The second night out of Korreth wrapped the leviathan in a heavy blanket of absolute black.
The upper deck was bitterly cold. It was not the biting frost of the northern territory that Vane had survived for the past year. That winter possessed a cruel and deliberate intention. It wanted to hollow you out and bury you in the dirt.
This ocean cold was entirely different. It was flat and empty. It was born of sheer altitude and open air with absolutely nothing to break its momentum.
The wooden boards beneath his heavy boots hummed with the deep mechanical vibration of the ship's enormous engine. It was a low and steady thrumming that vibrated through his bones rather than his ears.
It was the undeniable rhythm of the crossing. It was a sound that always faded into a comfortable illusion of silence by the time they reached the third day of the voyage.
Nyx was already standing at the forward railing when he emerged from the lower levels.
