Silver Tide: Light in the Darkness (Book 3)

 

CHAPTER 1

The nightmare came again.

Fin stood on the deck of the Moonlight Wake, but the sea was wrong. Black water, thick as oil, stretched endlessly in every direction. The sky churned with storm clouds that pulsed like a living thing, and the air tasted of salt and rot.

The shadow was closer this time.

It rose from the depths—massive, formless, hungry. Tendrils of darkness reached for the Ship, for the Crew, for him. He tried to move, to shout a warning, but his voice caught in his throat.

The cursed scar on his chest burned.

And then he heard it—the voice, cold and venomous, whispering his name.

"Finian..."

Not Lamont's voice. Something older. Something worse.

The shadow lunged—

Fin jolted awake, gasping.

For a moment, he lay still in his bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, heart pounding. The Captain's Quarters felt too small, too dark. He tried to convince himself it was just a dream. Just another nightmare. He'd had plenty of those.

But the scar still burned.

And then he heard the screaming.

Fin was on his feet before he fully registered the sound—boots hitting the floor, grabbing his sword from where it leaned against the wall. The screaming didn't stop. It was frantic, terrified, coming from above deck.

He burst through the door and took the stairs two at a time, his pulse hammering in his ears.

The night air hit him first—cold, sharp, wrong. The sky was clear, stars scattered across the black canvas above, but the Sea...

The sea was churning.

"Captain!" Garrett's voice cut through the chaos. He stood at the rail, sword drawn, eyes wide. "Something's in the water!"

Fin's gaze snapped to the waves. At first, he saw nothing—just dark water reflecting moonlight. Then the surface broke.

A shape rose from the depths.

Massive. Twisted. Wrong.

It wasn't a creature he recognized—not a whale, not a serpent, not anything natural. Its body was slick and black, covered in barnacles and rot, and its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed with a sickly green light.

Tendrils lashed out, wrapping around the ship's hull with a wet, sucking sound.

The Moonlight Wake groaned.

"All hands!" Fin shouted, his voice cutting through the panic. "Defensive positions! Get the harpoons!"

The Crew scrambled into motion—Snive barking orders, Swing already halfway up the rigging, Marcus gripping the rail with white knuckles.

And then Fin felt it.

The scar on his chest burned.

Not the dull ache he'd grown used to. This was sharp, searing, like the cursed blade was carving into him all over again.

He pressed a hand to his chest, gasping.

This wasn't just an attack.

This was Dark Magic.

The creature struck.

One of its tendrils whipped across the deck, slamming into the mainmast with a crack that echoed like thunder. Wood splintered. The Ship lurched violently to the side.

"Hold on!" Snive roared.

Fin grabbed the rail to steady himself, but another tendril was already moving—straight for him.

He dove to the side, rolling across the wet deck as the appendage smashed down where he'd been standing, cracking the planks. He scrambled to his feet, drawing his sword.

"Harpoons!" he shouted. "Aim for the eyes!"

Garrett and Swing launched their weapons. The first harpoon glanced off the creature's hide like it was made of stone. The second sank in—barely—and the thing shrieked.

The sound was inhuman. Guttural. Wrong.

Another tendril lashed out. Fin raised his sword to block, but the force of the blow sent him flying backward. He hit the deck hard, sliding across the slick wood until he slammed into something solid.

A cannon.

He looked up at the creature—massive, writhing, its glowing green eyes fixed on the ship—and an idea formed.

A terrible, desperate idea.

"Load the cannons!" Fin shouted, hauling himself upright. "All of them!"

"Captain, we'll hit our own ship!" Marcus yelled.

"The Ship can heal! We can't! Do it!"

The Crew moved. Garrett and Lena hauled powder kegs and cannonballs into position. Swing dropped from the rigging to help load. Kenna, clutching her injured shoulder, limped over to prime the fuses.

Another tendril swept across the deck. Fin ducked, feeling the wind of its passage, and grabbed a lit torch from its sconce.

"Fire on my mark!"

The creature lunged, its massive body rising higher out of the water, tendrils reaching for the crew, for the masts, for him.

Fin touched the torch to the nearest cannon's fuse.

"Now!"

The cannon roared.

The blast hit the creature square in the chest, and it reeled back, shrieking. Black ichor sprayed across the waves. But it wasn't enough—it was already recovering, already lunging again.

"Again!" Fin shouted.

Two more cannons fired. One shot went wide, punching a hole clean through the starboard rail. The other hit, tearing into the creature's side.

The Moonlight Wake shuddered beneath them, and Fin felt it—the ship's magic stirring, already beginning to knit the damaged wood back together.

But the creature wasn't done.

It wrapped a tendril around the foremast, pulling, crushing. The wood groaned, splintering under the pressure.

"It's going to tear the mast down!" Davey shouted.

Fin's gaze snapped to the mast, then to the creature directly below it.

An idea formed—desperate, insane.

"Then let's help it along," Fin said.

Snive's eyes widened. "Fin, you can't be serious—"

"The mast is already breaking! If we drop it on that thing—"

"That'll take hours to repair!"

"We'll be dead in minutes if we don't!"

Fin ran to the nearest cannon, already loaded, and angled it toward the base of the foremast—right where the creature's tendril had cracked the wood, where splinters jutted out and the enchanted timber groaned under the strain.

"Captain, that's our own mast!" Garrett shouted.

"I know! Everyone clear the area—now!"

The Crew scrambled back. Fin grabbed a torch, his hands shaking, and touched it to the fuse.

The cannon roared.

The cannonball slammed into the weakened base of the foremast, and the enchanted wood—already compromised, already breaking—gave way with a deafening crack.

"Move!" Snive roared.

The Crew scattered as the massive mast toppled forward, crashing down onto the creature with the full weight of enchanted oak and rigging. The impact drove the thing back into the water, pinning it beneath the wreckage.

It thrashed. Screamed. Writhed.

Fin grabbed the last powder keg, lit the fuse, and hurled it onto the pile.

"Everyone down!"

The explosion lit up the night.

Fire and smoke erupted from the water, and the creature's body convulsed one final time before dissolving into black ichor and shadow, sinking back into the depths.

The mast—what was left of it—floated in the churning waves, already beginning to glow faintly as the Ship 's Magic started the slow work of pulling it back, repairing it.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Swing let out a shaky laugh. "Did we just... blow up our own mast to kill a sea monster?"

"Yes," Fin said, breathing hard. "Yes, we did."

Kenna slumped against the rail, clutching her shoulder. Marcus stood beside her, staring at the water. Lena was pale, gripping a spent cannon fuse like a lifeline.

Garrett looked at the shattered rail, the scorched deck, the missing mast floating in the water.

"The Ship 's already healing," he said quietly, watching the faint glow spread through the damaged wood. "But that's going to take time."

Fin nodded, his chest tight. The scar still burned, a dull, persistent ache.

"We have time," he said. "It's gone."

But even as he said it, he wasn't sure he believed it.

Because the creature hadn't been natural.

It had been summoned.

They drove it off—barely. Between cannons, explosions, and sheer desperation, the creature was gone. But the cost was clear.

Kenna sat against the slowly-regenerating mast, clutching her bandaged shoulder. Lena hovered nearby with supplies, murmuring reassurances. The Crew was shaken, exhausted, staring at the water like it might rise up again at any moment.

The foremast was already beginning to reform—splinters pulling back together, the glow of the ship's magic knitting wood and rigging—but it would be hours before it was whole again.

"Everyone all right?" Fin called, his voice hoarse.

Nods. A few muttered confirmations. No one was dead, but they'd come close.

Too close.

"What was that?" Swing asked, still gripping a harpoon like his life depended on it.

"I don't know," Fin lied.

But he did know.

He just didn't want to say it out loud yet.

Fin sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. The scar still ached, a dull throb now instead of the searing pain from before. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his hands shaking.

He needed to think. Needed to figure out what Lamont had done, how he'd done it, and how to stop it from happening again.

But exhaustion pulled at him, heavy and relentless.

He lay back, staring at the ceiling. Just a few minutes. Just to rest.

He closed his eyes.

 

When he opened them again, the room was darker.

Colder.

The candle on his desk had gone out, but there was still light—faint, sickly, green.

Fin's breath caught.

A figure stood in the corner of the room.

Tall. Still. Watching.

Lamont.

But not quite. His edges were blurred, like smoke, like shadow. His eyes glowed with that same unnatural green light as the creature's had.

Fin's hand went to his sword—but Lamont didn't move.

He just stood there.

Staring.

And then he spoke, his voice low and cold and wrong.

"You can't run forever, Finian."

Fin's heart hammered. He tried to move, to stand, to do something—but his body felt heavy, sluggish, like he was still half-asleep.

Lamont took a step closer.

Then another.

The shadows around him seemed to writhe, reaching toward Fin like grasping hands.

Fin forced himself to his feet, gripping his sword. "Get out of my Ship."

Lamont's smile was a terrible, hollow thing. His form flickered, shadows writhing around him like living smoke.

"You still don't understand," he whispered. "This is only the beginning."

He reached out—

The door burst open.

Morning light flooded the room, golden and bright, and Lamont's form shattered like glass, dissolving into smoke and shadow that evaporated in the sunlight.

Snive stood in the doorway, eyes wide. "Fin? I heard—are you all right?"

Fin stood there, breathing hard, staring at the empty corner where Lamont had been.

"He was here," Fin said quietly. "He was here."

Snive stepped inside, scanning the room. "Who? Lamont?"

"Not... not really. A shadow. A projection. I don't know." Fin ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. "But he's using Dark Magic, Snive. Real Dark Magic. And I don't think we can fight this alone."

Snive's expression darkened. "Then what do we do?"

Fin looked out the window at the rising sun, at the battered ship, at the crew moving about on deck—bruised, shaken, but alive.

"We find help," Fin said. "We find someone who knows how to fight this."

He thought of the Enchanter who'd broken the curse. The one who'd warned him that Dark Magic always had a price.

And he thought of the Favor he still owed.

"We go to Corwin."

 

CHAPTER 2

 

Fin couldn't shake the image of Lamont's shadow, the way it had dissolved in the morning light like smoke.

'This is only the beginning.'

 

He stood at the window of his quarters, watching the crew work on deck. The foremast was nearly whole again, the Ship 's Magic doing its slow, patient work. Kenna was up and moving, her arm in a sling but her spirits seemingly intact. Marcus stood at the rail, eyes on the horizon, probably sensing the weather.

Everything looked normal.

But nothing felt normal.

Snive had left an hour ago to oversee repairs, but not before making Fin promise to get some actual rest. Fin had agreed, though he had no intention of sleeping. Not after what he'd seen.

He turned back to the room, his gaze drifting to the corner where Lamont's shadow had stood.

And then he saw it.

A faint glow.

Soft. Pale. Like moonlight trapped in glass.

Fin's breath caught. He crossed the room slowly, cautiously, half-expecting the shadow to reappear.

But there was nothing there.

Nothing except a small, smooth sphere resting on the floor.

A marble.

It was no bigger than his thumb, translucent and faintly luminous, swirling with colors he couldn't quite name—silver and green and something darker beneath. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.

Fin crouched down, staring at it.

What is this?

He reached out, hesitated, then picked it up.

The moment his fingers touched it, the World shifted.

The room vanished.

Fin was somewhere else—somewhere cold and dark and wrong. He tried to move, to pull away, but he couldn't. He was trapped, frozen, watching.

A Memory that wasn't his.

The deck of a Naval Ship. Night. Torches flickering in the wind.

A boy stood near the rail—maybe twelve years old, dressed in a crisp naval uniform. His dark hair was slicked back, his posture rigid, his face pale.

Quincy.

An older man stood beside him—tall, broad-shouldered, with the same sharp features and cold eyes. His uniform was pristine, decorated with medals and insignia. Admiral's rank.

The Admiral.

In front of them, three men knelt on the deck, hands bound behind their backs. Pirates. Their clothes were torn, their faces bloodied. One of them was crying.

"Please," the man sobbed. "Please, we didn't—we were just trying to survive—"

The Admiral's expression didn't change. He drew his pistol, checked the chamber, and held it out.

To his son.

"Take it," the Admiral said.

The boy stared at the weapon, his hands trembling. "Father, I—"

"Take it."

Slowly, the boy reached out and took the pistol. It was heavy in his small hands.

"A Lamont does not show mercy to scum," the Admiral said, his voice cold and steady. "A Lamont does not hesitate. You will learn this now, or you will disgrace this family forever."

The boy looked at the kneeling men. The one who'd been crying was staring at him now, eyes wide, pleading.

"Please," the man whispered. "I have a Family. I have—"

"Shoot him," the Admiral said.

The boy's hands shook. The pistol wavered.

"I... I can't—"

The Admiral's hand came down hard on the back of the boy's head, shoving him forward. "You will. Or I will make you watch as I kill them all, and then I will make sure every man on this Ship knows that my son is a coward."

Tears streamed down the boy's face, but he raised the pistol.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The shot rang out.

The Pirate crumpled to the deck, blood pooling beneath him.

The boy stood there, frozen, staring at what he'd done. The pistol slipped from his fingers and clattered to the wood.

The Admiral picked it up, reloaded it, and shot the other two pirates himself. Clean. Efficient. Without hesitation.

Then he turned to his son.

"That," he said, "is how a Lamont leads. Remember this moment. Mercy is weakness. Weakness is death."

The boy didn't respond. He just stood there, staring at the bodies, his whole body trembling.

The Admiral walked away, barking orders to his Crew.

And the boy whispered, so quietly no one else could hear:

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Fin gasped, stumbling backward. The marble slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft clink, rolling to a stop near his boot.

He was back in his quarters. The morning light streamed through the window. The Crew's voices drifted up from the deck.

But his hands were shaking.

His chest felt tight, like he couldn't breathe.

He'd just seen Lamont kill someone. Seen him as a child, forced to kill, forced to become a monster by the man who was supposed to protect him.

And for a moment—just a moment—Fin had felt it. The terror. The helplessness. The weight of the pistol. The sound of the shot.

Fin pressed a hand to his mouth, fighting the nausea rising in his throat.

No.

He didn't want this.

Didn't want to see Lamont's pain, didn't want to understand him.

Lamont had tortured him. Branded him. Hunted him relentlessly.

He didn't deserve sympathy.

But the image of that boy—trembling, crying, whispering apologies to a dead man—wouldn't leave Fin's mind.

He stared at the marble on the floor, glowing softly, innocently.

He couldn't touch it again. Couldn't bear to feel that memory, that pain, that wrongness a second time.

Fin grabbed a handkerchief from his desk, crouched down, and carefully wrapped the marble in the cloth. Even through the fabric, he could feel it pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat.

What is this thing?

And more importantly—why had Lamont left it behind?

A knock at the door made him jump.

"Fin?" Snive's voice. "You decent?"

Fin quickly shoved the wrapped marble into his pocket. "Yeah. Come in."

Snive stepped inside, his expression concerned. "You all right? You look worse than you did after the shadow."

