Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story! Thank you! Pat**on : belamy20
Jack leaned in close, voice low.
"Mate, you're not seriously thinking the three of us can sail this beast alone? She needs at least twenty men—"
"I know."
Raphael stepped into the hold and stopped at the first bunk. He raised his hand, the Force condensing into a thin thread that slipped gently into the sailor's mind.
The man's eyes flew open. He opened his mouth to shout, but Raphael clamped a hand over it.
"Not a sound," Raphael whispered, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Listen to me."
The sailor froze. An invisible weight pinned him in place — he couldn't move, couldn't scream.
"In a moment I'm going to wake all of you. You'll sail the ship. Where we go, how we sail — you follow my orders."
Raphael stared into his eyes. "Understand?"
The sailor nodded frantically.
Raphael released him and moved to the next bunk.
Five minutes later, all twenty-three sailors were "awake."
They huddled together in the hold, trembling, staring at the stranger in front of them, the smoky-eyed weirdo behind him, and the young girl in civilian clothes.
Raphael swept his gaze across them.
"Can any of you sail?"
The sailors exchanged looks. One finally nodded.
"Yes."
"Then sail."
Raphael said, "Set course for Trinidad. Anyone who's slow — goes overboard."
No one dared argue — not after feeling that invisible force wrap around their throats.
On deck, sails rose. The Dauntless slowly slipped out of the harbor.
Jack stood by the wheel, his face a masterpiece of complicated emotions.
He looked at the obedient sailors, then at Raphael standing at the bow, then back at Elizabeth.
"Darling, any idea what the hell this fellow actually is?"
Elizabeth stared at Raphael's back, eyes full of confusion.
Under the moonlight, the Dauntless cut through the dark sea.
Behind them, the lights of Port Royal grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared into the night.
---
The Dauntless sailed on. Sea wind filled the sails, the hull slicing through waves with a steady rhythm.
Raphael stood at the bow, gazing at the distant horizon.
Footsteps approached behind him. He didn't need to turn — he already knew who it was.
"Mate."
Jack walked up beside him, clutching a bottle of rum he'd scavenged from somewhere. "Where exactly are we headed?"
"Cuba."
Jack's hand paused mid-drink.
"Cuba?"
He took a swig. "What the bloody hell for?"
Raphael glanced at him.
"You just handle the sailing."
Jack narrowed his eyes, that smoky-lined face breaking into a knowing grin.
"You know, I've met a lot of strange folk. Pirates, navy men, merchants, con artists — the whole lot. But someone like you? First time."
Raphael said nothing.
Jack waited a few seconds, then kept talking anyway.
"Those manacles — how'd you open them? Those sailors — how'd you make them obey? And those eyes of yours—"
He paused. "Sometimes when I look at you, I think you're not human."
Raphael turned to face him.
"Captain Jack, let me ask you something."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Ask away."
"Your compass — how does it work?"
Jack's expression changed instantly.
His hand instinctively went to his waist, where the old compass hung.
Raphael's gaze dropped to it, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Don't worry. I'm just asking."
Jack took a step back, palm pressed over the compass.
"Easy there, mate. This thing isn't something you just—"
Raphael didn't wait for him to finish.
The Force surged. Jack's foot slipped. He toppled backward.
He reached for the railing but missed.
Splash.
Water sprayed. Jack hit the sea.
Elizabeth burst out of the cabin and rushed to the railing, staring down.
In the moonlight, Jack was flailing in the water, cursing loudly.
"You mad bastard?! You threw him overboard?! We're dozens of miles from land!"
Raphael walked to the railing and looked down at Jack.
A wave crashed over him. Jack choked, coughing as he paddled.
"The compass."
Raphael said, "Throw it up."
Jack stared for a second, then started swearing again.
"You bloody lunatic! You know who I am?! I'm Captain Jack Sparrow—"
Raphael raised his hand.
The Force formed an invisible rope around the compass at Jack's belt.
A gentle tug — the compass snapped free, flew through the air, and landed in Raphael's palm.
Jack's eyes widened. He thrashed harder in the water.
"My compass! Give it back!"
Raphael slipped the compass into his coat and looked down at him.
"Can you swim?"
Jack gritted his teeth.
"Yes."
"Good."
Raphael turned and walked toward the wheel. "See you in Cuba."
Elizabeth stood at the railing, looking between the splashing Jack and Raphael's back, mouth opening and closing, unable to form words.
Finally she ran after him.
"You really just left him? We're at least dozens of miles from shore!"
Raphael didn't turn around.
"He'll live."
What Raphael didn't say was that Jack Sparrow was basically the cockroach of the Caribbean — the kind of character who could survive anything the series threw at him.
The Dauntless sailed on, Jack's flailing figure growing smaller and smaller behind them.
---
Three days later, the Dauntless sailed into the port of Trinidad, Cuba.
It was a quiet little town. White colonial buildings gleamed under the sun.
