Thunder clapped, the sunrise having gone dark in an instant. 

And she wrapped her arms around Ventus and pulled him back, throwing them both over the edge and into one of the wicker baskets. 

“What on—“ Ventus groaned as he rolled off of her, but Elodie had no time for explanations. 

She took advantage of his confusion to snatch his cutlass right out of his hand and she swung at the ropes just as Davies’ hand closed around one of them. 

Elodie hit the floor as the basket plummeted into the sea.

Upon impact, her world turned upside down, and she was greeted by the icy embrace of the water. She kicked and kicked, but every way wasn’t up and her lungs burned for oxygen. The dappled shadow and sunlight filtered through the clouds and the water, mixed with the white bubbles, made it impossible for her to make out anything. 

Two strong arms weaved their way under her armpits, and she immediately started thrashing against their grip. But they somehow pulled her up anyway, up, up—

Elodie gasped for air as she was heaved onto the side of the overturned wicker basket. She grabbed onto it, grateful for an anchor in the shifting tides. She heard a thick flopping sound next to her, and saw Ventus throw the jacket up over the side. 

Rain pelted at her and the tides continued to thrash around her, so she clung on for dear life. 

She supposed the sword had been completely lost in going overboard. Which was a pity. 

“Would’ve been nice to know that you can’t swim,” Ventus huffed as he started pushing the wicker basket. 

“I can!” Elodie felt her cheeks go red. “I just—I wasn’t expecting that! Where did this storm come from anyway?”

Ventus shook his head and continued kicking. “Sure, whatever. Can you kick too?”

“Yeah, but where are we kicking to?” Elodie took the opportunity to look around her for the first time. 

The Foxtrot was still overhead, but they hadn’t yet sent anyone after them—likely because it was now pitching and tossing in the sudden storm. 

But to the east, where Ventus was kicking, there was an island. Well, Elodie wasn’t sure there was all that much island, but there were many ramshackle buildings, docks, and such spreading off of the tiny sandbar that sufficed for island, with more ships than she’d ever seen.

Many of which were flying the black Jolly Roger, but plenty more flew flags of all colors and designs, all of which were flapping in the sudden raging winds. 

“I wasn’t going to have us just jump off in the middle of nowhere,” Ventus scoffed. “At least we’ve got the storm covering our tracks for a little bit. Lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky?” Elodie retorted as she kicked in the water. “It was a sunny day, how—“

Ventus shook his head. “Sea’s like that, she’s temperamental, changes in an instant.”

Elodie bit back a response about how even she knew it wasn’t that temperamental. Besides, he had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. So instead, she just kept kicking and hoping that the island full of pirates would provide some refuge from the Black-Sail Fleet. 

It wasn’t long before they came upon a little stretch of sandbar, where there was a crudely-painted sign stuck in the ground.

Libertalia, the first line read in blood-red paint. Pirate Republic, white letters scrawled below it. 

She grabbed Venus’s jacket and threw it on over her shoulders. She did not wear it properly, for it was still soaked through and smelled like brine and sea-salt. But it was still something to cover up with, as she was still wearing a wet white nightgown and boots. Not ideal, especially given how the docks of Libertalia were already bustling, but it would have to do. 

Ventus stood up and dusted himself off, but the fine white sand still clung to his clothes.  The wicker basket he left to bob along in the waves. 

He climbed up on one of the neighboring docks, then turned to wordlessly offer her his hand. Elodie accepted, and was heaved up onto the uneven, mildewing planks of the primary pathways of Libertalia.  

She followed Ventus through the labyrinth of docks that formed a marina that spanned the entirety of the island. She could not help but gawk at the ships and characters passing by. Some ships were really just ragged sloops, but others were magnificent, modified navy ships. Some were even made in styles that Elodie did not recognize, with sails that resembled the fins of a fish with how there were many wooden segments behind the brightly-dyed sails. 

However, it didn’t take long for her to realize that the passerby were staring back at her. 

She noticed how their eyes flicked to her fiery red hair, evidence of her family’s origin in the Emerald Isles. How she was completely drenched in water and not fully dressed, unlike them. How they whispered while looking at her side-long. 

“Ventus—“

“I see them.” He reached for her hand. “We need to get out of the open. They shouldn’t do anything while we’re here, there’s an honor code here—but that’s more of a guideline, can’t be trusted.” 

With that, he started walking faster, and it was all that Elodie could do not to fall behind even with the anchor of his hand. They weaved through more of the docks before coming upon the walkway that consisted as a main street for shops and the like. Elodie tried to keep her eyes on Ventus in front of her, to ignore the eyes that knew she was there, the feeling of being seen in the most uncomfortable way. 

Ventus led her to a two-story tavern that was the origin of raucous singing and laughter—even though it was barely even morning. The One-Winged Parrot, the sign atop the door read, with a scarlet bird with rainbow feathers on the single exposed wing next to it.

Who got that drunk that early? 

“We’ll be able to find someone here who isn’t with the fleet,” he whispered into her ear. 

