Hope blinked as he found himself in an unfamiliar place.

  Selera was still beside him, but that was about the only thing that hadn’t changed. The open green plains were gone, replaced by smooth, shiny planks under his boots. They smelled of old wood and something sharp in the air, like wet stone after a storm.

  He stood in a huge room, bigger than any he’d seen, its walls curving in like the inside of a giant barrel. Thick beams ran overhead, holding up still lamps that burned with a warm, yellow glow.

  A long couch sat in the middle, stuffed so full it looked like you could sink into it and never get out. In front of it was a low table covered in strange sheets covered with marks and lines, like someone had been drawing stuff on it. Off to the side stood a round ball as tall as his chest, painted with dots and lines like the night sky.

  The planks under his feet groaned now and then, but not like a floor about to give way. It was deeper than that—like the whole place was alive, humming low in its belly. Somewhere far off, something heavy moved, slow and steady, like giant footsteps buried deep below.

  And the space… it felt different. The curvature of the lines was wrong, bent in a way that didn’t feel natural, as if something—or someone—was forcing them into shape.

  Hope turned in place, his eyes snagging on every small detail.

  And as he did, he flinched slightly when he noticed someone sitting there. He was sure that seat had been empty before… right?

  Hope was about to rub his eyes—you have to be kiddin’ me!

  “Well, hello, lad, how’s it been?” Gob grinned, the set of small, sharp teeth glistening under the lamplight.

  Hope’s jaw dropped slightly, but no words came out.

  Gob… was also part of the space pirates? How far had they taken this show?

  “Oh, come on, close that jaw and take a seat. Captain should be coming soon. Pump that chest and show some gut, will ya?” Gob smiled as he leaned back in the cushioned chair, his small body making his feet dangle in the air, unable to touch the floor.

  Hope turned toward Selera, but she only smiled and nodded as she gracefully sat in a seat of her own—her posture and gait worlds apart from the quirky merchant.

  Hope swallowed hard and walked forward, taking a seat on a lone chair near Gob’s. He felt a bit out of place here. This room… space pirates and all… like, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Times were easier when the task was just to slay a giant beast and call it a day.

  "Well, slap my green ass and call me rich—Tier 1, tossing Warp around like it’s pocket change. I figured you were some sorta spacetime whiz-kid, but a Magus? Oh-ho, now we’re talkin’." Gob leaned forward, grinning wide. "You really fooled us out there for a moment. Nice way to keep your face straight, lad—loved it. Good for our business here, too. Maybe you were always meant to be a pirate after all."

  Hope… didn’t know what to say. He forced a smile and kind of shrugged a bit.

  Then the door at the far end creaked open. Hope’s eyes widened as a two-and-a-half-metre-tall old man stepped through, a horn and a half jutting from his brow, grey fur running down his arms and legs. He moved with a lazy gait, each step heavy.

  His eyes locked on Hope, and for a moment, Hope froze. Then the man kept walking, dropping into the largest chair in the room — something between a seat and a sofa. The wood bent under his weight as he leaned back, like he was tired of life itself.

  “Well, kiddo,” the voice came from beside him, “might as well start introducing you to the crew. This big fella here’s our smith. Name’s Tyron. A man of few words, but he gets things done… and don’t let the gaze scare you. Inside… he’s a good guy. Sometimes.”

  Tyron didn’t move, his head reclined as he stared at the ceiling, eyes half-closed.

  Should he say hi? A nod? No idea… so Hope just stood there, waiting.

  Gob did mention a captain… when was he coming?

  He turned, still scanning the room, looked to the side and—

  Saw a fuckin’ face smiling at him!

  Hope flinched and jerked back, heart racing from the jump scare, hand moving for his spear that… wait… where was his spear?

  Anyway, who the fuck was this weirdo?

  The smiling face leaned back, revealing what looked like a young woman—bald on one side, with a mess of reddish hair on the other. Strange symbols littered her skin. A leather coat hung off her elbows, as if it wasn’t clear whether she was taking it off or putting it on.

  Her eyes were red. Skin pale.

  “So this is the kid, huh?” she said, her voice lively. “Smells really nice. Do all Magus smell like this?”

