1677 – Unnamed Tavern in Havana, Late Evening

This was the kind of tavern you could only find if you knew where to look, at the edge of an empire, in the shadows, a place where the darkest and richest deals were made. Low ceilings with battered beams, carved and marked by many drunk souls over the years; The plaster on the wall thick and cracking from humidity and storms, yellowing from all the smoke. The light in here was low, no more than lanterns hanging on fraying rope, swaying slightly from the ocean breeze that occasionally blew in through the open doors and windows of the place to release some of the body heat and smell of sweat as everyone packed into this place to watch where the world had narrowed in on a single table.

Scarlette Jane sat with her boots propped carelessly on a chair rung, cigar smoldering between her fingers, a half-drained mug of beer sweating on the wood beside her. She was all the picture of ease, red hair unbound, lean frame draped in a shirt that had seen better days, but there was a coil to her, a sharpness behind the lazy smoke curling from her lips. The sort of woman who smiled like she was about to cheat, fight, or kiss, and no one could say which until it was too late.

The table between her and the last man standing was packed with tonight’s winnings: coin in little shining piles, a few pocket watches, a battered cutlass, a bolt of fine fabric, even a pair of boots far too nice for the room they sat in. The detritus of men who thought themselves clever at cards until they found themselves across from her.

Those men now ringed the table, voices hushed, mugs clutched too tightly as they leaned in to watch. No more laughter, no more bravado. All of it gone, stripped down to sweat and silence as their fortunes lay in the stack before her.

Only one player remained across the table.

A broad-shouldered man with an eye like a storm cloud, his other obscured in a fine leather patch, the rest of him wearing the sort of composure that didn’t belong in this den of half-drunken losers.

Percy.

He held his cards with steady hands, face unreadable, and if the loss of the others’ fortunes troubled him, it didn’t show. Where others sweated, he smirked faintly, like he knew some joke that belonged to him alone.

Scarlette took another long drag from her cigar, exhaled smoke in a slow, deliberate ribbon, and tapped ash into an empty glass. Her gaze flicked lazily to the stack between them, then back up to Percy.

“Well,” she drawled, voice low and rich with the kind of confidence only earned by winning, “looks like it’s just you and me now.”

The men around the table shifted.

Then Percy leaned forward, voice low and sure. “Let’s raise the stakes.” He slid a modest stack of coin into the pot. “Loser owes the winner a favor. Any favor, freely given, when called upon. No questions asked.”

The room chuckled at that, a few drunken shouts of agreement. Favors were common enough wager in taverns. A trinket bet when pockets ran empty.

Scarlette smirked, cigar smoke curling around her face. “Fine. A favor.”

They played. She lost.

Percy collected the pot without a flicker, but his eyes lingered on her just a moment too long. “A favor is a heavy thing to lose Scarlette.” Before he took his loot and the words bound in thin, humid air between them.

Only many years later would she feel the weight of those words, the pain. Now, tonight, high on winning, warm from alcohol, and too young to know any better, she laughed.

“Sure, darling. I’ll fetch you a drink when you’re dry, or tuck you in when you’re lonely.”

The crowd laughed with her, it was tight as even the joke fell flat against the tension that only seemed to get thicker between the two at the table. Percy didn’t say anything in response, only smiled his arrogant grin.

The night went on.

The pile grew monstrous.

The whispers in the tavern grew louder and the amount of bodies in the room continued to swell as the bets from that misbegotten favor grew in severity. Letters of marque, seals of governors, Percy even had a relic of the ancients that now sat and faintly glowed in this dark seedy tavern. Scarlette had stripped herself down to her last coins and trinkets.

Percy had not faltered once.

And then Percy set his cards down with quiet finality as they prepared to play their last hand, and pushed forward the deed.

There, at the top held a single name: The Night Wind.

Even in her youthful arrogance Scarlette could feel it, somewhere something had shifted. A fate line that plucked and vibrated in the room between them. She could hear the calls of the spirits behind her minds eye, they were excited.

