Markus hated the turn his life had taken. All those new people on the ship, all of them having a lot more to say than he did. He could no longer imagine that he had once been the captain's right hand. Maybe that had been an illusion as well—a pacifier I foolishly accepted.

His gaze followed the little blonde devil who plopped down at the captain's table as if he had always been there. On my place. Markus clenched his teeth. Never in his life had he felt so much hatred for someone, not even when he had been a slave.

Back then, everyone around him hated the slave masters.

This time, however, he seemed to be the only one who wanted to snap that brat's neck.

Markus took a deep breath and shoved a chunk of bread into his mouth. He sat alone. Apparently, his mood even drove away his former friends. Everyone else was exuberant. They would soon reach the mythical Realm of the Soul Stealers—a place Markus only knew from stories.

Stories that rarely had a good ending. It was said to be an island full of illusions—where you could find everything your heart desired, but nothing was real. There were Djinns who fulfilled your deepest desires but stole your soul in return.

His brooding gaze rested on Rory. Well, maybe he'd trade his soul if it meant getting rid of that little devil.

Determination circled him and bit into him mercilessly. While the others went ashore to find the antidote for the poison eating away the stolen young man's memories, he would start his own quest.

He would find a way to get rid of that brat.

And everything would go back to the way it was. Rogier would seek comfort in him, just as he had when his previous lover had died.

And this time Markus wouldn't hold back.

He would give his captain everything he needed.

A dark mist hung over the island where they had anchored, like settled smoke after a devastating fire. Although everyone had been chatty earlier, there was now an oppressive silence on board. The blond bastard leaned with his shoulder against the captain, and Markus curled his lip in disdain. He must be scared.

Only two small boats would go ashore; Rogier thought it best to draw as little attention as possible. As soon as the boats were lowered into the water, Markus simply climbed down and took a seat, painfully aware that his best friend wouldn't have even glanced his way otherwise.

It's as if he's cursed by that little devil.

Rocking, the boat approached the rocky shore. Markus gripped the paddle tightly as he rowed and rowed.

Against all odds, both boats reached the shore unscathed. Markus saw it as an ominous sign—almost as if the dark forces inhabiting this place wanted them to land.

The group split in two—the red-haired doctor led one group with Captain North, and Rogier and Rory went with the other group.

It didn't matter to Markus which group he joined—neither would pay him much attention. Not long after, he trudged behind his shipmates, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The mist still enveloped them, limiting his sight. The rocky ground made for a difficult climb, and he doubted whether those leading the way could even navigate.

Steadily, they climbed the slope. At the top, they were met by a dense forest with jet-black trunks dripping with moisture. An earthy, sour smell rose.

Markus slowed his pace. He wanted to separate from the group while he could still find his way back. He moved a bit to the right, straining to hear if he could still make out voices. He stood still, peering into the swirling mist. It was as if a path was being revealed; a few hundred meters away, a rocky fortress suddenly appeared, so black it seemed to be coated in pitch.

He swallowed. Was he being welcomed? Or was this a trap, and would the soul eaters devour him once he stepped into their fortress?

Markus decided to stick to what he knew about Djinns. He extended his hand, made a cut in it, and closed his eyes. "Hear me, ancient Djinns, and grant my wish in exchange for my soul."

Markus opened his eyes. The air around him shimmered.

Then a being manifested, cloaked and hooded. Two fiery eyes stared at him.

"Speak the wish that you value more than your soul, mortal."

Markus swallowed. Granting his wish provided no guarantees. However, he couldn't wish for Rogier's love—that was beyond the Djinns' powers. "I wish for the pirate named Rory, who sails on the Skull Crusher, to die."

The Djinn's eyes flared, embers floating around him and entering through his nose and ears. He felt the heat coursing through his body and settling in his chest.

A memento he would carry for the rest of his life: after his death, he would face a shadowy existence on this island until his soul was fully devoured.

He tried not to think about that.

That could still take years. He wanted to live now, and for that, the obstacle Rory needed to be removed.

"It shall be done," the Djinn spoke.

Then he disappeared. Only the fire in Markus's chest remained—a ribbon binding him forever to this island.