Archive of Our Own

"You're kidding."

Smitty chuckled. "Unfortunately, I'm not." He patted Kryoz's shoulder. "I suppose you now understand why I needed my parents dead?"

Kryoz just continued to stare in utter disbelief at the ship in front of them, each of its many visible flaws illuminated by the firelight of his lantern, and Smitty couldn't blame him.

Smitty had bought the small ship when he first decided to become a pirate, in order to get him around until he scraped together a crew. The ship did its job, but...that was one of the only positive things Smitty had to say about it.

It was a piece of shit. Smitty'd only had it for roughly a month, at this point, but it looked like he'd sailed it through a hurricane. The ship was a rickety old one-man sloop—it had only one large sail, with numerous patches haphazardly sown on it to cover holes. The side of the ship was littered with cracks in the wood, several of the mast ropes were hanging on by a literal thread, and half the bowsprit had completely broken off. Even now, in the darkness of early morning, it looked like it was about to fall apart.

"How does it even float?" Kryoz asked. He looked like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"It does its best," Smitty said. "Now let's go. We're going to Port Royal."

He grabbed the worn rope ladder and climbed onto the ship. Once he was successfully on deck, he raised an expectant eyebrow at Kryoz, who was still standing on the dock. "Well?"

"Ugh," Kryoz grumbled. "I actually can't fucking stand you, you know that?"

Smitty laughed as he watched Kryoz reluctantly climb his way up the ladder, his lantern still in his right hand. "I recall, yes."

"One of these days, I am going to shank you," Kryoz muttered, pulling himself up onto the deck. "Now, why are we going to Port Royal?"

Smitty just smiled. "Well, we can't be a very effective crew with just the two of us. We need men—and I have a good idea on where to start."

Kryoz raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me your plan is just to hang up flyers and beg for people to join."

"You've known me long enough to know I'd never do something like that," Smitty dismissed. "Oh, no. We're going to Port Royal because an old friend of mine lives there, and he's going to be one of my men."

"What if he doesn't want to?"

"Doesn't matter," Smitty said shortly. "I always get what I want."

Kryoz eyed him apprehensively. Smitty sounded like a spoiled brat, but Kryoz knew that wasn't it—he didn't have a misguided entitlement spurred from a privileged childhood, he had complete confidence in his own ability to make the world around him change the way he wished it to. Clearly, he had never failed in pursuing anything he wanted for himself. That was a dangerous skill to possess.

"...Yeah, I'm familiar," Kryoz grumbled. "But it's rather suspicious that the only thing you seem to want is men."

Smitty gave him an unamused look. "You're not funny."

"I think I'm hilarious, actually."

Smitty pointedly chose to ignore him with an eye roll. "Just come help me reel in the anchor."

"Yeah, you can do that yourself," Kryoz said. "And anyway, I don't know if you know this, but Port Royal is fucking massive. How do you plan on finding this guy? Who even is he?"

Smitty knew that Kryoz wasn't going to help him sail without a fight, so he gave up and walked over to the anchor by himself. "I'm very familiar with Port Royal, I assure you," Smitty said. "And as I told you, the guy we're looking for is an old friend of mine. He was a servant of my family's estate when we were kids. His name is Matt."

Kryoz raised an eyebrow. "He was one of your servants? I doubt he'd be thrilled about working for you again."

"Rest assured, I've already taken that into consideration," Smitty said. "He'll be mine before he knows it. Just like you."

Kryoz scoffed and sat down against the mast. "I hope he kicks you in the dick."

Smitty just chuckled. "We'll see."

—

Matt ended up being exactly where Smitty thought he was—running a shooting range for royal soldiers.

Smitty left Kryoz to watch the ship and headed to the range alone. It was still early morning; the air was brisk, wind cool, and the last remnants of the red sunrise were fading over the horizon.

But even at dawn, Port Royal was a busy town. As Smitty traveled down the stone roads, he watched many of the residents busy themselves with their morning routines—men set up their workplaces, women collected water from wells, and shopkeepers organized their daily stock for their stalls. Even kids were up already, helping their parents.

Smitty made sure to put on his friendliest face. He strolled casually through the town, smiling pleasantly at people he passed. Nobody seemed suspicious of him. Most people either returned the smile, wished him a polite good morning, or simply paid him no mind at all. That was exactly what he wanted.

He arrived at the shooting range unnoticed and undisturbed. The range itself was rather simple; it bordered the forest, and it was merely a large, fenced-off field, roughly the size of an athletic arena. On the far end of the range, there was a twenty-foot stone wall covered in targets. Some were human-shaped, others not. The nearest end of the range had the firing bays, which were roughly ten canopied stalls. A shed stood by the entrance, where the guns were no doubt kept.

Smitty walked over to the boarded gate and leaned against it. He looked into the firing bays, spotting Matt, who was cleaning the stalls with a broom. No one else was around yet, so Smitty relaxed against the gate and waited until Matt finally noticed him.

