Morgra’s appearance matched her magic—unsettling. A hunched figure wrapped in tattered, seaweed-like layers that writhed when caught in the light.
My crew, usually fearless, suddenly found the deck very interesting. Impressive, really—how Morgra could make hardened killers reconsider their life choices without saying a word. Her skin was pallid, etched with swirling symbols that pulsed faintly, as though the tide itself powered them. Molten-silver eyes glinted beneath a heavy brow. Damp, kelp-dark hair clung to her face, making her look more tide than flesh.
Her ties to the supernatural ran deep, making her invaluable—and deeply unsettling. Morgra always demanded a price, one that shifted with each visit. Sometimes a rare token. Sometimes knowledge. Sometimes a promise that weighed heavier than gold.
Because of the supplies’ volatility—and Morgra’s terms—it was safer to leave them here than aboard the ship.The Marrowdidn’t need recharging often, but when she did, we always came here.
Knowing full well the cost would come later.
Morgra muttered often about how the curse traced back to Meris’s vengeance—a punishment designed to ensure no freedom came without consequence. She spoke of the sea goddess as one who neither forgave nor forgot, her wrath as unrelenting as the tides. According to Morgra, the curse wasn’t just retribution for mortal greed—it was a warning. The crystals carried whispers of that wrath. The moonlight distilled Meris’s watchful gaze, ensuring the ship would never escape her grip.
The crystals hummed with raw energy, capable of burning through flesh if mishandled. The moonlight shimmered in its glass vials. Transporting the supplies demanded precision; one mistake could turn the ship into a floating tomb.
“Cap’n,” Garen called from the quarterdeck, his voice strained. “There’s somethin’ ahead.”
I strode toward him, my boots thudding against the deck. “Something?”
He handed me the spyglass without a word. Raising it to my eye, I scanned the waves until the scene focused. I sighed under my breath as I saw the debris. Nets, empty cages, and broken traps bobbed on the surface, their designs all too familiar.
My father’s designs.
His trade hadn’t been limited to gold. He’d hunted the supernatural—sold bodies to the highest bidder. He braggedabout the efficiency of his traps, about tools that left no chance of escape.
Seeing them here—used by the Covenant—left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Among the wreckage floated lifeless forms. Merfolk. Scales dulled and torn, beauty ruined by human greed.
The scent hit next—salt thick with blood and rot. I remembered it too well: sunbaked crates lined with silver hooks, rusted tools stained with old magic, his voice calling them trophies. My gut twisted.
One mermaid’s glassy eyes stared upward, her once-vibrant fins shredded, dangling like ribbons in the current. The traps and nets were cruelly efficient, their jagged edges and barbed hooks leaving no chance of escape. A bitter reminder of humanity’s insatiable appetite for power.
“The Covenant,” I muttered, my voice low and venomous. The wolf’s mark was unmistakable. They weren’t just hunters; they were zealots, driven by a twisted belief that supernatural beings existed solely for their exploitation. Their methods were brutal, their resources vast, and their determination unrelenting. Encounters with them never ended cleanly—they either claimed what they wanted or left ruin in their wake or both.
For my crew, their presence was more than a threat; it was a promise of pain. These weren’t the careless snares of amateur poachers; they were the meticulously crafted tools of hunters who knew exactly what they were doing. The Covenant didn’tfear balance or consequence. They burned straight through it—fast, brutal, and careless.
Garen’s face darkened. “What do we do, Cap’n?”
I lowered the spyglass, my grip tightening. “We’re not here to pick fights. Keep us on course to the cove. But keep your eyes open. If they’re this close, they’re up to something.”
The crew whispered among themselves, unease growing with every shattered trap we passed. Garen’s jaw clenched as he stared into the water. For once, he said nothing—understanding the danger without needing to voice it.
The cliffs rose ahead—jagged, imposing, a wall between us and the open sea. To me, it looked like a terrible idea waiting to happen. Rock teeth big enough to gut a whale. Water that pulled like a noose. A calm that felt less like peace and more like a predator pausing before it struck.
The magic here was different. Old. Tangled. Permissive.
Unlike the rest of the world—where land would tear me apart—the cove bent the rules. Not freedom. A loophole. A crack in the goddess’s design that let me walk without agony.
Men like me weren’t eliminated—we were monitored. As long as I hunted monsters worse than myself, the sea tolerated my existence.
AsThe Black Marrowslipped into the cove’s shelter, the storm’s weight eased. The cliffs shimmered with brine. Rune-carvedstones whispered with unseen energy. Silence pressed too tightly to be natural.
“We don’t have much time,” I said, addressing the crew.
Eryk was already at the helm, his stormy blue eyes scanning the shores, sensing the currents of the air itself. Garen barked orders, his gruff voice cutting through the tension as the crew sprang into action.
The cove was untouched, just as I had left it—hidden behind jagged cliffs and whispering mist. It had been my refuge once. I’d found it not long after the curse took hold, when the sea still burned against my skin and my men hadn’t yet learned to look at me without fear.
Morgra found me here. Or maybe she was waiting. She came out of the fog like a ghost in rags, eyes bright with knowing. Offering me what I needed to keep the ship alive—timbers that would never rot, sails that mended themselves, supplies that appeared with the tide.