The energy was alive and jumping like static in a thunderstorm. These were the type of stakes men talked about for years to come, for her – it became her deal with the devil.

Scarlette tilted her head, grinning wide, though her purse was empty. “That’s a bold bluff.”

“I don’t bluff,” Percy replied, calm as a the evening tide despite what he just laid down. “But for a whole ship, for the freedom of the sea, I don’t want any more gold, you either call with something worthy or its off the table.”

The silence stretched. Scarlette tapped ash from her cigar, then slowly pushed forward the only thing she had left. Her hand lingered on the table, the crowd leaning in to see.

“Myself,” she said. “Body, soul, and all debts owed. If I lose, you own me.”

The tavern erupted, half with laughter, half with shock. That was a poor mans bet, at the end of it all a single human life was not worth much. Yet the terms she used, the manner she held herself leaning against the table towards him slightly, she was offering a soul – not a life.

Percy only regarded her slowly, judging, weighing.

“Done,” and somewhere she swore she heard drums.

He then started to lay out his hand and the whole tavern held their breath.

“Full house.” There were some cheers and claps from the men surrounding the table, that was a strong hand, however she hadn’t laid hers down yet and she couldn’t tell if the crowd would rather she win or lose.

She relished in the tension of the moment, this was a rush unlike any she had felt before. So one by one she laid down her cards, “Straight flush.”

The room erupted violently as men clasped her on the shoulders and shook her while she laughed feeling light as a bird and high as one as well.

A ship, I have a ship.

The El Corazón de Oro didn’t count, neither did the one she had taken into port tonight as she had every intention of selling it this week before she was traced to it. That was the whole reason she was in Cuba, why she was here in this tavern at all and now she had her own mother fucking ship.

“Drinks on me!” She cried and the tavern got even louder as men jumped the bar, starting to grab all liquor disregarding the taverns owners insistence they couldn’t do this.

They didn’t care, no one was listening anymore as they all poured themselves heavily, reveling in the intensity and conclusion of the night. She wasn’t fool enough to think this was for her, they would have done the same thing if he had won. They just wanted the opportunity. The entire time Percy didn’t take his eye off her, the veins beneath the eyepatch appeared even more stark as the color left his face but he didn’t move as he stared at her.

He had kept his composure throughout the night, his tales when he had them were slight and hard to spot, but now she could see the fury, the disgust as he regarded her and the loot that sat between them.

“Do you hear the chains rattle Scarlette?”

Scarlette’s grin faltered, just a hair, but she covered it with a pull from her beer. “Speak plain Percy, we are all too drunk to hear the bemoaning of a sore loser.”

He sneered and gathered his belongings, downing his beer in one drink, then was gone.

Scarlette watched him leave feeling unsettled, something was wrong.

“A toast, to a new captain!”

“To Red Jane, long may she reign!”

“And may it be rich and bloody!”

The cheer that rose was long and loud, she covered her ears from the noise laughing as men she had taken the most from now seemed to have forgotten all about it as they poured her drinks and the songs started.

—
LATER THAT NIGHT

The tavern was a riot.

Tankards clanged, dice rolled, bodies slumped half-conscious against tables sticky with spilled rum. The air reeked of tobacco, sweat, and victory. Scarlette Jane, a newly appointed captain with no stripes to her name, had just won a ship.

She smiled with the swagger of a queen as her newfound crew toasted her name, but she didn’t drink deep. Not tonight. She let the men drown themselves stupid while she nursed a single mug, her thoughts too sharp, too restless.

A ship. Hers.

When the laughter had dulled to snores and curses, men either sleeping where they sat or leaving to pass out in the sands and loose beds, Scarlette slipped out into the humid Havana night right before dawn came on the horizon. The sky was just barely starting its awakening, the dark velvet night becoming just the shade lighter of blue. The world was quiet right now. There was nothing but the gentle lap of water and the faint creak of wood against rope as she walked towards the dock. She moved through the dark with a purpose, her boots carrying her down the dock until she stopped dead before her.

The Night Wind.