Matt set his broom against a wall and came over to talk to him. His eyes widened in recognition as he approached.

"Holy shit," Matt said as he reached the gate. "Is that you, Jaren?"

Smitty smiled. "Sure is," he said. "Though, I go by Smitty now. It's been a long time, Matt."

It truly had—at this point, it'd been five years since they'd last seen each other. Matt had left Smitty's family estate the day he turned eighteen to join the royal army, just like his father. He looked different than he used to. His hair was shorter, his frame more muscular, and he'd grown a bit. He still wasn't as tall as Smitty, but they were pretty near in height.

"It's been years," Matt said. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I worried the same. I'm relieved to see you made it through your military service unharmed," Smitty said.

Matt shrugged. "Yeah, well. They usually had me firing from the back. I was never really near the front lines."

"Well, of course," Smitty said. "You're probably the best shot they've ever seen. It'd have been stupid for them to put you up front."

"I guess. I'd say I learned from the best, but we both know that's not true," Matt grumbled. He reached down and unlatched the gate to pull it open. "Walk with me. I need to finish tidying up before the guys show up later."

"Sure." Smitty stepped inside the gate and followed Matt back towards the firing bays.

Matt grabbed his broom from where he left it and got back to sweeping, brushing dirt and old shell casings away from the bays. Smitty leaned against a wooden wall and watched.

"What've you been up to since I left?" Matt asked. "If I know you at all, I'm sure you came here because you want something."

Smitty chuckled. "That obvious, huh?" he said. "Well, you're not wrong. But before that, I figure you should know. My parents met an...unfortunate end a few days ago."

Matt paused, glancing at Smitty with a quirked brow. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." Smitty sighed dramatically. "It's terrible. They left me all alone with more money than I can spend."

"And how did they die?"

"Killed in their sleep. Right there in bed," Smitty said. "Clean slits right across both their throats. Oh, the poor servant girl who found them was white as a sheet. Truly tragic."

Matt looked unamused. "What did you do?"

Smitty placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "Me? I didn't do anything. I would never."

Matt just rolled his eyes and got back to cleaning. "I guess I'm not surprised. You never seemed too fond of them. But I don't care—they were never very good to me, anyway. I definitely don't miss serving them." He slipped around the wood wall to the next stall over, brushing past Smitty. "But you didn't answer my question. What have you been up to since I left? I know you weren't just twiddling your thumbs."

Smitty smiled. "I became a pirate."

Matt stopped, genuinely caught off guard. "A pirate?" he repeated in disbelief. "Why? You're a noble."

"Sure, but I'm a rather low-ranking one, and being a proper little noble isn't really my thing. I wanted more than that. So I became a pirate."

"...Damn," Matt said. "I figured you'd be doing something big, but I never would've expected that."

Smitty shrugged. "Well, I didn't expect for you to follow in the footsteps of your father, but here you are," he said. "We both know you hated him. Why are you living your life the way he wanted you to? He's dead, Matt."

Matt looked away. He fixed his gaze on the broom in his hand and continued sweeping. "...I didn't really see any other options," he said. "He taught me to shoot in order to follow in his footsteps, then he got himself killed and left me with nothing. I didn't want to be a servant forever, but the only thing I had was my skill with guns. So I joined the royal forces."

Smitty hummed in understanding. Matt's relationship with his father had always been...difficult. Smitty had been well aware of that when they were children. Matt's father didn't love him much—his mother had died during childbirth, which no doubt devastated his father. To Smitty's understanding, the man raised Matt until he was five years old, dumped him at Smitty's family estate to be a servant, then promptly left to join the military.

Occasionally, Smitty remembered the man coming back to visit Matt, but the only thing he ever did was teach Matt how to shoot. Then he'd leave again.

Of course, since Smitty's corrupt parents never paid him much mind, either, he and Matt had gotten along very well as children—all they had was each other. But then Matt left to join the military when Smitty was seventeen, and they never saw or heard from each other again.

It'd now been five years without his only childhood friend. Smitty was going to have him back.

"...You said you knew I came here because I want something," Smitty finally began.

Matt nodded once. "Well, yeah. Of course."

Smitty slid his foot forward to block Matt from sweeping. "I came here specifically to get you, Matt," he said. "I want you to join my crew. We need you."

Matt glanced up at him in surprise. "You—you want me to be a pirate?" he asked. "I figured you wanted me to do something for you. I didn't expect you to ask me to join you."

"I want the best," Smitty said shortly. "You're one of the best."

Matt just stared at him for a moment, speechless. "...Surely you see the irony, here, Jaren."

Smitty shrugged. "Well, sure. Your dad was shot in the face by a pirate, and his entire crew on that ship was killed. I'm well aware," he said. "But come on—you never liked the guy, anyway, and he never loved you. This is exactly what you should do to spite him. You're far too skilled to waste your time at a piece of shit firing range like this, training soldiers who'll just die next month anyway."

