Vara, still standing at the helm, also surveyed the decimated crew. Her expression flickered with grief, but she reigned it in expertly and spoke.
"Listen to me everyone," she paused and held every sailor's gaze. "We survived. We're through the worst of it."
Several sailors looked at her with hollow eyes. Numb to the courage she was trying to instill in them.
"Look around you," Vara continued nonetheless, gesturing at their surroundings. "We made it. We're here. In the place no one but my great-grandfather has reached and returned from."
Finn finally tore his gaze from the survivors and looked out at where they were.
The sea they now sailed on was pure black. Perfectly, impossibly black, like they were floating on pure black ink. Its surface was still, without waves, ripples, or any form of natural motion at all. Yet the Tidebreaker moved. Slowly, steadily, pulled by currents that couldn't be seen or felt.
