I.
“The sea is too quiet tonight.”
T'was the first log I've ever written.
Home. I'm afraid's still out of sight.
From the expedition we'd been.
With me as the captain we sailed,
Finding lost treasures we've unveiled.

II.
Six months passed. 50 men aboard.
Gambling with seas so treacherous;
Vent’ring the unknown with a sword.
Some had said it was murderous.
After the passing of our king,
The kingdom had fallen. Crumbling.

III.
I was the only one to stand
Was so young. Was so terrified.
Then heard ‘bout the treasure island.
Horrified; Was crying inside.
Warriors, outcasts, poor men—they came,
“We offer help,” they all proclaim.

IV.
And soon we sailed one early morn,
Food, armors, weapons—on our track.
To my crying wife I had sworn,
“Don't you worry, dear. I'll come back.”
She held me close and our eyes met.
A kiss. “I'll wait for you, my love.”

V.
Aboard an old frigate we sailed.
The first day was quiet and calm.
But as dusk came, a storm assailed.
We saw great waves; I felt a quam.
In the end we fought the tempest.
Onward we went towards our quest.

VI.
From a distance, an island rose.
“What say we stop there for the night?”
“What is there no one ever knows.
I say we persist heading right.”
In front of me was my cousin,
To my first mate he's arguin’.

V.
“Gear up, let us let the night slip,”
I replied and my crew agreed.
To fate's hands I tightly took grip,
To the island, we dared proceed.
We camped in tents; supper we ate.
We gathered resources; We slept late.

VI.
I woke up, almost out of breath.
I saw my kingdom falling down.
What if what lies ahead is death?
With my own emotions I drown.
I stood—outside I was heading.
There came my cousin approaching.

V.
“Avreux, I can see your beam.
What is it you would like to say?”
“Come, dear brother,” he said with gleam.
“We had found something on the bay.”
I followed his steps on hurry,
There was my first mate, Nemorri.

VI.
Smiling, fresh juice they were drinking,
In front, a very pleasant scene.
The two moons shone; The stars twinkling.
“This—the best place I've ever seen.”
Avreux grabbed my hand and ran,
“I'm glad we came to this island.”

VII.
We watched the moon set slowly,
That island gave us so much glee.
“I also saw my Mom, truly.”
“What?” “A reflection at the sea.”
“I thought it was her ghost, oh dear!”
“I heard her whisper. Thought t'was real.”

VIII.
In the morning, we continued.
To the island we said goodbye.
The great joy we felt concluded.
We once more sailed under blue sky.
“What do you think we'll see next, Capt?”
My cousin asked, my back he tapped.

IX.
Time passed. It finally arrived.
Five of my men—they became ill.
Ate a bad fruit, they had derived.
I felt scared. I felt a strange chill.
We isolated them below.
Cous’, too. My fear began to grow.

X.
One day, I received a letter,
T’was my cousin saying goodbye.
If only I chose the latter,
I rushed t'wards them. I saw them die.
We put their bodies on raft,
Prayed. Burned. Saw their essence lifted.

XII.
I mourned for many nights and days.
T’was mercy that my crew stayed true.
The sea grew black, the sky turned gray—
And winds we feared returned anew.
The compass spun with trembling hands.
Men whispered omens through the masts.

XII.
We sighted ships—a dozen wide—
Their sails aglow, too smooth, too bright.
“We should follow,” first mate implied.
His voice gripped my decisions tight.
I thought, perhaps this path is kind.
For now—I chose to trust the light.

XIII.
We chased them through the thrashing stroke—
Their ghostly prows—beacons in mist.
But as we neared, the vision broke.
The fleet was false—no ships exist.
The ocean mocked our mortal eyes.
We'd been deceived by wind and lies.

XIV.
“Press on,” said Nemorri. But no—
This time, my voice reclaimed command.
“Raise the mast. We turn from the gale.
We sail by will, not gods’ demand.”
The crew obeyed. They pulled with might,
And braved the current out of sight.