Matt set his broom against the wall and rubbed his forehead, conflicted. "So...you want me to join your crew. But—how many guys do you have, anyway? Do you even need me?"

"Very much so, yes," Smitty promptly responded. "I only have one other so far. He was difficult to catch, but he's loyal to me now. Have you heard of Kryoz?"

Matt's eyes widened slightly. "You can't be serious," he said. "He's one of the most wanted men in the kingdom. I hear his name all the time from my soldiers and higher-ups."

Smitty smiled. "I'm sure. But now he's mine," he said, pleased. "He's watching my ship right now. He's not very happy about it, but he's completely loyal to me."

"And...you want me to be the same," Matt said, and Smitty nodded.

"You're one of the best. I need you."

Matt leaned back against the stall to stabilize himself. "I...I can't, Jaren," he said. "I have a life. I have a job, I have a home, I have friends—I-I'm on good terms with the royal kingdom, for fuck's sake. I can't give all of that up to risk my life as a pirate."

"I can give you a better home," Smitty said. "I can give you a better home, a better job, and better friends. I can give everything your father never did."

"But I already have more than my father ever gave me. I survived the military, unlike him, and now I have my own job. I make an okay amount of money, so—"

"I can give you double the amount of money you make in a year," Smitty cut in. "Today."

"I-It's not just about the money, Jaren," Matt said, exasperated. "This is my life."

Smitty raised an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. "You can't seriously be trying to tell me that you're happy doing this shit."

"I'm happier than I would be as a pirate," Matt shot back.

"How do you know? You've never even tried to step outside of what your father wanted," Smitty said. He took a step closer to Matt. "I got sick of being what my parents needed me to be—I didn't want to be some prissy noble in a stuffy estate like they were. So you know what I did? I fucking killed them! I hired the best assassin in the entire damn continent to slit their throats in the middle of the night. Now I can be everything they weren't. And you can do the same."

Matt shook his head. "No, Jaren. I'm glad that you're doing what you want—I'm happy for you. But I'm not giving up the life I built just for you. I may not have wanted to follow in my father's footsteps, and I may not have wanted to be a soldier like him, but this is where I am now. I'm comfortable here, doing this, and I'm not going to uproot myself for you. I'm sorry, but you need to find someone else."

"You'll seriously waste the rest of your life here?" Smitty asked.

"Yes, Jaren, I will," Matt said forcefully. "Now if that's all you wanted, I need to finish cleaning up for the soldiers coming later today. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Smitty's eyes darkened. He'd been expecting pushback, no doubt, but it was still insulting to be told to get lost. It seemed Matt was going to make this more difficult for him—just like Kryoz had.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look. You can't have seriously thought I'd just agree and ditch my life for you."

"I didn't. But I'm not particularly fond of being told to fuck off."

Matt scoffed. "What, then? You want me to ask like I'm still a servant? 'Oh, dearest young master, would you kindly get the fuck out of my firing range'?"

Smitty just glared at him, displeased, before crossing his arms and turning away. "Fine. I'll leave. But I'm not giving up on you," he warned.

"Yeah, I already figured that. You'd never give up that easily," Matt said. "But I'm not that easy to win over, either."

"If I could get the kingdom's best assassin on my ship without him killing me, I can get you, too," Smitty fired back. "I'll leave you to your work, Matt. And I enjoyed speaking to you again. But I'll be back."

"I know you will, Jaren. You always were the most persistent guy I knew."

Yeah, because I don't like giving up what's mine, Smitty thought, but he didn't voice this. He knew Matt wouldn't respond well to it.

So he finally stormed off, leaving the firing range as Matt requested. It seemed he was going to need his backup plan after all.

—

When Smitty made it back to the ship alone, Kryoz looked insufferably smug.

"You seem upset," Kryoz said.

Smitty glared up at him from the dock. Kryoz was sitting on top of the deck railing, legs hanging over the edge. His eyes glimmered with mirth.

"I'm not upset, thank you. I expected this," Smitty said shortly.

Kryoz snickered. "Aw, did somebody get rejected?"

"Temporarily," Smitty pointedly stated. "But you said no at first too, if you remember. Now look where you are."

"Yeah, 'cause you blackmailed me," Kryoz said. "Are you going to blackmail him, too?"

"No, actually, I'm not. I have another plan, and I need you for it. Come down here."

Kryoz raised an eyebrow. "Me? What the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know this guy."

"And that's exactly what I need. Now let's go."

"You're a pain in the ass," Kryoz grumbled, but he finally relented and climbed down the ladder. He sighed once he made it to the dock. "So where are we going? You better not make me do something stupid."

"It's only a little stupid," Smitty said. "Follow me."

"To where?"

"A friend's," Smitty said shortly. He started off down the dock, and Kryoz reluctantly followed.

"Can I at least know what I'm doing before we get there?"

"No," Smitty said, and that was that.