The ship rose like a shadow among shadows, black timbers gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Sleek, sharp, fast, a predator disguised in planks and sails. Scarlette felt her chest tighten, as if something had reached out of the dark and wrapped its fingers around her. On her tongue was the faintest taste of the sea, the pang of salt however was coated in a sweetness she couldn’t define. Not like sugarcane or molasses, almost like a warmth as she felt, actually felt the ship call to her. As if it was letting her know it saw her and welcomed her aboard.

She climbed the ropes with ease, boots landing on the dark hull with a soft thud that felt like coming home. She smiled as she stared at the grey sails, the canvas thick and of good rigging, they lightly danced in the faint sea air as they waited. Her hand brushed the rail. Warm. Solid. Alive. The Night Wind breathed under her touch, the wood humming faintly like a heartbeat.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

The voice came from behind, smug and amused, but altogether too close.

Scarlette spun, rapier drawn, but the man leaned casually against the rail, utterly unbothered.

Percy.

“You followed me.” She didn’t like that she hadn’t heard him. That same feeling of unease that had bothered her all night began to show its face once again.

“I don’t follow,” he said easily, stepping onto the deck as if he’d always belonged there. “I arrive.”

Scarlette’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t dare lower her sword. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face after losing everything. What, come to beg for your ship back?”

He laughed softly, “My ship? Oh no, Captain. She’s yours now. She’s chosen.” He leaned close, his grin catching the moonlight as he ignored the sword that now pressed into his chest. “That’s the funny thing about The Night Wind. You don’t win her, she decides in the end if you are worthy.”

Scarlette bristled, “What in hell are you talking about?”

The wood beneath their feet groaned, no, spoke. The sails shifted though no wind stirred. Scarlette froze, eyes widening as the ship itself seemed to breathe around her, as if waking to a new master.

She turned back to Percy only to find him different. Not the smirking gambler nor the vagabond he pretended to be. His eye glowed faint, fathomless, like storms on a distant horizon. The air around him was heavy and charged with the power of those storms as though the world, the sea itself bent toward him.

“Who are you really?” Her words were soft against the pounding of her heart, the air thin as it seemed breath was taken from her lungs and swirled around him like a growing hurricane.

He smirked. “Say it, I can see the name right there on your lips.”

But when she opened her mouth, fire lanced her throat, the words dying before they formed. She choked, staggered and dropped her sword, glaring at him through the pain.

“That’s the first term,” Percy said, voice velvet over steel. “You will not speak my name. Not to friend, not to lover, not to crew. No one. To try is to burn.”

Scarlette spat to the deck, fury in her eyes. “Bastard.”

He smiled wider. “The second term: you are bound to me. Until the favor I claim is paid, you will not raise blade nor bullet against me. Nor I against you. We are… mutually inconvenienced.”

The Night Wind groaned again, timbers shuddering, as if marking the words like ink to paper.

“And the third,” Percy murmured, stepping closer, “is that you do not choose the moment. I do. One day, when the hour comes, I will call for what you owe. Your favor, owed without condition will be paid in full when I come to claim it or you will die and I will ruin you and everything you hold dear. Until then…” He gestured around them. “Sail. Raid. Drink. Build your little mortal empire. When the day comes, I’ll find you.”

Scarlettes’ chest heaved in deep raking breaths, her heart breaking out of her chest as she raged, “What game are you playing at Percy?”

“Not a game, a pact. A deal. Between you and me, two gamblers on a night of fate.”

“I do not fear you.” She seethed.

“No,” he said softly, his grin edged with something crueler. “You fear being forgotten. And I’ve just ensured you won’t be.”

The ship groaned and she could hear the water splashing against the hull as if they were riding high tide out. He stepped forward and took her hand in his, she wanted to fight him but found the conclusion pointless as his power overwhelmed her. The power of centuries, of the Gods, crashed into her like a tidal wave and she forgot how to breathe. Her vision went black and her body burned. Not her body, her arm, the ancient pact wound its way into her flesh and bone, divinity made visible, unbreakable.

