The skiff they'd found was half-rotten and crusted with barnacles, barely held together by rusted nails and moldy rope. But the sail caught wind, and that was enough.
Darion adjusted the tiller and aimed the boat west, toward a jagged smudge on the horizon.
"Ashbone Island," he muttered. "Can't believe I'm heading back."
Mara sat opposite him, hood pulled low against the spray. "You've been there before?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Yeah. Once. Barely made it out alive."
"That reassuring, Captain Vane."
Darion's lips curled into a grim smile. "Didn't say it should be."
The wind howled through the sail. Serpent's Tail was already vanishing behind them—just another cursed shape lost in the ocean mist. But the thing they'd awoken down there… that wasn't going to stay buried for long.
And somewhere ahead, on Ashbone, were the only people mad enough—and dangerous enough—to help stop it.
Or profit from it.
Ashbone: Island of Ghost Deals
Ashbone Island was a skeletal crescent of black cliffs and salt-blasted forests. Once a bustling pirate haven, it had fallen into ruin after the Black Armada war. Now it was a shattered carcass of half-sunk docks, broken watchtowers, and burned-out taverns. Only the desperate, damned, or utterly deranged dared call it home.
As the skiff scraped against the broken jetty, a flock of bone-white gulls scattered, shrieking.
Mara stepped ashore with a pistol drawn. "Charming."
"Wait till you see the food," Darion muttered.
They made their way up the winding cliff path. Ashbone's only surviving settlement—if it could be called that—was a cluster of shacks and ruins clustered around a half-buried fortress.
It was here that the Remnants of the Iron Tide had holed up.
Darion had once sailed with them. A lifetime ago.
And one man in particular still held a debt he'd rather not repay.
"Let me talk first," Darion said as they reached the outskirts. "He's not the type to appreciate strangers."
Mara gave him a sideways look. "And you are?"
He ignored that.
Remnants and Ruins
They passed rusted cannons and half-built barricades. The place looked ready for war—or like one had just passed through. Men lounged with cutlasses across their knees, eyes sharp under tricorn hats. Women cleaned pistols and glared at anything that moved.
A few recognized Darion. He caught their looks—curious, cautious, angry.
The Iron Tide hadn't forgotten.
And neither had he.
They reached the main hall of the fortress. A door made of salvaged ship hulls and iron ribs swung open.
Inside sat a man in a crimson coat, shoulders thick as mooring posts, beard braided with teeth.
Captain Rourke.
"Darion fucking Vane," Rourke growled, not rising. "Thought the sea had finally eaten you."
"It tried," Darion said. "Didn't chew properly."
Mara blinked. "That's the guy we're trusting?"
Rourke's one good eye focused on her. "And who's the girl?"
"She's the reason I'm not dead," Darion replied. "Also the reason you're still alive. Indirectly."
"Oh?"
Mara stepped forward and dropped the Blood Compass on the table with a thunk.
The room grew quiet.
Rourke leaned forward slowly. "Well, well. Haven't seen one of those in years. Thought they were myth."
"So did I," Darion said. "Until yesterday."
Rourke lifted it with careful fingers. "It's active."
"Led us into a ruin," Mara said. "Undrowned came after us. We barely made it out."
Rourke stared hard at Darion. "You went to Serpent's Tail?"
Darion nodded. "And woke something."
At that, Rourke stood. "You idiot. Do you have any idea what's beneath that rock?"
"I do now," Darion said. "That's why we're here."
A Bargain of Blood
They moved to a side room: darker, more private. Rourke poured rum. It tasted like ship oil, but Darion welcomed the burn.
Rourke leaned on the table. "There's a reason the old captains swore a pact never to step foot on Serpent's Tail again."
"I've heard the stories," Darion said. "They're not enough anymore."
Rourke's eye narrowed. "You saw the Queen?"
"Something inside the coffin looked at us. We didn't open it. But it knew we were there."
"Then you've got less time than you think."
Mara leaned forward. "Explain."
"The Abyssal Queen isn't some sea myth," Rourke said. "She's a parasite of the Deep—feeds on memory and blood. She doesn't rule from the sea. She is the sea."
Darion frowned. "That makes no sense."
"Not supposed to. What matters is: if she wakes, the Undrowned follow. Islands fall. Ships sink without warning. The tide turns black."
Mara crossed her arms. "Then help us stop it."
Rourke gave a cruel smile. "Nothing's free, girl."
Darion sighed. "What do you want?"
Rourke pointed a thick finger. "There's a vault buried beneath Ashbone. One I can't open. You have the compass. You open it for me."
"What's inside?"
"A piece of her crown," Rourke said. "It's not just jewelry. It controls the current."
Darion looked at Mara. She gave the faintest nod.
"Fine," he said. "But if you double-cross us—"
Rourke's grin widened. "You won't live long enough to be angry."
The Vault
The entrance to the Ashbone Vault was hidden beneath the bones of a ship half-buried in cliff rock. Mara used the compass to unlock the gate—its spiral chamber glowing red as her blood touched it once more.
The vault creaked open with a sound like drowning.
Inside: silence.
Dozens of crates lay sealed in wax, their markings long faded. Ancient anchors jutted from the floor like graves. But at the far end stood a pedestal carved from abyss-stone. On it: a crown fragment.
Three coral spikes woven around a central eye. The eye blinked.
"Don't touch it," Darion warned.
Mara stepped forward and pulled her glove tighter.
"I'm not going to touch it," she said. "I'm going to bind it."
From her satchel, she drew a ring of etched silver: her father's Null Sigil. It glowed faintly as she placed it around the crown.
The blinking stopped.
The Vault groaned. The tide surged outside.
"We have to go," Darion said.
They turned.
But the path was blocked.
Undrowned.
Dozens of them. Their bodies bloated, eyes black, mouths filled with salt.
The vault had called them.
Darion and Mara stood back to back.
"Just like old times," he muttered.
"This is day two," she snapped.
And the fight began.
The Reckoning Begins
Swords clanged. Pistols thundered. The vault shook with violence.
Darion ducked under a swing and stabbed upward, impaling one Undrowned through the jaw. Mara fired a shot that took out two. But for each they dropped, two more surged forward.
Blood hit the crown.
It pulsed once.
And the Undrowned froze.
Then turned.
And bowed.
To Mara.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit."
Darion stared. "What did you do?"
"I didn't mean to!" she shouted.
The compass flared red.
The crown fragment hummed.
A whisper curled through the air—thick as seawater.
"Daughter…"
Darion grabbed Mara's arm and yanked her toward the exit. The Undrowned made no move to stop them.
The vault door slammed shut behind them.
Rourke waited on the cliff above. "Got it?"
Mara held up the crown. "We've got bigger problems."
Rourke's grin faded.
"Then we'd better get to the Black Tide Council," he muttered. "Because if she's marked you—"
He turned to Darion.
"—then the sea's already begun to rise."