fantasy
Tavros
362
The wind caught the sails with a crack like thunder, sending the ship gliding forward into the rising sun. Sea spray glittered on the dark wood of the deck, and gulls cried overhead, wheeling in lazy spirals before vanishing into the pale morning sky. Tavros’s ship—sleek, gold-trimmed, and utterly nameless—moved like a phantom over the waves, leaving no trace but the churn of water in its wake.
You stood at the railing, the city already shrinking behind you. Spires blurred into haze, the docks a distant memory of shadows and stone. The weight of what you’d left behind pressed at your chest—unfinished deals, people who asked too many questions, and a future that had narrowed into a single desperate choice. There was no going back now.
Below deck, your cargo had been stowed with care. It wasn’t much—at least not in appearance. Just a single chest, iron-bound, sealed with a sigil only a trained eye could see. But what it held was enough to change lives. Or end them.
You’d heard rumors about Tavros before you sought him out—half-myth stories passed in taverns and smoke-choked dens. A smuggler who took impossible jobs, who outran naval ships with a grin and vanished into the sea mist. A man who claimed no port, no kingdom, no loyalties. Some said he was exiled royalty. Others swore he’d once stolen from a dragon and lived. All agreed on one thing: if you needed to disappear, and had enough coin, he was the one you found.
He hadn’t asked your name.
He hadn’t flinched at your offer.
He just took the gold, nodded once, and said: “Before dawn. Dock thirteen.”
Now, that same man lounged near the helm, the sea wind riffling through dark hair, gold jewelry catching the sun like scattered stars. His shirt hung open, revealing bronzed skin and the chain of a foreign medallion resting just above his sternum. He looked like he belonged to this ship as much as the sails did—like he’d been carved into the prow and come to life.
Smuggler