  “Hey, Jill, off the kiddo, ‘kay? No weird fetish of yours,” Gob said, eyes narrowed on her.

  “Oh, shut up, goblin. Go back to your junk.” Jill leaned back on one foot, flashed a smile, arms crossed behind her back. “So, Hope… quite a fascinating name. Be sure to see me later, sweety. I’ll make it worth your time.”

  She blinked—then backflipped in the air. And—

  What the hell!?

  She was now sitting calmly on a chair, gaze locked on him, making his skin prickle with unease. But Hope could’ve sworn that during that flip she’d… morphed into something?

  Were all pirates like this? Anyone… normal here?

  After a while, the space shifted. Hope barely sensed it—so smooth it felt as if it had always been meant to be.

  His gaze struggled to find the origin, cause, or effect, but it didn’t take long to notice.

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  She had appeared.

  Hope felt her single visible eye on him, black as the night itself. The other was hidden—or gone?—beneath a black leather eye patch. Armour seemed to cover her left arm… no, wait—it was fixed at the shoulder. A fake arm?

  Yet more than the details he had no time to study, it was her presence that struck him the hardest. As she arrived, the temperature in the room seemed to drop, as if she commanded the space itself. No more smiles—every gaze turned serious and locked on her. Even that big, tired Tyron guy sat just a bit straighter.

  Only moments later, Hope noticed other figures appearing in the back. One was fully cloaked, his form blurry and hard to make out, while the other was a dark-skinned man with calm eyes, bare chest and feet, and a collar made of bones hanging around his neck.

  His attention lingered on them for only a moment before the pressure pulled it back. Even if it wasn’t intentional, the woman’s gaze was something he had never felt before—making even the Alpha seem like a harmless rat.

  “Let’s wrap this quick,” she said, gaze steady as she lowered herself into the room’s fanciest chair, crossing one leg over the other and draping her hands on the armrests like a queen on her throne. “First, the kid.”

  Her eyes locked on him, the weight behind them enough to make his muscles tighten. “Lad, the name’s Syra Vane—but you’ll call me Captain. We’re pirates, and we just plucked you from right under Cinderwatch’s rotten nose. I’ll keep it simple—you’re gonna be one of us. No oaths, no contracts, no choice. From this moment on, you’re ours—Phantom Eye’s latest prize after a harvest worth braggin’ about.”

  She didn’t raise her voice, but every word cut through the air, sharp enough to stick. Hope held her gaze and said nothing.

  “Ha. You’ve got somethin’ in your eyes, kid. Don’t lose it. Grow fast, and maybe you’ll be worth the trouble.” Her mouth twisted into a sly grin before she flicked her gaze to Gob. “Get the brat on the ropes.”

  The goblin gave a slow nod. “At your orders, Captain.”

  “Good,” she drawled, grin widening. “Now, onto the fun part—the loot! And…” Her gaze flicked back to Hope, one brow arched in amusement. “Try not to die before I get bored of you, kid.”

  Just as the sound reached him, Hope felt the space shift. In an instant, he was in another room. It was… messy, to put it mildly—boxes and gear scattered across the ground, with only the flicker of a few torches to keep the place lit.

  He wasn’t sure what to do and didn’t want to touch something he shouldn’t, so—just like he was told—he waited.

  He sat on a box and let time pass. Didn’t take long.

  After a while, the door creaked open and in stepped the familiar merchant.

  “Well, kiddo… let’s make a pirate out of you, shall we?”

  A pirate? Hope sighed. Well… not much of a choice. And as long as he got stronger and could one day traverse the stars on his own… he might as well give it a serious shot.

  He nodded as he stood, showing a bit more respect to the merchan—or, well, pirate.

  “Good. Like that serious face. First things first—you’ll address me as Senior from now on. And you’ll address any member of the crew the same way, because right now, you’re rock bottom, kiddo.”

  Gob strode over to a heavy crate and flipped the lid, revealing stacks of trinkets, weapons, and odd scraps of gear. “Your job’s to clean ’em, sort ’em, and make this place look like it ain’t run by a drunk pack of rats.”

