Uncharted Sea

The owner stormed out from behind the bar, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. He was an elf, sure, but nothing like the slender, elegant figures I’d come to associate with his kind. This one was built like a boulder, muscles straining against his shirt and veins standing out on his forearms. His presence alone silenced the murmurs in the room.

He reached my table, slammed his hand down with a force that made my mug wobble precariously, and barked, “Shut up! Be in order! This is my pub!”

I blinked, startled, as his sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension like a blade.

His piercing gaze swung to Eryon. “You!” He jabbed a thick finger at him, then pointed to the seat next to me. “Sit down.”

Eryon hesitated, his axes still glinting in his hands, but the owner’s glare could have stopped a charging troll. Begrudgingly, he trudged over, muttering under his breath as he dropped into the chair beside me. Great. Just what I needed.

The owner wasn’t done. He shoved a plate of food onto the table in front of us—a steaming, savory dish called Ashroot Stew, its rich aroma wafting up in waves. A hearty mix of thickly sliced root vegetables, chunks of spiced meat, and a fragrant broth that seemed to warm me just by the smell.

“This is on the house,” the owner snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eat it.”

Eryon, still bristling, looked like he wanted to protest, but one taste of the stew was all it took to quell his rage. He dug in with fervor, tearing into the meal as if it were his first in days.

I hesitated, then took a cautious bite. The flavors hit me immediately—earthy, savory, with a hint of smoky spice that lingered on my tongue. The broth was thick and comforting, exactly what I needed after a day spent in the biting cold.

The owner turned his attention to the drunken woman still lounging in her chair. “Susan!” he bellowed, his voice carrying across the room. “Go home! This is your fourth day in here.”

Susan didn’t even flinch. She waved her hand lazily in his direction, not even looking up from her drink. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude.”

I hid a smirk behind my spoon. It seemed Drakemire had no shortage of characters.

After finishing our meals, the owner returned, refilling my Draeven brew without a word and pouring a fresh mug for Eryon. He leaned heavily against the table, his broad forearms resting on the edge as his piercing eyes settled on Eryon.

“All right, loudmouth,” the owner began, his voice still carrying a trace of irritation. “What’s your deal? Why are you storming into my pub like you own it?”

Eryon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice gruff as he repeated himself. “I need a sea captain to sail me to the capital city. The sea here is dangerous, filled with creatures that’d drag you to the depths if you’re not careful. I can handle myself—”

The crow on his shoulder let out a sharp caw, as if to emphasize his point.

“—but the sea? Bah. That’s a beast of a different kind.” Eryon scowled, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of one of his axes.

The owner raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like sea creatures, huh? Big bad warrior afraid of a little water?”

The crow cawed again, louder this time, and Eryon shot it an annoyed glance. “Quiet, Moara,” he muttered before turning back to the owner. “It’s not fear. It’s respect. Land, I understand. The sea? That’s chaos. That’s where creatures like her thrive.”

My curiosity piqued, I tilted my head toward the bird. “The crow... you called it Moara?”

Eryon glanced at me, then at the bird on his shoulder, his expression softening for the first time. “Aye. Moara.” He reached up, and the crow nuzzled his knuckles in response. “She’s a shape-shifter. Not just a bird. She can take on any form she likes, but she prefers the crow. Likes to perch up here and squawk her opinions.”

“That’s... pretty cool,” I admitted, unable to hide my intrigue.

Moara gave a self-satisfied caw, puffing her feathers as if to say, I know.

The owner chuckled, straightening up and folding his arms across his chest. “Well, you’re in luck, loudmouth. I’ve got a friend. Best sea captain in Drakemire. He’s got a ship strong enough to get you across even the roughest waters. I’ll set up a meeting.”

Eryon’s sharp gaze locked onto the owner, his voice firm. “If he’s the best, then he’s the one I need.”

“Good,” the owner said, grinning. “Because you’re not going anywhere without him.”

As if on cue, the pub doors creaked open again, inviting another burst of cold air to sweep through the room. This time, two dwarves stepped inside. One was Rowan, his stoic face betraying no emotion as always, his lance slung over his back. The other, however, was a stark contrast.

The second dwarf stood slightly shorter than Rowan but carried himself with an undeniable air of authority. His broad shoulders were draped in a thick oilskin cloak, glistening faintly as if he’d just stepped out of a storm. His salt-and-pepper beard was braided with small seashells and beads, clinking softly as he moved. His eyes, a striking ocean-blue, scanned the room with the sharpness of a man accustomed to commanding attention. Slung across his back was a harpoon, its shaft dark and polished, etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light.

