CHAPTER 18 — The Queen and Her Leviathan
When the sea bleeds, queens don't weep — they strategize.
The sun rose blood-red over the sea near Refognant Island, spilling fire across the water like a wound. It bled into the horizon, casting long shadows across the jagged cliffs and broken remains of the pirate outpost—reminders of the Leviathan's fury and the price of defiance.
Amara sat cross-legged on the Leviathan's warm back, where the beast lay coiled like a sleeping god in the shallows. Its ancient, armored scales shimmered faintly in the morning light, salt-crusted and still slick from the tide. The Meteorite Blade pulsed steadily in the satchel across her chest, a heartbeat she no longer knew if it was hers, the blade's, or the Leviathan's.
Beside her, Bandit snored loudly, curled in a bundle of stolen fabric and half-chewed rope. The oversized captain's coat he'd claimed draped over him like a child lost in a laundry basket.
Despite the ridiculousness, his presence felt... grounding. A reminder of mischief in a world that had turned far too serious.
But Amara's thoughts were far from the comfort of stolen coats.
She wasn't drifting anymore.
The survivor's final words—Lyra, silver eyes, royal mages, the Gate—had carved something new into her bones.
It wasn't just pain now. It was purpose. Cold, sharpened purpose. A direction as precise and cutting as the blade she carried.
She looked out across the water, still faintly stained from yesterday's blood and wreckage. The sea smelled of salt, scorched wood, and old grief. The kind that settled in your lungs and never truly left.
Amara ran a hand along the Leviathan's ridge. Its low, resting rumble vibrated up her arm. There was understanding in the sound, a recognition of the shift in her spirit.
Rage and sorrow had carried her this far—but what lay ahead required more than brute force.
"We can't stay here," she murmured, voice rough with sea-wind and sleepless nights, but steady. "Not like this. We're too exposed. Too loud."
She glanced at the massive beast below her—her guardian, her ally, her weapon.
"You're a god of the deep. But Antilles? That's a den of kings and masks and monsters who smile with knives behind their backs. They'll smell blood the moment we land."
She stood, adjusting the satchel's strap across her chest, her fingers brushing over the water-damaged pages of Lyra's journal. Her daughters were somewhere ahead of her—alive, hunted, and tied to something ancient and monstrous.
"I need a ship," she said, louder now, like she was telling the wind and waves and all the dead things listening beneath the sea. "Not a leaky merchantman. A flagship. One that flies no nation's colors. One they'll whisper about in the harbors before they dare to fire their cannons."
She paced slowly along the Leviathan's spine, her bare feet slapping wet scales.
"And I need a crew. Not cowards. Not saints. Pirates. Fighters. People who don't flinch at magic or monsters. People who'll stand against kings. Who'll burn cities if I ask them to. People who hate the Empire as much as I do."
Bandit stirred with a snort, his beak half-buried in his feathers. He scratched the back of his head with a lazy claw.
"Well, morning to you too, Vengeance Incarnate," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. "Was planning on easing into the apocalypse, but sure—let's go shopping for ships and pirates before breakfast."
He yawned, then tilted his head as he looked at her—really looked.
"You serious?"
She didn't answer with words.
She didn't need to.
Bandit sat up straighter, brushing sea gunk off his coat.
"Right. You are. Of course you are. So… what's the plan? You going to ride Big Blue into the next port and shout, 'Who wants to fight the royal navy with me?' Or maybe just let him eat the first guy who tells you no?"
Amara's mouth curved into a slow, cold smile.
Not the smile of a queen.
The smile of a mother who had already lost everything once—and would set the world on fire to stop it from happening again.
"Levi," she said, gazing out toward the open ocean, the direction of Antilles, her daughters, and every monster hiding behind silk and gold, "we need to blend in."
The Leviathan rumbled again, low and thoughtful.
Bandit blinked.
"Blend in? You? With that?" He gestured broadly to the ocean-sized beast under their feet. "What are we doing—putting him in a trench coat and calling it cosplay?"
Amara stepped off Leviathan's side and onto a waiting patch of sea that solidified beneath her like tempered glass.
"No," she said. "We're going to disappear. Just long enough to gather what we need."
She glanced back over her shoulder, hair whipping in the wind, her gaze harder than any blade.
"And then we rise."
Author's Note
This chapter is the true transition from grief to empire.
Amara is no longer surviving—she's scheming. Her grief has sharpened into strategy. Her rage? Tempered by intent.
She's not just coming for her daughters.
She's building an army of myth to do it.
Coming soon:
Pirate captains with grudges, bad tempers, and worse reputations
A Gate cult obsessed with secrets that should've stayed buried
And Amara's full transformation into a legend soaked in salt, steel, and sorrow
Mini Glossary
Refognant Island – Former pirate stronghold, now fried seafood platter
Meteorite Blade – Not just a sword. Might be... alive?
The Gate – A mystery tied to royal mages, lost daughters, and ancient power
Antilles – Empire port of masks, politics, and slow poison
Bandit – Gremlin bird-thief. Possibly immortal. Definitely annoying.
Leviathan – God of the deep. Kaiju mood. Wet dragon energy.
What's Next: The Leviathan Walks
And not just floats.
Next stop: civilization.
Let's see what happens when a sea god decides to step ashore.
Drop your thoughts in the comments — what do you think of Amara's shift?
Hit that star if you're ready to crew her flagship
Share with your chaos crew (or your enemies... that's also fine)
Chapter 19's coming in loud, proud, and Leviathan-sized.