The night was obsidian silk, stretched taut across the sky, only torn by the scattered brilliance of stars. Below, Zarakaros carved a path through a sea that stirred not with wind—but with warning. And beneath it, the ocean trembled.

  Cetus.

  They rose.

  From the depths came a sound not meant for mortal ears. It was not a roar. It was not a cry. It was a shudder—a scream that belonged to the bones of the world. It was the kind of sound that made blood recoil.

  The first Cetus breached the surface. Then a second. And a third.

  "A den," I murmured, my silver eyes narrowing as my grip tightened around the hilt of my sword.

  The bore’s scoff split the tension like flint on steel. "Then count them well, Zilar—so you’ll know the measure of your defeat."

  Near the helm, Chara’s fingers hovered above the glacial crystal that pulsed with the breath of Zarakaros itself. Runes laced across the ship’s bones flared in quiet anticipation, as though it, too, braced for war. The ship's veins pulsed beneath it, luminous lines of energy throbbing with every beat of the sea.

  She didn’t look at us. Only ahead.

  Her gaze swept the black horizon. “Sixteen,” she said, voice calm and cold. “And not a single chink.”

  The creatures rose higher. Monolithic serpents, draped in thundercloud skin and carved from stormlight. Their eyes were obsidian pits licked by lightning. Their teeth gleamed like altar-forged ivory, and down their spines shimmered bioluminescent crests, each undulating wave sending trails of light through the black.

  Zarakaros hummed.

  The sea exploded.

  And the battle began.

  The cacophony of snarling, splintering wood, and the guttural thrashing of the Cetus echoed across the void.

  The first Cetus lunged.

  Zarakaros swerved like a dancer through a storm, its skeletal hull bending with inhuman grace as the sea erupted.The creak and groan of the ship’s skeleton as it maneuvered through the chaos was punctuated by the shrill cries of the Cetus, their teeth gnashing in the depths of the tumultuous storm.

  The bore steadied himself, then leapt.

  As the Cetus coiled into a rise, he launched from the railing, twisting midair, and plunged downward, blade first, under the beast's ribs. Flesh gave way. Blood—thick, inky, iridescent—flooded the sky.

  “Strike the belly!” Fane bellowed, wild light in his eyes. “It yields!”

  But even as the cry left him, another Cetus surged, jaws snapping.

  The ship braced. Its hull arched, absorbing the shock. Runes across its frame flared bright cerulean, casting them all in light sharp as moonlit daggers.

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  I lunged for one closing in. My blade flashed. I struck its eye. Screeching, it flailed, blind. I twisted and spun, evading another strike, only to meet the jaw of a second beast. As it lunged, I did not run.

  I leapt.

  I became fury incarnate, a comet of flesh and steel.

  And with a scream that split the wind, I dove into the beast’s maw.

  Time ruptured.

  Chara froze at the helm, eyes wide with awe and horror.

  Its spine arched, the deck trembling. The ship knew it. It felt me.

  The bore turned sharply. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Next time, leap into the sea—why don’t you? You vanished into its maw like your life was a coin to gamble.”

  A second passed. Then my voice came—dry, distant, half-swallowed by blood and breath.

  “No, I am not unharmed,” I said, voice hollow but firm. “I’ll tend to it later. Eyes forward—save your breath till the sea is quiet.”

  The bore snarled, frustration clear, but turned back to face the chaos.

  From within the beast's mouth, my blade erupted upward—through the palate, skull, and brainstem.

  The creature collapsed into the sea, dead before it could understand its killer.

  Chara, pulling herself together, guided the ship. She twisted the helm. Zarakaros reacted instantly, gliding between two thrashing Cetus. Its glow synchronized with the stars above, mirroring constellations that guided us.

  Strike after strike, we fought like tempest-born legends. We carved through the waters. The Cetus, maddened and bloodied, fell one after another. Still, each loss provoked the others. When one was attacked, another descended.

  I focused on the throat, the base of the skull. The bore dove under coils, slashing bellies open with precision. Chara used the current, steering, weaving, anchoring the ship to the rhythm of the beasts.

  Then—the last one.

  Chara’s eyes sharpened.

  She whispered, “Now.”

  And the ship obeyed.

  A false current surged forward—a trick, a lure. The last Cetus lunged, thinking it had cornered prey.

  It collided with the corpse of its kin.

  Trapped.

  The bore drove his blade through its spine. I severed the head in one clean, final stroke.

  And then—I was falling.

  The beast convulsed, its corpse twisting beneath the waves. The force of my strike, the recoil of its death—sent me tumbling into the sea.

  Salt crashed into my nose, my throat, my lungs. My limbs flailed, not with panic, but unfamiliarity. I didn’t rise. I didn’t know how.

  The water swallowed me.

  My hands stretched toward light. My breath grew teeth.

  Then—

  An arm seized mine. A grip firm, unrelenting. I was hauled upward, breaking through the surface with a gasp that ripped the silence. My chest heaved.

  The bore’s face hovered above mine, soaked and scowling.

  “Tell me: was that courage, or did god strip you of reason?”

  I coughed, breathless. “I…don’t have anything to say.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “And yet, alive.”

  He snorted. “Barely.”

  He dragged me onto the deck, both of us drenched and heaving, salt and blood mingling on our skin.

  Then—

  Silence.

  Ten hours of blood and breath had passed. Now—

  Stillness.

  Dawn rose—not like light, but like judgment. The sky bled amber and peach, gold poured over the bruised waves like melted crowns. The sea was a chalice. The sun was no ordinary orb that day. It rose like a celestial flame. The sea caught its light and refracted it in gold, ruby, and peach, like molten gems scattered upon a glass table.

  Every ripple glimmered with the aftermath.

  Zarakaros drifted, breathless, spine arched like a predator finally sated.

  I stood on the deck, soaked in blood, bruised and battered, the taste of salt and copper on my tongue.

  And we said nothing.

  We simply breathed.

  Together.

  Alive.