“Vini said he saw a fin cutting through the water,” she says, her tone ice-cold.
“I-I did,” Vinicola mutters.
A fin? That could mean only one thing—sharks. It’s not that far off either. There’s no vegetation in the sea bed, we’re in an open sea with lost of visibility and space for sharks to hunt.
If anything, this is the perfect hunting ground for sharks. No hiding spots for the prey, no tangled seaweed or coral reefs to get in the way, just open water and vulnerable, exhausted swimmers.
As fucked up as it is, it doesn’t surprise me at all.
“How big was it, Vini?” I keep my voice light, like I’ve got this.
It’s okay.
Thing is, I’ve taken down sharks before. Hell, once I did it bare-handed. The tale I spun makes it sound like some heroic triumph—how I wrestled the beast down, sharp-toothed skin shredding under my grip, yadda yadda. Truth is, I got lucky. Really lucky. Brave, sure. Reckless, definitely. But mostly just dumb luck.
The skin of a shark’s like rubbing up against a bed of daggers, tough and sharp, like the thing’s built out of razors. Stabbing it underwater? Nearly impossible unless fate’s in your corner. That time? It was. The bastard got distracted by the taste of my own blood in the water, and when he grazed his side against the wreckage, thankfully it wasn’t wood he brushed against.
I can just hope that I’m lucky again.
“H-Huge,” Vinicola stammers. “At least f-four times the size of a man. Maybe bigger. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Fuck. Not okay. It’s not okay anymore.
Gypsy’s gaze locks onto mine. I catch that flicker of worry in her eyes—she’s putting up a front, but I see past it. “We need a plan,” she says, her voice tight, urgent. “We can’t just sit here waiting for it to strike.”
She’s right, of course. We’re sitting ducks, clinging to this pillar with no cover, no weapons, nothing but nerves to keep us company.
But that’s not even our biggest problem, is it now? I need to keep diving. The sand needs to be brought into the gouge.
“I’ll be on the move,” I say, feeling my pulse drum faster. “Sharks like movement, don’t they?” I turn to Fabien. “Hand over your sword, will you? Something tells me I’ll need it more than you.”
Fabien hesitates, hands gripping the hilt tight, his wide eyes flashing with fear. He’s supposed to be the big, hulking brute, but right now? I could destroy him in a moment.
Finally, he nods, his hand trembling as he passes the sword to me.
“Stick by the pillar, and don’t start flailing around,” I throw over my shoulder, words coming out steady, though my own nerves are itching to bolt. I don’t dare glance at Gypsy—catching her eye now would only make it worse, crank up that raw edge of fear to a deafening pitch.
They say sharks can smell fear in your blood. Can pick it up like a scent on the breeze. That’s why I don’t look Gypsy’s way. She’s my fear. So I do what I do best—I shove it down, keep my grip tight, and dive, sword in one hand, shell in the other.
The water closes around me, cool and dark, each heartbeat loud enough to count. My eyes stay wide open, scanning the depths for that dark shape Vinicola mentioned, the one lurking out there somewhere.
Turns out the chatterbox wasn’t lying. There it is—a hulking shadow cutting through the water, so big it could swallow me whole without even trying. I knew it would be massive, but seeing it up close? Hell, it’s a damn monster.
A pulse skips in my chest as the beast glides past, sleek and silent as death itself.
Alright, Zayan. No sudden moves.
I grip the hilt of my sword, knowing damn well it’s as useless. But if I can at least scratch this thing, maybe buy us a few extra breaths before it decides to make a meal of me.
It circles me slowly, as if it’s sizing me up, deciding when and how to strike. If I were in some other open waters, somewhere far away from the gateway, where apparently laws of nature do not really matter, I would probably just try to ignore it, do my thing and hope for the best.
Sharks don’t always try to attack. Sometimes, they circle out of curiosity, trying to figure out if you’re worth the effort. But this isn’t just any shark, and this isn’t the time to gamble.
When it comes closer, my heart leaps into my throat.
This isn’tjusta shark. It indeed doesn’t belong to this world.
Its fins are elongated, almost too sharp to be natural. Its eyes are black with a pinpoint of white in the center, and there’s a mark etched into its forehead—a symbol, maybe even a rune. The Lady’s handiwork, no doubt. She sent this beast here.
