A final groan of tortured, living wood echoed across the water as the last section of Lady Brinevein's dreadnought collapsed in on itself, sinking beneath the waves in a froth of green-tinged foam. Smoke, thick with the scent of burnt sugar and ozone, pressed against the harsh floodlights of the Nightshatter. The battle was over. The cleanup had begun.
The Presidroids efficiently hauled Lady Brinevein's cocooned form onto the main deck. She was a silent, unmoving bundle, only her pale, rage-filled face visible. But she did not come alone. A silent, glittering swarm of sprites trailed behind her, a living funeral procession with tens of different colors. The larger green sprites from the ship's shattered core hovered mournfully, while the fifteen rainbow sprites, now free, still clung to her proximity.
JFK frowned at the glittering cloud. "I have already released you from her command. You are not required to follow her."
The sprites only clustered closer, their collective light pulsing with a strange, sorrowful energy.
A heavy thud announced Maelara's arrival as she jumped down from the bridge's upper walkway, her earlier injuries already healing. She landed with a warrior's grace, her gaze fixed on the shimmering swarm. "Allow me to translate," she said, her voice a low rumble. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint, inaudible hum of the sprites.
A moment later, she spoke, her voice taking on a sad, melodic cadence. "We have spent millions of years alone, buried in the crushing darkness at the bottom of the sea, the last remnants of a world that was once green land. Yes, she hurts us. Yes, she uses us. Yes, she kills us. But pain, even death, is a far sweeter song than the endless, crushing silence. It is better than an eternity at the bottom of a lonely ocean where our land once was. Let us stay with her." She paused, then opened her eyes, a wry, disbelieving smirk on her face. "Also, they said, and I quote, 'this majestically jacked elf is the most beautiful being we have ever seen, and we would gladly serve her instead.'"
"Somehow I doubt they said that last bit," Zehrina commented dryly from across the deck.
Roy, leaning over the railing of the bridge above, looked visibly uncomfortable with the entire, deeply co-dependent situation. "Ugh. Fine. You can stay. But you're all going in the cell directly above hers. No merging with her. No funny business. And if anyone breaks the rules, I swear to god, I am making sprite pudding."
Down on the lower deck of the Nightshatter, the procession made its way to the brig. Kaelor and Sorrowclaw, their faces pressed against their cell bars, hooted and cheered at the sight of Lady Brinevein's pitiful, cocooned state. "So much for her so-called 'pure blood'!" Kaelor sneered, his voice booming in the enclosed space.
Lady Brinevein twisted, a muffled, furious sound escaping the dust over her mouth. Zehrina, with a look of bored indifference, simply tossed her into an empty cell. Brinevein stumbled, landing hard on the cold metal bunk. The second Zehrina released her dust hold, she lunged, a primal scream of rage building in her throat, only to be met with a solid rod of Navi'N dust to the gut. Lady Brinevein doubled over with a ragged, choking gasp, and flopped back onto the mattress.
"Scream if you want," Zehrina teased, a cruel, beautiful smile on her face. "But you'll just end up hurting yourself... Or worse."
Lady Brinevein started to shout anyway. "I will do what—" but a looming, oppressive, and deeply annoyed voice bellowed from deeper in the corridor:
"WHO IS MAKING ALL THIS INFERNAL NOISE?"
Everyone froze. A slow, shuffling sound echoed from a curtained cell at the far end of the brig. Father Skeleton emerged, wearing a tiny, brightly colored sombrero, a ragged, moth-eaten poncho, and a pair of scuba flippers with the toes crudely cut off. Sorrowclaw and Kaelor stiffened instantly. Riven, who had been in a deep, food-induced slumber, flopped upright with a startled grunt.
Lady Brinevein's demeanor changed on a dime. Her vicious, cornered-animal glare gave way to a look of wide-eyed, deference. She rose, bowed in a bizarre, awkward half-curtsey, and tried to present a cultured, aristocratic façade. "I...I beg your pardon if I have caused a disturbance, your majesty. I assure you, I—"
Father Skeleton, ignoring her completely, pulled a raw, slightly slimy fish from a holster at his hip with a delighted chuckle. "I am just now finishing my lunch. And then we have yet another bumbling bee?"
Lady Brinevein's eyes flicked to the bits of raw fish dropping from between his ribs as he chewed. She tried to hide her revulsion with a trembling, sycophantic smile. "It was… it was I, the purest of them all. Aside from your lovely girls, of course. I am so terribly, terribly sorry!"
"Hmm, you look familiar. You must be related to that elven nuisance. But, no biggie!" Father Skeleton yelled, taking another crunchy, wet bite. The half-chewed fish tumbled through his jaw and plopped onto the floor. "Just keep it down next time. Or else you will beg for hell itself to rescue you from what I will do." He then, with a gesture of profound, almost regal generosity, handed the remaining portion of the fish to her. Before he stepped out, he noticed down at the mess of fish scales and guts at her feet, then at the mangled fish in her hand, and finally, back at her face. "You slob. Clean your room."
