The lantern's flame sputtered, its glow trembling over the narrow chamber.
Belmarius sat at the bedside, his rough, salt-scarred hand brushing across the silver hair of the girl who had not woken in years. His thumb lingered against her temple, slow, gentle—like a prayer made flesh.
But the thought came. A thought so venomous it hollowed him from the inside.
What if she never wakes? What if… when she does, it is not her that opens those eyes, but the rot? What if I've kept her breathing only to hand her soul to the very curse that's already drowning me?
His chest heaved. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached. And when the wave of terror broke, his fingers betrayed him.
They curled. Tightened. Pressed against the pale skin of his throat.
Her body shifted faintly beneath his grip, but she did not wake. She never woke.
The captain's breath rasped, half a sob, half a growl. His vision blurred. For a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—his eyes were wrong. Half black, the pupils drowning in shadow.
A faint stench of brine and rot leaked into the air, the lantern's flame guttering as if choked.
And in that abyss he saw himself: not a father, not a captain, but a monster.
The strangling grip froze. Then his hands flinched back as if burned. He stared at them—at the veins running dark beneath his skin, at the tremor shaking through his calloused fingers.
His breath came ragged. His shoulders shook. He looked at his own hands as though they were the blades of executioners.
"Gods…" His voice was raw, barely sound. "What have I become?"
Fear, sharp and suffocating, carved into his face. The man who had commanded storms, who had stared death in the eye and laughed, now staggered back from the still form of his daughter like a criminal fleeing his own crime.
His boots scraped against the floor as he lurched away, one hand pressed to his chest as though to hold back the corruption gnawing inside him. He did not look at Gareth. Did not look at Kael. Could not.
He simply left—shoulders hunched, the door slamming shut behind him, his steps retreating heavy and broken through the corridor.
Silence drowned the chamber.
Gareth's throat tightened, words pressing against his lips—but none came. Kael's eyes, usually hard as iron, softened with something close to pity, yet even he said nothing.
They both stood there, staring at the girl's motionless form, then at the door their captain had fled through.
Sadness pulled their faces hollow. Shock carved their silence. And beneath it all, a fear they would not name—because they still respected him. Still followed him.
And that made it worse.
At last, without a word, they followed.
Kael curled ,tightened and pressed his lips by his mouth.
But as Gareth stepped out, his lips moved in the barest whisper, meant for no ears but his own:
"…Captain…"
The word died in the corridor's shadows.
Laughter rolled across the deck.
Marcellus slammed his tankard down, foam spilling as Doran wheezed at some crude joke. Even Servin, dour as stone, allowed himself the ghost of a chuckle. For a moment, the New Ones felt alive again—just men stealing warmth against the cold.
But then the captain came.
The noise faltered, thinning like smoke in wind. Belmarius said nothing. He stepped past them, his shadow cutting through their circle, his boots heavy on the worn planks.
He did not sit. He did not drink. He only stopped at the railing, his salt-rough hands gripping wood, his eyes lifted to the moon adrift in black waters of sky.
The silver light caught his face, and it made him look older than any of them remembered. Not fierce, not unbreakable—just tired.
The laughter died. One by one, the crew lowered their eyes, tankards resting heavy, smiles fading into silence.
None dared speak.
Only the waves whispered. And above them all, the captain stared at the moon, as though it alone could answer him.
The captain's grip tightened on the railing, knuckles whitening against the wood. His breath was shallow, uneven, as if every inhale scraped him raw from the inside.
"Why…" The word slipped out, a rasp only the night could hear. "Why did I—?"
His voice broke, his throat working against the truth he could not name. He pressed a hand to his face, as though to hide from himself, but the memory of his hands on her throat burned hotter than fire.
"I almost… gods forgive me… I almost killed her."
The words clung to him like chains. His shoulders trembled, not from cold, but from something heavier.
And then—he heard it.
A voice. Soft. Familiar. A whisper that curled in the wind above the sea.
"Belmarius…"
His head snapped up. The moonlight shimmered, silver and cold, and for a moment the light blurred, reshaping into something else. A woman's outline, hair drifting like the tide, face pale as starlight.
His wife.
She was calling. Calling him to the sky.
His lips parted, confusion shadowing his face. Tired. Lost. "Wife…? Is it you?".
The sea hissed below. To him the sea seemed black and endless. The sky stretched open, endless and cruel. His eyes shimmered wet in the pale glow, torn between reaching upward and anchoring to the deck beneath his boots.
