Episode Seven- The Fog's Judgement
"Hot", Content Warnings: Violence, language,
Director's note: The abyss crew journeys through the fog, challenging the crew to preserve through unexpected horrors. This episode contains crude language and mature themes intended for adult readers (18+).
Chapter 24
The white glow of the Moon Gem from the bow of the ship formed a protective bubble around the front two thirds of the Silent Tide. It was a tunnel of pure, blinding fog on all sides, the calm in the eye of a storm. Eerie. Silent. Alive.
Progress was a crawl. Even within their sanctuary of light, visibility ended at fifty meters, leaving no time for reaction. Every familiar star, every landmark, was swallowed by the formless grey. Inside the grey tunnel, daylight felt ever present yet dimmed, like a timeless cloudy afternoon.
Thomas stood ready on deck, the tension in his shoulders a low, constant hum. With every minute they survived, a fraction of that tension unwound. His gamble, the Captain's trust in his strange artifact… it was working. Thomas smiled at the irony that he'd dove head first into pirates and monsters rather than face his family.
His gaze swept the deck. The Captain was a statue at the lookout, her stillness more commanding than any movement. Riley moved among the crew, a study in controlled energy. She offered a word here, a solid clasp of a shoulder there. She spent extra time with the bound prisoners, her touch lingering. Thomas could tell that Finneas' plan to use them like canaries in a mine had bothered her, however practical it had been.
Things between Thomas and Riley had been a tense rollercoaster of ups and downs. His first two nights on the ship with her had been powerful, as had fighting their way off the smugglers island. Yet, that intensity had put a strain on Thomas. He hadn't fully adapted to life as a pirate yet and the sheer violence of this life, her casual proficiency with a blade, had sent him reeling into himself. How could one person be such a haven and such a storm?
He'd always seen the world in clear-cut divisions. Good. Evil. Riley, and the others like Aaliyah, had shattered that illusion. A princess who could kill. A protector who could terrify. His talk with Aaliyah had been enlightening, but ironic too that the same conversation had made things even more distant with Riley. In hindsight, he did understand the optics of huddling in the dark with another woman were less than ideal.
Thomas had wanted to say so much to Riley but their impending doom took precedent. Still, when she came over to him with a smile and the grab of an elbow, he could see a twinkle in her eye. A silent reaffirmation. The warmth of it spread through him, as potent as the Moon Gem's heat had been in his boot. For a heartbeat, she was his entire reality.
The moment broke with a final, firm squeeze of his wrist, and she was moving again. If Thomas had forgotten the danger they were in, Korlai habitually cleaning his weapons and Finneas meticulously checking the preparations broke his amnesia. Those two were anchors of grim practicality, and their presence was a needed reminder.
Taking his cue, Thomas positioned himself near the bow, within easy reach of both Riley and Finneas. He checked the knives strapped to his waist, practicing the smooth, silent motion of drawing one.
Nearby, Warren, a stout man who'd signed on just before Thomas, was failing to hide the tremor in his hands. He noticed Thomas watching and curled his fingers into fists, ashamed.
"Never been scared of a fight," Warren muttered, his voice tight. "But this… this is different. Heard stories from old sailors. They say these fogs got an ancient evil in 'em, Thomas."
He wasn't just sharing a story; he was pleading for reassurance. Thomas gestured toward the glowing white light ahead of them. "We've got two things those old sailors didn't. A guiding light," he said, then nodded toward the lookout, "and an unshakable leader."
Warren shifted his weight, unconvinced. "Besides, pub stories are for pubs. Just try to stay present."
Thomas' last words were a misstep. Warren's face hardened. "You mean present in this bleedin' endless grey? Or present for the three ships full of bastards who chased us in here?" He spat on the deck and turned his back, annoyed.
The silence that followed was absolute. The water made no sound against the hull. The fog absorbed everything. Then, a new sound woven itself into the nothingness. A faint, distant rustling, like a flag snapping in the wind. It was a single thread of noise at first, barely perceived.
