As a compensation for the late upload this week would have one extra chapter.
---
CHAPTER — The Silent Passage
Sabre did not return home.
The shattered hall still echoed in his skull, the whispers of the Elders clinging to him like cold dew. Their confusion…their fear…their sudden silence when his name was spoken—none of it left him. It sat on him heavily, like a weight he could not put down.
So instead of turning toward the familiar dirt paths and crumbling houses of his district, he walked the opposite way—toward the city docks. Toward the capital.
Toward the truth that refused to leave him alone.
The night pressed in as he moved. It wasn't loud, not bustling the way nights in the lower wards usually were. Tonight felt strangled—tight and watching. Sabre kept his hood up, every step measured, avoiding lantern pools where guards lingered.
His breath wavered when he finally reached the docks.
Three massive cargo ships loomed beside the piers, their lanterns swinging like tired, glowing eyes. Workers barked orders. Crates clattered. Ropes slapped against wood. All routine—but routine didn't make this safe.
The capital was far, and anyone caught sneaking onto a transport meant for the High District was executed. No excuses. No trials. One arrow through the neck, and your body thrown into the water.
Sabre swallowed hard.
Still…he couldn't turn away.
He glanced around and spotted the second ship—The Silver Mare—its emblem shimmering faintly on the hull. It was headed straight for the capital by dawn. That was his only chance.
He waited.
Listened.
Timed his breath with the workers' shouts.
And when a group moved a long cargo ramp into position, he slipped under it and crouched low, heart drumming painfully loud in his chest.
The scent of tar…cold metal…wet wood…it all pressed into him as he crawled deeper beneath the ship's belly. His hands trembled only once—when a lantern swung too close and a guard's boots stopped right above him.
Sabre held his breath.
The guard hesitated…shifted…
Then, slowly, turned away.
Sabre released the breath he'd been holding, his lungs burning.
He wasn't safe yet.
He waited until the loading slowed. Then, when the chance came, he darted up the narrow gap along the hull, pressed his back against the wooden frame, and slid himself through a tiny maintenance hatch half-buried beneath stacked crates.
He fell into darkness—hard.
A dull thud echoed.
Footsteps froze above him.
Sabre gritted his teeth and curled into the shadows. Dust filled the air as footsteps approached—slow, suspicious. Someone kicked the crate he'd squeezed behind.
Sabre's hand curled around nothing—no weapon. He had deep injuries from before, and his energy was low. He was in no condition to fight a trained dock guard.
The crate shifted.
The guard muttered, "Damn rats…" and moved on.
Sabre sagged in relief.
When the final horn sounded and the ship lurched, Sabre allowed himself one quiet exhale. The ropes were pulled, sails unfurled, and the ocean swallowed the sound of the docks.
The voyage had begun.
But now came the harder part—surviving the trip.
---
Hours passed.
Sabre stayed tucked within the cargo bay, hidden behind tall crates of grain and metal parts marked for the High District. The air was thick with dust and the faint metallic taste of sealed containers. Each creak of the ship made him flinch.
His mind was loud—louder than the sea.
Why did they react to my name?
Why did the hall fall silent when I stood up?
What do they know that I don't?
The memories of the Elders' faces haunted him—confusion mixed with something darker. Recognition. Fear.
But of what?
Or of who?
A sudden noise snapped him back.
Bootsteps above him.
Walking slowly.
Deliberately.
Someone descended the ladder to the cargo hold.
Sabre flattened his body tighter against the crate.
A lantern glow swept across the room, illuminating dust flecks like drifting spirits. Sabre could see the boots now—a guard. Heavy leather. Polished. Experienced footsteps, not a new recruit.
The guard paused.
Sabre's pulse hammered.
The lantern beam moved…moved…
Then pointed in his direction.
Sabre's blood froze.
The guard stepped closer.
Another step.
Another.
The lantern now fully faced the crates hiding him.
Sabre clenched his jaw, preparing to bolt—or fight—even with his weakened body.
But then—
A rat scurried out from between two boxes.
The guard let out a harsh sigh, lowering the lantern. "Damn pests. Gonna flood this place with traps when we dock."
Sabre didn't move until the footsteps faded and the lantern glow vanished.
Only then did he realize his palms were drenched in sweat.
He waited a long time after that, longer than necessary, until the ship settled into its midnight rhythm—waves brushing the hull…wood groaning…wind weaving through the sails.
The dread lingered, thick and suffocating.
But beneath it, something else pulsed quietly inside him.
A pull.
A direction.
The capital.
He didn't know why…but every instinct screamed that was where he needed to be.
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't desperation.
It was something older.
He still didn't understand what he was…why he felt an ancient pressure in his bones…or why the monster recognized him before it attacked.
But the capital might have answers.
The Elders might have answers.
Even if their expressions said they didn't want him to learn them.
A sudden throb surged in his chest.
It wasn't pain.
It was like a muted heartbeat beneath his real one.
A silent echo.
Sabre pressed a hand to his sternum. The strange sensation faded…but something remained—like a whisper at the edge of hearing.
He shook it off and tried to rest.
But as he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, he felt the ship change course slightly, the waves deepening.
And in the pitch-black hours before dawn, Sabre dreamed of lightening again.
Lightening swallowing the sky.
Lightening reaching for him.
Lightening whispering his name.
---CHAPTER — The Sea That Hungers
The night was deceptively calm.
The moon hung pale above the waves, casting a silvery sheen over the Black Harbor. The ship beneath Sabre swayed gently, each plank groaning in protest as if sensing the tension in the air. For a moment, he dared to hope for rest. But he had learned—rest was a luxury he could not afford.
