CHAPTER 73: [73] THREE BROKEN THINGS

Pierre felt the amber heart’s pulse synchronize with his own heartbeat as he limped toward it, each step sending fire through his broken ribs. Raven and Alyssa flanked him, their grip steady despite their own wounds. The artifact’s glow intensified with his approach, casting dancing shadows across the ancient symbols carved into the chamber walls.

"That’s it," Moreau breathed, her golden eyes wide with desperate hunger. She stepped closer, her scaled hand trembling as it reached toward the pulsing light. "Take it, Pierre. It’s your destiny. You’ve proven yourself worthy—stronger than Jack, cleverer than me. The power belongs to you now."

Her voice quivered with a manic fervor that sent chills down Pierre’s spine—an unsettling departure from the calculating poise he’d come to expect from the Black Serpent captain. The carefully constructed facade had finally fractured, exposing something desperate and primal beneath her golden-eyed mask. Every syllable dripped with naked hunger, betraying years of obsession culminating in this single moment.

She wasn’t merely asking him to take the artifact; she was begging for validation, for confirmation that the blood-soaked path she’d carved—the countless lives she’d manipulated, betrayed, and destroyed—had all been justified by this singular, glowing prize.

Pierre placed his palms against the amber surface, and the world exploded into light.

Ancient seas under foreign stars. Ships larger than islands cutting through waters that had never known the touch of wind. A weapon that could split the very ocean itself, hidden beneath waves where no map could guide...

Star charts etched themselves into the very fabric of his consciousness—precise coordinates to places that existed far beyond the boundaries of any charted sea. The amber heart pulsed against his palms, revealing itself as something far more significant than a mere key; it was a meticulously crafted guide to an artifact capable of fundamentally altering the world’s delicate balance of power. An Ancient Weapon so devastating that the Navy’s most formidable cannons would appear as nothing more than children’s playthings in comparison.

The knowledge burned white-hot through his neural pathways, each intricate detail searing itself into his mind with painful clarity. Every constellation, every underwater landmark, every hidden passage through treacherous reefs—all of it perfectly preserved in his memory as if he had sailed these routes a thousand times before. Pierre understood with sudden, terrifying clarity why Moreau had orchestrated this elaborate scheme, why she had painstakingly built her entire empire around this single, unassuming chamber hidden from the world.

This wasn’t about the petty ambitions of ruling over pirates or controlling lucrative trade routes.

This wasn’t even about wealth, fame or just power.

This was about something far more profound and infinitely more dangerous—this was about claiming the power to utterly remake civilization itself, to reshape the very foundations upon which the world stood.

Pierre opened his eyes and stepped back from the artifact. The golden light faded to its previous steady pulse, and the visions vanished like smoke.

"No, thanks," he said, meeting Moreau’s stare. "I don’t need it."

Moreau’s face went blank with shock. "What?"

"I have them." Pierre gestured to Raven and Alyssa, who stood bloodied but unbroken beside him. "That’s all the power I need."

The serpent captain’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Her golden eyes darted between Pierre and the artifact, as if she couldn’t process what she’d just witnessed. Her entire philosophy—that power came from dominance, that strength meant standing alone—had just been rejected by someone who’d held ultimate power in his hands.

"You’re insane," she whispered. "Do you understand what you’re walking away from? The knowledge in that artifact could make you ruler of all four seas. You could command fleets, topple governments, reshape the world according to your will."

"And become exactly like you?" Pierre shook his head. "Hard pass."

Moreau’s composure shattered completely. She lunged forward, her rapier singing from its sheath, but Saxe’s arm blocked her path. The scarred enforcer stared at his captain with something approaching pity in his dead eyes.

"Captain," Saxe said quietly. "It’s over."

His voice carried finality that seemed to drain the fight from Moreau’s body. She sagged against his arm, her golden eyes fixed on the amber heart that pulsed mockingly in the chamber’s center.

Jack, who had been holding Saxe’s other blades motionless throughout the exchange, finally released them. Blood dripped from his torn palms as he stepped toward the blocked entrance, his usual cheerful expression replaced by something approaching wisdom.

"I made this mess," he said, rolling his shoulders as pink and blue energy began to gather around his fists. "I’ll fix it."

