Chapter 9 - The Troubled Waters

The Morning fog clung the shores of Ever Land, the air thick with the scent of salt water and sense of foreboding. Tiger Lily's tribe–who were on their sacred journey, their ship was loaded with offerings to Noctis, carefully wrapped bundles of rare herbs, precious stones, and gifts for the lost moon. As their tribe set their sail, their chants filled the air, prayers for Noctis's return.

In the distance, the calm sea held an eerie quiet. Noctis's light had not touched the land for centuries, and the people of the tribe believed that their devotion could summon the moon's power once more. Tiger Lily, adorned in her ceremonial regalia, stood at the front of the ship, eyes fixed on the horizon as the whispers of the ocean beckoned them forward. Her heart beat in rhythm , with the waves, knowing her prayers could bring salvation to her people.

However, unbeknown to them, Captain Hook had already set his sights on the tribe's path.

From his ship, the Jolly Roger, Hook stood at the helm, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the horizon. The whispers of the sea were different today—strange, almost haunting. They seemed to call out to him, urging him to strike.

"Captain," the first mate, Smee, approached with concern. "The wind's picking up, and those ships are heading into dangerous waters. The tribe's offerings are valuable–there's plenty of food and supplies we could use."

Hook's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Let them think their prayers will save them. We'll take their rations, their goods and leave them stranded. Prepare the crew, Smee. It's time we collect what's rightfully ours."

A twisted excitement flickered in Hook's eyes. In the back of his mind, the whispers told him of greater things, things tied to his destiny. But he never ignored an opportunity for treasure.

As Tiger lily's ship sailed deeper into the open sea, the wind began to pick up. The first signs of trouble appeared: the once-peaceful ocean began to churn, and dark clouds swirled overhead, drawn to the Jolly Roger like moths to the flame.

Before the tribe could even react, Hook's ship loomed in the distance. Cannons fired across the water, sending splinters into the air. The tribe caught off guard, scrambled to defend their sacred offerings.

The battle began in a flurry of steel and arrows. The tribe's warriors, trained in the ancient arts, fought valiantly, but Hook's crew was relentless. Tiger Lily led the charge of the ship, Her spear glinting in the light, striking down any pirate that dared approach.

"You will not take our offerings!" she shouted, her voice strong despite the chaos around her.

But Hook, ever cunning, was prepared. He hadn't come to simply plunder; he had come to strike fear into their hearts. He wanted them broken, scattered, so that their devotion to Noctis would weaken.

As Hook fought through the warriors, he caught sight of Lily's mother, who stood at the center of the chaos, protecting the offerings with all her might. The fierce warrior's face was set in determination as she clashed with Hook's men.

Hook, with all the rage of a man who had lost everything to the Leviathan, approached her. He swung his cutlass high. "You would die for a moon that has already abandoned you?" Hook mocked, his voice cold.

Before Tiger Lily's mother could strike back, she was knocked off balance by a pirate's blade. In the confusion, Hook's sword slashed forward, striking her at the wrong angle. She fell backward, towards the edge of the ship, her body tumbling over the side and into the cold depths below.

"Mother!" Tiger Lily screamed as she saw the woman she admired and loved disappear beneath the waves.

The storm raged, the sea surging higher with every crashing wave, as if mourning the loss. Lily turned her fury to Hook, but before she could act, a monstrous wave struck the ship, tossing everyone into the wild ocean.

Swept away by the raging storm, they tumbled through the chaos—only to awaken in a realm unknown, a place whispered in myths and lost to time... Never Land.

Though they had all been swept into Never Land, fate had scattered them across different shores, each waking to an unfamiliar horizon.

Captain Hook and His Crew -The Eclipsed Shores

The Jolly Roger cut through the mist, its sails taut with an unnatural wind that neither Hook nor his crew could explain. The ocean had swallowed them whole, yet the ship had not suffered a single crack. No shattered wood, no torn sails–only the strange glow of the water beneath, guiding them to an unknown shore.