His hand drifted upward, as if reaching to the pale shimmer above. His lips trembled, words breaking like waves on stone.
"Cross me, darling… cross me darling…"
The plea slipped out half-sob, half-whisper. His voice cracked under its own weight.
"Take me with you… gods, please…"
The wind tugged at his coat, and the moon seemed to waver in his blurred eyes. He pressed his forehead against the railing, shoulders heaving. Tears streaked down his weathered face, spilling into his beard.
"My wife… forgive me… I don't know who I am anymore… I don't know what I've become…"
And there he broke. The man who had outshouted storms, who had once looked unkillable, crumpled in silence before a ghost no one else could see. His cries were not loud—they were muffled, strangled, as though he was ashamed even of his grief.
Behind him, Gareth's chest clenched, Kael's jaw set—but neither dared move closer. They only watched as their captain wept beneath the moon, shattered before his phantom beloved Self made love.
"Kill him."
The voice slithered through Gareth's skull, cold as iron dragged across stone. Umbrael's whisper.
"End it now, boy. Before the rot takes him whole."
Gareth's hand shook at his side, fingers twitching as if to reach for steel. His throat clenched, his heart hammering. But when his eyes lifted—when they fixed on the man kneeling beneath the moon, broken, speaking to a wife long dead—he froze.
His chest ached. He saw not a monster, not the corruption's husk, but the man who had carried him through storms, who had taught him how to stand, who had once laughed so loudly the sea itself seemed smaller in his shadow.
The memories came like a flood—the captain's grin when victory was theirs, the heavy hand clapped on his shoulder in rare moments of pride, the quiet kindness hidden beneath gruff words.
And Gareth couldn't move. His sword arm would not raise. His heart would not betray him.
Kael stood silent beside him, but even his steel gaze flickered. He remembered too—the unyielding orders that had steadied them, the rare warmth he would never admit he had come to rely on. His jaw tightened. And though his face stayed hard, there was sorrow beneath it, sharp as any blade.
Marcellus' laughter died in his throat. His smile cracked, his chest hollowed. Inside, a wound reopened—the same one left when fire had stolen his family. His lips trembled as he whispered, barely audible:
"I'm losing a family again…"
Tina Vale stepped forward, voice breaking. Her eyes shone wet, her hand trembling as though to reach for him. "Dad… are you still there? What's happening? You promised me—you promised to take me to the Forgotten Shore. You said you'd be there when I married, that you'd stand in my father's place. Please… please don't leave me now."
Flint's breath hitched. His broad shoulders shook though no sound left his mouth. He could only stare, horrified, his heart fracturing. Tears welled and slipped free, unbidden, streaking his weathered cheeks.
Servin Crowe—stone, always stone—took a step forward. His hand lifted, trembling, desperate to reach the man who had once been his anchor. "Captain…"
"STAY BACK!"
The shout cracked like thunder. Belmarius' voice, raw, shredded. He spun, eyes half-black, veins crawling dark beneath his skin. The crew recoiled as if struck.
Servin froze, hand half-raised, his face crumbling as he staggered back. His lips trembled, but no words came. His eyes burned, glistening, and for the first time in years his tears fell openly.
And before them all—captain, father figure, anchor of their world—Belmarius broke, sobbing into his hands beneath the pale and merciless moon.
Umbrael hissed in his skull again.
"Do it now. Strike him down. Free them all."
Gareth's hand twitched toward his blade—but he stopped. His chest heaved, his throat burned, and when he looked around, he saw their faces.
Marcellus hollowed, Tina weeping, Flint broken, Servin shattered, Kael silent but grieving. Every one of them crushed under the weight of watching their captain fall apart.
Gareth's body moved before his mind caught up. He stepped forward, past Kael, past the stunned crew, until he stood in the center of them all. His fists trembled at his sides, and tears finally spilled hot down his cheeks.
His voice cracked, but he forced it out.
"I'll take it."
The words rang in the silence. The wind carried them across the deck, heavy and trembling.
"I'll take this burden. For him. For all of you."
His head bowed, hair falling over tear-streaked cheeks. "No matter how heavy it is… I'll carry it."
The crew said nothing. They only watched as Gareth stood before them, his body shaking, his eyes burning with grief, with love, with unbearable resolve.
And in that moment, under the merciless glow of the moon, the boy of the Eclipse became something else.
Not a captain. Not yet.
But the one who bore the weight.
Belmarius stood frozen, his chest heaving, sweat and tears streaking down his weathered face. His gaze drifted, unfocused, and in that haze the ghosts came.
