Chapter 29: Into the Spiral
The stars that night refused to stay still.
Above the Black Pearl, they shimmered and twitched like they too were being pulled by something ancient and unkind. The sea was unnaturally still, glassy and black like spilled ink, reflecting the uneasy constellations as if the world were upside down.
In the captain's quarters, Jake Sparrow stood over his compass. The black thing ticked and twisted, spinning in erratic circles until Jake narrowed his eyes and placed one ring-clad finger on its lid.
"Alright, then," he murmured. "Let's find madness."
Behind him, Elias leaned against the doorway with arms folded, the black sword strapped to his side humming faintly. Raina sat on the windowsill, watching the ocean as if expecting it to reach up and grab them.
"You sure about this?" Elias asked.
Jake didn't answer right away. He stared at the compass like it was an old friend who'd betrayed him but still owed him a favor. Then he smirked.
"Nope. But when has that ever stopped us?"
He closed his eyes, took a breath, and thought—not of treasure, not of rum, not even of escape—but of the spiral. Of the dying sea. Of the ghost woman in the dagger whispering her apocalyptic lullabies.
The compass twitched. Then pointed.
"East," Jake said. "Which is a little disappointing. I was hoping for something a bit more dramatic. Like... into the sky."
Elias gave him a crooked smile. "Let's sail into madness first. You can fly into oblivion next week."
They gave the order, and the crew obeyed, albeit nervously. None of them liked the feel of the air. It was too quiet. The wind that filled the sails smelled like forgotten prayers.
By morning, the sun was a pale smear behind a wall of mist.
By midday, the Black Pearl drifted into a sea with no reflection.
And by sundown—they saw it.
A jagged shape emerged from the fog, rising out of the water like the teeth of a god left to rot. The island looked wrong. Crooked. The rocks bent upward, spiked like spears. Trees clawed at the sky, twisted and burned in places. The very air around it shimmered like heat... but cold.
As they neared, Elias stepped to the bow. His eyes were fixed not on the island—but on the fleet.
A hundred ships.
No sails. No flags. Just drifting hulls, broken masts, and shadows standing motionless upon them.
The ghost fleet.
"They're waiting," Raina whispered.
Jake scratched his chin, watching the still ships with wary eyes.
"Or sleeping," he said. "Let's not wake 'em, yeah?"
But even as he said it, his compass spun wildly, then locked—straight ahead. Toward the cursed island. Through the dead fleet.
"Well," Jake said cheerfully, "I suppose we're not asking for permission."
Elias grinned. "We never do."
The Pearl creaked forward, the crew silent. No one sang. No one moved more than necessary. Even the ropes hung quiet. The ghost ships loomed on both sides, their sails torn, their decks covered in barnacles, seaweed, and bones.
On one ship, a skeleton still held the wheel. Another had a mast speared through its hull like it had been run through by the sea itself.
"Think they're really ghosts?" Raina asked.
Jake peered through a spyglass. "Well, if they're corpses, they're the polite kind. Not screamin', not swingin' swords, not askin' for rum."
Elias unsheathed his sword just in case.
As they passed the last ship, the wind stopped.
The Pearl glided forward, but the sails went limp. The sea beneath them turned black—not just in color, but in feeling. Cold reached through the wood and into their boots. The island now stood directly ahead. Up close, it looked even worse. A spiral carved into its center. An old ruin of a tower at the peak. No birds. No waves.
Jake stepped off first.
The moment his boots hit the sand, the air around them shifted. The spiral on the island floor glowed faintly. Elias followed, sword drawn, eyes narrowed.
Raina came last, reluctantly, her hand on her dagger.
The spiral path led them forward.
As they walked, the world grew quiet. No crew. No ship creaks. Even the wind had abandoned them.
They reached the base of the tower. The stone was blackened, cracked, but symbols glowed softly on its sides. A voice whispered from inside.
Not the prophet.
Not the dagger.
Something else.
Jake looked at Elias. "Still want to know the truth, mate?"
Elias nodded once. "I came this far."
Inside, the tower was empty—except for a pedestal. On it sat a book.
A black journal. Unmarked. But Elias walked toward it like he'd seen it before.
"Don't touch it," Raina warned. "You don't even know what—"
But Elias did.
He opened it.
The pages flipped on their own, fast, too fast to read. Until they stopped.
Jake peered over his shoulder.
"What in hell...?"
On the page was a painting. A spiral, just like the one on the island. Around it were images: stars falling. Ships sinking. Creatures with too many eyes rising from the deep.
And one man.
A figure with a black sword.
Elias.
The entry read: "The boy is not from this thread. He was placed here by design. A blade to cut through time's bindings."
Elias felt dizzy.
"I'm... not of this time," he whispered.
Jake stepped back. "Oh bloody hell. We've got a time-travelin' demon slayer on board. I knew there was something off about you. You fight too well."
Elias snapped the book shut.
And outside—the ghost fleet began to move.
One by one, their lanterns lit with ghostly green fire. Figures rose from the decks. Silent. Glowing. Marching in rhythm. Headed toward the island.
"They're not sleeping anymore," Raina said, drawing her blades.
Jake groaned. "See? This is why I hate prophecies."
Elias looked at them both. "They're here for me."
Jake looked out the window of the tower.
"No, mate. They're here for truth."
He tossed the book into the spiral on the floor.
The island shook.
The spiral burned gold.
And from the center of the spiral—something rose.
Not a person.
A presence.
The same voice that whispered in the dagger now spoke aloud.
"You seek the end," it said. "But you are the beginning. The sword is the key. The boy is the door."
Elias lifted the black blade. It pulsed in his hand.
The ghost fleet stopped.
Waiting.
Jake stepped beside him, rum bottle still clutched but forgotten.
"Well," he said softly, "if you're a door... what happens when we open you?"
Elias smiled.
"We find out."
---
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator