It was enough—barely.
The Leviathan thrashed, limbs writhing, blood pouring from the wound in thick rivulets of black and gold. One last thunderousscreech tore through the mist—then it plunged back into the depths, vanishing in a violent surge that sent waves crashing over the sides of the Black Marrow.
Silence followed—tense, broken only by the creak of the mast and the gasps of the crew.
We weren’t safe. We were alive. For now.
Garen sank to one knee near the mast, chest heaving, one arm hanging useless at his side. Marisol pressed a blood-soaked cloth into his hand without a word, already scanning the deck for the next crisis.
Eryk leaned over the rail, retching seawater and ichor, laughing breathlessly between gasps like he couldn’t quite believe he was still alive.
I inhaled, tasting salt and blood and ash on my tongue. My sword felt heavier than it should. Across the deck, Nerina leaned against a barrel, soaked, eyes fixed on the place where the beast had vanished. I didn’t call out to her. Didn’t move. Just watched her from where I knelt, drenched in ichor and seawater.
13
Nerina
The Forgotten Trench
We reached the ledge just before the trench swallowed the last of the light. A narrow outcrop carved from stone, slick with mist and moss, it jutted from the cliffside like a broken tooth. The Black Marrow anchored in silence—no oars creaked, no ropes groaned. Since the Leviathan’s retreat, not a soul dared speak. Even the sea seemed to still. The usual chorus of waves and rigging had fallen away, replaced by a thick, unnatural quiet that pressed against the ears like weight.
The ledge wasn’t the destination—just the only place the Marrow could anchor.
Alaric’s hand shot out, fingers biting around my wrist.
“I don't think so,” he said, low and final. “You’ll stay aboard.”
I yanked free, heat flashing through me. “You’ll have to chain me to the helm to keep me here.”
His eyes narrowed, storm-gray and dangerous. “Don’t test me.”
I stepped in close, fire meeting thunder. “And don’t mistake me for one of your crew who’ll bow and scrape because you snarl.”
His lips pulled into a grim line, but I saw the war in his gaze—fear and fury knotted tight. “Saints,” His voice roughened. “You’ll be the death of me.”
The silence between us hummed until at last he cursed under his breath and turned toward the rail.
“Fine.” His voice was rough. “You can come. But you’ll listen to me—every word. You doexactlyas I say.”
I gave a shallow bow, lips curling in a smile that wasn’t sweet in the least. “Aye, Captain. As you command.” The words dripped more mockery than promise.
The crew moved with reverent precision, still shaken, still bloodied. They lit lanterns to push back the suffocating dark. Their flickering glow barely penetrated the mist clinging to the ship, casting long, wavering shadows across jagged rock. The light felt fragile—too easily swallowed by the trench’s looming presence—but it was better than complete darkness.
The ledge stretched like a narrow spine along the cliffside, barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. Jagged rock walls loomed high on one side while the other dropped away into blackness, the sea below invisible beneath a curtain of mist. Each step felt like crossing into another world—older, darker, less forgiving.Moisture clung to every surface, slick and treacherous, and the wind carried no scent, no sound. Only a suffocating stillness.
The idea of venturing deeper on foot made my stomach knot. I would be slower than the rest. A liability. An easy target should something decide whether to strike again. Worse, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the ground itself resented my presence—like the trench knew I didn’t belong here.
I wasn’t used to my newfound legs—my sense of orientation still tuned to tides and currents, not this rigid earth beneath my feet. Each step was a negotiation with gravity, a betrayal of the sea’s embrace. My limbs ached in places I hadn’t known existed. Where I once flowed, I now stumbled. It felt like learning a new dance in the middle of a war zone—clumsy, exposed, one misstep from disaster.
On land, I was clumsy. Heavy. Each step felt borrowed, as though the ground might reject me at any moment. Even on the ship, with its creaking boards and rolling deck, I’d had to learn how to move again. The ocean cradled me. The ship tested me. The land—
The land endured me.
My calves trembled with every step, and the borrowed boots made the stone feel tilted, like the world itself wanted me back in the water.
Alaric had insisted I wear them— “You’re not running around barefoot,” he’d snapped—but they were more hindrance thanhelp. My balance wobbled, my muscles strained, every shift of weight sending a strange jolt up my spine.
I wasn’t just awkward. I was unnatural.