"I'm fine," Fin muttered.

Snive's eyes narrowed. "You're a terrible liar. What happened?"

Fin hesitated. He could tell Snive everything—the marble, the memory, the boy who would become the man who'd tried to kill him.

But the words stuck in his throat.

"I found something," Fin said finally. "Where Lamont's shadow was standing. A... a marble. It glowed."

Snive frowned. "A marble?"

"I touched it, and I saw—" Fin stopped, shaking his head. "I saw a memory. Lamont's Memory. From when he was a kid."

Snive's expression darkened. "Dark Magic."

"Yeah." Fin pulled the wrapped marble from his pocket, holding it up. Even through the handkerchief, it pulsed faintly. "I don't know what it is or why it was left here. But I think... I think it's connected to him. To what he's doing."

Snive stared at the bundle, then at Fin. "What did you see?"

Fin's jaw tightened. He didn't want to say it. Didn't want to make it real.

"His father made him kill someone," Fin said quietly. "A Pirate. When he was just a kid. Twelve, maybe. Forced a pistol into his hands and made him pull the trigger."

Snive was quiet for a long moment.

"That doesn't excuse what he's done to you," he said finally.

"I know."

"But it explains it."

Fin looked down at the wrapped marble. "Yeah. It does."

Snive crossed his arms. "So what do we do with it?"

"I don't know," Fin admitted. "But I think we need to find Corwin. If anyone knows what this is, it's him."

Snive nodded slowly. "Then we set course."

Fin thought back to the enchanter's house, the Binding Favor he'd agreed to.

"We leave as soon as the mast is repaired." Snive glanced at the wrapped marble again, his expression uneasy. "And Fin? Be careful with that thing. Dark Magic always has a cost."

"I know."

Snive left, closing the door behind him.

Fin stood alone in his quarters, staring at the handkerchief-wrapped marble in his palm.

Somewhere out there Lamont was using Dark Magic. Summoning monsters. Losing pieces of himself.

And Fin was holding one of those pieces.

He didn't know what it meant yet.

But he had a feeling he was about to find out.

CHAPTER 3

 

The wind was favorable.

Fin stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the horizon. The Moonlight Wake cut through the waves with ease, her silver hull gleaming in the afternoon sun. The foremast was whole again, rigging taut, sails full. Even from a distance, the Ship was unmistakable—a beacon of enchanted silver that drew every eye.

But Fin could feel the weight of the marble in his pocket, wrapped in its handkerchief, pulsing faintly against his chest.

"Captain."

Fin turned. Snive stood beside him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"We're making good time," Snive said. "Should reach Driftmoor by nightfall."

Fin nodded. "Good."

Snive was quiet for a moment, then: "You going to tell the Crew what we're doing?"

"Eventually."

"They deserve to know."

"I know." Fin's grip tightened on the wheel. "But I don't know what to tell them yet. That Lamont's using dark magic? That he's losing pieces of himself and leaving them behind? That I'm carrying one of those pieces in my pocket and I don't know what it means?"

Snive studied him. "You're scared."

"Of course I'm scared." Fin's voice was low, barely audible over the wind. "I saw what that thing did to us. And I saw what it's doing to him. If he keeps using that magic—"

"He'll destroy himself."

"Or us. Or both."

Snive sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "Then we find Corwin. We figure out what that marble is. And we stop Lamont before he does something we can't come back from."

 

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Fin felt it.

A pull. A whisper at the edge of his mind, like a voice calling his name from far away.

'Fin.'

He sucked in a breath, his hand tightening on the wheel.

"Fin?" Snive's voice was sharp. "What's wrong?"

"Corwin," Fin said quietly. "He's calling in the Favor."

Snive's expression darkened. "You sure?"

"I can feel it." Fin's chest felt tight, like an invisible thread was pulling him forward. "The Binding Favor. He's summoning me."

"Then we'd better hurry."

They reached Driftmoor just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.

Driftmoor's streets were narrow and crooked, lined with sagging buildings and salt-stained wood. The air smelled of fish and brine. Lanterns flickered in windows, and the sound of drunken laughter drifted from the taverns.

Fin, Snive, and Garrett made their way through the winding streets toward Corwin's house. The Moonlight Wake was anchored in a hidden cove outside town—her silver hull too recognizable to bring into port.

The pull grew stronger with every step, tugging at Fin's chest like a rope.

"You all right?" Garrett asked, glancing at him.

"No," Fin admitted, "But we keep moving."

They found the small, nondescript house on the edge of town. The door was already open.

Corwin stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on them. He looked older than Fin remembered—more tired, more worn—and there was an urgency in his expression that hadn't been there before.

"You came," Corwin said.

"You called," Fin replied, his voice tight.

Corwin nodded, stepping aside. "Come in. Quickly."

Inside, the house was exactly as Fin remembered—shelves lined with jars of strange ingredients, books and scrolls stacked everywhere, a workbench covered in half-finished enchantments.

But there was something different now. The air felt heavier, charged with tension.

Corwin closed the door and locked it, then turned to face them.

"I felt it," he said without preamble. "The rise in Dark Magic. Three days ago. Something powerful, something wrong, stirring in the depths."

Fin's hand went to his pocket, where the marble rested. "Lamont."

Corwin's eyes sharpened. "You've encountered him."

"He sent a creature after us. A shadow monster. We barely survived." Fin pulled out the wrapped marble and set it on the workbench. "And he left this behind."

Corwin unwrapped it carefully, his expression darkening as the marble's glow filled the room.

For a long moment, he said nothing. He just stared at the marble, turning it over in his hands.

Then he set it down and looked at Fin.

"A Soul Fragment," he said quietly.

"What does that mean?" Snive asked.

"It means Lamont has made a bargain with the Sea Witch," Corwin said. "A Dark Bargain. And the cost is his Soul—piece by piece, Memory by Memory.

He'll become hollow. A shell. Driven by rage and magic and nothing else." Corwin's jaw tightened. "And the fragments he loses—these marbles—are all that's left of his humanity."

Garrett frowned. "So what do we do? Destroy it?"

"No." Corwin's voice was sharp. "You cannot destroy a soul fragment."

"Then what?" Fin asked.

Corwin met his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"You collect them," he said. "Every one. Every fragment Lamont loses, you must find and keep safe."

Fin stared at him. "Why?"

"That," Corwin said slowly, "is not for you to know. Not yet."

Snive's eyes narrowed. "You're calling in the Favor."

"I am." Corwin's voice was firm. "You swore a binding oath, Captain Bollard. And I am calling it in now. You will collect the Soul Fragments. All of them. And when the time comes, you will bring them to me."

Fin's jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the Binding Favor was absolute. He'd agreed to it. He had no choice.

"Fine," Fin said. "But that's not all you want, is it?"

Corwin hesitated, then shook his head. "No. There's something else."

He walked to the workbench and pulled out a map, spreading it across the surface. He pointed to a small island chain far to the east.

"The Crescent Isles," he said. "My granddaughter, Charlotte, is there."

"What does she have to do with this?" Garrett asked.

"The Sea Witch has minions," Corwin said. "Creatures of shadow and salt. And with the rise in Dark Magic, I believe they're hunting her."

"Why?" Fin asked.

"Because she has power," Corwin said. "Warding Magic. The ability to protect against dark forces. But she doesn't know how to use it yet—it only works sometimes, unpredictably. She's vulnerable."

Snive crossed his arms. "And you want us to protect her."

"I want you to bring her here," Corwin said. "Or take her somewhere safe. Somewhere the Sea Witch's minions can't reach."

Fin looked down at the marble, then back at Corwin. "And if we do this—if we collect the fragments and protect Charlotte—the favor is paid?"

"Yes."

Fin was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "We'll find her."

Corwin's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you."

As Fin prepared to leave, Corwin called him back.

"Wait," the Enchanter said. "There's something else you need to know."

Fin turned. Snive and Garrett paused at the door.

Corwin's expression was grave. "There's a Prophecy. An old one. I didn't think much of it until now, but..." He hesitated. "It speaks of the Moonlight Wake, I believe- and it's Captain. Of a choice that will tip the balance."

Fin's chest tightened. "What does it say?"

Corwin recited it slowly, his voice low:

 

"When silver cuts the waves, the balance tips—

The old order falls, the new tide rises.

Freedom or ruin, the captain decides."

 

Silence filled the room.

"What does it mean?" Garrett asked.

"I don't know," Corwin admitted. "But I believe the Soul Fragments are connected to it. To the choice you'll have to make."

Fin looked down at the wrapped marble in his hand. "What choice?"

"That," Corwin said quietly, "I cannot tell you. Not because I won't—but because I don't know. Prophecies are tricky things. They reveal themselves when the time is right."

Snive frowned. "So we're collecting these fragments blind."

"You're collecting them because it's the right thing to do," Corwin said firmly. "And because when the time comes, you'll need them. Trust me, Captain. I would never lead you astray."

Fin met his gaze and nodded. Corwin had saved his life. Broken the curse. He had no reason to doubt him. If there was something he wasn't mentioning, Fin knew there must've been a good reason.

"All right," Fin said. "We'll collect them. And we'll find Charlotte."

Corwin's expression softened. "Thank you."

They walked back through Driftmoor's narrow streets towards the hidden cove.

Fin looked down at the marble in his pocket, feeling its faint pulse.

Freedom or ruin, the captain decides.

He didn't know what choice he'd have to make.

But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to let Lamont destroy anyone without a fight.

 

CHAPTER 4

 

The Crescent Isles were three days' sail to the east.

Three days of favorable winds, calm Seas, and a Crew that was starting to ask questions.

Fin stood at the helm, watching the horizon. The first marble sat wrapped in its handkerchief in his cabin, tucked away in a drawer where no one would accidentally touch it. The brass compass hung from a chain around his neck, hidden beneath his shirt.

It had been quiet since they left Driftmoor.

Too quiet.

"Captain."

Fin turned. Kenna stood beside him, her arm still in a sling but her expression determined. "The Crew's getting restless. They want to know where we're going."

"I know."

"So tell them."

Fin sighed. "We're going to the Crescent Isles. To find someone."

Kenna raised an eyebrow. "Someone?"

"Corwin's Granddaughter. Charlotte. She's in danger."

"From Lamont?"

"From the Sea Witch's minions." Fin's grip tightened on the wheel. "Corwin thinks they're hunting her. We're going to bring her somewhere safe."

Kenna was quiet for a moment. "And the marble? The one you found in your quarters?"

Fin glanced at her. "You know about that?"

"Snive told me. Said it was some kind of Dark Magic." She studied him. "What is it, really?"

Fin hesitated. He could deflect. But Kenna had fought beside him, bled for this Crew. She deserved the Truth.

"It's a piece of Lamont's Soul," Fin said quietly. "A Memory. Every time he uses Dark Magic, he loses a part of himself. And Corwin wants me to collect them."

Kenna's eyes widened. "Why?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say." Fin looked out at the Sea. "But I owe him a Binding Favor. So I'm doing it."

Kenna was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "You think we can stop him? Lamont?"

"I don't know," Fin admitted. "But I have to try."

She nodded slowly. "Then we're with you. All of us."

"Even if it means facing more of those creatures?"

"Even then." Kenna's expression was fierce. "We're the Moonlight Wake. We don't run."

Fin smiled faintly. "No. We don't."

 

They reached the Crescent Isles on the third day, just as the sun began to set.

The Islands were small and rocky, scattered across the water like broken teeth. Most were uninhabited—just bare stone and scrubby vegetation, with caves carved by wind and tide. A few had small beaches, but no villages, no docks, no signs of life.

"Which one?" Snive asked, standing beside Fin at the rail.

Fin pulled out the compass. It had been warm against his chest for the past hour, growing warmer as they drew closer to the islands.

Now, as he held it up, the needle spun once, twice, then stopped—pointing toward a small island to the north. It was larger than the others, with a rocky shore and a dense cluster of trees near the center.

"That one," Fin said.

They anchored the Moonlight Wake in a sheltered cove and took a small boat to shore—Fin, Snive, Garrett, and Marcus.

The beach was narrow and covered in smooth stones that clattered beneath their boots. The air smelled of salt and pine, and the only sound was the crash of waves against the rocks.

"Stay alert," Fin said as they moved inland. "If the Sea Witch's minions are here, they won't be subtle."

"What do they look like?" Marcus asked.

"Corwin said they're creatures of shadow and salt," Snive said. "Twisted things. You'll know them when you see them."

The compass grew hotter in Fin's hand, the needle pulling him forward through the trees.

They climbed a rocky path that wound up the hillside, and then—through the trees—Fin saw it.

A house.

It was small but well-built, with stone walls and a sturdy roof. Smoke should have been rising from the chimney, but there was none. The windows were dark.

And the door was hanging off its hinges.

They ran.

Inside, the house was in chaos.

Furniture overturned. Shelves knocked over. Books and supplies scattered across the floor. The air smelled of salt and something darker—rot, decay.

And in the center of the room, a young woman stood with her back to them, gripping a wooden staff that glowed faintly at one end. Her shoulders were heaving, her clothes torn and stained with something dark.

She spun around as they entered, the staff raised defensively.

"Stay back!" she shouted.

"Wait—" Fin raised his hands. "We're not here to hurt you. Corwin sent us."

The woman's eyes narrowed. She was tall and lean, with dark hair pulled back in a messy braid and sharp, intelligent eyes that assessed them in an instant. Her face was smudged with dirt and what looked like black ichor.

"My grandfather sent four armed strangers to my doorstep?" she said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "How thoughtful of him."

"He's worried about you," Fin said.

"Is he?" Charlotte tilted her head. "Or is this about something else?"

"What? No. We're just here to help—"

"You're a terrible liar," Charlotte said flatly.

Garrett snorted. Snive coughed to cover a laugh.

Fin felt his face heat. "I'm not—fine. Yes. There's more to it. Your grandfather called in a favor. But that doesn't mean we're not here to help you."

Charlotte lowered the staff slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Better. My grandfather mentioned you. Said you were brave, reckless, and couldn't lie to save your life." Her smile widened. "He was right."

Snive muttered, "Told you."

Fin shot him a look, then turned back to Charlotte. "So... will you come with us?"

Charlotte's smile faded. "They came an hour ago. Shadow creatures. I managed to drive them off, but they'll be back."

"Where are they now?" Snive asked.

"The caves. Down by the shore." Charlotte's jaw tightened. "They're regrouping. I can feel it."

"Then we need to leave," Garrett said. "Now."

"I'm not leaving," Charlotte said sharply. "This is my home."

"Your home won't matter if you're dead," Fin said.

"And running won't matter if they follow me." Charlotte's eyes flashed. "These creatures don't give up. They'll hunt me wherever I go. At least here, I know the terrain."

Fin opened his mouth to argue—

And then the compass flared hot against his chest.

He sucked in a breath, pulling it out. The needle was spinning wildly, and the glow was brighter now, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"What is that?" Charlotte asked, her tone shifting to curiosity.

"A compass," Fin said, following its pull across the room. "It points to... things."

