Chapter 36 - Connection
"And so, he said, 'Mom! That's not a potato, that's Jimmy!'"
"BWAHAHAHA!"
Brohm's booming laugh rippled through the high air, completely overriding the whistling wind. I found myself giggling right along with her, the sheer absurdity of the joke breaking through my usual defensive walls.
We were taking a much-needed breather all the way up on the main topmast, sitting side-by-side right on the wooden fence of the round platform. Our legs dangled casually over the outside of the railing, swaying in the empty air with a terrifyingly long drop straight down to the distant deck below. Brohm sat right next to me on the fence, her massive purple wings finally relaxed, folded loosely against her back like a shield against the midday sun.
"That's a good one, haha! A bit dark, but still pretty damn good," Brohm wheezed, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye with a finger. "Where do you even come up with this stuff, Kyro?"
"Hehe, I have my sources," I said, offering a small, mysterious smirk as I leaned back slightly against the vertical support of the railing. In reality, I was just recycling old internet jokes from a life I lived decades ago, but up here, surrounded by nothing but blue sky and endless ocean, those stale Earth memories actually felt light. Fun, even.
We both quieted down, turning our eyes back toward the noon horizon. The sun was directly overhead now, turning the surface of the sea into a blinding, glittering sheet of crushed diamonds. Honestly, if you completely ignored the fact that a colossal, ship-snapping Kraken was actively lurking somewhere in the freezing depths beneath our hull, the voyage had been incredibly smooth.
A comfortable, easy silence settled between us. The wind whistled softly through the rigging below, and for right now, my brain wasn't spinning with anxiety about the future.
Curious, I turned my head to look at the demon captain sitting beside me on the fence. Now that we were sitting completely still, without the blinding speed of flying or the sheer panic of a near-death experience distracting me, I finally got a clear, up-close look at her face once again.
The harsh, direct noon sunlight illuminated the left side of her face, casting a stark glow over a feature I hadn't properly examined before.
It was a scar. But it wasn't a clean, ropy line left by a sword or a stray monster claw. It was a burn scar just around her left cheek. The skin there was uneven, puckered, and entirely stripped of its natural smooth texture, carrying a distinct, deep reddish-purple hue.
It instantly reminded me of Zuko or Todoroki from the animated series I used to binge-watch back in my locked bedroom on Earth, the only difference is that the scar didn't reach the eye, but merely localized within the cheek only.
I realized I was staring, but before I could awkwardly look away and pretend I was suddenly fascinated by a passing seagull, Brohm caught my gaze. She didn't flinch or get defensive. Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile playing on the right side of her lips.
"Staring is rude, you know," she murmured, though her tone was completely devoid of any real bite. She raised a hand, casually tracing the rough, discolored edge of the burn with the tip of her finger. "But go ahead. Ask."
I swallowed, my small fingers tightening slightly around the wooden edge of our perch. "Does it... I mean, how did you get it?"
Brohm let out a soft, dry hum, her eyes tracking a distant wave. "A little parting gift from a Darkon[1] back during my early days at Zintar. I was young, cocky, and thought my wings made me faster than an explosion." She shrugged, her demeanor remarkably casual about a wound that must have been absolute agony. "As you may expect, they didn't. Learned the hard way that fire doesn't care how tough you think you are."
I looked down at my own small, unblemished hands, thinking about the massive, terrifying fireball I had carelessly conjured just hours prior. Magic in this world wasn't a game. It wasn't a cool pixelated effect on a computer screen; it was real, volatile, and deeply dangerous.
"Does it still hurt?" I asked softly.
Brohm looked back down at me, her black eyes softening as she reached over, using her massive hand to gently shove my shoulder in a playful nudge.
"Nah." she teased, her laugh returning to its usual, high-energy rumble. "Don't get all sappy on me now, kid. I'm a demon captain, remember? A little extra texture just makes me look more intimidating to the crew."
"True," I chuckled, kicking my legs out over the empty space beneath us, firmly holding onto the fence. "Though, if I'm being completely honest, the name 'Brohm' didn't exactly scream 'elegant lady' when I first heard it."
She paused, looking down at me with an amused grin from her spot on the railing. "Huh? Oh yeah? What exactly did you expect, then?"
"Well, right before we entered your cabin for the first time, I distinctly heard a deep, gravelly man's voice coming from inside," I said, scratching my cheek as a faint blush of embarrassment returned. "So, yeah. My brain immediately painted a picture of some old, wrinkly, terrifying pirate captain with a massive black beard and a rusty hook for a left hand."
