From the Great Sea by Kvitan Shevchuk

Back home, no-one approves of my choice to live a life as a knight of the sea.

Life as a pirate.

There, among refined baroque towers and silver stone, moonlight is considered holier than the sun. There, time flows slower than in the rest of the world. It’s an ancient city, praised in the rhymes of countless bards – Evereska. Me, as well as the other offsprings there, are taught to watch the stars and listen to the voices of nature in the wind. We studied arithmetics, several languages and practiced reading runes. From the early age we were meant to seek perfection in every movement and become highly respected gentle-elves. 

I excelled in the Academy, and a future of grand honour was waiting for me. Yet, my mind remained restless. I never truly belonged there. Everything felt more like a great painting of the world, rather than the world itself, and my heart was ever turned toward the untamed places, where life wasn’t so polished.

I still carry in my soul that nippy day, when my parents considered me mature enough to join them on the trading deal voyage. It was the day I saw it: raw, rough and more alive than anything else. The Great Sea. It whispered my name, and I could not help but answer. 

Therefore, I left home young, without a blessing, taking only father’s frayed longbow along with intricately designed quiver and a few trusted arrows in it. That’s how I ended up on a ship. I learned there what they don’t teach in Academy’s towers: how to read the sky in a storm, how to survive among those who trust only nature and quick decisions, and how to hit on the first shot when there won’t be a second chance.

I never spurned my noble family-name, but there were hardly several letters from my parents or siblings in ages. It’s understandable: moon elves and their silver-stoned towers could never fathom the fierce joy of seeing a new island on the horizon, flooded with strange fruits, nor the quiet thrill of bargaining for a weathered treasure map from some dockside peddler.

I quickly became a pirate among elves: too blunt, too arrogant, too free. I will not pretend the reputation I forged did not shape my destiny. A name spoken in lowered voices opens doors more quickly than courtesy ever could. Among my kind, I became a figure of uneasy tales: the elf who brings ill fortune, the pirate one is wiser not to cross, the sea-wraith whose arrow could strike a copper coin upon a hostile deck.

Everyone knows these are foolishness and drivel, but even rumours have their roots. And so, for many years, none no-one had enough courage to test whether the stories were true.