On the vast, steel-gray belly of the Eiranthian Sea, the proud vessel The Leviathan cut through the frost-laced waves like a stubborn drunk at a formal dinner.
At the helm, Captain Ahab stood tall and stoic, his weather-beaten coat flapping in the wind like it had a personal grudge against him. The man hadn't blinked in hours. He didn't need to. He was one with the cold, or maybe the cold was afraid of him—no one really knew. His pipe was lit, somehow, despite the blizzard that had nearly eaten the mast an hour ago. Meanwhile, below deck and around the ship, his crew was losing their collective minds.
"Why in the twelve icy hells are we here?" groaned Briggs, wrapped in every spare sail they could find, waddling like a terrified caterpillar. "My nipples could cut diamonds, Ahab! Diamonds!"
"Oh gods," whimpered poor little Squib, the cabin boy, his nose so red it could guide sleighs. "I just wanted to see dolphins, not freeze my soul into a popsicle!"
"Wasn't this supposed to be a detour?!" barked Helga the cook, who'd turned her stew ladle into a makeshift ice pick. "We were headed to the Sapphire Ports! Rum and warm beaches, he said. Adventure, he said. What part of this icy ballsack of a region is adventure?!"
"FISH FREEZE IN THE WATER HERE!" screamed Jonas from the crow's nest. "I just saw a flying iceberg—a flying bloody iceberg! It waved at me!"
Below decks, someone had tried to make a fire. The fire froze. It just... gave up. Sat there like a depressed ember, flickering once before turning into snow.
Still, Captain Ahab remained still as stone. One gloved hand on the wheel, the other on his pipe, eyes narrowed toward the white horizon.
"Maybe he's frozen like that," someone muttered.
"Aye," said Briggs. "If he blinks, the ship might explode from surprise."
Then, from the cabin door, came Kalindra—Vice Captain of The Leviathan, and arguably the only reason this floating madhouse hadn't sunk from sheer masculine incompetence.
She walked with the grace of a glacier and the danger of an avalanche—hips swaying like a pendulum of doom, eyes sharp enough to skin a shark, and a smirk that could melt the Frost Reign itself (if it ever gave a damn). Wrapped in a fur-lined corset way too impractical for this weather, she radiated that deadly cocktail of charisma, confidence, and you-might-die-but-it'll-be-worth-it.
Every sailor on deck turned their heads. A few slipped on the ice. One guy passed out. Another started praying to sea gods he hadn't believed in since puberty.
She strolled up to Ahab, calm as ever, her boots clicking on frozen timber, and leaned her weight casually on his shoulder. "Still staring into the void, Captain?" she purred, voice like silk dipped in poison. "Or just pretending you're not lost again?"
Ahab didn't respond. Of course not. The man communicated exclusively in glowers, ominous silences, and cryptic one-liners.
Kalindra slid her arms around his waist and pressed a slow kiss just below his ear. "You know, if you wanted to freeze something stiff... I'm right here."
Ahab's eye twitched. With a motion so sudden it made the ship lurch, he turned and choked her—one big, calloused hand right around her throat. The crew gasped.
She giggled. "Oh, there he is," she cooed, voice strained but somehow delighted. "Daddy Frost does have a pulse."
Someone on the upper deck dropped their mug. Ahab just stared at her, his grip tightening slightly, expression unchanging. Somewhere in the background, a storm growled. A goat on board (don't ask) fainted.
Kalindra smiled wider, clearly enjoying herself. "Rough day, Captain? Want me to swab the deck with someone's spleen?"
He let go. She inhaled dramatically, coughed once for theatrical flair, and licked her lips like she'd just been handed dessert. "You're so hot when you're homicidal," she whispered.
Briggs leaned toward Squib and whispered, "I think she's the real monster on this ship."
Squib just nodded, eyes wide, hiding behind a bucket. And just when the tension between man and mistress was reaching arctic melting point, a sharp squawk sliced through the frigid air. "LAND HO, YOU SALTY LOVE-DRUNK GARGOYLES!"
The voice came from none other than Commodore Pecks, Ahab's trusted parrot—a foul-mouthed, one-eyed, feather-fluffed demon with wings, perched proudly on the captain's left shoulder. The bird had a golden earring, a tiny wool scarf someone knitted for him, and the swagger of a retired pirate who'd seen too much and drank even more.
He jabbed his beak toward the east. "Port in sight, Cap'n! Less than an hour! I saw it with me good eye!" He squinted the bad one for dramatic effect. "Might wanna steer slightly starboard before we kiss an iceberg like last time."
Ahab, ever the emotionless ice cube, turned his head slightly and gave the bird a solemn nod. "Noted, Pecks."
Pecks fluffed his chest proudly. "Aye, I knew you'd see reason, old boy. Unlike the rest of these squawking meatbags."
The crew gave collective middle fingers toward the parrot. Then Kalindra turned, her eyes twitching, lip curled.
She marched back to the helm, hands on her hips, glaring not at Ahab—but at Pecks. "You've gotta be kidding me," she growled. "He gets a full sentence? He gets eye contact?"
Pecks blinked. "Jealousy's an ugly coat on you, sweetheart."
"Oh shut your beak before I stuff you in a pie," Kalindra hissed, pulling a dagger from somewhere far too close to cleavage.
