“I’ve never seen the needle act like this,” Vinicola says, his voice quiet, uncertain, as he leans over my shoulder. I can hear the tremor in his voice, the same fear crawling up my spine. But of course, there’s a fascination in his tone too—like always. Hetends to get hooked on the most ridiculous things. Dangerous things, too.
In a way, he fits with us—Zayan and me. We’re like that too. A specific sort of fucked up.
“Me neither,” I mutter, half to myself, half to him, my eyes fixed on the compass.
The needle trembles again, slow and unsure, wavering like a drunk trying to find his feet. It shifts left, then right, sluggish, like it’s tracing an invisible line it can’t quite follow.
“It’s changing again,” I say louder now, bitterness coating my words as I try to force calm into my voice. My fingers tighten on the wheel, a cold sweat prickling the back of my neck. The dread is rising, inching its way up my spine with every second that needle dances. “We’re close to something.”
Hell, I never thought I’d believe in anything leading me anywhere. My life has always been mine to steer, my fate mine to decide. But now? Now I feel like some puppet jerked around by invisible strings, and the worst part is, I can’t cut myself loose. Not yet, at least.
A sudden gust of wind hits the sails, filling them with a force that makes the ship lurch forward.
“Hold on!” I shout, bracing myself against the wheel as the deck bucks beneath my feet. Vinicola’s hands clamp down on the rail, his knuckles going bone-white as he clings for dear life.
I’m getting a serious case of déjà vu, and I don’t like it one bit.
The wind’s getting louder and colder. I scan the horizon, desperate to spot something—anything—that could explain the compass’s wild dance. Land. A reef. A passage made of sand shoals. Anything. But there’s nothing. Just the erratic needle and the heavy feeling pressing down on my chest like the sea itself. Like it wants to swallow me whole.
And then, like a whisper at the edge of reason, it hits me.
Could it be…?
It could. Damn it, it really could. Crazier things have happened out here, things no one believes unless they see for themselves. And this… it makes sense, in the worst way possible.
“I think our target’s moving!” I shout, gripping the wheel so hard I’m half afraid my hands will split open. They’re dry, cracked from salt and wind, and the pain in my fingers only adds to the tension winding tighter inside me. “Not land. Not something fixed. It’smoving.”
Vinicola’s face drains of color, eyes wide as saucers. “A moving target?” His voice cracks. “As in… something? Oh, no. I don’t want to think about what could be moving out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“This isn’t nowhere,” Zayan cuts in, his voice steady, calm, like the chaos of the storm is nothing but background noise to him. He bounds up the stairs to the helm, and even through the biting wind, I can see that familiar cocky glint in his eyes. He points ahead, toward the horizon. “Look—there are islands. Right beneath the clouds.”
I follow his gaze, squinting against the mist. Sure enough, there they are. Shrouded in fog, rising from the sea like ghosts, the jagged silhouettes of islands—three of them, maybe more—form a broken chain in the distance.
The compass in my hand twitches, the needle shifting, unsure. But then it circles back to those islands, like it’s made up its mind. It’s pulling us there, no question about it.
That buzzing hum at the back of my skull—that strange, insistent whisper I’ve been trying to ignore—it’s louder now, like the islands themselves are calling me out. Taunting me. And hell if I like it.
But what choice do I have? The compass brought us here, and whatever’s waiting for us beyond that mist, it isn’t going away.
“Those islands,” I say, my voice tight as the wind whips around us, “we need to get closer. The compass keeps pointing there, and... something’s not right. I can feel it.”
Zayan shifts beside me, his jaw tightening. “If you say so,” he says. But there’s doubt in his eyes. It doesn’t sit with him either.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To see the world beyond the maps, to challenge the gods and their curses? Well, here I am. But damn, it feels more like I’m being dragged into something I didn’t ask for.
We steer toward the archipelago, battling the waves inch by inch. Each swell is bigger, more violent, the air around us humming with a charge that makes my skin crawl.
As we near the islands, they become more distinct. Rocky cliffs rise abruptly from the sea, wrapped in a thick, swirling mist that seems almost alive. There’s no vegetation on the slopes—just bare stone and waves crashing against them.
I hate this place. I hate every inch of it. But at least the cliffs break the waves, keeping us from capsizing. Small comfort. Everything else here reeks of death.
“What is... What is this?” Zayan asks, his face twisted in a scowl as he points slightly to my side. My eyes follow his finger and...
That’s when I see it. A ship, suspended in the air, as if hanging by some invisible lines from the sky. It’s broken in half, bent, as if caught by something in the middle and squished like a wooden toy. Mist shrouds its entire bottom.
“Miss Captain?” Vinicola’s voice quivers.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. “Steady, Vinicola,” I say, though my own voice isn’t as steady as I’d like.What the fuck…?“Don’t panic.”
