"Her faction overpowering ours would've been a joke mere decades ago."
Admiral Bryce's Autobiography, 20 P.C.
Valeria was nearly tempted to freeze first, ask questions second, but she thought better of it. She neither knew the level of the crew nor who was backing them. The last thing she needed was being hunted down by a Venerable because she turned his favorite Supplicant into a glacier. Remaining stationary was equally counterproductive, however, if not more so, as that would diminish the advantage she held.
Gambling it is.
Valeria lunged forward like a shark, perhaps even faster. Submerged gifts propelled her forward with all their might, and as the hull drew ever nearer, she decided on a course of action.
She didn't know if the lowlifes noticed her approach, and she didn't care; the fact that no one had plunged yet, however, indicated that she remained undetected.
Twenty feet, ten feet, five feet.
Then, as soon as she laid a hand on the wood, she froze it solid. A small section at first, then a medium one, then ever larger as it climbed above the water and into the deck and sails. The water dulled her senses, making hearing their screams impossible, but the constant stream of ripples trying to fight the inevitable—and the slowly disappearing heartbeats—was enough indication that her assault bore fruit.
Eventually, a figure plunged into the water. The gender was hard to discern, but the flowy hair and attire looked womanly enough. Valeria nearly lunged forward and finished the job, but chided herself for her intensifying bloodlust. Not sailing for a while was certainly taking its toll.
Instead, she chose to grab the figure by the throat, then swam to shore with her characteristic speed, something that took a mere minute.
As the woman touched sand, she neither coughed nor gasped for breath, instantly outing her as a Submerged.
"Shanty," Valeria said coldly.
"What?" the woman stammered, staring in terror.
"What are your Shanty and Depth?" Valeria added, walking closer.
Perhaps it was her shamelessness, but the woman looked even more terrified as she finally registered that her attacker didn't consider clothing mandatory.
Thanks, ritual.
"Shanty of Evasion, Deacon," the woman replied in fright, now covering her eyes.
"Deacon? What on earth are you doing on a random pirate ship?" Valeria wondered, her stoic mask slipping. The poor soul was on the same level as her, even if not all Shanties were created equally.
"I was... stationed on it by Captain Read," she explained with a tremble.
Valeria attacked the wrong ship indeed. As far as Warlords went, Read wasn't the most merciful. He served the English crown, however, so not much was lost.
Still, the introduction of the Evasion user was a complication, one that needed immediate solving.
"What's your name?" Valeria asked, trying to gain the woman's trust.
"Daisy," she replied after a few seconds of silence.
"Valeria."
The woman's eyes widened. "Valeria? The Valeria? Five thousand silver Valeria?" she added before quickly bowing. "I'm sorry, it's just... reading about notorious pirates is my specialty."
Valeria was no stranger to pirates and their peculiarities, yet this one was certainly odd.
"You have Premonition, do you not?" she asked, jumping to the interrogation while sensing the woman's heart rate.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you warn your crew then?"
"I... saw it as a chance to get rid of them," the woman replied, her heart rate steady.
Valeria raised a brow. "Do tell."
"Captain Read kidnapped me when I was little," she said, her voice now laced with malice. "He bought me like cattle, not expecting that I wouldn't drop the grudge."
Valeria tried to fish for inconsistencies, but the reaction remained stable, consistent even, giving her no reason to doubt Daisy.
"I'm assuming I killed no one of value on that ship?"
"Please," Daisy said with a bitter snort, "Half of them deserve to be hanged and the other burned on a pyre."
The interaction was... surprisingly good. Too good to be true, in fact, something that required caution as far as Valeria's line of work went. Still, one didn't touch heaven by being a coward.
"Today is your lucky day then," Valeria said with a chuckle. "Welcome to the crew, Daisy."
The woman was at first shocked, then it eventually gave way to an ugly sob, one deserving of a near-death experience.
"Thank you, Miss Valeria."
"Captain," she corrected. "And don't thank me, I'm just doing what's right."
Her words were surprisingly true. Valeria had a soft spot for people roped into such a life against their will, especially those viewed as nothing more than tools. It was the whole reason she left England, after all.
