Something else—older. Darker.
At first it was only a blur between flashes of lightning. The next bolt revealed it: a hulking, jagged silhouette cutting through heaving water with unnatural precision.
A ship.
Unease settled into my bones.
Rain lashed my skin like shards of glass. Thunder rolled through my chest, echoing fear clawing at my throat as the shadow closed in.
Hope surged—then drowned just as quickly. It wasn’t a savior.
It was a predator.
As jagged sails and towering shape loomed closer, a snarl of determination broke through the fear.If this is the price of truth—fine. I’ll pay it.Every warning surged back. Every tale about the Veil. I could almost hear my mother’s voice, heavy with disapproval.
What if the Oracle had been wrong?
What if I’d chased answers that didn’t exist?
Lightning flared, and the ship seemed to grow larger—unstoppable, cutting straight through the storm. My crescent mark began to pulse, faint at first, then urgent—like a second heartbeat hammering beneath my skin. It burned hotter than ever, responding to panic, fear, desperation.
That was what it always did. But this was deeper.
I clutched at my chest, gasping as the pulse overwhelmed my senses.
A wave slammed the ship’s hull, sending a hollow echo down through the water, as if even the ocean feared it. I tried to swim—but exhaustion finally won. My vision blurred, edges darkening as the storm and cold swallowed me.
A final thought flickered through the haze—fear and defiance tangled tight. Was this fate?
Or my choice all along?
The deep wrapped around me, cold as a verdict. For the first time, I wondered if I’d been swimming toward salvation—or straight into damnation.
Fear clawed at my mind. So did exhaustion.
But beneath both, something else stirred. Defiance.
A stubborn refusal to surrender.
If this was the end, I would meet it on my terms. But something told me—
This was only the beginning.
The last thing I saw was the ship’s monstrous shape cutting through the waves before darkness claimed me.
6
Alaric
The Black Marrow, On Course to the Forgotten Trench
The storm hadn’t let up.
The wind shrieked, wounded and furious, claws tearing at the sails as rain lashed the deck in blinding sheets. The Black Marrow surged forward—unyielding, reckless—nothing left to lose, nothing willing to break.
The Forgotten Trench was still far off, but the ocean already felt wrong. Restless. Taut.
No one spoke of turning back, but I felt their silent prayers torn from their mouths and scattered by the wind. The Forgotten Trench wasn’t just dangerous—it was forbidden. Older than the oldest maps. Deeper than any sounding dared to reach. Every sailor knew the stories: voices in the dark, ships swallowed whole, magic that twisted minds into something unrecognizable.
