I rested my weight on my staff, my body still buzzing from the fight. Rowan, ever composed, cleaned his lance with calm efficiency.
"She didn't leave a mark," Rowan noted, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, analytical. "Hastira wasn't like the others we've encountered. She was a lesser demon—powerful, yes, but not of the same rank as the ones marked by sin."
Susan tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "So, that's why I…" She hesitated, her hand brushing over her chest.
"That's why you didn't get marked," Rowan finished. "The true demons, the ones like Lucian or Astaroth, leave behind something far worse than physical scars. They stain your very soul. Hastira wasn't one of them."
I nodded slowly, processing his words. It made sense. The weight of the mark I bore had always felt like a curse, a constant reminder of the demons' lingering presence. If Hastira had been one of them, Susan would have shared that burden.
But before anyone could respond, the sea began to churn violently beneath us.
"What now?" Torran barked, his voice filled with exasperation as the ship trembled beneath the growing waves.
I turned toward the dark horizon, my heart sinking as the rumbling intensified. The water surged upward, forming towering, frothing waves that rocked the ship. And then, from the depths, something emerged.
A massive figure rose slowly from the sea, water cascading off its broad, muscular frame. The creature stood far taller than any of us, towering over the ship as though it were no more than a toy. Its skin shimmered like wet obsidian, and its arms were thick with muscle, veins pulsating with a faint, eerie glow. In its massive hands, it held not one, but two colossal tridents, each as imposing as the figure itself. Upon its head sat a crown carved from coral and bone, its jagged edges gleaming in the dim light.
The very air seemed to still as the figure loomed over us, exuding a regal, almost divine presence.
Torran's voice cracked the silence. "My King," he whispered, and then, as though compelled by some unseen force, he dropped to his knees, bowing low.
The elven crew followed immediately, their faces pale with reverence and fear. Eryon glanced at me with wide eyes before he too knelt, his axes trembling in his grip. Susan, visibly shaken, sank to one knee, her earlier confidence replaced with something closer to awe.
I hesitated for a moment, then followed suit, lowering myself to the deck. My body moved on instinct, bowing before the figure whose presence seemed to demand it.
Everyone knelt.
Everyone, except Rowan.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He stood tall and defiant, his lance resting at his side. His face remained impassive, his piercing gaze fixed on the towering figure before us. If he felt fear—or awe—he gave no sign of it.
The massive being finally spoke, its voice a deep, resonant growl that echoed across the waves and seemed to shake the very air around us.
The air grew impossibly still as the King spoke, his deep voice resonating like the very pulse of the ocean itself.
"Am I too late?" he asked, his glowing eyes scanning the wreckage of the ship's deck and the bloodied remains of his kin.
Torran, still kneeling, bowed his head lower. "Yes, my King. I'm sorry for that."
The King's massive shoulders shifted as he sighed, his breath a gale that seemed to ripple through the sea itself. "No. It's not your fault." He gestured toward the remnants of Issathel. "He was our youngest, untested and unprepared. But tell me this—did you slay the one responsible for this atrocity?"
"Yes, my King," Torran answered solemnly.
The King straightened, his immense tridents glinting faintly in the light of the ship's magical lanterns. "Then my kingdom owes you a debt. If ever you find yourself in need, do not hesitate to come to us. I will remember each of your faces and will give my life to protect you."
His words were weighted with promise, carrying a gravitas that made my breath catch. This wasn't a simple vow—it was a declaration backed by millennia of power and an unshakable sense of duty.
"However," he continued, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly, "I am busy. Astoroth's forces have set their sights on my kingdom as well. Such greed," he added, almost spitting the words.
Rowan stepped forward, his posture unshaken even in the presence of the towering King. "We're going to kill him," he stated simply.
The King's gaze shifted, settling on Rowan. His massive form stilled as he tilted his head slightly. "A dwarf with a lance," the King mused. "I know you well enough, Rowan."
Of course, I thought, suppressing a groan. Of course the King knew him. At this point, who didn't? Rowan Hale wasn't just infamous among land-dwellers—apparently, even the depths of the ocean whispered his name.
