The ocean wind cut softer than desert air, and for the first time in weeks, no one had to squint to breathe.

  The ship provided by the Elf King sailed smooth, catching sun and sea spray as it drifted steadily south. The wood creaked gently beneath their feet, enchanted sails holding steady under sky-blue calm. No storms. No sand. Just water and air.

  Rell stood near the bow, arms folded, gaze fixed on the distant line where ocean met sky. The salt clung to him less than the silence. No sand in his boots. No cursed beasts chasing them. But peace still didn’t sit easy on his shoulders.

  Behind him, the girls were adjusting to the shift in pace.

  Neyxa leaned against the railing, pale and miserable. “I hate boats,” she mumbled, one hand gripping her side.

  “You hate everything that moves without you controlling it,” Thessia teased, crouching beside her. She held a waterskin to Neyxa’s lips. “Drink. It’ll help with the stomach.”

  Neyxa took it, groaning. “I swear this thing’s rocking just to mock me.”

  “You should be glad it’s not raining.”

  Neyxa groaned again. “Why would you even say that?”

  Ko Mala sat toward the back of the ship, carving symbols into a wooden paddle—not magical ones, just familiar etchings from home. He looked up at the girls, then toward Rell.

  “You’re building a tribe, whether you want one or not,” he said.

  Rell didn’t turn.

  “Doesn’t feel like one.”

  Mala shrugged. “It’s never supposed to. Not at first.”

  Thessia helped Neyxa to her feet and draped an arm around her shoulders. “You two done being cryptic?”

  Mala grunted. “Not even close.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The crew settled in for the ride, the sea stretching out in all directions. Every few hours, a passing seabird would signal land somewhere far off. But nothing pressing. Nothing dangerous.

  They had time to breathe.

  And that made Rell uneasy.

  He sat by himself as night fell, eyes half-closed, listening to the rhythm of waves slapping wood. Neyxa and Thessia had dozed off under a shared blanket. Ko Mala sat upright, unmoving, still watching stars.

  For a moment, Rell let himself believe things were normal.

  ---

  [Elsewhere — Near the Elven Coastline]

  The waves were quiet today.

  Too quiet.

  A figure dragged itself from the surf, soaked and barefoot, moving with the patience of something that had drowned once already and made peace with it.

  Yvonne Blackwell stepped onto the broken sandbank, salt crusting his brows, his coat dripping seawater in steady trails behind him. The frayed bottom tugged across ash and stone like a tide refusing to let go.

  His cursed arm twitched once — oily black, gnarled, and scarred with deep ocean rot. It moved before he did, stretching slightly like it remembered what it used to choke.

  He sniffed the air.

  “…Still breathin’, huh.”

  Yvonne stood tall, lean but sharp, the kind of man storms never quite finish killing. He looked down the jagged shoreline — empty ships, collapsed docks, half-burnt taverns. Perfect place for something dead to start walking again.

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden idol, soaked and cracked. Seaweed wrapped around it like veins. Something about it pulsed faintly — not magic, not power.

  Just hunger.

  He planted it in the sand.

  “Let’s see if the world still fears the deep,” he muttered.

  His cursed arm twitched again.

  And Yvonne smiled.