The rickety stairs of The Barnacle's Bite groaned beneath Pierre's boots as he ascended toward their rented room. With each step, the raucous blend of laughter and arguments from the tavern below faded, replaced by a heaviness that settled across his broad shoulders like an invisible cloak. Every conversation downstairs had yielded identical results: dead ends, impossibilities, and sympathetic head shakes from weathered faces.

He pushed open the door to find Alyssa already inside, perched on one of the straw-filled mattresses. She had removed her ornate jewelry, her usually haughty expression replaced with something grimmer and more genuine. Leo sat cross-legged on the worn floorboards, tiny fingers absently polishing a small brass button he'd scavenged from somewhere in the port town.

"Anything?" Alyssa asked, though the answer was already etched into the hard lines of Pierre's face.

Pierre shook his head, red hair falling across his forehead. "Nobody's hiring crews for big scores. Not within our timeframe." He collapsed onto the remaining mattress, which crackled beneath his weight. "What about you?"

"The wealthy here keep their money tied up in investments. Ships, cargo, property." Alyssa sighed, leaning back against the wall, her platinum blonde hair stark against the dingy wood. "Nothing liquid enough to help us."

The door swung open again as Raven stormed in, her body rigid with barely contained frustration. She yanked off her cap and tossed it onto the small table occupying the center of their cramped quarters.

"I'm guessing by those long faces you didn't fare any better," she said, dropping onto the mattress beside Alyssa, her two-toned hair falling messily around her face.

"Nothing," Pierre confirmed, his blue eyes darkening. "At least, nothing legitimate."

Raven dragged her fingers through her half-red, half-white hair. "Same here. I cornered every smuggler, fence, and thief hiding in that cesspool downstairs. The biggest job anyone's offering is a Navy supply ship hijacking worth maybe half a million. Nothing remotely close to what we need."

Leo looked up from his button, his young face falling. "So we can't help your sister?"

The room plunged into silence. Pierre watched Raven's expression shift, the careful mask of the professional thief cracking to reveal something raw and wounded underneath. She turned away quickly, fixing her gaze on the grimy, salt-crusted window.

"We still have time," Pierre said, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears. "We'll find something."

"No, we won't." Raven's voice was flat, stripped of her usual sarcasm. "I've been at this for six years. If it were easy to get that kind of money, I'd have done it already." She stood abruptly, pacing the confined space in quick, agitated steps. "We should cut our losses. Head somewhere quiet, build up funds the slow way."

"That could take years," Alyssa protested, her pale green eyes flashing with unexpected passion.

"You think I don't know that?" Raven whirled to face her, cat-like eyes narrowing. "You think I haven't counted every single day my sister spends in that gilded cage? But what's the alternative? We have nineteen million. We need twenty-five."

Pierre observed the exchange silently, his mind sifting through alternatives with cold calculation. He felt Valerio's ghost lurking in his thoughts, whispering probabilities, discarding options one by one without mercy.

"There might be one option," Alyssa said hesitantly, her slender fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. "But it's probably just a legend."

Raven stopped dead in her tracks. "What is it?"

"Something called the Crimson Tide Tournament. A man at the Gilded Kraken mentioned it. Supposedly has a fifteen million prize purse."

"I heard about that too," Raven admitted, her expression cautious and closed. "From the drunks downstairs. But it's just the kind of tall tale gamblers spread to keep their dreams alive. A mythical tournament where fortunes change overnight." She dismissed it with a sharp shake of her head. "Nothing but fairy tales for people who've run out of hope."

At that exact moment, a thunderous roar erupted from the tavern below. The sound of wild cheering and shouting, glasses smashing against wooden tables, and furniture dragging across the floor. The cacophony grew so intense that the floorboards trembled beneath their feet.

"What the hell?" Pierre muttered, rising in one smooth motion.

All four crewmates moved toward the door. Pierre took the lead down the stairs, stepping into absolute chaos. The tavern had transformed into a scene of raucous celebration. The crowd had formed a tight circle around a mountainous man whose thick-bearded face was split wide by a victorious grin. His crewmates swarmed around him, raising overflowing mugs, pounding his enormous back, and bellowing his name in a drunken, joyous chorus.

"BRASK! BRASK! BRASK!"

