My name is Seraphine Wailark, first mate of the Imperator, and for the record, I never wanted to be here.
My crew and I are what we like to call ātreasure huntersā and what other folk prefer to call ādirty, callous unethical pirates.ā I donāt really see how us taking what is ours is unethical: Once itās on a ship, it belongs to the sea, and what belongs to the sea belongs to those who have conquered it.
I served under the leadership of Captain Peregrine, a man who I once admired for his ambitions and fiery charisma. Perhaps that admiration is what made me blind to his reckless and stubborn behavior which trapped us all here.
If there was one thing Captain Peregrine loved more than his ship, and more than mulled wine, it was the thrill of treasure hunting. He sought it out like a hound, purchasing every nautical map that looked mildly interesting, getting sailors sloshed until they drunkenly told him stories of their travels, the rumors theyād heard from far-off ports. Though I wasnāt there, Iām assuming thatās where he first heard tell of the Golden Sea.
It was every buccaneerās dream: a sea of liquid gold, waves cresting in the sunlight like mountains. I canāt say I blame Peregrine for his obsession with finding it. The problem was, no one belived it was real, much less knew where to find it. He ran around town talking with every sailor, merchant, or drunkard who seemed to know of it. Our coffers were nearly emptied when he suddenly took an interest in ancient texts and long-lost artifacts, holing up in his quarters for days at a time. I only walked in once, to inform him our armorer, Quincy, had left the crew for a blacksmithing job. Papers littered every inch of the floor and walls; some of them barely ledgible to me, others completely covered in pictures of golden tides. Peregrine barely noticed I was there, mumbling to himself as he paced around, reading a book and pointing excitedly to a map. It looked as if he hadnāt slept in days, with his hair tangled and unkempt, bags like coin pouches under his eyes.
That was the first time I considered the possibility heād gone mad.
Nevertheless, I believed him. He was so certain heād done it, that he alone had discovered this fabled treasure. Iāll admit, I shared in his enthusiasm. We cast off with the hopes of young children, blissfully ignorant of the humbling reality we were about to face. We fought through storms, sea beasts, anything that dared cross our path. Captain Peregrine only grew more impassioned the closer we grew, always looking out at the sea with desperate fervor. I remember one night, about a dayās journey away from our destination, he looked at me with tears in his eyes, smiling. āIām going to be a god, Seraphine.ā He told me. āOnly a god could have this much wealth at his fingertips.ā
When we finally arrived, all we saw was ocean. The air on the ship was tight with tension, everyone keeping their eyes trained for any glimmer of gold to be found in the blue abyss. Peregrine continued without hesitation, though he wasnāt looking at the water. He looked to the horizon, almost as if he expected a sign to appear. And, remarkably, it did.
As the sun glinted off the sparkling waters, the light became brighter, bigger. The more I looked, the greater it became, enveloping the whole ship until my eyes shut against the blinding glare. Though Iām not certain, I think I heard Peregrine laughing as the light swallowed us whole.
And, just like that, weād arrived. The Imperator was nestled in a neverending golden sea, waves streching as far as the eye could see. The sunās heat beat down on our faces, hotter than any summer day Iād seen. Peregrine didnāt spare us a second glance, leaping over the handrails of the ship and diving for the sea of treasure. But he never broke the surface. No, Peregrine fell face-first into his golden paradise, in a cloud of dust. He was shocked, of course; we all were. He kept pacing around, clambering up the peaks to see if there was anything heād missed. He tore at his hair, nearly tossed a cannon overboard, all the while mumbling āI donāt understand, I donāt understand, I donāt understand, I donātā¦ā It was strange, since I understood perfectly.
It was sand. We were marooned in an ocean of sand.
It didnāt take long for the crew to turn on each other after that. There were arguments, fistfights, even death threats. Peregrine didnāt bother keeping the peace anyway. Some chose to leave and find a way home: I still donāt know what happened to them. The rest of us tried to survive, rationing off food and drink the best we could. I suppose it was only a matter of time before we resorted to other means of feeding ourselves. Everyone has to eat, after all.
Peregrine wasted away in his chambers for a while, never spoke to any of us. He refused food when I offered it to him, and instead stared out his window at the sea of gold heād promised us, a blank expression on his face. When he saw the dagger in my hand, I could have sworn there was a brief moment of relief, a dismal satisfaction that he gained before his face twisted in pain. I gave him a quick death, of course: he deserved that much.
I must be leaving soon. This damn heat makes the stench so much worse, and it will be night in less than an hour. Itās cloudy today, which will make my journey much less laborous. I always like when the clouds come, turning this sickening gold into a pleasant red. Gold turned to copper, as it were. Iām leaving this account for anyone who finds this ship and is wondering how the hell it got here. Iām sorry I canāt give you more answers, but Iām sure Peregrine left some of his godsforsaken research around if your curiousity remains.
Iām going to find a way out of this golden sea. Itās certainly a better plan than staying here, waiting for death. After all, those stories had to have come from somewhere, or someone. I donāt know what will become of the Imperator and quite frankly, I donāt care. Burn it to ash if you feel so inclined.
Sincerely,
Seraphine Wailark
Former first mate of the Imperator