"Things?"

"Complicated things."

He crouched down in the corner, where the compass's glow was brightest, and moved aside an overturned chair.

There, half-hidden in the shadows, was a marble.

Fin pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it carefully, feeling its pulse even through the fabric.

Another fragment.

Another piece of Lamont's Soul.

"What is that?" Charlotte asked, stepping closer.

Fin stood, tucking the wrapped marble into his pocket. "It's... a long story."

"I like long stories."

"It's a complicated long story."

Charlotte crossed her arms. "Try me."

Fin sighed. "The creatures that attacked you—they're connected to the Sea Witch. And the Sea Witch is connected to a man named Lamont. He's using Dark Magic, and every time he does, he loses a piece of himself. This—" He gestured to his pocket. "—is one of those pieces."

Charlotte's expression shifted—curiosity giving way to understanding. "A Soul Fragment."

Fin blinked. "You know about those?"

"My Grandfather taught me about Dark Magic. The cost it demands." She looked at the pocket where the marble rested. "If those creatures left that behind, it means they were summoned. Recently."

Fin's chest tightened. "How recently?"

"Within the last few hours." Charlotte's eyes flicked to the door. "Which means whoever summoned them—"

A low, guttural growl echoed from outside.

Followed by another.

And another.

Charlotte's grip tightened on her staff. "—is still here."

Fin drew his sword, a grin tugging at his lips despite the danger. "Well. This should be fun."

Charlotte shot him a look. "Fun?"

"I've had a rough few weeks. I'm due for a good fight."

"You're insane."

"I've been told." Fin moved toward the door, his crew flanking him. "Stay behind us."

"Absolutely not." Charlotte stepped up beside him, staff glowing brighter. "This is my house."

Fin glanced at her—at the fierce determination in her eyes, the way she held herself ready—and felt something shift in his chest.

He grinned. "All right then. Let's give them a proper welcome."

Charlotte's lips twitched. "Now you're talking."

CHAPTER 5

 

The door exploded inward.

The creatures poured through the doorway like living nightmares.

They were made of shadow and salt—twisted, writhing forms with too many limbs and eyes that glowed a sickly green. Their bodies seemed to shift and blur, never quite solid, never quite real. The air around them reeked of brine and rot.

Fin counted five.

No—six.

"Spread out!" he shouted.

Garrett and Marcus moved left, Snive right. Fin stayed in the center, sword raised, Charlotte at his side.

The first creature lunged.

Fin met it with his blade, slicing through its shadowy form. The creature shrieked—a sound like metal scraping stone—and recoiled, black ichor spraying from the wound.

But it didn't fall.

It reformed, its body knitting back together, and lunged again.

"They don't stay down!" Garrett yelled, driving his sword through another creature's chest. It writhed, hissing, then pulled itself free and attacked again.

"Salt!" Charlotte shouted. She swung her staff, and a burst of light exploded from the tip, slamming into the nearest creature. It shrieked and dissolved into smoke.

"What?" Fin ducked under a clawed swipe.

"They're creatures of shadow and salt!" Charlotte spun, her staff glowing brighter. "You have to disrupt the balance—light breaks the shadow, fresh water dissolves the salt!"

"We're on an Island!" Snive shouted, blocking a strike with his cutlass. "Where are we supposed to find fresh water?"

"There's a well behind the house!" Charlotte slammed her staff into the ground, and a wave of Light rippled outward, forcing the creatures back. "But we have to get them outside first!"

Fin grinned. "I can work with that."

He charged forward, slashing at the nearest creature. It hissed and lunged, and Fin let it chase him—backing toward the door, drawing it out.

"Come on, you ugly bastard!" Fin shouted. "Follow me!"

The creature lunged.

Fin dodged, spinning out the door and into the clearing. The creature followed, shrieking.

"Now!" Charlotte shouted.

She raised her staff, and Light exploded from the tip—a brilliant, blinding burst that slammed into the creature. It shrieked, writhing, and then dissolved into smoke.

One down.

Five to go.

The fight spilled into the clearing.

Garrett and Marcus worked together, driving two creatures toward the well. Snive fought defensively, keeping another at bay while Charlotte moved into position.

Fin faced the largest creature—a hulking mass of shadow with too many arms and a mouth full of jagged teeth.

It lunged.

Fin rolled, slashing at its legs. The blade cut through, but the creature didn't slow. It spun, claws raking across Fin's shoulder.

Pain flared. Fin gritted his teeth and swung again, this time aiming for the creature's center mass.

The blade connected, and the creature shrieked.

But it didn't fall.

"Charlotte!" Fin shouted. "A little help?"

"Busy!" Charlotte slammed her staff into the ground, and a wave of Light surged forward, catching two creatures at once. They dissolved into smoke, shrieking.

Three down.

The largest creature lunged at Fin again.

This time, Fin didn't dodge.

He stepped forward, driving his sword up through the creature's chest. It shrieked, thrashing, and Fin held on, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.

"Charlotte! Now!"

Charlotte spun, her staff glowing so brightly it was almost blinding. She slammed it into the creature's back, and light exploded outward.

The creature shrieked—a sound so loud it made Fin's ears ring—and then it dissolved into smoke.

Four down.

Fin staggered back, breathing hard. His shoulder was bleeding, his arms ached, but he was grinning.

"Two left!" he shouted.

Garrett and Marcus had driven the remaining creatures toward the well. Snive was holding them off, his cutlass flashing in the fading light.

"Get them to the water!" Charlotte shouted.

Garrett lunged, driving his sword through one creature's side. It shrieked and stumbled backward—right into the well.

There was a hiss, a burst of steam, and the creature dissolved.

Five down.

The last creature turned, hissing, and lunged at Snive.

Snive blocked the strike, but the force of it drove him back. He stumbled, and the creature lunged again—

Charlotte's staff slammed into its side.

Light exploded, and the creature shrieked, writhing. Snive recovered, driving his cutlass through its chest, and Charlotte hit it again with another burst of Light.

The creature dissolved into smoke.

Six down.

Silence.

Fin stood in the clearing, breathing hard, his sword still raised. His shoulder throbbed, blood soaking through his shirt, but he was alive.

They were all alive.

"Everyone all right?" he called.

"Fine," Garrett said, wiping black ichor off his blade.

"Alive," Marcus muttered.

Snive nodded, breathing hard. "That was unpleasant."

Fin turned to Charlotte. She was leaning on her staff, her face pale and streaked with sweat, but her eyes were sharp.

"You all right?" Fin asked.

"I've had better days," Charlotte said. Then she looked at his shoulder. "You're bleeding."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine." Charlotte crossed the clearing and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the house. "Sit. I'll patch you up."

"I'm fine, really—"

"Sit."

Fin sat.

Charlotte disappeared into the house and returned a moment later with a cloth, a bowl of water, and a small jar of something that smelled like herbs.

She knelt beside him and started cleaning the wound. Her hands were steady, efficient, but gentle.

You're reckless," she said.

"Maybe a little."

"You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't." Fin met her eyes. "And neither were you."

Charlotte paused, her expression softening for just a moment before she looked back down at the wound. "You grinned. In the middle of a fight with shadow monsters, you grinned."

Fin shrugged—then winced as the movement pulled at his shoulder. "What can I say? I like a good fight."

"That's not normal."

"Never claimed to be normal."

Charlotte shook her head, but there was warmth in her eyes now. She finished cleaning the wound and started wrapping it with a bandage. "Your crew must have their hands full with you."

"They manage."

"Barely, I'd guess."

Fin grinned. "You're not wrong."

Charlotte tied off the bandage and sat back, studying him. "My Grandfather was right about you."

"What did he say?"

"That you were Brave. Reckless. And that you wore your heart on your sleeve." She paused. "He also said you had a good heart. That you cared about people—even when it cost you."

Fin looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. "He talks too much."

"He cares about you," Charlotte's voice was softer now. "And I think that kind of Loyalty—the way you honor your debts, protect people even when it costs you—that's admirable."

Fin's face heated slightly. "I'm just doing what's right."

Charlotte smiled—a real smile this time, warm and genuine. "Most people don't. But you do." She gestured to his  bandaged shoulder. "You came all this way to help me. Fought shadow monsters. Got yourself hurt." She gestured to his bandaged shoulder. "That's not nothing."

Fin felt his chest tighten. "Your Grandfather called in a Favor. I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Charlotte said quietly. "You chose to come. You chose to fight. You chose to protect me." She stood, offering him a hand. "Thank you."

Fin took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. "You're welcome."

For a moment, they just stood there, hands still clasped, eyes locked.

Then Snive cleared his throat loudly.

Fin dropped Charlotte's hand, his face heating. "Right. We should—uh—get back to the ship. Before more of those things show up."

Charlotte nodded, but there was amusement in her eyes. "Good idea."

They gathered what Charlotte needed—clothes, books, a few personal items—and made their way back down to the beach.

The Moonlight Wake gleamed in the moonlight, her silver hull reflecting the stars.

Charlotte stopped at the edge of the water, staring at the Ship.

"That's the Moonlight Wake," she said quietly.

"It is," Fin said.

"The Ship you stole from Lamont."

"Yes."

Charlotte looked at him. "My Grandfather told me the story. How you and your Crew broke into Regalia Bay and sailed her out right under Lamont's nose." She smiled. "That took guts."

"Or stupidity."

"Maybe both." Charlotte's smile widened. "I like it."

Fin grinned. "Then you'll fit right in."

 

They rowed out to the Ship, and as they climbed aboard, the Crew gathered on deck—curious, wary, but welcoming.

Kenna stepped forward, her arm still in a sling. "You must be Charlotte."

"I am." Charlotte looked around at the Crew, then at the Ship. "Thank you. For coming for me."

"The Captain said you needed help," Kenna said simply. "That's enough for us."

Charlotte glanced at Fin, something warm in her expression, then back at Kenna. "Well. I appreciate it."

Fin felt something settle in his chest.

"Welcome aboard the Moonlight Wake," he said.

 

CHAPTER 6

 

The Moonlight Wake sailed west, away from the Crescent Isles, her silver hull cutting through the waves under a sky full of stars.

Charlotte stood at the rail, staring out at the dark water. She'd changed into clean clothes—borrowed from Kenna—and her hair was still damp from washing away the grime and ichor from the fight. But she looked steadier now. Calmer.

Fin approached quietly, two mugs of tea in his hands. "Thought you could use this."

Charlotte turned, surprised, then smiled. "Thank you."

She took the mug, wrapping her hands around it. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, watching the moonlight dance across the water.

"Your Crew is... interesting," Charlotte said finally.

Fin grinned. "That's one word for them."

"Kenna's fierce. Garrett's cautious. Marcus is quiet but observant. And Snive—" She paused. "He watches you like a hawk."

"He's protective," Fin said. "Known him the longest. He was the first person I recruited after I left my old Captain."

"Rourke."

Fin glanced at her, surprised.

"My grandfather told me," Charlotte said.

"Of course he did." Fin took a sip of tea. "What else did he tell you?"

"That you survived things most people wouldn't. That you built something good out of pain." Charlotte looked at him. "That you gave people Hope."

Fin looked away, uncomfortable. "I just... did what I had to do."

"You freed people," Charlotte said quietly. "Gave them a home. A family." She paused. "That takes Courage."

Fin was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "What about you? What's your Story?"

Charlotte's expression shifted—something guarded flickering across her face. "Not much to tell. My parents died when I was young. My Grandfather raised me. Taught me about Magic, about the world. And when the Sea Witch's influence started growing, he sent me to the Crescent Isles to keep me safe."

"How long were you there?"

"Three years." Charlotte's voice was soft. "Alone, mostly. A few fishermen would stop by occasionally, but I kept to myself. It was... quiet."

"Lonely," Fin said.

Charlotte looked at him, surprised by his understanding. "Yes."

"I know what that's like," Fin admitted. "Before I found this crew, I felt alone even when I was surrounded by people. Rourke's ship was... not a good place."

"But you got out."

"Eventually." Fin's jaw tightened. "Took longer than it should have."

Charlotte studied him. "You blame yourself for that."

"Sometimes." Fin looked down at his mug. "I stayed because I thought I didn't deserve better. Thought I wasn't strong enough to leave."

"But you did leave."

"I did." Fin met her eyes. "And I found people who reminded me I was worth more than I thought."

Charlotte smiled—soft and genuine. "I'm glad you did."

They stood in silence for a moment, the Ship rocking gently beneath them.

Then Charlotte said, "You can call me Char, by the way."

Fin blinked. "What?"

"Char. It's... shorter." She paused, then met his eyes. "My Grandfather 's the only one who's called me anything in a long time. It would be nice to hear something different."

Fin felt something shift in his chest. "Char," he said, testing the name. "I like it."

"Good." Char's smile widened. "Because 'Charlotte' makes me feel like I'm in trouble."

Fin laughed—a real laugh, the kind that came from his chest. "Fair enough."

Char finished her tea and set the mug down on the rail. "I should get some sleep. It's been... a long day."

"Yeah." Fin nodded. "Kenna set up a hammock for you below deck. Third one on the left."

"Thank you." Char hesitated, then said, "For everything. Really."

"You're welcome."

Char smiled once more, then turned and headed below deck.

Fin stood at the rail for a while longer, watching the stars, feeling the weight of the day settle over him.

Then he went to his quarters.

 

The cabin was small but comfortable—a bed, a desk, a few shelves lined with maps and books. The lantern swung gently with the ship's movement, casting flickering shadows across the walls.

Fin pulled the second marble from his pocket—the one he'd found in Char's house—and set it on the desk beside the first.

They sat there, side by side, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Fin stared at them, his chest tight.

He didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to see another memory, feel another piece of Lamont's pain.

But the marble pulsed, insistent, like a heartbeat calling to him.

'Touch me. See me. Understand.'

Fin's hand moved before he could stop it.

His fingers brushed the marble's surface.

And the world disappeared.

 

He was running.

No—Lamont was running.

Fin felt it—the desperate hope, the pounding heart, the taste of salt air and Freedom.

He was younger. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. His clothes were torn, his feet bare, and beside him—

A boy. Thin, dark-haired, laughing as they ran through the night.

"Come on, Quincy!" the boy shouted. "We're almost there!"

"I'm coming, Tobias!" Lamont—Quincy—gasped, grinning despite the fear.

They reached the docks. A small boat waited, rocking gently in the water.

Freedom.

They were going to be free.

Tobias climbed in first, reaching back to help Quincy—

And then the torches appeared.

Guards. A dozen of them, surrounding the dock.

And at their center, tall and cold and furious, stood Lamont's father.

"No," Quincy whispered.

"Run!" Tobias shouted.

But there was nowhere to run.

The guards grabbed them both, dragging them back toward the estate. Quincy fought, screaming, but it was useless.

His father didn't say a word. Just watched, his expression carved from stone.

They threw Quincy into the Courtyard.

His father stood over him, a whip in his hand.

"You tried to leave," his father said, his voice cold. "You tried to abandon your Duty. Your Family. Your Name."

