POV: Beth
Dead calm waters always meant something watching.
By midday, the sea turned to glass beneath us—no ripples, no wind, no sound except the creak of our hull struggling in water that felt too still, too thick. Then came the fog. Not drifting, not rolling—rising, like breath from the depths. It swallowed the horizon whole, devouring sky and ocean alike.
Within minutes, our world shrank to ghost-white suffocation.
Kaine cursed. “This fog ain’t natural.”
Mira leaned over the railing, amused smile tinted with strain. “Natural? On this journey? Darling, nothing about us has been natural for months.”
But even she gripped her blade a little tighter.
I stood near the bow beside Alaric, pulse loud in my throat. This fog felt wrong—like entering a mouth that intended to swallow us whole.
“Lanterns out,” Alaric ordered. “No sound unless necessary.”
The crew obeyed quickly—even the drunk ones sobered. Silence fell heavier than anchor chain. I couldn’t see my own hands. Could hear only breathing—too many breaths, too close.
Then the whispers began.
Not one voice. Dozens. Layered. Wet. Drowned.
— saltblood —
— storm-child —
— come to us —
— bride of the black tide —
The sound crawled under my skin like cold fingers. I covered my ears—useless. The whispers came from inside.
“Beth?” Alaric’s voice cut through the suffocating haze. I latched onto it like a rope. “Stay by me.”
“I’m trying,” I whispered.
Something brushed my arm—wet skin. I jerked. No one.
The fog moved—not like mist, but like fabric being pulled aside. Space widened between sheets of white and a shape emerged where water had been moments ago.
A woman.
At least, she looked like one.
Pale feet stood upon the sea’s surface as if it were stone. Her hair hung long and slick, dripping black water that pooled beneath her in rivulets slithering toward us. Her dress was tattered kelp-green, clinging to her like something pulled from a grave. Shells and barnacles clung to her skin.
Her eyes were white. Not blind—focused. Seeing without sight.
She smiled—too many teeth.
The crew froze as if their bones turned to ice.
Alaric stepped forward. Brave or foolish—sometimes the same thing. “Blind Witch,” he said, voice steady. “We seek—”
“No words,” she hissed softly, and the fog itself trembled. “I have been waiting.”
Her head snapped toward me—fast, animal-like—and she inhaled deeply as if scenting me.
My blood turned to winter.
She stepped onto our deck without a ripple, bare feet leaving puddles that steamed into mist.
The crew backed away. Even Mira’s confidence faltered.
The witch stopped in front of me—close enough I smelled ocean rot and storms. She cupped my jaw with a hand like ice.
“Saltblood… the sea remembers you.”
My knees nearly gave out. “How do you—”
She leaned in, nose almost touching mine. “The tide whispers your name across centuries.”
Her fingers dropped to my wrist where the mark hid beneath cloth. Cloth burned away without flame—revealing the mark glowing faint silver.
Gasps behind me. Someone whispered a prayer.
The witch didn’t blink.
“You are the storm bride,” she whispered, each word a weight. “Bone crown. Sea curse. Kraken’s chosen.”
A chill ran through the deck. Men stared at me as if seeing a new creature.
Alaric moved, hand half-drawn to his sword.
The witch didn’t look at him—she felt him. Her voice dropped, sweet as honey in a grave.
“Draw steel against me and I will peel the soul from your ribs.”
Alaric froze. Fury. Fear. Both.
She turned slowly, surveying every sailor like livestock. “One of you will feed the sea before dawn. It is tradition when seekers come.”
“Feed?” Kaine’s voice cracked. “Meaning—”
“Mortal blood.”
Said gently. Terrifyingly.
My chest tightened. “You want sacrifice.”
She smiled wider. Too wide. “Magic demands cost.”
My heart thudded. Rowan’s execution clock ticked in my mind. I needed her. I hated needing her.
Before I could speak, Mira stepped forward.
“Well aren’t you dramatic,” she said lightly, though I saw her hands tremble. “We came for information. Not to feed half the crew.”
“Not half,” the witch murmured. “Just one.”
Her head tilted toward me.
“Saltblood is acceptable.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
Alaric stepped between us suddenly—not gently—protectively. The witch’s blind eyes rolled to meet his face. A current of tension charged the air.
“She’s not a sacrifice,” he said.
His tone was low. Dangerous. Real.
The witch’s smile dripped amusement. “Already claimed, pirate king? Careful. The sea despises greed.”
Alaric didn’t flinch. “We bargain.”
Her laughter was like seashells snapping. “Bold. Very bold. I will enjoy your ruin.”
She walked past me, dress dragging puddles. Water followed her like a loyal beast. She settled herself on a coil of rope as though it were a throne, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
The crew parted like shadows.
Fog still surrounded us—but thinner now, held in place like a cage.
“We speak at moonrise,” the witch said. “Bring your questions. Bring your map. Bring your fear.”
Her smile sliced across her face. “And bring an offering.”
Mira swallowed. First time I’d ever seen fear on her.
Alaric exhaled slowly. “You stay on the ship?”
The witch bared teeth. “Until paid.”
She was not leaving.
She was aboard with us.
She turned toward me one last time, voice almost tender—wrongfully tender.
“Do not wander alone tonight, stormborn. The sea listens for you.”
My spine prickled.
Fog curled around her like worship.
The crew dispersed slowly, whispers frantic. Mira retreated, eyes sharp and thinking. Kaine paced, angry. Alaric stood still, jaw tight—as if he wanted to kill or kiss fate at the same time.
And me?
I stood trembling in the middle of a ship that suddenly felt too small for breath, too close to destiny.
The witch sat there—silent—waiting.
Patient as death.
We weren’t searching for her anymore.
She had found us.