The Forgotten Tide: Rebirth Before the Pirate Era

The gentle lull of the waves could no longer soothe Kaizen's restless mind. The events in Port Azure had left a mark deeper than any physical wound. The whispers of "The Shadow" spread beyond the bustling docks, riding the salty breeze to distant shores. Rumors were ripples, and Kaizen was the stone that had disturbed the waters.

As dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Kaizen found himself aboard a modest trading vessel bound for the neighboring archipelago. Lio sat nearby, polishing a dagger they'd taken from one of the fallen pirates, while Aryn stared out over the railing, eyes distant, lost in thought.

"Do you think they'll follow us?" Lio finally broke the silence, glancing at Kaizen with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Kaizen shrugged. "They might. But running won't change anything. The world is watching now."

The ship creaked under the weight of cargo and secrets alike. Each crewmember cast furtive glances at Kaizen, their curiosity poorly masked. Even in anonymity, his presence was like a beacon.

Nightfall brought little comfort. The moonlight danced on the water, reflecting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally. Kaizen stood at the bow, feeling the familiar pull of the unknown.

Suddenly, a sharp cry shattered the stillness. Figures emerged from the darkness—silent, swift, and deadly. Their attackers bore no flags, only dark cloaks and masks concealing their faces. Assassins.

Kaizen reacted instinctively. His body moved with fluid precision, dodging blades and disarming foes with effortless strength. But there was a difference this time. These were not ordinary men. Their movements were calculated, their strikes laced with an unnatural speed.

Aryn joined the fray, her staff a blur of motion, while Lio fought with fierce determination, his dagger finding marks with surprising accuracy. Despite their skill, the attackers were relentless.

Kaizen faced the leader, a tall figure whose mask bore a single crimson streak. Their blades clashed, the sound of metal against metal sharp against the roar of the sea. In a fleeting moment, Kaizen saw it—a symbol etched into the assassin's blade. An ancient sigil he'd seen before in fragmented memories of a life long gone.

With a final surge of strength, Kaizen disarmed the leader, pressing him against the mast. "Who sent you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The assassin laughed, a hollow sound. "The world remembers, even if you do not. You cannot escape your past, Shadow."

Before Kaizen could react, the assassin bit down on something hidden in his mouth. A sudden convulsion, and he collapsed, lifeless, leaving more questions than answers.

The aftermath was grim. The crew whispered of curses and dark omens. Kaizen stared at the sigil, etched deep into the blade, a constant reminder that his past was catching up faster than he'd anticipated.

As dawn broke once more, Kaizen knew one thing for certain—the tides were no longer forgotten. They were rising.