Toward the relic she was meant to find, and whatever power waited buried in its bones.
It was late but the sky turned black too quickly even for night — the star dimmed.
It started with silence. A stillness that pressed in on the Argo like a held breath. Even the wind seemed to falter, sails sagging as the ship rocked gently on a strangely flat sea.
Maris jolted awake in her cabin.
Something was wrong.
She sat up sharply, her pulse quickening. The sigil on her palm buzzed faintly with alarm. Somewhere above her, boots thundered across deckboards.
A scream cut the dark. A splash. Another voice shouting orders. The shrill, telltale sound of blades drawn.
Maris grabbed her cloak, bolted barefoot into the corridor, her body swaying with the sudden pitch of the ship. Water slammed against the hull. Wind returned wild and unnatural.
She emerged onto the upper deck just in time to see it breach.
The creature was a mass of slick limbs and iridescent scales, its shape shifting with the moonlight. Tentacles long as sails cracked against the ship’s side, wrapping the railing and crushing it like paper. A gaping mouth opened — lined with rows of teeth like jaggedobsidian. One crewman was already gone. Another was dangling, screaming, before being pulled under. The battalion began to form a line around it to fight it off the deck.
Maris stumbled, falling hard against the stairs as the Argo tilted violently. Someone caught her.
Alarik.
His bare arms wrapped around her as he steadied her upright, his chest bare —hair disheveled. He smelled like salt, wind, and magic itself.
“You shouldn’t be up here Maris,” he growled, voice low but edged with panic.
“You shouldn’t be half-naked,” she shot back without thinking.
He gave a brief, humorless grin turning toward the beast.
Maris had never seen magic like his.
Alarik raised his arms, and the air around him fractured with silver-blue light. A hum pulsed through the planks beneath their feet as faelight gathered at his fingertips like a starburst. With a single commanding motion he threw his power outward.
The blast hit the creature mid-lunge.
It screamed a high, bone-rattling screech that shattered one of the sails and reared back, writhing in agony. But it wasn’t enough.
It came again. This time reaching out a limp and knocking over crew and warriors alike. The tip of the slimy tentacle began to wrap around Maris's ankle —dragging her down. Serenya attacked from above, firing arrows at the creature to no avail.
Alarik surged forward, as it began to pull her toward the broken railings edge. His hands glowed with runes that hadn’t been there before. Water rose up guided by his light on both sides of the ship — like summoned spirits the waves shaped like blades crashing down as one.
The beast split in two.
The creatures grip released Maris and what was left of it sank —staining the sea black and red in its wake.
Alarik stood at the bow like a king from myth, chest heaving, skin glowing faintly with residual power. Blood and water streaked down his side. Behind him, the crew stood frozen silent with awe and fear.
Maris pulled herself up and stepped toward him on weak knees.
“Are you alright?” she questioned, softly touching where blood lingered on his flesh.
He turned, gaze sweeping over her. “I'm fine, it's not my blood. Are you?”
“Yes, it only got my ankle.”
He exhaled, "It could've pulled you under Maris." Some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