It multiplied.
The rustling became a whispering. The whispering became a low, mournful howl that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Everyone on deck was on their feet in an instant. Weapons were gripped tighter. Eyes scanned the impenetrable wall of grey.
Looking out, in the tops of the fog, Thomas swore he could see shadows darting to and fro, ever so faintly. He wasn't the only one who saw it. A subtle shift ran through the crew; some inched toward the perceived safety of the ship's center, while others, like Thomas, leaned into the threat, drawn to the bow.
A shadow plummeted.
It crashed onto the deck with a wet, final thud, a tangle of broken limbs and dark fabric. The collective gasp was a sharp inhale swallowed by the fog. Weapons were raised, bodies braced for the monstrous attack. But the form didn't move. It wasn't a monster.
It was Givens.
The trusted lookout lay mangled, his chest a ruin of crimson, his face carved by what looked like a dozen sharp blades. A terrible groan escaped his lips.
"Dear lord, get him down to the doc!" Finneas's command cut through the stunned silence, a catalyst that snapped the deck into motion.
Thomas was moving before the order fully registered. He slid his hands under Givens' shoulders, the warmth of the man's blood immediately soaking through his sleeves. "Warren! His feet!" he barked, the words tight in his throat.
Warren, his face pale, fumbled to obey. Together, they half-lifted, half-dragged the heavy weight toward the hatch. The situation was desperate, hopeless even, but Thomas had seen Hayden perform miracles with less.
Below deck, the air turned thick. A creeping haze, pale and sinister, slithered through the gaps in the sealed hatches, carrying a cold, metallic taste that coated the tongue. By the third deck, the mist was a blinding soup. Thomas's lungs burned. He shifted his grip on Givens, using one blood-slicked hand to yank his shirt collar up over his nose.
"Cover your face," he rasped to Warren. "We don't know what this is."
Givens' body went abruptly, terrifyingly slack. Warren stopped dead, his breath coming in ragged, panicked heaves. He stared at Thomas, his eyes wide with a terror that went beyond the fog, beyond the blood. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, he dropped Givens' legs, turned, and bolted back into the swirling grey.
"Warren! No!" Thomas's call was swallowed by the mist. He was gone.
"Fuck!" It felt like the rowboat situation all over again. The weight in Thomas's arms was immense, a dead anchor. He sunk his hips, gritting his teeth, and pulled. Not again. I will not fail again. The thought was a mantra, fighting back the images of past failures, the phantom sound of his father's disdain.
He dragged the weight, step by agonizing step, his muscles screaming, until he finally collapsed against the door to the infirmary, shoving Givens' body onto the vacant operating table.
"Hayden!" Thomas gasped, bent double, lungs clawing for clean air. "It's Givens! He needs you!"
Hayden stood with his back to the room, meticulously arranging tools on a clean cloth. He didn't turn.
"Hayden, please!"
A long, slow sigh. "I can't help him, Thomas." He dropped his hands to his sides and stared at the wall in front of him uncannily.
"You haven't even looked!" The bewildered anger gave Thomas the strength to stand straight.
Hayden finally turned. His customary cheerful grin was gone, replaced by a hollow, vacant smile that didn't touch his eyes. They were flat. Dead. "He's dead Thomas…" The words were calm, absolute. "We all are."
Thomas stumbled back, a cold dread seizing him that had nothing to do with the fog. He turned and ran, scrambling for the ladder, needing the open air, the light.
On the second deck, screams, distorted and raw, echoed from above. Warren came barreling back down the path with a large metal key holder. He barreled past Thomas like he didn't exist.
Thomas refocused and pushed harder, bursting onto the main deck and into the Moon Gem's circle of clarity. He ripped the bloodied shirt from his face and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath of the pure air, pushing the contaminated fog from his lungs with a violent exhale. His head cleared, the world snapping back into sharp, terrible focus.
