The sea stretched endless and gray, a shroud of mist pressing low on the horizon. No gulls wheeled overhead, no fish stirred beneath the hull. It was as if the ocean itself had gone silent, waiting for the Eryndor to betray her crew.
Work dragged. The men pulled ropes with slack arms, patched sails with weary hands, yet every task was done grudgingly. The storm had drained them, but exhaustion alone did not bow their shoulders. Fear weighed heavier.
Ardyn felt it at every step. When he climbed the rigging, men muttered below. When he passed along the deck, shoulders turned, backs stiffened. At meals, no space was left for him at the benches, so he ate alone near the galley door. He tried to ignore it, but each glance cut deeper, each whisper sank heavier.
The crown's pulse in his chest gave no mercy. It beat with his heart, steady, insistent. He dreamed of its glow each night, woke with its hum each morning. The voice no longer whispered only of destiny. Now it spoke of hunger, of power waiting to be seized.
That morning Jorven made no attempt to hide his scorn. As Ardyn carried a coil of rope across the deck, Jorven spat at his feet. The boy brings rot, he growled. I can smell it in the wood.
The rope slipped from Ardyn's arms. He stared at the scarred sailor, words rising to his lips then dying before they formed. Jorven's eyes burned, daring him to answer.
Before Ardyn could move, Brannick stepped between them. Enough. His voice was steady, but his hand rested on the hilt of his knife.
Jorven sneered. Will you guard him forever, quartermaster? How long before you drown with him?
Brannick's stare did not waver. As long as I must.
The crew fell silent, the weight of their gazes heavy. Jorven muttered a curse and turned away, but the fire in his eyes did not fade.
The day crawled by. The mist thickened, the horizon vanished. When the bell rang for the midday meal, the crew gathered around steaming bowls of thin stew. They spoke little, but tension simmered under the surface.
Jorven broke the silence. We are fools, he said. Each day we sail farther into cursed waters, each day the boy's shadow grows darker. Do you not feel it? The sea watches us. It waits for him.
Murmurs of agreement followed.
Ardyn kept his head low, spooning the stew into his mouth though he could not taste it. His chest thrummed with the crown's beat, louder than the murmurs, louder than the clatter of spoons.
Brannick's voice cut in. You would turn sailor against sailor? You would break your oaths?
Jorven's lip curled. Better broken oaths than broken necks when the sea swallows us whole.
The crew shifted uneasily, torn between fear of Jorven's words and fear of Brannick's blade.
Then Captain Dorn's voice struck like thunder. Enough.
He stood at the head of the mess, his eyes cold, his jaw tight. I will not hear another word of this. The boy sails with us until I say otherwise. Any man who raises hand against him raises hand against me.
Silence fell, heavy as the deep. The men lowered their eyes, but none looked convinced.
That night, Ardyn lay awake in his hammock. The whispers of the crown surged in rhythm with the creak of the ship, with the sigh of waves against the hull. He pressed his palms to his ears, but the voice was inside him, relentless.
They will not stop, it said. They will cast you to the sea. Take me, and they will bow. Take me, and the storm will kneel.
He rolled onto his side, biting his lip until blood filled his mouth. He wanted silence. He wanted rest. But the sea had claimed him, and the sea never let go.
The following days blurred together. The mist did not lift. The sun rose pale, set weaker still. Rations dwindled. Water grew foul. Men's tempers sharpened. Twice, fights broke out over scraps of bread. Once, a knife was drawn. Brannick stopped it, his voice iron, his hand steady. But even he could feel the shift.
The crew no longer grumbled in corners. They whispered openly. They watched Dorn with doubt, Brannick with mistrust, Ardyn with hatred.
On the fifth night after the storm, the mutiny was decided.
They gathered at the stern, half the crew, faces lit by a single lantern. Jorven stood among them, his scarred jaw set, his voice low but carrying.
The captain is blind, he said. The quartermaster a fool. The boy cursed. If we wait, the sea will claim us all. We act, or we die.
Murmurs of assent rippled through the men.
Then it is done, Jorven said. At dawn, we take the ship.
The lantern was doused, and the men slipped into shadow.
But Brannick had heard. He had stood in silence beyond the hatch, listening. His jaw tightened, his hand clenched into a fist. He turned away without a sound, his steps heavy as he crossed the deck.
He found Ardyn at the bow, staring into the water, his face pale, his eyes hollow.
You must be ready, Brannick said.
Ardyn looked at him, confusion in his gaze. Ready for what?
Brannick's voice was a growl. For blood.
The boy's chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, to say he would never raise blade against the crew. But the hum in his heart pulsed harder, the crown's voice rising.
Blood or water, it whispered. Choose.
The dawn came gray and cold. The mist hung thick, the sea flat as glass. The crew moved like men under sentence, their steps heavy, their eyes sharp.
Captain Dorn stood at the helm, his gaze sweeping the deck. He saw it in their faces. The shift. The choice. The breaking of oaths.
Brannick stood near Ardyn, hand on his knife, his body tense as a drawn bow.
And Jorven, scarred jaw glinting in the pale light, stepped forward. His hand closed on the hilt of his blade. His voice carried.
No more.
The words fell like a stone into deep water, ripples spreading across the deck. Men rose, blades drawn, eyes fierce.
The mutiny had begun.
Ardyn's breath caught. The crown roared inside him, louder than the sea, louder than the cries of men. He felt power surge through him, golden light flickering at the edge of his vision.
Rule or drown, the voice thundered. Take me, or be taken.
The deck erupted in chaos.
Steel rang against steel, men shouted, curses filled the air. Blood spilled on the planks, dark and hot. The Eryndor groaned beneath the weight of broken oaths.
Captain Dorn fought at the helm, his blade flashing, his voice commanding. Brannick battled like a storm given flesh, his knife cutting through men who lunged for Ardyn.
And Ardyn stood frozen at the rail, the sea calling, the crown blazing in his chest.
The choice was upon him.
The sea had waited long enough.