Just when she thought she was going to pass out from the pain, her lungs straining for a breath of air, it was done. The cold air felt like ice on her skin now slicked with sweat, her entire body shaking, a new black tattoo wrapped around her hand and wrist.

Percy’s smile reminded her of a crocodile, all teeth, all predator. “And now we are bound dear Scarlette.” She could see the tattoo on his left hand, the design mimicking her own.

“Until next time.”

And then he was gone. No footsteps, no sound, just empty air where he once stood.

Scarlette stood alone on the deck of her new ship, smoke still curling in the night air as she shook and took deep breaths. Her mind raced faster she could process the thoughts, thoughts of Gods, of deals, of futures uncertain, of possibilities, of fate.

The Night Wind groaned under her boots and she again could taste that salted sweet on her tongue. She let out one last shaking breath, walked over to where her sword had been forgotten, and sheathed it with a smile to herself.

“Fine. Let’s see how far this little pact carries us.”

—
Caribbean Sea - 1680

The deck of the Night Wind was a ruin of smoke and blood. The enemy ship had limped away half-sunk, but that would have to be enough of a victory today. Her deck was stained with red and water, fire having just been put out and she hadn’t even begun to calculate the loss. Crew groaned where they lay. Broken masts leaned like splintered bones against the sky. Scarlette herself sat slumped against the railing, shirt torn, one arm wrapped tight where a shot had near blasted her arm off, her shield coming up right at the last moment. She was alive, barely, and the ship still floated. That would have to be enough.

She closed her eyes, chest heaving.

Then a low chuckle stirred the air.

Scarlette’s head snapped up, and she tried to scramble to her feet but when she saw who it was she laid back down against her broken railing and glared. Percy lounged against the capstan as if he’d been there the whole time, coat dry and not a thread out of place, hair untouched by the smoke that still stung her eyes. His smirk was infuriating, the picture of disdain.

“Well,” he drawled, voice rich with mockery, “you managed not to drown. Miraculous, really.”

Scarlette bared her blood-stained teeth. “Go to hell.”

He ignored the venom. “Do you know what the men said, down there on the other ship?” He tilted his head, as if listening to whispers only he could hear. “They begged. Prayed to their saints. Pleaded for mercy. And yet…” His eyes glittered as they swept across the wreckage of her deck. “You gave them none. You’ve become quite the monster Captain.”

Scarlette spat blood, voice raw from yelling. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here,” he said softly, crouching in front of her like she was his child and oh how she wished to stab out that other eye. “Because I’ve been watching you, and I’m intrigued. You are ruthless, cold, bloody. You fight like a beast out there and I find it quite fun to see the torment you mortals bring each other.”

She resisted the urge to cough as the smoke burned her lungs and her eyes watered but she refused to break his stare. “You enjoy tormenting mortals this much?”

“Enjoy?” Percy laughed, sharp and cruel. “Captain, it’s what I am. Do you think you’re the first sailor to make a foolish wager with me? The first to bleed on a deck and wonder if she’d sold too much of herself? No. You’re just the one interesting enough to keep me entertained.”

He straightened, looking out over the ruined ship with a disdainful smirk. “Still, I suppose credit where it’s due. You lived. Most don’t.”

Scarlette struggled to her feet, every muscle screaming, more of her blood staining the deck. “Keep mocking me Percy and I’ll show you how ruthless I can be.”

His grin returned, wider, sharper. “Oh, Captain. That’s precisely why I stay.”

And then he was gone, the smoke curling where he’d stood.

Scarlette swayed on her feet, rage burning hotter than the pain. She clenched her fists until her nails cut skin, one day she was going to make him bleed.

—
San Juan - 1684

Scarlette was in her cabin, bent over maps, quill scratching notes quickly before she lost her train of thought. The candle flickered and shadows danced across her desk. She looked up to find him lounged on her bunk, flicking through her personal journal as though it belonged to him.

“Get off my bed.”

He ignored her. “A shame, not a single sordid love story. Your handwriting is atrocious as well, and seriously not even one mention of a love interest? What kind of woman are you? Look at this: ‘Currents off Hispaniola stronger than last season.’ Poetry.”