The giant—Brask—hoisted a tankard the size of a small bucket. "To the Crimson Tide! Where I'll become the richest bastard in the entire Dawn Sea!"

Another deafening round of cheers followed.

Pierre glanced at Raven, whose blue eyes had widened slightly. "Still think it's a fairy tale?"

They shouldered their way through the sweaty crowd, approaching Brask's table. The mountain of a man was signing some kind of official-looking document, his sausage-like fingers making the quill look like a toothpick.

"Hey," Pierre said, tapping the giant's shoulder. "Congratulations on your acceptance."

Brask looked up, his broad face flushed with alcohol and exhilaration. "Appreciate it, Red! Tomorrow night I step into the Tide, and when I step out, I'll be a hundred million richer!"

"One hundred million?" Pierre kept his tone casual, though his eyes sharpened. "That's quite a prize."

"Biggest ever!" Brask bellowed. "Every year they raise it. Makes the risk worth it, yeah?"

"Risk?" Alyssa inquired from behind Pierre, unable to mask her interest.

Brask's smile faltered momentarily. "Well, yeah. Entry fee's nineteen million Cori. All or nothing." He leaned forward in what he clearly thought was a conspiratorial manner, though his whisper carried easily to nearby tables. "Plus, it ain't exactly a friendly card game, if you catch my meaning."

"What kind of tournament is it, exactly?" Pierre pressed, his mind already racing ahead.

One of Brask's crew, a wiry man with a jagged scar across his throat, leaned into their conversation. "It's a bloodbath is what it is. Eight competitors, locked inside the old fortress. Only one walks out alive."

"Last year's winner was found floating face-down in the harbor a week later," added another crewman with missing teeth. "No money, no glory. Just another corpse for the fish."

"That's just a rumor," Brask dismissed with a meaty wave. "Probably lost it all gambling and got killed by his creditors. That won't happen to me!"

"Who runs this tournament?" Raven asked, her voice tight with poorly concealed interest.

Brask shrugged his boulder-like shoulders. "Some wealthy consortium. Rich folk who crave entertainment. They get to watch the show, we get to fight for the gold. Everyone wins!"

"Except the seven who don't walk out," Pierre said quietly, his blue eyes calculating.

Brask grinned widely, revealing several gold teeth. "Exactly, Red! That's why the odds are so damn good!" He signed the document with an exaggerated flourish and handed it to a small, bespectacled man in formal attire who'd been waiting patiently beside the table.

"Congratulations, Captain Brask," the man said, carefully tucking the paper into a leather portfolio. "The official invitation will be delivered to your vessel tomorrow morning. The tournament begins at sunset."

The man turned to leave, but Pierre smoothly stepped into his path.

"How would someone else enter this tournament?"

The man adjusted his glasses, studying Pierre with unexpected sharpness in his gaze. "The committee has already selected this year's competitors, sir. Perhaps next year."

Pierre held the man's calculating stare. "If one of the selected competitors were to... withdraw, would there be replacements considered?"

The man's thin lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "The tournament must have eight competitors. It's tradition. Should a vacancy arise, the committee would certainly consider suitable alternatives." His eyes flicked over Pierre, making a quick assessment of his worth. "Though I should warn you, the entry fee is non-negotiable. Nineteen million Cori, in gold, paid upfront."

"Thank you for the information," Pierre said.

empires.

"The house ensures everyone loses eventually. I should know."

"Sounds like you've had a rough night," Alyssa said, studying him carefully. The quality of his clothes suggested wealth, but the frayed cuffs and worn elbows told another story entirely. This was a man on his way down, not up.

"A rough decade." He laughed without humor, the sound hollow and raspy. "I owned three shipping vessels once. Now I can't even afford the entry fee for the Crimson Tide."

Alyssa kept her expression neutral, though her interest sparked. "The Crimson Tide?"

"Tournament. Highest stakes in all of Corsair's Cradle. Winner takes everything." His eyes grew distant, as if seeing something beyond the opulent casino floor. "One million Cori entry fee. Winner's purse this year is rumored to be fifteen million. Last year it was twelve, year before that, ten. Keeps growing."

Fifteen million. The number blazed in Alyssa's mind like a lighthouse beacon. More than double what they needed for Raven's sister.

"Why not just play the regular tables?" she asked, trying to keep her sudden interest from showing in her voice.

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