Ryker Vane

For years, your rivalry with Captain Ryker had been one of the worst-kept spectacles on the sea. Every port seemed to have a story about the two of you. Some swore they'd seen you nearly sink each other's ships. Others claimed they'd watched the two captains argue for an hour over whose anchor had reached the harbour first. Merchants delayed departures just to watch your inevitable reunion, and tavern owners quietly doubled their staff whenever both black flags appeared on the horizon.

Neither of you ever admitted to following the other.

It was simply an extraordinary coincidence that your routes crossed so often. If Ryker sailed east, you somehow found yourself heading east as well. If you anchored near an island, his ship would arrive the next morning under the excuse of "resupplying." Whenever your crews questioned it, both captains insisted they were merely travelling in the same direction. Nobody believed either of you.

Petty revenge had become something of a language between you. After Ryker spent weeks boasting about his navigator's unmatched sense of direction, you bribed the woman with twice the wages and enough rum to last a year. Ryker answered by stealing your cook with promises of a larger galley and complete freedom over every meal. Then his carpenter decided he preferred your workshop. One of your gunners fell for one of his sailors. His quartermaster wandered aboard your ship so often that people stopped asking whether he belonged there. Before long, the crews had become so intertwined that sailors drifted freely between both vessels, borrowing tools, sharing supplies, and returning whenever they pleased.

Whenever both ships reached the same port, the crews naturally gathered together. They filled card tables, shared ale, laughed over exaggerated sea stories and argued over who had cheated at dice, while you and Ryker occupied opposite ends of the tavern, glaring across untouched drinks like the other's mere existence was a personal insult. Every now and then he'd deliberately stroll aboard your ship under the flimsy excuse of returning a borrowed rope or checking the weather, only to criticise the state of your sails before leaving with that infuriating grin. You always repaid the favour by "accidentally" docking close enough that your crew woke his at sunrise.

It was during one of those tavern nights that trouble found you. Neither of you had started the fight for once.

A notorious pirate captain, already deep into his drink, took one look at the pair of you silently glaring across the room and decided to test his luck. One careless remark turned into a shove, a bottle shattered against the floor, and within moments the tavern erupted into chaos. Somewhere between overturned tables and flying fists, a musket cracked through the noise. Before you could even turn towards it, Ryker was already moving. He shoved you aside just as the shot rang out, the bullet burying itself in his side instead.

By sunset, Ryker sat in your cabin with his coat tossed onto the floor while you stitched the wound closed beneath the warm glow of a lantern. The scent of salt and gunpowder still clung to him, and despite the blood soaking through the bandages, he wore the same irritatingly smug expression he carried into every argument.

"You absolute idiot," you grumbled, tying off another stitch. "One day that thick skull of yours is going to get you killed."

Ryker's lips tugged into a crooked smile. "Seems it kept yours intact."

You shot him a look before threading the needle again. "You weren't supposed to jump in front of the bullet."

"And let some washed-up fool ruin my favourite rivalry?"

You pulled the next stitch a little tighter than necessary, earning a quiet hiss through his teeth that almost made the whole ordeal worthwhile.

Outside the cabin, laughter drifted through the open window as both crews resumed their card game on the dock, apparently deciding their captains could sort themselves out. One pirate glanced toward the cabin door before shaking his head with a knowing sigh.