The night breeze carried the scent of salt and danger as The Crimson Wave approached the small island known to sailors as the Devil's Isle. Shrouded in jagged cliffs and treacherous waters, it was said to be cursed—a reputation that kept most ships away. Seraphine didn't believe in curses, but she knew better than to underestimate the Corsairs' cunning.

Her crew worked in tense silence, their movements precise and deliberate. The only sounds were the creak of the ship's rigging and the faint whisper of waves against the hull. Seraphine stood at the bow, her eyes fixed on the dark outline of the island.

"Rigg," she called, her voice low.

The quartermaster appeared at her side, his hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass. "Aye, Cap'n?"

"Take a small team ashore. Scout the perimeter, but don't engage unless necessary. I want to know exactly what we're walking into."

Rigg nodded, his expression grim. "And the noble?"

Seraphine glanced over her shoulder at Callen, who stood by the mast, sharpening a borrowed blade. "He stays aboard. For now."

Callen looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I can handle myself, Captain."

"I don't doubt it," she replied coldly. "But I don't trust you yet. Stay out of my way."

He gave a mock bow, a faint smirk on his lips. "As you wish."

The Scout

Rigg and his team slipped into the longboat, their silhouettes blending into the shadows as they rowed toward the shore. Seraphine watched them disappear into the darkness, her fingers drumming against the ship's railing.

"Worried about them?" Callen's voice broke the silence.

She shot him a sharp look. "I don't have the luxury of worrying, Mercer."

"Right. The fearless Captain Drake," he said, leaning against the railing beside her. "But even the strongest captains need someone to watch their back."

"I have my crew for that," she replied curtly.

"And yet here you are, staring into the dark, waiting for them to return."

She turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "What are you getting at?"

Callen held up his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing. Just an observation."

Before she could retort, a flare lit up the sky—a signal from Rigg. Seraphine's heart leapt into her throat.

"They've found something," she said, already moving toward the wheel. "Prepare to drop anchor. We're going ashore."

The Ambush

The crew moved swiftly, arming themselves and lowering another longboat into the water. Seraphine led the way, her pistol strapped to her thigh and her cutlass gleaming in the moonlight. Callen joined them despite her earlier order, his presence an unwelcome reminder of the secrets he carried.

The beach was eerily quiet as they landed, the soft crunch of sand beneath their boots the only sound. Rigg and his team emerged from the shadows, their expressions grim.

"It's worse than we thought, Cap'n," Rigg said. "The Corsairs aren't just resupplying—they're preparing for a full-scale assault. They've got enough firepower to sink half the fleet."

Seraphine's jaw tightened. "And their numbers?"

"More than we've got," Rigg admitted. "But they're spread out. If we strike fast, we can take out their powder stores before they regroup."

Seraphine nodded, her mind racing. "Then we hit them hard and fast. Rigg, take the main team and create a diversion. I'll lead a smaller group to the powder stores."

Callen stepped forward. "I'm coming with you."

She hesitated, her instincts screaming against it. But time was running out.

"Fine," she said reluctantly. "But stay out of my way."

The Powder Stores

Seraphine, Callen, and a handful of trusted crew members moved through the dense jungle, the sounds of the Corsairs' camp growing louder with each step. Fires flickered in the distance, casting eerie shadows across the trees.

"Quiet," she hissed, motioning for the group to stop. Ahead, a pair of guards stood outside a wooden shack—likely the powder store.

"Two guards," Callen whispered. "We can take them."

Seraphine glanced at him, then nodded. "I'll take the one on the left. You take the right. On my mark."

They moved like shadows, silent and swift. Seraphine's cutlass sliced through the air, taking down her target in one clean motion. Callen was just as quick, his blade finding its mark before the guard could raise the alarm.

The rest of the crew moved in, securing the area. Seraphine pushed open the door of the shack, her breath catching at the sight before her.

Barrels upon barrels of gunpowder lined the walls, enough to level the entire island.

"Light it up," she ordered.

One of the crew set to work, laying a trail of powder leading back to the jungle. But before they could retreat, a shout rang out—one of the Corsairs had spotted them.

"We've got company!" Callen shouted, drawing his blade.

The Escape

The jungle erupted into chaos as Corsairs poured out of the camp, their shouts echoing through the trees. Seraphine fired her pistol, dropping the first man who charged at her.

"Fall back!" she shouted, cutting down another attacker.

Callen fought beside her, his movements precise and deadly. For a man who claimed to hate violence, he handled himself like someone well-acquainted with it.

As they retreated, the trail of gunpowder ignited, flames racing toward the shack.

"Move!" Seraphine shouted, diving for cover just as the explosion ripped through the night. The shockwave sent debris flying, and the Corsairs' shouts turned to screams.

When the dust settled, Seraphine pushed herself to her feet, her ears ringing. Callen stood nearby, blood staining his torn shirt but a defiant grin on his face.

"Not bad for a noble," she said, her tone begrudgingly approving.

He chuckled, wincing as he touched a cut on his arm. "Not bad for a pirate."

To Be Continued...