Morgra didn’t help me out of loyalty or kindness. She helped because curses like mine had a way of spilling outward when neglected—and she preferred to keep disasters contained. All she asked in return were small favors, though her idea ofsmallnever matched mine.
The storm that first night nearly tore us apart. The rocks shifted with the tide, eager to gut the hull. Only the faint glow of runes guided us through.
Deeper in, the cove opened into a hidden plateau behind a roaring waterfall. Beyond it lay Morgra’s sanctuary. The air grew heavy. Bioluminescent fungi cast shifting light across stone and spray.
To activate the passage, I had to recite an incantation taught to me by Morgra, many moons ago—words that still felt foreign on my tongue.
“Sic itur ad astra.”
The words left my mouth like salt off an old wound—familiar, but never easy. Every time I spoke them, I felt the cove respond, like it remembered me... or was deciding whether to let me through again. I never asked her what it meant.
This cove had saved us, its jagged cliffs shielding the ship from the worst of the winds. My father would have never hidden, never sought refuge—he believed a true pirate faced the storm head-on, crushed his enemies before they had the chance to strike. It was a lesson he drilled into me from the time I could hold a blade, his voice a constant echo even after he was gone.
When he died, leaving The Black Marrow and all the weight that came with her in my hands, I had to decide whether to follow his path or carve my own. I had learned that brute force wasn’t always the answer. Sometimes, survival meant knowing when to slip into theshadows.
Barrels of infused water, rare minerals, and the specialized components required to recharge The Black Marrow’s enchanted systems were stacked neatly, but they hadn’t gottenhere on their own. Now, with the storm closing in and danger trailing on the horizon, I had to wonder if this sanctuary would save us again—or if this was the part where the sea finally cashed in on all its outstanding debts. Spoiler: the sea always collects.
Then came Morgra—part specter, part sentry—emerging from the shadows like a secret too long buried. She moved with that same unsettling grace, each step slow and inevitable, like the tide coming in. The crew stiffened around me. I exhaled. Of course. Just what I needed: a prophecy wrapped in seaweed and bad intentions. If there was a contest for ‘Most Likely to Curse You While Smiling,’ Morgra would take first, second, and third place.
The crew practically scattered at her approach, each one finding an urgent task that kept them as far away from her as possible. Garen, usually the calmest among us, tried putting on a brave face while muttering something about checking the rigging—a solid fifty paces away—his white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword betraying his unease.
Even Eryk, my helmsman–steady as a compass and twice as stubborn–kept his distance. Years at sea had carved him into something weathered and sunburnt, all roguish grin and sea-bitten edges. His hair was the color of old rope, wild and wind-tossed, his eyes that impossible shade of blue that could talk a storm into behaving. There wasn’t a man alive who could hold a line steadier or curse louder when things went to hell, but even he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
Her staff struck stone—slow, deliberate.
“Captain,” she rasped, her voice carrying an eerie calm that suggested she enjoyed watching my crew squirm. “You return, as I knew you would, my little Sea Rat. Always scurrying back when you need something shiny.”
“We don’t have time for pleasantries, Morgra,” I said, straightening. “The storm’s closing in.”
She chuckled, a sound like the creak of old wood, brittle and full of secrets she had no intention of sharing. “It always is.”
She gestured to the supplies with her staff, and the crystals within the barrels began to hum faintly. Wisps of light danced from her fingertips as she worked, her enchantments infusing the essence-laced crystals with renewed power. Nearby, she opened a small vial of liquid moonlight, pouring it carefully into one of the containers as its glow illuminated the cavern in a soft, spectral light.
I crouched beside a barrel, inspecting its contents. The liquid shimmered faintly, rippling without touch—moonlight in a bottle, temperamental as a goddess on a bad day. This was The Black Marrow’s lifeblood.
“Do not mistake our agreement for mercy,” she said. “Every favor has a cost.”
I clenched my teeth. “Name it.”
Morgra’s smile widened, slow and wicked. “Later.”
The word sank into my chest like a hook. Morgra’s remedies never erased the curse—they only rearranged it. Relief came first. The pricealwaysfollowed.
Before I could press her—
“Cap,” Eryk’s voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to find him standing at the edge of the clearing, his expression grim. “We’re not alone.”
The Covenant. It had to be. And if they were this close, it wasn’t by accident.
Henever did anything by accident.
The last time our paths had crossed, I barely escaped with my life—and that was before I carried anything of value. That encounter had left scars. Now, their presence so close to the cove meant only one thing: they were hunting something far greater than supernatural creatures. They were searching for something—something powerful.
My gut churned at the thought. “Get the supplies on board. Now,” I snapped.
They were more than just hunters; they were parasites, feeding on the power of beings they could never hope to understand.
And The Wolf, their leader? He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t just hunt the supernatural. He studied them. Twisted them. Dissected them.