The deck was chaos. But the new shrieks weren't from winged monsters. They came from the prisoners tied to the masts.
Riley was at his side in an instant, her hand firm on his arm, her touch an electric jolt of reality. "Thomas, we have to help them." Her words were not a question. She was already moving, a blur of motion toward the stern at the edge of the fog.
He jogged after her, his legs still unsteady. "Riley, wait! Don't inhale the fog!"
She reached the first prisoner, a man writhing against his bonds, his eyes wild. Thomas worked at the thick knots while Riley's knife flashed, severing the ropes with ruthless efficiency.
"The fog?" she asked, her voice clipped, focused on her task.
"It does something. Gets in your head," he panted, the ropes finally giving way.
The next prisoner was just inside the fog's reach. He bucked and pleaded, his words a nonsensical babble. "Please, please hurry. I'll return the necklaces, I'm sorry mom!"
They freed him in seconds, Thomas holding his breath, Riley doing the same through sheer force of will.
"One more!" Thomas pointed across the deck to the final prisoner.
They sprinted. They were three steps away when a shape detached itself from the grey ceiling of fog. A winged woman, all leathery skin, twisted talons, and a mouth of needle-teeth, plunged downward. Her claws sank into the prisoner's chest with a sickening crunch.
Thomas acted without thought. His dagger flew from his hand, a perfect shot that clanged harmlessly off the creature's bony spine. It was enough. The thing shrieked, a sound of pure fury, and launched itself upward, its talons tearing through the man as it rose. His head lolled forward, a life extinguished.
It was at this moment Thomas realized this was the same hunter from the sloop that had helped them escape. Without him, there was a chance they would have died that night. And now he was gone, his loyalty forever unproven.
Thomas stood frozen for a heartbeat, staring at the dead man. The shriek came from above. He looked up to see the winged horror diving directly for his face, a razor-talon death. He braced.
A blur of movement. A glint of polished steel. Korlai's cutlass connected with the creature's head in a devastating arc, smashing it from the air. It landed on the deck with a broken sputter, one wing bent at a wrong angle. It tried to rise, failed, and with a final, weak cry, tumbled over the railing and into the black water below.
Korlai stood beside him with a nod of acknowledgement. Riley didn't pause. She grabbed Thomas's hand, her grip iron-strong. "Let's go!"
On the main deck, Captain commanded the deck with complete authority. She stood unwavering, her voice a low, clear instrument cutting through the blur of battle. Flintlocks exploded in bursts of orange fire, spears whistled through the air, and sailors moved in a frenetic, organized dance of survival. Against the unnatural tide, they held.
She turned her steel-blue gaze to a young sailor clutching a bleeding gash on his arm. "Get down to Hayden. Get the bleeding stopped, and return at once. We need you."
Thomas shared a look with Riley, a silent, fearful exchange that passed between them in a heartbeat. They moved as one, Korlai a half-step behind. Thomas caught the sailor's good arm, halting him. "Wait, no." He turned to the Captain, his voice urgent. "Captain, the fog is in the ship! It's a poison. They can't go down there."
Riley didn't wait for a debate. She swiftly cut away the sailor's sleeve with her knife, her strong hands pressing a wad of clean linen firmly against the wound, stemming the flow of blood with efficient pressure.
The Captain's composure fractured for a single, stunning second. She grabbed Thomas's face, her grip firm, forcing his eyes to hers. "It's poison?" The words were a blade of ice. "I just sent Finn and the Princess down there." She released him, stepping back as if scalded, and lunged for the closed hatch door.
REEEEEET!
The sound was a physical blow to the ears. A winged monster smashed into the prow of the Silent Tide with the force of a cannonball. The entire ship shuddered, timbers groaning in protest. The impact coincided exactly with the Captain yanking the hatch open and disappearing into the darkness below.
