Edward felt ready. His body was healed, better than it had been before he had been stabbed. The demanding work on Grace's ship had paid off. He had more stamina, more strength, and he felt more agile. The only point he felt weak on was his swordsmanship. He hadn't been in an actual fight in ages, but his golden sword with the eagle pommel, the one he'd had for several years now, felt right in his hands.
Jack unbuttoned his calico jacket and tossed it to the ground. He then took off his white undershirt, showing his toned body underneath. Though he was at least twenty to thirty years older than Edward, his body looked like someone of Edward's age. Other than the unprecedented number of scars across his body, it would be hard to tell his age just from his frame alone.
But it was his father's eyes which told the story, and the true nature of his strength. It also gave Edward an answer to why, aside from his towering height, people cowered at his gaze. His father's eyes, more than any other part of him, conveyed an air of strength. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the eyes of Death—a swift inescapable death. It conjured the feeling you get in the seconds before waking up from a nightmare where you're falling.
He had felt the same feeling many times. The first was when he'd seen the man who called himself Plague, and since then, Edward realized he felt it along with the unbidden thoughts of those he'd killed, the torture he'd endured, and those who had died because of him. He knew that feeling well, so well that it had become a part of him.
And yet, Edward still fought on despite it. His father's gaze held no power over him because he experienced it daily.
"I find it quite interesting, the way we think alike, son," Jack said as he gently pulled out a blade from a sheath at his belt. It, too, was golden like Edward's and sang a similar, eerie song as though it were a yawning beast waking up from a long slumber. "Only my son would think to make a blade from this metal."
"We're nothing alike," Edward shouted back. "You use people, rape little girls, and kill innocents."
"Oh? Acting holier than thou, are we? I know of your deeds. I've heard all about them. You have a silver tongue you use to manipulate others into doing your bidding. Your crew has done horrible things to innocent people, and to get your ship back, you fired cannons at the homes of innocent people at Portsmouth. Or do you forget your own actions?"
Jack rushed in, slashing wildly at Edward. Edward ducked and dodged the blows. Jack was testing him with a flurry of strikes, and Edward managed to avoid them. His father was skilled, and Edward could tell that he was only warming up.
Edward cut through and retaliated, pushing his father back. He channelled the feeling he'd had aboard Grace's ship, the feeling of floating on air far above everything else. It wasn't a completely freeing feeling like when he was exhausted beyond all reason, but it was enough.
"I remember everything," Edward said, his tone and mind calm. "Every face."
Jack laughed. "Do you also remember where you got the metal to make your blade?" he asked before thrusting forward.
Edward parried the strike, slid forward, and slashed down at Jack's head. Jack turned his body and took a step to the left out of the way. Edward followed through with another slash to the body. Jack jumped back and out of harm's way.
"Was it not from the body of one of my commanders? Gregory Dunn? What kind of a man takes the arm off a dead man and turns it into a sword?"
Jack leapt towards Edward and came down hard with his blade. Edward parried again, pushing his father's sword off to the side. The clash of the blades sent sparks flying with the strange harmony they produced together. Jack punched Edward in the jaw. Edward turned his chin with the punch and twisted away.
"What kind of a man turns another man's arm into gold?"
"I gave Dunn a gift from Midas. He desired wealth more than anything else, so I gave him enough to last a lifetime if he only sacrificed an arm."
"You think you're some Greek god come to earth? What kind of a trial is that for a person? What kind of a man sends his son off to die to solve a bunch of puzzles all around the world? What kind of a man tries to kill his own son?"
Edward took the offensive. He thrust forward, aiming for his father's stomach. Jack knocked Edward's blade aside. Edward spun around, using the momentum, and went to a knee as he attacked in a wide arc. Jack jumped over the blade.
"What kind of a man faces those trials? Someone willing to stand up to a challenge. You could have walked away so many times. You had so many opportunities. And look at you! You're stronger now than you ever were." Jack lowered his cutlass. "You're stronger than I ever was." Jack stood there for a moment, his face changing, softening. "Do you remember what I told you when you went into the Devil's Triangle?"
Edward's guard faltered. "What?"
"When you met me in the Devil's Triangle, on the Freedom. We were in the captain's cabin, though I imagine it looked quite different from how I left it for you. For me, it was." Jack looked down at the ground in thought. "It must have been eight, no, nine years ago."
Edward remembered the moment vividly. The crew had landed on an island in the Devil's Triangle and walked into a strange mist, and he'd gotten separated from Anne. Then he'd seen a vision of his father. Many had seen strange events, some from their
