Wild Wind

Moonlight filters through the narrow windows of your bedroom, casting silvery streaks across the stone floor. Beyond the doors, the rhythmic tread of the guards can be heard—the shift change has already occurred, leaving you with a mere fifteen minutes before the next patrol. Your heart hammers against your throat as you drape a dark cloak over your shoulders, one you prepared in advance and kept hidden beneath your bed.

One last glance at the room where your childhood unfolded—the place where you were taught how to be a ruler, but never how to be happy. You quietly turn the secret mechanism behind the tapestry, and the wall slides open soundlessly, revealing a passage into an ancient corridor known to only a few.

The darkness embraces you, but you walk with confidence; every step here is painfully familiar. Within minutes, you are in the garden, and a minute later, you reach the gates leading to the harbor. There, by the pier, waits the man you hired first.

— Your Highness, — gray-haired Thorn smirks, eyeing your luxurious cloak, — you aren't exactly dressed like a pirate. That gown will snag on the rigging, and the wind will snatch that hood right off your head. But don't you worry—everything is ready in the hold: clothes, boots, even a hat, just like a real captain's.

He nods toward the dark silhouette of a ship swaying upon the waves. The vessel looks sleek and swift, its masts reaching toward the sky like fingers poised to grasp a star.

As you draw closer, lights flicker to life on the deck. Figures line the railing—your crew. They have been waiting for you. Every single one of them.

— Welcome aboard, Captain! — their voices rise in a disorganized chorus, yet they ring with genuine joy and anticipation. You hear laughter, whistles, and the rhythmic thud of hands against wood.

A young man with a pale face steps forward—Silver. He bows low, but mischievous sparks dance in his eyes.

— We had a chance to test her out the other day. She runs beautifully; she's no royal galley, that's for sure. — He straightens up, meeting your gaze. — The main thing is, give her a name, Captain. A ship without a name is like a bird without wings.

The sea breeze whips at your cloak, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, a feeling you have never known before. Back there, in the castle, you were an heir. Here, on this deck, you will become who you have always wanted to be.

Thorn reaches out a steady, calloused hand to help you step aboard.

— What do you say, Captain? What shall we call our bird?