"Fuck!" Thomas shouted, the curse ripped from him. He was torn, his body straining toward the hatch, his mind screaming about the beast now clawing at their only source of protection.
"Handle the deck! I'm going for Captain!" Korlai's voice was a grim promise. He'd already tied a damp cloth over his nose and mouth, his cutlass held tight. He didn't wait for a reply, vanishing into the same clouded entrance.
The screech of wood tearing itself apart demanded attention. Thomas, dagger now in hand, ran to the portside railing. Below, the creature thrashed, its leathery skin blistering and smoking where the Moon Gem's pure white light touched it. It was trying to free itself, but its talons were hopelessly, violently entangled in the iron bars of the Heartmaiden's cage. With every desperate twist, the cage, and the Gem secured within it shook, perilously.
One good yank and they would be plunged into the consuming grey.
Thomas didn't think. He felt. His arm drew back and shot forward in one fluid motion, the dagger becoming a silver streak. It found its mark with a wet, final thunk, plunging deep into the base of the creature's skull. The beast gave one last jerk and then went still, its dead weight now the only thing anchoring it to the ship.
Chapter 25
The air below decks was a physical thing, thick and suffocating, tasting of cold metal and something far older. The visibility, a muddy river after a storm. Every sense was heightened, every muscle coiled. The grunting up ahead was raw, animalistic.
In the main gundeck the two hunter escapees maneuvered in front of Captain. "Come on, Cap, we only want to talk." The lie, hardly veiled.
Before Korlai could join her side she charged the men. The larger man threw his weight at her, a bull of a move, but she was already gone, her feint a phantom dance. As he crashed to the floor, her sword found the other man's heart. A blur of motion, a wet sigh, and then two bodies lay still on the planking.
Korlai ran over, cutlass drawn to assess the damage. Captain was shocked to see him running towards her. Captain's eyes went wide with a terror he'd never seen in her. "Fuck off!" The curse was a shriek. She turned and fled deeper into the ship's belly.
Annoyance, sharp and hot, flared in his chest. He turned and ran the opposite way, despite his urge to run to her.
His fist hammered on the solid door. "Finneas! Are you in there?"
"Aye. Go away!" The gruff reply was muffled but coherent.
"That's the fog talking. It's dangerous. I need you to let me in!"
A metal slat slid open. "Let me see you, Korlai!"
He stood tall, pulling the rag down, meeting the scrutiny with a steady, clear gaze. The lock clicked. The door opened a crack. "Hurry up, get in."
Inside, the air was somewhat clearer. Aaliyah crouched in a corner, two rags jammed in her nostrils. "I could taste the fog, thought it better to not inhale anymore than we had to." Finneas was methodically cutting more cloth, slathering them with a pungent ointment. "Mint. Stick it in your nose. Breathe through the nose, out the mouth." He thrust a treated rag at Korlai.
"It's only getting worse down here," Korlai stated, his voice flat. "You need to get into the clear air up top."
Finneas waved a dismissive hand. "We're safest in here. It should be alright."
"You might be. They're not. Besides, the Captain came down to find you both."
"Well, where is she?"
"The fog got to her. I'm going to find her, but they need you up there."
Aaliyah stood up and reached for the door, her jaw set. "You two are wasting time. I'm not staying hidden down here while everyone else fights. Are you coming or not?"
Without another word, both men fell in behind her. Korlai shot a glance at Finneas, one eyebrow arched in silent, impressed acknowledgment.
*
On the third floor, Korlai moved like the soldier he was. Every step was a calculated risk, every corner a potential ambush. The mint was a fading promise in his nose. He was a stranger here, his knowledge of this deck limited to his time as a prisoner, and every shadowed doorway was a mystery.
He found her by sound first. A low, venomous monologue. "Merc, have you finally come to get me too? Tell me, what price did Riley give you for my head?"