The atmosphere in the pub shifted immediately. Unlike Rowan, who often kept a low profile, this dwarf was clearly known here. Elves began waving and calling out greetings. “Tidebreaker!” one shouted, raising a mug. “Back again to clean us out, are you?” Another added, “Careful, lads. Torran’s luck will leave the rest of us penniless!”

The bar owner grinned and gave a hearty wave. “Torran Tidebreaker! Thought we’d lost you to the depths this time!”

Torran’s face broke into a wide, mischievous grin as he tossed a few gold coins toward the counter. “Not a chance, Alis! You know me—I always find my way back to shore.”

Rowan, unfazed by the commotion, led the way to the bar, his usual silence intact. Torran followed, his boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor, and the two dwarves settled into the seats next to me.

“Is that your friend?” I asked Rowan, glancing between the two dwarves as they settled in next to me.

Rowan simply nodded, already lifting the mug of Draeven brew the barmaid had placed in front of him. Torran mirrored his movement, and the two drained their cups in unison with remarkable speed. It was almost mesmerizing—one moment, full mugs; the next, nothing but empty vessels slammed back on the counter with satisfied grunts.

“Hello, my lady,” Torran said, turning to me with a cheerful wave. His grin was wide and warm, his accent carrying the lilt of a seasoned sailor. “Name’s Torran, but most folk around here call me the Tidebreaker. That’s what I do—break tides and cut through the chaos of the sea.” He gestured toward Rowan. “Your friend here tells me you two need to cross the sea. Lucky for you, I’ll take you there tonight.”

Before I could respond, the bar owner stepped forward, holding up his hand to interrupt. “Actually, Torran,” he said, his voice carrying a note of authority, “you’ll be taking another passenger as well.”

He pointed toward Eryon, still sitting at the table across the room. Eryon’s sharp features twisted into a frown, his axes clinking faintly as he shifted in his seat. Torran glanced at him briefly, then shrugged, his grin returning.

“Sure,” he said. “The more, the merrier.”

Eryon hesitated for a moment before standing and walking over. “I should tell you something,” he said, his voice lower now. “I’m not a... sea man. I don’t like the water. Frankly, I’d rather not get on a boat at all.”

Torran let out a booming laugh, slapping his thigh. “Ah, lad, the seas aren’t for everyone, are they? But then his face grew serious, his blue eyes darkening. “You’ve got every right to be afraid. The sea is deadly—chaotic, unpredictable. Even with decades of experience, I still meet the cold hand of Death out there now and then.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air for a moment before he suddenly brightened again, his grin returning. “But don’t you worry. I’ll take you across tonight, safe and sound.”

“Wait, tonight?” I interjected, furrowing my brow. “It’ll be dark—and it’s winter. Won’t that make things even more dangerous?”

Torran nodded, acknowledging my point. “True enough, my lady. But on the seas, darkness is our ally. That’s when most of their people rest. It’s the best time to slip through unnoticed.”

Eryon frowned, clearly uneasy. “People? The seas have their own people?”

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“Oh, aye,” Torran replied, his expression turning thoughtful. “The seas have their own people. They’re the ones who really control the tides. Most of them live deep underwater, where we surface folk don’t dare tread. I know a few of them—not exactly friends, but they’ve let me pass on occasion. Let’s hope they’re in a good mood tonight.”

Eryon muttered something under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a prayer. As for me, I took another sip of my brew, silently wondering what kind of journey I’d signed up for.

“You’d better rest, Thalia,” Rowan said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

I nodded, the promise of sleep tugging at me harder than anything else. Without another word, I turned and headed upstairs, the weight of the journey settling heavily on my shoulders.

The room was modest but clean, with a single sturdy bed tucked against the wall and a small window overlooking the bustling bay. The faint sounds of waves lapping against the docks and distant chatter of elves outside reached my ears, but it was all background noise.

Finally. A real bed. After endless nights on the road, battling the cold and hard ground, and enduring Rowan’s legendary snoring, this felt like paradise.

I kicked off my boots, barely managing to shrug out of my outer cloak before collapsing onto the mattress. The blanket was warm, the mattress firm but forgiving—a perfect haven after so much discomfort.

Within moments, sleep took me.

But that’s when I met him again.

Lucian.

He emerged from the shadows like a smirk given form, his impossibly perfect face illuminated by a soft, sickly light. His golden eyes gleamed with malicious delight as his lips curled into that infuriating, knowing grin.

“Hello, Thalia,” he said smoothly, his voice oozing charm that felt like a blade pressed to my throat.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in the strange dreamscape. There was no comfort here, no warmth. Only the suffocating weight of his presence.