He saw his wife's smile, soft as dawn. The day his daughter first breathed in his arms. The laughter of his crew when storms were broken, the taste of victory, the weight of failure. He saw it all, flashing before him like shattered glass reflecting the man he had been, the man he had lost.
And for a heartbeat, he broke entirely. Shoulders slumped, lips trembling, eyes hollow.
Then—like a drowning man clawing to the surface—he straightened. His hand wiped across his face, leaving only the steel behind.
He turned to them. All of them. Gareth, Kael, Marcellus, Tina, Flint, Servin—the family he had nearly abandoned to the darkness.
His voice cracked when it first came, but then it rang out, iron wrapped in sorrow:
"Raise your weapons."
The crew hesitated, eyes wide, tears still wet.
The captain's gaze burned, though his shadow trembled. "It's time. The final act."
Silence hung for a breath, and then steel rasped from sheaths, the sound like thunder building over the sea.
Belmarius closed his eyes, whispering so low only the ghosts could hear: "Forgive me."
Belmarius's words hung in the air like a death knell.
And then—his body jerked. His brown eyes darkened, ink spreading until the whites drowned, until nothing but black pools stared back. His breath rasped like a storm through a broken hull. Veins crawled up his neck, his skin paling as though something beneath was hollowing him out.
His crew stepped back in horror.
"Captain…?" Tina whispered, her sword trembling in her grip.
But it was too late.
The change surged through him, muscles twisting, his spine arching as black veins bulged and writhed like serpents. From his back burst long, writhing tendrils of shadow, slick and glistening like roots pulled from the earth, thrashing with a will of their own.
"STAY BACK!" Belmarius roared—though whether it was warning or curse, no one could tell.
Marcellus charged first, fire dancing in his palms. Belmarius swatted him aside with a tendril, sending him crashing into the bulkhead. Flint slashed steel through the air, only to be caught by a lashing root, slammed against the deck until blood flecked his lips.
Servin cried out, reaching for him, but another strike forced him to roll away, barely alive.
Tina stood frozen, tears streaming down her face, until she screamed, "DAD!" and lunged forward.
The captain's blackened hand caught her blade mid-swing, shattering it in his grip. She stumbled back, spared only by Gareth's shadow pushing her away.
"ENOUGH!" Gareth's voice cracked like thunder. His eyes burned as he thrust out a hand, his telekinesis seizing Belmarius. The corrupted captain shuddered, suspended midair, tendrils thrashing, slamming into the deck and walls, but held by Gareth's will.
Gareth's breath came heavy. His throat tightened as he looked into those endless black eyes—eyes that, even now, brimmed with tears.
"Captain…" Gareth whispered, voice breaking. "You're still in there."
The shadow roots erupted from beneath Gareth's feet, curling and lashing upward, snaring the thrashing tentacles. Black against black, shadow against corruption, the deck shuddered beneath the clash.
But Belmarius only grew stronger. His body swelled with the abyss, the tendrils snapping Gareth's roots like brittle twigs. Each strike shook the chamber, each movement more monstrous, more frightening than the last.
The crew watched in horror, unable to rise again, as their captain's humanity slipped further away.
And still Gareth held on, his arms trembling, his voice cracking.
"Don't… make me do this…"
The rain began as a drizzle, soft against the wood, soft against the steel. Then it thickened, drop after drop until the storm baptized the deck in grief.
Captain Belmarius staggered, his blackened eyes flickering, his form twisted by corruption, yet his voice—though ragged—still carried.
He turned first to Marcellus, the Ashhound, whose fists trembled. "Don't remember the monster I became… remember the man who tried to keep you safe."
Marcellus broke, teeth clenched, tears mixing with rain.
To Tina Vale, the girl who called him father :"A captain dies with his ship… but a father dies with his family. Forgive me… my daughter."
Tina collapsed forward, her voice breaking into sobs.
His dark gaze swept to Doran Flint, the scarred and silent one. "If the sea takes me, let it take only me. Live, damn you—live, where I could not."
Doran turned away, his scarred face wet, silent weeping.
To Servin Crowe, who reached out even now with shaking hands: "Even in the black… I saw you. My crew. My family. My light. Don't let the dark have you too."
Servin's knees buckled, the small rope he always carried, slipping from his fingers.
And then his eyes—those blackened, weeping eyes—found Kael. The knight froze as Belmarius rasped ,"Even you, Kael… you deserve to see the dawn. Raise your blade higher than my shadow. Be more than the killer they made you."
