The Storm's Fang cut through the clouds, its black sails snapping like a war drum as it outran the Water Isle armada. Zahra al-Nur stood on the pirate ship's scarred deck, her boots braced against the sway, the crystal's hum in her satchel a restless itch she couldn't scratch. The vision she'd seen—darkness, a wind-cloaked figure with storm-cloud eyes whispering You are the key, but the lock is cursed—clung to her like damp salt on skin. The Heart of the Sands' shard was no mere trinket; it was trouble, and Zahra was neck-deep in it.
Layla, the pirate captain, leaned against the helm, her wild curls dancing in the wind, her grin sharp as her curved blade. "You look like you saw a jinn, smuggler," she said, her eyes glinting. "Care to share?"
Zahra's hand rested on her scimitar, her own grin tight. "Just a bad dream. You offering to tuck me in?"
Layla laughed, a sound like shattered glass. "Keep your secrets, Zahra. But that shard's glowing like a beacon. It's drawing every hunter from here to the Sand Isle."
Zahra glanced at her satchel, the crystal's blue light seeping through the leather. The hum was louder now, a song like a half-remembered sailor's chant, tugging at her thoughts. She didn't trust Layla—those curls hid a thief's heart—but the Falcon's Claw was lost, and the Water Isle's water jinn was still out there, its tidal form a shadow in her mind.
Yasmin stood by the rigging, her braids swaying, her eyes avoiding Zahra's. The sting of her betrayal—spying for Prince Samir—burned hotter than a Fire Isle forge. Malik, fiddling with a rope, looked ready to bolt, his teenage bravado no match for the pirate crew's hard stares. Jafar, the old sailor, sat cross-legged on a crate, his salt-crusted beard catching the morning light, his scar creased as he watched Zahra.
"That vision wasn't nothing," Jafar said, his voice low, rough as coral. "The Heart's shards speak to their keepers. What'd it show you?"
Zahra hesitated, her fingers brushing the satchel. "A figure in wind, talking about keys and curses. Sounded like a bad bard's tale."
Jafar's eyes narrowed. "Jinn don't lie in visions, but they twist truth like a souk merchant's bargain. You're bound to that shard, girl. It's waking your blood."
"Enough with the blood talk," Zahra snapped, her voice sharper than she meant. "I'm no jinn-kin. I'm a smuggler who stole the wrong crate."Jafar's laugh was dry, like desert sand. "Keep telling yourself that. The Heart knows better."
A shout from the crow's nest cut her reply. "Sails! Water Isle, closing fast!"
Zahra spun, squinting through the clouds. The armada's blue sails emerged, their coral crests glinting, the water jinn's rippling form rising from Samir's flagship. Its voice roared across the sky, a sound like waves crashing on stone: "The shard is ours!"
Layla cursed, her grin vanishing. "They're stubborn bastards. Crew, ready the harpoons!"
The pirate deck erupted, rogues scrambling to weapons, their blades and guns gleaming like a bazaar's wares. Zahra grabbed Malik, shoving him toward the cannons. "Help Yasmin! Stay low!"
Malik nodded, his eyes wide, and darted off. Yasmin met Zahra's gaze for a moment, her face unreadable, then turned to the cannons. Zahra's chest tightened, but she pushed it down. No time for broken trust.
Layla grabbed Zahra's arm, her grip like iron. "You've got that shard's wind. Use it, or we're all fish food."
Zahra's stomach churned. The crystal's power scared her—Jafar's talk of prices lingered—but the jinn's tidal form was closing, its waves lashing the Storm's Fang's hull. She pulled the crystal from her satchel, its light spilling across her face, its song a wild call in her bones.
"Visions lie," she muttered, gripping the shard, "but my fight doesn't." She let the hum guide her, reckless as a sailor chasing a star. The air thickened, a gale swirling around her, rattling the deck's ropes. She thrust her hand forward, and the wind roared, slamming into the water jinn, scattering its form like mist.
The pirates cheered, but Zahra stumbled, her head spinning, the crystal's hum fading to a dull ache. Her arm throbbed, the cut from Khalid's man now a faint, unnatural blue, like the shard's glow. Jafar's warning—blood, soul, or worse—echoed louder.
Layla's eyes widened, her grin returning. "That's no smuggler's trick. You're worth keeping, Zahra."
"Don't get cozy," Zahra said, her voice hoarse. The armada regrouped, their cannons firing, one shot grazing the Storm's Fang's mast, splinters raining down. The water jinn reformed, smaller but fiercer, its waves clawing the sky.
Jafar hobbled over, his face grim. "You're paying for that wind, girl. Look at your arm."
Zahra glanced down, her breath catching. The blue tint spread, faint veins glowing under her skin. "What's it doing to me?"
"Binding you," Jafar said. "The shard's jinn is claiming its price. Fight it, or it'll take more than your blood."
Before she could answer, the crystal flared, and another vision hit—darkness, then the wind-cloaked figure again, its storm-cloud eyes piercing. The Heart's curse grows. Find the shrine, or the islands fall. A flash of coral, a cave, a glowing altar. Then, nothing.
Zahra gasped, back on the deck, the crystal's light dimming. Layla grabbed her shoulder. "What now?"
"A shrine," Zahra said, her voice shaky. "Coral Isle. It's where we need to go."
Layla's grin faltered. "Coral Isle's a death trap—priests, traps, and worse. You sure?"
"No," Zahra said, her grin sharp despite the fear coiling in her gut. "But when has that stopped me?"
The Storm's Fang veered toward Coral Isle, the armada in pursuit, the water jinn's roar shaking the sky. Zahra clutched the crystal, its song a warning she couldn't ignore. The shrine called, but so did the curse.