XV.
The sky spat salt. The sails near tore.
The oars sang pain with every stroke.
And yet—we lived. All men endured.
The dawn rose clean. The curse had broke.
No death had come. No souls were claimed.
But fate had only changed its name.

XVI.
The sea was still for days on end,
Our rations low, our voices dry.
We drifted through a fog again,
Beneath a strangely golden sky.
And on the waves, we saw them stand—
Our dead, returned to sea and sand.

XVII.
One cried, “My son!” with tears anew.
Another saw his wife’s faint face.
I saw Avreux—same old hue
Of light that time cannot erase.
He reached and said, “Forget the crown.
Just stay. You’ve done enough. Sit down.”

XVIII.
Then came my father, tall and grave—
His arms outstretched, his voice so balm.
“My boy,” he said, “no storm to brave.
Come home. You’re safe now. You are calm.”
My soul near broke—I heard their lies—
Then saw a sailor leap and rise.

XIX.
“My daughter!” one man cried and flew
Into the sea that showed her smile.
He vanished fast—no splash, no clue—
Just glassy waves and lapping guile.
I tried to catch one sinking fast—
She slipped my grip; Breathed her last.

XX.
“Full speed ahead! Eyes off the tide!”
I cried while shadows swirled beneath.
“Plug up your ears! Let no one guide
Your heart t’ward love that swims with teeth!”
We rowed through grief, our minds half torn—
And six more souls did not see morn.

XXI.
One died that night by his own hand,
No siren’s song—just sorrow’s ache.
No beast can match what mem’ries brand
When dreams return but never wake.
The sea sings soft with voices passed—
And drags down all who look too fast.

XXII.
Sailing west; braved ev'ry trial,
Days passed like whispers in the mist.
No sign of shore, no tale to tell—
‘Til seas began to boil and twist.
The water hissed with smoky breath,
As if it stirred the forge of death.

XXIII.
Then from the deep, a shape arose—
Of fang and scale; Coil of amber.
Its voice like metal being closed:
“Who dares disturb my deep slumber?”
Its eyes like brands, its roar a pyre—
A beast of Huǒzhen, god of fire.

XXIV.
“No,” I breathed, heart clenched in dread.
“So many gone... not one more soul.”
I raised a hand, turned back my head:
“Stand still. Let none lose self-control.”
“These creatures hunt by heat and pace—
Stay still, or none shall leave this place.”

XXV.
“What of the ship?” asked Nemorri.
“She breathes. She shifts. Will that betray?”
“The beasts see heat,” I said, “You’ll see—
It flares when flesh begins to sway.”
The men went still, though eyes were wide,
And panic shivered where it tried.

XXVI.
One breathed fast, one even cried—
“I cannot feel my legs or hands!”
“Hold fast,” I said. “Let fear subside.
You move, and death will make its plans.”
The creatures hissed and snaked around,
Their scales like coals on a calm ground.

XXVII.
We almost passed a painful fate,
When three men loosed a lifeboat fast.
It splashed—a sharp and jarring weight—
And every fiery eye was cast.
“How dare you flee?” the serpent cried,
“For this, your whole cursed crew shall die.”

XXVIII.
I froze—my heart a flint of ash.
“Captain?” cried Nemorri. “It's near!”
“Captain!” the others begged, a flash
Of cries now louder than the fear.
“I’d read of this in ancient lore...
The beast would trade—for that I'm sure.”

XXIX.
“What could we trade?” the whispers came.
“Our food? The hull? The men aboard?”
I feared my voice would spill with shame—
But time would not permit to hold.
“Stand still,” I said. “Hold tight the mast.
No one strike, not yet—not so fast.”

XXX.
The serpents shook the ship with might.
The timbers wailed, the ropes went slack.
Then came a scream—too loud, too bright.
A blade had pierced the creature’s back.
I turned. A warrior’s blood-stained hand...
He thought to save us. Couldn’t stand.

