[Mad Hat Island, Year 1510]
The nights in Mad Hat were far crueler than the days. When the sky turned black and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and blood, the city transformed into a jungle with no laws. But tonight, there were no drunkards or killers roaming the streets. Instead, two small shadows moved through the darkness—silent, deliberate, and trained through months of discipline.
At the southern port, a worn-out wooden warehouse stood between piles of forgotten cargo. Inside, a group of pirates were making merry—raspy music, clinking glasses, and coarse laughter blended with the stench of sweat and cheap liquor.
Outside, Lazhar stood smoking, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. From time to time, he glanced toward Bastien and Arthur, who were crouched and ready. There were no words between them—Lazhar never gave more instructions than necessary. And tonight, he remained silent, though his eyes followed the boys with sharp, unblinking focus.
"Your task is simple," Lazhar finally said, his voice low and cutting through the night like a blade. "Enter the warehouse. In the back room, there's a locked drawer in the work desk. Retrieve my document from it. Don't kill anyone. Don't get caught. Leave no trace."
Arthur frowned, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Why don't we just take 'em all out?"
Lazhar met his gaze with a look so sharp it could slice stone. "Because brute strength isn't always the answer. You have to become the shadow before you can shine like the light. Learn that."
Bastien didn't respond. He already understood. This was no ordinary mission—it was a trial that tested more than their fists. It demanded silence, control, precision. A test of restraint.
Arthur, always eager for a more direct solution, adjusted a short-handled axe, modified to strike without noise. Bastien checked the throwing knives strapped to his belt, each one carefully crafted and balanced. Both boys knew the stakes—tonight, failure was not an option.
They moved.
Slipping through alleys and crawling across rooftops, they crept toward the warehouse. Bastien weaved through beams and tiles like a shadow made flesh. Arthur darted behind crates, slipping between gaps with quiet, calculated steps. Every movement was deliberate. Every breath, measured.
A guard snored on a chair by the back entrance, a bottle of rum slipping from his hand. Bastien crept forward, spraying a light mist of sedative into the man's face. Slowly, the guard slumped over, unconscious and silent.
They slipped inside.
The warehouse was a chaotic mess. Pirates sang off-key and clung to each other while others snored with local harlots in dark corners. Laughter and drunken shouting filled the room, masking the soft footsteps of the two young intruders moving along the beams and low walls above.
Bastien scanned the room quickly—counting heads, noting weapon placements, mapping exits, and measuring the distance to their target. He moved with the focus of someone used to danger.
The door to the back room was locked. Bastien didn't hesitate. Within two minutes, using tools of his own design, the lock clicked open. Arthur stood watch, ears tuned to every noise beyond the thin wooden walls. They moved like phantoms—quick, silent, invisible.
Inside the drawer lay a stack of papers, some maps, and a single document stamped with a red skull—the mark of the Butcher Fang Pirates. Bastien tucked it into his vest without pause. Then his eyes caught a large rolled-up map with several red markings—one of which circled Mad Hat Island.
He memorized it. Every detail. Those red marks meant something—something important.
With the document in hand and the map burned into his memory, Bastien closed the drawer carefully.
"All set?" Arthur whispered.
"Let's go," Bastien replied, though his mind was racing. There were too many questions, but no time for answers.
They retraced their steps through the narrow alleys and across the slick rooftops, avoiding the pools of moonlight. Atop an old building across from the harbor, Lazhar was waiting, standing still, unreadable.
Without a word, Lazhar took the document from Bastien. His eyes studied the boys in silence.
"You didn't kill anyone?" he asked, voice sharp as a sword's edge.
Bastien shook his head, eyes meeting Lazhar's without flinching.
Arthur grinned. "Too easy, really."
Lazhar nodded slowly. The faintest smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained cold and piercing. "You're becoming dangerous."
Bastien felt the weight of those words. They weren't just praise. They were a warning—this trial was only the beginning. A small step into something far greater, far darker.
In Mad Hat, there was no room for weakness. To survive, one had to master the shadows.
And sometimes, only those who knew how to live in darkness could ever hope to reach the light.