I had planned on burning the whole ship.
That was the idea. Fire was clean. Final. It had a sense of ceremony to it. The kind of act that meant something—ashes to ashes, a pyre for the dead, a warning to the world. Burn the ship, burn the past, and let the smoke carry the memory of the girls higher than the sea ever would.
But now?
Now I watched the waters churn below, black and alive with hunger.
The komodo-dragon lookalike, the bastard that had circled us since the fight, wasn't alone anymore. Others had come. Big ones. Slow at first—just shapes beneath the surface. But they were rising now. Closer. Clearer. And they weren't here to pay respects.
They were here for the brick.
They scratched at the hull. Clawed at the wood with scaled limbs and glistening talons. Not attacking yet—just… feeling. Testing. Waiting for weakness. Like they could sense the pull of it, deep in the belly of the ship. That brick. That cursed, humming thing still warm in my pack. Still calling. Not to people anymore. To the deep.
I felt it then.
This wasn't about us.
It wasn't even about the demon anymore.
The ship—this graveyard, this altar—was a beacon. A glowing wound in the water. And the sea? It wanted it shut.
That's when I got the idea.
It was stupid. Reckless. Mad. But so was everything else in this world. Fire made sense in my world. But this one? This place was made of water, born of it, bound to it. Everything that crawled or breathed or wept in this place came from the tide. Their lives weren't measured in time—they were measured in waves.
Birth. Childhood. Adulthood. Death.
All soaked in salt.
Everything returned to the sea eventually. Even us.
So no… fire wouldn't cut it.
Water was their beginning.
It would be their end too.
I looked to the horizon. Creatures—bigger ones—broke the surface now. Fins like jagged bone. Tentacles gliding through the mist like smoke. The water rippled in circles around the ship, and for the first time, I felt the tilt.
The hull groaned beneath my feet. The ship was shifting.
The weight of them—dozens now, maybe more—was dragging us to one side. Not enough to capsize us. Yet. But it would come.
The merman noticed first.
He shouted something—guttural, clipped, urgent. His voice cracked with strain. I looked at him, confused, already knowing I wouldn't understand. He pointed, waving his arms wildly, then turned to the girl and shouted again, this time in that strange, beautiful tongue they shared.
She turned to me. Her face had gone pale.
She said something. Fast. Sharp. Her words stung with urgency, but I couldn't grasp them. Just sounds. Pieces of meaning slipping through my hands like water.
I stared at her. Shook my head once.
She cursed—I knew that much.
Then she started moving.
She ran to the boats latched to the side of the ship and began cutting ropes, hands trembling but fast. Efficient. The girl wasn't soft. She was forged hard, like everything else that lived here. She wasn't doing this for her own survival. She was doing it for mine.
She thought the creatures were here for the ship.
Not me.
I didn't blame her. She'd only seen mermen and humans go mad from the brick. Never the sea itself. She didn't know what it meant to carry something the deep wanted. She didn't hear the humming like I did. The pulse. The promise. The invitation.
She got the boat ready—one of the small ones, barely big enough for two. Lowered it halfway into the water with her own hands. Looked back at me, eyes wide, shouting again. Her voice cracked in the wind, but I heard the shape of the plea.
Come with me. Come with us.
She was asking me to run.
I walked toward her slowly.
Then I shook my head.
She didn't understand. Couldn't.
So I reached for her arm and pulled her back. Not gently.
She stumbled into my chest. Shocked. Confused. Her mouth opened—questions, maybe anger—but I didn't give her time.
The merman came next. He saw the truth in my eyes. Maybe not all of it. But enough. He didn't resist.
I drew my knife, stepped to the ropes, and cut.
The boat fell.
A splash, a sharp crack, and then—nothing.
For half a second, I thought it might stay afloat.
Then the creatures surged.
The komodo-bastard tore through the side of the boat like paper. A jaw closed around the stern. Another one—a long, eel-like thing—wrapped around the broken hull and dragged it under. Splinters floated up. Then the water turned red. Then nothing.
The girl stared.
Not at the wreckage. At me.
And I saw the question in her eyes.
Not "Why did you do that?"
She was smarter than that.
The question was something else.
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure myself.
I just turned from the edge of the ship and walked back to the ritual site. The ship groaned again beneath me. It was leaning more now, pulling hard against the tide. The ocean wanted it.
Good.
Let it take it.
Let it take everything.
Let the sea consume the ship, the bones, the blood.
Let it bury the ritual under miles of black water.
This was their world, not mine.
Let it be their grave too.
And when the water reached my knees, then my chest, then my throat—when the deep finally came for me too—maybe I'd know peace.
But until then, I'd make sure he watched every second of it.