POV: Beth
The day we reached Blackwave Strait, the air felt wrong.
Not windy wrong. Not storm wrong. Soul wrong.
Clouds hung low like bruises. The sea was too still—like it held its breath. Every pirate alive knows silence is never mercy. It is the inhale before slaughter.
“Raise the flags,” Alaric ordered, voice clipped.
Blood-red pirate sails unfurled overhead. Our new ship—strong but still scarred from Kraken’s encounter—cut through the black waters like a blade. The crew stood tense at their stations, not a joke or laugh in earshot. Even Clove chewed silently, eyes narrowed, as if laughter might summon death faster.
Mira stood on the quarterdeck beside Alaric—too close—discussing fleet formations with a confidence she barely earned. I watched from below, hands tight on the railing. Every time she leaned toward him, my pulse kicked like a living beast under my ribs.
I hated that it bothered me.
Hated more that Alaric didn’t push her away.
Kaine brushed past me, checking ropes. “You ready, Sea Daughter?” he asked without looking.
I stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s what people call you now,” Karn chimed in as he passed with cannon powder. “Posters say it too. ‘The Sea Daughter who walks with storms.’”
“It was ‘Kill on Sight,’ last I checked,” I muttered.
“Both can be true,” he shrugged.
The crew exchanged looks—not hateful, but wary.
My magic saved them in Maelstrom. My magic scared them just as much.
Before I could respond, a horn split the air.
Deep. Haunting.
Like something calling from the bottom of the world.
Alaric’s head snapped toward the horizon. “Positions!”
I ran to starboard. The moment I did—shadows rose from the mist. Ships. Warships. Pirate sails ripped by claws. British banners torn and blood-stained. Hulls cracked and dragging water like corpses.
And leading them—a ship black as midnight, sails stitched with bones.
Silas.
A chill crawled up my spine so cold it felt like drowning. Then I saw it. Beneath the waves. A darker shape moving deeper than any whale or monster should live.
Kraken.
No roar. No thrash. No explosion. Just a shape—and terror in stillness.
Our crew froze one breath too long.
Silas’ flagships didn’t.
Cannons fired first—water exploded around us. One ball slammed into our port side, splintering wood, flinging Karn backward. Alaric swore and grabbed the wheel.
“RETURN FIRE!” he roared.
Clove lit a fuse, cannons thundered back. Smoke swallowed the air, bitter and thick. The deck jolted beneath our feet as wood cracked and men screamed orders.
I grabbed rope and climbed higher for view—ignoring the pain in my arms as muscles burned. The horizon tore with war.
Fog rolled in from nowhere—fast, supernatural. Ships vanished into ghost-smoke and appeared again in flickers, as if reality blinked.
Another cannon ball ripped past my head, shattering a mast beam inches from me. Splinters slashed my cheek. I barely felt it.
Adrenaline sang like steel.
Silas’ ship glided forward—not sailing, but pulled by the sea itself. His crew didn’t row. The water rowed for them.
He stood at the bow in dark coat and loose hair, no fear in sight—eyes fixed not on Alaric.
On me.
A cannon blast rocked us to starboard. I almost fell—Kaine grabbed me by waist and yanked me steady, eyes fierce. “Don’t jump in water. Kraken is hungry today.”
Before I could thank him, a scream ripped from port side.
A sister ship in our fleet—one built of driftwood and stolen gold—rose out of water as tentacles like pale pillars curled beneath it. No roar. No warning. Just a sickening crunch of wood.
Men fell. Some jumped. All were doomed.
The Kraken didn’t even eat gracefully—it simply dragged the ship under like a child drowning a toy. Screams turned to bubbles.
Our entire deck went silent. Even cannons hesitated.
Fear has a sound—it is breath held by one hundred throats at once.
Then someone whispered, trembling:
“It’s choosing her. It always looks at her.”
My blood turned to ice.
Silas saw the hesitation, smirked like a god watching insects panic. His ship slid closer. British navy remnants turned on each other in confusion—some firing at Silas, some fleeing, some sinking already.
Fog swarmed us all like jaws.
Alaric shouted, “Beth! Get down!”
But I couldn’t move.
Kraken surfaced—not fully, only the brow and one massive eye the size of a sail—and it stared directly at me.
Not at the ship. Not at Alaric. Me.
Deep as abysses. Endless. Recognition burned through me like lightning.
My breath locked. My body froze. My magic hummed fast, terrified, answering.
“No…” I whispered.
I felt the pull—a call older than the world. The sea wanted me. Something in my blood answered.
Silas raised his hand toward me as if greeting an old friend.
“Beth,” he called across smoke and ruin. His voice shouldn’t travel through storm like that—but it reached me easily. “Come back to me.”
Alaric roared back, “OVER MY DEAD BODY!”
Silas only smiled—like death was a fair trade.
Kraken blinked once.
Fog swallowed Silas’ fleet whole—ships dissolving into pale nothingness. The screams stopped. The thunder softened. And just like that—
Silas was gone. No splash. No retreat. No explanation. Just absence, cold and unreal.
We floated in silence. Waves rocked us gently—like nothing had happened. Like the sea itself was laughing at us.
Kaine vomited over the rail. Karn fell to knees praying. Clove stared at the water like it might speak.
Alaric looked at me.
Not with rage. Not with admiration. With fear. Real fear.
His voice broke low. “He’ll come back for you.”
I swallowed—throat tight. “I know.”
Because Kraken’s eye lingered in my skull like a flame in darkness. Not attacking. Not hungry. Waiting. Waiting for me.