Cerulean Tides

Chapter 1

The sharp scent of saltwater filled Elise's nose, clinging to her like the mist that wrapped the Galene as the ship cut through waves. Even at seven-maybe eight-she could sense the coming storm, her gaze fixed on the horizon where thick, dark clouds gathered, painting shadows over the churning sea. She was perched at the ship's edge, fingers curled around the rough railing, her small hands almost lost against the wood softened by brine and storms. Her tongue tasted salt, familiar and almost comforting.

Around her, the Galene was alive. Sailors shouted to one another, calling out warnings and barking orders in that quick, clipped pirate slang she half understood. They moved with hurried purpose, double-knotting ropes, hauling barrels below deck, and lashing crates tight to keep them from rolling free once the storm hit. The scent of wet wood and the faint reek of fish mingled with the salty air, and the creaking masts groaned as if anticipating the storm's fury. Elise's small body thrummed with excitement, mirroring the restless energy that pulsed through the crew.

Elise's gaze landed on the brawniest figure she knew, the one man who felt as solid as the mast itself: Bran "The Bull" Stone, the ship's boatswain. He was moving with his usual commanding pace, barking orders with a booming voice, hands roughened by years of handling thick, salt-soaked ropes and weather-worn wood. He was just finishing knotting a rope, his brow furrowed with concentration as he directed the crew in securing the ship's cargo. She couldn't help but admire the way he seemed to belong to the sea, as much a part of the Galene as its hull or sails.

But Elise had her own mission, one that couldn't wait for a storm. Slipping between hurried sailors and ducking under swinging ropes, she made her way to Bran's side. She tugged on his coat, barely reaching his waist, but with a determination far greater than her young years would suggest.

"Bran!" I want to hear the story," she said, her voice almost lost amid the shouts and clatter around them. She tugged on his coat again for emphasis. "The one about how Captain Harren found me, in the middle of the storm, and pulled me out of the waves." Her face was lit with earnestness, as if she'd never heard the tale before.

Bran shook his head, his expression indulgent yet strained. "Now ain't the time, lil' sea mouse. I got a storm to wrangle, and the Cap'n won't like it if I'm shirkin' my duties."

She planted her hands on her hips, unphased by his resistance. "The storm's not here yet, Bran. And you know you tell it better than anyone. Just a quick one!" She looked up at him with the same determination she used whenever she wanted something badly. Her eyes, stormy blue like the sea before her, glimmered with an innocent charm that was hard to resist.

He sighed, relenting just a bit. "Fine, ye little wisp. One short telling. But after, ye better stay clear o' the deck. Understood?"

She nodded solemnly, but Bran knew her promises often held as much weight as a feather.

The scent of rum and salt hung in the air as Bran settled himself onto an upturned barrel, pulling Elise up onto his knee. She barely noticed the smell, so familiar it was almost comforting. Around them, sailors pretended to focus on their tasks, though a few cast amused glances in their direction, ears tilted toward Bran's booming voice. The wind was beginning to howl, tugging at the sails and setting the masts creaking, as if the ship herself were bracing for the tale to come.

Bran cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint as he began, "It was a night unlike any other, mark me words, lass. The storm-why, it was fierce as a thousand wild stallions, kickin' and roarin' across the sea." He gestured dramatically, his free hand cutting through the air to mimic the thrashing waves, making Elise giggle. "An' there was yer dear Captain Harren, a young'un himself back then, fightin' his way through the wind an' rain to the doors of the Havenmoor Inn, carryin' ye, shiverin' like a leaf in autumn."