Five days after the kraken encounter, they held Marcus's memorial at dawn.
Elion stood on deck, looking at two hundred and forty-six faces.
"Marcus Fletcher was twenty-two years old," he began. "A fisherman's son. He was one of the first to volunteer, one of the first to believe we could build something better."
He paused. "I didn't know Marcus well. That's my failure. But from what others told me, he was kind. Generous. The kind of person any community would be lucky to have."
Elion looked at the weighted chest. "Marcus died because I made a deal. I carry that responsibility. But Marcus volunteered, knowing the danger. That's courage. That's what builds nations."
Garrick lifted the chest. "Marcus Fletcher, we commit you to the deep. May the ocean cradle you. May we honor your memory by building the world you believed was possible."
The chest sank. Helena began singing. Others joined, voices blending in harmony both mournful and hopeful.
╔════════════════════════════════╗
║ QUEST COMPLETE ║
╚════════════════════════════════╝
Quest: Honor the Fallen - Complete
Reward: Morale restored, Loyalty +5
New Ability: Leader's Burden
Effect: Gain XP from protecting people, not just combat.
That evening, Mira reported their situation. "We're doing better on supplies. Mer-folk have been sharing fish. Water is manageable with Lyssa's ritual. The biggest issue is boredom. People are restless."
"What do you suggest?"
"Daily classes. Combat training, language lessons, medical instruction. Give people purpose."
"Do it."
Over the next week, ships' decks became improvised classrooms. Lyssa taught herbcraft. Kael ran combat drills. Helena demonstrated medical treatment. The transformation was remarkable—people engaged instead of anxious.
"See?" Mira said, watching activities. "Give people something to do, spirits lift."
"You were right. As usual."
Then a mer-folk scout surfaced, expression urgent. "Thalor sends warning. Storm approaching. Large one. Prepare immediately."
Captain Theron started bellowing orders. "Secure everything! Batten down hatches!"
Elion looked west and saw it—black clouds advancing with unnatural speed, lightning dancing within.
"Lyssa! Is that natural?"
The druid's face went pale. "No. That's a Tempest Elemental. Big enough to sink all three ships."
"Can we outrun it?"
"Not even close."
Thalor pulled himself onto deck. "Our people are diving deep. But your ships won't survive without protection."
"There has to be something," Elion insisted.
"There is," Lyssa said quietly. "Tempest Elementals are drawn to magic concentrations. Your shadow army. If you released them, dispersed them, the Elemental might lose interest in the ships."
Elion's mind raced. His shadow army was his primary defense. But if the alternative was death...
"How long to recall them?"
"Hours. Maybe a day."
╔════════════════════════════════╗
║ CRISIS DECISION REQUIRED ║
╚════════════════════════════════╝
Tempest Elemental approaching
Time to contact: 12 minutes
Choose: Release shadows or risk ships
Elion looked at the approaching storm. Looked at his people. Looked at Mira.
"All shadow soldiers," he commanded. "Disperse into the ocean. Spread out widely. When the storm passes, wait for my recall."
One hundred and thirty-nine acknowledgments. Then his entire shadow army dove and disappeared.
The pressure lifted. He was just Elion again. No army. No advantage.
"It's working," Lyssa said. "It's changing course. Following the shadow signatures."
The storm shifted direction, veering south. The worst missed the ships.
They weren't safe—the storm's edges caught them with high waves and fierce winds. The ships pitched for hours. People were sick, equipment damaged. But by dawn, everyone was alive.
"That was too close," Theron said. "Lost rigging, some supplies, and the Raven's Wing has a cracked mast. But all three ships intact. No casualties."
Elion recalled his shadows. Hours later, they'd all returned—one hundred and thirty-nine soldiers accounted for.
"The mer-folk are returning," a lookout called.
"Everyone intact?" Thalor asked.
"Mostly. Battered but alive."
"Good news—that storm pushed you closer. You're now only three days from the Disputed Archipelago."
Three days. After nearly two weeks at sea, they were finally close.
They spent the next two days sailing through increasingly beautiful waters. Islands appeared—some small, some larger, all dangerous in different ways.
None were suitable.
As the sun set on their third day in the archipelago, they approached Island Seventeen. The large island dominated the view—jungle-covered slopes, white beaches, waterfalls cascading down cliffs.
It looked like paradise.
"Don't be fooled," Thalor warned. "Something protects that island. Something that's driven off every previous settlement attempt."
Elion studied the island through fading light. Tomorrow, they would investigate.
Tomorrow, their real journey would begin.