Ventus stepped forward—but Elodie lingered behind, heart pounding and hands clammy. To be on an island filled with pirates was one thing—but a tavern full of them? Elodie had not even been allowed to visit the taverns within Port Augustine because they were such dens of trouble. Or at least, that was what her grandfather and tutors had told her. 

Ventus looked back, and he seemed to read the hesitation in her eyes, the concerns etched in the crease between her eyebrows. 

“Keep your head down and you’ll be fine.” He squeezed her hand, as gentle of as an assurance as she could get, she supposed. 

With that, she followed Ventus into the One-Winged Parrot. They passed many tables, all of which were filled with pirates. The sign outside the marina hadn’t been lying. 

Ventus guided her past their games of cards and tankards of beer and bottles of rum to a table that was close to the bar itself. There was a section of wall behind the wooden bench that served as the seating for the one side of the table, with a painting of a sailboat hung over faded yellow wallpaper. 

The location shielded them somewhat from the view of the other patrons. 

Well, most of the other patrons. 

Elodie was looking around for one of the tavern-maids when she instead caught the eye of a grizzled old rogue at the bar, nursing a tankard of foaming beer. She averted her gaze—but it was too late.

“Eh, lass, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing—sorry!” Elodie glanced back, only to realize his eyes were locked on her. 

“Red hair, that face—I think I’ve seen it before.” His eyes were calculating. 

He couldn’t possibly mean— could he— 

“Get lost,” Ventus barked as he stretched an arm around Elodie. “She’s mine.”

The rogue took in Ventus for the first time, and his eyes flicked over the boy appraisingly. “Wouldn’t take much to take her from you. Effort would be worth the payoff.”

“Excuse me?” Elodie laughed, a tittering and hysterical sound, incredulous of this man’s audacity.

Her discomfort was lost on the man, with how he continued. “You’re clearly Fleetwood and Vance’s daughter, so give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shout your name to the pub or take out your friend and drag you to my ship?”

Elodie sucked in a breath, unsure of how to respond when—

“My lady, is this man bothering you?”

Elodie turned to see that a young man had somehow gotten behind her without her so much as hearing footsteps. Which was rather disconcerting but somehow still the least of her problems. 

The newcomer was the tall and dashing type, with shining blond hair like a fairytale prince’s and perhaps the prettiest hazel eyes that Elodie had ever seen with a ring of gold in their depths. Various trinkets dangled around his neck and wrists, and he wore his shirt buttoned incredibly loosely. His jacket matched his hat, both an attention-grabbing teal and the hat held a red feather in the depths. Perhaps the strangest anomaly about this gaudy young man was that he wore only one glove on his right hand, but he’d cut the fingers off the glove. 

Standing behind him was a young woman with wild black hair and a mischievous smile.

The young man wrapped his arm around her back, touching his hand to her shoulder. 

Ventus glared at him, but the young man ignored him, instead looking straight at the old rogue who had declared Elodie to be Vance and Fleetwood’s daughter. 

“I daresay good sir that the lady has had her welcome of you and would like you to leave.” 

The rogue narrowed his eyes, nursing his beer. “What’s it to you? You heard, haven’t you, about Vance’s treasure? Rumor has it his widow is going looking for the treasure. The girl here is her spitting image—she just might be the key to getting Fleetwood to talk.”

Shivers went down Elodie’s spine—something that was not helped by how the young man’s hand tightened over her shoulder, gripping into the fabric of Ventus’s jacket. His tone shifted, still vaguely pleasant but far colder, like the breeze on the last morning of summer. 

“Sir, I believe you are mistaken. I’d take your leave now or—“

Elodie stiffened and froze. The rogue had pulled out a pistol, faster than she could comprehend. In a beat, she realized that the blond youth had pulled out one of his own, and the young woman behind him had also drawn a revolver.

“Gentlemen, perhaps we can come to a solution—“

“Shut it, ginger wench, the men are talking,” the rogue spat. “So you brought back-up. I’d bet if I shouted her mother’s name, you’d be outmatched.”

“Move to do so, and you’ll lose your head before you start talking.” The gaudy youth pulled back the hammer on his revolver, speaking as casually as if one were discussing the weather. “If I were you, sir, I’d put your weapon down, finish your beer and walk out of here. It’s a lovely day. Might be nice for a walk or—“

Before he finished, he pushed Elodie down, and she only had the wherewithal to drag Ventus down with her as three shots rang out. When she peeked her head back from under the table, she saw one gunshot about an inch from Kas’s head in the wall, and the rogue was slumped over dead.

But the gunshots had drawn attention. And now everyone in the One-Winged Parrot was staring at their table. 

“Jade,” the gaudy blond said in a clearly indicative tone. Indicative of what, Elodie could only guess. 

“Yeah, I know,” the wild-haired girl huffed. “Looks like we’ll be fighting out way out of here.”

“No you won’t.”

All heads turned to see a woman about Elodie’s mother’s age, with dark hair braided into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, a dark pirate’s hat that was clearly of quality but not so luxurious as what the blond youth wore, and a long black coat over what was clearly a modified Albionese naval uniform. 

One look at those stern coffee-black eyes, and Elodie knew who she was looking at.