Time seemed to freeze on the deck of The Banshee's Wail.
No wind dared to blow. No wave dared to break. Even the ship's timbers, usually creaking, seemed to hold their breath, fearing that the slightest sound would trigger the apocalypse.
On the surface of the sea, calm as a black mirror, The Watcher of the Deep remained.
Its eight giant eyes, each the size of a carriage wheel, glowed with grim yellow bioluminescence. Its vertical pupils did not blink, scanning every inch of the ship's hull with a cold, primordial intelligence. The light from those eyes pierced the water, creating a ghostly silhouette beneath the ship, making The Banshee's Wail look like a small toy floating in a giant's palm.
Elian stood frozen by the railing, his hands gripping the damp wood until his knuckles turned white.
Cold sweat trickled down his back, running over burns that hadn't fully healed, causing an agonizing itch and sting. Yet, he dared not move to scratch. The Ring of Weight on his left finger felt ten times heavier under the monster's gaze—a psychological response where fear exacerbated the perception of physical burden.
"Don't look directly into its eyes," Lunaria whispered. Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible, just a hiss of wind passing through her lips. "It can sense a challenge through eye contact. Look at its fins, or the water around it."
Elian lowered his gaze slightly, staring at the reflection of yellow light on the black water.
What does it want? Elian's mind screamed.
Around Elian, the ship's crew was in a catatonic state. Rough faces usually full of laughter and curses were now pale as corpses. Even Grum, the sadistic Half-Orc cook, was visibly trembling, clutching his meat cleaver near the galley door, beads of sweat the size of corn kernels dripping from his green forehead.
They knew the legends of this sea. The Watcher didn't eat meat. It ate a ship's fate. If it decided this vessel wasn't fit to pass, it only needed to wrap one tentacle around it and drag them all into the eternal abyss.
Captain Barossa stood on the bridge, one hand on the useless wheel (since there was no wind), the other gripping his shaking flintlock pistol. He wasn't stupid enough to shoot. It was just the reflex of a desperate man.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
The creature's spiritual pressure (Killing Intent) slowly eroded the crew's sanity.
"It wants an offering..." muttered the Quartermaster, a thin old man with many bone charms around his neck. His eyes were wild, staring sharply at Elian and Lunaria. "It sees them... The cursed passengers... and the forbidden cargo down there..."
Barossa turned sharply. "Shut your mouth, Silas."
"No!" Silas suddenly became hysterical. He drew his dagger. "The creature isn't leaving! It's waiting for us to discard the filth! That mute brat... he brought the smell of death since he boarded! Throw him overboard! Give him to the Sea God!"
Several other crew members, their minds cracking, began to nod. Fear made them seek a scapegoat.
"Yes... throw the boy..."
"He's weird... he must have summoned it..."
Elian felt the shift in atmosphere on the deck. The threat was now coming from two directions: the monster in the sea, and the humans on the ship.
He shifted his feet slightly, adopting a defensive stance. His heavy left hand moved slowly toward the Karambit at his waist. He was tired. He was in pain. But he wouldn't let himself be thrown overboard alive.
"Anyone who touches my passenger," Barossa's voice boomed low, cutting through the panic, "will have their own head blown off before the monster even moves."
Barossa aimed his pistol at Silas.
"We are smugglers, Silas. Not child killers. If we start sacrificing crew or passengers, the sea won't respect us anymore."
"But Captain—"
"SILENCE!"
The tension on the ship eased slightly, replaced by forced obedience. Silas lowered his dagger, but his eyes still glared at Elian with pure hatred.
Amidst the human drama, Lunaria nudged Elian's elbow gently.
"Elian," she whispered. "The problem isn't you. The problem is below."
Elian turned, looking at his teacher with raised eyebrows.
"Those crates," Lunaria continued. "The Void crystals in the lower hold... they are resonating with that creature's presence. They are 'singing'. That's what keeps the monster here. It's listening to the song. And the longer it listens, the greater its desire to destroy the container—this ship—to take the contents."
Elian remembered the cold whisper he heard when sneaking into the hold. ...hungry... free...
"What should I do?" Elian made a simple hand sign, forgetting he was supposed to be mute, but no one noticed in the darkness.
"You have to silence that song," Lunaria said. "I can't go down. My Elven aura is too bright; if I move away from my current position, the monster will notice. But you... your aura is grey. You blend with this ship. Go down. Use the Holy Salt left over from that alchemist shop. Sprinkle it around the crates. It will sever the spiritual resonance."
Elian nodded.
This was dangerous. Barossa had forbidden him from approaching the hold. But if he didn't do it, they would all die.
Elian began to move. Slowly. Very slowly.
He used the shadows of the masts and cargo stacks. Every step was timed to the monster's breathing rhythm. When the monster exhaled (air bubbles rising to the surface), Elian moved. When the monster was still, Elian froze.
He managed to reach the rear hatch door without being seen by Silas or Barossa, who were busy staring each other down.
Elian slipped inside.
***
The Lower Hold felt colder than before. Elian's breath vapor froze in the air.
The whispering sound was now clear in his ears—no longer a hallucination, but a physical vibration rattling his skull.
...see us... he sees us... brother from the deep...
Elian lit his light crystal at the lowest intensity, covering it with cloth so only a speck of light escaped.
He walked toward the three black chests.