Pecks screeched with glee. "Touchy! Maybe someone needs a hug from Mister Emotionally Repressed here."
Ahab, calmly adjusting the rudder, murmured without turning, "He makes good points."
Kalindra reeled like she'd just been slapped with a frozen tuna. "You TALKED BACK TO THE BIRD?!"
"I commanded the bird," Ahab corrected, with all the seriousness of a man discussing ancient prophecy.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, storming off again. "One of these days, I swear I'll—"
"Make out with the parrot to get his attention?" Pecks offered.
Kalindra spun on her heel. "You. Are. Dinner."
The crew watched in awe and mild fear as Kalindra chased the parrot across the deck, dagger in hand, while Pecks cackled like a gremlin with wings.
Ahab had enough. With one swift motion, he slammed the ship's great bell with the butt of his cutlass. The deep clang echoed across the deck like the funeral toll of an empire. Everyone froze—Kalindra mid-chase, Pecks mid-taunt, Helga halfway through launching a frozen turnip at Briggs.
Silence swept over The Leviathan like a cold hand. Ahab turned from the wheel, his frostbitten coat swirling as if it, too, obeyed his command. He stepped forward, boots thudding with grim purpose, pipe still smoldering between his teeth. The wind itself seemed to hush, and even the sea held its breath.
"You lot think I sail here for fun?" he began, voice a gravel-drenched rumble. "Think I drag this rusted beast through waters colder than a kraken's arse for a detour?"
Briggs blinked. "I mean... kinda?"
Ahab's glare shut him up instantly. "Every hundred years," he growled, pacing slowly down the deck like a wolf in the snow, "the Frost Reign Region is swallowed by Fimbulwinter. A storm older than kings. A curse older than maps. A darkness that topples empires and buries their bones beneath the ice."
He paused, eyes locking on each crewmember one by one. "Kingdoms fall, lads. The kings choke on their crowns, their gold left behind in frozen vaults. Untouched. Unguarded. Waiting."
Kalindra, now leaning casually on the mast with arms crossed and brow raised, smirked. "So you dragged us into the land of eternal death… for shopping?"
"For looting," Ahab corrected, finally turning his eyes to the icy horizon. "The kind of loot men retire on. The kind of loot that makes gods jealous."
Pecks flapped down from the rigging, landing on the rail. "Aha! Now that's the madness I signed up for."
Jonas, from the crow's nest, called out, "So it's like a magical apocalypse garage sale?"
"Exactly," Ahab said without irony.
Squib blinked. "So we're sailing into certain death... for possibly cursed treasure... buried in a kingdom that froze over during a death prophecy?"
Ahab nodded once.
"…Hell yeah!" Squib squeaked, pumping a mittened fist.
The crew murmured—half terrified, half greedy, one guy definitely already planning how many goats he could buy with undead gold.
Kalindra strode up beside Ahab, finally impressed. "Now that's foreplay," she muttered with a grin.
Without warning, Ahab turned from the helm with the same cold determination he used when gutting sea serpents—and strode toward Kalindra.
She blinked, confused. "Uh… what's that look for?"
A pair of calloused hands on her waist, gripping like destiny itself just got personal. The crew gasped in unison like an audience at a particularly spicy theater show.
Kalindra stiffened, confused, flustered, absolutely unprepared as Ahab pulled her in. Their chests touched. Their breath steamed together in the frost. Her mouth opened to say something—And he kissed her.
Not the chaste, awkward kind. No. This was the sort of kiss that made romance novels combust and church bells ring in Hell. Kalindra's knees actually buckled. Her eyes fluttered. Her toes curled. Somewhere, a snowflake melted from sheer heat.
Then she made a noise. A very real, very confused, very Kalindra noise. "Mmfff—Aha—what the hell is happening?!"
Briggs dropped a crate on his foot. "OH DAMN, CAPTAIN DID ROMANCE!"
Helga fanned herself with a fish. "GET IT, KALINDRA! GRAB HIS CANNON, GIRL!"
Jonas climbed halfway down the mast just to see better. "I didn't know he had lips!"
Squib yelled, "WHEN'S MY TURN?!"
Pecks, ever the poetic soul, flapped furiously and squawked, "WELL WELL WELL, LOOK AT MISS ICE QUEEN MELTIN' LIKE A SOGGY BISCUIT!"
Kalindra broke the kiss at last, gasping, eyes glassy, voice barely a whisper. "What… the hell... was that?"
Ahab, still holding her, simply muttered, "Strategic morale enhancement."
She blinked. "I—what?"
Pecks hollered, "OH YEAH, MORALE ME HARDER, DADDY!"
Half the crew cackled. The other half begged for their own turn. One even started composing a sea shanty about it.
Kalindra, cheeks blazing, shoved her hair back, still pressed against Ahab's chest, still catching her breath. "You could've warned me first."
Ahab, utterly unfazed, replied, "Didn't want to lose the element of surprise."
She stared at him. Then giggled. Then punched him in the gut lovingly, and leaned back into his arms. "Next time, warn me. Or I might faint and fall overboard."
Ahab nodded. Pecks swooped down again and perched on the rail, snorting like a smug goblin. "You two are disgusting. I'm getting a room. For me."
Kalindra pointed at him. "Say one more word and I'm plucking you for my winter boots."
Pecks smirked. "Feathers before hoes."