Pain coursed through every bruised inch of his body. He knew it: "I should have died." With every movement he attempted, lying on the damp ground, Wylgol suffered excruciatingly. And yet, the pain—he could push it aside when he focused on one fact: it's a miracle I'm alive!
Wylgol clenched his teeth to silence the pain; he gathered his strength and forced himself to sit up. He finally ended up in a seated position and, from there, took in the sight of his brown shirt with puffed sleeves and his loose, coal-black trousers, both torn in several places, to glimpse at his wounds. His mouth felt dry and thick; a metallic taste—that was blood. He spat. After a deep sigh, the navigator took the time to observe his surroundings. The shock was so intense, it left him gasping in terror.
The light came from very, very far away, from the surface. The last rays of a distant sun reached to the edges of these azure-blue depths. The sky—if one could call it a sky—moved above him, cradling in its waves the various fish and other marine species. He realized: what served as the celestial vault was, among other things, just the sea. We are at the bottom of the seas! he exclaimed to himself. How is this possible!? And this vast expanse of water overlooked a gigantic marine graveyard.
Shipwrecks with broken masts, hulls pierced through and through and rotted, their contents gnawed away by time—given their condition, one could even assume centuries had passed.
A graveyard of countless ships stood as the only sight before him; and the ship that had been theirs had run aground—like a new arrival—atop a heap of ancient vessels. Wylgol's anxiety worsened; his breathing became labored. "No! No!" he cried in a trembling voice. "Not again? I don't want this anymore. Never again! Did I fail everything again?"
Tears welled up in the navigator's eyes. It was no longer just fear, but a deep anguish, laced with guilt. The tears streamed down his hollow cheeks as he thought of... his crew. Wylgol gave in to despair, collapsing onto the damp sand.
A captain, huh? Yeah, a worthless captain! he told himself bitterly.
Wylgol remained there, motionless under the oceanic sky, dazed. The weight of despair pressed heavily on him. He tried to piece together the events of their fall, but was struck by one thing: the absence of his crew's bodies. But of course! he exclaimed, suddenly sitting up. He scanned the surroundings. No one. We've been scattered. Maybe, like me, they're still alive. That thought gave him hope, and the navigator was able to summon the strength to rise to his feet.
To his right, the wreckage of a three-masted ship lay, its wooden planks jutting from the sand as if marking a path. Stumbling slightly, Wylgol set off in that direction. He decided to search the area not far from where their vessel had run aground. The path led Wylgol to the hull of a large three-masted ship, split open and lying on its side. The sailor entered through the breach, eyes alert, scanning everywhere. Inside the belly of the ship, he found nothing of interest. Wylgol continued on and exited the wreck, finding himself in front of a gentle downward slope.
The ambient blue of the shifting sky allowed Wylgol to examine the pile of ancient ships, overrun with rust and algae, within the depression. But then, Wylgol froze, speechless. He recognized the figurehead of one of the ships. The Adventurer! he cried inwardly. It ended its journey here?
In that very place, the navigator was overcome with emotion, melancholic. He wiped his face—was he holding back new tears? I have to find them! he urged himself, thinking of his companions. Wylgol turned away from the slope to continue along the narrow path that led toward other wrecks.
As he wandered down that long trail, Wylgol couldn't help but marvel—marvel at the sight before him, and at the realization that he truly was at the bottom of the sea. These places, after all, were considered by the rest of the world to be fantasy—or even heresy. At that narrow-minded thought, the navigator couldn't hold back a faint, mocking smile—especially as he watched a whale and its calf glide overhead. Fantasy?
The path opened onto a pile of wood, the heap so dense it had eventually formed a makeshift bridge. It spanned a gap in which more abandoned vessels lay. But just as Wylgol was about to cross it, he stumbled on a loose plank. He nearly fell, but caught himself as the board tumbled into the chasm, crashing against one of the ships below.
Wylgol crossed the bridge cautiously, which groaned under his weight. The span was short, but narrow; to the left, the right, and above, he remained alert. In the sky, a school of fish with glowing teeth passed by, along with a few sharks. The man focused again on his crossing when, suddenly, he felt light tremors.
"What... what is that?"
The tremors were growing stronger. The bridge was vibrating more and more. Bits of wood were coming loose. This is going bad, he thought. At once, the navigator decided to quicken his pace; the bridge wobbled beneath him. Then, a loud crash echoed from below. Wylgol glanced toward the source of the sound.
Like a geyser, wet sand burst upward, tearing away the rotting frames of the ships in the chasm. The eruption climbed upward until it reached the bridge, and—
"Run!!" a voice thundered. "I said RUN!"
Not knowing where the voice came from, Wylgol kept his eyes fixed on the geyser, where the sand began to clear, revealing what had been hidden beneath... A giant crab, mounted by a man in blue, wielding a golden spear.
"What is that?!" Wylgol exclaimed, stunned.
And the voice rang out again, louder than ever: "Cap'n! You've gotta get outta there!"
The voice came from behind. The navigator spun around and saw, at the far end of the bridge, Mathurin waving his arms in a panic. He's alive!, Wylgol rejoiced inwardly.
In the same instant, the giant crab landed heavily on the bridge, which groaned in agony under the weight of the beast.
"Defilers, you shall perish!" declared the rider in a booming voice, gleaming in radiant blue.
Without waiting another second, Wylgol turned on his heels and bolted. I don't stand a chance against him!