The sea ahead was a brooding, endless gray, and the sky hung low like a leaden curtain, pressing down with the weight of ghosts. Darion stood at the helm of the Wraithwind, the Core of Wakefire glowing faintly at his side. Its pulsing red light had become their only compass since the ghost ship vanished into the sea's maw.
Behind him, the crew had fallen into grim silence. Kellen stood at the prow, eyes fixed ahead. His usual sarcasm had given way to a cold alertness. Seraphina cleaned her twin blades for the third time that morning, her gaze flicking between the horizon and the crystal.
Marek lay below deck, bandaged and barely conscious. His ribs had broken in the encounter with the Depthless's limb, and the ship's healer had done all she could with what little herbs remained.
The fog parted suddenly.
And there it was.
Gravesend.
A jagged silhouette on the horizon. Dark cliffs loomed above broken shores, and behind them a sprawl of half-sunken ruins stretched inland, tangled with twisted jungle and blackened stone. Broken statues lined the harbor—warped faces of long-dead kings and gods with gouged-out eyes and shattered crowns.
"Looks welcoming," Kellen muttered.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Place feels like it's waiting for us."
Darion said nothing. He felt it too. A weight. A calling. Like something deep within the island recognized the fire in his veins.
As they approached the dock—little more than splintered posts and sun-bleached bones—they saw the wreckage of other ships. Ancient hulks lay half-buried in the sand, sails rotted, masts snapped, hulls scorched as if burned from within.
"All these ships," Kellen whispered. "Why didn't anyone ever come back?"
"Because no one was meant to," Seraphina replied, her voice low.
The Wraithwind moored slowly. As Darion stepped onto the dock, the Core pulsed harder. A dull warmth spread through his body, guiding his feet like an invisible tide.
They moved cautiously through the ruined port. Cracked stone walls rose from the jungle like broken teeth. Vines strangled old guard towers, and shattered statues marked paths that led nowhere. Everything smelled of salt, rot, and old blood.
As they passed a collapsed temple, Darion felt it.
A presence.
Like eyes on his back.
He turned—nothing.
Just jungle.
Then a whisper. Not from the wind. From within.
"You carry his fire… but will you carry his sin?"
Darion froze.
Seraphina stepped beside him. "What is it?"
He shook his head. "Voices. Like the ones in the Depth."
Kellen tightened his grip on his musket. "I don't like this island."
They moved deeper inland.
By midday, they reached a plaza surrounded by fallen archways. In the center stood a well of black stone—untouched by time or nature. Strange glyphs pulsed faintly on its rim.
Darion approached it, the Core humming louder.
Suddenly, the ground rumbled.
A skeletal hand burst from the dirt behind them.
Then another.
And another.
From every shadowed corner of the ruins, the dead rose.
Twisted corpses with jagged blades. Mummified warriors in rusted armor. Their hollow eyes glowed with sickly green light.
"Circle up!" Seraphina shouted, blades flashing out.
Darion raised his sword. "Don't let them surround us!"
Kellen opened fire, blasting a skull into dust. Darion surged forward, slicing through three with a single arc of flame. Bones clattered and reformed even as they fell.
Seraphina danced through the horde like a shadow, blades flashing, cutting through sinew and armor alike. But they just kept coming.
"There's too many!" Kellen yelled.
Darion roared, stabbing the Core into the well's stone.
The moment it touched the glyphs, the entire plaza exploded with light.
The undead froze.
The light grew—engulfing the plaza in a dome of fire.
And then everything went silent.
The undead fell apart, crumbling to ash.
When the light faded, Darion stood at the edge of the well, panting. The Core had gone dark.
In its place, a new object floated above the stone: a medallion forged from black obsidian, with a phoenix carved into it.
Darion reached out—and the world shifted.
He was no longer in Gravesend.
He stood in a memory. A dream.
A ruined throne room. Fire and ash in the air. His father—tall, proud, draped in crimson armor—stood at the center, sword in hand.
"You cannot stop the sea," his father whispered. "But you can choose how deep you sink."
Darion tried to speak—But the world snapped back.
He gasped, holding the medallion.
Seraphina touched his shoulder. "What happened?"
"I saw him," Darion said. "My father. He left this behind."
Kellen looked around. "This place is cursed."
"It's more than that," Darion said. "It's a test. And it's not over."
A hidden staircase opened beneath the well.
Steps led downward—into the earth.
Darion looked at Seraphina, then Kellen.
"Are you coming?"
They nodded.
And they descended into the dark.