Nyx
The deck of the Wraith was alive with turmoil, though the storm's wrath had faded into uneasy calm. Nyx stood in the center of it all, rain-soaked and trembling, her resolve was the only thing keeping her upright. Around her, the crew worked tirelessly, hauling survivors onto the ship and assessing their condition. The sea was settling now, the whisper of its call still lingering faintly in Nyx's chest. She could feel it: the ocean hadn't fully let go—not yet.
A gasp drew her attention to the nearest group of survivors. One of the crew, a woman with striking green eyes and raven-black hair that clung to her face in wet tendrils, struggled to her feet. Her beauty was undeniable, even in the aftermath of the storm.
The woman's gaze swept the deck until it landed on the disheveled unconscious man still collapsed nearby with his chest barely rising. Her green eyes widened; panic etched across her face. She stumbled forward, gripping the railing for support as her voice cracked through the air. "That's our Captain, is he alive?"
Nyx straightened, her soaked curls brushing her cheeks as she glanced at the man. Her chest tightened, a pang of something she couldn't name sparking beneath the weight of her exhaustion. She felt an unexpected flicker of envy—an unfamiliar sharpness that she quickly pushed aside. She didn't know who this woman was, but she couldn't help the fleeting thought: what was she to him? She nodded curtly. "He's breathing. For now."
The woman sagged visibly, relief flooding her features. Nyx watched her carefully, every movement betraying a familiarity—an intimacy—she couldn't yet place. It wasn't uncommon for captains to command loyalty, even adoration, from their crew. Nyx herself had seen it often enough. But this? This felt different.
"Thank you," the woman muttered, "My name is Eliza, and you just saved what remains of the Thunderborn."
Before Nyx could speak Silas appeared at her side, his sharp gaze flickering between Nyx and the stranger. "Should we get him below deck to the infirmary, Captain? He'll need more than the air up here if he's going to make it."
Nyx hesitated for a moment, her instincts prickling as she studied the man and his crew. She didn't know who they were, what they carried, or why the ocean had brought them together, but she couldn't ignore the pull—the sense that every moment, every decision, mattered more than she could yet understand.
"Do it," she said finally, her voice firm. "Get him and the others to safety. We'll sort the rest out when he's conscious."
As Silas moved to organize the transfer below deck, Nyx's eyes lingered on the green-eyed woman. She felt a strange mix of emotions—curiosity, frustration, and that fleeting, unwelcome envy. Whoever this woman was, she was clearly important to the captain. And though Nyx didn't know why, she couldn't help but feel that she had just stepped into a puzzle far larger than herself.
Turning away, Nyx stepped to the railing and stared out at the ocean, its surface calm now but brimming with the weight of something ancient and unseen. The storm might have passed, but the path ahead was far from clear—and Nyx would have to navigate it with care.
Raiden
Raiden's consciousness flickered, reality dragging him back from the haze of exhaustion like waves lapping against the shore. He gasped as his body reminded him of the storm—the strain of the artifact, the crushing pull of the whirlpool, and the cold, unyielding weight of the sea. His skin was slick with sweat, his clothes damp and clinging to him uncomfortably. Every inch of him felt heavy, as though the ocean had left its mark inside his bones.
His hand instinctively shot to his chest, searching for the one thing he couldn't afford to lose. Panic surged for a brief moment before his fingers brushed against the smooth, pulsing surface of the artifact, its glow faint but persistent. Relief flooded through him, enough to let him close his eyes against the disorientation threatening to overwhelm him. The gentle lull of the ship rocked him back and forth, the motion more unsettling than soothing as nausea clawed at the edges of his pride.
The memories of the storm came rushing back in vivid flashes—the surge of waves, the cries of his crew, the moment the Thunderborn had splintered around him like driftwood. He remembered clawing against the water's pull, fighting against the dark abyss that wanted to claim him, and something else—someone. A presence, strong and steady, gripping him and dragging him from the brink. He couldn't picture a face, only the sensation of being anchored when the sea sought to tear him away.
A cool touch against his forehead jolted him from the flood of memories. His reflexes, dulled but instinctive, flared in response, and his hand shot out to grasp the wrist of the person before him. The touch was unmistakably feminine—delicate but firm, steady in the way that contrasted his momentary panic.
Raiden's eyes snapped open, locking onto the most enchanting blue-green pair he had ever seen. He froze, the nausea forgotten, his grip loosening slightly as he took in the face of the woman before him. Her pale blonde curls framed her sharp features, dampened slightly from the sea air. There was something in her expression—a mixture of calm confidence and curiosity—that held him, as though she wasn't just looking at him but through him.
"You're awake," she said softly, her voice steady and sure.
Raiden blinked, his mind struggling to piece together the connection between the chaos he'd endured and the unexpected gentleness of this moment. He released her wrist but didn't look away, his thoughts too scrambled to form coherent words. He tried to push himself upright, but his body protested, the fatigue pulling him back against the cot.
"Easy," the woman said, her tone carrying a subtle command that made him pause. She dipped the rag into a basin of water beside her, wrung it out, and placed it back on his forehead with precision born of habit. "You're lucky to be alive. Most don't make it out of the ocean's fury."
Raiden swallowed, his throat dry and tight as his pride threatened to choke him. "My ship?" he croaked, his voice rough from the salt and strain.
The woman's gaze flickered, her calm exterior betraying a faint hint of pity. "Gone," she said simply. "The ocean claimed it—and it would've claimed you too if I hadn't pulled you out."
Her words stirred something in him, a faint memory of her touch in the darkness, the way the water had seemed to shift as she gripped him. He studied her carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. There was a presence about her, something beyond the confidence and steadiness she exuded. He couldn't explain it, but it reminded him of the ocean—vast, deep, and unknowable.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice faint but edged with curiosity.
The corners of her lips curled into a faint smile; her expression tempered by an unreadable emotion. "Captain Nyx Blacktide," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "And this is my ship, The Wraith. You and your crew are aboard it—for now."
Raiden's eyes flickered toward the doorway, where faint voices could be heard—other survivors, his crew, alive despite the storm's wrath. Relief mingled with the nausea still lingering in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of everything sink in—the loss of his ship, the power of the artifact, and now this woman who had dragged him from the depths.
When he opened his eyes again, Nyx was still watching him, her presence steady despite the whirlwind he felt inside. "You didn't have to save me," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "No," she admitted. "I didn't. But something told me I should."
Raiden's gaze held hers, his eyes searching the blue-green depths before him. There was something about her he couldn't place—something he wasn't sure he wanted to understand, but couldn't ignore. As the gentle rocking of the ship settled around him, one thought remained clear: whatever had brought them together wasn't done yet.