Captain Bane's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Captain Bane stood at the harbor's edge and watched the dark water. Two months of waiting had taught him patience, but patience wasn't enough. He needed to understand his enemy better—how the backstabbing cur thought, what mistakes he might make. His transparent hand brushed his coat. Information lived in stories, and stories lived in taverns. He turned from the water and walked back toward the district where sailors gathered. A wooden sign hung above a doorway, creaking in the salt wind. Inside, voices rose and fell like waves. Bane passed through the wall and found himself among tables crowded with rough men and women. They spoke of ships and storms and captains who'd won or lost. He listened to each conversation, gathering details. One man described how a fleet captain always sailed at dawn. Another mentioned a weakness in certain ship designs. Every piece of information added to what Bane already knew. When his enemy's vessel returned, he'd know not just where to find it, but how to take it. The backstabbing cur had stolen his ship once. That mistake wouldn't happen twice. As Bane left the tavern, he walked past the old harbor structures where barnacle vines climbed weathered posts. The tangled plants wrapped around cracked wood, their salt-crusted leaves glistening in the dim light. He spotted something pale growing between the roots—a corpse flower pushing through concrete and rusted metal debris. The stark white petals marked a spot where sailors had been lost. Bane stopped and stared at it. Other ghosts walked these streets, ones he'd seen but never spoke to. Maybe they'd died like him. Maybe they searched for what was stolen too. He turned away from the flower. Those questions led nowhere useful. The harbor opened before him, and Bane saw what he'd been searching for. A spectral vessel floated near the far docks, its frayed sails hanging limp. The black wood had faded to gray, and an eerie presence surrounded it. This haunted ship stood as proof that others had fallen to the undead curse. Bane moved closer, his transparent feet making no sound. He studied the vessel's lines and remembered his own ship—solid and real, not a ghost like him. His enemy sailed in flesh and wood, not mist and memory. That gave Bane an advantage. The living feared what they couldn't touch. He had his information now. The backstabbing cur sailed at dawn and favored certain routes. Bane knew the harbor's layout, where ships docked, and which waters they traveled. The corpse flowers marked the cursed, and the ghost ship reminded him why he fought. When his vessel returned to Deadville, Captain Bane would be ready. He'd reclaim what belonged to him, and this harbor would remember his name.