A rugged, bearded pirate-like man stands in a tavern doorway at sunset, holding a wooden mug and a treasure chest.

The stranger came at dusk, a dark silhouette against the crimson sky. His heavy boots thudded on the cobblestones as he climbed the hill to the inn. Billy Bones was no ordinary traveller; he was a weather-beaten giant, wrapped in a tattered sea-coat that smelled of salt, smoke, and secrets. His scarred, sun-cracked face was framed by wild grey hair, and his piercing, watchful eyes glimmered like wet steel beneath his heavy brow. When he entered the Admiral Benbow, the room fell silent. Even the fire seemed to shrink back as his shadow crept across the walls. His gnarled hands, covered in faded tattoos, trembled slightly as he set a battered chest beside him. “Rum,” he barked, his voice as rough as crashing waves. Jim obeyed at once, sliding a mug across the counter. Billy Bones drank deeply, the clank of the cup echoing through the quiet inn. “Keep your eyes open for a one-legged man,” he muttered darkly, his gaze fixed on the door. “If he comes asking for me—say nothing.” His words hung in the air like smoke, heavy and threatening. Outside, the sea roared against the cliffs, calling to him like a jealous lover. Inside, he sat hunched by the fire — a broken relic of the ocean, haunted by ghosts only he could see. The wind whispered his name, and for a moment, even the flames seemed to listen. See more