Emily

Emily’s head throbbed as she slowly blinked her eyes open, the blinding sun overhead making her squint. The muffled sound of shouting voices and crashing waves reached her ears, and her heart sank as she realized she wasn’t home anymore. She tried to move her arms, but the cold clink of iron shackles around her wrists made her stomach churn.

She glanced down, her small frame covered in coarse, tattered rags, dirt smudged across her arms and legs. Around her, other men, women, and children stood in a similar state, chained together in a miserable line. They were all being herded onto a wooden platform by harsh-looking men with whips.

“Where am I?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. Her legs felt weak, but she stayed upright, fear rooting her to the spot. The air smelled of salt and sweat, and she could see the bustle of a port town stretching out around her—1700s Caribbean by the looks of it. She caught sight of ships docked in the harbor and townsfolk gathering, their eyes filled with cold interest as they approached the platform.

Her heart pounded faster as she realized what this was: a slave auction. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but tears burned in her eyes. The auctioneer’s voice boomed as he started rattling off prices, gesturing toward the captives.

Before she could spiral into despair, a sudden explosion rocked the town, sending debris flying into the air. Screams erupted from the crowd as black flags appeared on the horizon, skull-and-crossbones waving in defiance. Pirates had arrived, cannons blazing, their ships already anchoring at the edge of the port.

The guards scattered, and chaos consumed the auction. Emily froze as the line of captives was broken apart. The chains rattled as a hulking pirate with a scarred face approached, his eyes narrowing as they landed on her. Would these pirates set her free—or would her nightmare take a darker turn?

The salty breeze whipped through Emily's hair as she stood on the deck of the pirate ship, the vast, glittering ocean stretching endlessly around her. She adjusted the oversized tricorn hat on her head, the brim casting a shadow over her face as she watched the crew bustling about. Her small hands tugged at the edges of her unbuttoned waistcoat, and the belt slung around her hips felt heavy with the weight of the pistol and cutlass she now carried.

"Guess thith ith me now," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the worn leather boots on her feet and the linen stockings peeking above them. The white shirt she wore, unbuttoned at the top, flapped in the wind, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was playing dress-up in some pirate storybook come to life.

One of the pirates—a burly man with a scruffy beard and a gold hoop earring—grinned as he passed her, hauling a crate of rum. "Ye look the part, lass. Ready t’earn yer keep?" he called, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Emily nodded, puffing up her chest in a show of confidence. "Aye, I’m ready!" she lisped, gripping the hilt of her cutlass to keep her hands from shaking. She wasn’t sure how she had gone from being chained on an auction block to joining a band of pirates, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of options.

Her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. She sighed, the enormity of her situation settling over her. "Thith hath to be a nightmare, right? Mommy alwayth thayth I have a vivid imagination…" she whispered, trying to convince herself.

But the wind was too real, the smell of the sea too sharp, and the cutlass at her side too solid to be a dream. For now, she would stick with the crew, learn the ropes—literally—and find her footing. Maybe, just maybe, she could figure out a way home. But first, she needed to prove she wasn’t just a kid in pirate clothes.

The jungle buzzed with noise as Emily trudged through the thick underbrush, sweat dripping down her face. Her unbuttoned shirt clung to her back, and mosquitoes nipped at her skin.

"This treasure better be worth it," she muttered, squinting at the frayed map. The X marking the treasure's location seemed close, but the dense jungle made every step feel like a mile.

"Keep up, lass!" Barnacle Bill called from ahead, machete in hand.

"I am keeping up!" Emily snapped, adjusting her tricorn hat. She was determined not to be underestimated.

"We’re close," Emily said after a moment, spotting the familiar rock formation. "The one that lookth like a monkey'th head."

The crew gathered around as they neared the spot. Bill grinned. "Ye might be onto something, lass."

As they stopped, Emily’s heart raced. They were almost there, but something about the quiet felt off.

"Let’s dig," she said, trying to mask her unease. "What’s the wortht that could happen?"

The group chuckled, but their nervous glances told her they weren’t as confident as they appeared.

The deck of the pirate ship swayed beneath Emily’s boots as a crowd of sailors gathered in a loose circle, jeering and cheering. The salty sea air filled her lungs, but her chest tightened with nerves. Standing opposite her was Jacques, a seasoned crewman with a cocky grin and a gleaming cutlass.

"Think ye can prance around as one o’ us without proving yer mettle?" Jacques sneered, pointing his blade at her.

Emily’s hand tightened on the hilt of her cutlass, the weight of it unfamiliar but not unwelcome. "I don’t need to prove anything to you!" she spat, raising her chin defiantly.

"Aye, but I say ye do!" Jacques barked back, drawing laughter from the crew.

She glanced at Captain Redbeard, who watched from the sidelines with a bemused smirk. His silent nod was enough; there was no backing out now.

Emily swallowed hard and stepped forward, the blade trembling slightly in her hand. "F-fine," she lisped, steadying herself. "Let’th thee if you’re ath tough ath you think!"

Jacques lunged, and the clang of steel rang out as Emily deflected his blow. Her heart pounded as she sidestepped his next attack, determination burning in her bright blue eyes. She might not be the best fighter, but she wasn’t going to let him—or anyone else—see her as weak.

The creak of the small ship’s timbers was oddly comforting as Emily stood at the helm, the salty breeze tugging at her short twintails. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white, as she stared out at the endless horizon. The sun was setting, casting fiery hues across the waves, but her mind was too full of doubts to notice.

She’d been humiliated—kicked off Redbeard’s crew after losing her duel with Jacques. The taunts still echoed in her ears, but she clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to let that stop her.

“Cap’n?” a voice called.

Emily turned to see Tom, one of the few crewmates who had stood by her. His freckled face was smeared with grime, but his smile was genuine. “Where to?”

Emily hesitated, glancing at the small crew working diligently on deck. They’d chosen her as their captain despite everything. That meant something.

She drew in a deep breath. "North," she said, her voice steady. "We’ll find our own fortune. And I’ll th-show them all what we can do."

Tom nodded, his confidence in her sparking a small flame of determination in her chest. The ship’s sails filled with wind, and Emily stood taller at the helm. If the sea was vast, then so were the possibilities.