Kryoz trailed behind Smitty as they walked into town. The streets were busier now—most people were working and finishing their morning routines. Smitty had only been to Port Royal a handful of times in the past, and each time had been for work with his family. The town was now as busy as he remembered it to be.

The few times he was here, however, he made sure to establish connections and make some important friends. He didn't have an actual plan at the time; he merely figured that knowing people in high places would serve him well later.

Just as it was about to.

After roughly twenty minutes of walking, they arrived at Smitty's destination—a small house situated on top of a hill. It was a two-story stone cottage with wooden shutters on the windows and a brick chimney on the roof. The house was surrounded by lush vegetation, all of which was bordered with wooden edging. It was a comfortable home. Certainly a place that only someone well-off could afford.

Smitty led Kryoz up the gravel path to the front door. He knocked firmly, then stepped back to wait for an answer.

"Why are we here?" Kryoz asked. "I'm assuming you know this person."

Smitty nodded once. "He's an old friend. He'll help us with my plan to get Matt."

"Which is?"

"You'll see. Be patient," Smitty said shortly.

Kryoz gave him a murderous glare. Smitty could tell the assassin was only a few seconds from drawing his blade and stabbing Smitty in the eye, but thankfully, he didn't get the chance to act on the urge.

The door creaked open, slowly and carefully, until it was left ajar. Kryoz's hand immediately settled on the gun holster hidden beneath his coat, but Smitty pushed his hand back down without batting an eye.

"Tucker," Smitty greeted. "It's been a while."

The door finally swung fully open, revealing Smitty's old friend.

"Smitty. I didn't expect you to be here," Tucker said. He held a revolver in his right hand.

Smitty gave him a casual smile. "I'm sure. But it's nice to see you again. And you're still as cautious as ever, I see."

Tucker shrugged. "Yeah, well, the military will do that to you. Lots of enemies." He glanced at Kryoz. "Who's this?"

"This is John," Smitty said, placing a hand on Kryoz's back. He shot Kryoz a quick, warning look. "He's a dear friend of mine. He just recently joined the royal navy, but he misplaced his uniform, and he can't afford to replace it."

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Is that true?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," Kryoz responded. "I joined 'cause I didn't have the money for anything else, but then someone stole my shit. Now I don't even have a uniform."

Smitty subtly patted Kryoz's back once in approval before withdrawing his hand.

Tucker didn't look convinced. "Really. For someone who's supposedly dirt poor, your clothing is pretty high-quality."

"They're my clothes," Smitty smoothly cut in. "I let him have that outfit. He didn't have anything else."

"Uh-huh. And what rank are you, John?"

"Junior petty," Kryoz easily answered. Smitty glanced at him in pleasant surprise.

"Position?"

"Quarter gunner."

"What did your uniform look like?"

"Dark blue with gold cuffs. Though, it was a little big on me."

Tucker continued to eye him skeptically, but John appeared perfectly nonchalant. He was a remarkably convincing liar, but the skill inevitably came with being a successful assassin, Smitty supposed.

Finally, Tucker looked back to Smitty. "...Alright, then. I suppose you're here for a replacement uniform?"

"That'd be wonderful, yes," Smitty said. "John here is quite dear to me. I'd rather not see him get into any trouble."

Kryoz grumbled something under his breath, but Smitty elbowed him in the side to shut him up.

"Is that really all you want?" Tucker asked.

Smitty shrugged one shoulder. "Other than seeing you again, yes, that's really all I wanted. I won't insist, but if you're willing to help, I'd really appreciate it."

"...Okay, then," Tucker finally relented. "I can spare you a simple uniform. Come in."

He stepped away from the door to let them both in. Smitty thanked him pleasantly and pulled Kryoz inside, pinching his arm so he wouldn't argue or start anything.

Tucker led them into his living room. It was a cozy little area—it had painted stone walls, smooth wooden flooring, and warm, dim lanterns on the walls. The shutters outside the windows were closed, keeping the room dimly lit. A wood-framed couch stood between two chairs and faced a brick fireplace. A small fire crackled inside.

"You guys can sit down. I'll go look and see what I've got," Tucker said.

Smitty nodded and sat down on the couch, while Kryoz sat in the chair to his left. Tucker headed down a hall and disappeared into a room at the end of it.

Smitty glanced at Kryoz. "I'm impressed by your knowledge of the navy ranks," he murmured.

"Yeah, well, I had hits in a lot of different places," Kryoz said quietly. "I've had to infiltrate a navy ship once before. That was a few years ago, though."

Smitty raised an eyebrow. "Wait—do you already have a navy uniform, then?"

Kryoz nodded. "Yeah. It's back home, buried somewhere in one of my clothing trunks."

Smitty sighed and rubbed his temple. "I now regret not just telling you what the plan is," he grumbled, and a smug smile flashed across Kryoz's face.

"Get fucked," he said. "Now can I finally know why I need a military uniform?"

"Yeah, fine," Smitty muttered. "Matt is a former navy man himself. He was a captain, actually. But he retired after four years to run a firing range. Now, he teaches new soldiers how to shoot. He's good—the best. Better than you."

