Sastasha Coves – The Final Chamber

Finn hadn’t expected much from the mission — a simple supply recovery, little more than a brawl. But the deeper they descended into Sastasha Coves, the more he saw: the way the Marauders positioned themselves, rotated their stances, took blows to bait and absorb pressure. It wasn’t just brute strength — it was calculated mitigation, the kind born of repetition and bruised lessons.

He kept behind the formation, watching. Letting them draw attention. It was a rhythm he understood: let the large figures make noise, and finish the threats that slipped through — quickly, cleanly. His daggers remained his quiet companion, flickering only when necessary. The Sahagins didn’t see him. Most didn’t.

Eventually, they reached a wide cavern lit by flickering lanterns and the sea’s dim reflection. Crates stacked high along the walls, barrels lining the back, and in the center: a pirate, unmistakably the captain, lounging like a lord surrounded by crew. The missing goods were piled around them, half-opened, carelessly inventoried.

The Marauders didn’t wait. They charged.

Finn moved instinctively to follow — but paused just as a weighted net dropped from above.

The heavy rope caught the Marauders mid-step, tangling limbs and weapons. Steel clanged against stone. Grunts of frustration filled the air. The captain’s laughter echoed through the cavern.

“Oldest trick in the book,” he said, grinning. “All brawn, no brains.”

The pirates jeered as the Marauders cursed beneath the weight of wet rope. One tried to swing an axe but it caught against the thick weave of the net, useless. The captain stepped closer and gestured to his crew.

“Douse them.”

Barrels cracked open. Cold seawater was dumped mercilessly over the caught fighters. The sudden chill made them sputter and shiver. The water soaked through their gear, dragging them down further, adding weight where there was already too much. Not lethal — but smart. Practical.

Finn watched all this unfold from behind a low row of crates, crouched in the captain’s blind spot. The whole sequence played out in front of him, a trap sprung with theatrical flair and precise timing.

And yet, none of the pirates had seen him.

Not a single one.

The Marauders were swearing, loudly. Some even mocked the captain’s theatrics, goading him on.

Finn squinted. No — they weren’t panicking. They were acting. Deliberately playing into the pirate captain’s ego.

Because they’d seen it too.

Finn wasn’t in the net.

And that meant he was the only one left standing.

The captain turned away to address his crew, boastful and loud.

Finn stayed still.

He wasn’t going to strike now.

He waited.