The crew moved faster, their fear palpable as the storm on the horizon began to creep closer, lightning arcing across the sky. The air grew thick with electricity, the first fat drops of rain splattering against the rocks. The Black Marrow’s timbers groaned, a low, almost sentient sound that seemed to echo the ship’s impatience.
I kept my hand on my cutlass, my eyes scanning the cliffs for any sign of movement. If the Covenant struck now, they wouldn’t just aim to kill—they’d dismantle everything. They’d expose The Black Marrow’s secrets, slaughter the crew, and take what they wanted without hesitation. The thought of them getting their hands on the artifact—or worse, discovering its value to me—sent a jolt through my spine. There was no room for mistakes.
Pain lanced through my chest as the ship pitched. Pain lanced through my chest as the ship pitched. My vision tunneled, my throat tightening uselessly.
The artifact flared.
Not bright. Not wild.Precise.
The curse seemed to dampen. Just a fraction. Enough to notice. Enough to feel like a lie whispered directly into my bloodstream.
I froze.
The burn receded another inch, the pressure behind my eyes easing, the hunger clawing at my throat quieting to a low, manageable ache.
I hadn’t imagined it.
The artifact was responding to the storm. To the magic in the water. Tome.
For the first time since the curse took hold, I could breathe without agony tearing me open.
Hope flared. Wild. Dangerous.
Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t passive.
If the Covenant caught us, it wouldn’t just be the end of my crew—it would be the end of everything.
A piercing whistle cut through the wind. “Movement—astern!”
I spun just as a flare screamed upward behind us, hissing through the rain before bursting into harsh white light. It painted the cliffs and waves in stark relief—and silhouetted the Covenant ship tearing through the storm behind us.
They’d been running dark. Now they wanted us to see.
Their vessel was lean and purposeful, sails reinforced with iron-threaded canvas that caught the wind clean and fast. No sigils. No glow. Just ruthless design. Lanterns were shuttered low, their hull riding the water with disciplined precision.
They weren’t chasing blindly. They werecalculating. They were herding us.
A second flare arced overhead—then a third—marking our path, hemming us in. The Covenant wasn’t trying to cripple us yet.
Steel screamed as something tore through the rain. “Harpoon!”
The bolt slammed into the water off our port side, skipping once before sinking, a thick chain hissing after it. Another struck closer—too close—gouging the hull with a shriek of tearing wood before snapping free.
The crew scattered, swearing, hauling lines and ducking low as more iron bolts followed.
I felt it then—a pressure crawling along my spine, cold and invasive. Not magic. Attention. The weight of trained eyes watching our every move.
And beneath it all, the artifact spiked, heat flaring violently against my chest, it recognized pursuit.
If the Covenant caught us, it wouldn’t just be the end of my crew. It would be the end of everything.
But The Black Marrow answered anyway.
Her cursed magic surged through the hull, a violent shudder rippling from keel to mast as the wind snapped hard and full into our sails. The ship leapt forward, waves splitting cleanly beneath her bow.
Eryk fought the helm like a man wrestling a living beast, instincts dragging us through the narrowing channel ahead.
Jagged rocks erupted from the sea without warning, black and slick, looming like the gaping maw of a sea monster too polite to chew with its mouth closed.