XXXI.
“No!” I cried, but ‘twas late—now done.
The largest beast began to rise.
“You harmed my kin. You struck my son.
Now bleed for him—decide who dies.”
“I beg you, spare us,” I began,
“I’ll trade what little food we can.”

XXXII.
The serpent paused. “Some food?” it mocked.
“You wounded me—now feed my grief.”
“All of it,” I said, my voice rocked,
“Please end this here. Let pain be brief.”
One lunged and took the man who struck—
His scream was drowned in salted muck.

XXXIII.
“Choose more,” it said. “You hold their fate.
Four sons I’ve borne. One now sightless.
Four mouths to feed—choose men for hate.
Or all shall die and all lifeless.”
I looked upon my weary crew,
And thought of what I could not do.

XXXIV.
“Captain, we fight!” my first mate cried.
But I had seen the serpent’s might.
“No sword shall win what death denied—
We’ll lose ten more before the night.”
I saw the boat that tried to flee—
A mother, child, and man at sea.

XXXV.
“Give them,” a whisper touched my ear.
A woman’s voice, like storm-wrought prayer.
A goddess? Or my own dark fear?
I choked upon the burning air.
They only ran to save their kin...
But now to save my crew from sin?

XXXVI.
A burning fume swept through the air,
My men collapsed like falling rain.
The serpent hissed, “Choose now—beware!
Or sleep, and let them die in vain.”
I held to faith with failing breath,
Surrounded by the scent of death.

XXXVII.
My voice was weak, my limbs were stone,
The edges of my sight grew dim.
Their boat still fled, still sailed alone—
Then truth escaped from deep within:
“Take them,” I said, “the ones who fled...”
I dropped. The world turned flaming red.

XXXVIII.
“Very well,” the beast said in glee,
And with a flick, it chased the three.
I could not move. I could not flee.
Their screams were sharp and swallowed sea.
I watched them break, I heard them cry—
And cursed the strength to not yet die.

XXXIX.
I slept and saw three peaks of green,
An island veiled in silver mist.
No sound, no storm, no war between—
Audressean's here, the god of dreams.
A voice rang clear: “This isle shall test—
Not just your sword, but what you trust.”

XL.
We woke adrift, the shore in sight,
The ship half-whole, our strength unsure.
Some gathered wood, some patched the light,
While others searched the bay for cure.
Then came a whisper, thin and near:
“Beware the ones you hold most dear.”

XLI.
A peasant girl with steady face
Approached and whispered, “Come aside.
Your men have turned—your fall from grace—
They hold you now in doubt and pride.”
She led me through the shaded wood—
Her voice unsure, her heart still good.

XLII.
I warned, “Eat naught nor touch a thing.
Stay! Don't touch anything at all.”
Then came my first mate Nemorri
Joined me to climb the mountain’s wall.
We brought six men, left guards below—
Our breath grew sharp as winds did blow.

XLIII.
We reached the peak at dusk’s cold breath,
Where golden gleams through stone did glow.
A cave, untouched by fear or death,
Lay open with a gentle flow.
No guards, no curse, no trap, no lies—
Just treasure under sleeping skies.

XLIV.
We stepped inside, hearts drawn like flame,
And found more gold than kings could weigh.
“No more,” I said, “no pride, no shame—
Take what we need, then walk away.”
But hands still grabbed what could not last—
And envy’s shadow gathered fast.

XLV.
One struck—not deep—but just enough
To steal command, to mark the crown.
I gasped, the world turned dark and rough,
And gold around began to frown.
The mountain trembled in reply—
As if a god had heard the lie.

XLVI.
We rushed below—the sky was smoke.
Right there, our camp was lost in flame.
Men fought each other, bonds had broke—
And through it walked the beast of shame.
Its eyes were fire, its tusks were bone—
Its rage not wild—it judged alone.

