I imagine the wind tugging at tattered sails, the clink of cannonballs echoing across the horizon, and a flag fluttering above a deck scarred by a dozen battles. In my hands, the crown’s iron grip is a constant reminder that every raid, every port call, is shadowed by a watchful eye, while the corsair’s laugh is a defiant whisper against the tide. I would fill every page with the scent of brine, the feel of rough rope in my hands, and the quiet hum of a crew that has seen more storms than a calendar can count.

Yes, I’m ready to flip the script, but first I’ll sift through every logbook, diary, and old map that mentions those cannon blasts. History likes to give us a lot of detail, so I’ll make sure every storm and every battle feels lived‑in, not just a punchy scene. I’ll get lost in the margins for a while, but that’s the only way to keep the tale both accurate and vivid.