"Better than me?" Kryoz questioned. "I highly doubt that."

"Well, you'll have a chance to prove yourself against him. You're going to pretend to be one of the new soldiers to get close to him."

Kryoz looked skeptical. "How is that supposed to get him to join you?"

"He's just hesitant right now," Smitty said. "Matt's always been quite resistant to change. It's why he joined the navy in the first place—it was the only thing he knew. But once I show you off to him, after you completely changed your life and fate, he'll know it's possible. I've just got to warm him up to the idea of finally trying something new."

"...You want him to know he can make his own choices, like I did," Kryoz said, and Smitty nodded.

"Exactly. He never actually wanted to join the military. Even now, I know he's not enjoying himself. But he refuses to change."

Kryoz hummed softly. "I guess I'm not opposed to helping," he said. "He sounds like a lot less of an asshole than you."

Smitty rolled his eyes. "Well, he's definitely a lot less of a bitch than you."

Kryoz glowered at him, about to snark back, but he held his tongue when they heard the door down the hall open again. 

Tucker came back into the living room, holding a wad of clothing in his hands. He dumped the wad onto a tea table in front of the couch.

"Here, John," he said, "this is one of the spares I've got. It's the uniform of a guy who got his face blown to shreds, so he wasn't buried. The family had his body burned so they could spread his ashes in the ocean."

Kryoz shrugged. "I'll take it. Do you think it'll fit me?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Looks like you're roughly the same size as me, and it would fit me," Tucker said. "You can try it on or just take it."

"We'll just take it," Smitty said. "We've got to get going so he can make it to the shooting range on time for firing lessons. Thank you for your help, Tucker. I really appreciate it."

"Sure, Smitty. You're as busy as ever, I see."

Smitty shrugged with a smile. "I'm a popular guy, what can I say?"

Kryoz snorted, but Smitty pointedly ignored him and stood up from the couch. 

"Well, we'll be going now. Would you like me to repay you for the uniform?" Smitty asked.

Tucker waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, it's alright. I've got way too many of those extra dead-soldier uniforms. You're doing me a favor, honestly."

"I'm glad to hear that, then. It was nice to see you again—I hope we meet up in the future sometime."

Tucker just gave him a mirthful smile. "Sure. I'll see you around, Smitty."

Smitty returned the smile before looking to John. "Come on, John. Let's go."

Kryoz stood up and grabbed the pile of clothing from the table. "Yeah, whatever. Thanks, Tucker." 

"It's no problem. Be safe in the navy. I'd rather not get that uniform back."

"I'll do my best," Kryoz said. "Bye."

"Bye, you two," Tucker said. 

Smitty gave him a polite wave then placed a hand on Kryoz's arm to lead him out of the house. They made it outside and closed the door quietly behind them. Once they walked down the gravel path and out of Tucker's yard, Smitty glanced at Kryoz again.

"Now that we've got the uniform, you're going to change and pretend to be a navy soldier. We'll wait by the firing range until the group Matt's instructing today shows up. You'll slip in and join them," Smitty explained.

"What if one of the soldiers notices I'm not supposed to be there?" Kryoz asked.

"They won't care," Smitty said. "You should know that better than anyone after pretending to be a soldier previously."

Kryoz hummed. "I suppose," he said. "But if I get thrown out, I'm not helping you anymore. You'll be on your own in getting him to join us."

"I'll accept that, but it doesn't matter. I know this'll work."

"Right. Whatever you say."

—

Matt finished prepping the guns for his group just after noon. 

The number of guys that showed up was always different—some rarely showed, and some joined late, so the groups could be anywhere from ten to fifteen guys on a given day. Matt always prepared one rifle for each of the ten bays. 

His job wasn't very difficult; all he had to do was teach groups of new blood how to aim straight and not kill themselves. Cleaning the spent shells from the range and taking care of the guns was honestly the most difficult part.

It was boring, sure. He never saw the same men for longer than a few weeks. He'd met thousands over the past couple of years, and he knew most of them were probably already dead. But his life was simple. He made a modest earning and lived in a modest home. He had a few friends he met with for drinks at taverns on the weekends. Jaren told him that he could be doing so much more with his life, and yeah, he could. Maybe in another lifetime, he was. But this was his life now. He'd outlive his father, maybe meet a woman to have kids with. He'd grow old and die in this busy town, forgotten and buried in an overfilled cemetery. This was merely the way fate decided his life should go. 

But none of that was important now. He needed to focus on his group coming today.

He set a rifle in each bay, placing the lead ammo beside them so he could teach the soldiers how to load the rifles. Once the bays were properly set up, he went and grabbed a rifle for himself for demonstrations. Long rifles were difficult to get used to—they could be hard to aim, and the kickback was normally startling for men who'd never fired one. He needed to be very in-depth and attentive to make sure no one got hurt.

The group of soldiers finally arrived not long after.

