The Oracle was gone. Not faded.
Removed.
The Maelstrom surged in her absence, pressure snapping back into place like a trap resetting. Whispers clawed at my thoughts, hungry now that restraint had lifted.
I didn’t wait for doubt to take root.
The path out burned through the current—clear and unmistakable. Toward the Veil.
Toward the abyss the Tidekeepers warned against in voices too careful to trust.
My mark pulsed once—hard and insistent. I kicked forward, letting the Maelstrom tear at my heels as I fled its grip.
One thing was certain.
Whatever lay ahead, I could not turn back now.
4
Alaric
The Black Marrow, Morgra’s Cove
We were heading for a cove—nameless, shrouded in secrecy, but one I knew well. We needed to recharge before facing the Forgotten Trench. The supplies hidden deep within its shelter were our only chance of surviving what lay ahead.
The sea had turned a sickly green-gray, frothing with unease, the horizon smeared with storm light and menace. My crew moved with grim efficiency, eyes flicking skyward and toward the waves, every motion betraying a quiet dread. They didn’t speak of it, but we all felt it—the ocean had gone unnaturally still.
EvenThe Black Marrow, for all her cursed power, demanded magic to sustain her. It was part of the price. Part of the binding that kept her afloat after all these centuries. The magic didn’t make her invincible. It kept her functioning—barely. Without constant reinforcement, the curse that bound us both would tear her apart plank by plank.
She had been my father’s ship once, feared across every sea—not just for speed or firepower, but for the dark magic woven into her bones. I used to dream of captaining her one day, imagining I’d inherit her like a crown passed from one king to the next.
That was a long time ago. Back when I didn’t know any better. Back when I thought power made a man noble, and fear was the same as respect.
I idolized him—even when I shouldn’t have. Especially when I shouldn’t have.
The name came from what lay beneath her surface—her core, a fusion of wood and something older. Something unnatural. My father used to sayThe Black Marrowhad a hunger of her own, that she drank in blood spilled across the waters, whispered to those who listened. He claimed she had a soul—one as black and unrelenting as his own.
Romantic stuff, really—if you like your bedtime stories soaked in death and bad decisions.
It had been his pride and obsession until death pried the helm from his cold, greedy fingers and left me holding the weight of his curse.
The cove loomed ahead, dragging me out of the past and into the present—because none of it mattered if we didn’t survive the night.
Natural barriers of jagged rock and treacherous currents guarded the cache, faintly glowing symbols etched into thesurrounding stone adding another layer of defense. The cove carried a reputation in whispered sailors’ tales—a place charted by no map, avoided by anyone who valued their life.
Currents twisted near its mouth, as though the sea couldn’t decide whether to let you enter or drown you for trying. Shipwrecks littered the nearby reefs, their bones left untouched as warning. Only those who knew its rhythm—its moods—could hope to find safe passage.
Few dared approach the place, and fewer still could penetrate it. It was the kind of place most sailors avoided, but for us, it was salvation.
Morgra claimed the symbols were alive, attuned to intent—repelling the malicious and guiding the worthy. Naturally, I chose to be flattered. Not every day a cursed pirate gets calledworthyby glorified sea graffiti.
Hidden within the formations were caverns and overhangs, shrouded in shadow even at high noon. Salt crusted the stones, evidence of tides that guarded as fiercely as they gave. A dense canopy cast the cove in perpetual twilight—ensuring only those who knew exactly where to look ever found the cache.
The ship’s enchanted systems relied on more than ropes and sails. They demanded essence-laced crystals and vials of distilled moonlight—ancient, volatile, dangerous to handle.
This power didn’t just keepThe Black Marrowafloat. It tethered her to the curse, keeping the malevolent forces in her hullcontained. Without it, the ship would falter, and the storm looming on the horizon would surely claim us.
The supplies weren’t simply hidden—they were crafted and guarded by the witch who dwelled here. Morgra had history with me and my crew, a relationship balanced delicately between partnership and distrust. Her aid was never free. It came wrapped in warnings and exacting demands.