She stood in an open storage room, her back to a support pole, sword held ready. Her silver hair was damp with sweat, her eyes glazed with a paranoid fire.
"Captain, listen to me. It's just the fog."
"Hah! I already killed your friends. I know that Riley and Thomas want my ship, my crew! I thought you might be different." Her voice was a ragged thing, stripped of its usual measured control.
He inched closer, hands open, non-threatening. "There is no bounty–"
"Lies!" The pistol appeared in her off-hand. The report was a thunderclap in the confined space, splintering the wood above his head. He dove for cover as he knew she would follow the shot with her sword. Her blade bit deep into the deck where he'd been.
He moved on pure instinct. He grabbed her wrist, slamming it against the wood until her fingers sprang open, the sword clattering away. Her other hand found a knife. He twisted her captured wrist, using her own momentum to unbalance her. She grunted, her knee driving hard into his stomach. The air left him in a pained rush.
They fought then, a brutal, intimate dance of bodies. For every vicious blow she aimed, he met it with a counter, his training a cold, efficient machine against her frenzied strength. He was simply more. Faster. Stronger.
He swept her legs out from under her, pinning her flat on the rough planks. He controlled her hips with his knees, his hands locking her wrists above her head, completely subduing her. He stared down into her deranged eyes, his voice dropping to a low, commanding growl. "I'm not here to hurt you!"
She heaved beneath him, a wild thing caught in a trap, her body straining against his with a shocking, frantic strength. The scent of her sweat, the heat of her struggle, it was a dizzying cocktail of anger. Just as he thought he might break through, the rapid thud of footsteps echoed behind him.
He didn't think. He rolled forward, yanking her with him by the wrists and shoving her clear as a large hatchet buried itself in the deck where his head had been.
She scrambled to her feet, a chance to run, but he was faster. Korlai tackled her, his body weight driving her down again. As she struggled beneath him, Korlai turned to face the new threat.
Hayden stared at him with dead, vacant eyes. "We're all dead anyways. Let me save you."
The Captain's movement drew his attention. She was crawling away. Hayden lunged for her. Korlai's cutlass was a silver flash, plunging deep into the surgeon's torso.
"Thank you," Hayden sputtered, the words a wet sigh of relief as he accepted the fatal wound.
Korlai withdrew the blade, laying the man down gently. He turned. The Captain was a silver blur, already running. "The grace of gods, woman, you don't give up," he muttered, giving chase.
A coppery, metallic taste stung the back of his throat. Shit. His nose plugs were gone, lost in the struggle. The craze was seeping in, a faint, buzzing static at the edges of his mind. He pushed it down, clinging to his discipline.
She was faster, fueled by pure delirium. She cleared the third floor and most of the second before he even saw her again. He only caught up as she fumbled with the door to the deck, his hand closing on her arm, yanking her back into the gloom.
She fought like a demon, kicking and screaming as he half-dragged, half-carried her down the hall. He shoved open the door to her quarters and pulled her inside, finally releasing her. She scrambled backward, putting her small desk between them, her chest heaving.
The captain's quarters were a sealed, windowless sanctuary. The air was still relatively clear. He grabbed a handful of linen from her bed and stuffed it firmly along the bottom of the door, sealing them in.
When he straightened, she was behind the desk again, another short sword pointed directly at his heart. Her eyes were still clouded, but a sliver of her formidable will was bleeding through the madness.
Korlai looked at her, his expression utterly bored. "You still think I am trying to kill you?"
The sheer, unimpressed flatness of his tone was the only thing that could have pierced her delirium. The blade clattered to the desktop. She folded in on herself, sinking into the corner, wrapping her arms around her head. "I don't understand what's happening." The whisper was shattered, barely audible.
"It's okay," he said, his voice softening. He sat next to her, not touching, just a solid, present warmth. "It's just the fog. It'll get better now."
A firm knock rattled the door. Riley's voice, muffled but unmistakable. "Captain? You in there?"
