Chapter 6: The Awakening of the Black Leech
The sea was quiet, too quiet, as Tyson Vorrick and his crew stood before the ancient ship they had unearthed—its massive frame half-buried beneath vines and centuries of decay. The ship's name was black eagle deep into its blackened hull in glowing, weather-worn letters: The Black eagle.
"She's fast," Tyson said, his voice a low whisper, awe-struck by the way the ship gleamed despite the darkness around it. "Like an eagle on the hunt."
"Or like a demon waiting to fly," Rook muttered under his breath.
With heavy hearts and hopeful eyes, they climbed aboard and cut the ship loose from the cursed dock that had imprisoned it. The sails rose on their own, catching wind no one felt. Within moments, The Black eagle moved with unnatural speed, slicing through the waves like a blade through silk. They were finally away from the terrifying cave—and now heading toward the very heart of the mystery: the serpent grief.
Inside the ship, things were even stranger. The walls whispered old sailor chants, and the air seemed to shimmer with a hidden force. Tyson and Rook wandered deeper into the lower decks where they discovered a room filled with sealed chests and forgotten relics.
Weapons.
But not just any weapons—these shimmered, sparked, pulsed with energy.
Lyra reached out and lifted a long silver bow. The moment her fingers wrapped around the grip, a flash of electricity surged up her arm. The weapon shimmered to life—a lightning bow, humming with stored storms.
Aria, ever quiet and fierce, found a tiny curved knife buried in a velvet-lined box. At first, it looked insignificant. But as she unsheathed it, the air around it trembled. The edge was glowing with fiery veins. Elara gasped. "This blade… it's said to cut even through mountains."
And then came Tyson's moment.
He opened a chest that had a strange pull on him. Inside was a silver trident—cold, sleek, elegant. It felt… familiar. Like it belonged to him.
But something was off. In the center of the trident's handle was a hollow—where a gem clearly used to be. Tyson frowned. "It's missing something."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the small, ocean-blue gem he had found hidden in the back of Grandpa Kael's journal days ago. The moment he held it close to the trident, the weapon began to hum softly.
Without hesitation, he pressed the gem into place.
A flash of golden light burst from the weapon, forcing everyone to shield their eyes. The silver melted into gold, and the trident thrummed like a heart awakened. Tyson staggered back, eyes wide. "It controls water," he breathed. "This… this is the Ocean's Crown."
They were stunned. Each one now held a legendary weapon… everyone except Dr. Elish.
While the others admired their newfound power, Elish wandered the ship, searching for something—anything—that might belong to her. She felt… left out, empty-handed, and even worse, powerless.
After hours of exploring silent corridors and rotting quarters, she stumbled into a locked room at the back of the ship. With a creak, the door opened to reveal dust, cobwebs, and—most noticeably—nothing of value.
She sighed in frustration and slumped down, defeated.
That's when she saw it.
A skeleton, crumpled in the corner, one bony hand outstretched toward the ceiling. And in that hand, clutched tightly, was a dark, twisted wand.
"Elish!" she shouted to herself and ran to call Aria.
Aria quickly examined the bones. "Over 2000 years old. Looks like he died of starvation," she muttered.
But Elish didn't care. Her eyes were locked on the wand. "I want it," she whispered.
Aria gave a small smile. "Then take it."
Elish took the wand from the bony fingers and admired it. It was cold but oddly comforting. As she turned to leave, the wand accidentally pointed toward a deep wound on Aria's leg from the earlier battle.
A soft glow spread from the wand, and in seconds, the wound sealed.
Aria looked at her leg in shock. "It healed me... instantly."
Elish's eyes filled with tears. She finally had her piece of the legend. A healing wand that could restore wounds and perhaps… even lives.
But triumph faded quickly.
Two days passed at sea. The weapons were marvelous, yes—but the crew hadn't eaten or drunk anything. Their lips were dry, stomachs aching. Even the powerful weapons in their hands couldn't stop the slow decay of human need.
"We're going to die out here," Lyra whispered.
"We can't," Tyson said. "We've come too far."
But the sea stretched on endlessly. The stars spun above them, and the wind was no longer singing—it was warning.
Aria scanned the horizon through the spyglass. "Nothing," she muttered. "No island. No rain. Just the ocean."
Elish slumped on the deck. "What's the use of magic if we starve before we can use it?"
But even as she spoke, the trident in Tyson's hand began to glow faintly. It pointed slightly westward, tugging at his arm.
He stood.
"Wait," he whispered. "I think it knows the way."
The crew looked to him.
And with no other hope, they turned the ship toward where the trident pointed.
Toward hope.
Toward destiny.
Toward Mourning Isle.
To be continued...