POV: Beth
The witch’s voice slithered through the fog like a blade dragged across stone. “Come,” she said, and every hair on my neck lifted as if a cold hand brushed up my spine. Her eyes were white like moon-bleached shells, empty and yet seeing more than sight allowed. She turned and walked, assuming we would follow, her ragged cloak trailing through mud and tangled roots like a shadow with its own pulse.
No one dared disobey.
I swallowed, gripping the hilt of my dagger though my fingers trembled. The others exchanged glances—even Alaric. Kaine muttered something under his breath about cursed places and men who don’t return right in their heads. Mira, of course, smirked as though this was all a game she’d already mastered.
We followed the witch through the marsh, stepping over half-sunken bones of ships and beasts I prayed extinction had claimed. The sky felt lower here, heavy, as though the world itself leaned in to listen. The trees twisted like crooked fingers pointing at us. Water pooled around our boots, thick and soupy, reeking of rot and secrets. In the distance, shapes moved beneath dark channels—something large, something patient.
My breath fogged in front of me. “This place…” I whispered.
“Alive,” Mira murmured behind me, voice amused. “Can’t you taste it?”
I ignored her. I hated how calm she sounded in places like this. I hated almost everything about her—the beauty, the confidence, the softness she weaponized.
The witch stopped before a cabin fused with the marsh itself, as though grown, not built. Driftwood bones formed the frame. Nets of silver algae clung like torn spiderwebs. Lanterns glowed green, swinging despite the still air.
She raised one finger to Alaric. Only him.
“You,” she rasped. “Inside.”
My heart jerked. “No. We stay together.”
Her head twisted toward me without moving the rest of her body—unnatural, chilling. “Little saltborn speaks like she has earned the right.”
Saltborn. Again that word. My stomach tightened.
Alaric stepped forward. “What do you want?”
Her smile stretched, thin and knowing. “Payment. No map opens without price. Come.”
He hesitated—the first hesitation I’d seen from him in weeks. Something like fear flickered behind his eyes, or maybe understanding. He looked at me once, quick and unreadable, then pushed the door and entered.
The witch followed and shut the door.
The sound was final as a tomb sealing.
Silence ate the air. We stood outside like fools, the fog clinging to us like damp fingers. I paced, blood rushing too hot. Mira leaned on a twisted tree, smirk painted like warpaint.
“You look like you might shatter,” she said lightly. “Adorable.”
“Shut up,” I snapped.
Kaine exhaled through his nose. “Witches don’t take coin. They deal in things with teeth.”
I stopped pacing. “What does that mean?”
“Means,” he said, staring at that shut door like a man staring at a loaded gun, “whatever she asks, it’ll cost him.”
Minutes crawled. Five. Ten. Thirty. Every sound inside seemed louder—muffled murmurs, movement, then silence again. My nails dug into my palms so deep they almost bled. I imagined worst scenarios: his life, his voice, a memory carved from him, a piece of his soul, a vow that would chain him forever.
Why did that thought make my chest ache?
“What if he doesn’t come out?” I whispered.
Mira raised a brow. “Why care, princess?”
I ignored the barb. My heart thudded painfully. I hated how much I cared. I hated the fear crawling beneath my ribs like a trapped storm.
When the door finally opened, Alaric stepped out alone.
He looked… wrong. Pale. Jaw clenched so tight it could crack. His knuckles were bloodless around his sword hilt. The air around him felt colder, like something had been taken—something invisible yet heavy.
“What did she—” I started.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. It wasn’t anger—it was something deeper. Hollow. Fragile. The kind of voice of a man who just gave up something he never wanted to lose.
His eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
He walked past us toward the shoreline without a word. The crew parted silently. Mira watched him with an unreadable tilt of her head. Kaine muttered a curse. I followed a few steps behind, desperate for answers, but one look at his face told me to stop.
Alaric wasn’t just tired.
He was wounded in a way blood couldn’t show.
We returned to the ship with heavy steps. Fog clung to us like ghosts following home. No one spoke. Not even Mira. The silence was iron-thick, suffocating.
Hours later, I found him alone at the bow, staring at the waves as if the sea might whisper back what he lost.
I approached quietly. “What did she ask from you?”
His shoulders tensed. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I’m already worried.”
He didn’t look at me. “Then stop. Worrying is a luxury you can’t afford, Beth.”
My throat tightened. “Did she take something from you?”
He finally met my gaze—haunted eyes, storm-gray and raw. “Some doors shouldn’t be opened. That’s all you need to know.”
I stepped closer. “Alaric—”
He turned away, voice low, almost breaking. “I said don’t ask.”
And in that moment, the unshakeable pirate king felt human. Breakable. The strongest man I knew looked like the sea carved into him and left him hollow.
I stood beside him, silent. The deck creaked under the waves. The wind tasted like salt and sorrow. I wanted to touch his arm, offer comfort, but my hand froze halfway.
He wouldn’t want comfort.
But gods, I wanted to give it.
And that terrified me more than witches, krakens, and pirates combined.