"I just wanted—" Quincy's voice broke. "I just wanted to be free."

"Freedom," his father said, "is a lie. It is chaos. Weakness. And I will not have a weak son."

The whip came down.

Fin felt every strike. The searing pain, the blood, the way Quincy's body curled in on itself, trying to protect something that couldn't be protected.

And through it all, Quincy could hear Tobias screaming.

"Stop! Please! It was my idea! Punish me, not him!"

But his father didn't stop.

Not until Quincy was barely conscious, his back a ruin of torn flesh.

Then his father hauled him to his feet and dragged him to the center of the Courtyard.

A gallows stood there.

And Tobias was already on the platform, a noose around his neck.

"No," Quincy whispered. "No, please—"

"Watch," his father said, gripping Quincy's hair, forcing him to look. "This is what Freedom costs. This is what happens when you defy order."

"Please," Quincy sobbed. "Please, don't—"

His father didn't answer.

The trapdoor opened.

Tobias fell.

And Quincy screamed.

Fin gasped, stumbling back from the desk, his hands shaking.

He could still feel it—the pain, the horror, the moment Quincy's heart shattered and hardened into something cold and cruel.

The moment he stopped being a boy who wanted Freedom.

And became a man who would destroy it.

Fin sank onto his bed, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face.

He understood now.

He understood why

Lamont hated him. Hated the Moonlight Wake. Hated everything Fin represented.

Because Fin had done what Lamont never could.

He'd escaped.

He'd found Freedom.

And Lamont couldn't forgive him for it.

CHAPTER 7

 

Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont stood in the grand hall of the Naval Council chambers, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carved from stone.

He was exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that went deeper than bone, deeper than blood. It was a hollowness, a void where something vital used to be.

He'd been busy over the last few days. Summoning creatures. Projecting his shadow across the sea. Hunting Silver Tide with every tool the Sea Witch had given him.

And every time he used her magic, he felt something slip away.

A Memory. A Feeling. A piece of Himself.

He didn't know what he was losing. Only that the cost was growing heavier.

But he couldn't stop.

Not until Finian Bollard was dead. Not until the Moonlight Wake was destroyed. Not until every symbol of Defiance and Freedom was erased from the Sea.

The doors to the Council Chamber opened, and Lamont straightened, forcing the exhaustion down, burying it beneath the mask he'd worn for years.

Control. Order. Strength.

He would not show weakness. Not here.

The Naval Council sat in a semicircle at the far end of the hall—seven men and women, each representing a different fleet, each holding power that rivaled his own.

Lady Admiral Kestrel sat at the center, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes sharp as a blade. She was the eldest, the most respected, and the one who had summoned him.

"Lord Admiral Lamont," she said, her voice cool. "Thank you for joining us."

"Lady Admiral Kestrel." Lamont inclined his head. "I came as soon as I received your summons."

"Did you?" Kestrel's gaze was steady. "We sent three summons over the past week. You ignored the first two."

Lamont's jaw tightened. "I was occupied with matters of security. The pirate known as Silver Tide—"

"Is still at large," Kestrel interrupted. "Despite your assurances that you would capture him months ago."

Silence filled the hall.

Lamont felt the weight of their stares—judging, questioning, doubting.

"Silver Tide is elusive," Lamont said carefully. "But I am close. Very close."

"Close is not enough," said Lord Admiral Verin, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek. "You've been chasing this pirate for over a year. You've lost ships. Men. Resources. And for what? One stolen vessel?"

"The Moonlight Wake is not just a vessel," Lamont said, his voice hardening. "It is a symbol. A symbol of defiance. Of chaos. If we allow it to sail unchallenged, we send a message to every pirate, smuggler, and rebel on the sea—that the Navy is weak."

"And yet," Kestrel said quietly, "you have not caught him."

Lamont's hands clenched behind his back. "I will."

"When?" Verin demanded. "How much longer do we wait? How many more resources do we pour into your personal hunt?"

"It is not personal," Lamont said sharply. "It is Justice."

"Is it?" Kestrel leaned forward, her eyes piercing. "Because from what we've heard, this Silver Tide has done more good than harm. Freed slaves. Protected merchants from actual threats. Helped people."

Lamont's jaw tightened. "He is a Pirate. A Thief. He stole—"

"Your Ship," Kestrel finished. "Yes. We know. But that doesn't make him the greatest threat on the Sea, Lamont. And yet you've made him your sole focus."

"He humiliated the Navy," Lamont said, his voice low and dangerous. "He made a mockery of everything we stand for."

"He embarrassed you," Verin said bluntly. "And you've let it consume you."

Lamont felt something crack inside him—a hairline fracture in the mask he wore.

"I have not—"

"You have," Kestrel said quietly. "We've noticed the change in you, Lamont. You're distracted. Obsessed. You've neglected your other duties. Your fleet. Your responsibilities to this Council."

"I am perfectly capable of—"

"Are you?" Kestrel's voice cut through his protest. "Because from where we sit, it looks like you're willing to sacrifice everything—your fleet, your reputation, your position—for one man."

Lamont's breath came faster, his control slipping.

"He stole from me," Lamont said, his voice tight. "He defied me. He—"

"And you've let it define you," Kestrel said. "That is not the mark of a strong leader, Lamont. That is the mark of a man who has lost perspective."

Silence.

Lamont felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on him.

"I have not lost perspective," he said, his voice cold.

"Then prove it," Kestrel said. "Step back. Let another admiral take over the hunt for Silver Tide. Focus on your other duties. Show us that you can lead without letting your personal grievances cloud your judgment."

"No."

The word came out sharper than Lamont intended.

The Council Members exchanged glances.

"No?" Kestrel's eyebrow arched.

"I will not step back," Lamont said. "Silver Tide is my responsibility. I will see this through."

"Even if it costs you your seat on this council?" Lord Admiral Verin asked.

Lamont's breath caught.

Kestrel leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "We are not removing you, Lamont. Not yet. But consider this a warning. If you cannot bring Silver Tide to justice within the next month—if you cannot prove that you are still fit to lead—we will have no choice but to reconsider your position."

Lamont felt the words like a blow.

His Seat. His Power. His Legacy.

Everything he'd built, everything he'd sacrificed for—threatened because of one Pirate.

Because of Finian Bollard.

"I understand," Lamont said, his voice cold.

"Good." Kestrel stood. "Then you are dismissed."

Lamont left the Council Chambers, his steps measured, his expression blank.

But inside, he was burning.

They thought he was weak. Losing perspective. Consumed by obsession.

They didn't understand.

They couldn't understand.

Finian Bollard wasn't just a Pirate. He was everything Lamont had tried to destroy. Everything he'd been taught to hate.

Freedom. Defiance. Hope.

And as long as Bollard lived, as long as the Moonlight Wake sailed, Lamont would never be free of the boy he used to be.

The boy who had wanted to escape.

The boy who had watched his only friend die.

The boy who had learned that Freedom was a lie.

Lamont descended the steps of the Council Building and stepped into the Courtyard.

The Sea Witch's voice whispered in his mind, soft and seductive.

'You need more Power. More Strength. I can give it to you.'

"What will it cost?" Lamont whispered.

'Everything. And nothing. What you lose, you won't miss. What you gain, you'll never forget.'

Lamont closed his eyes.

He thought of the Council's warning. Of their doubt. Of their threat.

He thought of Finian Bollard, sailing free, laughing, living the Life Lamont had been denied.

And he made his choice.

"Give me what I need," Lamont said. "I don't care what it costs."

The Sea Witch laughed—a sound like waves crashing against stone.

'As you wish.'

CHAPTER 8

Morning came too soon.

Fin woke to the sound of the Crew moving above deck—footsteps, voices, the creak of rigging. Sunlight streamed through the small window of his cabin, warm and golden.

He felt like he hadn't slept at all.

The Memory clung to him—Quincy's desperate hope, the whip's bite, Tobias's screams. He could still feel the weight of it, pressing down on his chest like a stone.

Fin sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His hands were still shaking.

He needed to get up. Needed to face the crew. Needed to pretend everything was fine.

But Gods above and below, he was tired.

Breakfast was already underway when Fin emerged on deck.

The Crew had gathered near the galley—bowls of porridge, mugs of tea, the easy chatter of people who'd learned to find comfort in routine. The sun was bright, the Sea calm, and for a moment, everything felt almost normal.

Almost.

Char sat with Kenna and Marcus, listening as Kenna told some story that involved a lot of hand gestures. Char laughed—a real laugh, bright and genuine—and Fin felt something warm flicker in his chest.

At least she was settling in.

"Captain!" Swing called, waving him over. "Get some food before Garrett eats it all."

"I'm pacing myself," Garrett said, grinning around a mouthful of porridge.

Fin managed a faint smile and grabbed a bowl, but he didn't sit. He leaned against the rail instead, staring out at the water, his appetite gone.

The Memory wouldn't leave him alone.

This is what Freedom costs.

Fin's grip tightened on the bowl.

"Fin?"

He turned. Lena stood beside him, her expression soft but concerned. She was small and quiet, easy to overlook, but she saw things others missed.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently.

Fin looked away. "I'm tired. I'd rather not talk about it."

Lena studied him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. But if you change your mind..."

"I know." Fin's voice was softer. "Thank you."

Lena squeezed his arm once, then returned to the others.

Fin exhaled slowly, grateful she hadn't pressed.

Char's laughter rang out again, and Fin glanced over.

She was sitting cross-legged on the deck now, Snive beside her, and the rest of the crew had gathered around.

Wait, wait," Swing said, grinning. "You're telling me you lived alone on an Island for three years and never got bored?"

"I didn't say I didn't get bored," Char said. "I said I found ways to entertain myself."

"Like what?" Marcus asked.

Char's smile turned mischievous. "I taught a seagull to steal food from passing fishermen."

The Crew burst into laughter.

"You did not," Kenna said, shaking her head.

"I did!" Char insisted. "His name was Barnaby. He was very good at it."

"What happened to him?" Lena asked.

"He got too ambitious. Tried to steal a whole fish and couldn't fly with the weight. Dropped it right on a fisherman's head." Char grinned. "The fisherman chased him halfway across the beach. Barnaby never went near that boat again."

The Crew laughed again, and even Snive cracked a smile.

Fin watched from the rail, something loosening in his chest.

Char glanced over and caught his eye. Her smile softened, and she tilted her head—a silent question.

'You okay?'

Fin hesitated, then nodded.

Char didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. Instead, she turned back to the Crew and said, "So, Barnaby the seagull aside, what's the most ridiculous thing that's happened on this Ship?"

"Oh, that's easy," Garrett said, grinning. "Remember when Swing tried to cook?"

"That was one time," Swing protested.

"You nearly set the galley on fire," Marcus said.

"It was a small fire."

"It was not small," Kenna said, laughing. "We could see the smoke from the crow's nest."

The Crew dissolved into laughter, swapping stories of mishaps and near-disasters—the time Marcus got his foot stuck in a coil of rope, the time Lena accidentally dyed all the laundry pink, the time Garrett challenged Snive to a drinking contest and lost spectacularly.

Char laughed along with them, asking questions, teasing gently, fitting in like she'd always been there.

And Fin watched from the rail, something loosening in his chest.

Char glanced over again, and this time, when their eyes met, Fin smiled.

A real smile.

Char's expression softened, and she smiled back—warm and genuine and full of something Fin couldn't quite name.

But it felt like hope.

Later, after the crew had dispersed to their duties, Char approached Fin at the helm.

"You look better," she said.

"I feel better," Fin admitted.

"Good." Char leaned against the rail beside him. "You scared me this morning. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

Fin's jaw tightened. "Something like that."

Char was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "You don't have to tell me. But if you ever want to... I'm here."

Fin looked at her—at the sincerity in her eyes, the way she stood beside him without demanding anything—and felt something shift in his chest.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Char smiled. "Anytime."

They stood in comfortable silence, watching the sea, and for the first time in days, Fin felt like he wasn't carrying the weight alone.

 

CHAPTER 9

 

The day passed quietly.

The Moonlight Wake sailed west, her silver hull cutting through calm waters under a sky so blue it hurt to look at. The crew went about their duties—mending sails, checking rigging, keeping watch—and for a few hours, it felt like they were just another Ship on the open Sea.

No hunters. No monsters. No Dark Magic.

Just wind and water and Freedom.

Fin stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the compass that hung around his neck. It was warm against his chest, a steady pulse that had become almost comforting.

Char was below deck, helping Lena with something in the galley. Fin could hear their voices drifting up through the hatch—laughter, the clatter of pots, the easy rhythm of people working together.

It made him smile.

"She fits," Snive said, appearing at Fin's side.

Fin glanced at him. "Yeah. She does."

"The Crew likes her." Snive leaned against the rail. "That's rare. Usually takes longer."

"She's easy to like," Fin said.

Snive studied him for a moment. "You like her."

Fin's face heated. "I—she's—"

"Relax." Snive's lips twitched. "I'm not judging. Just observing."

Fin looked away, his grip tightening on the wheel. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?"

Fin didn't answer.

Snive was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You looked rough this morning. What happened?"

Fin's jaw tightened. "I touched the second marble."

Snive's expression darkened. "And?"

"I saw another memory. Lamont—Quincy—when he was younger. He tried to escape with a friend. His father caught them. Beat him. Then made him watch while they hanged his friend."

Snive swore softly.

"I felt it," Fin said quietly. "All of it. The hope. The pain. The moment his heart broke." He looked at Snive. "He wanted Freedom once. Just like I did. And it destroyed him."

Snive was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "So now what? You feel sorry for him?"

"I don't know what I feel," Fin admitted. "But it makes it harder to hate him."

"Good," Snive said.

Fin blinked. "What?"

"Hate makes you reckless. Makes you stupid." Snive met his eyes. "Understanding—that makes you dangerous. Because you'll see him coming. You'll know what drives him. And when the time comes, you'll make the right choice."

"What if I don't know what the right choice is?" Fin asked.

"You will," Snive said simply. "You always do."

That evening, the crew gathered on deck for dinner.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, and the air was warm and still. Someone had strung up lanterns, and the deck glowed softly in the fading light.

It felt almost magical.

Char sat beside Fin, a bowl of stew in her hands, her shoulder brushing his. She'd been quiet during the meal, but now she looked at him and said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Fin said.

"The compass." She nodded toward the chain around his neck. "What does it do?"

Fin pulled it out, letting it rest in his palm. The brass was tarnished, the symbols etched into its surface strange and unfamiliar. But it glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"It points to things," Fin said. "Truth. Refuge. Treasure. I'm not entirely sure. But it led me to you. And to the marbles."

Char studied it, her expression thoughtful. "My Grandfather mentioned something like this once. An Artifact that reveals what's hidden. What needs to be found."

"Do you know what it's for?" Fin asked.

"No." Char looked up at him. "But I think it's important. More important than we realize."

Fin tucked the compass back under his shirt. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Char smiled faintly. "You're good at being afraid and doing it anyway."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It is." Char's smile widened. "Most people let fear stop them. You don't."

