Sleep refuses to remain with me. My chest keeps tightening because of what I saw earlier. The sensation does not leave me. I rise with the ship's sway, stepping past the others sleeping in hammocks and on the wooden floor.
Outside, I walk to the rail. My hand brushes the wet wood as I look out at the sea shimmering beneath the moonlight.
For some reason, the sight calms me. Is this one of them, Mother? One of the things you meant?
Yet my thoughts return to the three answers I am meant to find in the place my father wished for—Lumineth. He never told me to go. Still, I want to go. More than ever.
A drop strikes my hand. I look up. Rain—
DRUAK.
The ship lurches violently. I am thrown sideways, slamming into the wall. I force myself upright, looking at the sea, then the moon. Rain. High tide. A storm?
I move toward Captain Oliver. His hands grip the wheel tightly, forcing the ship to hold its course.
Should I wake him?
DRAM.
The ship shudders, struck by another wave. I fall again.
Of course.
"Sir," I call, trying to stand.
DRAK. Crates behind me topple and crash.
"SIR, WAKE UP!"
Oliver finally jolts awake. He seizes the wheel again and glances at the moon. "High tide, huh?!"
He pulls a bundle from his belt, opens a map, and scans it quickly.
"Wake everyone!"
—
Storm. Lightning.
"EVERYONE! LOWER THE SAILS!"
We work under the rain. Lightning splits the sky, sometimes only thunder without light. Rose and I haul crates inside and pull ropes, while Oliver, Santiago, Grizz, and Gruzz climb the masts and manage the lines. The captain shouts orders. Bartra watches the dark horizon.
"FASTER! MOVE!"
"Damn it, why a storm now? This zone should be safe!"
Rose struggles beside me, pushing crates as the ship throws us around. She falls once, hard. So do I.
Only a few crates remain. I set one down and pause to catch my breath.
"Exhausting, isn't it? I heard the captain did not even know this storm was coming."
I fall silent for a moment. "My instincts feel wrong. Something is off," I say.
"I feel it too. We do not have time. Come on."
—
Bartra stands high on the mast, sweeping the darkness with his spyglass. At first, nothing seems unusual.
Then something moves outside his line of sight. Then again. Closer.
Closer—until it strikes the ship.
He can only glimpse it when lightning tears open the sky. A shape. A shadow. Too large.
Another impact throws Bartra and the others off balance. Oliver slips from the mast and crashes down.
Moments later, he forces himself upright. "BARTRA! DO YOU SEE ANYTHING?!" he shouts.
"Grizz, Gruzz—secure the lines! Hiro, Rose—move!" Oliver commands.
"Oliver?!" Bartra lowers the spyglass. His face twists—fear and disbelief entwined.
Oliver turns. "WHAT—"
He freezes.
Rose turns as well. "WHAT IS THAT—"
She freezes.
Everyone freezes.
Oliver drops to his knees, his body shaking.
The captain near us trembles as well. "KRAKEN."
The storm batters the ship. I cling to the soaked rope, my fingers stiff with cold. Oliver and Santiago fight the waves ahead of me. We all brace for what comes next.
Suddenly, Grizz shouts from the foredeck. Two enormous yellow eyes rise from the black water. A thick, ink-dark tentacle lashes upward and slams into the stern, wrapping tightly. The ship jolts—violently—the wood groaning as if being torn apart.
"Santiago, fire! Rose, move! Captain, steady her!" Oliver shouts, his sword already drawn.
Rose runs below deck to retrieve her bow. Santiago pulls the trigger of his arquebus, but the soaked powder only hisses uselessly.
The ship tilts sharply to the left. The captain strains against the wheel, forcing it the opposite way, fighting to keep us upright.
Above us, perched on the upper rail, Bartra hurls stones from his sling at the creature. They bounce off without effect. I scan the railing—a small axe is tied there. I tear it free and begin hacking at the thinner tentacles crawling across the deck, keeping them from reaching the others.
Rose returns and fires. Her arrow sinks into the creature's eye. It recoils violently, and the ship tilts even harder.
Oliver sees what must be done. He leaps onto the stern rail and swings with all his strength. His blade cuts into the main coil. Crack. The tentacle snaps free. The ship lurches, then steadies.
The crew cheers. We breathe—briefly.
Oliver does not. He stares into the water.
A low rumble rises from beneath us. Not one—fifteen new tentacles erupt around the ship. Thicker. Stronger. They clamp onto both sides of the hull, crushing it. Water sprays through splintering boards as the ship is dragged downward.
The brief calm shatters. Two crewmen slip from the flooded deck and vanish into the storm-tossed sea.
Panic sweeps through the crew all at once.
This nightmare has only just begun.
Fifteen colossal tentacles clamp around the ship, crushing the hull from both sides. Water jets through the cracking boards. The ship sinks inch by inch. Captain Oliver shouts, his voice ragged. He grips his sword, but there is nowhere to strike.
He looks toward the lower deck. "Santiago! Grizz! Fire the hull! Now!"
He knows the cannons must fire from inside to blow away the tentacles gripping the vital beams.
Santiago and Grizz rush to the gun deck. Rose, her quiver empty, throws small knives at the limbs. Bartra hurls stones from the upper rail. None of it stops the collapse—it only delays it.
The helmsman collapses, exhausted, his arms trembling. Oliver takes the wheel, trying to counter the pull, but it is hopeless. The ship is locked, crushed.
I keep hacking at the thin tentacles near me, but I know it is futile. This is work for someone with no real skill. I am cutting crumbs in the middle of a dying feast.
Santiago returns, his face blackened with smoke. The cannons will not fire; everything is too soaked. They have tried everything. Oliver looks up. The fire in his eyes fades. He releases the wheel. The ship slips, tilts, and begins to sink.
I see Rose. Tears stream down her face—out of arrows, out of blades. Gruzz braces the mainmast, muscles straining as it begins to crack. Everyone is working, fighting with everything they have. They are sailors, gunners, warriors.
And me? I am dead weight. I grip my axe, swinging at things that do not matter. Leaving the small tentacles alone would change nothing. I stand here, watching people far more valuable than I am suffer. I am only a writer.
A violent crack thunders below. Freezing Atlantic water bursts through the deck. The hull splits open. We are going under. Horror spreads through the crew, and in the chaos, my eyes meet Oliver's. His gaze is empty, resigned.
But I cannot accept it. I cannot let their suffering end like this—cold, meaningless, swallowed by the sea. A desire rises within me—absolute, sharp, merciless. Not merely to live… but to end this nightmare in a way no one else can.
I know what I must do.