"My sea creatures have spoken fear about you," the King said, his tone darkening. "In any other time, I would not be as friendly as this." He paused, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "But you have avenged our loss. I owe you one."
Rowan nodded once, his expression unreadable, but there was something sharp in his eyes—an acknowledgment, perhaps, of a reluctant respect shared between two powerful beings.
The King's gaze swept over us all, lingering for a moment on each of us as if burning our faces into his memory. "If what you claim is true, Rowan," he said, "then I will aid you when the time comes. We share the same enemy."
Before anyone could respond, a massive wave surged toward the ship, gentle yet purposeful. It flowed onto the deck, its water pooling around what remained of Issathel's broken body. Slowly, reverently, the wave lifted him, cradling him in its embrace.
The wave continued, flowing across the deck and enveloping the bodies of Torran's fallen elven crew. The King's massive hand stretched forward, the motion almost tender as the water carried them all toward him.
"They are sea-people," the King said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I will take them and ensure they are laid to rest with the honor they deserve."
And with that, the King turned, his tridents gleaming as he began to sink back into the ocean. The waves carried the bodies with him, and just before he disappeared into the darkness, he spoke one final time.
"When the time comes, call for me. I will answer."
The ship rocked gently as his immense presence vanished, leaving nothing but silence and the faint ripples of the sea.
"That," Torran said, breaking the silence left by the King's departure. His voice was steady but held a note of awe. "That is King Thalvaris, the King of the Seas. Every current, every tide in these waters bends to his will. He holds this entire sea under his control."
Eryon, still clutching his axes, narrowed his eyes toward the horizon where the King had disappeared. "Is he strong? Strong enough to take down Astoroth?"
Rowan stepped forward, leaning his lance against the ship's railing. His voice cut through the murmured questions like a blade. "By himself? No. But if he brings his entire army into the fight?" Rowan tilted his head, the answer evident in his grim expression. "Yes."
Eryon raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the beginnings of a grin. "You didn't seem afraid of him, though. Think you could take him down if it came to it?"
Rowan looked at him, then at the dark water below. He paused, genuinely considering the question, before shaking his head. "No. I can't swim."
The sudden honesty caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, I let out a snort. Susan's laughter followed, a genuine sound that seemed to break the tension lingering on the deck. Torran chuckled, shaking his head at Rowan's bluntness, and even Eryon managed a grin.
The laughter spread among us like the warmth of the first morning sun, cutting through the bitter cold. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the weight of our journey lifted, the icy wind unable to touch the fragile bubble of camaraderie we had built.
And then, in the distance, the silhouette of land began to form, hazy but unmistakable. The first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, bathing the jagged edges of the shore in a soft, golden glow.
"There it is," Torran said, his voice quieter now but tinged with relief. "We're almost there."
"Where you guys going anyway?" Susan asked, breaking the peaceful moment as she leaned against the railing. Her tone was casual, but her eyes held curiosity.
I blinked, realizing that amidst all the chaos, we'd never explained our purpose to her. My gaze drifted toward Rowan, who was deep in conversation with Eryon. I could see the deliberate movements of Rowan's hands as he outlined something, likely a strategy or plan. With a small sigh, I turned back to Susan.
"We're going to the Capital," I said simply, watching her reaction. "Not for sightseeing, though. We're hunting Astoroth."
She tilted her head, her expression shifting between surprise and something unreadable. "Astoroth?" she echoed, the name heavy on her tongue. "The Wrath Demon? The one waging war across the continents?"
"That's the one," I confirmed, gripping my staff tightly. "He's already destroyed too much. If we can stop him, even just slow him down, maybe there's a chance for the rest of the world to stand."
Susan let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "And here I thought I was reckless," she muttered.
"Come with us," I said suddenly, surprising even myself. The words came out before I could overthink them. "If you want. We'll probably die—no, we almost certainly will—but if you want to fight for something greater than yourself, we could use you."
She laughed bitterly, the sound dry and sharp as the cold wind whipping across the deck. "And die painfully? No, thank you. I was a corrupted priest, but not anymore. Perhaps this is my chance to start fresh, to build something new. Maybe the Capital will accept me again."
