“I’m not here to cheer you up,” he replies calmly, still meticulously cleaning the gun. “I’m here to remind you why you’re doing this. Why you can’t afford to give up, no matter how high the stakes or how impossible the odds seem. You think this crew’s the first to call you mad? I know you hear them praying each night before they sleep.”
“They can pray all they want,” I say, my voice sharp. “It doesn’t faze me. I gave up on gods long ago, but if their prayers keep them from losing their nerve, I won’t stop them. They might still have a chance at salvation, even with a soul like mine at the helm.”
The words open a chasm inside me, vast and consuming. Thick, metal chains unwind from around my heart, and hellfirethreatens to engulf me. Pain. This fire is pain, and there’s a desperate need to extinguish it. I extend my hand towards Ridley, silently pleading for my gun. It’s the only thing that keeps the flames in check.
He hesitates, his eyes meeting mine, searching for something—what, I don’t know. The wind whips around us, tearing at our clothes, but we stand there, locked in this moment. He nods, solemn, like he thinks he understands.
Ridley doesn’t understand a damn thing.
He thinks he does, sure. Thinks his soul is as blackened as mine, like we share the same torment. But he’s wrong. His pain is nothing compared to what burns inside me.
Finally, he hands me the gun. “Will you go straight away?” he asks, his voice low, barely audible over the howling wind. “There’s a buzz in the air. Stronger than usual.”
“That’s why I need to move fast,” I mutter, clutching the cold metal in my palm.
This ship—this wreck—might be my last chance. If what I’m looking for isn’t here, I’ll have to start over. It’ll mean retracing every step, re-reading every scrap of information, reconnecting with people I swore I’d never deal with again. It’ll mean I’ve wasted five goddamn years chasing a lie.
But no, I’m not wrong. All the signs led me to this place. Whatever I need is on that ship. It has to be.
I grip the gun tighter, my knuckles white. I’ve survived everything thrown at me so far, but the real battle hasn’t even begun. I haven’t left a single mark on my enemy yet.
The fire inside me rages hotter, consuming everything. If I don’t find a way to release it soon, it’ll burn me alive.
And then who’s going to avenge my family?
“Be careful,” Ridley says, his voice soft, his eyes lingering on me for a beat longer than usual before shifting to the shipwreck.It sits there, pierced by the rocks like some cursed monument. Exactly like that damned song describes.
It’s a chilling sight, sure. Maybe it would’ve made me shudder once. But the part of me that used to feel fear? It’s long gone. Burned to ash, just like everything else.
The deck’s quiet, just the two of us standing here like fools while the rest of the crew huddles below, praying to whatever gods they believe in. They’re convinced this place is haunted. Fuck, they’re probably scared stiff right now, thinking the ghost of some sailor will crawl out of the sea and drag them under. One of them even swore that just looking at the wreck would mark us all with the sea’s curse.
Pathetic.
They’ve seen me walk out of places they wouldn’t dare set foot in. They’ve watched me pull relics from ruins, handle objects they wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Yet here I stand, unmarked, unscathed. You’d think that would be enough to shake some sense into them.
But fear’s funny that way. It grips people, blinds them. Just like pain used to do to me—before I learned to turn it into something useful.
Contrary to what it may seem, though, I do believe in curses. I believe I am a victim of one. Real curses, however, do not come in the shape of mares on the water, the undead crawling onto the shores, or mermaid songs.
No, real curses come from within. They creep into your head, twisting your thoughts, turning your memories into nightmares. Those are the curses you can’t shake, the ones that stay with you long after the danger’s passed.
This wreck? It’s tied to one of those curses. And that’s why the crew might be right to be scared this time.
This isn’t just some bitter wife’s tale about a husband who never returned, or a story spun by a treasure-mad merchantto keep people away. No, this place hums with something real. Ancient. Powerful. It calls to me.
“It won’t take long,” I say. I tighten the straps on my swords, holster my gun, and pat down my gear. Daggers, right where they should be. Everything in place.
I descend the helm and head toward the skiff tied to the hull. The crew may be too superstitious to set foot on this thing, but I’ve got no choice. I need to see what’s waiting out there.
Magnus, my little cactus in a jar, clicks against my belt as I walk. The sound grates on my nerves—it’s a dead giveaway to anything lurking in the shadows. But leaving it behind isn’t an option. I need to have it on me at all costs, always.
I lower the skiff into the water, glance back at Ridley for a brief nod, then jump down. The black water sways beneath me, unsettling me the moment my feet hit the wood. My stomach churns. I grip the oars tight, trying to steady myself, but the nausea sticks, coiling inside me like a snake ready to strike.
Fucking water…
I grip the oars, steadying the skiff as best I can, and start rowing toward the shipwreck. It feels like I’m gliding through liquid night—thick, black, and impossible to read. Each stroke of the oars sends ripples that vanish into the abyss, swallowed by the darkness.
Even the foam looks sickly—grey and lifeless. It clings to the surface like a disease, spreading with every dip of the oars. A sign of something rotten underneath. Something festering. Infectious.