Brohm stared at me for a beat, her black eyes wide, as she laughed softly. But right mid-laugh, the sound abruptly cut off. When she spoke again, the rich, feminine tone was entirely gone.
"You mean a voice like this?"[2]
I froze, hairs standing up on the back of my neck. It was the exact, booming masculine rumble I had heard through the cabin door—deep, resonant, and entirely unnatural coming from her.
Before I could even gasp, her face twisted into a mock scowl, and her voice shifted again, instantly turning high-pitched, bratty, and agonizingly familiar. "And what about this? Get up, you total nitwit!"[3]
"O-okay, stop—"
"Or maybe you prefer the old man?"[4] she rasped, her voice instantly degrading into a dry, whistling cough that sounded exactly like Grann. "Shut your trap and steer the ship, you lazy sea dogs! We gotta eat 80 percent of that cow!"
"Okay, seriously, you are completely creeping me out now," I stammered, scooting a solid six inches away from her along the topmast fence. I stared at her, my heart doing a nervous little flutter. It wasn't just a good impression; it was a flawless, terrifyingly perfect acoustic clone. "Is that... some kind of illusion magic? Or is that just a natural thing for you succubi to have?"
"HAHAHA!" Brohm threw her head back, reverting to her normal voice, and delivered a heavy, boisterous slap right between my shoulder blades.
SMACK.
"Whoa—!" I yelped, my tiny seven-year-old body jolting forward. I frantically clutched the wooden fence to keep from tumbling off our high perch and plunging a hundred feet down into the ocean.
"Well, a succubus thrives on deception, kid," she explained, entirely unbothered by the fact that she had almost sent me flying off the railing via back-pat. She leaned back, her long purple wings twitching slightly in the breeze. "Being able to mimic any sound or voice we hear is just a natural tool. It helps us lure targets in, change the mood, or mimic a loved one to lower their guard."
She shifted her gaze out toward the sparkling horizon, her expression turning a bit more analytical.
"Think of it as a vocal hypnosis. As long as a male species is already hooked—you know, feeling a little too interested—our voice can lock them into a trance. If they aren't thinking with that part of their brain, though, they can shake the hypnosis off pretty easily." She gave pointed at me with a highly mischievous look.
I coughed into my fist, desperately pretending I didn't know exactly what she was talking about.
"Every race has their own natural tools," Brohm continued, counting them off on her clawed fingers. "Humans get their shiny little Aura barriers to keep them warm and sturdy. Darkons have an innate spark that lets them breath fire from birth. Elves get the luxury of living the longest, most boring lives out of anyone. And us succubi? We get the power to drain life force and play with voices. It's just how the world balances the scale."
I stared at my dangling shoes, absorbing the casual words she just said. Hearing it laid out like that made this bizarre fantasy reality feel a little more interesting.
"Huh," I muttered, the lingering tension completely leaving my shoulders as I looked back up at her. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense."
"What makes sense?" a sharp voice asked from right behind us.
"AH!"
Both Brohm and I jumped, the sudden noise nearly sending us off our perch. I whipped my head around to find Lyra casually standing on the wooden platform of the topmast, her hands resting confidently on her hips. She was leaning against the vertical mast, looking down at us like she owned the sky.
"Lyra! Will you stop doing that?!" I gasped, clutching the wooden fence with white knuckles. "One of these days, you're going to give me a literal heart attack! We are a hundred feet in the air!"
"Pfft, you're such a baby." She rolled her eyes, completely unfazed by the height.
Brohm let out a low chuckle, closing one golden eye as she looked Lyra up and down. "You know, kid, for a girl with such a massive mouth, you're surprisingly silent when you're moving around. It's almost creepy."
Lyra crossed her arms, raising a defensive brow. "Huh?! What's that supposed to mean, scar-face? It's called footwork. Saul, my teacher, says my stealth is already better than half the village watchguards."
"Stealth? You?" Brohm smirked, her long purple wings twitching with amusement. "Please. I've heard competitive rock-crushing quieter than your breakfast. You practically stomp everywhere you go. I'm starting to think you only managed to sneak up on us because the wind masked your heavy footsteps."
"Hey! I am perfectly graceful!" Lyra shot back, her cheeks flushing slightly with childish irritation. She pointed a finger at me. "Kyro, tell her I'm graceful!"
