The Iron Falcon, Sea Whisper, and Sable Marauder cut through the gray waves, leaving Driftport behind. The Last Haven's chaotic docks shrank into the mist, replaced by the endless expanse of the Sea of Trials. The sun was a pale disk behind clouds, casting little warmth, and the wind howled across the decks like a living predator.
Edric Halvorn stood at the bow of the Iron Falcon, gripping the railing as the ship pitched violently. His knights scrambled to secure ropes and sails, shouting orders over the roar of the sea. He had expected rough waters, but the Sea of Trials lived up to every whispered warning.
"Brace yourselves!" Sir Caldor yelled, catching Edric's attention. "This is unlike anything we've faced before!"
Edric's jaw tightened. "We press on. The Continent does not wait for the timid!"
Elira clutched her journal, noting the shifting currents, the violent waves, and the unnatural patterns of the water. She had read of storms on the Sea of Trials, but nothing in her books could prepare her for this. Waves towered like mountains, crashing against the ships and sending spray that cut like knives.
The crew of the Sea Whisper fought to maintain control, but sailors were thrown overboard, ropes snapped, and barrels slid dangerously. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She held onto the mast, steadying herself, and whispered, "Observe, survive, adapt… patterns exist even here…"
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement beneath the waves: massive shapes weaving through the water. Not whales. Not ordinary beasts. Something older, larger, and intelligent. Her stomach churned.
Ronan crouched low on the deck of the Sable Marauder, a dagger in each hand. He grinned at the chaos around him, letting instinct guide his movements. Crew members screamed as the waves smashed into the ship, tossing men into the sea. Some were dragged under by unseen forces, their cries swallowed by the roar of the storm.
Then came the first attack. Massive shapes erupted from the waves—hulking sea creatures with tentacles and jagged teeth, dragging sailors into the churning depths. The Sable Marauder lurched violently as one slammed into its side, splintering the hull. Ronan slashed and jabbed, his dagger finding gaps in the creatures' armored skin, but more came from the depths, relentless.
So this is the Sea of Trials, he muttered. And it isn't waiting for fools.
On the Iron Falcon, Edric fought to maintain command as the ship pitched, water pouring over the deck. One by one, his knights were swept away or crushed under fallen rigging. A colossal tentacle rose from the depths, smashing against the side of the ship. He swung his sword, slicing through it, but the creature's strength was overwhelming.
"Hold the line!" he shouted, ignoring the terror clawing at his chest. Yet each wave, each monstrous blow, took a toll. The crew dwindled; only the strongest, the most determined, remained.
Elira's ship was similarly battered, but she clung to the patterns of the storm and the behavior of the creatures. She shouted to her sailors, guiding them to angle the sails, to ride the waves rather than fight them. Many did not survive.
Ronan moved like a shadow, striking quickly, dragging survivors to safer spots, improvising traps with rope and debris. Few of the Sable Marauder's crew lived to tell the tale.
By nightfall, the storm had passed, leaving the three ships battered, splintered, and almost empty. Sailors clung to debris, praying to gods they had long abandoned. Many lay lost beneath the waves, dragged into the cold depths by the Sea of Trials' monstrous denizens.
Edric, drenched and bloodied, surveyed the deck of the Iron Falcon. Only a handful of knights remained. He clenched his fist, eyes burning with a mixture of fury and determination. This is only the beginning. We survive, and we grow stronger.
Elira carefully checked her journal, noting the creatures, the patterns of the storm, and the way each ship had moved through the waves. "We… we've learned something," she said shakily, glancing at Edric and Ronan. "Patterns, weaknesses… survival isn't random. But the Sea… it is alive in a way I never imagined."
Ronan leaned against a broken railing, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek, and gave a crooked grin. "I like this sea. Brutal. Honest. And it culls the weak." He paused, eyes scanning the horizon. "We're still alive. That means we get a chance at the prize."
The mist settled again over the rolling gray waves. The Shrouded Continent lay beyond, silent, waiting, and watching. The Sea of Trials had claimed much, but it had not claimed them.
And as the three looked to the horizon, battered but unbroken, they knew one thing with certainty: nothing in Driftport, nothing in their lives, had prepared them for what awaited.