For the first time, Kael bowed his head, lips pressed tight.
Finally, he turned to Gareth. His voice cracked, broken and soaked with rain. "You… boy of eclipse. The one I cursed with a name you hated. But you carried it all the same… stronger than I ever was."
Gareth shook his head violently, tears streaming. "Don't—don't call me that…"
But Belmarius smiled through the black blood dripping down his lips, his chest heaving as corruption tore him apart. "You will carry it… because you are the one. The one who bears the light… even in the storm."
Lightning tore the sky, shadows writhing around his body as Gareth's telekinesis held him aloft. Shadow roots wrapped around, struggling, thrashing against the corruption. Gareth's sobs echoed across the deck.
And through it all, Belmarius whispered, voice fading with the rain: "Raise your sails higher than I ever did. Promise me… you'll reach the shore I could never find."
Then his voice broke. His body jolted, and the black within him surged like a storm unleashed. Shadow-tentacles ripped free from his back, slamming into the deck, tearing through wood and iron. His once-familiar face warped, eyes drowning in midnight.
"Captain!" Gareth cried, voice cracking, his telekinesis straining to hold the monstrous weight in midair. Tears streamed down his face, but his hands wouldn't stop glowing. He pulled, shadow roots bursting from the boards, wrapping Belmarius in chains of darkness and light alike.
But Belmarius fought back. The corruption roared, each tentacle lashing with inhuman strength, throwing Kael against the mast, hurling Flint across the deck, snapping ropes and splintering beams.
"Stop—please stop!" Gareth's voice was raw, pleading, even as he fought with everything inside him. His mind throbbed, blood trickling from his nose as his telekinetic force wrapped around the thrashing captain.
"Gareth!" Tina screamed, clutching the rail, her hand reaching out. "Don't let him go—don't let him drown in it!"
Marcellus staggered to his feet, fire blooming in his palms, but his eyes were broken. "Damn it, Captain… don't make me burn you…"
Servin shouted over the storm, "Gareth—he's losing himself! End it before none of him is left!"
But Gareth's heart shattered with every word. His mind raced through memories—the Captain's laugh, the rough hand on his shoulder, the nights of lessons at the map table, the way he shielded them like a father shielding children.
The storm answered, lightning tearing the sky open. The corruption surged again, dragging the crew into a fight for their very lives.
The deck was ruin. Rain hammered down, washing the blood into the sea. Tentacles writhed one final time, but Gareth's grip did not falter. His hand closed around Kael's fallen sword, the steel slick and heavy.
Belmarius thrashed, shadows screaming from his body, but his human eyes—those broken, brown eyes drowning in black—locked onto Gareth's.
"Forgive me…" Gareth whispered, voice trembling.
And with a desperate cry, he drove the blade straight through his captain's chest.
The impact shook the ship. Belmarius convulsed, his back arching as the shadows ripped outward, then collapsed into nothingness.
Black ichor poured from the wound, mingling with the rain. He fell against the deck with a hollow thud, his great body shuddering.
Gareth dropped beside him, tears streaming, his hands stained with his captain's blood. His breath came ragged, his heart in pieces.
The shadows stirred. Umbrael slipped from Gareth's own form, weaving into the shape of a girl. Silver hair spilled across her shoulders, her lips curving into a fragile, radiant smile.
Belmarius's fading eyes widened. He blinked against the rain, against the pain, and for a heartbeat—he wasn't a monster. He wasn't the Sea's Devil. He was just a man, seeing his daughter smile one last time.
And then… he saw Gareth's face, forced into a huge trembling grin, his cheeks streaked with tears, mimicking the joy he could never truly hold in this moment.
Belmarius's lips curved upward, slow, weak—but genuine. The same smile his wife had given him once upon a time, in a world that felt a thousand storms ago.
His last breath shivered between his teeth. His eyes locked on Gareth. And with the faintest whisper—soft as the rain—he said:
"…Lenziuela…"
The word lingered, heavy and beautiful, even as the life slipped from his body. His chest stilled. His hand fell limp. The rain swallowed the silence.
Gareth kept smiling, his lips trembling so violently it almost broke into a sob. But he didn't let it. Not yet. He kept the smile, wide and hollow, as the man who had been his captain—his father in all but name—bled out beneath him.
Only when Belmarius's eyes glazed over, only when the storm above gave no answer, did Gareth's grin collapse into a scream.
"Good Night".