I stared at her blankly. "Uh.. I guess?"
"See?!" Lyra huffed, crossing her arms. "Even the nitwit agrees. If you think I'm loud, maybe your demon ears are just getting old, Captain."
Brohm bared her sharp teeth in a broad, delighted grin, clearly loving the back-and-forth. "Oh, you've got bite, brat. I respect that. But don't mistake a captain's patience for—"
BOOM!
The entire ship violently shuddered, a massive, grinding impact echoing through the hull from somewhere deep below the waterline. The sudden jolt rattled the entire mainmast.
"Whoa—!"
My small hands ripped away from the smooth wood as the fence jerked violently. I slipped backward, gravity immediately taking hold as I tipped out into the open, empty air.
S-SHIT!
Before I could even scream, a hand shot forward like lightning.
Lyra grabbed the collar of my shirt with terrifying accuracy, her boots digging firmly into the platform. With a single, fluid grunt, she yanked my seven-year-old body back over the edge, dumping me unceremoniously onto the sturdy wooden floorboards.
Thud.
"Ow!" I yelped, rubbing my bruised tailbone, but the panic in my chest completely drowned out the minor pain. "W-what the hell was that?!"
I scrambled to my knees, peering over the edge. Down in the sparkling blue ocean, a colossal, dark shadow was cutting through the water, leaving a massive wake behind it.
"MANTA SHARK!" Scrotus's voice boomed from the lower decks.
Brohm's playful demeanor vanished in a fraction of a second. Her massive purple wings snapped open to their full length. Without a word, she vaulted directly off the topmast fence, diving straight down into the open air. She flared her wings mid-fall, catching the updraft to slow her descent before landing perfectly on the quarterdeck below with her bare feet.
Thud.
Down on the main deck, the crew was already scrambling.
"Crossbows! To the port side, move!" Brohm yelled, she waved for them to move.
Men rushed the railing, heavy iron-tipped bolts already loaded. I watched from the high platform as the dark silhouette below the water pulled off a sharp, high-speed turn, making a full-throttle sprint back toward the ship. But as it neared, its jagged dorsal fin dipped lower and lower, completely vanishing beneath the churning surface.
A suffocating silence fell over the deck. The sailors surrounded the perimeter, weapons raised, eyes darting wildly across the water.
"Keep your eyes peeled!" Brohm bellowed, her wings retracted back under her skin, she looked more like a regular human now as she took command. "Are we taking on water? Scrotus!"
Scrotus popped his head out of the mid-deck hatch, a heavy iron hammer clenched between his teeth, holding spare wooden planks in his left hand and a cluster of thick iron nails in his right. "The previous leaks are already patched, Captain! The hull is holding, but if that thing hits us again at full speed, we're gonna have a problem!"
"Good! Stay down there and reinforce the frame!" Brohm nodded. "Good thing I recruited you, Scrotus. You're a hell of a fixer."
"You can always count on me, Captain!" Scrotus muffled around the hammer before ducking back under the hatch.
Suddenly, a sailor on the starboard side gasped, staring straight down into the water right beneath him. A massive, dark shape was rising at an impossible speed.
"THERE! IT'S UNDER—"
SPLASH!
The ocean erupted. The Manta Shark breached the surface, its hideous, wide jaw lined with rows of serrated teeth stretching wide open. The sailor instinctively stumbled backward, trying to aim his heavy crossbow with one hand, but he was too slow.
"SHOOT IT!"
A volley of crossbow bolts whistled through the air, piercing the monster's thick grey hide, but its momentum carried it straight, smashing through the bulwark. The shark slammed onto the deck, squirming violently. Its massive weight caused the entire ship to tilt sharply to the right.
Damn! That shark's too heavy! Even if it dies from the venom, the weight of this thing will make the ship capsize! Brohm thought as she grabbed a sword, intending to slice the monster apart to reduce its weight.
"CRAP!" I yelled, desperately wrapping my arms around the base of the mainmast fence to keep from sliding off.
Beside me, Lyra held onto the railing with one hand, her other hand already reaching behind her shoulder to grip the hilt of her sword. Her face wasn't pale like mine and her eyes weren't wide with fear. She looked completely, terrifyingly relaxed.
"W-we're tilting!" I panicked.
Lyra didn't answer. She simply let go of the fence and dove straight off the platform.
"Lyra! No!" I screamed.