But this time, the energy felt different. Instead of the wild, destructive force Pierre remembered from the town square, Jack’s power moved with purpose. The blue-haired pirate closed his eyes, and Pierre could see him actually thinking for once—considering the angle, the force needed, the structural integrity of the stone around them.

"Your way is better," Jack said, glancing back at Pierre’s crew. "I see that now."

The blast that followed was surgical in its precision. Instead of the chaotic explosion Pierre expected, Jack’s power carved a clean tunnel through the collapsed rubble, reinforcing the walls as it went. Stone dust showered down, but the passage held firm.

"Go," Jack commanded, his voice carrying an authority Pierre had never heard from him before. "I’ll stay and clean up my mistakes."

Pierre wanted to argue, but Raven’s hand on his arm stopped him. "He’s right," she said softly. "This is his choice to make."

Alyssa nodded, her pale green eyes reflecting the amber light. "Some lessons can only be learned alone."

They limped toward the tunnel Jack had created, supporting each other through the debris. Behind them, Moreau remained frozen beside the artifact, staring at the power she’d spent years pursuing—power that meant nothing without someone willing to wield it.

The climb to the surface felt endless. Pierre’s ribs screamed with each step, while Raven favored her injured shoulder and Alyssa moved carefully to avoid aggravating her head wound. But they climbed together, none of them willing to leave the others behind.

Dawn was breaking over Orellia when they finally emerged from the caves. The harbor spread before them, peaceful in the morning light, with the Crimson Sparrow waiting exactly where they’d left her. Pierre had never seen anything more beautiful than those blood-red sails catching the first rays of sunlight.

After collecting the cori, they trudged toward the docks without speaking, each wandering through private labyrinths of thought. The villagers of Orellia scattered at their approach, giving a wide berth to the trio. Pierre couldn’t blame them—three battered warriors coated in amber dust and caked blood must have looked like harbingers of some terrible calamity.

The fearful glances and hurried steps of the townspeople told a story of their own, one where legends walked among mortals, bringing chaos in their wake. Mothers pulled children close and shopkeepers paused mid-transaction as they passed, their very presence disrupting the rhythm of ordinary life in this once-peaceful harbor town.

The Sparrow’s deck felt like home beneath Pierre’s feet. He collapsed against the mast, exhaustion finally overtaking him as adrenaline faded. Raven took the helm without being asked, her hands steady on the wheel despite her injuries. Alyssa began checking their supplies, her movements sharp and efficient.

"Well," Alyssa said, a smile tugging at her lips, "I suppose we should discuss our next course of action. As First Mate, I recommend we find somewhere to properly treat our injuries before attempting any grand adventures."

"As Captain," Pierre replied, "I agree completely."

The Crimson Sparrow cut through the waves, leaving Orellia shrinking in their wake. The island looked peaceful from this distance, its amber cliffs glowing in the morning sun. There was no sign of the chaos they’d left behind in the ancient chambers below.

Pierre closed his eyes and let the sea breeze wash over him. Hardy’s stolen darkness still moved through his veins, but it felt manageable now—a tool he could use rather than a corruption that might consume him. The knowledge from the amber heart sat clearly in his memory, waiting to be explored when they were ready.

Somewhere behind them, Jack Steelheart was probably explaining himself to whatever authorities remained in Orellia. Moreau and her Black Serpent Pirates were trapped with an artifact that no longer served any purpose. The Torres Twins were nursing their wounds and reconsidering their life choices.

And here on the deck of the Sparrow, three unlikely companions sailed toward whatever came next. They were battered, exhausted, and probably in over their heads. But they were together, and that made all the difference.

"So," Raven called from the helm, "where to, Captain?"

Pierre opened his eyes and looked out at the endless expanse of blue water ahead of them. Somewhere out there lay secrets that could change everything. Ancient weapons, hidden islands, powers that dwarfed anything the current world had seen.

The age of Jack Steelheart’s simple heroics was ending. The age of the Crimson Sparrow—and all the complex, dangerous, wonderful possibilities it represented—was just beginning.

"Wherever the wind takes us," Pierre said, his hand closing around Mika’s stone. "We’ll figure it out as we go."

—

End of Arc 2: "Orellia Village"