“I visited your home a few days ago,” he continued, casually brushing imaginary dust from his immaculate suit. “Said hi to your brother and his family.” He paused, tilting his head as if savoring his next words. “Gotta say, he has a magnificent son.”

A wave of tension clenched in my stomach like a fist. Fear? No. Anger.

“You were after me,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady. “Do not chase them.”

“Ohohoho,” Lucian laughed, low and mocking, like the sound of a blade scraping stone. “Getting angry, are we? You don’t like it, do you, when your precious family is in danger? It’s unsettling, isn’t it? Makes you squirm.”

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. “If you touch them—”

He cut me off with a dismissive wave. “You killed another of my family,” he said, his tone turning sharp. “Though I despised Mammonel as much as you did, he was still my blood. And you killed him.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re cruel, Thalia. Sometimes I wonder if you’re the true devil here.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Oh, Lucian,” I said, my voice low, teeth grinding as I forced a smile to my lips.

His grin faltered, his golden eyes narrowing as if trying to read my sudden change.

“I’ll be the Devil himself,” I hissed, venom dripping from each word, “if it means killing your entire bloodline. You deserve every ounce of pain coming to you, you piece of shit.”

For a moment, the shock on his face was palpable. Then, just as quickly, it morphed back into that infuriating grin.

“Oh, Thalia,” he said, chuckling darkly. “This is going to be fun.”

I jolted awake, my heart still hammering in my chest, Lucian’s laughter echoing faintly in the recesses of my mind.

“Thalia,” Rowan’s gruff voice cut through the remnants of the dream. “It’s time.”

I blinked, disoriented, my breath still uneven as I tried to separate dream from reality. The dim room slowly came into focus, Rowan standing at the bedside, fully armored and battle-ready as always. His piercing eyes studied me, sharp as ever, though there was a hint of concern in his furrowed brow.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

I nodded quickly, swinging my legs off the bed and pushing myself upright. “Yeah,” I lied, brushing off the lingering chill that clung to my skin. “Just a dream.”

Rowan didn’t press further, simply turning to grab the pack he’d set by the door. “Get your things. Torran’s ready, and Eryon’s already headed to the docks.”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Lucian’s grin still haunted me, but I shoved it aside, burying it deep. There was no time for fear, no room for hesitation.

“Right,” I said, pulling on my coat and grabbing my staff. “Let’s go.”

The port of Drakemire was alive with the quiet, efficient activity of its elven workers, their movements fluid and precise, even in the biting cold of the night. Lanterns strung along the docks cast a soft golden glow over the neatly arranged crates, barrels, and ropes. The faint scent of salt and seaweed mingled with the crisp winter air, and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the wooden piers added a steady beat to the calm atmosphere.

Torran’s ship stood out among the rest, a sleek, sturdy vessel that exuded both elegance and practicality. Its polished wooden hull was etched with intricate carvings of waves and sea creatures, shimmering faintly as if enchanted. The sails, though currently furled, bore the crest of a roaring tide—a symbol of Torran’s ship, The Deep Howl.

The crew, all elves, moved about with an almost supernatural grace. Their pale features were illuminated by the glow of floating magical orbs that hovered around the ship, providing soft, steady light for their work. Each crew member wore simple but well-crafted clothing, accented with subtle runes stitched into the fabric—likely protective charms for the dangers of the sea. Despite their quiet demeanor, there was an air of confidence in the way they carried themselves, each one perfectly attuned to their tasks.

Torran barked commands from the deck, his booming voice carrying over the sound of waves. “Secure the cargo! Tighten those lines! Let’s get moving!”

As Rowan and I boarded, I took in the sight of the sea stretching out before us. The dock ended abruptly, giving way to an expanse of black water that seemed to go on forever. Even with the magical orbs casting a steady glow on the ship, the sea itself was an oppressive void, as if the world simply stopped beyond the bow. The darkness was absolute, swallowing the horizon and blending seamlessly with the starless sky.

The magical lights hovering above the ship added an almost ethereal quality to the scene. They floated like will-o’-the-wisps, their soft glow illuminating the deck and casting long, flickering shadows on the crew. The faint hum of their enchantment filled the air, a comforting reminder that not all was lost to the pitch-black abyss surrounding us.

I tightened my grip on my staff, the weight of the dark sea pressing against my chest. This was no ordinary journey; it felt as if we were sailing into the unknown, leaving behind the safety of land for the dangerous embrace of an endless, unforgiving void.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Torran’s voice cut through my thoughts. He stood at the helm, a faint smile on his face as he surveyed the waters. “The sea doesn’t lie. It shows you what you’re made of.”

I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be comforting, but I nodded anyway.