The Captain jolted as if electrocuted. "You BITCH! You did this!" she lashed out, screaming at the door, her brief lucidity gone.
Korlai caught her as she tried to surge forward, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, her body shaking with violent, silent sobs.
"Now's not a good time, Riley," he called out, his voice steady over the sound of her crying. He held her tighter, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against his own. "I'll bring her up once she's better." A pause, the only sound her ragged breathing against his shirt. "If you're okay, go back to the deck. I got this under control."
He waited, listening. But all he heard from the other side of the door was a long, weighted silence.
*
On the top deck, a fragile calm had taken hold. Most of the crew sat huddled near the bow, weapons within easy reach, their bodies angled toward the protective white glow of the Moon Gem. Finneas and Riley had re-established a semblance of order, and the flying beasts had retreated, their eerie calls fading into the oppressive silence of the fog. Their predatory interest had waned, it seemed, once it became clear the crew would not be lured from their circle of light.
Riley returned to the main group, the weight of what had transpired below etched into the set of her shoulders. She moved to where Finneas was sharing a word with Aaliyah. Riley crouched down beside him.
"What happened with Captain?" Finneas whispered.
"Korlai is with her now," she whispered back, the words feeling heavy. "They're riding it out until it's out of her system."
He scratched at his beard, a rough, thoughtful sound. "That bad?"
She rose to her feet, the motion fluid but drained. "I guess so." The words were a world of frustration and hurt.
She turned away from him, retreating to the one person whose presence offered a different kind of anchor. Thomas sat, his gaze fixed on the hypnotic swirl of the fog just beyond their bubble.
Riley sat in front of him. Seeing her pain, Thomas instinctually grabbed her hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft.
Her answer was a fractured thing, a crack in her usual unwavering composure. "I don't know…"
"What happened down there?" He could feel the fine tremor in her hand, a current of turbulent emotion.
"She blamed me for this." The shaking in her hand traveled up her arm. "For all of it."
His grip tightened. "Riley, it's the fog. It twists everything. She couldn't actually believe that."
She finally met his eyes, and the raw pain in her hazel gaze was a physical blow. "You don't understand. When we got back from the sloop, she thought I had been disloyal to her. I thought we had gotten past it, but now… with this…" Her lip quivered, a betraying tremor she couldn't suppress. Her face was a battlefield of sadness, anger, and a fear Thomas had never seen in her before. "What if she still hates me deep down?"
He had no easy answer. He couldn't dismiss her fear, not when it was this real. So he did the only thing he could; he squeezed her hand, a silent promise of his presence. "Once her head clears, it'll be okay. You don't understand what that fog does to people."
Her eyes locked on his, sharp and challenging. "You managed."
The quiet accusation hung in the air. He had no rebuttal. He offered a small, downward smile, an acknowledgment of her point and a silent plea not to press it. They lapsed into a shared silence, their joined hands a tether between them as the rest of the crew waited, each lost in their own private dread.
Chapter 26
Captain's eyelids fluttered open. Her face felt heavy, swollen from the storm of emotions that had raged through her. A dull ache pulsed at her temples, a lingering echo of the fog's poison. But her mind… her mind was her own again. Clear. And utterly, completely exhausted.
A deep, steady warmth radiated against her cheek. Her pillow. She nuzzled into it and caught the familiar scent of salt, steel, and man. Her eyes opened. She hadn't been lying on a pillow. She was curled on the floor, her head cradled in Korlai's lap.
Flashes of memory returned in disjointed, horrifying clips. The paranoia. The screaming. Trying to kill him. And him… subduing her, protecting her, carrying her. A hot wave of shame washed over her, immediately followed by a staggering wave of relief so potent it made her dizzy. She buried her face back into his stomach, hiding.
A low, gentle rumble vibrated against her cheek. "Captain. Have you come back to me?" Amusement, warm and faint, colored his tone.
