The horizon didn't vanish; it dissolved.
The transition was subtle at first. The crisp, salty air of the open ocean grew heavy and stagnant, tasting of copper and old rain. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the hull died down, replaced by a greasy, unnatural silence. The water itself changed color, shifting from the deep, churning black of the Starless Sea to a flat, opaque grey that looked like liquid slate.
Elian stood at the helm, his knuckles white on the wheel. He could feel the change in the Nightshade. The ship wasn't just sailing; it was fighting. The mag-drive engine whined in a lower register, struggling against a current that wasn't made of water, but of pressure.
"We are here," Vane said.
He stood at the prow of the ship, stripped to his waist despite the freezing mist that coiled around them like living tendrils. He had painted runes on his chest and arms using a mixture of ash and oil—sharp, angular symbols that seemed to drink the dim light.
"I don't see land," Elian called out, his voice sounding flat and muffled, as if he were speaking into a pillow.
"You won't see the Isles until we breach the perimeter," Vane replied, walking back toward the wheel. He stopped beside Elian, his expression grave. "The Siren Field is not a wall. It is a frequency. A sonic barrier designed to shatter the mind of anyone who tries to cross it without an invitation."
Vane reached out, placing a cold hand over Elian's on the wheel.
"Listen to me closely, Elian. Once I sit in the circle, I will be gone. My body will remain, but my consciousness will be projected into the Void to harmonize with the barrier. I cannot move. I cannot fight. I cannot wake up until we are through."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Elian asked, looking at the swirling grey fog ahead.
"Steer," Vane said. "Keep the compass needle dead North. And whatever you hear... whatever you see in the mist... do not let go of the wheel. The Sirens will try to lure you away. They will sound like the people you love. They will sound like your regrets."
"Psychological warfare," Elian muttered. "Fantastic."
"If they get on the deck," Vane added, his eyes hardening, "burn them. Do not hesitate. They are not real. They are echoes given teeth."
Vane stepped away. He walked to the center of the main deck, where he had cleared a space. He sat cross-legged on the wood, his Void-Steel sword laying across his knees. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, the ash runes stretching over his muscles.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low hum began to emanate from Vane's throat.
It wasn't a melody. It was a vibration—a deep, resonant thrum that matched the frequency of the ship's engine. The shadows on the deck lengthened, detaching themselves from the masts and railing to pool around Vane, spiraling up his body like protective snakes.
The mist ahead of them rippled.
A shriek tore through the air.
It was a sound so high and sharp it felt like a needle being driven into Elian's ear canal. He gasped, flinching, his hands slipping on the damp wood of the wheel. The Nightshade lurched to the port side.
"Steady," Elian hissed to himself, grieving the wheel back to center. "North. Just keep it North."
The mist thickened. Shapes began to form in the grey. Tall, spindly figures that drifted over the water, their limbs elongated and wrong. They had no faces, only gaping maws that screamed without sound.
"Elian..."
The whisper came from right beside his ear.
Elian whipped his head around. The deck was empty.
"You left me, Elian."
Bram's voice. It was small, terrified, and accusing.
"It was so cold in the alley. The soldiers came. They asked where you were. I told them you went to the Palace to be a King."
Elian squeezed his eyes shut. "It's not real. It's not real."
"They broke my fingers, Elian. One by one."
The sound of snapping bone echoed across the deck—wet and crunchy.
Elian let out a choked sob, his grip on the wheel tightening until the wood groaned. The urge to let go, to run to the railing and look for the boy in the water, was a physical pull, a hook in his gut.
North. Keep it North.
A shadow detached itself from the fog. It didn't float; it crawled over the railing. It looked like a woman, her body composed of sea-foam and rot. She dragged herself onto the deck, her movements jerky and unnatural. She crawled toward Vane's motionless body.
Elian's eyes snapped open. He saw the creature. It raised a clawed hand, aiming for Vane's exposed throat.
"Get away from him!" Elian roared.
He couldn't leave the wheel. If he let go, the ship would drift off the ley-line and the sonic pressure would crush the hull.
He had to aim.
Elian released one hand from the wheel, pointing his palm at the creature. He tried to summon the light, but the dampening field of the fog was heavy. It felt like trying to light a match in a hurricane.
Focus. Not anger. Protection.
He thought of Vane sitting by the stove, warming his clothes. He thought of Vane diving into the ocean to save him.
A sphere of golden light coalesced in Elian's palm, smaller than usual but intensely bright. He hurled it.
The bolt of solar energy struck the creature in the chest. It didn't explode; it hissed, the steam rising as the water-construct boiled away instantly, dissolving into a puddle of brine on the deck.
But more were coming.
"Traitor," a new voice boomed. It sounded like Lord Corin. "I died for you, and you run?"
"Coward," hissed a voice that sounded like the Queen. "Come to me. Let me eat the pain."
The ship rocked violently. The compass needle was spinning wildy. Elian fought the wheel, his muscles burning. The fog was full of them now—dozens of figures climbing the hull, swarming the deck. They ignored Elian. They were drawn to the source of the magic. They were drawn to Vane.
Vane kept singing. The low, throat-vibration never wavered, even as a construct shaped like a drowned sailor raised a rusty boarding axe over his head.
"NO!" Elian screamed.
He couldn't shoot them all. There were too many.
He needed a pulse.
Elian slammed his free hand onto the helm's control crystal. He didn't channel the magic out; he channeled it down. He pushed his solar fire into the ship's own ley-lines, feeding the mag-drive with pure Source energy.
The Nightshade groaned. The runes along the hull flared gold.
A shockwave of light erupted from the ship itself, expanding outward in a blinding ring.
The constructs shrieked as the light hit them, vaporizing instantly into mist. The fogbank around the ship was blown back, creating a pocket of clear air.
Vane gasped. His song broke.
He slumped forward, catching himself on his hands before his face hit the deck. The shadows uncoiled from his body, retreating.
Elian locked the wheel's brake and scrambled down the stairs, running to Vane's side.
"Vane! Vane, breathe!"
Vane rolled over, coughing. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, the pupils blown. He looked up at Elian, disoriented.
"The light," Vane rasped, grabbing Elian's shirt. "You turned the ship into a sun."
"I panicked," Elian admitted, dropping to his knees. "They were going to kill you."
Vane started to laugh. It was a breathless, jagged sound. He looked around the empty, steaming deck.
"You cleared the field," Vane whispered. He pointed a shaking hand toward the bow. "Look."
Elian turned.
The mist had been burned away by the solar pulse. Ahead of them, rising from the grey water like the jagged teeth of a sleeping god, were the Obsidian Isles.
They were pillars of black basalt, towering thousands of feet into the air. There was no greenery, no beaches. Just dark stone and the faint, violet glow of bioluminescent moss clinging to the cliffs.
And nestled between the two largest spires, suspended over a chasm of churning water, was a temple carved from white bone.
"The Temple of Echoes," Vane said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "We made it."
Elian helped him stand. Vane swayed, leaning heavily against Elian's shoulder.
"Three days," Elian said, looking at the ominous spires. "We have one day left to find Elara and get back."
"Then we better hope she's happy to see us," Vane muttered.
As the Nightshade drifted toward the dark cliffs, Elian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. The silence here wasn't empty. It was watching.
From the high tower of the Bone Temple, a single bell began to toll.