POV: Beth
We reached the island two days later—if one could call it an island and not a grave. Sea fog swallowed the world, thick as breath on glass. The water darkened to ink, and the first whale bone appeared—long as a ship mast, jutting from the shore like a white god’s ribcage.
No birds. No wind. Only the creak of wood and the hush of death.
Mira shivered beside the railing, though she tried to hide it. “Lovely vacation spot,” she muttered.
Kaine spat into the sea. “Whale graveyard. Bad omen.”
Alaric stood still—unusually still—like a statue carved from stormwood. When his gaze found me, something passed between us. Fear, maybe. Wonder. A silent question neither of us wanted to voice.
We rowed ashore in small boats. Sand was black and fine as ash, glittering under faint light. Bones towered around us, tangled, ancient. Some still held rusted harpoons. Others carried carvings of runes that pulsed faintly when I approached.
The crew walked slower here. Quieter. Even men who laughed at death hushed themselves.
Deep inland, an old campfire pit lay cold. Charred rope. Scratched symbols. The kind of place pirates used for deals whispered about but never written.
“We aren’t the first,” I murmured.
Alaric’s eyes scanned the ruins, expression unreadable. “No. But we might be the last if we’re fools.”
Mira found it first—half-buried under sand, marked with a sigil I knew too well. A curve like a wavecrest. A line through its heart like a blade.
My brand.
I touched the symbol. It pulsed warm beneath my fingers, like it exhaled.
Kaine stepped back fast. “The hell was that?”
I swallowed. “It… recognized me.”
Alaric knelt beside me—close enough his breath warmed my neck. “Or it warns you.” His voice softer than expected.
We dug until our hands blistered, until Mira cursed and Kaine’s knuckles bled. At last, we unearthed a slab of stone—cracked but still alive with magic. Runes shimmered like bioluminescent veins. In its center:
A map fragment. Burned around edges. Half of what we need.
The moment I lifted it, whispers slithered through my skull, salt and sorrow braided in their tone.
Saltblood. Sea-born. Storm Bride.
I staggered, gripping the stone like it might anchor me. Alaric caught my elbow—instinctive—then snatched his hand away as if I burned him.
His eyes searched mine. “What did you hear?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
Because truth was worse. Truth tasted like destiny.
We built camp as twilight drowned the sky. Bones glowed faint blue as if storing moonlight. Men refused to wander alone. Even Mira stayed close, though she played it off with laughter.
When night fell, fog thickened until shapes twisted wrong. I couldn’t tell bone from beast. Every creak echoed like footsteps behind us.
Around the fire, the crew whispered half-jokes to keep terror from chewing them alive.
Kaine sharpened blades. Mira hummed an old sea song, low and dark. Alaric paced like a wolf that smelled prophecy and hated it.
He paused once—beside me.
“You heard more than you said.”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned just close enough his shoulder brushed mine. “If you hide truths now, you’ll drown in them later.”
I glared at him. “Like you drown in your pride?”
His jaw ticked. “Perhaps.”
The admission startled me more than the island.
Fog swirled. A bone cracked in the distance—something heavy shifting in the dark.
The crew froze. Swords drawn. My pulse thundered.
From the shadows emerged a shape—blindfolded, robes of kelp and tattered silk trailing behind her like seaweed.
Skin pale like drowned moonlight.
Eyes hidden, yet she stared straight at me.
The Blind Sea Witch.
I couldn’t breathe.
Her voice was a tide. “Saltborn child. Storm Bride. Your path bleeds toward Leviathan’s rib.”
Men dropped to knees. Even Alaric stiffened.
She raised a hand and pointed directly at me.
“You seek bone of the first beast. Only she may claim it. Only she may wake what sleeps.”
My blood turned ice.
She smiled—teeth too sharp. “Mistake her, and you will feed the sea.”
The fire guttered out. Dark swallowed everything. And fate opened its mouth wider.