"Head to the town near the coast," Valeria ordered. "I'll follow suit later."
Daisy neither objected nor lingered; she immediately nodded and made her way to the location indicated.
"What a troublesome predicament," Valeria muttered as she plunged into the ice bath once more. Read was a nuisance even by Pirate Warlord standards. Even Bellamy and Kidd paled in comparison. Still, Valeria wasn't a moron—her possession of Daisy could be explained as a simple ship jumping. The Lord knows how many of those happen daily. Besides, she was a mere Deacon; it wasn't worth angering the Iberian crown over it.
It then dawned on Valeria: she was capable of becoming a Pirate Warlord herself. Being a Deacon was a disadvantage, true, but as far as naval warfare went, she was unmatched.
Alas, taking such a post would most certainly bring attention—attention that was unwanted by every metric. All she needed to do for the time being was sell the cursed artifact, reunite with her crew, then sail to some other forsaken Caribbean dump, hoping the Church would chase a hotter trail.
Not long after finishing her bath and dressing, she realized she was refusing to admit how much of a wildcard Francis was. One simply didn't jump to Acolyte in a few days. The sea didn't play fair, but it didn't have favorites either.
And that left one explanation: someone—or something—was backing him. Perhaps an organization as old as the others, if his potential was any indication. The thought sent a rare shiver down her spine, but she quickly steadied herself as she put on the last of her clothes.
She would look into it further, but only after he was back.
***
Perhaps it was the secret gathering that transcended reality, but Francis couldn't sleep for dear life that night, something that was only exacerbated by the ship's constant quivering. The crew didn't make much of a commotion over it at first—until it intensified.
Francis wasted no time. He got up, put on his boots, and rushed to the deck.
"Francis! What's going on?" one of the crewmates shouted in confusion.
How am I supposed to know?
"No idea!"
"Are we getting attacked?" Rodrigo asked as he arrived shortly after.
The few other members either cowered inside the hallways or were still fast asleep. It made no difference to Francis, however, as he doubted these lot would do much in an actual fight.
Unwilling to remain stationary any longer, he went straight to the railing to observe their surroundings, yet there was nothing to be seen. He then remembered that the Submerged didn't need a ship to attack, considering how adept they were at swimming—so he instinctively plunged into the water to check for enemies.
Under normal circumstances, the water would've been ice-cold; it could've even paralyzed him from shock. Nothing about Francis was normal anymore, however, not since the sea resurrected him, at least. He quickly cursed himself for getting distracted once more before returning to the task at hand.
He scoured every corner, every angle, even going as far as waiting for the inevitable Premonition Stanza.
There was nothing.
For a moment, Francis assumed he was hallucinating. Yet the waves showed nothing out of the ordinary. He would've doubted his sanity if the crew members didn't look equally startled.
Most would've gone back to the ship by that point, but he lingered, making sure nothing emerged in an ambush.
After Francis confirmed that whatever had bumped into the ship was no longer in the periphery, he placed his hands on the ship's wooden boards. He activated his Liquidation Stanza, allowing his now-sticky limbs to anchor him long enough to reach the railing once more.
"Good work," Robert said with surprising sincerity.
"I did what I had to," Francis replied, surprised by how blunt he sounded.
"Still, not many would linger for as long as you did," Robert added. "And that's worth praise."
He then handed him a towel. "And another attire. You'd better change before hypothermia takes its course."
"We don't get hypothermia," Francis said, brows furrowed, prompting Robert to laugh.
"Fair enough, though I doubt remaining drenched is comfortable."
Touché.
He then realized why Valeria endured the inconvenience of swimming bare on a daily basis; being drenched wasn't necessarily a threat, but it certainly wasn't relaxing.
Francis silently cursed the Submerged world for not inventing swimsuits they could wear at all times. The thought was quickly dismissed, however, as he concluded that such a garment would be akin to admitting you were a heretic in need of a pyre.
"What do you think that was, anyway?" Francis asked as he began walking toward his cabin.
"Probably a large sea creature," Robert replied, calm as ever.
Right. Of course they'd come across a sea creature big enough to rock a vessel. What else did Francis possibly expect?