. Then another. Then three more. Five vessels in total, their hulls low in the water under the weight of cargo. Sails marked with the crimson kraken of the Redbeards snapped in the wind as the fleet coasted carefully toward the shallows.
A broad smile spread across Antares's face.
"This is more than I expected," he murmured.
Lady Sira's cyan eyes narrowed. Her voice was cool, precise, and edged with warning.
"This pirate prince, my lord… he is young, but he is ten times the evil his father is."
Yajin remained silent. The nine-foot Ashfang general simply stared at the approaching ships, tusks catching the light. In all his years of southern expeditions he had never seen this much cargo delivered to this lonely beach in a single day.
Antares did not look away from the ships.
"Don't worry about that," he said. His tone was calm, almost casual, but it carried the quiet weight of absolute confidence. "He won't be a problem to us if he keeps his word. And we won't have an issue with him if he remains true to it."
Sira's lips pressed into a thin line. The reputation of Tristan the Red and his bloodline was written in blood and lies, inhumane cruelty, public executions, and the casual destruction of entire coastal villages had made the Redbeard name a curse across half the known seas.
She had every reason to distrust the smiling prince who now stepped onto the sand.
Tayron disembarked from the lead vessel with the easy grace of a man born to command.
His crimson cloak fluttered behind him. The two chained lion beastmen followed at a measured distance, growling low. Behind them, pirate crews scrambled to unload heavy sacks of grain, barrels of seed, and crates stamped with seals. The beach transformed into controlled chaos as bags of wheat, rice, barley, and spices piled higher by the minute.
Tayron approached and stopped three paces away. He bowed — not deeply, but with precise, calculated respect.
"The first cargo is here, Your Majesty."
Antares inclined his head.
"Well done, my prince."
Tayron straightened. His crimson eyes locked onto Antares's without flinching. He had already noticed the open hostility in Lady Sira's gaze and the cold disinterest radiating from Yajin.
"If you don't mind, Your Majesty… can we talk in private?"
Antares studied him for a heartbeat, then nodded.
"Take care of the disembarking, both of you."
The order landed before Sira could open her mouth. She closed it with visible effort. An order from the king was absolute.
"Yes, Your Majesty," they answered in unison.
Antares turned and walked inland along the curve of the beach. Tayron fell into step beside him. A single mental command flashed through the hive-link.
*Do not follow.*
Adam and the Red Sons remained in the sky, watching.
They walked in silence for ten full minutes. Only the crash of waves and the distant shouts of unloading crews filled the air. The sand grew softer under their boots. The heat pressed down. Finally Antares stopped near a cluster of black basalt rocks where the surf could not quite reach. He turned, wild black hair whipping in the salty wind, and spoke without preamble.
"Now, my prince. I know you didn't bring me here to talk about expanding our trade agreement. Be brief. Tell me what you want."
Tayron looked at him for a long moment. Then a soft chuckle escaped him.
"You're exactly the type of ally I need, Your Majesty."
Antares raised one eyebrow.
"Allies?"
"Yes." Tayron's voice lost its polished edge. Something harder and more honest remained. "To be honest with you, even though I'm the second son to my father, my position in my family is quite weak. There have been talks going around lately… my father will soon choose a successor."
Worry flickered across his handsome face — the first true crack Antares had seen in the pirate prince's armor.
"And you would like the Antmen to help you back your claim," Antares said.
Tayron did not deny it.
"In a way, yes. But more than that… I want you to stand with me when the battles come because I know this succession war will end in blood."
The admission hung between them, heavier than the midday heat.
Antares turned toward the open sea. His voice was quiet, almost reflective.
"You know that my people and I are still weak. I have only just returned to the surface. We lack a solid foundation. We are still building ourselves."
Tayron stepped closer, crimson eyes intense.
"I don't care about that. I know what the Antmen can do. I have read the history books — the great exploits of your people and your ancestors."
Antares turned his head slowly. The wind pushed his long hair across one blood-red eye.
"You are quite bold for a second son. What's in it for me and my people if I help you?"
Tayron did not hesitate.
"Expansion of trade. Full access to my intelligence network. I can open doors to other nations and lands. I can bring information, contacts, and opportunity to your shores."
Antares considered. Public popularity meant little to him. An empire built on reputation alone was an empire waiting to fall. But an intelligence network — eyes and ears across the oceans, across human kingdoms, elven ports, and mostly his enemies— that was something he could not ignore or turn down.
He faced Tayron fully.
"Alright, pirate prince. Since you want my help in your war… then you will help me in mine."
With a soft rasp of steel, Antares drew Eos.
The golden blade caught the noon sun and flared like a second star. The killing aura that rolled off the Ant King was sudden and absolute. It pressed against the skin like hot iron. Every instinct in Tayron's body screamed at him to step back, to run, to put distance between himself and the thing standing in front of him. The air itself seemed to thicken with the promise of death.
Antares's voice dropped into something cold and final.
"Soon, when my people and I are ready, I will take war and death to the goblins on the other side of the Godwall. I will exterminate them. All of them. None will escape my wrath."
He walked toward the water's edge. The surf hissed around his boots. Without warning he raised Eos and brought the blade down in one clean, devastating arc.
The ocean itself parted.
A deep trench of water split open for thirty meters, walls of sea held apart by pure kinetic force before collapsing back with a thunderous crash. A powerful gust of salt spray blasted inland, soaking Tayron's cloak and whipping his red hair across his face.
Antares lowered the sword. He exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and laughed — a short, almost boyish sound that somehow made the display even more terrifying.
"Phew. Needed to relieve some stress."
Tayron stared, speechless.
Antares walked back and extended his free hand.
"Do we have an understanding, Prince Tayron?"
Tayron looked at the offered hand, then at the golden sword still dripping seawater, then at the eyes of the Ant King. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and clasped it.
The grip was iron.
"We do, Your Majesty."
The pirate–ant alliance was sealed on the white sand under the burning southern sun — not with parchment or wax, but with blood-red eyes and a shared understanding that the coming years would be written in steel and fire.
Far out on the water, the remaining cargo ships continued to unload. On the beach, Ashfang warriors began stacking the first mountains of grain. In the sky, the Red Sons kept their silent vigil.
And on the shore, two young rulers stood side by side, already calculating the cost of the wars they had just agreed to fight.