Barbosa sat on a fallen log, staring into the last embers of his dying fire. The night had grown cold, but it wasn't the chill that kept him awake it was the memory of her. Venya. He clenched his jaw as he lifted the small scrap of parchment she had left behind, her name scrawled across it in elegant script, sealed with a kiss. A mocking farewell. His fingers curled around the note, his annoyance deepening. His gold was gone. The same gold he had planned to use for supplies in Kaulia. He should be furious, and part of him was, but the other part... A smirk played at the edge of his lips before he could stop it. She had bested him. Few ever did. But now, he had a problem. With nothing but his remaining dry goods a pitiful supply meant only to get him to Kaulia. He had no choice but to ration what little he had and make it to the town before hunger took its toll. His stomach growled at the thought. With a grunt, he packed his things and started down the road.

The journey was brutal. Without a horse or wagon, he was forced to travel on foot, each step a reminder of how ill-prepared he was for such a trek. The weight of his own body, massive and powerful, became a burden without the comforts of warband provisions. Three days in, hunger gnawed at his gut. What little food he had was nearly gone, and the wilds around him provided no easy meals. He had spent years raiding, fighting, and surviving on the spoils of war. This solitary struggle, away from the camaraderie of warriors, was something he had never truly experienced.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, he spotted a lone figure on the road ahead. A merchant, struggling with a broken wagon. Barbosa approached, towering over the man and his cart.

"You look like you could use some help," Barbosa rumbled.

The merchant hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet his own. "Aye, my horse collapsed two miles back. I’ve got no way to move this wagon to Kaulia. Unless you think you could pull it yourself?"

Barbosa snorted. "Maybe. What’s it worth to you?"

A deal was struck. In exchange for his strength, Barbosa would be paid enough to get a few days' worth of rations. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Kaulia was a town of merchants and travelers, a bustling hub before the long, desolate stretch toward Faerook. Barbosa’s pockets were heavier than they had been that morning, but not by much.

He sat in a corner of the local tavern, sipping a watered-down ale, listening. If he was going to make the long trek ahead, he needed coin. Enough to buy food and water to last the thousand mile journey to Faerook. Talk of work filtered through the room. Rumors of lost caravans, stolen relics, beasts lurking in the wilds, and something called "The Divine Eclipse." From what he could tell the anniversary of this event was fast approaching.

Barbosa leaned back, considering his options. He wasn’t one for temple matters, but a stolen relic meant bandits, and bandits meant a fight, something he understood well. A missing caravan might be easy money, if he could track it down. And the hunter’s problem? Something strong enough to kill bears and leave nothing behind? Barbosa's Stomach rumbled as he strolled through the market square of Kaulia. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread taunted him, but without coin, all he could do was endure it. He needed work, fast. That's when he heard the old merchant yelling frustration lacing his voice.

"Damn Thieves! A week gone, a week! Not a word, not a trace! My whole shipment, vanished!"

Barbosa stopped, turning toward the merchant's stall. The man was pacing, wringing his hands, his eyes darting between passersby as if one of them might suddenly produce his missing goods.

Barbosa crossed his arms. "What's all the fuss about, old man?"

The merchant scowled up at him. "My caravan. meant to arrive days ago, never did. Drivers gone, goods gone, Gods know where!"

Barbosa raised a brow. 'What was in it?"

'Does it matter?" The merchant threw up his hands. "I need it back!"

Barbosa smirked. "Depends. you paying?"

The merchant eyed him, sizing him up. "yu look like you can handle yourself... but i don't have much to offer unless you find my cargo."

Barbosa exhaled sharply. What's so imortant in that caravan?"

The merchant hesitated. "Some valuables. Textiles. Silver. A, a stone."

Barbosa narrowed his eyes, when someone gets vague its usually important he thought. 'A stone?"

The merchant glanced around, lowering his voice. "Not just any stone. it's carved. A map."

Barbosa frowned. "A map of what?"

The merchant hesitated again before leaning in. "An island. No name. No records. Just old stories."

A chill crawled up Barbos's spine. His mind flashed back to the old sailor's tale in Raykala, the island his father had sailed to.

His jaw tightened. "Where was the caravan last seen?"

The merchant exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Took the southern road, should've passed through two villages. Neither saw it." he looked us, desperate. "Find it, and I'll make it worth our while."

Barbosa nodded slowly. "I'll find your stone." That was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. He had his path. Now, all he had to do was survive it.  

Barbosa chose his first job carefully. The missing caravan had been lost somewhere along the southern trade route, a road that cut through dense forest. Rumors whispered of ghosts, of something unnatural stalking the path.

 He had faced men, monsters, and the cruelest of seas, but spirits? Only one way to find out. With his axe in hand and his mind set, he set off into the unknown, unaware that his greatest battles were not with beasts or bandits, but with the ghosts of his own past—and the woman who had already stolen more than just his coin.