She didn't have wings to break her fall like Brohm. Instead, she fell like a meteor, using the sheer momentum of the drop. Mid-air, her steel blade cleared its scabbard with a brilliant flash of silver. A faint, blue shimmer of Aura flared around her body, stabilizing her weight.
Brohm rushed forward, but Lyra was first.
With a fierce, echoing battle cry, she brought the blade down, aiming directly for the shark's midsection as she landed.
CHOP
The strike was devastating. With a single, monstrously powerful physical swing, she cleaved the giant shark clean in half. The sheer force of the impact caused the tail half of the beast to slide right off the tilted deck, splashing back into the ocean, while the front half remained pinned to the floorboards. As the severed half hit the water, the ship violently rocked back into place, groaning against the waves.
Thick, dark blood sprayed across the wooden deck as the remaining half of the shark twitched weakly, its black eyes glazing over as it quickly died.
"There, it's dead." Lyra swung her sword, sending the blood from her blade to the floorboards.
"ARGH! MY ARM! GODSFUCK, MY ARM!"
The scream was agonizing. The sailor who had been blindsided was writhing on the deck. The shark had clamped down on his arm before Lyra severed it, and his limb was still trapped inside the dead creature's locked jaws.
The crew immediately swarmed the wounded man.
"One, two, three! PULL!"
Three burly sailors threw their weight against the shark's massive jaw, forcing the dead muscles open. When they finally managed to pry it apart, the sight made my stomach turn. The man's arm was a battered, shredded mess of torn fabric and mangled flesh. It was barely attached; held together by exposed bone, mangled muscle, and tiny, leaking veins. There was no saving it.
They dragged the screaming sailor away from the carcass, leaving a thick trail of crimson behind.
"He's bleeding out! Fast!" a crewman yelled, trying to apply pressure, but the blood was spraying through his fingers.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn't just sit up here. Carefully but quickly, I swung my legs over the platform and began scrambling down the rope ladder, my small hands shaking as I hurried toward the deck.
By the time my shoes hit the floorboards with a soft thud, Scrotus had already rushed up from the hatch with a clean, heavy hacksaw. He knelt beside the groaning man, inspecting the catastrophic damage.
"We have to take the rest of it off," Scrotus said, his voice grim but steady. "It's completely shredded. If we don't sever it cleanly and tie it off, the shock and blood loss will kill him in minutes."
Before the sailor could even process the words, Scrotus worked with brutal, efficient pirate triage. He made a clean cut, severing the useless limb, and immediately began wrapping tight linen bandages around the raw, pulsing stump.
I pushed through the crowd of panicked sailors, staring at the limp, severed arm resting just a few feet away on the blood-soaked floorboards. My throat went completely dry. A heavy lump formed in my chest, and I felt a sudden urge to throw up. Back on my life as Paul, I had seen plenty of gore in movies and video games, but the metallic smell of fresh blood and the guttural, choking sounds of a man dying right in front of me was a completely different reality.
I looked at the sailor's pale face, then at Scrotus, whose hands were already covered in dark red.
I can do this, I thought, my hands trembling as I stepped forward. If I don't try, he's going to die.
"I-I can stop the bleeding," I stammered, my voice sounding incredibly small amidst the chaos. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to go firmer. "Let me through. I can heal him."
The sailors looked down at me, startled, but seeing the pure determination in my eyes, they quickly made way.
I knelt down in the blood, placing both of my small palms gently over the heavily bandaged stump. The heat radiating from the wound was sickening.
Focus, I told myself, closing my eyes to block out the shouting of the crew. Remember what Onnie taught you.
The Four absolute principles of healing magic flooded my mind.
It must be spoken out loud. Wordless casting is impossible here.
It must invoke the name of the God of Nature, Lunareth.
The words must carry genuine care and sincerity.
On top of that, Onnie had warned me that the heavier the injury, the longer and more elaborate the chant needed to be to provide enough power, even if it drained my mana dry. And this was as heavy as it got.
I took a slow, deep breath, letting my internal mana pool stir. I didn't think about my ego. I didn't think about looking cool like I did during my fight with Lyra. I focused entirely on the fading pulse of the man beneath my hands, pouring every ounce of empathy and sincerity I possessed into the magic.
I opened my mouth, and began to speak.
