I stare down at the compass in my hands, the needle still pointing unwaveringly to the starboard side. My grip tightensaround the key, slick with blood that’s somehow smeared across its intricate engravings. My heart is racing, and the truth is…I have no idea what I’ve just done. I don’t even know what this thing is, let alone what I’ve just unleashed.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammer, my voice cracking. “There was a voice in my head... it told me to—“ I break off, shaking my head because—well, how do you explain a voice that isn’t yours, but feels like it’s living inside your chest? “I couldn’t resist it.”
The madman—the one who was just about ready to rip my throat out—takes a slow step toward me. His eyes, dark as the depths of the sea, are no longer wild, but there’s something worse there now. A quiet menace.
“What did it sound like?” he asks.
“Huh?” I blink.
“The voice,” he repeats, his eyes narrowing. “What did it sound like?”
Describing sounds has never been a problem for me. That’s usually my forte. I can capture melodies and voices like butterflies, pin them down with the right rhythm and words. But this… This was no song. It wasn’t even a sound, really—it was more like…a weight. A pull, deep in my bones, like someone tugging on a string hidden under my ribs.
“It sounded like the sea,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth before I’ve even fully processed them. And the moment they’re out there, I know it’s the only thing that fits.
The man with black eyes scoffs, his lips curling into a bitter smile. He turns away, casting a glance up at the sky as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the clouds. His whole body tightens.
“You’ve just started something you can’t possibly understand,” he mutters. There’s resignation in his voice.
Miss Captain catches up with him, stepping forward. She cocks her head to the side and presses the muzzle of her pistolagainst the man’s temple. The click of the hammer being drawn back slices through the heavy silence. The man doesn’t stop her.
“You better start explaining,” she growls, her voice hard as steel. “What did he just do?”
The madman’s eyes flick to me, then to the compass still clutched in my hands. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, he lets out a long, weary sigh.
“It’s called the Trial of the Sea,” he says. “A rite as old as sailing itself. That compass...” He gestures to the object in my trembling hands. “It’s the invitation. The moment you accept it, it becomes a map—a path. And he just accepted it.”
My stomach drops. I accepted a what now?
Miss Captain’s eyes narrow, sweat beading on her brow despite the cold breeze blowing across the deck. “And the voice he heard?”
He meets her gaze, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “The Lady herself.” Almost as if daring her, he turns his head into the barrel of her gun, pressing it harder against his skin. “So youdoknow some things.”
I swear I can feel the temperature drop. For a split second, Miss Captain’s face changes—just a flicker, but it’s there. Surprise? Recognition? But just as quickly, her expression hardens again.
“I never said otherwise,” she says smoothly. “And I didn’t try to kill you for no reason. You threatened one of ours.” Her eyes flick to me, and I swallow hard. “So why would the goddess bother with him?”
“I don’t know why she talks to anyone. Who knows why the sea does what it does?”
Miss Captain’s jaw tightens, her finger twitching on the trigger. For a moment, I think she’s going to pull it. But then, with a growl of frustration, she lowers the gun just enough to point at his chest instead of his head. She steps back.
“Who are you?” she demands. “And why did you have this?” She gestures with her chin toward the compass and the key dangling from its side.
Zayan stumbles into the scene, breathing heavily. He looks like he’s been running for hours, his usual sharpness dulled by whatever nightmare this shipwreck has become.
“My name’s Fabien Rancour,” the madman replies. “And all you need to know is that key was mine by right. You stole it and set off an avalanche you can’t stop.”
“By right? What do you mean?”
But before she can press further, I interject, the name Rancour ringing in my ears. “Wait...” I say, my voice shaky. “TheRancour?”
Miss Captain turns to me, her eyes demanding answers, her brow furrowed in confusion. I clear my throat, the words of an old song coming to me unbidden, as though pulled from the depths of my memory.
And then I recite it—the lines that have traveled across the seas.”
“Once there was a boy, Rancour by name,
He sailed with his parents, seeking fortune and fame.
