The Grey Expanse had a thousand faces, and this morning's face was "Dead Calm."
After the storm last night nearly broke the ship's spine, the ocean was now as flat as a giant sheet of grey glass. There was no wind. The sails hung limp, like wet shrouds. The Banshee's Wail bobbed lazily, moving only with the unseen underwater currents.
Elian sat at the edge of the deck, his legs dangling over the railing. In his hand, a piece of hardtack dipped in fish soup served as breakfast.
His body felt strange.
His muscles were stiff and sore, as if he had just been beaten by a giant—which technically happened due to the waves slamming him around last night. But beneath the pain, there was a new density.
Elian looked at his left hand. The Ring of Weight still coiled around his index finger, black and inconspicuous. Its weight remained the same, pulling his hand down with cruel gravity. But Elian realized he no longer had to think to lift his hand. His body automatically allocated extra strength to his left shoulder and arm, a terrifying subconscious adaptation.
"Daydreaming again, Eli?"
Jax, the young sailor whose life Elian had saved, approached carrying a coil of hemp rope. He sat beside Elian without asking, violating the privacy boundaries Elian usually guarded closely.
Elian turned slowly, his gaze flat. He bit into his bread, not answering.
"Don't look at me like a dead fish," Jax chuckled awkwardly. He reached into his dirty trouser pocket and pulled out a small object. "Here. Grum told me to give this to you. He said, 'For the little rat who knows how to use a knife'."
The object was a strip of smoked jerky. It smelled sharp, spicy, and slightly sweet. It was Shark Jerky, a luxury food on the ship usually reserved for officers.
Elian hesitated. In this world, nothing was free.
"Just take it," Jax urged. "You saved my head from that iron pulley. And you killed those parasites. The crew... well, they still think you're weird and bad luck, but at least they know you're useful."
Elian took the jerky with his left hand. The ring's weight forced him to grip the meat harder than necessary, leaving finger indentations in the dried flesh.
"Thank you," Elian whispered—words he rarely spoke in his mute role, but Jax deserved them.
Jax's eyes lit up.
"Your voice... really sounds like a noble girl's, you know? No wonder your 'aunt' told you to shut up. In Stormwatch harbor, a voice that smooth could get you kidnapped in five minutes."
Elian chewed the jerky. It was tough, but the explosion of protein and salt instantly cleared his head.
"Hey, Eli," Jax lowered his voice, glancing toward the bridge where Captain Barossa was arguing with the Navigator. "Do you know why we're heading to Silent Bay? Not an official port of the Kingdom of Noctis?"
Elian shook his head. He knew it was a smuggler's route, but he didn't know the details.
"Our cargo," Jax whispered, his face turning serious, a shadow of fear crossing his young eyes. "I don't know what's in it. But the crates in the Lower Hold... they're cold. Even in the storm yesterday, no ship rats dared to go near that area. And sometimes... I hear whispering."
Elian stopped chewing. "Whispering?"
"Like... the sound of people praying. Or crying. I don't know," Jax shuddered, rubbing his arms. "Captain Barossa was paid a fortune by men in black robes in Stormwatch to take this to Noctis. I have a bad feeling, Eli. A very bad feeling."
Jax stood up, patting Elian's shoulder. "Be careful. Don't go down to the Lower Hold. Anyone caught peeking down there loses their eyes, like the Captain."
Jax left, leaving Elian with the taste of jerky suddenly bland on his tongue.
***
By midday, the ship was still trapped in the Dead Calm.
The lack of wind made the atmosphere on the ship tense. The sailors were irritable. The heat of the sun hidden behind thin clouds made the deck humid and stifling.
Elian looked for Lunaria, but his teacher had vanished. Most likely meditating atop the main mast or hiding in the shadows of the folded sails.
Jax's words kept spinning in Elian's head. Whispers. Cold crates.
Elian was a Scout in training. Curiosity was his nature, and his curse. And warnings of danger were like invitations to him.
Elian waited until the afternoon shift change. While Grum was busy distributing rum rations to calm the restless crew, Elian slipped away from the crowd.
He didn't go to his cabin. He headed for the narrow stairs at the back of the ship leading to the main cargo hold.
The hatch door was padlocked with a heavy iron chain.
To an ordinary person, this was a dead end. But to Elian, who had been taught by Lunaria about material structures...
Elian pulled a small wire from under his cloak—wire he had scavenged from sail repairs. He inserted the wire into the padlock's keyhole.
Click. Click.
Not magic, just physics. The pins inside the lock shifted. Lunaria once said, "Man-made locks are just illusions of security."
The padlock opened. Elian removed the chain slowly to avoid noise.
He opened the hatch door. The smell of cold air and old metal rushed out, contrasting with the humid air above.
Elian descended into the darkness.
The Lower Hold of The Banshee's Wail was vast and pitch black. Light from the floor cracks above provided only minimal illumination. Hundreds of wooden crates were stacked there, tied down tightly to prevent shifting during storms.
Elian lit his light crystal, dimming it to the minimum—just enough to see his footsteps.
He walked past rows of rum barrels and spice crates. His Nature Sense began to work.
Here, in the belly of the ship, Elian felt a distortion.
If the ocean Mana outside was wild and fluid, the Mana in the far back corner of this hold was... dead.
There was a void there. A small black hole in the web of natural energy.
Elian approached the area.
There, separated from the other cargo, were three black iron chests covered in faded red rune carvings. The chests were dust-free, a sign they were checked often.
Elian placed his hand on one of the chests.
Cold. So cold it penetrated the skin and touched the bone. Not ice cold, but the cold of nothingness.
And Jax was right. There was a sound.
Not a physical sound, but a resonance picked up by Elian's dragon bones.
