“And what do you see when you look at them?” I asked.
“I see broken trails, missing stars, and questions no map was ever meant to answer,” she said. “They aren’t guides—they’re riddles. Half-truths. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe they were never meant to lead us somewhere real—just far enough to get lost.”
The words hung between us. For a moment, neither of us spoke. In the silence, I felt what was coming settle deeper in my bones. This journey—whatever it was—would only get darker from here.
Nerina had power, yes, but she’d never been forced to wield it with intent. She didn’t know what it meant to fight for survival. Not really. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep shielding her—from the sea’s hunger, from the crew’s doubts, from the world waiting to tear her apart.
I leaned against the table, studying her. Training her meant giving her the tools to survive. It also meant admitting how dangerous the path ahead was.
Could she handle it?
Could I?
The ship was growing more dangerous, the artifact’s instability worsening, and Nerina was at the center of it all. The shard pulsed faintly, a subtle hum vibrating through the planks beneath my boots. The runes carved into the Black Marrow’s hull flickered, struggling to hold—cracks spiderwebbing through them with each passing hour. Whatever power the artifact held, it was unraveling something ancient, something beyond my understanding.
Her magic was powerful, sure—but wild. Undisciplined. From what I’d seen, she barely knew how to control it, relying more on instinct and luck than any real technique.
Magic is only useful when you’re the one holding the reins—not when it’s dragging you behind it.
She needed more than power.
She needed control. Discipline. Something to anchor her when magic alone wouldn’t be enough. If she didn’t learn restraint, the sea—or the men aboard this ship—would decide it for her.
I watched her for a long moment, then asked, “Do you even understand your magic? How to use it? How to control it?”
Nerina looked almost embarrassed. She straightened slightly, fingers tensing on the armrest—but she didn’t need to answer. Her silence, the way her gaze dropped for the briefest moment, said enough.
No. She didn’t know how. And she knew I could tell.
“You need to learn how to fight,” I said finally. “And not just with magic. You need to understand its limits before it becomes a crutch.”
She raised a brow. “I know how to fight.”
I smirked, tilting my head. “No. You know how to wield magic—kind of.That’s different.”
She frowned, gears grinding behind that sea-glass stare. I pushed off the table, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Magic can’t always save you, Nerina. And when it fails, you’d better know what to do with a blade.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy with something unspoken. Nerina’s fingers curled against the armrest, knuckles whitening as she steadied herself. Lantern light flickered, casting shifting shadows over her face, but she didn’t look away. The tensionin the room thickened—not just from what was said, but from everything left unsaid: the weight of choice, of trust, of survival.
The ship creaked beneath us, a quiet reminder that the world outside wouldn’t wait for her decision.
Then, slowly, she nodded. “Fine,” she said. “Teach me.”
“That’s more like it.” I nodded—and wondered if I’d just forged the blade that would someday be pressed to my throat.
15
Nerina
The Black Marrow
Alaric looked at the dagger lying between us.
“Again,” he said, voice flat.
Moonlight spilled in thin ribbons across the planks. The blade clattered to the deck before I’d even steadied my grip. My legs wobbled beneath me—traitorous and unsure, still not fully adjusted to the constant give of the Black Marrow’s deck. Balance was a war I fought every day, each step a small rebellion against muscles not meant to stand this long.
My palms stung. Salt wind bit at my skin as I bent to retrieve the weapon, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment climbing my throat. The crew wasn’t watching us—not openly—but I could feel their eyes, their judgment tucked behind every glance, every scoff muffled by the crash of waves.