The chests were vibrating. The magic locks glowed a bright red, as if trying to contain an energy explosion from within. The Void crystals inside were reacting to the presence of The Watcher out there.
"Quiet," Elian hissed.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pouch of Holy Salt he had bought from Gargamel in Stormwatch. There was little left, maybe just two handfuls.
Elian began to sprinkle the salt in a circle around the stack of crates.
Scritch... Scritch...
The sound of salt grains hitting the wooden floor sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the hold.
As the salt circle was nearly closed, the vibration of the crates grew stronger. As if the crystals inside knew they were about to be silenced. The air became heavy.
Suddenly, Elian felt a sharp pain in his left chest—in his heart, which housed the damaged Core.
It felt like an ice needle stabbing him.
Cough!
Elian fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Fresh blood dripped from his nose, falling onto the wooden floor, right on top of the holy salt line.
The Blood of Fate.
When Elian's blood touched the Holy Salt, a magical chemical reaction occurred.
The salt, which should have glowed white, suddenly turned a reddish-gold color. The salt absorbed Elian's blood.
The protective circle activated with power far exceeding ordinary salt. A thin transparent energy dome formed, encasing the crates.
Instantly, the whispering vanished.
Total silence.
Elian panted on the floor, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his still-bandaged hand. He felt weak, as if his energy had been sucked out by the salt.
"What... just happened?" Elian muttered.
He didn't know that his blood—the blood of a Child of the World—was the most powerful universal catalyst. He had just inadvertently strengthened a simple salt seal into a high-level binding seal.
***
On the upper deck.
The change was instant.
The yellow light in The Watcher's eyes flickered once.
The song it heard from inside the ship suddenly stopped. Gone. Severed.
The creature looked confused. Its many heads twitched restlessly, searching for the missing sound. It brought one of its eyes close to the hull, right where Elian was on the other side of the wooden wall.
Elian, inside the hold, held his breath. He saw bright yellow light piercing through the cracks between the wooden planks of the ship's wall. The giant eye was only centimeters away from him, separated by three inches of wood.
Don't move. Don't breathe.
The ring on Elian's finger felt as heavy as a planet. His heart beat so loud he feared the monster could hear it.
Seconds that felt like centuries passed.
The giant eye blinked again.
The creature's interest faded. Without the "song" of the Void Shards, this ship was just a piece of uninteresting rotting wood.
Slowly, very slowly, The Watcher began to sink.
The yellow light dimmed, descending into the depths, away from the surface. The water churned gently as the creature's massive bulk moved.
And then, the wind blew.
The limp sails suddenly filled with a loud SNAP!
"Wind!" Barossa shouted, his voice cracking with relief. "The Sea God spares us! Wind from the East! Unfurl the sails! Let's get out of here!"
The crew snapped out of their paralysis. They ran like madmen, pulling ropes, turning the wheel. Their fear turned into frantic hard work.
No one asked why the monster left. They were just grateful to be alive.
Inside the hold, Elian slumped against the cold crates. His body was soaked in sweat. He looked at the circle of blood-mixed salt, now blackened and charred—its energy spent holding back the Void aura.
"I... did it..."
Elian tried to stand, but his legs were too weak. The ring... that damn ring... felt heavier as his stamina drained.
The hatch door above opened.
Lantern light illuminated Elian's pale face.
Captain Barossa stood there. He wasn't alone. Lunaria was behind him.
Barossa descended the stairs with heavy steps. He saw Elian sitting there, saw the charred salt circle, and saw the blood under Elian's nose.
He knew.
Barossa knelt in front of Elian. His fierce face looked complicated. There was anger that his orders were disobeyed, but also reluctant respect.
"I said stay away from the hold," Barossa said quietly.
Elian looked at the captain with tired eyes. He didn't have the energy to act scared anymore.
"The noise... was loud," Elian whispered—breaking his mute character in front of the captain for the first time with an ambiguous sentence.
Barossa was silent for a moment. He looked at the salt again.
"You silenced it," Barossa concluded. "You saved my ship."
Barossa stood up, extending his rough hand.
Elian hesitated for a moment, then accepted the hand with his left hand wearing the ring.
Barossa pulled Elian up easily, as if Elian's weight meant nothing to his old sailor muscles.
"Go back to your cabin," Barossa ordered. "And forget you can talk. In front of my crew, you remain mute. Understand?"
Elian nodded.
Barossa patted Elian's shoulder—the uninjured one—quite hard.
"Grum will bring you extra smoked meat tonight. Consider it hush money."
Elian limped up the stairs, passing Lunaria.
Lunaria said nothing. She just touched Elian's head briefly as the boy passed. A touch that conveyed a little warmth, a wordless acknowledgment: Good job.
That night, The Banshee's Wail sped at full sail through the waves, fleeing the nightmare in the depths.
Elian lay in his hammock, eating the smoked meat from Grum in the dark.
His hands were still shaking. Not from fear, but from the strange sensation when his blood touched the salt earlier.
For a moment there... when his blood flowed... he felt like those Void chests weren't foreign objects. He felt they recognized him.
Brother from the deep...
Those words haunted Elian until he fell asleep from exhaustion. In his sleep, the weight ring continued to work, compacting his bones and muscles, preparing that small body for a destiny far heavier than mere iron chests.
The sea voyage was still long. And the secret of Elian's body had just peeled back another layer.