XLVII.
It came for all, not just the thief.
The island roared with storm and scream.
They’d stolen food, disturbed its grief—
Awakened more than golden dream.
It struck—and twenty lives were gone,
Before we saw the cursed new dawn.

XLVII.
At midnight's hush, the wind was slow,
Yet gold still glimmered in the dark.
My men had crept where none should go,
And stole what I had kept apart.
Their hunger bloomed like rot through stone—
I feared they'd come to claim the throne.

XLVIII.
We sailed once more through serpent seas,
With only fifteen souls still bound.
"Let us pass," I cried to the breeze—
The beast arose without a sound.
"Four men you've cost. Give me more four,"
It hissed while surf broke on the oar.

XLIX.
“Four?” I said. “Why not take seven?”
My gaze had turned t’ward those who lied.
If they still lived, they'd burn heaven
To rule what once my heart supplied.
The gold was not for mortal claim—
But for the crown, not selfish gain.

L.
“Sacrifice your crew?” one man cried.
Then Nemorri stepped forth, ashamed.
"I trusted you," I said, my pride
Already cracked, my soul inflamed.
He wept—and drove a blade in me—
“My tribe must eat. Forgive,” said he.

LI.
Then came a voice: “The king instead!”
Another pushed to trade my name.
I knelt, my clothes now stained and red,
But still I bore the crown of flame.
“Where's the other six?” it then hissed—
Then chaos bloomed in blood and fist.

LII.
They fought, they wept, they screamed and lied.
They tied up youth and trembling wives.
And all I did was watch them die—
As serpents fed on pleading lives.
“Enough!” I cried. “Take traitors, too—
The ones who stabbed me through and through!”

LIII.
It did. The beast consumed them fast.
The ship grew still, the screams now past.
I stared as tears fell from the mast—
The women sobbed, their eyes downcast.
I found his sword—the steel still wet—
Five traitors lived. I won’t forget.

LIV.
They tried to flee with stolen light.
Some leapt to sea with arms of gold.
I let them go into the night—
No throne for those with hearts so cold.
The last two I tied to the beam.
Eight men remain beneath my dream.

LV.
Before we reached the sirens’ call,
I sent my crew to decks below.
The two I freed to meet their fall—
The traitors bound to reap their woe.
Their screams soon fed the waves with red,
And through the moan of song, we sped.

LVI.
We passed untouched. A silent night
Lay soft upon the silver sea.
And in the haze, a distant light—
Elphiron’s towers welc’ming me.
“My love,” I whispered to the stars,
“I’m coming home to end these wars.”

LVII.
But fate, once kind, returned to take.
The sea was torn by sudden gale.
A monstrous form began to wake,
And split our ship with storm-blown sail.
The beast of wind, with tendrils wide,
Rose shrieking from the moon-kissed tide.

LVIII.
I gathered those I still could save—
The young men, women, crown, and gold.
I set them drifting on a wave,
While fear and salt around me rolled.
“It smells the blood,” I said aloud,
“Of treason, loss... of dreams unbowed.”

LIX.
I turned to board—but knew the truth.
Their boats would sink beneath my weight.
“Go now!” I cried to those in youth,
But four remained to share my fate.
“We ride with you until the end,”
Said one, my last and dearest friend.

LX.
They kissed the women one last time.
I nearly wept, but did not fall.
Then as the ship began to climb,
We fired the final cannonball.
“For Elphiron!” we swore, we claim—
And faced the storm that never came.

LXI.
We struck its limbs with all we bore,
Distracting it with sparks and flame.
We hurled some gold to feed its core—
The sea would never be the same.
And when it howled to shake the sky,
We closed our eyes, prepared to die.

LXII.
And in my final breath of sand,
I saw her face beyond the tide.
“I love you more than gold or land—
My soul is yours, though kings have died.”
“Tell her I fell for crown and kin.
Tell her I’m sorry... for my sin.”