the storm possessed teeth of its own volition within the seas — the sails were in ribbons, and deterioration had settled aboard the vessel like an old friend, creeping in with the passage of time. the creaking wood groaned beneath the weight of endless waves, each crash a cruel reminder that this journey was far from over. lightning split the sky in jagged scars, illuminating the weary faces of the crew—eyes hardened by salt and fear, hearts tethered to a fragile hope. and then, through the storm’s chaos, thancred caught it—a flicker at the edge of sight. not a trick of the lightning, nor a shadow cast by the restless sea. it was there, perched on a craggy rock barely visible beyond the breaking waves.

half-glimmer, half-shadow, their form balanced between the water and the storm—neither fully of this world, nor entirely beyond it. eyes like liquid twilight met thancred’s gaze, haunting and ancient, holding secrets older than the ocean’s depths.

he held his breath, muscles coiled, knowing legends whispered of sailors lost to the sea’s song. but this was different—it wasn’t a lure, nor a threat. it was a question, silent and heavy: why had he not yet been claimed by the sea?