Cyril Bernard, the captain of The Siren looked down at a pile of papers on his desk with frustration in his eyes. The crew had hit yet another dead end for the search of the Touch of Midas. He silently cursed as he crumpled up a piece of parchment into a ball and threw it across his cabin. The old fortune-teller was no good nor were any of the leads he was able to pick up from land locals and other pirates alike. It was like trying to find a penny in an ocean. Although the chances of ever finding the Touch of Midas was slim; Cyril himself was adamant on continuing the search until the day he died. 

It had been surprisingly calm the last few weeks out in sea. It wasn't normal at all; since a pirates' life was spotted with dashing adventures and daring fights. Yet, the tranquility was somewhat soothing to Cyril despite the fact that he lived for such danger. A sigh floated out of his mouth; and he slammed his head against the desk as his eyes closed. The Captain drifted off into a dreamless dream, until the ship jerked him into consciousness. 

He stood up, struggling to keep his balance as he flung open his door to be met with an angry storm. His crew scrambled to keep the Siren together as the unrelenting gales and water bashed against her. The sea had finally decided to have her way of breaking the peaceful silence. He grabbed on to a rail, his eyes fixated past the rain and the gray clouds; he would have to find a way out of this, and fast. 

"Keep her holding, boys! We'll get through this one," he shouted.