Scarlette lunged, but the book vanished from his hands before she reached him. He raised his brows, grin sharp.

“Don’t you have a kingdom to pester?” she snapped.

“Don’t you have a crew to lose?” he countered.

She hurled the inkpot at him. It shattered against the wall. He was gone before it hit.

—
Gulf of Mexico - 1687

The night was still, moonlight glinting on calm seas. Scarlette walked the deck alone, the crew below snoring in hammocks. She went to the fore banister and stared at the open sea rushing beneath her boots like black glass. She lit a cigar and had only begun her nightly enjoyment when she could smell him on the air.

“Gods you’re dull when you’re not killing someone.”

Scarlette sighed and didn’t even turn. Percy leaned against the banister staring at her instead of the sea.

“Nothing? No snarl, no dagger?” he prodded. “You’re losing your edge.”

She exhaled through her nose, “You’re losing my patience.”

He chuckled. “I’m immortal. Patience is all I have.”

“Then spend it somewhere else.”

But he didn’t. He stayed, humming tunelessly, watching her smoke in silence until the cigar was gone. Then he vanished without a word, leaving Scarlette scowling at the empty deck.

What a waste of a good cigar.

—
Battle of Barbados – 1688

Cannon fire split the night, like thunder rolling across the waves leaving fire and smoke in its wake. The Night Wind cut sharp between two English brigs, her black sails taut, her crew howling as they loaded another broadside. Splinters and smoke choked the air but still they ran.

Scarlette stood at the helm, coat whipping in the wind, eyes fixed and unflinching as she navigated through the fight. She yelled her orders in time with her own movements, her men trained and diligent that not a single one wasted a step, a moment, trusting everything she said without hesitation.

And then he was there.

Percy appeared at her side, calm and dry amid the chaos, lips curled in that infuriating half-smile. “You’re boxed in, Captain. Cut away north, or you’ll lose your mast in their crossfire.”

Scarlette didn’t look at him. “Not north. South.”

He chuckled, condescending. “South? You’ll run aground. Do you plan to kill us all just to be contrary?”

Scarlette snapped the wheel hard, the Night Wind groaning as she obeyed. The ship plunged south, sails straining, directly toward shallow waters glittering with reef.

“Trim the sail hard, pull fast the main.” She ordered, not bothering to even glance at the specter by her shoulder.

The crew cried out “Aye, captain.”

“Sabine! Get those cannons loaded now.”

“Aye captain!” She cried and ordered several of the sailors to help her load the guns.

Percy leaned close to her ear and oh how she wanted to punch him “You’re not the first to drown thinking you were cleverer than me.”

Scarlette’s eyes never left the reef. Her knuckles were white on the wheel, her jaw set. “And you’re not the first god to think mortals don’t learn.”

At the last moment, she gave the order. “Hard to port!”

The Night Wind heeled over, sliding past the jagged reef so close the hull screamed, but she cleared it.

The pursuing brigs weren’t so fortunate.

One crashed broadside into the reef, splintering with a shriek. The other veered too late, sails tangled, leaving her helpless for the Wind’s broadside.

Scarlette roared, “Fire!” and the cannons spoke, shredding her enemy. The crew erupted in cheers, their adrenaline now feeding into exultation.

Only then did she look at Percy. He stood silent, his smile gone, his eye narrowed.

Scarlette’s grin was savage. “You once tried to hang me by the noose of this debt Percy, but I am no longer the child you made your deal with.”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, he had no answer.

“I never created your noose Scarlette, I merely handed you the rope, you tied the knot yourself.”

And then, like smoke carried off on the wind, he vanished.

Scarlette turned back to the helm, laughter in her voice as she yelled to her crew, “We’re not done yet mes amis! Run out the guns and chase them down. Tonight, we hunt.”

