The sea never gives without demanding something in return.
That bat symbol appeared before the first blood was spilled.
And that night, Sean didn't yet know—
some choices do not offer a way home.
Rum spilled and spread across the deck of Zephyr's Revenge.
Three days after the capture at Skull Reef, the crew were still partying as if they knew no exhaustion. Violins answered one another, dice clinked atop piles of coins, and drunken laughter echoed through the air.
In the middle of that chaos… there was a small box made of cedar wood.
A box ignored by almost everyone—except a young captain named Sean. There was something about its carving that held his gaze.
A bat symbol.
Carved sharply into the surface of black wood, as if it drank the light from the surrounding lanterns. The air around the box grew colder, and the crew's raucous laughter felt farther away.
Sean stepped closer, not knowing what made the box call to him.
A bat symbol, carved into a black box. A mysterious emblem. The laughter suddenly felt thin, the air colder.
Sean studied the box closely, unsure what had managed to seize his attention. Just as he was about to walk toward it, a man suddenly appeared behind him, making Sean flinch. The man grabbed the back of Sean's collar, his gaze also fixed on the box.
It was Arthur—his brother, and the person he trusted most on the ship. Sean was the adopted child of the Zephyr family, while Arthur was their blood.
The air around the box hummed faintly, the strange emblem shimmering under the lantern light. Some legends spoke of symbols like this.
Opia—formless mimicking spirits. It was said they took on the shapes of people and slowly seized control of their bodies. Voices lowered, falling into silence.
"You're sober enough to think clearly, right? Come help me figure out what we just brought aboard."
"What's the problem?" Sean shrugged.
"It's just a box with a bat symbol. Nothing special."
Arthur smiled thinly.
"The problem is… have you ever heard stories about ships that vanished without a trace after seeing this symbol? Crews disappearing, as if the sea swallowed them whole."
Sean was about to reply, but the lantern above them flickered as if stirred by an unfelt wind. For a brief moment, the bat's shadow on the box rippled… as if alive.
Arthur leaned closer. "If you don't believe me, look into my eyes. You said eyes never lie, didn't you?"
Arthur released his grip on Sean's collar. The lantern above them flickered again, as though touched by an unseen wind. The shadows around the bat emblem warped unnaturally for half a heartbeat before settling.
Sean snorted.
"Handle your own business. I don't want to get involved in—"
"You've already seen it," Arthur said, gripping Sean's wrist tightly. "Now it knows you're here."
"It? That's just an object!"
"An object?" Arthur whispered, barely audible.
"Open your eyes, Sean. The crew… not a single one dares to go near this box. But you're standing here, staring at it."
Arthur lifted the box and held it out.
"Prove you're right. Open it."
"Why me?" Sean hissed.
Arthur smiled faintly, half a challenge.
"Because you're the only one brave enough to look at this symbol without backing away."
Arthur's fingers brushed Sean's on the box's clasp—cold, yet steady.
"If there's anyone on this ship who can touch a cursed object without dropping dead instantly, it's you."
The lanterns flickered wildly again. From below deck, a bottle shattered. The ship swayed, though the waves weren't that large.
"Besides being brave enough to look, you're also brave enough to dismiss all this as superstition," Arthur continued.
"So… prove it."
Sean finally sighed and took the box.
"Fine. But we open it together. If nothing happens, you kneel before me. And if something does—then I kneel to you."
Arthur chuckled.
"Prepare your knees."
With a swift motion, they opened the clasp.
Silence.
Inside, there was only a dull silver coin engraved with the same hollow bat. No screams. No shadows. Just cold metal reflecting lamplight.
Sean laughed softly. "See? There's nothing here."
Arthur did not laugh. His eyes darkened. He took the coin and pressed it into Sean's palm.
"Keep it. Tonight… you'll know who's right."
When a sudden gust tore at the sails, the crew's laughter died down. The coin felt unnaturally cold in Sean's hand. And when he examined the bat engraving, its wings… pulsed.
The crew's laughter vanished as the wind ripped the sails. The coin felt heavy in Sean's palm—colder than metal should be.
Arthur spoke again, his voice turning into a harsh whisper.
"You should know—the sea doesn't give signs without reason, Captain Sean."
Sean stared at the coin in his palm, studying its details. He realized one thing: the bat's wings seemed to twitch beneath his fingers, and suddenly a drop of black liquid seeped from the engraving, staining his hand. The rigging creaked. The crew's laughter stopped mid-roar as every lantern on the ship went out at once.
"Still want to say this is superstition?" Arthur said quietly.
Panic broke out among the crew as fierce winds battered the ship. The waves grew more aggressive, the vessel lurching as it fought the rising sea. The crew decided to head for a nearby island to rest.
One sailor saw the open black box in Sean's hands and the coin dripping black liquid. He screamed in panic, drawing everyone's attention.
"That symbol…? Opia!?" one of the crew cried.
"Do you see now?" Arthur whispered, his voice sharp amid the chaos, his eyes burning with dark triumph. The black liquid dripped from the coin onto Sean's skin—not warm, not cold. It slid like living ink across his palm.