  He reached up to a high shelf, grabbed a thick, battered book, and dropped it into Hope’s hands with a heavy thump. “Lucky the girl taught you how to read, eh?” He grinned. “Every page’s got the storage layout, categories, and what to do with what. Mess it up and you’ll be swimming through empty space in no time.”

  Hope thumbed through the pages—dense writing, diagrams, and numbered shelves.

  “So, you got that?” Gob asked, already turning away. “Good. Because next is somethin’ any mage worth his salt should stick his nose in—especially if he wants coin to pay for all his fancy gear and bulky tomes.”

  His eyes flicked around the clutter until they settled on something. With a flick of his fingers, it floated off a shelf and into his hand. “By the way, you ought to get some practice with Kinetic, lad. Even if it ain’t your thing, it’s damn handy. So… watch close, ’cause I’m only showin’ this once.”

  Hope stepped forward, eyes on the object the goblin now held. A… dagger?

  Yet—

  “Not gettin’ a System prompt, are you?” Gob said, turning it over in his hand. “Still, fine piece of work, ain’t it? So—wanna guess why nothing’s poppin’ up?”

  Hope thought back to the time he’d crafted his own makeshift spear. No System prompt then, either. He’d figured it was because the weapon was not good enough… but maybe it was something else.

  “Come on, kiddo—spit somethin’ out. I won’t bite if you’re wrong.”

  “Eh… because… it’s not finished?”

  Gob grinned. “Took the easy route, eh? Still—good answer. Truth is, for the System to recognize gear, it needs an Enchanter. Could be a Battlewright, a Runewright, or any of those oddballs in between. But it needs a touch—a complex-as-hell touch, mind you, but you get the idea. A Crafter—a smith, leatherhand, whatever—makes the piece. Then the Enchanter puts the effects into it. What you get depends on the materials, the quality, and the skill of both hands involved. So to get really good stuff—neither Crafter nor Enchanter can afford to screw up.”

  Hope narrowed his eyes. As much as Eve had taught him… he barely understood half the words the goblin spat out. But the essence? Maybe. Like—someone makes it, and another gives it the effects, like the +1 skills.

  “So, how to do it—look at this one,” Gob said, holding the dagger.

  Hope soon felt a shift in the air. Magika traced over the blade in complex patterns he had no time to follow. So many of them, so fine—he hadn’t even known Magika could be drawn so thin. And what type was it? A mix?

  Then the System prompt popped up.

  Sharp Slicer

  Rank 1 Weapon (Grade: E, Type: Dagger)

  Requirements: Dagger Handling (Level 4), Physis 1800

  Effect: +200 Physis, +1 Dagger Handling

  Hope’s eyes widened.

  “See, lad?” Gob handed the dagger back. Hope turned it over in his hands, calm on the outside but focused on trying to sense those threads of Magika again. They were already gone.

  “Anyway,” Gob continued, “it’s not usually like this—neither quick nor easy. I’m just overqualified for such a piece.” He grinned. “Normally, you’d need stabilizers, augmentors, lenses, and a lot more for serious work. Expensive profession, but it pays well if you ever get high enough.”

  He flicked his fingers, and another thick tome appeared in his hand. He passed it to Hope. “Here it is—‘Enchanting for Idiots’. Give it a read and see how it goes. I expect you to reach level 3 at least by the next time we meet. That’ll be…”

  The goblin’s grin turned mischievous. “There’s a clock over there.” He pointed to the far wall. “Get all this done before the big arrow goes all the way around the circle, ’kay? And then enchant… hmm…”

  After a brief scan of the storage, a box from the far corner floated and dropped to the floor near Hope. “Yeah—use anything from this one for your tests. I want to see a Grade F at least by then. All that, or no meal. Got it? There should be some cheap enchanting tools around here somewhere. Find ’em and use ’em.”

  Hope didn’t know what to say. Wait…

  “Where’s my spear, by the way?”

  “Oh… right.” With a flick of his hand, it popped into existence beside him. “Here you go. So, that’s it, kiddo. See you in a while. I’ve got more serious matters to handle”

  And with that, the goblin waved… and left.

  Hope stared at the two thick books and the large storage room, which somehow looked even messier than when he’d arrived, and sighed. Yet… enchanting…

  His gaze settled on the thicker of the tomes.

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