Two figures emerged from the deck below, their contrasting states drawing my attention immediately. Eryon, the brash and towering warrior I’d met earlier, now looked like a shadow of himself. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by a pale, trembling man gripping the railing as though his life depended on it. Every so often, he gagged, clearly battling the rising tide of seasickness.

Next to him was Susan, the drunken woman from the bar. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, and her half-lidded eyes gave her a dazed, almost oblivious expression. She looked like she might topple over at any moment, though whether from the sway of the ship or her intoxicated state was unclear. She gave me and Rowan a weak thumbs-up as if to reassure us, though her footing said otherwise.

“Susan’s a regular,” Torran said, grinning as he gestured toward her. “Makes this trip often enough that I don’t even need to ask her destination. Capital city, every time.”

“Every time,” Susan slurred in agreement, waving her hand vaguely.

“She always like this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Drunk? Aye. And somehow, she always makes it back alive. Either she’s charmed, or the sea just likes her,” Torran said with a shrug before turning to bark his next orders.

“All hands! Prepare to set sail!”

The ship shuddered as the crew sprang into action. Lines were pulled taut, and the sails were unfurled, catching the faint winter breeze. The faint groan of the wooden hull filled the air as the ship came to life, its enchantments glowing faintly as Torran’s magic flowed through it.

The elves moved with practiced precision, their footsteps light and sure as they secured rigging and adjusted the sails. Above us, the magical orbs that hovered like miniature stars shifted their positions, casting light across the deck and illuminating the work.

The ship began to move, its bow cutting through the still waters with a low, rhythmic sound. The faint creak of the mast and the ripple of waves against the hull added to the symphony of departure. As we left the dock behind, the lights of Drakemire faded, replaced by the infinite blackness of the sea.

The air grew colder as the ship drifted further from the safety of the shore. Torran stood proudly at the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon as though he could see what lay ahead in the oppressive darkness. “We’re in the sea’s hands now,” he declared, his voice steady and commanding.

I glanced over at Eryon, who looked like he might keel over any moment, and Susan, who was humming an off-key tune to herself. Rowan caught my gaze and gave me a knowing smirk.

Great. Just what I needed—a sick warrior, a drunken lady, and an unrelenting void ahead. What could possibly go wrong?

The chill of the freezing night was unbearable, sinking deep into my bones. The wind was the worst of it, howling mercilessly across the deck and cutting through even the thickest of cloaks. My fingers trembled as I hugged myself tightly, finally deciding I’d had enough. I turned toward the cabin below, desperate for even a moment of reprieve from the bitter cold.

But then the sea roared.

A thunderous crash echoed across the ship, shaking the deck beneath my feet. Torran’s booming voice cut through the chaos, barking orders to his crew. “Brace yourselves, you lot! Hold your lines!”

Elves scattered in every direction, ropes and sails whipping in the gale as the storm lashed at the ship. Waves surged high, slamming against the sides, sending sprays of icy water over the rails. Torran’s weathered face was tense, his usual cocky smirk replaced with a grim determination.

Rowan stood firm near the bow, his lance gleaming faintly in the storm’s chaotic light. His sharp eyes scanned the dark waters with the focus of a seasoned warrior. Even Susan, typically lounging or nursing a drink, was upright and alert, her expression wary as she clutched a holy charm in one hand. Eryon’s axes glinted in the dim light as he paced the deck, his usual bravado replaced by cautious readiness.

Then, the sea roared again, louder, deeper.

From the inky blackness of the water, something broke the surface. No, not something—many somethings.

One by one, more than eight figures emerged, leaping from the waves and landing on the deck with fluid, predatory grace. Each of them was a grotesque fusion of elf and fish, their blue skin shimmering like the ocean’s surface under the dim glow of the ship’s magical lights. Their elongated limbs were webbed, their hands gripping sharp, deadly tridents. Fins jutted from their heads and backs, sleek and sharp, and their wide, slitted eyes gleamed with malice.

A low, guttural snarl rippled through the group as they spread out, surrounding us.

Torran stepped forward, raising a hand as if to signal peace. His voice was loud and steady, cutting through the storm. “I’ve sailed these waters for years! Who among you do I speak with? Where’s your leader?”

For a moment, I thought his words might work. But then I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Torran, the self-proclaimed Tidebreaker, didn’t recognize them. And judging by the hostility radiating from the creatures, they didn’t come to talk.

One of them snarled, baring sharp, jagged teeth. Another tapped its trident against the deck, the metal ringing out like a warning bell.

Torran’s hand lowered, slowly curling into a fist. “Ah, shite,” he muttered under his breath.

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To be continued