The sea did not welcome them.
It warned them.
The moment Eira stepped onto The Seraph's Whisper, the clouds thickened like bruises on the sky. The wind hissed through the sails with whispers that didn't belong to any living tongue.
Kael tasted salt and storm on the air.
Naima drew runes into the deck with chalk, her spells layered with protection, though her voice shook with every word.
Lysathe stood unmoved, cloak rippling, pale eyes turned west toward the gray horizon.
"To reach Moondrown," she said, "we must sail into the Fold."
Eira frowned. "What's the Fold?"
Lysathe's lips curved.
"Where the sea forgets the sky."
---
Below Deck
The ship groaned under the weight of ancient waters.
Eira lay in her small cabin, bare feet on the wood floor, hair still damp from the rain above. Her eyes refused sleep.
She clutched the old scroll Lysathe had given her—etched in flame-glyphs that pulsed when her fingers brushed them.
Her name was written there.
Not Eira.
But the one she'd never known until now:
"Yreyth'ael."
Queen of Flame. Warden of the Hollow.
It was the name her bloodline buried. A name that meant something in the tongue of unmaking.
A name the Hollow would call for.
"Why me?" she whispered to the dark.
"Why now?"
The dark did not answer.
But the floor beneath her feet… vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
A slow, echoing thud.
---
Storm-Song
Above, Kael had taken the wheel.
The crew—silent, trained warriors from Lysathe's court—stood at the ready.
But nothing prepared them for what rose from the sea.
A siren, twice the height of the mast, body made of sea-foam and old bone, eyes hollowed by centuries of hunger.
It didn't scream.
It sang.
And men dropped to their knees, weeping.
Kael clutched the wheel tighter. "Eira!" he roared.
She burst from the stairwell, fire already in her palms.
She saw it—and remembered the vision from the black pool.
The beast from her nightmares.
Only now… it sang in a voice she recognized.
"Elowen," she gasped.
The siren turned its hollow gaze to her—and in that instant, she knew.
The Hollow One didn't just kill.
It used.
---
Flame Against Sea
Eira stepped to the bow.
Her hands glowed gold, then white, then blue.
She spoke no spell.
She was the spell.
Flame erupted around her like a storm of wings, and the creature hissed, stumbling back into the sea—but not before whispering through a shredded mouth:
"You are already becoming..."
Eira froze.
Kael was beside her now, sword drawn, eyes wide.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then—
"No. But I'm ready."
---
The Edge of the Map
Two days later, they passed into uncharted waters.
No stars above.
No birds.
No time.
Just endless sea, gray and swallowing.
Until—
A tower rose from the mist. Broken, weeping salt. Its base submerged, its top wrapped in vines that hadn't seen sunlight in a thousand years.
Lysathe exhaled.
"Moondrown."
Eira gripped the railing.
"Let's finish this."
But as they approached, a single figure stood waiting atop the water.
A man in white robes.
Eyes like black mirrors.
And when Eira looked into them, she saw herself again—crowned, bleeding, alone.
He smiled.
"The Hollow greets his queen."