Chapter Text
He ran his hand along the wooden rail next to the sailors quarters. Descending the stairs, his eyes roam over the empty ship. The water bounces the reflection of the moon over the ship. The soft light casts the wood with a pale glow, making it seem as if the moon herself danced on the deck. Silco takes a breath, still admiring his vessel. Tonight, everything was still and silent, save the sway of the boat in the water. Tomorrow his crew will be swarming about their work, grateful to be out at sea again, to reclaim their routine. Routine. He ponders. He had managed to claim his title as The Eye of the Sea after destroying his brother’s ship. It already feels so far off, a distant memory, but he knows his wounds are still fresh. He cast his eye up the stairs where the ship’s wheel is. Visions of Vander slamming his back into it with a resounding crack flashes to his mind. He can still almost hear the ringing in his ears from the cannon fire that sank The Hound, his brother's ship. Shaking his head slightly, Silco brings himself out of his reverie. Tomorrow is important.
The Council of Piltover had gotten desperate, they would have never called him in if they weren’t. Hell, he is surprised he even showed up to the call, his crew thought he was crazy. Silco chuckles, a puff of fog from his breath drifting into the night sky.
“Eighteen million. . .” he rasped, a smirk twitched at his lips.
All that for one pesky dragon. That type of money would set him and his crew for life. He could expand his forces, get Jinx her own ship, maybe rule the sea one day. Piltover hiring a Zaunite was an even bigger blow to them than the money. That they would stoop so low to shake hands with a filthy pirate, he couldn’t help his shit eating grin when they practically begged him to accept. He would use their own funding against them. He would be their downfall.
Apparently, they have been having trouble on their Eastern Sea. All of their ships en route to Noxus have been destroyed by a monster. A great beast who has left no survivors, and their efforts to hunt the thing have been pointless, just leading to more deaths. He reaches for a cigar from his left breast pocket and heads to the railing. Leaning on the edge he looks over the water lapping at his ship, Zaun’s Glory, and lights his cigar. He watches the reflection of the smoke in the water, and he catches his red glowing eye staring back at him. They hired a monster to kill a monster. The thought makes him burn with intent. Piltover would fall to him, he isn’t some Hound that will lie under the masters table for scraps. He will have it all.