The wind shifted on the third day after Ironhook, and with it came the scent of deep water—a smell so ancient and potent it awakened something primal in those who had lived too long upon the surface. The rebel fleet was smaller now, but more united than ever before. Scarred but alive, and driven by the grim knowledge that what lay ahead was not a war for territory, but for survival itself.
Mara stood at the helm of the Duskwind, her hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the compass that spun ever so slightly, as though pulled by unseen tides. Around her, the crew moved with quiet purpose. No more laughter, no more idle singing. Only silence and the slap of waves against wood.
"The Weeping Abyss draws near," Elsha said, emerging from below deck. Her voice held a reverent hush. "I can feel it in my bones. In the chains that cling to you."
Mara nodded. The relic pulsed faintly at her side, as if it too felt the shift. Beneath them, the sea darkened. Coral islands gave way to waters that shimmered like ink, flecked with starlight even in daylight. Even the birds overhead seemed to vanish, as though afraid of what waited in the shadowy depths ahead.
Whispers in the Deep
That night, the sea refused to sleep.
Waves danced with unnatural rhythm, curling in patterns like glyphs, like runes of old. Driftborn shaman muttered prayers. Abyr ordered double watches and crossbows to be kept loaded. But none of it felt like enough. There was a weight to the silence, as though the ocean itself held its breath.
Darion joined Mara on the prow, his eyes haunted. "They say the Abyss doesn't just pull ships under. It pulls memories. Souls. Leaves you hollow."
"Then we stay whole," Mara replied, gripping the railing. "We remember who we are. We remember who we fight for."
"And if we forget?"
She looked at him, not blinking. "Then we become what Mallik wants."
A long pause. Then:
"You ever wonder if this was always meant to happen?"
Mara shook her head. "No. Fate is for the dead. The living fight."
A gust of wind swept over them, carrying a distant sound that might have been singing—or weeping. Far below, something stirred, and the Duskwind rocked without reason.
The Edge of the World
On the sixth day, the fleet reached it: the Weeping Abyss.
It wasn't a trench. It wasn't even a hole in the ocean floor. It was a wound. A gaping scar in the world, where the water fell inwards with a soundless roar, as if the sea itself was weeping into the void. The pressure bent the water strangely; it shimmered, twisted, defied sense.
Birds refused to fly overhead. The sky itself seemed dimmer, and even sunlight faltered before reaching the surface. The color of the sea turned to obsidian, swallowing light.
The Duskwind and the others skirted the edge of the Abyss like dancers on a blade. Every compass failed. Every star vanished from the charts. Voices occasionally echoed over the waters — voices that sounded like crew lost at Ironhook, but twisted, wrong.
Mara called a meeting below deck. Her closest allies gathered in the chartroom, lit by soft lanternlight and tension.
"He's down there," she said. "Mallik is in the Abyss. And he's not alone."
Elsha unfurled an ancient map drawn in black blood. "Legends speak of the Leviathan sleeping below. Not a beast, but a god. A sentience bound in salt and darkness. Mallik wants to wake it."
Abyr frowned. "And do what? Ride it? Rule the sea?"
"No," Mara said. "He wants to unmake the sea. To break the bindings between water and memory, to erase the world's scars."
A heavy silence fell.
Darion leaned over the table. "If he succeeds, everything drowns. Not just the cities. The stories. The people. The names."
"Then we go after him," Mara said. "Into the dark."
Descent
They couldn't take the fleet into the Abyss. Only one ship could survive the descent. The Duskwind was chosen.
Ropes were secured. Blessings whispered. The crew kissed charms and carved names into the mast. The hull was reinforced with woven driftsteel, a rare alloy found in the bones of drowned leviathans.
The wind died completely as the Duskwind slipped past the rim. What little sound remained vanished, swallowed by pressure. Time itself seemed to slow.
Down they went.
Into pressure and cold and silence.
The light vanished. The stars above became memories. The ocean swallowed them like a grave.
Faint bioluminescent creatures danced beside them—eels with mouths of flame, jellyfish that pulsed with memory. But none came too close. Even the sea's oldest denizens feared the Abyss.
The crew barely spoke. Their breaths came shallow, their fingers gripping rope and hilt. Elsha lit braziers below deck, whispering old Driftborn invocations to ward off madness.
Voices of the Forgotten
Mara heard them first.
Not whispers. Not screams. Memories.
Her mother's voice. A lullaby. A warning.
"The chains are not cursed, Mara. They are anchors. Hold fast."
Darion cried out as his eyes rolled back. Abyr slumped against the mast, sweat beading on his brow.
Visions overtook the crew. Lovers lost. Battles failed. Betrayals. Regrets. The Abyss poured them out like venom.
Elsha screamed as she fell to her knees. "It knows our names! It speaks them like prayer!"
Mara stood tall.
"You will not have us," she said aloud.
The relic at her belt blazed. The darkness flinched.
A pulse shot through the water, rippling through the hull. The ship steadied.
Above deck, the stars blinked out one by one.
The Leviathan Wakes
At the bottom, they saw it.
Not a creature. Not even a god.
A city.
Built from bones and coral and time.
Towers twisted like anchors. Bridges made from ribs. Lights shimmered with no source. Doors breathed open and closed with tides of memory.
In the center, a throne. And on it, Mallik.
He rose, cloaked in currents, eyes glowing with abyssal light.
"Welcome, Mara," he said. "You brought the final key."
She stepped forward, sword gleaming. "Then let's end this."
The city trembled. The Abyss breathed.
And above them, the sea began to weep.