Huddled beneath the deck, the cargo crates pressed against him like cold, unforgiving walls. His chest throbbed with that strange, muted heartbeat—the faint echo of the astral energy still simmering inside him. Every instinct screamed that this pulse was no ordinary warning. It was a calling. Something was coming.
The first sign was subtle: the ship shivered. A vibration ran through the hull, almost imperceptible at first, until it grew into a low, rolling tremor. Dust rained from the wooden beams above, tiny motes glittering in the faint light of the lanterns swaying overhead.
Then came the sound.
A deep, guttural roar that seemed to originate from the ocean itself. The air trembled with it. Crew members froze, their voices caught in their throats.
Sabre's pulse spiked. He leapt to his feet, sliding behind a crate as the ship lurched violently. His fingers scraped against the wood. Lightning sparked faintly along his veins, responding to the surge of fear, yet he could not control it. Not yet.
The roar came again—closer, louder, more tangible. The sea itself seemed to rise against the ship. Waves slammed into the hull with bone-crushing force. Wooden beams cracked, cargo shifted, lanterns swung dangerously. Sabre's breath caught in his throat.
Then it surfaced.
The Marrow Leviathan.
Even from below deck, he could feel its presence. Its massive skull-like head broke the surface, eyes glowing faintly with that unnatural blue hunger. The legends were true. Ships never survived encounters with these monsters. Sailors told stories of fleets vanishing without a trace, bodies never recovered, screams swallowed by the ocean.
Sabre's mind raced.
He had no weapon. No armor. No training against something like this. And yet, something primal inside him stirred. The heartbeat thrummed again—a muted echo, pushing him forward.
He bolted for the hatch. The deck above was chaos. Sailors screamed, tripping over ropes, falling into the waves. Guards shouted commands they couldn't enforce. The Leviathan's limbs smashed against the railing, sending men flying into the churning sea.
Sabre's boots hit the deck, and the wind tore at him. His fists clenched as sparks of lightning danced faintly along his skin. He raised a hand instinctively.
A surge of energy leapt into existence. Not fully formed, not under his control—but there. A thin bolt arced from his fingers, striking a crate. It exploded, scattering grain and splintered wood. The guards glanced at him, eyes wide with fear, but Sabre had no time for them.
The Leviathan lunged, jaws snapping. One massive swing of its tail could shatter the deck. Sabre ducked instinctively, feeling the air ripple across his back as it slammed the crate he had just been behind to splinters.
He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have a plan. But he had instinct. And instinct demanded action.
Lightning flared again, coursing up his arm, responding to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The Leviathan reared, preparing to strike. Sabre clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as a thin aura of crackling energy erupted around him.
The ship tilted violently. Water splashed across his legs. Sailors screamed, diving for cover. Sabre leapt toward a rope coil dangling from the mast, wrapping one hand around it to steady himself. Another crash of the Leviathan's tail sent him sliding across the deck.
The creature rose again, massive skull looming, eye-level with the deck. It opened its jaws, and Sabre felt a primal fear clawing at him—but he pushed it down. He could not run. He would not.
He raised both hands, feeling the lightning pulse stronger now, almost alive. He didn't know how to control it, didn't know if he could, but the energy within him demanded release.
A blinding arc shot from his fingertips. It hit the Leviathan squarely on the skull. Sparks and energy danced across its bone plates. The creature shrieked, thrashing violently. The deck tilted, guards and sailors thrown about.
Sabre gritted his teeth. He could feel his chest burning, his veins screaming with energy he barely understood. He reached deeper into himself, into that faint heartbeat, into the astral echo.
Another bolt struck, more controlled this time, aimed at the creature's joints. A leg crashed into the deck with a splintering crack. The Leviathan roared, whipping its tail around. Sabre ducked under a railing just as a wave of seawater hit, splashing him completely.
Instinct guided him now. Every movement deliberate, every dodge, every strike: instinct paired with the raw, untrained power that pulsed through his veins. He could feel it answering him, responding to fear and will, lightning dancing around him like a living thing.
He leapt onto a crate, then another, using the height to send a bolt directly into the creature's eye socket. Blue light exploded outward, a deafening screech ripping through the night. The Leviathan reared, staggering backward, water cascading from its massive body.
Sabre's chest heaved. He could feel his energy waning, but he could not stop. The heartbeat—the muted echo—called him forward.
Another wave of energy surged, and the Leviathan convulsed violently, thrashing against the deck. Boards cracked, cargo spilled, ropes tore free. Sabre's body screamed in protest. Every muscle burned. Every breath tasted of salt and fear.
And then—a sudden stillness.
The Leviathan froze. Its massive body hung limply above the deck, eyes flickering once before going dark. Sabre's hair whipped around his face as the last arc of lightning cracked through the air, sending sparks dancing across the remaining wreckage.
Silence. The waves calmed. The crew stared, mouths agape, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Sabre collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, sweat and salt running down his face. His hands trembled. The power…he barely understood it, barely controlled it. And yet, it had answered him.
A presence stirred in the corner of his mind—subtle, faint, deliberate. He lifted his gaze, scanning the deck.
A figure stood there. Cloaked, unassuming, almost invisible in the chaos. But the aura—he felt it instantly. Ancient. Restrained. Suppressed, yet impossible to ignore. The air thickened, coiled around him like a serpent ready to strike.
The man's eyes found Sabre. Not looking at him as a boy. Not as a novice. But as a vessel. As a force that could one day shake the world.
"You," the figure said. Quiet. Too quiet. And it carried weight. Command. Authority. Recognition.
Sabre swallowed hard, feeling the faint echo within him pulse stronger, a whisper calling him, urging him toward something he could not yet name.
And somewhere deep in the ocean, beyond the ship and the Leviathan, a ripple answered.
The sea waited.
The storm had only just begun.
✅