Hook stood at the bow, gripping the railing as the land came into view. The island was unlike anything he had seen before. The sand shimmered under the moonlight, casting eerie silver reflections. The trees stretched impossibly high, their leaves catching the wind like whispering spirits.

The crew murmured among themselves, unsettled.

"Where are we, Captain?" Smee asked cautiously.

Hook did not answer immediately. His Sharp eyes scanned the horizon, taking in the unnatural beauty of the place. It was untouched by time, as if no man had ever set foot here before. And yet...

They were not alone.

From the water, laughter drifted through the mist–soft, lilting, unnatural figures shimmered just beyond the tide, watching, waiting. Unlike the mermaids Hook had encountered before, these did not cower in fear. They did not flee at the sight of men.

Instead, they beckoned.

"Come closer, Captain," one called, her voice smooth as silk.

Hook narrowed his eyes. There was something wrong with this..

And yet, he felt the pull.

Smee took a step back, sensing the danger, his captain refused to acknowledge. The crew, though battle-hardened, hesitated. They had seen strange things at sea, but nothing quite like this.

Hook however, was not a man to be intimated. He turned back to his ship. The Jolly Roger remained in pristine condition. Its supplies untouched. Whatever force had brought them here had not sought to weaken them.

It had brought them whole.

That, he knew, meant one thing–-they were meant to be here.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he smirked, casting one last glance at the water before stepping off the plank and onto the shores of Never Land.

The moment his boots touched the sand, the island stirred.

Something beneath the land–something ancient–had awakened

The Assyrian Tribe- The Ever flame Canopy

The storm was gone.

In its Place: Silence

Tiger Lily awoke with sand in her mouth and salt burning her eyes. She blinked against the dim light, her ears still ringing from the screams and cannon blasts that had filled the night.

The shore stretched before her like a wound in the world–quiet, foreign and utterly wrong.

She pushed herself upright. Her clothes clung to her in heavy layers, soaked through with sea water. Around her, figures stirred members of her tribe, coughing, gasping, rising to their feet or falling to their knees.

They had survived.

But this was not home.

The trees ahead shimmered, leaves veined with glowing blue lines like moonlight trapped in bark. The air felt thick with something that was not wind, not mist, not anything they had known before. It pulsed—softly, rhythmically–like a breath.

The jungle was alive.

Not in the way of ordinary forests, where the wind rustled through the trees and creatures stirred in the underbrush. No–this place breathed.

Water ran unnaturally, not trickling from streams but suspended in thin air before falling into waiting pools. Food was abundant–fruits hanging ripe from branches, their scent intoxicating. Some among them fell to their knees, whispering to themselves.

"We have been blessed."

"We must've drifted to another shore," said an elder, clutching the pendant of Noctis at her chest. "The storm carried us far, but the sea knows where to place its children."

Tiger Lily's gaze fell to the broken offering box still tied to her hip. The fruits inside were crushed. The feather gifted by her mother was soaked. The sea shells cracked.

She should have wept.

But she stood tall.

She took a step towards the trees. Something shifted.

A Whisper on the wind–not words, just a feeling. A pull. As if the very land recognized her, and was waking.

As the last flower from the offerings touched the shore, a flicker of light hovered deep in the trees–small golden, and pulsing like a heartbeat. It lingered only for a moment, then vanished.

The Moon was about to rise and before dark they had to build a roof but before all of that they held the funeral at the edge of the sea, where the storm had first flung them ashore. With no bodies to bury, they laid offerings in the sand–shells, feathers, scraps of cloth from those they'd lost. Tiger Lily placed her mother's pendant atop of a stone, her fingers trembling only for a moment. Beside her, her father stood silent, his face carved from stone, though his eyes burned with the weight of grief. Both broken inside, yet neither allowed it to show. Not now. Not here. For the sake of their tribe, they stood tall–leaders in mourning, protectors in ruin. Behind them, the tribe sang the hymn of Noctis, soft and sorrowful, their voices rising like smoke. The sea did not answer. But it listened.

Something stirred in the distance, a flicker of movement between the trees.

They were not alone.