The fog pressed heavier now, thick and unnatural, swallowing the dreadwake whole. It deadened sound, muffling even the creak of the ship's timbers and the slap of waves against the hull. The cold bit deeper, stinging Kael's face and seeping through his coat.
At the helm, Glade Clayden guided the ship forward, his fingers tight on the wheel. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn back, but there was no going back—not with the Imperials behind them and the unknown ahead.
"Captain," Carol said from beside him, her voice low. "The crew's spooked. Hell, I'm spooked."
Glade glanced at her, his sharp gray eyes meeting hers. "Keep them busy. Fear's worse when you have time to think."
Carol snorted softly, though there was little humor in it. "I'll try. But they've heard it."
Glade didn't need to ask what she meant. He heard it too—the song. It was louder now, an eerie melody drifting through the mist. It was wordless yet oddly familiar, tugging at something deep in his chest. It wasn't just sound—it was a feeling, a strange mix of longing and despair, like a memory of something he'd lost long ago.
"Keep them off the rails," he said. "Whatever's out there, it wants them to listen."
Carol nodded and strode down to the main deck, barking orders to the crew. Glade watched her go, his gaze lingering for a moment. Carol was one of the few people he trusted—a rarity in his line of work. She'd been with him since the early days, through blood and betrayal. She'd saved his life more than once, and he hers.
He turned his attention back to the fog, his jaw tightening. Trust was dangerous, and so was attachment. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.
---
On the main deck, the crew worked in tense silence, their movements quick and efficient. Carol prowled among them, sharp-eyed and alert, her hand resting on the hilt of her cutlass.
"Keep those lines tight!" she snapped at a pair of deckhands. "And watch your footing. The last thing we need is someone going overboard."
The men nodded and redoubled their efforts, but their fear was palpable. The song had gotten to them, just as it had gotten to the boy earlier.
Carol's gaze swept the deck, checking for signs of trouble. Her eyes landed on Orman, the quartermaster, who was leaning against the rail, staring into the fog.
"Orman!" she barked. "Get back to work!"
The man didn't respond.
Carol approached him cautiously, her hand tightening on her cutlass. "Orman?"
As she got closer, she saw his face. His eyes were wide and glassy, his lips moving soundlessly as though he were whispering to someone.
Carol grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Snap out of it!"
Orman blinked, his gaze snapping to hers. He looked confused, almost dazed. "Carol? I... I thought I heard..."
"You heard nothing," she said firmly. "Get back to work. Now."
Orman hesitated, glancing back at the fog, but he nodded and moved to help secure the rigging.
Carol exhaled slowly, her heart pounding. The Tides were already working on them, and they'd only just entered.
---
Hours passed, though it was impossible to tell how many. The fog turned the sky into a featureless gray, obscuring the sun and stars alike. Time itself seemed to warp, stretching and compressing in strange ways.
Glade remained at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel despite the tension in his chest. The song was louder now, almost deafening, and it wasn't just in his ears—it was inside him, resonating in his very bones.
He fought to push it aside, to focus on the ship and the sea. But then he saw it.
A light.
It was faint at first, a dim glow in the distance, but it grew brighter as they sailed closer. It was cold and blue, like moonlight on water, and it seemed to pulse in time with the song.
Glade's breath caught. "Carol!"
She was at his side in an instant, her cutlass drawn. "What is it?"
He pointed. "There."
Carol squinted into the fog, her brow furrowing. "A lantern?"
Glade shook his head. "No. It's... something else."
The light grew brighter, and as it did, the song grew louder, more insistent. Glade felt a strange pull in his chest, as though the light were calling to him, drawing him in.
"Captain," Carol said, her voice tense. "This doesn't feel right."
Glade nodded. "Helmsman! Steer us clear of that light!"
The helmsman didn't respond.
Glade turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. The man was standing rigid at the wheel, his hands frozen in place. His eyes were fixed on the light, his expression blank.
"Damn it," Glade muttered.
He released the wheel and strode over to the helmsman, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Snap out of it!"
The man blinked, his gaze breaking from the light. He looked at Glade, his face pale. "I... I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what came over me."
