Chapter 373:
The fog arrives first.
Not rolling in like a storm, not creeping like morning mist. It appears. One moment the sea is clear, the stars bright, the horizon sharp. The next, the world is a thick gray, suffocating color.
The ship's lanterns burn weak and yellow, casting circles of light that barely reach the railing. Beyond that there's nothing. Just the endless, hungry gray color.
The captain stands at the helm, his knuckles white around the wheel. He's been at sea for forty years. He's survived storms that swallowed whole fleets. He's seen men go mad from thirst, from hunger, from the endless, empty water.
He's never been this afraid.
"Steady," he whispers. No one hears him. No one is listening.
The crew gathers at the bow, staring into the fog. Some hold knives. Some hold pistols. Some hold nothing at all, their hands empty and trembling.
The water is still.
Too still, for water in the seas.
