At the sa ti,
In the heart of the Pelegosto tribe, Jack Sparrow sat very still on the carved chair that clearly belonged to soone important. Far too important.
The tribespeople danced around the fire in a wide circle, drums pounding in a steady, enthusiastic rhythm. Painted faces bobbed in and out of the firelight, feathers shaking, bones clacking.
Every now and then, one of them glanced at Jack with open delight—like a cook admiring a particularly promising roast.
Jack swallowed.
"Right," he muttered under his breath, forcing a thin smile as another dancer pointed at him and whooped. "This is… flattering. Truly."
The chief sat nearby, watching Jack with reverent interest, occasionally gesturing toward him as if explaining a very important recipe. Jack followed the gesture, then the glance toward the fire, then back to himself.
"…No," Jack said quietly. "I don't like that look."
The drumming grew louder. The dancing more energetic. Soone tossed another log onto the fire, sending sparks up into the sky.
Jack leaned back in the chair, trying to look relaxed—as if this were a social call rather than a prelude to being eaten.
'I'd rather be in a cage with my n than be first on the nu'.
"In a rush to avoid one unpleasant end," Jack muttered to himself, "I seem to have stumbled into another."
He fled the sea to escape the grasp of Davy Jones, whose ti had finally co to collect on the bargain Jack had made. The debt was due. The deal was broken. And Jones never forgot.
But Jack Sparrow was many things, and keeping his end of a bargain was rarely one of them.
So he ran.
He ran for land—because Jones could not follow him there. Not one step beyond the surf. And for a mont, Jack thought himself clever.
Too clever.
He staggered straight onto the island…
and directly into the hands of people who were now very clearly debating the best way to cook him.
"It would've been nice," he muttered, "if my very powerful, very inconveniently absent friend were here right now."
He shifted again, the chair creaking beneath him.
"Just a snap of the fingers," Jack went on softly, as if raising his voice might inspire the tribe to hurry things along. "That's all it would take. One little snap—and these fine gentlen would be dancing around him like it's a festival."
A Pelegosto woman stepped forward, bowing low as she approached Jack. She held out a shallow bowl of fruit, lifting it toward him with careful reverence.
Jack raised one finger and spoke quickly in their language, keeping his voice steady.
"No. No eating. Very full. Full god."
The woman hesitated, studying his face, then nodded. She straightened and retreated, disappearing back into the crowd.
Jack saw the tribesn step forward with poles and ropes, their intent unmistakable.
He swallowed, eyes flicking from the fire to the chanting faces.
"Daniel," he murmured under his breath, "I miss you, my very useful friend."
Then suddenly the fire surged.
What had been a simple blaze roared upward, twisting into a towering column of fla. Heat washed across the clearing. The dancers stumbled back, weapons lowering as confusion rippled through the tribespeople.
Jack stared at the flas. "That's… excessive," he muttered. "Even by their standards."
Then the fire shifted.
Contours ford—eyes, a brow, a mouth—etched in fla. A face looking out from the blaze itself.
The Pelegosto warriors froze.
A murmur rippled through them. Knees hit the ground one by one. Spears were lowered. Foreheads pressed against the earth as they began chanting in their own language, voices trembling with awe. To them, this was no accident. No trick.
This was a god answering their ritual.
Jack, anwhile, squinted. "…That's new."
The face in the fire tilted slightly, as if orienting itself. It blinked—actually blinked—then its gaze dropped and fixed on Jack.
"Jack?" the voice ca, echoing like a furnace drawing breath.
Jack didn't hesitate. Relief flooded his face so fast it almost hurt.
"My friend," he said warmly. "You've no idea how good it is to see your face in a controlled fire-related phenonon."
The fiery expression shifted—confused, then mildly annoyed.
"Why," Daniel asked slowly, "are you tied to a chair… surrounded by people who look like they're deciding which seasoning to use?"
Jack glanced around at the kneeling tribespeople, then back at the fire. "Long story."
The chanting grew louder. The tribespeople bowed even lower, clearly convinced that their god was talking to the god in fire.
"…Jack," Daniel said, voice flat, "you get into the strangest situations when I'm not around."
Jack smiled weakly. "I try my best."
Daniel, anwhile, was frowning—less at Jack and more at the situation. He hadn't even known this sort of summoning was possible. He certainly hadn't felt anything—no pull, no call—just a sudden awareness, like soone was calling him.
'Strange, I don't have a summoning skill. That should've been impossible.'
Still, results mattered more than explanations.
He'd found Jack. And Jack was very clearly about to be eaten.
A sha, really—Jack still had far too many uses to be wasted like that.
The flas surged again, then folded inward, collapsing toward a single point. From the heart of the fire, a figure stepped forward—unburned, untouched, fire curling away from him like it knew better.
Daniel erged fully, boots hitting the ground as the flas died down behind him.
The tribespeople froze.
Eyes widened. Mouths fell open.
A shout went up—loud, reverent, terrified. More kneeling. Foreheads hit the dirt. The word they cried sounded like revelation.
Daniel looked around at the bowing tribespeople, then at Jack.
"It seems," he said dryly, "your worshippers have transferred ownership."
Jack didn't argue. "You're welco to them. They're a bit too much for ."
*****
A/N: If you'd like to read chapters ahead of the Webnovel release schedule, you can join my Patreon!
The Patreon version is already updated up to Chapter 116.
👉 patreon/Universal_Peace
User Comments
0 comments from readers