"By the sacred name of Lunareth, mother of the wild and keeper of the living pulse," I began, my voice steadying as the rhythm of the words took over. "I petition the deep roots of the earth and the soft light of the canopy. Look upon this broken vessel, quiet the roaring pain, and bind the leaking rivers of his life. Let the flesh find solace, let the blood return to its quiet rhythm, and close the gate against the dark."
I gripped the sailor's trembling shoulders, pushing past the nausea of the copper stench. I looked right into his panicked, sweat-slicked face, pouring every ounce of genuine, desperate empathy I had into the final anchor.
"Heal."
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a brilliant, deep emerald light erupted from my palms. It wasn't the faint flicker I had managed with Onnie's tiny finger prick; this was a torrential wave of soothing, warm energy. The sailors around us gasped, throwing their hands up to shield their eyes.
Underneath my hands, the ragged, shredded mess of the stump began to react. The spraying arterial blood instantly slowed to a sluggish drip, then stopped entirely. The exposed bone and mangled muscle fibers began to churn and knit together, weaving over the wound like invisible thread. The sailor's agonizing screams dissolved into ragged, exhausted panting as the agonizing heat left his body, replaced by a cooling, numbing peace. Within moments, the skin smoothed over, sealing the stump into a perfectly clean, rounded barrier of closed tissue.
But the sheer length of the chant came with a reasonable price.
Suddenly, it felt like someone had driven a brass tap directly into the back of my skull and drained half of my reservoir in a single second. The glittering ocean, the dead shark, and the faces of the crew blurred into a swirling vortex of colors. My arms gave out, and my seven-year-old body tilted forward.
Before my face could meet the blood-slicked floorboards, a pair of powerful, arms caught me by the torso, hoisting me up effortlessly.
"Whoa, easy there, mana boy," Brohm's voice grunted right by my ear. The fierce, heavy rumble of her tone was grounded, anchoring me as she carefully dragged me back and set me down against the sturdy wooden base of the mainmast. "You look like a deflated balloon."
I blinked heavily, my vision swimming with overlapping geometric spots as I tried to shake the cobwebs from my brain. A few feet away, the sailor I had just knit back together was breathing in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He was unconscious, but his face had completely relaxed into a deep, pain-free sleep.
"Well, I'll be damned," Scrotus muttered. The heavy iron hacksaw dropped from his hands, hitting the deck with a loud clatter as he stared open-mouthed at the perfectly sealed, smooth skin of the stump. He looked up at me, his wide eyes full of a raw, newfound reverence. "The kid's a walking miracle. He just snatched a man right out of the abyss without a single drop of medicine."
"A miracle worker who clearly doesn't know his own limits," Brohm sighed, though her black eyes held a distinct warmth. She kept a steadying hand on my shoulder. "You're in good hands now, kid. Just sit tight."
"I am fine..." I croaked, clenching my fists and forcing the violent dizziness out of my forehead. I hated feeling helpless. Pushing against the pole, I gritted my teeth. "I-I still got some left in me."
Brohm stared at me for a beat, a slow, appreciative smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Good. I like the grit."
With a gentle but firm tug, she helped me haul myself back up to my feet. Once she was sure my knees wouldn't immediately buckle, she patted my back and turned on her heel, striding toward the center of the deck where Lyra was currently poking the severed carcass of the giant shark with the toe of her boot.
"That was a hell of a drop-chop, brat," Brohm said, her voice carrying across the quiet deck. "I admittedly didn't think a human kid could generate that much raw physical torque. You split a Manta Shark like a piece of firewood."
Lyra didn't look up immediately, but I could see her shoulders instantly square up. She casually kicked a loose piece of grey skin. "Pfft, it was nothing. Just a basic slash." She finally turned, wiping a streak of dark monster blood off her cheek with the back of her forearm. "Say, can we cook this thing? It seems like a waste to just dump it."
"Sure, if you want your stomach to feel like crap and to be stuck on a bed for a month," Brohm laughed, a dark, dry sound. "Manta meat is practical poison to human guts unless it's boiled in salt-vinegar for three days."
"Ugh, gross. Never mind—"
"No...!"
A panicked scream from the starboard railing cut Lyra off completely. The sailor's voice was so high-pitched it cracked, his arm shaking violently as he pointed out toward the glittering water.
"THERE!" another man screamed, his crossbow slipping from his fingers. "GODSFUCK, LOOK AT THE WATER!"
The entire crew rushed the legal defenses of the ship. I stumbled forward, gripping the wooden railing next to Lyra, my breath catching in my throat.