Lady Brinevein forced a rigid nod. "Of course, your majesty."
She looked down at the mangled fish bits and shuddered. She summoned a few tiny sprites to whisk away the chum, but they froze mid-air as Skellbro jabbed a bony finger through the bars, his eyes glowing with an unsettling light. "No slaves on the Nightshatter!"
"No… anyone but you... I mean, r-right," Brinevein stammered, frantically scooping up the slimy mess with her bare hands. "I'll do it myself."
From the cell across the aisle, Kaelor snickered. "Told you your pure-blood nonsense would end one day."
Lady Brinevein's chest rose and fell with a furious, shuddering breath. She shot him a look of pure, unadulterated venom. "Vile little fishling. I will incinerate you where you sit," she growled through gritted teeth.
"You won't do a damn thing, brat! Ha!" Kaelor whispered back as loud as possible. He just grinned wider. "MOM!" he then hollered. "SHE'S BEING MEAN TO ME!"
A shrill, unholy shriek erupted from the far end of the brig. Skelly Mom rushed forward in a swirl of chaotic, maternal wrath, her presence beginning to dissolve the very bars of Lady Brinevein's cell door.
Lady Brinevein staggered backward, stammering apologies, her face a mask of pure, abject terror. "All… three of you…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, as she finally, truly understood. "What has that boy done...?"
Watching from the bridge feed, Roy felt a queasy swirl of pity and secondhand embarrassment. "All right, that's enough. Leave the impure elf alone to wallow in her misery," he grumbled, switching off the live monitor.
Zehrina turned from the brig without ceremony, her task complete. The black dust that had cocooned Brinevein flowed back to her, reforming most of her elegant robe. She stopped the nearest Presidroid, her voice calm and even. "Where is Eryndra?"
"Medical Bay, Commander Zehrina," the Presidroid replied. "With Medical Officer Harrison."
Zehrina didn't wait for more. A swarm of Navi'N dust formed a platform beneath her, and she shot through the ship's corridors at a speed that left a faint trail of displaced air in her wake. She arrived at the MedBay at almost the exact same instant as Roy, who had sprinted there from the bridge.
"Great minds thi—" he started to say, but Zehrina cut him off with a sharp, dismissive gesture.
"Shush."
At a curtained-off bed in the center of the bay, Eryndra lay still, unconscious, a thin, shimmering layer of Navi'N swarm still sealing the gruesome wound in her stomach.
Zehrina palmed both the attending Presidroid and Roy out of the space with a gentle but firm push of her dust, then pulled the curtain shut with a sharp flick of her wrist. "We just need a little bit of girl time."
A single, loud, and terrifying scream echoed from behind the curtain.
Roy, his heart seizing in his chest, rushed the curtain and tore it open.
Eryndra was standing, steady on her feet completely unharmed, a confused but otherwise healthy expression on her face. She blinked at him. "Hey. What happened while I was gone? Did we win?"
Roy just blurted, his mind struggling to catch up. "What? How?"
Zehrina strolled past them both, a calm, unbothered smile on her face. "I told you, Captain. Girl time."
As Later returned to the bridge, Orden crashed through the ceiling, a chaotic but surprisingly neat entrance. The damage repaired itself in a shimmering wave of light before the first splinter even hit the floor. He jumped up and perched on the main console, his eyes shining. "That was incredible, Captain! I wish I'd been in that fight, though."
Lutrian, who was trying to make sense of the damage reports, glanced back at him with half a smile. "I could fight you later if you want."
"Nah, you're too weak," Orden said with a dismissive chuckle.
"Oh..." Lutrian replied, his head lowering slightly.
Roy started to respond but froze. He felt it. The faint, almost imperceptible shimmer around his eyes, a feeling of warmth and cosmic favor he had grown accustomed to, vanished. The last trace of his Dreamer's Grace flickered out. Orden, however, let out a mischievous chuckle, his tone suddenly far from childlike.
"So, that's done, then," he said casually. "And now… well. It might have been useful for what comes next."
Roy's brow furrowed. "Next?"
An immense shadow rolled across the Nightshatter, blotting out what little starry sky remained. A new, deeper cold settled over the ship. Roy darted to the window, peering up just in time to see a gargantuan flying warship, easily ten times the size of the Nightshatter, its hull covered in jagged, bone-like scales and bizarre, organic ridges that pulsed with a faint, sickly purple light.
A voice, low, measured, and calm as a judge pronouncing a death sentence, spoke from all around them. Roy spun around to see Vorthas Nythren, secong in command of the Abyssforged Alliance, floating just inside the bridge. Hands clasped neatly behind his back, he inclined his head in a disturbingly polite greeting.
"Permission to come aboard," he said, his voice pleasant, "Captain Roy Gunn?"