Chapter 8: Dagger Rock
The freighter was filthy.
Rust lined its hull, ropes frayed at every knot, and the deck reeked of salt, old smoke, and worse. The crew didn't speak much. They were mercenaries, smugglers, runaways — not pirates exactly, but not law-abiding either. The kind of people who didn't ask questions if you paid in gold.
Kira had paid in sky-gold nuggets.
They didn't care where she came from.
Just that she stayed quiet.
Which suited her perfectly.
The voyage to Dagger Rock took a day and a half. The sea was calm, the skies clear, and the wind steady. Kira didn't talk to the crew. She kept to herself, seated cross-legged beneath a tarp at the back of the deck, watching the waves and recording everything — currents, stars, boat speed, crew behavior.
She memorized faces. Noted callouses. Gait. Body tension. Who had knives. Who didn't.
Her mind never stopped.
Every hour was prep.
Just because she wasn't fighting didn't mean she wasn't in a battle.
She was always in one.
Dagger Rock came into view on the second night.
A jagged island with cliffs like teeth, harbor crammed with ships that flew no flags. Smoke drifted from iron chimneys. Music — loud and fast — carried on the wind, mixed with shouts, laughter, glass breaking, and distant gunfire.
Kira stood at the bow, arms crossed.
This was a pirate nest.
Perfect.
The moment the freighter docked, she slipped off with the others. No one stopped her. No one cared.
She vanished into the noise.
The town was chaos. No streets, just rough paths between bars, shacks, weapon shops, and alley dens. Women danced in doorways. Drunks sprawled in corners. Pirates brawled in open squares, laughing with blood on their teeth.
Kira walked calmly through it all.
No cloak now.
Just her black shirt, light armor, staff strapped to her back, and eyes sharp.
She blended easily — a young fighter, maybe an assassin. No one saw her as prey.
She made sure of it.
Her goal wasn't drink, gambling, or company.
She wanted information.
The tavern she chose was called The Gutted Starfish — half-collapsed, roof slanted, door hanging off one hinge. Exactly the type where loose mouths spilled useful things.
She walked in. Ignored the stares. Sat at the edge bar.
Didn't order anything.
Waited.
And listened.
Within twenty minutes, she had her first lead.
A pirate crew called the Bone Fangs had just returned from a skirmish and were looking to sell some stolen dials. Rumor said they'd killed a merchant ship. Left no survivors. Standard work.
But one detail stood out.
Someone had survived. A girl — young, quiet, foreign. Their captain had taken her prisoner.
Kira's eyes narrowed.
She had a rule:
Never chase revenge.
Only opportunity.
And this? A prisoner girl in the hands of a mid-tier pirate crew?
That was opportunity.
Maybe a crewmate.
Maybe bait.
Maybe both.
She slipped out of the tavern without anyone noticing and began her search.
The Bone Fangs were docked two piers down — a black-hulled brig with a red snake sigil burned into its sail. Fifteen crew, medium weapons, low discipline. No posted guards.
Amateurs.
She moved fast.
Clouds had rolled in, covering the moonlight.
Perfect.
She climbed aboard from the water, used a grappling line, and landed silently on the aft deck. Her boots made no sound.
No one saw her.
She used her staff to tap a small arc of lightning into the lock on the cabin door. It popped open with a faint hiss.
She entered.
The prisoner was there — tied, gagged, but awake.
Dark hair. Pale eyes. Bruised temple. Early twenties. Skin like sanded bronze. No fear.
Interesting.
Kira didn't speak. She cut the ropes. Removed the gag. Put a finger to her lips.
The girl nodded.
Smart.
They moved fast.
Kira's staff crackled as she pulsed low electric waves through the floor, tracking footsteps. One came — a guard.
She stepped out of the cabin and launched a burst from her palm — silent, fast.
The man dropped without a sound, convulsing once before slumping.
The girl didn't flinch.
Even better.
They climbed down the rope and dropped into the ocean.
Kira had memorized the harbor.
She led them around the far dock, back through a side alley, then up a stone stairwell to a cliff above the port.
There, she stopped.
The girl coughed once, still catching her breath.
"You good?" Kira asked flatly.
The girl looked at her.
"Name's Sayida."
Kira didn't respond.
Sayida smiled faintly. "You're not from around here."
"No."
Sayida didn't push.
Kira liked her already.
They spent the night in an abandoned stone hut outside town.
Sayida spoke first.
"They killed everyone on my ship. I was just a scribe. I think they thought I was worth money."
"They were wrong."
Sayida nodded. "You're strong."
"I know."
Sayida watched her, curious, not frightened. "Why save me?"
Kira looked out the window.
"Because you didn't scream."
Sayida smiled.
"Then let me repay you. I know things. Trade routes. Names. Codes. I kept records."
Kira turned to her.
That was all she needed.
By sunrise, she had a partner.
Not a crewmate. Not yet.
But something close.
Sayida was quiet, smart, and never asked pointless questions. She didn't flinch when Kira shocked open a lock or knocked out a dock guard.
They scouted Dagger Rock together for the next three days.
Kira was searching.
For a ship.
Her ship.
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