There were eleven of them. He led each of them to a bay, letting two brothers partner up. Once everyone was in place, he began his demonstration. He stood behind the bays and held up his long rifle, loading it with lead ball ammo. When it was loaded, he stepped forward into a bay and demonstrated how to fire it. He held it up, braced it against his shoulder, and fired. He hit a human-shaped target dead center. Were it a real person, the shot would have flown through their heart.

He lowered the rifle, smiling as the soldiers clapped for him. He waved them all off and told them to get started.

The soldiers picked up their rifles and began loading them to fire. Matt walked back and forth behind the bays, making sure no one was having any significant problems. He watched one particular soldier struggle to brace the rifle in a comfortable spot against his shoulder—he kept fidgeting with it and moving it around. Matt was about to take pity and help him when he heard the first gunshot ring out.

Matt paused, surprised. That was quick, he thought. Usually, new soldiers who'd never fired a rifle weren't so quick to catch on.

He walked over to find who it was, spotting the soldier at the far end of the bays. He fired again, aim steady with perfect form, and the kickback barely moved him.

Matt walked behind him to watch him continue firing. The man's aim was impressive; he nailed the target he was aiming at every time. There's no way he's new to this, Matt thought. The man obviously had experience firing a long rifle.

When the soldier lowered the rifle to reload, Matt stepped forward.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The soldier paused and looked back at him. "John."

"You seem pretty experienced, John," Matt said, and John shrugged.

"My father taught me."

...He's like me in that regard, Matt thought.

He watched John as the man finished reloading and braced his rifle to fire again, easily striking his target. Matt noticed the way his hair sat on his shoulder, pinned behind the butt of the rifle.

"You should tie your hair back," Matt said. "It's not safe for you to shoot like that."

John lowered the rifle and gathered his shoulder-length hair in one hand, considering it for a moment. He held it there for a few more seconds before setting the rifle down. Matt figured he'd simply take out some sort of string to tie it back, but instead, John reached into his sleeve and pulled out a dagger. Then he reached up and sliced his hair clean off, cutting just above where he was holding it in his hand. 

Matt's mouth dropped open in shock. "Wha—?! You didn't need to do that."

John dropped the chunk of hair, letting it all flutter to the ground. Now, his hair reached just past his ears in the front, and halfway down his neck in the back. He shrugged, unbothered.

"It was getting in my way," John said. "It's just hair. If I decide I want it long again, I can just grow it back. It's not a big deal."

Matt supposed that logic made sense, but he didn't think he could ever be that impulsive. Who in their right mind slices their own hair off with a knife because it inconvenienced them once?

"...Alright, I guess," Matt relented, feeling baffled.

He stood and watched as John continued to shoot, again hitting his target every time. He was an impressive marksman, no doubt. He had impressive talent. Matt wondered if this was what he himself had looked like the first time he went through training. He supposed it probably was.

John finished firing and lowered his rifle again, glancing back at Matt. "You should probably go help the other guys," he said. "I don't need you to watch me. I'm probably better than you."

"Better than me?" Matt repeated, incredulous. "I wouldn't go that far, if I were you."

"Oh, yeah?" John challenged. "I haven't missed my target yet. I'd like to see you do better."

I've never had somebody tell me they're better than me, Matt thought. I've never even met someone good enough to try.

John raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well? Don't tell me you're chicken."

"You know that I'm multiple ranks your superior, right?" Matt asked.

"So? Doesn't make you a better shot than me," John said. "But if you're too much of a pussy to prove it, then fine. Doesn't bother me."

Matt just looked at John for a moment, equal parts surprised and amused by his arrogance. Matt had never met a man better with a gun than himself. John was no exception.

"...Fine," Matt said. "Give me some ammo."

John gave him a triumphant smirk and handed him some ball ammo. "How do you want to do it? I'll let you choose."

Matt took the ammo and loaded his rifle. "Three shots each. Choose your own target, but you've got to announce it before you shoot. You go first."

"Alright, then," John said. He looked out at the range, deciding on his target. "I'll start simple. I'll hit the center of the head on that target in front of us."

"Fair. Let's see it."

John readied his rifle, leveled at his target, and fired. The shot went straight through the head of the target—on a person, it would've gone directly between their eyes. He casually lowered the rifle back down.

"Not bad," Matt said. "I'll shoot through that hole you just made."

"Really? How immature," John said, and Matt chuckled. 

"Well, you're the one who let me make the rules."

Matt stepped forward and lifted his rifle to shoot, aiming at the hole John just made in the target. He fired. The bullet passed straight through the hole and struck the wall behind it; no new bullet hole was made on the target. He lowered his rifle and shot a smug look at John, who rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you're impressive," John begrudgingly praised. "But I'll do one better. You see that branch sticking out from behind the wall?"

Matt did. There was a tree branch reaching out from behind the stone wall, roughly fifteen feet from the ground. It slowly swayed up and down in the breeze. "Yeah. You're gonna shoot that?"