Fin felt his chest tighten. "I'm not as Brave as you think."

"You're Braver than you know," Char said quietly.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then Snive's voice cut through the moment: "Ship on the horizon!"

Fin's head snapped up. "Where?"

"East!" Snive pointed. "Coming fast!"

Fin was on his feet in an instant, Char beside him. The Crew scrambled to their positions, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the darkening Sea.

And there, silhouetted against the setting sun, was a Ship.

Sleek. Dark. Its sails black as night.

And on its bow, painted in silver, was a serpent.

Fin's blood ran cold.

"That's not Lamont," Char said, her voice tight.

"No," Fin said quietly. "That's Captain Rourke."

 

CHAPTER 10

 

The Serpent's Promise cut through the water like a blade, closing the distance fast.

Fin stood at the helm of the Moonlight Wake, his hand tight on the wheel, his Crew at the ready. Weapons drawn. Eyes sharp. Waiting.

Char stood beside him, her staff in hand, her expression tense. 

Char's grip tightened on her staff. "What does she want?"

"Me," Fin said. "Or the Ship. Maybe both. I'm done running. It's time to face her and end this. Get below deck where it's safe."

"If you think I'm going to hide below then you really are crazy."

He didn't argue. He had seen her fight before and he couldn't make her stand down if she didn't want to.

They stood together, side by side, ready for whatever they would have to face.

The Serpent's Promise drew alongside them, close enough that Fin could see the crew on deck—rough, scarred, armed to the teeth. And at the helm, tall and imposing, stood Captain Rourke.

She looked exactly as Fin remembered.

Tall. Lean. Dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. A leather whip coiled at her hip. And eyes that burned with cold fury.

"Finian Bollard!" Rourke's voice rang out across the water, sharp and commanding. "I thought that was you!"

Fin didn't answer.

Rourke laughed—a harsh, bitter sound. "Look at you. Captain of the Moonlight Wake. The Legendary Silver Tide." She spat the name like a curse. "You've done well for yourself. I want what you stole from me."

"I didn't steal anything from you."

"Didn't you?" Rourke's voice rose, sharp with fury. "You were nothing. A scrawny, worthless boy who couldn't even hold a sword properly. I dismissed you as trash—and now look at you. Sailing the most famous ship on the Sea. Playing hero. Making a name for yourself." She gestured violently at the Moonlight Wake. "That Glory should have been mine, Bollard. If I'd known what you'd become, I never would have let you leave."

"You didn't let me leave," Fin said quietly. "I escaped."

Rourke's expression twisted with rage. "And now I'm going to take back what should have been mine from the start."

"Then you should have earned it," Fin said.

Rourke's expression darkened. "I'm going to take it from you. The ship. Your crew. Your reputation. Everything."

"You can try," Fin said.

Rourke's smile widened. "Oh, I will."

She raised her hand, and her crew moved—grappling hooks flying, ropes snapping taut, pulling the two Ships together.

"Brace!" Fin shouted.

The Serpent's Promise slammed into the Moonlight Wake, and Rourke's crew poured over the rail.

The fight began.

Fin met the first attacker with his sword, driving the blade through the man's shoulder. The man screamed and fell back, and Fin spun, blocking another strike, his movements sharp and precise.

Around him, his crew fought with the same fierce determination.

Kenna, her arm still in a sling, fought one-handed but didn't falter. Garrett and Marcus worked together, covering each other's backs. Snive moved like a shadow, his cutlass flashing in the fading light.

And Char—

Char was a force of nature.

Her staff glowed bright, and every swing sent bursts of Light exploding outward, knocking attackers back, disorienting them. She moved with confidence, with power, and Fin felt a surge of pride watching her.

But Rourke's Crew was relentless.

They kept coming, wave after wave, and Fin's Crew was outnumbered.

"Fall back!" Fin shouted. "Protect the helm!"

His Crew regrouped, forming a defensive line near the wheel. Rourke's Crew pressed forward, and the clash of steel rang out across the deck.

Then Rourke herself stepped onto the Moonlight Wake.

She moved with the confidence of someone who had never lost a fight, her whip uncoiled and ready. Her eyes locked on Fin, and she smiled.

"There you are," she said.

Fin raised his sword. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, but I do." Rourke's smile widened. "You took everything from me, Bollard. My pride. My reputation. And now I'm going to take it back."

"I didn't take anything," Fin said. "You lost it yourself."

Rourke's expression twisted with rage. "You ungrateful little—"

She lashed out with the whip.

Fin dodged, the leather cracking against the deck where he'd been standing. He lunged forward, swinging his sword, but Rourke was fast—faster than he remembered.

She dodged, spinning, and the whip lashed out again, wrapping around Fin's wrist.

Pain flared. Fin gritted his teeth and yanked, pulling Rourke off balance. She stumbled, and Fin drove his shoulder into her chest, knocking her back.

Rourke snarled, releasing the whip, and drew a curved blade from her belt.

"You've gotten better," she said, circling him. "But you're still the same scared boy I remember."

"I'm not scared of you anymore," Fin said.

"You should be."

Rourke lunged.

Fin met her blade with his own, the clash of steel ringing out. They fought across the deck—strike, parry, dodge—each movement sharp and desperate.

Rourke was strong. Brutal. Every strike was meant to kill.

But Fin was faster. Smarter. And he'd learned from the best—from Snive, from his crew, from every fight he'd survived.

He wasn't the boy she remembered.

He was the captain of the Moonlight Wake.

Fin feinted left, then spun right, his blade slicing across Rourke's arm. She hissed, stumbling back, blood dripping from the wound.

"You're going to regret that," she snarled.

"I regret a lot of things," Fin said. "But leaving you isn't one of them."

Rourke's eyes blazed with fury. She lunged again, wild and reckless, and Fin sidestepped. As she stumbled past him, he hooked his foot behind her ankle and shoved.

Rourke crashed to the deck, landing hard on her back.

His boot was on her shoulder. His sword poised to strike her down.

Fin stood over her, his sword raised, his chest heaving.

For a moment, he could end it. One strike. One choice.

But he didn't.

He lowered his blade, but kept it pointed at Rourke.

"Leave," Fin said quietly. "Take your crew and go. I don't want to kill you."

Their eyes met—hers filled with rage and disbelief, his steady and resolute.

"You think you've won?" Rourke hissed.

"I think you've lost," Fin said. "And you can either accept that, or you can keep fighting and lose everything."

Rourke stared at him for a long moment. Then she spat at his feet and stood, her movements stiff and pained.

Rourke glared at him, then turned and limped back to her ship. Her crew followed, bloodied and beaten, and the grappling hooks were cut loose.

The Serpent's Promise pulled away, disappearing into the darkening Sea.

Silence.

Fin stood at the rail, watching the ship vanish, his sword still in his hand.

Char approached, her staff dim now, her expression soft. "You let her go."

"I did," Fin said.

"Why?"

Fin looked at her. "Because I'm not her. I'm not going to become the thing I ran from."

Char smiled—warm and proud. "No. You're not."

Snive appeared at Fin's other side. "She'll come back."

"Maybe," Fin said. "But not today."

The crew gathered around them, battered but alive, and Fin felt something settle in his chest.

They'd won.

Not because they were stronger. Not because they were more brutal.

But because they were better.

"Let's get cleaned up," Fin said. "And then we sail."

The Crew nodded, and slowly, they dispersed.

Char stayed beside Fin, her hand brushing his. "You did good."

Fin looked at her, something warm flickering in his chest. "So did you."

Char smiled. "We make a good team."

"Yeah," Fin said quietly. "We do."

CHAPTER 11

 

The island was small and uninhabited—a cluster of palm trees, and a freshwater spring tucked into the rocks.

Perfect for a rest.

The crew of the Moonlight Wake had anchored offshore and rowed to the beach as the sun began to set. They were exhausted—bruised, bloodied, and bone-tired from the fight with Rourke's crew.

But they were alive.

Fin helped Snive wrap a bandage around a cut on his arm while Garrett nursed a bruised shoulder and Marcus cleaned a gash on his leg. Lena sorted through their medical supplies, taking stock of what they had left.

Char sat near the fire, her staff resting across her knees, her expression distant.

Fin finished tying off Snive's bandage and moved to sit beside her. "You all right?"

"Tired," Char said. "But fine."

"You were incredible today," Fin said. "The way you fought—"

"I was terrified," Char admitted, looking at him. "I've never been in a fight like that. Not against people."

"You didn't show it."

"I had to." Char's smile was faint. "If I'd fallen apart, the crew would have noticed. And you had enough to worry about."

Fin felt his chest tighten. "You don't have to be strong all the time."

"Neither do you," Char said quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling between them.

Then Snive's voice cut through the quiet: "We've got company!"

Fin was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn.

The creature emerged from the trees.

It was massive, with the body of a lion made of shadow and salt. Its eyes glowed sickly green, and its mane writhed like living smoke. When it moved, the air around it shimmered with Dark Energy.

And it was staring directly at Char.

"Form up!" Fin shouted. "Protect Char!"

The crew scrambled into position, weapons raised, exhaustion forgotten in the face of danger. They formed a circle around Char. She stood in the center, her staff glowing bright, sending bursts of light outward every time there was a gap and the creature got too close.

The creature lunged.

The fight was brutal.

The shadow lion was fast. It moved like liquid darkness, dodging strikes, its claws raking across the sand where Crew Members had been standing moments before.

The Crew formed a barrier between the creature and Char, weapons raised, trying to keep it back.

Fin drove his sword at its flank. The blade cut through shadow, and the creature shrieked, but it didn't slow down. It pushed forward, relentless, its glowing eyes fixed on Char.

Snive and Garrett attacked from the sides, their blades flashing. Marcus threw burning branches from the fire. But nothing stopped it.

The creature lunged past them, straight for Char.

Fin threw himself in its path.

The shadow lion slammed into him, its massive weight driving him to the ground. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

The creature's jaws opened, green light blazing in its throat—

And then the world exploded with light.

Brilliant. Blinding. Pure.

It erupted from Char like a shockwave, blazing outward in all directions. The creature shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and its form began to dissolve, breaking apart into smoke and shadow.

Within seconds, it was gone.

Silence.

Fin lay on the sand, gasping for breath, his chest heaving.

Char stood frozen, her staff glowing so brightly it hurt to look at, her eyes wide with shock.

She rushed over to Fin.

He sat up, groaning.

"Are you ok?" They asked at the same time.

For a moment they smiled, but then seriousness settled back over them.

"You saved him," Snive said, helping Fin to his feet. "That was incredible. Never saw anything like it."

Fin looked at Char, his chest tight. "Thank you."

"I didn't even think," she said, "It just... happened."

"Your Warding Magic," Fin said. "It Protected me."

"I have no idea how," Char whispered.

"Well, however you did it," Snive said. "It's a good thing you did."

Fin noticed it then. There, half-buried in the sand near the place the creature had pinned him to the ground, was a marble.

Fin's chest tightened.

He knelt and wrapped it in his handkerchief, tucking it into his pocket.

Three marbles now.

Three pieces of Lamont's Soul.

He thought about the Binding Promise. Collect the fragments, and bringing Char safely to Corwin.

He addressed everyone then.

"We need to get Char safely to Corwin. We set sail at first light."

That night, after the crew had settled into uneasy sleep, Fin returned to his cabin on the Moonlight Wake.

He pulled the small wooden chest from beneath his bed and unlocked it.

Inside, the three marbles glowed faintly, pulsing like heartbeats.

Fin stared at them, his jaw tight.

He didn't want to touch the new one. Didn't want to see another memory, feel another piece of Lamont's pain.

The first two had been enough.

But even as he thought it, the marble pulsed—insistent, calling to him.

'See me. Understand.'

Fin closed the chest and locked it, shoving it back under the bed.

"No," he muttered. "Not tonight."

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

But the marble's call didn't stop.

It whispered through the wood, through the lock, through the walls of the chest.

'See me.'

Fin tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the sound of the waves, the creak of the ship, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

But the call grew louder.

Stronger.

'See me!'

Fin moved before he could stop himself.

He climbed out of bed, pulled the chest out from underneath, and unlocked it.

The third marble glowed brighter than the others, pulsing urgently.

Fin reached out, his hand trembling.

"Damn it," he whispered.

His fingers brushed the marble's surface.

And the world disappeared.

He was small.

No—Quincy was small.

Fin felt it—the smallness, the vulnerability, the desperate hope.

He was eight years old, standing in a grand hall with polished floors and tall windows. Sunlight streamed through the glass, warm and golden.

In his hands, he held a wooden practice sword.

He'd been practicing for weeks. Every morning before dawn, every evening after lessons. His hands were blistered, his arms ached, but he'd learned the forms. Mastered them.

And now, finally, he was going to show his father.

Quincy's father stood at the far end of the hall—tall, imposing, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Show me," his father said.

Quincy's heart pounded. He raised the practice sword and moved through the forms—strike, parry, lunge, block. Every movement precise. Perfect.

He finished and lowered the sword, breathing hard, his face flushed with pride.

"I did it," Quincy said, smiling. "Just like you taught me."

His father was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, "Adequate."

Quincy's smile faltered. "Adequate?"

"You performed the forms correctly. That is expected." His father's voice was cold, flat. "A Lamont does not seek praise for doing what is required."

"But I—" Quincy's voice cracked. "I worked so hard. I thought—"

"You thought what? That I would be impressed?" His father stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "You are my son. Perfection is not an achievement. It is the baseline. Anything less is failure."

Quincy's chest tightened. "I just wanted—"

"What you want is irrelevant." His father turned away. "Practice again. And this time, do it faster."

Quincy stood alone in the hall, the practice sword heavy in his hands, tears burning in his eyes.

He'd done everything right.

And it still wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

Fin gasped, stumbling back from the chest.

He could still feel it—the desperate need for approval, the crushing weight of never being good enough, the moment a child learned that love had to be earned and could never be won.

Fin sank onto his bed, breathing hard.

Lamont had been eight years old.

Just a boy.

A boy who wanted his father to be proud of him.

And his father had taught him that nothing he did would ever be enough.

Fin wiped the tears from his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

He understood now.

He understood why Lamont couldn't tolerate failure. Why he demanded perfection. Why he destroyed anything that defied him.

Because he'd been taught that anything less than perfect was worthless.

And Fin—who had escaped, who had built something good, who had found Freedom—was living proof that Lamont's father had been wrong.

And Lamont couldn't forgive him for it.

Fin sat in the darkness of his cabin, the chest still open at his feet, the marbles glowing softly.

Three pieces of Lamont's Soul.

Three memories of pain and loss and the slow destruction of a boy who had only wanted to be loved.

Fin closed the chest and locked it, sliding it back under his bed.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do with these memories. Didn't know what the artifact wanted from him.

But he knew one thing:

Lamont hadn't always been a monster.

He'd been made into one.

And that made everything so much harder.

Fin lay back down, staring at the ceiling, listening to the waves.