Glade shoved him aside and took the wheel himself, steering the dreadwake away from the light. The ship groaned as it turned, the currents pulling against it as though trying to drag them back.
The light faded into the fog, but the song remained.
---
The crew was on edge, their fear thick in the air. Glade could see it in their faces, in the way they moved, the way they whispered to each other when they thought he wasn't listening.
"Captain," Carol said quietly, joining him at the helm. "We need to talk."
Glade didn't take his eyes off the horizon. "Go on."
"The crew's cracking. That light, that song—it's getting to them. To all of us."
"I know," Glade said.
Carol hesitated. "Do you have a plan? Or are we just sailing blind?"
Glade's grip tightened on the wheel. He didn't answer.
Carol sighed. "Glad, you can't just—"
"Do you trust me?" he asked, cutting her off.
She frowned. "What?"
"Do you trust me?"
Carol studied him for a moment, her dark eyes searching his face. Finally, she nodded. "I do."
"Then hold the crew together," Glade said. "I'll get us through this."
Carol nodded again, though she didn't look entirely convinced. She turned and headed back to the main deck, barking orders to the crew.
Glade watched her go, his chest tight. He didn't have a plan, not really. All he had was instinct and a stubborn refusal to die.
---
As night fell—or what passed for night in the hollow—the fog grew even thicker, and the song changed.
It was no longer melodic. It was harsher now, more dissonant, like the wail of a storm. And it wasn't just in the air—it was in the ship. The dreadwake groaned and shuddered as though it were alive, its timbers vibrating with the sound.
Glade stood at the helm, his eyes scanning the fog. Shapes moved in the distance, dark and indistinct. He couldn't tell if they were ships, rocks, or something else entirely.
"Captain!"
The shout came from the crow's nest. Glade looked up to see the lookout pointing frantically.
"There's something in the water!"
Glade's heart raced. "What do you see?"
The lookout didn't answer. He froze, his arm dropping to his side.
Glade cursed and turned to the crew. "To arms! Everyone on deck!"
The sailors scrambled to grab weapons, their fear momentarily pushed aside by the urgency of action.
Carol appeared at his side, her cutlass drawn. "What now?"
Glade didn't answer. He was staring at the water.
The surface was rippling, but there was no wind, no current. The ripples grew stronger, and then something broke the surface.
A hand.
It was pale and skeletal, dripping with black water. Another hand followed, and then a head.
Glade's breath caught. It wasn't human. Its eyes were empty sockets, and its skin was stretched tight over its bones. It climbed onto the hull with unnatural speed, its movements jerky and insect-like.
"Open fire!" Glade shouted.
The crew obeyed, firing pistols and muskets at the creature. The shots hit their mark, but the creature didn't stop. More hands appeared, more figures climbing onto the ship.
Glade drew his cutlass, his jaw tightening. "Hold the line! Don't let them reach the helm!"
The battle began, the crew fighting desperately against the onslaught. But for every creature they killed, two more appeared.
Glade fought like a man possessed, his blade cutting through the enemy with ruthless efficiency. But even as he fought, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being toyed with.
The creatures' attacks weren't coordinated, nor were they aimed to kill outright. Instead, they seemed to herd the crew, pushing them toward the edges of the ship and cutting off escape routes. Each time one fell, its body dissolved into black mist, only to reappear climbing back aboard moments later.
Carol fought beside Kael, her cutlass flashing in the dim light. "They're not stopping!" she shouted over the din.
"They don't need to!" Glade growled, parrying a blow from one of the creatures. Its bony fingers wrapped around his blade, black ichor dripping onto the deck. He shoved it back with a kick, sending it tumbling overboard, but another took its place almost instantly.
"Glade, we're losing ground!" Carol's voice was tinged with rare panic as she pointed toward the bow. The crew had been forced into a tight cluster, surrounded on all sides by the shambling figures.
Glade's mind raced. They couldn't hold out much longer. His gaze darted to the wheel and then to the fog. He had no map, no course, and no allies—only the cursed sea stretching endlessly ahead.
