Chapter Text
Late 800s, Viking age, Knave's Peak
The sun barely began to rise over the horizon, except for its shining rays. The city was quiet, though excitement lingered in the air. The ships have already returned from their voyage far south to get more supplies, gold, silver, treasures, spices, and other materials, but the people await one more ship to reach the docks: the Ragnarok. It was as large as a longhouse; it towered over all the other ships. Its sail was the color of blood, and its hull was as dark as a raven's wing. Among the crowd, two siblings whispered and pointed at the ship. "I've never seen the ship from up close! It feels like I'm staring at a giant," the sister marveled. "I wonder what the captain is like. A while back, I heard he fearlessly faced the Skyrm even as its tail lifted him to the air!" the brother exclaimed, eyes wide with admiration.
When the ship finally anchored upon reaching the docks of Knave's Peak, a boatswain lifted the gangplank and placed it on the end of the dock. The ship's crew walked down the plank with smiling faces, happy to see their families and friends after a long, arduous journey that had brought them through storms, monsters, and countless perils.
A man stepped on the plank and walked towards the dock with a confident stride. He was tall, muscular, and made everyone around him seem smaller beneath him. He wore a helmet with two curving horns on top, a fur cloak, and a red tunic with a long, sharp sword hanging in its scabbard from his belt.
Everyone cheered when they saw him. His eyes swept over the crowd, and he nodded and smiled in greeting. A scribe rushed to him and exclaimed, "Captain Ragnar! A pleasure to finally meet you! I've heard all about your past voyages and the countless horrors you have faced! Like the Skyrm! I've never met someone as legendary and brave as you! If I were in your place, I bet my head would've been bitten off right away!"
Ragnar chuckled, clapping the scribe on the shoulder. "I appreciate the compliment, but I never could have done those without my crew. Every tale you've heard came from men and women who faced the same storms and monsters by my side."
The scribe smiled at him. "Well then, I'll be off now. I have to start writing about all your adventures, or else our kingdom's head scribe will have my head if I miss a single detail!"
"Make sure to ask my crew so they can describe our journeys more vividly!"
"Yes, I will! Thank you for your time, Captain!" The scribe happily bolted away, accidentally bumping into people on the way.
"Hey, watch where you're going!"
"Sorry! A writer's gotta risk life and limb for a good story!"
A few moments later, amid the laughter and cheers, a shadow crept unnoticed at the edge of the dock. Its cold eyes were fixed upon the captain's hand, yearning to sink its teeth into his flesh. Before anyone could notice it, the creature leaped onto Ragnar, knocking him down. Everyone gasped with horror as they saw a crocodile attack happening in front of them. The crocodile bit its teeth into his left hand. Ragnar felt the pain searing through his arm. He pulled out his sword and, in one quick motion, raised it and struck the animal's head. The crocodile's eyes narrowed as its blood flowed, and it eventually loosened its jaws, letting Ragnar pull free. He stood up and kicked the crocodile into the water. He watched it sink to make sure it didn't climb back up again. He stood there, breath heavy and ragged, his left hand completely severed.
People rushed to his side to help him away from the dock and make sure he was ok. A healer was soon called to attend to his injury. She wrapped his wrist in cloth and attempted to stop the bleeding. But even though his arm throbbed in pain, it didn't seem like he minded the injury. He already faced far worse than a severed hand.
Time passed, and Ragnar was seated at the head of the large table in the main longhouse. It was the hall in the heart of the town square where gatherings took place. Today's celebration was for the successful return of all the ships.
While Ragnar looked around him, taking in all the decorations and the joy and laughter that filled the place, a shine in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. A gleaming silver object lay on the ground, almost as if it was placed there just for him. Intrigued, he stood up from his chair and picked it up. It was a hook — its design was simple and clean, perfect for swift movements, its hollow dome allowing the hand to fit snugly inside (though in Ragnar's case, it would be his wrist). He slid his injured arm under the hook. It fit perfectly. A grin crept up to his face as he admired it.
"Ragnar!" A friend called out to him. "Why don't you make a speech? Everybody's eager to hear from the best captain in all of Knave's Peak!"
"Alright." Ragnar reluctantly agreed. "But I'll just keep it short."
Ragnar walked to the left of the table and climbed up the short flight of stairs leading to the altar, where announcements are made. Once he reached the top, he faced the crowd, and all eyes turned toward him in anticipation.
"Friends, I stand here today not as one man, but as part of a community that stands fearless against the face of danger. Every victory we won was because of trust, teamwork, and resilience. Let every challenge you face be met with the same bravery we've shown together. Stand tall, trust in your own strength, and never give up. And if there is something you wish to do, something you dream of achieving, believe in yourself! Be brave, work hard, and never be afraid to take the first step. That is how legends are made."
The crowd cheered, their applause thunderous. When the shouting died down, a young boy in the front shouted, "Nice hook, Ragnar!"
Ragnar smiled, glancing down at his newly adorned hand. He had a mischievous smile on his lips. "Very well. From this moment forward, I shall be known as...Captain Hook!"
The crowd roared again in approval, chanting his new name in unison. "Captain Hook! Captain Hook!"
And so, in the hearts and minds of the people, the name of Ragnar Hook, better known as Captain Hook, was etched into history. The story of his triumph would be passed down to generations, inspiring future sailors, warriors, leaders, pirates, and even ordinary folk. He became a symbol of greatness for everyone who dared to chase glory.
But one certain pirate, a direct descendant of Captain Hook, had a story waiting to be written.