The ocean was alive.
Dozens of dark, triangular dorsal fins—each one easily the size of a tavern door—were cutting through the sparkling blue surface, slicing through the water like a fleet of serrated knives. They were heading directly for the ship at a terrifying, breakneck speed.
"Brace yourselves!" a deckhand roared, frantically spinning one of the mounted swivel cannons on the middle deck, throwing his weight against the iron frame to aim it directly at the incoming swarm. He grabbed the glowing match, ready to drop it onto the fuse.
"STOP!" Brohm's voice cut through the chaos like a lightning strike.
The sailors froze instantly, the gunner hovering his match a mere inch above the fuse.
A suffocating, breathless silence fell over the deck as the school of monsters reached us. But the expected impact never came.
Instead of breaching or baring their teeth, the massive Manta Sharks merely swerved, their massive, shadowy forms gliding right alongside the hull. The sheer volume of them moving together created a massive, surging wake, their rough, sandpapery hides brushing against the wooden timbers with a deep, vibrating thrum that made the floorboards vibrate under my boots. The ship rocked gently from side to side as the majestic, terrifying creatures swarmed past us, completely ignoring the scent of fresh blood on our deck.
We all sprinted to the opposite side of the ship, watching in stunned silence as the cluster of dark fins tore away toward the eastern horizon, never once slowing down.
"They're... they're not attacking?" Scrotus whispered, lowering his hammer.
"There are too many of them in one spot," another old sailor muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I've been on the blue for twenty years, Captain, and Manta Sharks are solitary hunters. They don't move in groups."
Lyra tilted her head, her posture completely relaxing as she let go of the hilt of her sword. A smug, victorious grin spread across her face, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I guess that's it then. They probably saw their friend get completely slaughtered by me. Can't really blame them for running away. Word travels fast under the water, huh?"
Brohm didn't laugh. She didn't even acknowledge Lyra's boastful comment.
The demon captain stood completely rigid at the railing, her black eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as she stared at the distant, retreating wake of the shark pack.
Apex predators don't school up, and they certainly don't ignore an easy meal unless they are absolutely terrified.
Brohm gripped the wooden railing so hard her nails left deep, splintered indents in the finish. She looked back from where the fleeing sharks came from, her eyes scanning the dark, freezing depths of the horizon where the water suddenly turned a heavy, ominous shade of indigo.
They weren't hunting us. They were running away from something else..!
The world seemed to lose its sound for a fraction of a second, the heavy, waiting silence of the ocean stretching thin until it finally snapped.
CRASH!
The water exploded upward. A tower of white foam and black brine shot fifty feet into the air as a colossal, muscular appendage erupted from the depths. It was thick as the ship's mainmast, mottled with a sickly, bruised purple hue and lined with serrated suckers the size of wagon wheels.
And it wasn't empty.
Clamped tightly in its crushing grip was a monstrous Manta Shark—a true leviathan of the deep, easily twice the size of the one Lyra had just cleaved on deck. The massive beast writhed furiously, thrashing its tail in a desperate bid for freedom, but its struggles were utterly meaningless. With a sickening, wet pop that echoed across the open sea, the tentacle flexed. It ripped the giant shark completely in half as if it were nothing more than a wet piece of parchment.
A horrific rain of dark blood, severed organs, and shredded grey flesh pelted the surface of the water, turning the glittering blue sea into a churning, crimson soup. Before the pieces could even sink, the tentacle dragged the primary carcass back down, vanishing beneath the waves.
But it wasn't alone.
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!
Three more—then five, then eight—massive tentacles breached the surface, surrounding the ship like a cage of living pillars. The water around the hull began to boil and turn a deep, terrifying shade of ink-black as an enormous, shadowy mass rose toward the keel from the freezing dark below.
The sailors were completely petrified. Men who had spent their entire lives facing storms and pirates stood frozen to the floorboards.
"May the gods be with us..." One muttered.
My eyes widened in pure shock. My breath hitched in my throat, my tiny seven-year-old hands gripping the wooden railing so hard the splinters bit into my palms. Back on Earth, I had watched movies with CGI monsters and read epic fantasy books, but nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared my brain for the sheer gravity of a real mythological nightmare towering over me.
"HOLY SHI—!"
[End]
[1] Dragon People / Dragon Beastkin
[2] Male Voice
[3] Lyra's Voice
[4] Grann's Voice