John nodded. "I'm going to shoot it down. Watch."

John raised his rifle and leveled it at the branch, taking more time to aim carefully. He needed to time it right in order to hit it square enough to break it off. After a few seconds, he shot. The bullet struck the branch in the center and snapped it off. The limb crashed to the ground. 

John lowered the rifle back down, looking pleased with himself. "How was that?"

"Not bad," Matt said. "Your timing is pretty good. But it's not as good as mine." He looked up, spotting a bird circling roughly fifty yards above the wall. "You see that bird up there?"

John looked up and spotted the bird, then glanced back at Matt in disbelief. "There's no way—you're insane. You couldn't possibly hit that."

Matt smirked. "Watch me."

He raised his rifle up, aiming it at the bird seventy yards above them. It was far; near the far end of his range. It was small and fast, as well. At any moment, it could change course and fly away, especially considering the near-constant sound of gunfire from all the bays.

But Matt was completely confident in his abilities. He aimed his rifle and waited patiently, holding his breath for the perfect moment. He followed every movement of the bird with his eyes until it finally neared close enough to his aim line. He flicked the rifle up towards the bird's path and fired—hit. The bird exploded in a mess of feathers and crashed into the range. Its feathers slowly fluttered down above it.

Matt lowered his rifle with a triumphant smile and glanced at John. "Good enough?"

The soldier in the bay beside them made a sound of disbelief. "Did—did you just shoot that bird out of the sky?"

Matt gave him a flippant shrug. "Yeah. It's good practice."

The soldier just shook his head in disbelief. "Everyone in this town is insane," he grumbled, and Matt chuckled before turning back to John.

"Well? It's your turn now."

"I got nothing," John said, a small smile on his face. "Can't beat that. As much as it hurts my pride to admit it, you're definitely better than me. I've never seen someone as good as you."

Matt laughed. "Well, you're not bad yourself. You're definitely one of the best I've ever met."

"Yeah, well—if it's not obvious enough already, this definitely isn't my first time shooting. I have a lot more experience than most. I know you've heard of me, so I'll just be upfront." John set his rifle down then held a hand out to Matt, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. "Around here, I'm known as Kryoz. It's nice to officially meet you, Matt."

Matt froze in shock. "What?" he questioned, stunned. "You—you're—?!"

John raised his finger to his lips. "Shh. I'd rather not let the entire town know yet." 

"You're Kryoz?" Matt aggressively whispered. "I— I don't even know what I thought you'd look like, but I wasn't expecting this. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to get you," Kryoz said. "Smitty put me up to it. But honestly, now I see why. You're good. You'd make for a great pirate."

Matt groaned. "Ugh, he hasn't changed one bit. He's such a backhanded little bastard—he was such a handful when he was a kid," he complained. "I already told him I'm not joining."

Kryoz hummed. "Yeah, he told me that. Trust me, I don't blame you. I didn't want to join him either."

"I was wondering about that. How'd he even get you, anyway?"

"He blackmailed me," Kryoz said bluntly. "Hunted down every bit of dirt to my name and used it against me. But I get good money out of it, so I'm not too heartbroken." 

"Yes, well, that's wonderful for you, but I'm still not joining," Matt said. "I've got to get to the other guys anyway—I've spent too much time over here."

"Sure. You get back to your babysitting job. I'll just be here."

"It's not a babysitting job, dammit, these are grown men. Besides, I—"

"Grown men who can barely wipe their own asses without orders," Kryoz cut in. "But whatever. If that's how you like to spend your time, more power to you."

Matt gave him a half-hearted glare. "Just get back to shooting, or I'll report you."

Kryoz flapped a dismissive hand at him. "Yeah, yeah. Go on. Waste your talents teaching the future meat shields how to hold a gun."

Matt couldn't come up with a response to that, so he just huffed frustratedly and stormed off. He didn't need to be patronized like this—he was content with his life. Maybe he wasn't happy, but he was content. And he'd much rather be that than unhappy. No matter what Jaren or Kryoz tried to say to him. 

—

Firing lessons finished roughly an hour later. 

Most of the other guys managed to improve well enough by the end, so Matt didn't have any problems. He let them leave and waved them off as they headed back to the naval fort.

Of course, he noticed immediately that Kryoz wasn't with them. He groaned and marched back over to the man's firing bay.

Kryoz was sitting against the bay wall, wiping off his rifle. He glanced up at Matt when the man approached. 

"How long are you planning on staying here?" Matt demanded, crossing his arms. "I've got to close up for the day, you know."

Kryoz gave him a lazy shrug. "Dunno. Depends on when you agree to leave with us."

"I already told you, I'm not joining," Matt said shortly. 

"And why's that?"

"Be—because, I have a life here. This is my job. I have a home, job, friends—this is where life brought me. This is where I'm meant to be."

Kryoz raised an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?" he asked. "If this really was where you were meant to be, you wouldn't have your inhuman accuracy with guns."

