Haacenel’s grip on the wooden railing was so tight that his nails carved deep grooves into the damp wood. His powerful, shark-like tail thrashed violently behind him, slamming against the dock with a resounding crack. The seawater churned below, reflecting the storm of rage that filled every inch of his body. His gills flared, his chest rising and falling in sharp, seething breaths.

“Asbjorn.” His voice was a low, warning growl before the winged man even landed beside him.

     The soft thud of Asbjorn’s boots hitting the dock barely registered over the crashing waves. He folded his wings neatly against his back, cautious, but not retreating. “What’s the problem, Haac? You’ve been standing here for hours, looking like you’re about to tear the whole damn sea apart.”

     “The Gods…” Haacenel started, but his voice died, his teeth grinding together.

     Asbjorn waited a beat before prompting, “What about them?”

     A guttural snarl ripped from Haacenel’s throat as he slammed his fist down onto the railing, the wood splintering beneath his strength. “They ought to pay for what they’ve done.” His tail lashed so hard that seawater sprayed over the dock.

     “I get it. We were all close with him—”

     “Close with him!?” Haacenel whirled around so fast that Asbjorn instinctively stepped back. His eyes were ablaze with unrestrained fury, his fangs bared in a snarl. “Asbjorn, he was my father! That filthy God killed him! For what?! He did nothing wrong!” His chest heaved as he pointed a shaking clawed finger at his friend. “For fifteen years, he fought to get home to his wife. Fifteen years! He’s the reason none of us are rotting in chains or at the bottom of the ocean! He saved us! And that damn God—” his voice cracked, but he forced it back into a growl. “That damn thing took him from me.”

     “I know.” Asbjorn’s voice was quieter now, but there was steel in it. “Your father is the reason we aren’t slaves anymore. The reason we have a life.” He hesitated. “But Haac… going against a God?” He shook his head. “That man—the one who calls himself Arnav in this life? He’s the God of War. War, Haacenel. Do you really think it’s wise to challenge him?”

     Haacenel tore the pendant from his neck, the leather cord snapping as he ripped it away. He clenched it in his fist so tightly that his claws cut into his palm, blood slipping between his fingers. His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “May the Gods all burn. Especially that damn God of War.”

     Asbjorn inhaled sharply. “Did you see the soldiers he had with him?! He’s not just a God—he’s a king. He took over an entire kingdom. Don’t you understand? He’s more powerful than ever! There is no way we can kill him!”

     Haacenel let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. “No way, huh?” His grip tightened around his trident.

     “I know how much you’re hurting,” Asbjorn said, his voice laced with urgency. He reached out, gripping Haacenel’s shoulder. “He hurt your father—”

     “Killed him,” Haacenel corrected, voice like ice.

     “Yes.” Asbjorn swallowed. “He killed him.” His fingers twitched against Haacenel’s shoulder before he slowly let go. “I’ve seen this man before. He looked exactly the same as he did back then. I watched him from the start.”

     Haacenel narrowed his eyes. “How?”

     “We were in the same adventuring group.” Asbjorn’s expression darkened. “Anything to keep me and my King away from our home kingdom. We traveled the world, and we met him—but back then, he called himself Dante. He posed as a friend. Gained our trust. Then, just like he did to Oreste…” Asbjorn’s jaw tightened. “He gouged out his eyes and slaughtered my King and his children. I saw it. I was there.” His voice wavered for the first time. “Only two members of the royal family survived. Our Queen. And their youngest daughter. But she—Taralin—went missing. No one’s seen her in centuries.” His wings trembled slightly as he exhaled. “Haacenel, this man is not to be messed with. He killed my King—my best friend—just like he killed Oreste. And he’ll do the same to you.”

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      Haacenel rolled the trident in his palm, testing its weight. Slowly, a smirk curled at his lips. “You know what?” His grip on the weapon tightened. “You’re right.”

     Asbjorn blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “…I am?”

     “Yes.” Haacenel’s smirk widened. “Because that just means we’re about to have our greatest adventure yet.”

     Asbjorn stiffened. “Haac, what are you planning?”

     “You know his weakness.”

     “I—” Asbjorn hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I mean, not exactly, I wouldn’t say that—”

     “You know what makes him tick. What could possibly break him.” Haacenel turned to him fully now, eyes gleaming like a predator’s. “What could destroy him.” His voice dropped into a razor-sharp whisper. “And you’ll help us exploit it.”

     “Haacenel, you are insane.”

     A dark laugh rumbled from Haacenel’s chest. “Insane?” He twirled his trident once before slamming the base into the dock, the wood cracking under the force. “No, Asbjorn.” His smile vanished. “I’m a son with a vengeance.”

     Asbjorn clenched his fists. “You’ll get yourself killed! My High King—Arakkoana—was one of the strongest Fey in our kingdom! Dante slaughtered him like it was nothing! Used his weakness—our High Queen—against him, and he died for it!”

     Haacenel’s voice was as cold as the abyss. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He took a step closer, his tail sweeping against the dock. “Now, you are either with me—” He lifted the trident, pointing it at Asbjorn’s chest. “Or against me.”

     “Haac…”

     The trident slammed down again, cracking the wood beneath their feet. “Answer me, Asbjorn! Are you with me or not?! He did the same thing to your King as he did my father—our friend. The reason we are free.” His voice dropped to a snarl. “Now, are you with me?!”

     Asbjorn’s wings flinched as he cast his gaze to the side, tucking them tightly against his back. A long silence stretched between them before he exhaled slowly.

     “…Fine.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the next word.

     “Captain.”

     Haacenel smirked, sliding the trident onto his back. “Good choice.”