A cold prickle traced my spine. The sensation of unseen eyes pressed against my skin.
The trench did not welcome us. It tolerated us.
And the longer we stayed, the deeper the unease settled, crawling beneath my skin like a chill that refused to fade. The air thickened with a silence too deep. Too unnatural.
Somewhere below, the water shifted—not a wave or current. A vibration. A flicker of movement at the edge of my vision that didn’t belong. I blinked, heart hitching. When I looked again, the water was still.
Probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. Or the trench.
12
Alaric
The Forgotten Trench
Gods keep their secrets deep; they always have.
The air pressed heavier against my lungs, thick with rot and old salt, crawling down my throat like a warning I was too late to heed. Whatever bargain I’d once believed in—whatever foolish hope had dragged me here. Standing at the trench's edge once more, I knew better. The ocean did not give. It only took.
Something in my chest caught, sharp and sudden. The old pressure bloomed beneath my sternum, familiar as hunger, as if the sea itself had pressed a thumb there and said yes — you again.
I hadn’t escaped from this place.
I had only beenallowedto leave.
I adjusted my grip on the railing, watching as the waves lapped lazily against the hull. A ripple spread across the surface.
Something watching.
I found myself looking forward—to her.
Nerina stood at the bow, her posture rigid, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of whatever thoughts plagued her. She had been like this since we entered the trench—silent, watching, listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear. The wind tangled in her damp hair, strands sticking to her cheek, but she didn’t move to push them away. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she looked… excited, like we were going to a street fair.
Most people feared this place. She looked like she was drawn to it. The thought unsettled me.
I had pulled her from the sea, but she was still a mystery to me. The way she carried herself, the way she reacted to the sirens, how her magic burned too brightly, it all pointed to somethingelse, somethingmore..
Whatever called to her from the depths, it was louder here. I could see it in the way she tensed, the way her fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach for something unseen.
For a moment, I let my gaze linger on her. I had spent years chasing answers, tracking old maps, sifting through myths that held just enough truth to keep me searching. I had never believed in fate or coincidences. The longer I spent in herpresence, the harder it was to ignore the feeling that ourpaths had already been tangled long before I pulled her aboard.
I’d already given her a piece of the truth. What harm could a little more do? Besides, she wouldn’t even know it wasn’t just some salty tale passed down in taverns and around campfires. That was the beauty of stories—they let you bleed without ever looking wounded. If she knew what the quartz truly meant to me—what I thought it could do—maybe she'd start asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. I didn’t care if she trusted me. All I needed was for her to break this curse. I wasn’t even sure how she would do it. I knew—deep down in the marrow of me—that she could. I could feel it. Unexplainable. Irrational. Like the pull of the moon on the tide, it defied reason. The moment I saw her touch that shard, something inside me shifted. The ache in my chest dulled, the gnawing edge of hunger slipped back like a tide. That’s how I knew—whatever it was, it was working. The hunger dulled. The ache eased.
I hesitated, then flexed my fingers against the rail, forcing my voice even. "Let me tell you a story." It wasn’t a lie—notexactly.
She glanced at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes. I looked back toward the trench, watching the waves ripple unnaturally against the rock. The way the story sat heavy on my tongue, like it wasn’t just words, but a confession I wasn’t fully ready to give.
“There was once a pirate who thought himself clever. He’d heard the stories—whispers of power and treasure buried beneath the waves, locked away in forgotten places. He ignored the warnings. Thought himself different. Thought he could take what he wanted and sail away unscathed.”
A gust of wind cut across the deck, chilling the salt air.
“No one ever saw him again,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Only his ship—adrift, empty. No crew. No sound. The ocean swallowed him whole. Some say he got what he deserved.”
The air pressed close, heavy with brine and something older. Wrong.
“Others say he was just a fool who didn’t know better. But the truth?” I paused. “He was cursed—marked by the sea itself. He tried to bargain with a force that doesn’t deal in mercy. He wanted more time. More power. More life than he was owed.” I turned toward the dark water. “And the ocean doesn’t forget.”
A familiar weight settled in my chest—the kind that came with standing too close to something inevitable. The trench pulled at me, a sensation I’d felt once before. Long ago.