Tomorrow, they would sail for Corwin.

Tomorrow, they would get Char to safety.

And maybe—just maybe—Corwin would have answers.

Because the weight of Lamont's broken Soul was getting heavier with every marble he found.

 

CHAPTER 12

 

The sky darkened.

It happened fast—too fast to be natural. One moment, the sun was shining, the sea calm and blue. The next, clouds rolled in like a living thing, black and churning, blotting out the light.

Marcus stood at the rail, his face pale. "This isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Fin asked, moving to his side.

"The weather." Marcus's voice was tight. "I can usually feel it coming—storms, wind shifts, all of it. But this..." He shook his head. "This came out of nowhere. It's not natural."

Fin's chest tightened. He looked up at the sky, at the way the clouds twisted and writhed like smoke.

"Magic," he said quietly.

"Dark Magic," Char said, appearing at his side. Her staff was already glowing faintly, her expression tense. "I can feel it. This is the Sea Witch's doing."

The first wave hit before anyone could respond.

It slammed into the Moonlight Wake's hull, sending the Ship lurching sideways. Water sprayed across the deck, and the Crew scrambled for handholds.

"All hands!" Fin shouted. "Secure the rigging! Reef the sails!"

The Crew moved fast, their training kicking in despite the chaos. Snive took the wheel, his grip tight, his jaw set. Garrett and Marcus worked the sails while Kenna and Lena secured loose cargo.

The storm hit in full force.

Wind howled across the deck, tearing at the sails, whipping the sea into a frenzy. Waves crashed over the rail, drenching everything. Lightning cracked across the sky—not white, but green, sickly and wrong.

"This isn't just a storm!" Char shouted over the wind. "She's trying to sink us!"

Char gripped her staff, her knuckles white. She wanted to help—needed to help—but she didn't know how. The Warding Magic had erupted from her once, instinctively, when Fin was in danger. But now, trying to summon it deliberately, she felt nothing.

"Come on," she whispered, closing her eyes, focusing. "Please."

Nothing.

The Ship lurched violently, and Char stumbled, catching herself on the rail.

Fin was at the wheel with Snive, shouting orders, his face set with determination. The Crew fought to keep the Ship steady—reefing sails, securing lines, bailing water.

Char tried again, pouring everything she had into her staff, willing the Light to come.

A faint flicker. Then nothing.

"I can't—" Her voice broke. "I don't know how!"

The storm battered them for hours. The Moonlight Wake groaned and creaked, taking hit after hit, but the crew held her together through sheer skill and determination.

Slowly, painfully, they fought their way through.

And finally—finally—the storm began to ease. The wind died down. The waves calmed. The unnatural green lightning faded.

The Crew stood on the deck, soaked and exhausted, staring at the clearing sky.

They'd survived.

Barely.

Char sank to her knees, her staff clutched in her hands, tears of frustration streaming down her face.

Fin crossed the deck and knelt beside her. "Hey. We made it."

"I couldn't help," Char said, her voice tight. "I tried, but I couldn't—"

"You're here," Fin said gently. "That's enough."

"It's not enough," Char whispered. "I should be able to Protect you. Protect the crew. But I don't even know how I did it before."

Fin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "We'll figure it out. Together."

Snive appeared at Fin's side, his expression grim. "That wasn't Lamont."

"No," Fin said quietly. "That was the Sea Witch."

"She's escalating," Snive said. "Whatever her plan is, she's not waiting anymore."

Fin looked down at Char, still kneeling on the deck, and felt something cold settle in his chest.

"We need to get to Corwin," he said. "Now."

 

Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont stood on a rocky outcropping in the middle of the Sea, the waves crashing against the stone below.

Beside him, the Sea Witch watched the storm through a glowing orb that hovered in the air between them.

Inside the orb, the Moonlight Wake struggled against the wind and waves, battered but not broken. And at the center of the deck, glowing like a beacon, was the girl.

Charlotte.

Lamont's jaw tightened. "Why are you wasting my creatures on her? I want Bollard dead, not some Healer's granddaughter."

The Sea Witch didn't look at him. Her eyes—dark and endless as the Ocean—stayed fixed on the orb. "The girl is a threat to my power. As long as she lives, she can undo what I've built. She must be eliminated."

"I don't care about your Power," Lamont said, his voice sharp. "I care about Bollard."

The Sea Witch turned to him then, and her smile was cold. "And you'll have him. But first, the girl dies." She tilted her head. "Or would you prefer I withdraw my Gifts?"

Lamont's hands clenched into fists.

He hated this. Hated being controlled. Hated that she held all the Power while he was left scrambling for scraps.

But he needed her.

Without her Magic, he had nothing. No way to track Bollard. No way to destroy him.

"Fine," Lamont said through gritted teeth. "Kill the girl. But after that, Bollard is mine."

"Of course," the Sea Witch said, her smile widening. "After all, that's what you want, isn't it? Revenge. Justice. The satisfaction of watching him fall."

Lamont didn't answer.

The Sea Witch waved her hand, and the orb disappeared. The storm in the distance began to fade, the clouds breaking apart.

"They survived," Lamont said flatly.

"For now." The Sea Witch's voice was soft, almost amused. "But they won't survive what comes next."

She turned and walked toward the edge of the outcropping, her form shimmering like heat on water.

"Where are you going?" Lamont demanded.

"To prepare," the Sea Witch said. "The girl is heading for Corwin. And when she arrives, I'll be waiting."

She stepped off the edge and disappeared into the Sea.

Lamont stood alone on the rocks, staring at the horizon where the Moonlight Wake had vanished.

He felt... tired.

More tired than he should be. The kind of exhaustion that went deeper than lack of sleep.

It had started after the shadow lion. A heaviness. A sense that something was slipping away, piece by piece.

He didn't know what he was losing. Only that every time the Sea Witch used his bargain—every creature summoned, the cost grew heavier.

Lamont's jaw tightened.

The next time he used her power, it would be worth it.

No more wasted efforts on the girl.

Next time, it would be for Bollard.

And it would be the last time he needed it.

 

CHAPTER 13

 

The night was quiet.

The storm had passed hours ago, leaving the sea calm and the sky clear. Stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds, and the moon hung low on the horizon, casting silver light across the water.

The crew had settled into uneasy rest—exhausted from the fight with the storm, but alive. The Moonlight Wake sailed steady and true, her silver hull cutting through the gentle waves.

Fin stood at the rail, staring out at the endless Sea.

He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the storm—the green lightning, the towering waves, the way Char had tried so desperately to summon her Magic and failed.

She'd been so frustrated. So angry at herself.

And all he'd wanted to do was tell her it was okay. That she didn't have to be perfect. That she was enough just as she was.

"Can't sleep either?"

Fin turned. Char stood a few feet away, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked tired but beautiful in the moonlight.

"No," Fin said. "Too much on my mind."

Char moved to stand beside him at the rail. "Me too."

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle creak of the Ship and the whisper of the waves.

"It's beautiful out here," Char said softly. "Peaceful. Hard to believe we were fighting for our lives a few hours ago."

"That's the Sea," Fin said. "One moment it's trying to kill you. The next, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."

Char smiled faintly. "Is that why you love it?"

Fin considered. "Maybe. Or maybe it's because out here, I'm free. No one telling me what to do. No one controlling me. Just... open water and endless possibilities."

"That sounds lonely," Char said quietly.

Fin looked at her. "It was. For a long time." He paused. "But not anymore."

Char's breath caught. "What changed?"

"I found people worth sailing with," Fin said. "A Crew that became family. A purpose that mattered." He looked back out at the water. "And recently... someone who reminds me that freedom doesn't have to mean being alone."

Char was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I'm sorry I couldn't help today. During the storm."

Fin turned to face her. "Char—"

"I tried so hard," she continued, her voice tight. "I wanted to protect you. Protect the crew. But I couldn't make it work. I just... stood there. Useless."

"You weren't useless," Fin said firmly. "You were there. That mattered."

"But it wasn't enough."

"It was to me." Fin's voice softened. "Char, you don't have to be perfect. You don't have to save everyone. You're learning. And that's okay."

Char looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "How can you be so sure I'll figure it out?"

"Because you're one of the strongest people I've ever met," Fin said. "Not because of your Magic. Because of who you are. You faced shadow monsters. You stood your ground when Rourke attacked. You've been hunted by dark forces and you're still here, still fighting, still caring about people." He smiled faintly. "That's real strength. The magic will come. I know it will."

A tear slipped down Char's cheek. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy," Fin said. "Nothing worth doing ever is. But you don't have to do it alone."

Char wiped at her eyes and laughed softly. "I'm not used to this."

"Used to what?"

"Having people who believe in me. Who don't expect me to have all the answers." She looked out at the water. "My whole life, I've been Corwin's granddaughter. The Healer's Apprentice. People expected me to be wise, to know things, to be... more than I am. But half the time I'm just making it up as I go."

"That makes two of us," Fin said.

Char looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Really." Fin leaned against the rail. "You think I know what I'm doing? I stole a ship on a whim. Built a Crew out of misfits and runaways. Half the time I'm terrified I'm going to get everyone killed."

"But you always seem so confident."

"That's just the mask," Fin said quietly. "Underneath, I'm scared. All the time. Scared I'll fail. Scared I'll lose the people I care about. Scared I'm not good enough to be the Captain they deserve."

Char stared at him. "I had no idea."

"Most people don't." Fin smiled faintly. "That's the point of the mask."

"Then why are you telling me?"

Fin met her eyes. "Because you showed me yours first. Seemed only fair."

Char's expression softened. She reached out and took his hand. "Thank you. For trusting me with that."

Fin looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her. "Thank you for being here. For standing with me. For... everything."

They stood in comfortable silence, hands clasped, the moonlight washing over them.

"Can I tell you something?" Char asked quietly.

"Anything."

"I'm scared," she whispered. "Not of the Sea Witch. Not of the creatures or the storms. I'm scared that when it matters most, I won't be strong enough. That I'll let you down."

Fin squeezed her hand gently. "You could never let me down."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Fin's voice was steady. "Because you've already proven it. Every day. Every fight. Every moment you've stood beside me." He paused. "You're not alone in this, Char. We're in it together."

Char looked up at him, her eyes full of emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

For a long moment, they just stood there—hands clasped, eyes locked, the space between them warm and safe.

Then Marcus's voice rang out from the crow's nest: "Land ho! Corwin's town is in view!"

Char's breath caught. "We're here."

Fin nodded, but he didn't let go of her hand. Not yet.

Something cold settled in his chest. This was it. They'd deliver Char to Corwin, fulfill the Binding Promise, and then... what? The Moonlight Wake would sail on. Char would stay safe with her grandfather.

And Fin would leave.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

Char looked up at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw the same realization in her eyes. The same understanding that this might be goodbye.

"I think so," she said softly. "Are you?"

Fin wasn't. Not even close.

But he forced a smile. "As long as you're safe. That's what matters."

Char's grip on his hand tightened. "Fin—"

"Come on," he said, gently pulling away before she could finish. "Let's go see your grandfather."

They walked toward the helm together, side by side, and Fin felt something crack in his chest.

He cared about her. More than he'd cared about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.

And in a few hours, he'd have to say goodbye.

 

CHAPTER 14

 

The Town was quiet when they arrived.

Too quiet.

The Moonlight Wake dropped anchor in the harbor, and the crew disembarked onto the wooden docks. The Town was small—a handful of buildings clustered along the shore, fishing boats tied up at the piers, smoke rising from chimneys.

But there were no people.

"Where is everyone?" Kenna asked, her hand on her sword.

"I don't like this," Snive muttered.

Fin's chest tightened. Something was wrong. He could feel it—a heaviness in the air, a wrongness that made his skin crawl.

"Stay alert," he said quietly. "Weapons ready."

The Crew moved through the town, their footsteps echoing on the empty streets. Doors hung open. Laundry flapped on lines. A cart sat abandoned in the middle of the road, its contents spilled across the cobblestones.

"It's like they just... left," Marcus said.

"Or were taken," Garrett added grimly.

They headed toward the edge of town where Corwin's house stood. But as they drew closer, Fin saw dark smoke rising from the cottage windows. Not the warm smoke of a hearth fire.

Something darker.

"Grandpa," Char whispered, her face going pale.

And then the screaming started.

It came from everywhere and nowhere—high-pitched, inhuman, echoing through the empty town like the wail of the damned.

"What is that?" Lena whispered.

Fin didn't have time to answer.

The Spirits came first.

They poured out of the shadows—translucent, writhing forms with hollow eyes and gaping mouths. They moved like smoke, twisting and coiling through the air, their screams piercing and relentless.

And behind them came the Undead.

Corpses dragged from the sea, their flesh rotting and gray, their eyes empty black pits. They shambled forward, weapons clutched in skeletal hands, their movements jerky and wrong. Some wore the tattered remains of sailor's clothes. Others were little more than bones held together by Dark Magic.

"Defensive positions!" Fin shouted. "Protect Char!"

The crew formed a circle around her, weapons drawn, as the Spirits and Undead closed in.

The walls shook with the force of their battle.

Corwin stood in the center of his small home, his staff blazing with golden Light that pushed back against the Darkness threatening to consume everything.

Across from him, the Sea Witch smiled.

She was beautiful and terrible—her form shifting like water, sometimes solid, sometimes translucent. Her eyes were dark as the ocean's depths, endless and cold. Her hair moved as if underwater, flowing around her face. When she spoke, her voice was like the whisper of waves on a distant shore.

"You cannot win this, Healer," she said, raising her hand.

Darkness surged forward—a wave of shadow and malice that crashed against Corwin's Light.

The two forces collided in the center of the room, canceling each other out in a blinding flash. Books flew from shelves. Glass shattered. The wooden floor cracked beneath their feet.

Corwin gritted his teeth, pouring everything he had into his Magic. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His arms trembled with the effort.

But the Sea Witch matched him, step for step, Power for Power.

She laughed, the sound like breaking waves. "Your Light is strong, Old Man. But my Darkness is Eternal. The Sea does not tire. The Sea does not yield."

"Neither do I," Corwin said through gritted teeth.

He thrust his staff forward, and golden Light exploded outward, driving the shadows back.

The Sea Witch's smile faltered. She raised both hands, and Darkness poured from her palms like ink in water, meeting his Light in a clash that shook the cottage to its foundations.

They were perfectly balanced.

Light and Dark.

Life and Death.

Order and Chaos.

Neither could win.

And so they stood, locked in a stalemate, while the battle raged outside.

 

The Crew fought with everything they had.

Snive's blade cut through Spirits, scattering them like smoke, but they reformed moments later. He cursed and swung again, driving them back. "They keep coming back!"

"Aim for the Undead!" Fin shouted. "The Spirits follow them!"

Garrett's axe cleaved through a rotting corpse, and it crumbled to dust. The Spirits around it shrieked and dissipated.

Marcus fought beside him, his sword flashing. He ducked under a skeletal arm and drove his blade up through the creature's ribcage. It collapsed, bones scattering across the cobblestones.