"What's happening!?" Sean shouted. "Can someone explain this to me!?"
"Sean. We're in danger."
Arthur yanked Sean back as shadows began to writhe across the deck. The black liquid climbed Sean's wrist like living tendrils.
"There's still time," Arthur hissed.
"Throw the coin into the sea."
Arthur drew a dagger from his belt with one hand. His breath hitched as he looked into Sean's eyes.
"Or we all die tonight."
Sean raised the coin high… and threw it. But Arthur knew instantly. The sound was too light for metal.
"You lied to me."
Arthur's face went pale.
"You want us all to die here!?"
Sean clenched his hidden pocket. The real coin trembled—like it was whispering.
"…Sean…"
It wasn't audible, yet it echoed inside his head.
Arthur heard it too.
"Take it out," he ordered.
Sean slapped Arthur's hand away.
"Not before I know what Opia is!"
The shadows around Sean's feet shaped themselves into fingers. The deck groaned. Then—
a figure appeared with Sean's face, but wearing a wide, inhuman smile. Arthur pressed his dagger to the figure's throat.
"Come on! Sean, don't be ridiculous!"
Arthur slashed the figure—but black mist poured out, not blood.
"You can't kill what's already dead," the figure laughed.
The shadow melted, reappearing behind Sean—its dark hand reaching for his heart.
Arthur shouted, "THROW THE COIN—NOW!"
Too late.
Opia was about to enter his body.
Sean made a decision.
He raised his hand high and hurled the coin far into the sea. Shadowy, hand-like shapes crept toward him. Without thinking, Sean threw himself into the water.
The coin sank, swallowed by the sea. The Opia that wore Sean's shape screamed before dissolving into black smoke.
"SEAN!?"
Arthur dove after him. As the sea claimed them, Arthur fended off black, hand-like shadows reaching for Sean. He hurled his dagger, and the shadows vanished.
He dragged Sean back onto the deck, both of them gasping.
Opia's screams faded as the sea closed over it. Its form slowly dissipated into thick black smoke.
"Idiot…" Arthur muttered, brushing water from Sean's face.
"You're mine to protect—not to throw into the dark."
The crew gathered, trembling.
"Did Opia fail to rise?" they asked.
Arthur stared at the sea without blinking.
"Not completely."
He lifted the cedar box—new cracks crawled across its surface, as if something inside was trying to break free.
"Opia can rise at any time…"
His gaze fell on Sean.
"…as long as it has a body to return to."
This isn't over. The sea remembers what Sean threw away, and Opia always honors its invitations.
"Clean the deck! Fix the sails! We head east—now!"
Arthur shouted to the crew. He dragged Sean below deck, into the dim hold. Once the hatch closed, Arthur hauled Sean along, breathing hard.
"We need someone who knows how to lock something that's already awakened."
Arthur's thumb pressed against Sean's pulse.
Sean cut him off.
"Stop worrying about me. I'm not a child anymore. You're overreacting. I don't need all that. Right now I just want answers—even if I have to dive into the darkness alone to get them."
"Dive into the darkness alone?" Arthur shook his head and laughed softly, something broken in the sound.
"The sea has already given one curse, and you want more?"
Arthur slammed Sean into the inner hull hard enough to make his teeth clack. The crew outside fell silent—but none dared interfere. Arthur drew his dagger.
"Listen. If you become a vessel for that Opia…"
The dagger glinted in the dim light as he pressed its hilt into Sean's palm. His other hand gripped Sean's nape as Arthur spoke quietly.
"Then I'll be the one to send you back to the ocean floor. Not as a sacrifice."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"But as the last person who knew you before a demon wears your face and body."
Sean shoved Arthur's hand away.
"Threaten me all you want. I'll still seek the truth. If you won't help me—leave. I can do this alone."
Arthur laughed sharply. "Leave?" He stepped closer.
"If you dive into the darkness, then we sink together."
He dragged Sean to his sea chest and kicked it open. Inside lay a water-stained journal, filled with symbols and fragments of old maps. On its cover was the same hollow bat sigil.
"I've been searching for answers longer than you think," Arthur said, his smile as thin as a blade. "And now we continue—on my terms. Or not at all."
He tapped the journal's cover.
"Don't touch cursed knowledge unless I'm there to pull you back."
Sean slowly stood. He looked at the dark marks creeping along his wrist—vein-like shadows beginning to fuse. Then he looked at Arthur.
"Fine. State your terms."
Arthur exhaled. The tension settled in his shoulders as he opened the journal.
"First," he said low, "no rituals without me—and without protection."
He flipped to a crumpled page showing sketches of drowned people, their mouths sewn shut with black thread. His gaze didn't waver.
"Second. If Opia speaks through you—every whisper that tries to embrace you—you report it to me. Immediately. I decide whether it's a warning or a threat."
The ship lurched. Glass bottles shattered on deck. Arthur didn't turn.
"Third," he said, closing the journal slowly, "we stop searching the moment you start to forget your mother's name."