And the song.
It was louder now, almost deafening. The dissonance vibrated in his skull, and he could feel it in his chest, pulling at him like a physical force.
"Fall back to the quarterdeck!" Glade shouted. "Carol, with me!"
The crew obeyed reluctantly, retreating toward the helm as Glade and Carol fought to hold the line. The creatures advanced steadily, their eyeless faces unchanging as they moved with an almost mechanical precision.
"Captain, what's the plan?" Carol asked, her breath ragged as she parried another blow.
Glade didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the mist, where the light from before had reappeared—stronger now, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"I'm going to steer us toward it," he said finally.
Ca olfroze for a split second, her eyes wide. "Toward it? Are you insane?"
"Maybe," Glade admitted, slashing at another creature. "But whatever that light is, it's controlling them. We need to end this, or we're dead either way."
Carol's lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn't argue. Instead, she barked orders to the remaining crew, rallying them to form a defensive ring around the helm.
Glade took the wheel, his hands steady despite the chaos around him. The dreadwake groaned as he turned it, its timbers straining against the unnatural currents. The light grew brighter with every passing second, and the song grew louder, its discordant melody drilling into his mind.
The creatures hesitated, their movements faltering as the ship drew closer to the light. For a brief moment, Glade thought they might retreat, but then the largest of them emerged from the water.
It was massive, towering over the deck, its skeletal frame draped in tattered remnants of what might once have been a captain's coat. Its eyeless sockets burned with an unnatural blue light, and its mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream.
Carol cursed under her breath. "Now what?"
Glade gritted his teeth. "We hold."
The creature lunged, its bony claws raking across the deck as the crew scattered. Glade barely had time to dodge as it swung at him, its movements unnervingly fast for something so large.
"Carol!" he shouted. "Keep it off me while I steer!"
She nodded, charging toward the creature with a defiant yell. Her blade struck true, slicing into its arm, but it didn't slow. Instead, it swatted her aside with a single swing, sending her crashing into the rail.
Glade's chest tightened, but he forced himself to focus. He turned the wheel sharply, steering the Maelstrom directly toward the glowing light.
The ship lurched forward, its speed increasing as though the water itself were pulling them in. The song reached a fever pitch, the notes twisting and overlapping in a cacophony that made Glad's head throb.
The creature roared—an unnatural, guttural sound that reverberated through the ship. It lunged for Glade again, its claws reaching for the wheel.
Glade drew his pistol and fired.
The shot hit the creature square in the chest, and for a moment, it staggered. But then it straightened, the bullet wound closing almost instantly.
"Damn it," Glade muttered.
He drew his cutlass, preparing for a fight, but before the creature could attack, the light flared brighter than ever.
A deafening crack split the air, and the dreadwake bucked violently, throwing Glade and the others to the deck. The song stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence.
When Glade opened his eyes, the creatures were gone.
---
The crew lay scattered across the deck, groaning as they picked themselves up. Carol was slumped against the rail, blood dripping from a cut above her eye. Glade staggered to his feet, his vision swimming.
The light was gone, and so was the mist.
The dreadwake floated in calm, dark waters beneath a starless sky. The air was heavy and cold, and the silence was absolute.
"What the hell just happened?" Carol asked, her voice hoarse.
Glade didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the water ahead, where a massive shape loomed in the darkness.
It was a ship—an ancient, towering galleon with black sails and a hull scarred by centuries of battle. Its decks were lined with ghostly figures, their eyeless faces glowing faintly in the darkness.
At the prow stood a figure clad in dark armor, its skeletal hand resting on the hilt of a massive sword. Its empty sockets burned with the same blue light as the creatures from before, and its gaze was fixed squarely on Glade.
Carol followed his gaze and froze. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
Glade's jaw tightened. "It's real."
The ghostly captain raised its sword, and the crew of the dreadwake braced themselves as the black galleon began to close the distance.
"Captain," Carol said, her voice low. "What do we do now?"
Glade's grip tightened on his cutlass. He didn't have an answer—not yet. But one thing was certain.
The Tides weren't done with them.