POV: Beth
The entrance looked like a monster had died mid-gasp.
Ribs of some vast creature arched overhead like a cathedral made of bone. Sea-rot and minerals glittered faint blue under torchlight. The air was cold—wrong cold—like breath from a crypt. Every step forward felt like trespassing into something that should’ve been left buried.
I tightened my grip on the knife Kaine gave me days ago. My palm was sweaty. Pathetic. But I didn’t back out.
Alaric walked ahead, torch held high, pretending he wasn’t afraid. I saw the tension in his shoulders anyway. It gave me strength—knowing fear wasn’t mine alone.
We went deeper. Water dripped like ticking clocks. Whispers slithered along walls carved with runes shaped like tentacles and storms. They looked like they were written in blood. My stomach turned.
A cavern opened before us—vast enough to swallow ships. In the center rested exactly that: a wrecked vessel impaled through the floor by bone spires, skeletons hanging like ornaments from chains above.
The others froze.
Alaric breathed the words like a man meeting a ghost.
“Leviathan’s Tomb.”
Kaine crossed himself. “Legend says the first Pirate King hid the map piece here. Guarded it with blood.”
Guarded.
Wonderful.
I stepped closer before fear could win. Runes pulsed beneath my feet—faint. Like heartbeat. I reached toward the altar almost without thinking, drawn to it like tide to moon.
A hand snapped around my wrist.
Heat shot through me. I looked up. Alaric’s face inches from mine, eyes flint-bright in the torchlight.
“Touch that alone and you’ll lose a hand,” he said. Not mocking. Warning.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he let go as if burned, jaw tightening. “Follow my lead.”
He placed his palm on the stone. Runes flickered—then dulled, rejecting him.
My pulse stuttered.
I lifted my hand slowly. Torchlight reflected in Alaric’s eyes—waiting. Watching. I touched the altar.
Nothing.
A cold wall of magic pushed back, denying me the same way it denied him.
Kaine stared, stunned. “It reacts, but won’t open… unless…”
He didn’t need to finish. I saw it in Alaric’s eyes first—a thought he hated.
“Together,” he said.
My breath hitched. “Why?”
“Because you’re Tide-blood. And I’m Storm-born.” His voice was rough, like he had swallowed salt. “Two halves of one curse.”
He offered his hand.
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to spit in his face. But the map was here. Rowan’s execution drew closer every day. The Prince still breathed. I needed power more than pride.
I placed my palm beside his.
Our fingers brushed—a spark, sharp as lightning.
Magic roared.
Light exploded, runes blazing white-blue. Wind spiraled through the cavern, rattling skeletons until they laughed with hollow mouths. The altar split along ancient seams. Water surged from cracks, swirling around us with voices that sounded like the sea chanting spells.
I clung to Alaric’s hand without meaning to. He held back, equally unprepared.
Then—silence.
Between us floated a cracked map piece—shimmering with Leviathan etchings.
Alaric grabbed it first, eyes wild. “We found it.”
He barely got the words out when a scraping shriek tore through the left tunnel.
Bone. Coral. Movement.
Three figures crawled into the chamber—skeletal bodies encrusted with barnacles, jaws lined with razor coral, empty eye sockets leaking seawater. Tide-Eaters. Monsters of drowned legend.
Kaine cursed. “Fight!”
One sprang at Alaric—he parried, blade flashing, teeth bared like beast. The second lunged for me. I dodged—not gracefully—but I didn’t freeze. I slashed its throat. The coral jaw screeched as bone crumbled, but it didn’t stop.
Panic clawed up my spine. The monster grabbed my arm, dragging me close enough to smell death.
Something inside me snapped like storm-tide chains.
“LET GO!”
Water surged—not from walls, not from floor—from me.
A wave slammed into the Tide-Eater, shattering coral spine, ripping it to dust. Silence swallowed the chamber. Alaric stared—stunned, terrified, awed.
“What are you?” he breathed.
My hands shook uncontrollably. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
But Morwenna’s voice echoed like tide:
Storm Bride.
Kraken will kneel.
Kings will drown.
I looked at the map piece. At the broken altar. At bones dissolving to salt around my boots. The ocean inside me raged like thunder.
Whatever I was becoming—it was too late to turn back.