A few merchant ships were docked. People moved about the pier. No one paid any special attention to the British warship.
Raphael brought the ship in and ordered the sailors ashore.
"Get out."
The sailors scrambled off like they'd been pardoned from execution.
Elizabeth stood on deck, watching them flee, then turned to Raphael.
"Now what?"
Raphael jumped down to the pier and offered her his hand.
"Come on."
Elizabeth hesitated for a second, then took his hand and jumped down.
The two of them walked into Trinidad.
The governor's mansion sat in the center of town — a two-story white building with two lazy soldiers standing guard at the door.
Raphael walked straight toward them. The soldiers stepped forward to block him.
"Stop. Who are you—"
Raphael looked at them.
The Force gave a gentle push. Both soldiers slumped against the wall and passed out.
Elizabeth's eyes widened.
"You—"
"Let's go."
Raphael pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The governor was a fat, balding Spaniard in his fifties, sitting in his office drinking coffee.
When he saw the intruders, he jumped up and reached for the pistol on his desk.
Raphael raised his hand.
The governor froze.
His hand hovered inches from the gun, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move.
His face turned purple. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.
Raphael walked up to him and looked down.
"From now on, this town answers to me."
The governor's eyes bulged with terror.
Raphael eased the grip slightly.
"Nod if you understand."
The governor nodded frantically.
From that moment on, Trinidad had a new master.
Raphael didn't move into the governor's mansion. Instead, he found a quiet house near the harbor.
Elizabeth stayed in the one next door. Fresh food and clothes were delivered every day.
She asked Raphael several times, "When are we going back?" His answer was always the same: "Wait."
A month later, the scouts he had sent out returned with news.
Something had happened in Port Royal.
Barbossa and the crew of the Black Pearl had attacked the harbor and kidnapped the governor's daughter — Elizabeth froze when she heard that, then realized the "governor's daughter" they were talking about was her.
"They think I was taken by pirates?"
She looked at Raphael. "But I was taken by you—"
Raphael raised a hand, silencing her.
The scout continued.
Not only had Barbossa's men attacked the port, they had also taken a blacksmith.
Later, for reasons unknown, that blacksmith had somehow joined forces with the pirates and was now wanted by the Royal Navy.
Elizabeth listened in stunned silence.
"Will Turner?"
She turned to Raphael. "How did he—"
Raphael didn't explain.
He dismissed the scout, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
Will had still been pulled in.
Barbossa hadn't collected the final coin yet, so the curse remained unbroken.
But they had taken Will anyway — maybe by force, maybe by choice.
Either way, the story had already changed.
Elizabeth leaned closer.
"You're not going to save him?"
Raphael opened his eyes and looked at her.
"You want to?"
Elizabeth hesitated.
"I… I don't know. He saved me, but I—"
She couldn't finish.
Raphael stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the sea.
"I'm not going to save him. He has nothing to do with me."
Elizabeth gritted her teeth in frustration but could only glare.
---
In the following months, Raphael began building his power base in secret.
The governor of Trinidad became a complete puppet.
Raphael had him issue orders: recruit sailors, build ships, buy weapons.
The shipyard near the harbor worked day and night. One new vessel after another slid into the water.
Sometimes Elizabeth would go watch the ships.
They stood in neat rows, masts like a forest, sails furled, waiting for their first voyage.
"What do you need so many ships for?" she asked Raphael.
He stood on the pier, looking at the fleet.
"To go somewhere."
"Where?"
"East."
Elizabeth blinked.
"East? India?"
Raphael didn't answer.
He just kept staring at the distant horizon.
---
Half a year later, the fleet was ready.
Seven sailing warships. Five hundred sailors. Enough fresh water and supplies for a long journey.
The harbor in Trinidad was packed with people. Sailors bustled across the decks, loading supplies, checking ropes.
Elizabeth stood on the pier, watching it all. A strange feeling rose in her chest.
Raphael emerged from the crowd, dressed in a black captain's coat, the compass he had taken from Jack hanging at his waist.
Elizabeth looked at him.
"You're really leaving?"
Raphael nodded.
"You can stay if you want."
Elizabeth bit her lip.
Six months.
She had followed this man from Port Royal, stayed in Cuba all this time, watched him take control of the town step by step, watched him tame those sailors until they obeyed without question.
She had hated him. Feared him. And somewhere along the way, she had gotten used to being by his side.
As for Will Turner…
Who was Will Turner?
"I'm coming with you," Elizabeth said.
Raphael looked at her.
In the moonlight those bright blue eyes held no fear — only a strange kind of resolve.
He held out his hand.
"Then come aboard."
Elizabeth took his hand and stepped onto the deck.
Sails rose. The fleet slowly pulled out of the harbor, heading into the vast open sea.
The lights of Trinidad grew smaller and smaller until they vanished into the night.
Raphael stood at the bow, holding the compass.
The needle trembled for a moment, then pointed steadily in one direction.
East.