The wooden vessel cut through the endless expanse of blue, its massive hull riding the waves with ease. Two large sails billowed in the wind, their canvas stretched taut against the ocean breeze. Atop the main mast, a striking red flag snapped and fluttered, announcing the ship's identity to any who might see it across the horizon. The emblem—a crowned serpent coiled around a sword—marked this as an Imperial vessel, one afforded safe passage through most known waters.
Yet despite the peaceful scene above deck, the atmosphere below was anything but calm.
"Move faster! Are you trying to get us all killed?" The captain's voice thundered across the ship as he spotted three sailors attempting to hide in a shadowy corner behind some crates.
The three men jumped, nearly dropping the coiled ropes they'd been pretending to organize.
"Yes, boss! Going, going!" They scrambled to their feet, boots scuffing against the worn wooden planks.
But the captain had already turned away, bellowing orders at another group struggling with the rigging. The moment his back was turned, one of the three—a thin man with a scraggly beard—couldn't contain his frustration.
"Why are we in such a hurry?" he muttered, just loud enough for his companions to hear.
"Why the fuck are we killing ourselves like this? Full sails for days. Days."
The stocky one—dark circles like bruises under his eyes—leaned hard against the mast.
"Two days. No sleep. Not even slaves get fucked this hard.
He leaned against the mast, his voice dropping lower. "I'd punch that Redford right now if the old bastard hadn't promised us a hundred gold pieces for every hour we work."
"Shut your hole," the third sailor hissed, glancing nervously toward where the captain stood. "You wanna die? Don't drag us with you."
The stocky man snorted.
"What, cause he's one of the Ten Knights? That elite bullshit?"
The thin man gave a dry, ugly laugh.
"Bought it.
Bet you anything.
Saw him carried aboard like a corpse three days back.
Barely breathing."
"Fought some nobody knight from that shit-hole kingdom," stocky added, voice dropping. "Nearly died. Nearly. How tough can he be if a random backwater swings a sword better?"
The thin man continued, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "Rumour is… that same knight's chasing us. Chasing. One of the Ten Knights—supposedly the best—was running like a whipped dog. Can you even picture it?"
The stocky man laughed bitterly. "At this point, I think even I could become one of the Ten Knights. If he can buy his way in, why can't I?"
The other two exchanged nervous glances. Their companion might be delirious from lack of sleep, his judgment clouded by exhaustion and resentment. But there was a kernel of truth in his words. They'd all seen Lord Redford being carried aboard, his white uniform stained with blood, his face pale as death. Whatever had happened on land had left the proud knight a broken shell of a man.
Before they could gossip further, a wooden bucket flew through the air with the precision of a master archer's arrow. It struck the stocky sailor squarely on the head with a resounding thunk, sending him stumbling sideways.
"Do you dare ignore my orders?" the captain's voice boomed from across the deck. His face had turned a dangerous shade of red, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. "You lazy bastards! I gave you a task five minutes ago!"
Seeing his expression—like a volcano ready to explode—they hurried back to their stations, rubbing sore heads and muttering apologies.
The stocky sailor had barely taken three steps when the entire ship lurched violently to the side. The sudden movement threw him against the railing, and the thin man crashed into a stack of barrels that toppled with a cascade of wooden thuds.
"What's happening?" They looked around nervously, gripping whatever they could find for balance.
While ships often encountered rough seas, these were experienced sailors who had spent twenty years on the ocean. They knew every movement of a vessel, could read the temperament of the sea like some men read books. They could distinguish between normal turbulence caused by waves and the distinctive shudder that meant the ship had struck something—or something had struck them.
Most of the crew rushed to the railings, peering into the water below. Some leaned far over, squinting against the sun's reflection on the surface.
Their faces went pale as death itself.
Beneath the surface, an enormous shadow had appeared, hovering in the depths. As far as the eye could see, the darkness spread across the ocean, turning the crystal blue waters into an abyss of black. The shadow moved with languid grace, undulating with a rhythm that suggested something alive.
Compared to this massive presence, their ship—which had seemed so large and sturdy moments ago—was nothing more than a speck of dust floating on the wind.
"By the Fate..." someone whispered.
The captain frantically pulled out his brass compass and weathered map, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped both. He traced their route with a trembling finger, checking and rechecking their position.
"No... no, this can't be." His voice cracked with panic. "We're far from the Drowned Sea, at least three hundred nautical miles. There shouldn't be sea monsters here. The charts, they all say—"
A hard slap across his face jolted him back to reality. His first mate, a grizzled woman with a scar across her cheek, stood before him with her hand still raised.
"Captain!" she barked. "We can find answers later—if we survive. This isn't the time to cry over spilled milk. We need action, now!"
The sharp pain brought clarity. He snapped back to his senses, the fog of panic clearing from his mind. She was right. If they lived, everything else could be discussed later. If they died here, it wouldn't matter how far they were.
He drew in a deep breath and roared at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying across every inch of the deck.
"You bastards! Do you all have some kind of death wish?" He pointed down at the water, where the shadow had begun to rise. "That's the shadow of death swimming beneath us! We're face to face with our end, so are you going to stand there and accept your fate like cowards?"
The crew stood frozen, transfixed by the growing darkness below.
"Move! All sails—now! Every fucking one! Masts crack? Let'em crack!"
He spun toward a young man near the ship's stern. "Ro! Set that damn device to maximum capacity! Pour everything we have into it!"
Ro's face went white. "But Captain, you know what happened last time we pushed it past seventy percent. The engineer said if we max it out—"
"You stupid fool, are you still hesitating?" The captain's voice rose to a near scream.
"Max it! Everything! Consequences later—go!"