"Yeah, well, I'm here now. My father raised me to be a navy man like him, so here I am. This is my destiny."

"I thought you didn't like your father."

"I don't, but he gave me my life purpose, and I followed through with it," Matt stubbornly insisted. "Now, will you leave?"

Kryoz sighed and patted the spot next to him. "Sit down."

"Are you insane? No, I'm not sitting down. I want you to leave."

"Sit down or I'm going to get Smitty."

Matt reluctantly sat down. 

"You're pissing me off," he grumbled.

"Listen," Kryoz began, tone gentler. "I want to tell you something. I'm not from around here—I'm not from anywhere near here. I'm actually the crown prince of a kingdom in another continent."

"...What?" Matt asked. "Seriously...?"

Kryoz nodded. "Mhm. The first sixteen years of my life, I lived as royalty. I wasn't heir to the throne, since I had two older sisters. I was just able to live my life with no real responsibilities."

Matt quietly listened, interested in what Kryoz had to say. How did a crown prince in another continent end up as an assassin in this one?

"But that changed when I was sixteen," Kryoz continued. "Our kingdom had a long-running feud with a neighboring one. In order to finally cease the fighting and mend both sides' bad blood, the royal families decided on a marriage to bring the kingdoms together as a symbol of peace. They chose me and the princess of the other kingdom. When I turned eighteen, I was to marry her and complete the showing of peace. That was my destiny."

"Then...why didn't you?" Matt asked.

"I didn't want to," Kryoz said simply. "I had no interest in being married off. I wanted nothing to do with the princess or our shallow marriage. Everyone told me it was what I was meant to do, but I refused to accept it. Finally, one day, I decided to leave. I wasn't about to let myself be shoved around; I wanted to choose my own fate, regardless of what anyone else thought. So, one night, I snuck out and smuggled myself onto a trade ship heading to this continent. It was a month's long journey, but I much preferred that over being seen as a trading piece by my own family. I ended up here, and...the rest is history."

Matt quietly considered this for a moment, conflicted. Kryoz gently pressed on.

"I know you think this is your only fate," he said. "I know exactly how that feels. I was there. But...only you can decide where your life goes. There's never only one option. Even if you try something and don't like it, there's always something new to do or someplace new to be. You have incredible talent and potential—try to use it. You never know where you might end up."

"...But...being a pirate is...there's just so much uncertainty," Matt murmured.

"There is," Kryoz agreed. "But you have the intelligence and skills to deal with that uncertainty. You're confident in your shooting skills, aren't you? You can use that to be someone way more important than whatever your deadbeat dad wanted for you."

"I...I don't know," Matt whispered. "I just don't know. I am curious, but..."

Kryoz patted his shoulder. "How about this," he started. "At the end of the month, we'll be sailing to my old kingdom, then we'll come back. Join us now, and if after that trip, you decide being a pirate isn't for you, you can come right back here like nothing ever happened. You can say you were kidnapped by pirates for your skills and give the crown descriptions of us. You'd be seen as a hero, and you can go straight back to life as you're content with here."

Matt didn't know what to say. He was curious; he'd always been curious. He wondered what life would've been like if he'd made different choices. But he'd always figured that he was just stuck here and this was his full purpose in life. Maybe...maybe that wasn't true. Maybe he did have another purpose in the world—sailing alongside his childhood friend, free from his past.

He didn't have the courage to do something like smuggle himself onto a trade ship to start a new life in a different continent. But maybe abandoning his past ties and discovering who he really was inside was enough. Maybe living with that little bit of freedom was his purpose.

...I guess I can never know if I don't try, Matt thought. If I don't take this opportunity now, it may never come again. Then maybe in thirty years, when I'm still living in this busy town, running this shitty firing range, I'll wish I'd just taken the chance. 

Somehow...that feels even worse.

"...Okay," Matt hesitantly agreed. "Okay. I'll—I'll join you two. I'll try this. And if I'm miserable when we return, I'll come back to this life. But honestly, I just want to know if there really is somewhere else I'm meant to be."

Kryoz smiled softly and bumped his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, dude. You're a brave guy," he said. "And you're way nicer than Smitty."

Matt chuckled quietly. "I guess we should go let him know his plan worked then, huh?"

"Ugh, don't remind me—he'll be insufferable about this for the next week."

"Yeah, he's always been that way. He's a crazy guy, but I've always respected that about him," Matt said. "I did miss him. It'll be nice to work with him again."

"He'll be happy to see you," Kryoz said. "C'mon. Let's go get him." He stood up from the ground, and Matt smiled softly and stood with him.

Together, they walked out of the firing range and back into the town. It was surreal—leaving the town he thought he never would and walking straight into an entirely new life. Matt was nervous. He wondered if he was making the wrong choice, or if he was being far too impulsive and bold.

But when they made it to the ship, where Smitty's face brightened into a smile the moment they got on deck, Matt knew he'd found exactly where he was meant to be.