The days bled into one another as the Eryndor pressed farther into waters no map claimed. The crew worked their duties, but without song or laughter. The sails snapped in the wind, the timbers groaned, and the sea itself seemed to murmur with secrets none wished to hear. Every man's eyes were hollow with exhaustion, and their hands bore the trembling of fear that refused to leave.
Ardyn felt it most of all. The whispers never left him now. They pulsed in his chest with every heartbeat, a constant drumbeat beneath his ribs. In the quiet moments they were a murmur, but when he stood alone at the bow or leaned over the railing to look into the depths, the voice grew stronger, clearer, like a chorus echoing from the abyss. It spoke his name. It promised him dominion. It showed him visions of a crown burning with golden fire.
The others saw the changes in him. His eyes, once dark, now caught the light in strange ways, gleaming gold at times when no lantern shone. His skin seemed drawn tight, as though the sea itself had leached warmth from him. The crew whispered that he was no longer the boy who had boarded the Eryndor in the port of Karthmere, eager and green. He was something else, something the ocean had claimed.
On the fifth morning after the storm, the sea revealed its next omen.
The dawn was pale and thin, mist curling across the surface. As the ship carved through the fog, a glow rose from the water itself. At first it was faint, a shimmer beneath the waves like starlight caught in motion. Then it spread, brightening until the sea around the ship burned with an otherworldly fire. Trails of gold and green twined beneath the surface, illuminating the hull, lighting the faces of the men above.
Sea fire, one of the sailors whispered. His voice trembled.
Others crossed themselves or muttered prayers. Brannick barked at them to keep working, but his own eyes were fixed on the glowing water.
Ardyn gripped the railing, staring down. The hum in his chest thundered louder than ever. The light in the water called to him. He felt it in his blood, in his bones. The fire shifted with the currents, and within it he thought he saw shapes vast and shadowed, circling just beyond sight. Their eyes gleamed gold, mirroring the light that burned in his visions.
The crew grew restless. Some refused to look down at the glowing sea, while others could not tear their gaze away. Superstition spread like a sickness. Men whispered that the sea marked them, that no ship returned from waters where fire burned below.
By midday the glow had not faded. It followed the Eryndor like a halo, bright beneath her hull. Captain Dorn called the crew together. His voice was steady, but the weight in his eyes betrayed him.
The sea gives us omens, he said, but we are sailors, not prophets. We will not surrender to fear. We will sail on, and we will endure.
Yet when he dismissed them, the men returned to their posts in silence. Their hands shook on the ropes, their gazes lingered on the boy at the bow.
That night, Ardyn dreamed of the crown again. He walked through halls of coral lit by golden fire, the water pressing around him but never drowning him. The throne of bone loomed before him, and on it rested the crown, gleaming brighter than before. The beasts circled him, their eyes blazing with light. When he reached out, his fingers touched metal hot as flame, and the sea roared with his name.
He woke gasping, his body slick with sweat. The whispers surged so strong that they drowned out the creak of the ship and the snores of the sleeping crew. He rose and stumbled to the deck. The sea still burned beneath the hull, its glow painting the sails with eerie light.
Brannick found him there. The quartermaster's face was drawn, his eyes hard.
You cannot keep walking alone at night, he said. The men see it. They talk.
Ardyn's voice was raw. I cannot stop it. The sea calls me.
Then bind your ears, Brannick growled. Fight it, or they will not wait for the sea to take you. They will cast you off themselves.
Ardyn turned away, staring into the glow. I do not know if I can fight it.
Brannick's jaw tightened. Then pray you learn quickly.
The quartermaster left, but the warning lingered. Ardyn clutched the railing, staring down at the burning sea. For a moment he thought he saw himself reflected there, crowned in fire, eyes alight with power.
The next day brought worse.
As the sun reached its zenith, a shout rose from the lookout. Shapes in the water.
The crew rushed to the rails. Beneath the glowing surface, dark forms swam. Vast shadows, circling the ship. Their movements were slow, deliberate. When they drew near, eyes blazed golden in the depths.
The beasts had returned.
Men cried out, some cursing, some praying. Brannick drew his blade, though steel meant nothing against monsters of the deep. Captain Dorn barked orders, commanding discipline, but fear spread faster than his words.
The beasts did not attack. They circled, silent, their golden eyes never leaving the boy who stood at the bow.
Ardyn could not move. The hum inside him was a roar now, so loud he thought his body might break. The beasts called to him without words, their eyes burning with recognition. He was theirs, and they were his.
The men saw it too. Whispers spread like wildfire. They are watching him. They follow him. He has brought them here.
By nightfall the beasts had sunk once more into the depths, their golden glow fading into darkness. But their memory remained carved into every mind aboard.
When the crew gathered to eat, no one sat near Ardyn. They left a space around him, wide as a wound. Brannick sat at the edge of the circle, his hand never far from his knife. Captain Dorn kept silent, though his gaze lingered long on the boy.
Ardyn ate nothing. The whispers drowned hunger, drowned thought. He saw only the crown, blazing brighter than ever, waiting in the deep.
The sea had marked him. The crew knew it. And soon, he feared, they would act upon it.