...hungry... free... feed...
Goosebumps rose on Elian's skin. This wasn't a ghost. This was something worse.
Elian checked the chest's lock. It was a magic lock. He couldn't pick it with a wire. But there was a small crack in the corner of the chest, perhaps damaged by the storm impact last night.
Elian peeked through the crack.
Inside the chest, he saw chunks of dark purple crystal pulsating dimly. The crystals looked like sick hearts.
Void Shards.
Elian's eyes widened. He covered his mouth to stifle a gasp.
This was forbidden material. Shards from another dimension left over from the war 300 years ago. The Holy Church of Celestia exterminated anyone possessing them. But why were these being sent to the Kingdom of Noctis?
These crystals could be used for two things: Making weapons of mass destruction that magic shields couldn't block, or... as a catalyst to summon Void creatures.
"You have a dangerous hobby for a kid your age, Eli."
The heavy, gravelly voice made Elian's heart stop for a second.
Elian spun around, the Karambit in his left hand already half-drawn.
On the stairs, stood Captain Barossa. His single eye shone in the darkness, his flintlock pistol aimed straight at Elian's chest. Behind him, Grum stood with a large meat cleaver.
"I told your aunt," Barossa said, stepping forward slowly. "No questions. That's rule number one on this ship."
Elian was cornered. Enclosed space. Opponents were the Captain (likely Warrior Tier 3 or 4) and the Cook (Tier 2). He couldn't run.
Elian raised his hands slowly, dropping his Karambit to the floor as a sign of surrender. Not the time to die foolishly.
"You opened the Lower Hold," Barossa said, kicking Elian's Karambit away. "You saw the cargo?"
Elian nodded stiffly.
"And you know what it is?"
Elian nodded again.
Barossa snorted roughly. He lowered his pistol but didn't holster it.
"Smart kid. Too smart," Barossa muttered. He turned to Grum. "What should we do with this little spy, Grum? Plank? Or shark bait?"
Grum looked at Elian, then at Elian's bandaged hands—hands that had peeled fish for him all day.
"What a waste," Grum said, his voice sounding disappointed. "He's a good fish peeler. And he saved Jax. Throwing him overboard will make the crew restless, Captain. They believe this kid has strange 'luck'."
Barossa seemed to weigh his options. He was a merchant, not a psychopathic killer. Killing a passenger who had paid a fortune (Lunaria gave a lot of gold) could bring trouble, especially since he knew 'Lena' (Lunaria) was no ordinary woman. If this boy died, that woman would rampage and destroy his ship.
"Listen, Kid," Barossa brought his scarred face close to Elian's. The smell of tobacco and rum was strong. "Those stones... aren't my business. I'm just a courier. My client in Noctis pays me to deliver, not ask questions. If you open your mouth about this when we land, the Noctis people will cut your tongue out for real."
Barossa grabbed Elian's collar, lifting him slightly.
"Forget what you saw. Pretend it's a chest full of horse manure. Understand?"
Elian nodded quickly, putting on a convincing mask of fear.
Barossa released him. Elian fell to his bum.
"Get out of here. And if I see you near this hatch again, I'll cut off that hand wearing the ring."
Elian picked up his Karambit quickly and ran up the stairs, passing Grum who only grunted and gave him way.
***
When Elian returned to the upper deck, he was panting. Night had fallen.
Lunaria was standing at the bow, staring at the calm sea. She didn't turn when Elian came to stand beside her.
"You got caught," Lunaria said. Not a question.
"The Captain caught me," Elian admitted. "It's Void Shards, Master. They're smuggling forbidden weapon materials to the Kingdom of Noctis."
"I know," Lunaria replied calmly.
Elian gaped. "You knew? And you let it happen?"
"We're hitching a ride on a criminal ship, Elian. What did you expect? A cargo of teddy bears?" Lunaria turned, her gaze sharp. "This world is preparing for war again, Elian. Solara is aggressive in the north. Celestia is fanatic in the west. Noctis needs weapons to balance the power. Void Shards can penetrate the Celestia Priests' Light Barriers. That's why Noctis is buying them."
Elian gripped the ship's railing. "That's insane. Using the enemy's power (Void) to fight fellow humans?"
"That is humanity," Lunaria shrugged. "They will burn their own house down as long as their enemy burns with it."
Suddenly, the ship shuddered gently.
Not because of waves. The sea was still calm.
The vibration came from below. Like something bumping the keel softly, as if knocking on a door.
Thump.
Elian felt the vibration travel through the deck wood, up his legs, and resonate with his dragon bones.
Lunaria's face changed. Her calmness vanished.
"Elian. Hold the railing. Now."
"Why? Is it a reef?"
"No," Lunaria drew her bow. "The Void crystals down there... they are 'singing' because something is calling them."
On the surface of the calm sea, about a hundred meters from the ship's port side, a giant yellow eye opened. Its pupil was vertical, emitting bioluminescence that illuminated the surrounding water.
The eye was the size of a carriage.
Then, a second eye opened. A third. A fourth.
The creature had eight eyes scattered across its misshapen head.
The Watcher of the Deep.
"Captain Barossa was right," Elian whispered, horror crawling on his skin. "We are bad luck."
The creature didn't attack. It just stared. Stared straight at the Lower Hold where the Void Shards were, and then its gaze shifted to Elian.
Elian felt naked. The creature saw the Void in the chest, and saw Fate inside Elian's body. Two anomalies on one small ship.
"Don't move," Lunaria whispered. "It's not hungry yet. It's just... curious."
That night, in the middle of a windless sea, The Banshee's Wail floated above a giant silent monster, carrying forbidden cargo and a boy whose fate was increasingly intertwined with the world's darkness.