The first cannon struck the Leviathan’s flank, a thunderous crack swallowed instantly by the sea. Smoke filled the air. Wood splintered. Men shouted. But the cannonball hit the beast as if it were stone—no, worse, as if the Leviathan barely registered it.
The creature moved.
A whip of its tail—longer than the Wraith herself—surged up from the deep and slammed against the sea beside us. The resulting wave smashed sideways into the hull, heeling us over so violently our crew slid across the deck like spilled dice.
Oscar nearly went over. I caught him by the jacket, hauling him back as another reverberation rippled through the ship.
“She’s taking water below!” someone screamed.
“She’ll take worse if you don’t reload those bloody cannons!” Val shouted.
The Leviathan dove, and the whole sea seemed to collapse inward as its massive length disappeared beneath the surface.
“Brace!” I bellowed.
The water exploded upward.
The creature struck the Wraith from below with such force that the deck buckled, lantern glass shattered, and three sailors were thrown clean off into the midnight-black tide.
Their screams didn’t last long.
The sea swallowed them.
Or the Leviathan did.
“Morwenna said we can’t kill it!” Oscar gasped, clinging to the rail as the ship lurched again.
“We don’t need to kill it,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “We just need to survive it.”
Another impact—this time the beast scraped its entire body along the starboard hull, the sound a grinding wail of woodmeeting scale. Sparks from dragged cannon chains lit flashes of teal-green through the dark as the Leviathan circled us like prey.
Emille’s voice rose from below deck.
“Pump faster! She's flooding fast—if it breaches again—”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to.
The Leviathan’s head surged out of the water directly before the bow—towering above us, dripping gallons of black tide from its ridge-lined snout. Its mouth opened—rows upon rows of curved, ivory fangs—and the air trembled with the force of its roar.
Not sound.
Not merely sound.
A vibration that settled into my bones like a verdict.
“Rose,” I whispered again, because saying her name was the only prayer I had left.
“Captain!” Val screamed. “It’s coming again!”
I lifted my sword—not because a sword would do anything, but because a man should face his death with steel in his hand.
The Leviathan lunged.
Teal-green light surged along its scales, brightening into a terrible, bioluminescent blaze. Water erupted around it as it arced toward the ship, mouth opening wide enough to take the bow in one swallow.
Then—