—
October 1689 – Curaçao

The lantern burned low in Scarlette’s cabin, casting long shadows over maps and bottles scattered across her desk. She leaned back in her chair, boots propped up, cigar smoke curling toward the beams. The Night Wind rocked gently in the harbor, her wine freshly cracked and breathing, and a faint breeze brushed through the open window by her face. She smiled at the smell of fish and salt, the cool evening air as the seasons changed. It was her favorite time of year. The storms started to calm down, the weather was cooler, the humidity less suffocating, and now she had a freshly cracked bottle of wine, plenty of time, no where to go, and outside the night was quiet.

The door didn’t open. No hinges creaked. Yet in a heartbeat, her night was ruined.

“Still breathing,” Percy stated, as if that had been a concern of his. “Good. I’d hate to have to find another captain.”

Scarlette’s grin was sharp as glass as she sipped at her wine. “Lost your flair, Percy. You’re becoming predictable.”

He pulled a chair out and sat across from her without asking, lounging as though he owned the place. His storm-grey eye caught the light differently tonight. His gaze was deeper, sharper, something beneath them coiled tight.

“I’m here for business.”

Scarlette swirled her wine. “Business,” she repeated slowly. “You’ve been haunting me for thirteen bloody years, and now it’s ‘business’ all of a sudden? What’s changed?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The debt comes due. The favor you owe. I’m calling it.”

That finally pulled her away from her wine as she set it down, the cigar next to it, forgotten. She turned her blue gaze completely on him, intent. “You’ve sat on that card since Havana. I know you don’t actually care if I live or die and I absolutely know you would rather continue to torment me for another decade, so why now? What’s shifted that’s got you coming in all serious?”

For a heartbeat, the grin faltered. A shadow crossed his face, not fear, not exactly, but calculation, weight.

Then it was gone. The smirk returned, arrogant and easy. “Circe. My eye. You know the terms.”

Scarlettes gaze narrowed. She’d learned his moods too well over the years, a capricious God with the smug arrogance, the endless disdain. This was different. There was tension in his voice, something sharp.

“You’re rattled,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Something’s got you spooked.”

He leaned closer across the desk, his voice dropping to a velvet hiss. “Careful, Captain. Ask too many questions and you’ll remember exactly what it feels like to test our pact.”

The burn in her palm flared, phantom and cruel. Scarlette didn’t flinch, she’d learned to handle the little taunts of pain over the years. She only smiled wider, all teeth. “Touchy.”

“Focused,” he corrected. His hand slammed down on the desk, and the lantern guttered. Shadows curled along the cabin walls, bending and writhing like snakes. “It’s time. You will take me to the Phantom Sea. You will help me reclaim what was stolen. That’s the bargain you made.”

Scarlette leaned across the desk until their faces were inches apart, her voice low, venomous, “And if I refuse?”

His eyes flashed like lightning in a storm. “Then you will lose everything. The Night Wind will sink into black water. Your crew will choke on the tide. And your name, your precious name, will rot. You’ll be remembered as a coward, a failure. Or worse: not remembered at all.” His voice swelled, booming low like thunder rolling beneath the waves. “I will scour you from history.”

She ground her teeth, there was no bluff in his words. The seconds dragged on between them as they stared at each other nose to nose, the silence as frozen as the northern sea.

“I’ll take you through your damned sea. I’ll face your witch. But don’t forget, I’ve kept this ship alive without you for 13 long years. Don’t mistake debt for obedience.”

His smile returned, slow and triumphant. “Obedience. Debt. They taste the same in the end.”

Poseidon leaned back then, claiming the chair, adjusting his coat, smug and sure, stormlight still glimmering in his eyes.

“First Mate,” he said softly, mockery dripping from every syllable. “It suits me.”

Scarlette drew her dagger and stabbed it deep into the wood of her desk. A pirates promise.

“Enjoy it while it lasts Percy, you may not like how I repay my debts.”

“Oh I assure you Captain, I will enjoy this immensely.”

The shadows recoiled. When Scarlette blinked, he was gone.

She sat back, chest tight, her hand still burning with the invisible leash of their pact.

Something had shifted in him. She didn’t know what, but she knew Percy well enough to know this wasn’t arrogance alone. For the first time since Havana, she poured herself a drink with her hand unsteady.