Lucian makes a fair point, and I can't help but smirk. "Alright, smart-ass, what's your grand plan, then?"
"We'll go with Mirella," Seraphina declares, cutting Lucian off at the pass. "I would love to see the Ruins."
I can't help but snort at the look on Lucian's face. It's like someone just told him his favorite leather pants are out of style.
"No way, Cupcake. I'll go with Mirella, and you, with your sweet, angelic ass, will stay right here where it's safe. No arguments." Lucian fires back.
Gideon saunters in like he just battled Poseidon, taking a seat at our table. He pours himself a pint of ale and downs it in one go. "Got the ship righted, and we be on course to Tempest Isle."
"Great. How far is that from the Atlantean Ruins?" I fire back, my mind already racing ahead.
Gideon's brow furrows like a confused seagull. "Not far at all, love," scratching his beard. "It be on the way to that cursed Isle. Why do ye ask?"
"Perfect!" I exclaim, a grin spreading across my face. "We'll be making a little pit stop. Mirella, Lucian, and Seraphina will snag the scrolls, book, or whatever the hell it is while we continue to Tempest Isle. Gideon, you'll drop us off and follow up to wait for our little mermaid squad."
Rhyland, quiet as a predator on the hunt, finally breaks his silence. "Damn, baby," he drawls, a flirty smirk playing on his lips. "When the hell did you become such a badass military strategist?"
Erik clears his throat. "I do believe the Little Huntress has learned from the best; by that, I mean myself." He punctuates his words with a wink, and I can't help but let out a snort of laughter.
"Oh great," Lucian cuts in, throwing up his hands. "Erik’s getting an ego boost now? Just what we need. Nope, sorry. That’s my gig. You can take your newfoundswagger and fuck right off with it, pal. There's only room for one charming asshole in this group, and that spot's already taken. I mean, really, what's next? Rhyland learning to smile? Dani making a bad decision? The apocalypse is clearly upon us, folks! Batten down the hatches and prepare for the end times because Erik just tried to be funny. May the gods have mercy on our souls."
I can't help but laugh, shaking my head in amusement.
Erik arches an eyebrow. "Lucian, your insecurity is showing. Perhaps if you spent less time trying to assert your supposed charm and more time honing your wit, you wouldn't feel so threatened by a mere quip. As for your role in this group, I believe 'court jester' would be more fitting than 'charming asshole.' But fear not. Your position is secure. After all, someone needs to provide comic relief, even if it's unintentional. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters than engaging in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent."
Erik quickly gets up from the table and stomps off, and I damn near choke on my tongue at his retort. Knowing him, he's probably off to sharpen his sword for the millionth time until it can split a hair lengthwise.
Lucian's jaw drops, his eyes wide as saucers. For a moment, he sputters incoherently, clearly caught off guard by Erik's unexpected verbal jab.
"I... you... what... did you just... holy shit-balls on a stick! Did Erik just... sass me? Am I having a stroke? Is this real life? Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming. Or maybe I've died and gone to some bizarro alternate universe where Erik has a personality. Quick, someone check if pigs are flying outside!"
He dramatically clutches his chest, faking a heart attack. "Oh, the pain! The agony! I've been wounded by words sharper than Erik's usual glare. How will I ever recover from such a devastating blow to my ego?"
Still perched on his lap like the world's most angelic armrest, Seraphina giggles. Her laughter is clear and musical, like a chorus of tiny bells. It starkly contrasts Lucian's theatrics, and I can't help but smile myself.
"Alright, Count Dracula," I drawl, fighting back a smirk. "Maybe save the theatrics for the sirens? You can distract them with your Oscar-worthy performance while the rest of us snag the lyre."
He drops the act, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Why, Princess, you wound me. And here I thought my skills deserved at least a Golden Globe nomination."
"In what century?" I scoff, arching an eyebrow. "The 1500s? Your acting's about as fresh as a decomposing corpse."
Poor Mirella sits there, eyes wide like saucers, watching the exchange unfold. She looks utterly bewildered at our sassy and smart-ass barbing.
Meanwhile, the captain is in stitches; deep belly laughs rocking his broad frame as he slams another pint of ale.
Seraphina's giggles die to soft chuckles, but amusement still dances in her eyes. I can't help but marvel at the scene before me—here we are, on the brink of a potentially world-ending clusterfuck, and we're cracking jokes like it's just another Tuesday night.
But you know what? Maybe that's precisely what we need. A moment of levity before we dive headfirst into the cosmic shitstorm that awaits. Because if we can laugh in the face of danger, maybe—just maybe—we've got a shot at coming out the other side with our sanity intact.
Rhyland
63
The cave entrance looms before us like the gaping maw of some ancient, eldritch horror, a yawning void that seems to swallow the very light itself. The cave mouth is framed by twisting vines and what looks like two female statues.
The dense forest surrounding us is a claustrophobic tangle of gnarled trees and twisted vines, their leaves rustling in the faint breeze like the whispers of long-dead spirits. The only sound is the distant roar of a waterfall, its thunderous echo reverberating through the stillness like the heartbeat of some slumbering titan.
It's taken us the better part of the day to trek to this godforsaken spot, with Erik Dani and myself loaded down like pack mules with enough gear to supply a small army. Water, food, and enough vials of Dani's blood to keep us going if shit hits the fan. We took one dose on the ship before we hit ground.
