Welcome, dear readers. It has been too long. Whether you're a first-time reader of this story or a returning reader here to see the polished product, I'm thrilled to be here for you again. Truly.

AU Notes: AU after DMC. Governor Swann and Lord Beckett oversee Port Royal together; that's probably the biggest "change". This story was first published a week before AWE came out. Also, historical boo-boo: when writing this, I was referencing a map of Port Royal pre-1692 earthquake and didn't know it (our story takes place in 1730). Whoops.

Prologue

A figure blew passed the window of the blacksmith's shop in the alley.

Will looked up just in time to see it disappear.

He put down the ax he was finishing and walked over to the window carefully, pushing the thick wooden shutters aside to look down the alley. It was completely empty, save for the stray cat hissing at him atop a barrel. He bent his brow, looking up towards the other end.

Nothing.

"Master Turner! I've finished!"

Slowly, Will leaned out of the window with his eyes still fixed on the alley. He knew he had seen someone there, and there was little chance a drunkard would be out of sight that quickly.

He forced his eyes away from the still darkness of the alley and walked back into the main floor of the shop. His young apprentice stood next to the small oven, and Will picked up a sword as he approached him. The boy stiffened a little.

When Will laid the end of sword on the anvil, Nathaniel did the same, laying it next to Will's in comparison. He held his breath as his master's eyes examined his work, and to his surprise, Will smiled.

"My congratulations," he said. "You have just made your first sword. A fine job done."

Nathaniel grinned at his compliment, lifting the sword. Will saw the excitement in his eyes. He felt the same way after successfully making his first sword for Mr. Brown years ago. The method seemed to work. Will's smile grew at the memory and the reflection of himself standing in front of him.

"Keep it."

The fifteen-year-old boy looked up at him uncertainly. "Sir?"

"Go on," Will insisted. "Take and keep it before someone else does. It's something to be proud of. Something to measure yourself against in the future."

"Thank you so much!"

Will nodded his consent as he picked up a rag and cleaned his hands from the long day.

Nathaniel hurried to collect his things on his way to the door. He turned back to Will, tipping his hat.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening."

The boy opened the door and left. The November chill passed through briefly, and he shuddered. It was getting colder at night, and he mentally searched his quarters for the spare blanket.

He proceeded to do the customary rounds before he closed. He straightened up the woodpile next to the brick oven, hung up the horseshoes he would need for Mr. Travers the next morning, washed up, and unlit the oil lamps around the shop.

He slipped on his coat, making his way over to Mr. Brown's donkey, Mary, to settle her for the evening. He petted her gently until she kneeled on the floor in a large pile of fresh straw. Will added more to the pile.

"You'll need it tonight, girl," he smiled, buttoning his coat.

He smote the last lamp next to him, starting up the stone stairs to the door.

As his hand went to reach for the handle, a loud, long creak came from behind him. He spun around, looking around in the dark. His eyes then fell on the dim light at the back of the shop.

The back door was swinging open freely without a breath of wind to help it.

Mary immediately stood up and made noise. Will reached instinctively for the sword he kept hanging next to door and brandished it to the unknown dark. Somebody was in here, and he had been right about someone being in the alley. And he knew it was no drunkard, not by the way his hackles were raised.

They were in the shop.

His arm stopped moving the sword about as he tried to see a glimpse of a moving figure. He wanted to shush Mary so the he could listen, but it might give him away. Slowly, Will took a step down towards the center of the shop. His eyes were sharp, his back was straight, his hand was ready. He waited.

A hunk of wood fell from the woodpile ten feet away. He looked in the direction, but he saw nothing but the log falling.

He was getting angry. He felt not only threatened, but vulnerable.

The figure moved out of the shadows behind him. He silently raised a sword, and it shined fully in the light it caught from the alley. His footsteps made no sound. Then, he held the sword directly out in front of him, parallel to the ground, until the tip gently touched the small of Will's back.

Will straightened. He took a deep breath.

"Turn around," a familiar voice said.

Will went to obey, but he tried to raise his own sword in defense. Instead, the attacker took a surprise swing at him with his sword, and Will dropped his.

The man came forward swiftly, grabbing the collar of his coat tightly. He was now prodding at his stomach with the sharp blade. Will gave the man a look of disgust.

Their eyes locked.

The figure pushed the sword forward, penetrating Will's coat, shirt, and skin. The blacksmith's eyes grew, but the anger did not leave them. The darkness around him began to spot colorfully until it engulfed him, and the man let him slip to the ground.

His body hit the ground with a soft thud as the intruder pulled the sword from Will.

"And just for good measure."

The man thrust it into him forcefully once more.

Without a second look back, the man moved towards the back entrance. He stepped out into the stagnant air of the alley, shutting the door without much sound. Mary kept bucking and crying out.

As this happened, Nathaniel came running back up to the front door to the shop. He pushed on the door, thankful that Will had not left yet. He rushed inside.

"Sir! Of all things, I left my... sword..."

He slowed, taking in the eerie silence that filled the vast, hollow space of the shop beyond Mary's outlandish behavior. He had never been in the shop when it was this dark and empty before.

He stepped forward cautiously, making for the nearest lamp next to Mary's bed. He went over, taking the lamp from its sitting place and lit it. He kneeled next to Mary, cooing her.

"It's alright," he said. "No reason to be afraid of the dark now."

Mary did not cease her bucking, and Nathaniel was getting frightened.

"What's wrong, girl?" he asked, trying to hold her down. Mary bucked more. "It's alright."

Suddenly, the boy took a hard hit to the face and flew backwards after Mary's hoof collided with his cheekbone. He touched his stinging face in surprise as he sat up. He looked at the donkey in utter confusion. What had her so riled?

Nathaniel was about to try to stand up when he placed his hand in a thick warm liquid on the floor behind him. His brow furrowed. He lifted his had in disgust, but his hand was not black.

It was a deep red.

Nathaniel's breathe quickened as he looked at his hand. It was blood. Not his own blood, though. He wasn't bleeding.

Eyes wide with fear, the boy slowly turned around and screamed.