Though none of them had experienced anything like this before, they were among the Empire's finest crew. They hadn't been chosen for this important expedition by chance or luck. Each man and woman aboard had proven themselves a dozen times over in dangerous waters.
The moment the orders rang out, their bodies moved on instinct, training overriding fear.
Sailors swarmed the rigging like ants on a hill. Knives flashed as they cut restraining ropes, and with thunderous shouts coordinated across the deck, additional sails unfurled with sharp cracks. Below deck, Ro sprinted to the engine room, throwing levers and twisting valves until the magical device hummed with dangerous energy. The ship lurched forward with such sudden force that several crew members lost their footing.
The vessel surged through the water, its prow cutting white foam as it reached speeds that made the hull groan in protest. Behind them, the dark shadow grew smaller, fading into the distance.
Minutes passed like hours. Finally, when they'd put what seemed like considerable distance between themselves and that cursed place, tentative smiles appeared on weathered faces.
Then someone started laughing—a slightly hysterical sound born of relief and adrenaline.
Silence.....
"We made it!" The cry went up across the deck. "We're safe! We survived!"
The cheers erupted like a dam breaking, sailors embracing each other and shouting to the sky.
"The women are going to go crazy over this story," Ro laughed loudly, tears streaming down his face. "I'll be telling this for generations! My grandchildren will tell their grandchildren!"
The captain joined in the laughter, his earlier fury forgotten in the rush of survival. Relief made his legs weak, and he leaned against the wheel, letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Then his laughter died in his throat.
The joy on his face transformed into pure horror, his eyes widening until the whites showed all around. His mouth worked soundlessly, trying to form words that wouldn't come.
The lively chatter died instantly, replaced by an eerie silence as the crew noticed their captain's expression. One by one, they turned to follow his gaze.
"Captain... Cap..." Ro's voice trembled.
The captain turned slowly, every movement deliberate, as if part of him hoped that by moving carefully enough, he might find this was all a nightmare.
At some point—no one could say when—a massive eye had surfaced beside the ship.
The eye alone was larger than their main sail. It regarded them with an alien intelligence, pupil dilating as it focused on the vessel. The creature's iris was a swirling mix of deep blue and black, like staring into the ocean's depths themselves.
The ship that had seemed so large moments ago now appeared minuscule, less than insignificant. They were an insect that had caught the attention of something vast.
Every voice died in their throats. Some sailors fell to their knees. Others gripped the railings so hard their knuckles turned white.
But their presence—their fear, their prayers, their very existence—didn't seem to concern the creature. Like a cat taking a casual bite from a roadside snack it had been toying with, the sea monster opened its cavernous maw.
The movement alone created catastrophe.
The sea itself began to churn violently, water rising in impossible angles. An intense wind screamed across the deck, strong enough to lift grown men off their feet. Sailors grabbed onto anything bolted down as their companions were blown backward. Large chunks of wood splintered away from the hull with sharp cracks, the reinforced planks tearing like paper. The main mast groaned, bending at an angle that should have been impossible.
They could only watch in despair as a black void formed before them—the creature's throat, vast as a tunnel, darker than the deepest night. Water poured into it in tremendous torrents, and the ship began sliding forward, dragged by the impossible current. The suction was inescapable, stronger than any whirlpool, stronger than any storm.
"Rigging! Cut loose!"
"Hold fast!"
"She's groaning—hold her!"
"Ro closed his eyes against the roar. A small face flashed—his daughter, waving from the dock. 'Come back soon, Papa!'"
He'd never keep that promise now.
Ro smiled softly, tears mixing with the water on his face, and closed his eyes. At least his last thought was of something beautiful.
The roar grew louder. The ship tilted at a severe angle. Men slid across the deck, screaming as they tumbled toward the void.
Then, cutting through the chaos, an intense gust of wind tore past them—different from the creature's pull, precise and controlled.
There was a sound like thunder splitting the sky.
The darkness that had filled the creature's mouth suddenly vanished, replaced by a spray of black blood that rained down like a storm. The eye—that massive, terrible eye—rolled back. The suction ceased instantly, and the ship crashed back down onto the water with a tremendous splash that soaked everyone on deck.
"Lord Redford!" someone shouted, voice cracking with disbelief.
"Lord Redford!" The cry was taken up by others, spreading like wildfire.
The cheering erupting around the ship confirmed Ro wasn't imagining things. He wasn't dead. None of them was dead.
He opened his eyes slowly, almost afraid of what he might see.
Lord Redford stood on the deck, appearing as if from nowhere. His white uniform was stained with fresh blood—whether his own or the creature's, it was impossible to say. In one hand, he gripped a broken sword, the blade sheared off halfway down its length, the edge still gleaming with dark ichor.
Whether the weapon had been broken before this fight or had just shattered from the force of his strike, Ro neither knew nor cared.
The knight stood tall, his face pale but composed, his breathing heavy but controlled. For a moment, he looked every bit the legendary warrior he was supposed to be—one of the Ten Knights, protector of the Empire, slayer of monsters.
Before they could properly celebrate their salvation, Lord Redford's left leg gave out beneath him.
He dropped to one knee with a barely suppressed grunt of pain, catching himself on the broken sword to avoid falling completely. His jaw clenched, tendons standing out in his neck as he fought to remain conscious.
The white bandages wrapped around his leg—the same leg that had been injured three days ago—had turned completely crimson. Fresh blood seeped through the cloth, dripping onto the deck in slow, steady drops that formed a small pool beneath him.
The injury he'd sustained on land, the wound that had nearly killed him, had torn open again. Possibly worse than before.
"Silence swallowed the deck again. Not despair this time—just raw, breathless gratitude… and worry.