Kenna and Lena held the line, back to back, their weapons moving in perfect synchronization. An Undead sailor lunged at Kenna, its rusted cutlass raised. She sidestepped and brought her blade down, severing its arm. Lena finished it with a thrust through its skull.

But there were too many.

For every Undead they destroyed, two more shambled forward. The Spirits swirled around them, their screams disorienting, their touch like ice.

"Fall back!" Fin shouted. "Into the Forest!"

The crew retreated, fighting as they went, pushing deeper into the trees.

The Spirits and Undead followed, relentless, their numbers seemingly endless.

The Forest closed in around them—dark and tangled, the trees pressing close, the shadows thick. Roots caught at their feet. Branches tore at their clothes and skin.

"Keep moving!" Fin yelled, cutting down an Undead that got too close.

They fought their way forward, the sounds of battle echoing through the trees—steel on bone, the screams of Spirits, the shouts of the Crew.

Char stayed in the center of the group, her staff clutched in both hands, her face pale. She wanted to help—desperately wanted to help—but the Magic wouldn't come.

An Undead broke through the line, reaching for her with skeletal fingers.

Fin was there in an instant, his blade cutting through its neck. The creature crumbled.

"Stay close to me," he said.

And then, in the chaos, everything went wrong.

A wall of Undead surged between them and the rest of the crew, cutting Fin and Char off from the others.

"Fin!" Snive's voice echoed through the trees, distant now.

"Keep fighting!" Fin shouted back. "We'll find you!"

He grabbed Char's hand and ran.

They crashed through the underbrush, branches tearing at their clothes, the sounds of battle fading behind them. Spirits swirled around them, herding them deeper into the Forest.

And then they stumbled into a clearing.

And stopped.

The Undead surrounded them—a circle of rotting corpses, their weapons raised, their empty eyes fixed on Fin and Char. There were at least a dozen of them, closing in slowly.

Fin drew his sword, his heart pounding. "Stay behind me."

Char raised her staff, but her hands were shaking. "I can't—I don't know how—"

"It's okay," Fin said. "I've got you."

The Undead closed in, step by step.

Fin raised his sword, preparing to fight—

And then a voice cut through the clearing.

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

Fin's blood ran cold.

Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont stepped out of the shadows, his naval uniform pristine despite the chaos, his expression cold and triumphant. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He looked different. Pale with dark lines under his eyes.

"Finian," Lamont said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "How convenient."

Before Fin could react, two undead lunged forward. One grabbed Fin's sword arm, wrenching it back. Another seized his other arm. Their grip was iron—cold and unyielding.

Fin struggled, but they held him fast.

"Let him go!" Char shouted, raising her staff.

Lamont moved faster than she could react. He ran across the clearing and grabbed her wrist, yanking her forward. Her staff clattered to the ground.

Lamont smiled, his grip tightening on Char's wrist. "How perfect. Both of you, caught like rats in a trap."

He looked at Fin, his eyes cold and calculating. Then his gaze dropped to Fin's chest, where the scar—the cursed "L" Lamont had carved into him—was hidden beneath his shirt.

"Does it still hurt?" Lamont asked softly. "My mark on you?"

Fin's jaw tightened. "Go to hell."

Lamont's smile widened. "I see it healed. Pity. I was hoping it would remind you of your place." He tilted his head, studying Fin's face. "But you're not thinking about the scar right now, are you?"

Lamont's gaze shifted to Char, then back to Fin. He saw it—the way Fin's eyes tracked Char, the tension in his body, the desperation in his expression.

And Lamont's smile turned wicked.

"You care about her," he said, his voice soft with delight. "Aww, how sweet. The great Captain Bollard has found someone to protect."

"Let her go," Fin said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Or what?" Lamont pulled Char closer, and she gasped in pain. "You'll fight me? You're in no position to make demands, Bollard."

He looked at Char, his expression cruel. "The Sea Witch will enjoy breaking you. She has such creative ways of causing pain. And the best part?" He looked back at Fin. "He'll watch. Every moment. Every scream. And there's nothing he can do to stop it."

"I'll kill you," Fin said quietly.

Lamont laughed. "You? Kill me? You couldn't even escape me without help."

"Let. Her. Go."

"No, I don't think I will." Lamont's eyes gleamed. "In fact, I think I'll hurt her right now. Just a little. Just to see the look on your face."

He raised his free hand, and dark tendrils erupted from the ground.

They wrapped around Char like a cage, pulling her away from Lamont and lifting her into the air. She screamed, struggling against them, but they held her suspended above the clearing, writhing and pulsing with Dark Magic.

"There," Lamont said, his smile widening. "Perfect."

The cage began to shrink.

The tendrils tightened around Char, squeezing. She cried out in pain, her face going pale.

"Stop!" Fin shouted. "Let her go!"

Fin thrashed against the Undead holding him, but their grip was unbreakable.

"Why would I do that?" Lamont asked, watching Char with cold fascination. "This is so much more entertaining."

The cage contracted further. Char gasped, struggling to breathe.

"No!" Fin roared.

Something inside him snapped.

He slammed his head back into the face of the Undead behind him. Bone crunched. The creature's grip loosened.

Fin wrenched his arm free and drove his elbow into the other Undead 's ribs. It staggered back.

Fin grabbed his sword from the ground and spun, cutting through both Undead in two swift strikes. They crumbled to dust.

The other Undead in the clearing surged forward.

Fin met them head-on.

He fought like a man possessed—like something wild and unstoppable had been unleashed. His blade flashed, his movements fierce and relentless. He cut through them one by one, his focus absolute, his fury driving him forward.

An Undead swung a rusted axe at his head. Fin ducked and drove his sword up through its chest. It dissolved.

Another lunged from the side. Fin sidestepped and severed its spine.

Two more came at him together. Fin parried one's blade and kicked the other back, then finished them both with quick, brutal strikes.

Lamont watched, his expression shifting from amusement to surprise.

This wasn't prey or a victim.

This wasn't an escaped pet to be hunted and caged.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

The last Undead fell, and Fin stood in the center of the clearing, breathing hard, his sword dripping with dark ichor.

He pointed the blade at Lamont.

"If you hurt her," Fin said, his voice low and deadly, "if you take her to the Sea Witch, if you so much as touch her again—I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. I will tear down everything you've built. I will make you wish you'd never heard my name."

Lamont's hand tightened on his sword. "You think you can threaten me?"

"I'm not threatening you," Fin said. "I'm making you a promise."

Lamont's face twisted with rage. "You're nothing. A runaway. A thief. A—"

"I'm the man who's going to stop you," Fin said.

Lamont drew his sword and lunged.

Their blades met with a ringing clash that echoed through the clearing.

They fought—circling each other, steel flashing in the dim light.

Lamont's strikes were precise and controlled, honed by years of military training. He moved with the confidence of a man who had never lost a duel.

But Fin was desperate.

And desperation made him dangerous.

He parried Lamont's thrust and countered with a slash that forced Lamont back. Lamont recovered quickly, his blade coming up to block Fin's next strike.

They moved through the clearing, their swords singing, neither giving ground.

Lamont feinted left and struck right. His blade sliced across Fin's shoulder, cutting through cloth and skin.

Fin hissed in pain, blood soaking through his shirt.

"First blood," Lamont said, smiling.

Fin didn't respond. He pressed forward, his attacks coming faster now, more aggressive.

Lamont blocked and parried, but Fin's intensity was forcing him back, step by step.

And then Lamont's blade found its mark again.

It cut across Fin's side—not deep, but enough. Blood welled up, staining his shirt.

Fin stumbled, his hand going to the wound.

"Fin!" Char screamed from her cage of dark tendrils.

Lamont raised his sword for the killing blow—

And then Light exploded through the clearing.

It came from Char—brilliant, blinding, golden light that blazed from her like the sun. The dark tendrils holding her shattered, dissolving into smoke.

She fell to the ground, her staff blazing in her hands. Shining from within her. She was practically glowing with magic.

The Light surged outward, washing over Fin.

His wounds stopped bleeding. Strength flooded back into his limbs. The pain vanished.

Lamont stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the Light.

Fin didn't hesitate.

He lunged forward, his blade moving faster than Lamont could react.

Their swords clashed once, twice—and then Fin's blade struck Lamont's hilt, sending his sword flying through the air.

It landed in the dirt several feet away.

Fin's blade came up, pressing against Lamont's throat.

Lamont froze, his eyes wide.

Blood seeped from a cut on his side where Fin's blade had grazed him. His pristine uniform was torn and stained.

"I will never stop fighting," Fin said quietly. "No matter what you do. No matter how many times you come for me. I will never stop."

Lamont stared at him, and for the first time, Fin saw something in his eyes.

Not rage.

Not hatred.

Fear.

And something else.

Recognition.

Lamont looked at Fin—really looked at him—and for once he didn't see a terrified boy, or the broken thing he'd tortured on the Relentless.

He saw an Equal.

The first person he'd ever considered an Equal.

Someone who could match him. Challenge him. Defeat him.

And it terrified him.

Lamont's face went pale. He trembled.

He scrambled back, clutching his wounded side, his eyes never leaving Fin's face.

And then he disappeared in a cloud of Dark Magic.

The remaining Spirits and Undead dissolved into smoke, their forms scattering on the wind like ash.

The clearing fell silent.

Fin lowered his sword, his chest heaving.

Char ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight but gentle hug. "You did it. You saved me."

Fin held her tightly, his heart still pounding. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she whispered. "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to us," Fin said, pulling back to look at her. "Your Light—Char, you did it. You saved me."

Char looked down at her staff, still glowing faintly. "I didn't even think. I just... I saw you hurt, and I couldn't—" Her voice broke. "I couldn't lose you."

Fin's chest tightened. He reached up and cupped her face gently. "You won't. I promise."

She drew close. Their energy drawn to one another like a magnetic force. She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

He kissed her back.

All of his pain, all that he'd suffered through—gone in an instant. And for once he didn't feel afraid or worried. There was nothing but her. The feel of her against him. How they seemed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Her lips on his.

They pulled apart smiling.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Fin saw it.

There, on the ground where Lamont had fallen, was a marble.

Fin's chest tightened.

Reality came crashing back. He reluctantly let her go, knelt down, and picked up the marble, wrapping it in his handkerchief.

Four marbles now.

Four pieces of Lamont's soul.

Char looked at the marble, then at Fin. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Fin said quietly. "But I think Corwin might have answers."

Inside Corwin's cottage, the Sea Witch froze.

Her eyes widened, and she turned her gaze toward the forest.

"No," she whispered.

Corwin felt it too—the shift in the air, the sudden absence of Dark Magic. The pressure against his Light eased.

The Sea Witch's expression twisted with fury. "He failed."

She lowered her hands, and the Darkness around her began to dissipate.

"This isn't over, Healer," she said, her voice cold. "The girl will be mine. And when she is, your precious Light will die with her."

And then, without another word, she vanished—dissolving into a cloud of dark fog that poured out through the shattered windows and scattered on the wind.

Corwin lowered his staff, breathing hard.

His cottage was in ruins—furniture overturned, books scattered, walls scorched with Dark Magic.

But he was alive.

And if the Sea Witch had fled, that meant—

Corwin's heart leapt.

'Charlotte.'

He grabbed his staff and ran for the door.

 

CHAPTER 15

 

Fin and Char made their way back through the forest, following the sounds of the crew.

They found them in a small clearing, battered and exhausted but alive. Snive was binding a cut on Marcus's arm. Garrett leaned against a tree, breathing hard. Kenna and Lena sat on a fallen log, their weapons still drawn.

"Captain!" Snive looked up, relief flooding his face. "You're alive!"

"We're okay," Fin said. "Everyone accounted for?"

"All here," Snive said. "Bruised and bloody, but nothing serious."

"The Spirits and Undead?" Garrett asked.

"Gone," Fin said. "Lamont fled."

The Crew exchanged glances, relief and exhaustion written on their faces.

"Good," Kenna said. "I don't think I could fight another one of those things."

And then a voice called out from the trees.

"Charlotte!"

Char's head snapped up. "Grandfather!"

Corwin emerged from the forest, his staff still glowing faintly with golden light. His robes were singed and torn, his face lined with exhaustion, but his eyes were bright.

"Charlotte," he said again, his voice breaking.

Char ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "You're okay. I was so worried—"

"I'm fine, Child. I'm fine." Corwin held her tightly, his eyes closing. "When the Sea Witch fled, I feared the worst. But you're here. You're safe."

"Thanks to Fin," Char said, pulling back to look at him. "He saved me."

Corwin turned to Fin, his expression grave. "Then I owe you a debt I can never repay."

"You don't owe me anything," Fin said. "I made a promise. I kept it."

Corwin studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Come. My cottage is in ruins, but we can tend your wounds there. And we have much to discuss."

The cottage was worse than Corwin had described.

Furniture lay overturned and splintered. Books were scattered across the floor, their pages torn. The walls were scorched with Dark Magic, and the windows were shattered.

But it was still standing.

Corwin moved through the wreckage with practiced efficiency, gathering supplies—bandages, salves, water. He tended the crew's wounds with gentle hands, his Magic easing their pain.

Char helped him, her own hands steady despite everything they'd been through.

When everyone was patched up, Corwin turned to Fin. "How many fragments have you collected?"

Fin pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it, revealing the four marbles.

They glowed faintly in the dim light, pulsing like heartbeats.

Corwin's expression shifted—surprise, and something else. Something that looked almost like hope.

"Four," he said quietly. "You have four."

"The shadow lion, Lamont's ghost, the spirits in the forest, and the monsters on Char's Island," Fin said. "They appeared after each battle."

Corwin picked up one of the marbles, holding it up to the light. "Four pieces of his soul. Four memories lost."

"How many more are there?" Snive asked.

"I don't know," Corwin admitted. "The Prophecy doesn't say. But each time Lamont uses the Sea Witch's power, he loses more of himself. More fragments will appear."

Fin's jaw tightened. "And we're supposed to collect them all."

"Yes." Corwin set the marble down carefully. "The Binding Favor still stands. You must find every fragment."

"But you still won't tell us why," Garrett said.

Corwin met his gaze. "Because you must discover that for yourself. The prophecy is unfolding, Captain Bollard. And when the time comes, you'll understand what must be done."

Fin wanted to argue, but he knew it was pointless. Corwin had been cryptic from the beginning. That wasn't going to change.

"There's something else," Fin said, pulling the brass compass from his pocket. "This led us to Char. And to the places where the fragments appeared. Can it lead us to the rest?"

Corwin took the compass, examining it closely. A faint smile crossed his face.

"Yes," he said. "This compass will guide you. It points to what is needed, to what must be found. Trust it, and it will lead you to the remaining fragments."

He handed the compass back to Fin. "But be careful. The Sea Witch knows what you carry now. She knows you're collecting the fragments. She will not stop until she has destroyed you—and Charlotte."

Char's hand found Fin's, squeezing gently.

"We'll be ready," Fin said.