I nodded, understanding her hesitation. "Fair enough," I said, not pressing further.
But then Susan straightened, brushing off the cold air with a shrug. "That said," she added, her voice softer now, "I'll go with you to the Capital. We're heading the same way anyway, and you lot seem like a magnet for trouble. Someone has to keep you alive."
A smile tugged at my lips. "That someone might be you," I said.
Susan grinned, tipping her flask toward me in a mock toast. "Here's hoping I don't regret it."
Susan leaned against the railing, her flask dangling loosely in her hand. She studied me for a moment, her expression more focused now that the alcohol haze had lifted. "You know," she said, her tone casual but with a sharp edge of curiosity, "I just realized something now that I'm sober. You and the dwarf—Rowan—both have a mark behind your ears. What is that?"
The question hit me like a splash of cold water, but I kept my face neutral. There was no reason to hide it, not now. "It's... complicated," I began, my fingers brushing unconsciously against the back of my ear. "It's a mark. A curse, really. It's something we both carry because we've each killed a demon. It means their kin are hunting us."
Her brows arched slightly, intrigued. "You're marked because you killed a demon?" she asked, leaning in.
"Yes," I said simply. "It's a constant reminder that we're targets. There are two demons left—Lucian, the Pride Demon, and Astoroth, the Wrath Demon. And instead of waiting for them to come after us, we've decided to go after them."
Susan chuckled, shaking her head. "Gotta admit, that's a bold plan. Taking two birds with one stone, huh?"
I glanced at her, offering a faint smile. "Bold if it works. Suicidal if it doesn't."
As I spoke, my gaze flicked across the deck. I caught Eryon watching me from where Rowan had left him. His eyes were locked on me, something unreadable in their depths. But maybe it was just my imagination.
"Still," Susan continued, her grin fading into something more serious, "it's a hell of a move. If you can pull it off, I'd say you've earned the right to live without that mark haunting you."
I nodded, gripping my staff a little tighter. "That's why Rowan and I are building a group. He's the best monster-hunter in the world—he can handle himself, no question. But just the two of us? Against Lucian and Astoroth? No chance."
Susan leaned her elbows on the railing, her gaze distant as if she was piecing together an idea. "I know a guy," she said finally. "He's in the King's Army. The best knight in our history."
Her words immediately caught my attention. I turned to her, curious. "Go on."
She smirked, clearly enjoying my interest. "He's the one holding the line against Astoroth's forces right now. The reason the demon hasn't advanced farther is because of him. He's that strong. But..." she trailed off, shrugging slightly. "I doubt the King would let him go. The kingdom needs him to keep this continent from falling. Still, I know the guy well enough. Maybe he'll listen to me."
I blinked in surprise. "You know him personally?"
Susan's grin widened as she caught my astonished expression. "I wouldn't say personally, but we've crossed paths a few times. Enough to know he's a good man. I can talk to him when we get to the capital—convince him to join you."
"That's a bold claim," I said, still skeptical. "How are you so sure he'll listen?"
Her grin turned bitter, her tone dipping into sarcasm. "Because I'm just so lovable, obviously." She let out a dry chuckle before shaking her head. "Nah, it's because I've got a way with words, and he's the type who'll hear reason. He'll know this fight—your fight—is bigger than just holding the line."
I hesitated, then asked, "And... the King? You seem well-connected for someone who calls herself a 'corrupted priest.'"
Susan waved her hand dismissively, almost knocking over her flask in the process. "The King?" She scoffed. "Oh, no. I hate the King. He wouldn't accept me as a priest of the kingdom when I turned my life around. Not holy enough for him, apparently. But that knight? He's not as blind as his royal majesty."
I leaned back slightly, processing her words. "And you'd really convince him to join us?"
She straightened up, meeting my gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "If it means giving you a shot against Astoroth? Yeah. I'll try."
"Thanks for that," I said, genuinely.
Susan shrugged, flashing a half-smile. "Don't thank me yet. We'll see if he's willing to leave the King's side first."
