The ghost ship slid silently through the fog, its decaying frame cutting through the waves without making a sound. The mist around it clung like a shroud, distorting its outline into something unnatural—like a predator cloaked in a dream.
Darion stood at the prow of the Wraithwind, every muscle in his body taut as he watched the shape emerge from the gloom. Wind whipped his coat, and his sword hand itched with the faint heat of the flame slumbering beneath his skin. The compass on his belt pulsed like a heartbeat.
Around him, the crew bristled with tension. Marek gripped his axe like it might vanish if he let go. Kellen stood with his musket primed, sweat streaking the soot on his face. Seraphina had already vanished into the shadows, poised to strike at the first sign of trouble. Even Crow, usually detached and amused, stood beside the helm with one hand clutching a talisman of silver and bone.
"It's not manned," Kellen muttered. "No sails adjusted. No steering. No crew. It shouldn't be moving like that."
"It's not moving," Crow said quietly. "It's being pulled."
Darion turned toward him. "By what?"
Crow met his gaze, eyes haunted. "By us."
A stillness fell over the crew at those words.
Then the ship groaned. Not theirs—the other ship. A deep, aching creak that sounded like a whale's final song, dragged from the depths of the world's sorrow. The vessel glided closer, its rotted hull lined with barnacles and algae-black stains.
And then they saw it: the figurehead.
It was no noble maiden or roaring lion—it was a skull. Massive, twisted, carved from petrified wood and stained with centuries of rot. And its eyes glowed faintly blue.
"The Abysswalker," Crow whispered. "It was a myth. A ship swallowed by the Deep. It's said to reappear every generation when a bearer of fire is marked."
Darion swallowed. "You could've told me that earlier."
"I was hoping it wasn't true."
The Abysswalker pulled up beside the Wraithwind, silent as a grave. Not a single rope was thrown, yet the two ships were now drifting side by side, hulls scraping.
And then a voice carried across the water.
"Come aboard, Fire-Bearer. The dead are waiting."
Darion turned toward the sound. It had come from the ghost ship's deck—but no one stood there.
"We can't just go over," Marek said. "It's a trap!"
"They already know we're here," Darion said, drawing his sword. "And if they wanted to kill us, they'd have done it already."
Seraphina appeared at his side. "If you're going, I'm going with you."
Darion nodded. "Kellen. Marek. You too."
Kellen grunted. "Remind me to never accept another job from a flaming swordsman."
They crossed via a plank lowered carefully between the ships. The moment Darion's boots touched the deck of the Abysswalker, the air around them changed. It was colder here. Still. The fog didn't drift—it clung.
The deck was a ruin of splintered wood and moss-covered crates. Skeletons lay in heaps, some with weapons still clenched in hand, others bound to masts or nailed to doors. The ship wasn't abandoned—it was a tomb.
Darion stepped cautiously forward. "Stay alert. Something's still here."
And then the doors to the lower decks opened on their own.
A low moan echoed from below.
Without hesitation, Darion descended.
The others followed, torches flickering in their hands.
Below deck, the walls pulsed faintly with light—like the ship had veins. The air was thick, wet, and humming with a strange resonance, like a thousand whispered prayers spoken underwater.
They moved slowly, eyes scanning.
Then they saw her.
A woman, chained to the center of the hold. Her hair was a wild tangle of silver and black, her skin pale but unmarred, and her eyes glowed faint blue.
She looked up as they entered.
"You're late," she said softly.
Darion froze. "Who are you?"
She smiled. "The one who's been dreaming of fire."
Crow stepped forward. "That's impossible. She looks like—"
"The Sea-Witch," Seraphina said quietly. "But she died decades ago."
The woman laughed. "They say I died, yes. But the Abyss does not release its own. I've been here, watching. Waiting. For you."
Darion stepped closer. "Why me?"
She tilted her head. "Because you carry the mark of flame. And because you're not the first. The one who came before failed. He let the fire consume him."
"Who?" Darion asked.
She whispered, "Your father."
The room froze.
Darion's jaw clenched. "That's not possible. He was—"
"Taken by the sea," she said. "Yes. But not drowned. Not dead. Changed. He bore the mark and lost himself in it. Now he sails with the Depthless."
Darion reeled. Images flashed through his mind—his father's final voyage, the storm, the silence afterward. The empty funeral. Had it all been a lie?
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
"Because I want you to succeed," she said, eyes glowing brighter. "And because if you fail, the Abyss will wake fully. It will swallow everything. Even the stars."
Suddenly, the ship lurched.
Something had gripped it from below.
They rushed to the deck.
Through the fog, beneath the sea, something vast moved.
Tentacles—dozens of them—began to coil around the hulls of both ships.
"The Depthless!" Crow shouted. "It's here!"
Darion's blade ignited.
Seraphina screamed as one tentacle burst through the railing and hurled Marek into the air. He slammed into the mast with a sickening crunch.
"Back to the Wraithwind!" Darion ordered.
But the plank had snapped.
"No choice," Kellen growled, firing shot after shot into the writhing limbs. "We fight or die!"
Darion surged forward, slashing a flaming arc into a tentacle rising toward them. It hissed and recoiled.
Another struck from the side, sending Seraphina sprawling. She landed hard, groaning.
Darion spun and caught another tentacle mid-swing, cleaving it clean in two. Black ichor splashed across the deck, sizzling on contact.
Below them, the ship cracked.
It was going down.
The Sea-Witch had somehow freed herself. "Take this!" she shouted, tossing Darion a glowing shard of crystal. "The Core of Wakefire. It will lead you to the Heart!"
Darion caught it. It pulsed like his compass—but stronger. Hotter.
"Go!" she screamed. "Before it swallows you too!"
Darion grabbed Seraphina's arm and ran. Kellen and Crow followed, barely dodging the snapping limbs as the Abysswalker was dragged into the depths.
Darion found a coil of rigging, tied it fast, and leapt, swinging across the gap with Seraphina.
They hit the Wraithwind deck hard.
Kellen came next, landing rough but alive.
Crow didn't follow.
Darion turned to see the old man standing at the rail of the ghost ship, cane in one hand, an ancient smile on his lips.
"This was always my end," he said. "I'll buy you time."
And then the tentacles enveloped him.
The Abysswalker was gone.
Swallowed whole.
The sea calmed as if nothing had happened.
Darion stood panting, soaked in salt and sweat, holding the crystal that now glowed even brighter than his flame.
The compass was dead.
But the Core pointed forward.
Toward Gravesend.