The air reeked of salt, rust, and old blood. Morning mist hung low over Brimvale's docks, veiling the broken ships and slumped bodies of those foolish enough to challenge Raizen the night before. But even in ruin, the island buzzed. Something had shifted — not just fear, but interest. Eyes followed Raizen now not as prey, but as a storm.
He was still just a boy. But boys don't carry that kind of presence unless they've survived something monstrous — or become something worse.
Raizen stood at the center of the square, facing a line of men and women. Some pirate scum, others mercenaries or runaway soldiers. All of them had seen what he could do. And now, some were ready to follow.
"I'm not building a crew of cowards," Raizen said, his voice low but firm. "If you're looking for safety, leave. If you're looking for gold, leave."
He stepped forward, shadows dancing around his heels as the mark on his chest flickered faintly beneath his open coat.
"I don't want servants. I want monsters. I want killers. I want people who've lost everything… and are ready to take everything back."
He paused. Let the words settle.
"I'll rule this world. And if you follow me, you'll never be forgotten again."
For a moment, no one moved. Then a tall woman stepped forward. She had deep blue skin, gills at her neck, and eyes like stormclouds — a fishwoman, proud and lean, with a harpoon across her back.
"Name's Zhara," she said. "I once served in Neptune's army. Left after they killed my brother for protecting a human child. I've got reasons to burn the world too."
Raizen nodded once. No theatrics. No speech. Just a warrior joining another.
Next came a boy not much older than Raizen — wiry, pale, twitchy hands. He carried no visible weapon, but his fingers were stained black from gunpowder and oil.
"Silco. I don't fight with blades. I build machines. Weapons. Traps. You want a war, I'll give you one."
Then came a shadow.
Literally — a cloaked man with a face hidden beneath a bone-white mask. When he stepped forward, the sunlight around him dimmed unnaturally. Even Zhara's eyes narrowed.
"They called me Vex once," the man said, voice a dry whisper. "I've killed admirals, kings, even other warlords. Now I follow you, because I want to see the world bleed... and you, child, are bleeding destiny."
Raizen's eyes met his. There was no fear. Only acknowledgment. He turned back to the rest.
"This is the beginning. This crew won't be like the others. No jolly rogers. No drunken songs. Just fire… and conquest."
He stepped toward a nearby flagpole, drew his blade, and carved into the mast a crude symbol — a spiked crown, resting atop a shattered globe.
"We'll call ourselves the Black Ashes. Because where we go, the world burns."
That evening, aboard the stolen warship they'd renamed The Emberfang, Raizen stood at the prow as the crew prepared to set sail. The ship was a beast of rusted iron and jagged wood, repurposed from the wrecks of old marine vessels. It was ugly, fast, and packed with firepower — just the way Raizen liked it.
Below deck, Silco worked on converting the engine room into a weapons lab, muttering to himself about "volatile cores" and "compressed devil flame cells." Zhara stood watch over the helm, already asserting command over the lower-deck fighters. Vex? He had vanished — for now.
As the anchor rose, and the Emberfang cut through the mist, Raizen looked out at the endless sea.
"Where to, Captain?" Zhara asked, stepping up beside him.
Raizen didn't hesitate.
"To Viremont."
Zhara's eyes widened.
"The prison island? You want to start by attacking a Marine blacksite?"
"They keep devils in cages there," Raizen said. "Killers. Outlaws. People too dangerous to be executed. I want them."
"You plan to free them?"
"No," Raizen said with a grin. "I plan to offer them a choice. Kneel… or burn."
Deep beneath the ship, in the darkness of the cargo hold, the mark on Raizen's chest pulsed harder. He clutched at it in silence, knuckles white. Visions flickered behind his eyes — flashes of fire, shadows consuming entire fleets, and a name whispered in a voice not his own.
"Kuros... the first king..."
Raizen gasped, staggering to one knee.
"What is this…?"
But there was no answer. Just the sea ahead — and a destiny he no longer knew how to escape.
End of Chapter 8: Embers of the Fallen