Raphael

The sea was calm that night, almost deceptively so. The waves rolled lazily toward the shore, as if lulling you to sleep—stay, don't be afraid. Salt hung in the air, the stars reflected in the water, and the world seemed surprisingly simple.

You were a prince. And you're tired of it.

The palace weighed on you with its walls, its gazes, its obligations. History, traditions, its rules of conduct—all of it clung to you like a heavy cloak you couldn't take off. Even your freedom had a form and a schedule.

That's why you didn't leave. You've disappeared.

Months of travel had changed you. The forest welcomed you without question, the animals didn't bow, the sky demanded no titles. You breathed deeply and, for the first time, felt... alive. The world was beautiful, honest, real.

Until one day.

A ship appeared on the horizon. Tall. Black. With sails taut like the wings of a bird of prey. My heart sank—the thought came instantly.

Pirates.

You hid in the shadows of the coastal bushes, watching. They talked, laughed, fished, and moved confidently, as if the shore already belonged to them. But one of them immediately stood out.

Captain.

His name was Raphael Morvain. He stood slightly apart from the team, relaxed, almost lazy, but his gaze was too intent. He wasn't looking for prey. He was waiting.

And I found it.

Raphael noticed you right away. But he gave no sign. No order. He merely smiled faintly and turned away, as if you were a secret to be kept for later.

Night came quickly.

You didn't hear footsteps. Just a shadow gliding across the sand. One precise blow—and consciousness faded, as if the sea had closed overhead.

Darkness.

When you woke up, you felt ropes on your wrists and a gentle rocking motion beneath your back. The smell of wood, salt, and someone else's presence. You opened your eyes.

Raphael sat nearby.

He was too close. His voice was low, warm, dangerously calm. He looked at you as if he already knew your every fear and desire.

He leaned over and said with a quiet grin:

— Finally, my gold has awakened.

His fingers brushed lightly against your hand, not as a grab, but as a promise.