POV: Beth
Morning broke red—a sky bruised like a warning. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the witch’s cabin, the bloodless look on Alaric’s face, the way the sea seemed to hush itself around him as if mourning.
We gathered on deck, silent crew, silent air. No jokes. No mocking. Something had shifted.
The witch arrived without footsteps—one moment she wasn’t there, the next she stood at the gangplank like mist solidifying into bone. Crewmen swore, stepping back. Mira’s fingers brushed her blade. Kaine froze mid-breath.
Even Alaric stiffened.
The witch’s gaze slid over everyone until it found me.
And stopped.
The world held its breath.
She raised one trembling, crooked hand and pointed directly at me. “Saltborn.”
My blood turned to ice.
Kaine cursed quietly. Mira smiled too slowly, like she already knew.
I forced breath into my lungs. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
The witch stepped closer—slow, deliberate, feet never fully touching wood. “The sea remembers what land forgets. Blood remembers what bone denies.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her eyes rolled white. Fog coiled around her like living smoke. “Storm Bride,” she murmured, voice layered—two voices, three, ancient and endless. “Ocean’s daughter. Bride of tide and tempest. You carry thunder in your veins.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “No— I’m just—”
“You are not just anything.” Her voice cracked like lightning. “When krakens kneel and storms obey, the sea will choose its queen.”
Someone choked behind me.
Queen.
No. No, no.
I staggered back. “You’re wrong.”
Her smile was sad. “The sea does not lie.”
Alaric moved before I could speak, stepping between me and her—protective, instinctive, blade half-drawn. “Enough riddles. We came for the map.”
The witch didn’t look at him—she looked through him. “You fear her future more than you fear the ocean.”
His jaw tightened. He said nothing.
She turned to the altar she carried—a fragment of a map carved into whale bone. Runes flickered like trapped lightning. She pressed it to the deck. The wood didn’t burn—it drank the light, revealing a glowing trail where our next path lay carved into sea foam.
“Follow this,” she whispered. “To the Leviathan Tomb. To the sword made of god-bone. To the throne of drowned kings.”
Crew murmured, restless.
Then her gaze snapped back to me, sharp as a spear.
“But power does not come as gift. It comes as wound.”
A cold wind surged across the deck, whipping my hair into my face. The witch reached toward me—not touching, yet I felt it, like cold fingers pressed to my heart.
“You will break before you rise.”
My breath stopped.
“And when the ocean calls for blood,” her voice dropped to a whisper that felt like a knife sliding between ribs, “you must choose whose blood answers.”
Fear clawed up my throat. “I can’t—”
“You must.” She leaned close—I smelled brine and grave dust. “The sea chose you long before you were born. Your mother knew this. She fled, but fate follows tides.”
Mother. Saltborn. Storm Bride. The words tangled like nets inside me. I shook my head. “I just want to save my father.”
The witch’s eyes softened. “Save him, yes. But storms demand sacrifice. Love will tear you in two.”
Behind me, wood creaked. Alaric’s breath hitched—barely audible but real. I turned; he looked at me like I was suddenly a stranger. A threat.
Crew shifted uneasily. Whispers curled like smoke.
“Saltblood… Storm Bride…”
“Kraken will kneel?”
“She’ll doom us…”
Fear poisoned the deck.
I stepped back, heart hammering, wanting to run but rooted like anchor weight. Mira moved past me, chin high. “Enough poetry. Give us the damn map and we’ll leave.”
Alaric’s voice cut sharp. “We’re done here.”
The witch nodded once, eyes never leaving mine. “Return when the sea calls. You cannot outrun tide.”
Fog surged—thick, blinding white. I reached out instinctively, searching for balance. The witch was gone when it cleared, leaving behind the glowing map piece and a silence that felt like a grave.
Kaine broke it first. “Well. That’s… cursed.”
No one laughed.
Alaric clenched the map in his fist, knuckles white. “Get ready to sail.”
I stood frozen, staring at my hands like they belonged to someone else. Storm bride. Kraken kneels. Throne of seas.
“Beth.” Alaric’s voice from behind me—low, unreadable.
I turned.
He looked at me with fear he tried to hide, with wonder he couldn’t, and something else—something unspoken, dangerous, fragile.
He didn’t say it aloud.
But I heard it anyway:
What are you becoming?
I didn’t have the answer.
Only the waves did—whispering my name like a promise, like a threat, as we pushed away from the cursed shore and into the teeth of fate.