They vanished.
Like ghosts born of smoke, they materialized from nowhere, only to dissolve into the air just as swiftly, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. It was no random disappearance; it was a chilling message—a reminder to the crew of the Glade that their hunters could strike or vanish at will.
The ominous display left the captain no choice. With dread clawing at his thoughts, he spun the wheel, altering the ship's course. If there was even a chance to outrun them, he had to take it—for the sake of his crew, and perhaps, his own sanity.
The dreadwake drifted deeper into the fog since there are no other places to escape to, each passing hour a test of the crew's fraying nerves. The ghostly song, faint at first, grew louder, threading through the oppressive silence. No matter where Glade went on the ship, he couldn't escape it.
It was as if the fog itself carried the tune—a dissonant, wordless melody that wormed its way into the mind. Glade could see its effects everywhere: sailors fidgeting with their tools, snapping at each other over trivial mistakes, eyes darting to the edges of the ship where the mist thickened unnaturally.
He leaned against the rail, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. But there was nothing to see—just endless gray that seemed to stretch on forever.
Behind him, Carol approached, her boots barely making a sound. "We've passed cursed waters before, Glade, but this…" She shook her head. "This feels different."
Glade nodded, his jaw tight. "The men can feel it too."
"They're scared."
"Let them be," Glade replied. "Fear's kept many a sailor alive. It's panic that kills."
Carol stepped closer, lowering her voice. "It's more than fear. They're seeing things. Hearing whispers in the song. Gavin swears he saw a shadow on the deck last night, and Malik's been clutching a charm since dawn." She hesitated. "Pete hasn't left his hammock all day."
Glade straightened, the name catching his attention. Pete was one of their youngest and steadiest crew members—sharp-eyed, quick with his hands, and rarely shaken.
"Take me to him," Glade said.
---
Below deck, the air was thick with tension. Lantern light flickered against the wooden walls, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally. The usual chatter of the crew was absent, replaced by low murmurs and the constant creak of the ship's timbers.
Pete lay in his hammock, curled into himself. His face was pale, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. When Glade approached, the young sailor flinched, pulling the blanket tighter around him.
"Pete," Glade said, his voice firm but not unkind. "What's the matter with you?"
The boy didn't respond.
Glade crouched beside him, lowering his voice. "Pieter, look at me."
Slowly, Pete turned his head, and Glade felt a chill creep over him. The boy's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils unnaturally wide, as if he hadn't slept in days.
"The fog," Pete whispered. "It's… alive."
Glade frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Pete's lips trembled, his voice barely audible. "I see him in the mist. A man in a tattered coat. He watches us."
A shiver ran down Glade's spine. He forced his voice to stay calm. "You're tired. Get some rest. You'll feel better after a few hours' sleep."
Pete shook his head violently. "No! He's there, Captain. I swear it. He's been calling to me in the song. Whispering."
"Whispering what?"
Pete's breathing quickened, and for a moment, Glade thought the boy might bolt. But then Pete leaned closer, his voice trembling.
"He says we've stolen what's his. That he's coming to take it back."
Glade's hand tightened into a fist. "Who is he?"
Pete's lips trembled as he mouthed the words, his voice barely audible.
"The captain of the dead."
---
Glade stood on the quarterdeck that evening, his mind churning with Pete's words. The captain of the dead.
He'd heard the phrase before, in half-remembered sailor's tales told around flickering lanterns. A phantom mariner who commanded a cursed fleet, drifting through the hollow sea in search of vengeance. Most dismissed it as nonsense, a story to frighten greenhands. But now…
He glanced down at the artifact in his hands. The strange fragment they'd salvaged during the spectral attack was cold to the touch, its intricate symbols faintly glowing in the dim light. He'd thought it might fetch a good price at port, but now he wasn't so sure.
"Trouble, Captain?"
Glade turned to see Carol approaching, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her cutlass.
"Just thinking," he said.
"You're not the only one," Carol replied, stepping beside him. "The crew's talking. They've all heard Pete's story by now. Gavin says we've brought a curse aboard."
Kael snorted. "When doesn't Gavin talk about curses?"
"This time, the others are listening," Etta said. "And I can't blame them. Whatever's in this fog… it's not natural."
Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And what do you think?"
Carol's gaze was steady. "I think we've stumbled into something bigger than us. That artifact you're holding—there's power in it. And power like that always has a cost."
Glade stared at the fragment, his jaw tightening. "If this is the cause, then we'll get rid of it."
"It might not be that simple," Carol said. She hesitated before adding, "Pete's not the only one who's seen him."
Glade's head snapped toward her. "Who?"
Etta's voice dropped. "Malik. He won't say much, but he's been… off. Said he saw a man watching from the rigging during his shift. Thought it was one of the crew until he realized there was no face beneath the hood."
Glade's chest tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. "We need to hold the crew together. If they think there's something supernatural at play—"
"They already do," Carol interrupted. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
Glade didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted to the mist swirling around the ship. Somewhere out there, hidden in the gray, was the truth.
"I'll do what I've always done," he said finally. "I'll keep this ship afloat."
Carol nodded, her expression grim. "Then I'd start with Pete. If anyone's going to crack, it'll be him."
---
That night, Glade stayed awake, his gaze fixed on the fog. The song had softened, fading into a faint hum that seemed to come from the ship itself. He held the artifact in his hands, turning it over slowly, studying the strange symbols etched into its surface.
It was beautiful in its own way, the markings intricate and precise, glowing faintly like embers in the dark. But there was something unsettling about it, something that made Glade's skin crawl the longer he stared.
A sudden chill prickled the back of his neck, and he froze.
"Captain…"
Glade turned sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for his pistol.
No one was there.
But the voice came again, soft and raspy, carried on the wind.
"Return it… or face the deep."
Glade's heart pounded, but he kept his voice steady. "Show yourself."
The fog shifted, parting just enough for Glade to catch a glimpse of a figure standing at the edge of the ship. The man wore a long, tattered coat that billowed as if caught in a storm, though the air was still. His face was obscured, but two green flames burned where his eyes should have been.
The ghost captain.
Glade blinked, and the figure was gone, leaving only the fog behind.
He tightened his grip on the artifact, his resolve hardening. Whatever this ghost captain wanted, Glade wasn't about to give in.