The land loomed closer, its details sharpening as the morning sun bathed the scene in soft, golden light. From afar, the city sprawled across the bay, a patchwork of vibrant colors and movement. Towers of stone and wood rose in uneven clusters, adorned with flags and banners of every hue, fluttering in the salty breeze. The docks stretched far into the ocean, lined with bustling ships and rowboats, a hive of activity even this early.
The city itself seemed alive—no, thriving. Even from this distance, the faint strains of music reached my ears. Lively drums, the cheerful plucking of stringed instruments, and bursts of laughter carried across the waves like a siren's call.
Torran appeared beside us, his grin wide as he gestured to the lively bay. "Ladies," he said, spreading his arms dramatically, "Welcome to Solrise. The city of paradise!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Paradise?"
"Aye!" Torran's voice boomed as he leaned on the railing, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "Solrise is a city that doesn't know the meaning of despair. You see, even on the brink of doomsday, when the shadows loom large and the world feels like it's falling apart..." He chuckled, gesturing toward the city. "They choose to dance. To sing. To laugh. It's their way of fighting back, I suppose. A city that refuses to die miserable."
Even as he spoke, I could make out figures dancing on the docks, twirling to music I couldn't yet fully hear. Vendors lined the streets near the harbor, their stalls bright and inviting, bursting with trinkets and wares. Somewhere further in the city, a grand square pulsed with life—a swirling crowd that moved in unison to some unspoken rhythm.
"It's... loud," I muttered, though I couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at my lips.
Torran laughed, clapping me on my elbow. "You don't like people? Well, you'll hate it here then!" He grinned wider. "But trust me, it's a great city if you love life. If you love people. Even the stubborn kind."
I glanced toward Rowan, who stood silently, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though the noise didn't exist. Typical.
"Well," I said, leaning forward on the railing, "I guess it'll be nice to step on land, even if it's a paradise."
Torran gave a hearty laugh. "Don't worry, Thalia. You'll get used to it."
The ship docked with a final groan of wood and rope, and as Torran secured the vessel, I stepped onto the dock. Solid ground. At last. No more endless waves or relentless rocking beneath my feet. The sensation was almost foreign after so long at sea, but it felt good.
Solrise's energy was even more overwhelming at eye level. The air buzzed with a thousand sights, sounds, and scents all at once. Vendors called out their wares, their tables overflowing with brightly colored fruits, shimmering fabrics, and strange trinkets. Musicians played on nearly every corner, their instruments weaving a chaotic yet strangely harmonious symphony. Children darted between legs, laughing and chasing each other, while dancers twirled in the streets, their movements joyous and uninhibited. It seems even the winter chill didn't bother them a bit.
Torran wasted no time disappearing into the crowd, his elven crew trailing after him like eager shadows. I caught sight of him laughing heartily with a vendor, already fully immersed in the vibrant chaos of the city.
Rowan and I pressed forward, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Susan and Eryon followed from a short distance behind, the latter craning his neck to take in every detail of the lively surroundings.
Rowan broke the silence. "Torran won't be coming with us."
I glanced at him, unsurprised. "Of course not. He loves his sea too much."
From behind, Eryon's voice boomed, drawing the attention of passersby. "Let's kill Astoroth!"
Rowan let out a low grunt. "Yeah, yeah." He stopped at a vendor, pulling out a few coins to pay for a tray of steaming pastries. "First, we eat."
He handed one to each of us, and I took a tentative bite. The flaky crust crumbled in my hands, revealing a savory filling that practically melted in my mouth. It was warm, spiced just right, and exactly what I needed.
Rowan spoke between bites. "But first, we're heading to the capital. Torran said it's about three days on foot from here."
Susan, walking beside us, scoffed loudly. "On foot? What are you? Cave-men?"
Before any of us could respond, she lifted her hand high into the air. From the bustling crowd, a cart drawn by two sturdy horses emerged as if summoned. The driver tipped his hat to Susan and stopped directly in front of us.
Susan climbed aboard, her movements casual. "C'mon," she called over her shoulder. "This will only take a day."
I glanced at Rowan, who shrugged before stepping up onto the cart. Eryon followed, grinning as he settled into a seat. With a sigh, I climbed aboard, the lively city fading behind us as the horses began to move.
To be continued...