She rolled over onto his lap so she could see his face, the movement languid. "Yeah. I'm here." Her voice was thick with sleep and residual exhaustion. She managed a weak smile, a flimsy shield against her embarrassment.
He smiled back, but his dark eyes were already calculating, assessing. "Good. I knew we would sleep together again. Although, maybe next time, the bed would be nice."
A real laugh escaped her, surprising them both. It was a free, unguarded sound she hadn't heard from herself in years. She didn't pull away or put her walls back up. He had dismantled them, and in doing so, had earned something far more valuable than her command, something more personal. "Oh, shut up." The words lacked any bite. She swallowed, her throat dry. "How long have I been out?"
"Only a few hours. I think… This fog is weird. Night never came."
She knew she should get up. Return to her ship, her crew. But she wanted, and maybe needed, a few more stolen moments. Just for her. She shifted, inching up his body until her head rested against his chest. It was firm, unyielding muscle, but beneath it was a comforting, steady rhythm of a heart that had not faltered. They sat in the quiet, and she let the silence wash over her, processing the death, the anger, the blinding fear. She could still taste the metallic tang of it all, but it was distant now, like the memory of a nightmare recalled in the safety of daylight.
All those corrosive feelings were being gently replaced by something new, something warm and unfolding. She pulled back just slightly, creating mere inches of space between their faces. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, the look they shared held no challenge, only a soft, deep connection.
She brought a hand up, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw before she cupped his cheek. She pulled him in, and her lips met his.
It was not a kiss of passion or conquest. It was sensual. Soft. A tender, unexpected gift born from their hard-won connection. There were no jokes, no lurking danger, only the sweet, exploring pressure of her mouth on his.
Before the kiss could deepen, before it could become anything else, she broke it. She looked deeply into his brown eyes, seeing the dilation of his pupils, feeling the firm weight of his hands still on her waist. Her eyes darted across his face, memorizing the moment. She gently caressed his cheek once more with her thumb, then broke from his gaze and stood up. She held a hand out to help him up.
"My crew needs me," she said, her voice regaining its familiar cadence of command, though it was softer at the edges.
As she stepped out onto the main deck, the fresh air hitting her face was a welcomed reset. A murmur rippled through the crew, quickly swelling into a wave of relief. Their leader had returned.
Finneas was on his feet in an instant, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his grim exterior. "You arrived just at the right time. Look." He pointed ahead.
Above them, the monolithic grey was breaking. Orange rays, thin as threads at first, then great blazing shafts of light, punched through the fog. They burned away the gloom, revealing the breathtaking beauty of an early sunrise. Within minutes, the fog was gone, leaving only a vast, open sea glittering under a pale gold sky. The volume on deck erupted into full cheers, laughter ringing out as the crew realized they had, against all odds, survived.
Behind them, the impenetrable wall of fog lingered, an infinite grey curtain marking the border of the nightmare they'd escaped.
"Let's get the hell away from that fog!" the Captain's voice cut through the celebration, snapping them back to purpose. "Crew, back to your positions. And everyone, stay above deck." The cheer that answered her was louder this time, full of thanks for normalcy and for life itself.
The crew sprang to life and for a few minutes they had some reprieve. Then a voice called down. "Ehh, Captain…" A lookout's call from above shattered the moment of victory. "We have several longboats headed straight for us."
Finneas dropped his head into his hands, the weight of yet another threat pressing down on him. The crew's jubilation died, replaced by a weary tension. The Captain placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "We should have some time. And we don't know who they are. Let's hope they're friendly."
Finneas shook his head, looking up at her with grim certainty. "I don't think that's in the cards, Captain. I'll get the men ready. But first," he said, his eyes shifting toward the bow, "we need to get that Moon Gem back on deck."
The Silent Tide bobbed gently in the suddenly warm, calm waters. And in the near-distance, a half-dozen longboats rowed toward them with alarming speed.
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