Corwin looked at them both, his expression softening. "I believe you will."

That evening, after the crew had settled into makeshift beds around the cottage, Fin found Char standing outside, staring up at the stars.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.

"No," Char said. "Too much on my mind."

Fin stood beside her, the silence stretching between them.

"We leave at first light," he said finally.

Char nodded, her expression unreadable.

"Char..." Fin took a breath. "You need to stay here. With Corwin."

Char turned to look at him. "I know that's what you want."

"It's not about what I want," Fin said. "It's about keeping you safe. The Sea Witch is still out there. Lamont will come for us again. And I—" His voice broke. "I can't lose you."

"You won't," Char said softly.

"You don't know that." Fin's hands clenched into fists. "Every time we fight, every time we face one of those creatures, I'm terrified. Not for me. For you. Because if something happens to you—if I can't protect you—"

"Fin." Char reached out and took his hand. "I understand. I do. But I don't want to stay."

"Please," Fin whispered. "Please, just stay safe. Here. With Corwin."

Char's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want safe. I want to be with you."

"I know," Fin said, his voice rough. "But I need you to be alive more than I need you beside me."

Char looked at him, her heart breaking. She understood. She knew why he was asking this. And part of her even agreed.

But the thought of watching him sail away, of not knowing if he was safe, of being left behind—

"I hate this," she whispered.

"So do I," Fin said.

They stood there in the darkness, holding hands, both of them hurting.

"Will you come back?" Char asked quietly. "When it's over?"

"I promise," Fin said. "When this is done, when the prophecy is fulfilled, I'll come back for you."

Char nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Fin pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Char whispered against his chest. "I know."

They stood there for a long time, neither wanting to let go.

Eventually, Char pulled back, wiping her eyes. "I should get some sleep."

"Yeah," Fin said, though he knew he wouldn't sleep at all.

Char kissed his cheek, then turned and walked back into the cottage.

Fin stood alone under the stars, his heart heavy.

He was doing the right thing.

He had to believe that.

The next morning came too quickly.

The crew prepared to leave in silence, the weight of the previous night hanging over everyone. They loaded supplies into the rowboat, their movements efficient but subdued.

Char stood on the shore with Corwin, watching.

She'd barely slept. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying. She was trying to be strong. Trying to accept Fin's decision.

But it hurt.

Fin stood at the dock, checking the supplies one last time. He could feel Char's eyes on him, but he didn't look at her.

He couldn't.

If he looked at her, he'd break. He'd ask her to come. And he couldn't do that.

"Captain," Snive said quietly. "We're ready."

Fin nodded. He climbed into the rowboat, his chest tight.

The crew pushed off from the dock and began to row toward the Moonlight Wake, waiting in the harbor.

Fin kept his eyes forward. On the ship. On the horizon.

Anywhere but the shore.

The rowboat cut through the water, the rhythmic splash of oars the only sound.

Char watched them go, her heart breaking.

She'd told herself she could do this. That she could let him go. That she could stay safe while he faced danger.

But as the rowboat grew smaller, as the distance between them grew wider, something inside her snapped.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't watch him leave.

"Fin!" she shouted, her voice carrying across the water. "Wait!"

And then she ran.

She ran into the water, her dress dragging, the cold waves crashing against her legs. And then she dove, swimming toward the rowboat with everything she had.

"Char!" Fin's head snapped around. "What are you doing?"

Without thinking twice, he dove out of the rowboat.

The water was cold, but he barely felt it. He swam toward her, his heart pounding.

They met in the middle, treading water, both of them breathing hard.

"What are you doing?" Fin asked, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

Char grinned through her tears. "Coming with you."

Fin shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You're insane."

"I learned from the best," Char said.

And then they kissed eachother. 

Deeply.

Passionately.

The water lapped around them, the sun warm on their faces, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.

When they pulled apart, Fin was still smiling. "I can't make you stay, can I?"

"No," Char said. "You can't."

Snive brought the rowboat around, shaking his head but grinning. "Well, come on then. Both of you. Before you drown."

Fin and Char climbed into the rowboat, soaking wet and laughing.

The crew rowed them back to the Moonlight Wake, and as they climbed aboard, Fin looked at Char—dripping wet, grinning, stubborn as ever—and felt something settle in his chest.

She was with him.

And whatever came next, they'd face it together.

Corwin stood on the shore, watching the Moonlight Wake sail away.

He'd known Charlotte would go. She was too much like her mother—headstrong, brave, unwilling to be left behind.

And Finian Bollard... he was exactly what the prophecy needed.

Corwin closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to the light.

"Guide them. Protect them. And when the time comes, give them the strength to do what must be done."

The Moonlight Wake disappeared over the horizon, and Corwin turned back toward his ruined cottage.

There was much to do.

And the prophecy was far from over.

CHAPTER 16

 

The Moonlight Wake sailed east, following the compass.

It had been three days since they'd left Corwin's town. Three days of steady wind and calm seas. Three days of Char learning the rhythms of the ship, finding her place among the crew.

She fit in well. She helped Kenna and Lena with the rigging, listened to Marcus's stories, and even managed to make Garrett laugh—a rare feat.

And at night, she stood beside Fin at the helm, her hand in his, watching the stars.

"Where is it taking us?" she asked, nodding toward the compass in Fin's hand.

The needle pointed steadily northeast, unwavering.

"Back to where we fought the sea monster," Fin said. "The fifth fragment is there. In the ocean. The compass told me."

Char looked out at the dark water. "How will you find it?"

"I'll dive," Fin said simply.

"That's dangerous."

"So is everything else we've done." Fin smiled faintly. "I'll be fine."

Char squeezed his hand. "I know. But I'm still allowed to worry."

"Fair enough," Fin said.

They reached the site two days later.

Fin recognized it immediately—the stretch of open water where the sea monster had risen, where its tentacles had nearly dragged the Moonlight Wake under.

The compass needle spun wildly, then pointed straight down.

"It's here," Fin said. "Somewhere below."

Snive frowned. "How deep?"

"Deep enough," Fin said. He began stripping off his coat and boots. "Drop anchor. I'm going down."

"Captain—" Snive started.

"I'll be fine," Fin said. "Just keep the ship steady."

Char stepped forward. "Let me come with you."

"No," Fin said firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"Fin—"

"Please." He cupped her face gently. "Stay here. I'll be back before you know it."

Char wanted to argue, but she saw the determination in his eyes. She nodded reluctantly. "Be careful."

"Always," Fin said.

He tied a rope around his waist, took a deep breath, and dove.

The water was cold and dark.

Fin swam down, following the pull of the compass in his mind. The light from the surface faded quickly, and soon he was surrounded by darkness.

His lungs began to burn.

He pushed deeper, his arms cutting through the water, his eyes straining to see.

And then he saw it.

A faint glow in the darkness below.

The marble.

Fin kicked harder, his chest screaming for air, his vision starting to blur.

He reached out—

And his fingers closed around the marble.

The moment he touched it, the world shifted.

Fin stood in a grand hall—polished floors, high ceilings, Naval banners hanging on the walls.

Lamont stood before a desk, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. He was young—maybe twenty-one—his uniform crisp and new.

An older man sat behind the desk. His face was hard, his eyes cold. Lamont's father.

"You've been accepted into the Naval Academy," the man said, his voice flat. "Don't embarrass me."

"I won't, Father," Lamont said.

"You've embarrassed me your entire life," the man continued, as if Lamont hadn't spoken. "Weak. Soft. A disappointment in every way."

Lamont's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"The Navy will either make you into something useful," his father said, "or it will break you. Either way, I don't care. Just stay out of my sight."

Lamont stood there, silent, his hands trembling.

And then something in his expression changed.

The hurt faded. The hope died.

And in its place, something cold and hard took root.

"Yes, Father," Lamont said quietly.

But his voice was different now. Empty.

He turned and walked out of the hall, his shoulders squared, his face a mask.

And Fin knew—this was the moment.

The moment Lamont decided to become the monster.

If he couldn't be loved, he would be feared.

If he couldn't earn respect, he would take it.

If the World saw him as worthless, he would prove them all wrong—by becoming something terrible.

The memory faded.

Fin gasped, his lungs screaming.

He kicked upward, the marble clutched in his fist, his vision darkening at the edges.

He broke the surface with a gasp, gulping air, coughing out sea water.

Hands grabbed him, pulling him into the rowboat. Snive and Garrett hauled him aboard, and Char was there, her hands on his face, her eyes wide with fear.

"I'm okay," Fin managed. "I'm okay."

He opened his hand, revealing the marble.

Five now.

Five pieces of Lamont's soul.

 

That night, Fin sat in his cabin with Char beside him.

The chest sat on the table between them—the one that held the five marbles, glowing faintly through the wood.

Fin had seen four memories so far. Four pieces of Lamont's past.

But there was one he hadn't looked at yet.

The fourth marble. The one from Corwin's town. From the forest battle. He'd put it off as long as he could. The marble was calling.

He didn't know if he wanted to see it.

But he had to.

The chest sat open. The calling marble glowing brighter than the rest.

Char's hand found his. "I'm here."

Fin nodded, and picked up the marble.

Fin stood on a beach.

The sun was warm, the sky bright blue. Waves lapped gently at the shore.

A small boy ran along the sand, laughing. He couldn't have been more than six or seven years old.

He held a kite—red and yellow, shaped like a bird—and he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, trying to get it into the air.

The kite lifted, caught the wind, and soared.

The boy's face lit up with pure joy.

"Look, Mama! Look!"

A woman stood nearby, smiling. She was beautiful, her hair dark, her eyes kind.

"I see it, Quincy! You did it!"

The boy—Lamont—laughed, his face bright with happiness.

He ran in circles, the kite dancing above him, and for a moment, he was just a child. Innocent. Joyful. Free.

His mother knelt down and pulled him into a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

"I love you, Mama," little Lamont said.

"I love you too, my darling boy."

The memory faded.

Fin opened his eyes, his chest tight.

He stared at the marble in his hand, his throat burning.

That little boy—laughing, flying a kite, loved by his mother—had become the man who tortured him. Who hunted him. Who tried to hurt Char.

Lamont wasn't born a monster.

He was made into one.

And that made everything so much harder.

Fin set the marble down with the others, his hands shaking.

"He wasn't always a monster," Fin said quietly.

He looked at Char, concern in her green eyes. He told her about the marble from the ocean, and about Lamont, as a little boy with a kite and his mother's love.

When he finished, Char was quiet for a long moment.

"That's heartbreaking," she said softly.

"It is," Fin agreed. "But it doesn't excuse what he's done. What he's become."

"No," Char said. "It doesn't."

Fin looked at the marbles, glowing faintly in the dim light. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with these. Corwin said I'd understand when the time came, but I don't. I just... I don't."

Char took his hand. "You will. When it matters, you'll know."

Fin looked at her, and some of the weight lifted from his chest. "How are you so sure?"

"Because I know you," Char said. "And I trust you."

Fin pulled her close, holding her tightly. "Thank you."

They sat there in silence, the ship rocking gently beneath them.

 

The next morning, Fin stood at the helm, with the compass in one hand

The crew moved around him, efficient and steady. Snive called out orders. Garrett adjusted the sails. Kenna and Lena laughed about something. Davey told another story. Swing manned the Crow's Nest.

And Char stood beside him, her hand in his, her presence a steady anchor.

Fin didn't know what came next.

He didn't know what the prophecy meant, or what he was supposed to do with the soul fragments, or when Lamont would strike again.

But he knew one thing.

He had his crew. He had Char. And he had the Moonlight Wake.

And as long as he had them, Fin could take on anything.

The compass needle spun, then settled, pointing toward the horizon.

"Where to, Captain?" Snive asked.

Fin smiled. "Wherever the wind takes us."

The Moonlight Wake turned, her silver hull cutting through the waves, and sailed toward the rising sun.

THE END

⚓✨🌊💙

 

EPILOGUE 

 

Lord Admiral Quincy Lamont stood in his quarters aboard the Relentless, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He looked the same. The same uniform. The same face. The same cold eyes.

But something was wrong.

He felt... empty.

Like pieces of himself were missing. Like there were holes in his Memory, gaps where something important used to be.

He tried to remember his Mother's face and couldn't.

He tried to remember why he'd joined the Navy and the reason slipped away like water through his fingers.

He tried to remember the last time he'd felt anything other than rage and found nothing.

Nothing.

Lamont's hands trembled. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.

"What have I lost?" he whispered.

But he knew.

The Soul Fragments. Five of them. Five pieces of himself, scattered and collected by Finian Bollard.

The Sea Witch had warned him. She'd told him the cost of her Power.

But he hadn't understood. Not really.

Not until now.

Lamont closed his eyes, and for a moment, he felt something—a flicker of fear, of regret, of loss.

And then it was gone.

Replaced by cold, burning rage.

Bollard had taken something from him. Something he could never get back.

And Lamont would make him pay.

He would hunt him. He would destroy him. He would take everything Bollard loved and burn it to ash.

And then he would get his Fragments back.

Or he would make a new Bargain. A Darker one.

Whatever it took.

Lamont turned from the mirror, his jaw set, his eyes empty.

"Prepare the Ship," he said to the Officer waiting at the door. "We sail at dawn."

"Where to, my lord?"

Lamont's smile was cold and hollow. "Wherever Silver Tide goes. We follow."

Deep beneath the waves, in a place where light could not reach, the Sea Witch waited.

Her form shifted and changed—sometimes woman, sometimes shadow, sometimes the Ocean itself.

She was Ancient. Powerful. Patient.

And she was furious.

Lamont had failed. Again.

Five Fragments lost. Five pieces of his Soul now in the hands of the Boy Captain.

The Sea Witch could feel them—glowing like stars in the darkness, calling to her, taunting her.

She had given Lamont Power. She had given him creatures, Magic, the means to destroy his enemies.

And he had failed.

"Pathetic," she hissed, her voice like the crash of waves on stone.

But perhaps... perhaps this was not a failure.

Perhaps this was exactly what was meant to happen.

The Sea Witch smiled, her teeth sharp and white in the darkness.

The Prophecy was unfolding. The balance was tipping.

And the girl—Charlotte, the Healer's Granddaughter—she was the key.

Light Magic. Warding Magic. The Power to Protect, to Heal, to push back the Darkness.

The Sea Witch had tried to take her. To break her. To use her.

But the girl was stronger than she'd expected. And she was protected now. By the Boy Captain. By his Crew. By Love.

Love.

The Sea Witch's smile widened.

Love was powerful. But it was also a weakness.

And weaknesses could be exploited.

"Let them collect the Fragments," the Sea Witch whispered. "Let them think they've won. Let them feel safe."

She raised her hand, and the water around her began to swirl, dark and cold.

"And when the time is right, I will take everything from them. The fragments. The girl. The Ship. The Captain's Hope."

Her laughter echoed through the depths, a sound like breaking waves and drowning screams.

"The prophecy speaks of a choice. Freedom or ruin."

The Sea Witch's eyes gleamed.

"Let us see which he chooses."