Darkness pressed in around him, thick and suffocating. His body felt distant, weightless, drifting as if it no longer belonged to him. The cold of the water seeped into his bones, numbing everything.
Erin barely registered the sensation of sinking, nor the slow, rhythmic pull of the currents. The only thing he saw was the fractured moonlight above, shimmering on the water's surface like a distant world he could no longer reach.
How had it come to this?
He had wanted this.
Hadn't he?
To leave Caldera. To chase adventure. To follow the path his father carved through the stars and sea. But now, as the Void itself pulled him deeper. All he could feel was the crushing weight of how wrong he had been. He had nothing left to fight with.
Maybe he was never meant for this.
Fenrick had been brutalized. Cidrin's Hex Disruptors had failed to turn the tide. Ariya had spent everything she had trying to hold the line. And Narza...
Erin's gaze drifted downward.
She was sinking, her body limp, her dark hair fanning out like ink in the water.
He tried to move. His body refused.
If he just let go…
If he closed his eyes…
It would be over.
No more struggling. No more proving himself. No more failing.
Maybe that's what the sea wanted from him.
Maybe it was always going to end this way
He could only watch, helpless, as she drifted further away. His heartbeat slowed, each dull thud echoing through the hollow spaces inside him. His vision blurred. The weight of failure settled over him As his thoughts collapsed into silence.
* * *
A rush of air filled Erin's lungs as he jolted awake. His body screamed in protest, stiff and sore, his limbs aching as if they had been wrung dry. He could taste the blood in his mouth and the rough texture of sand and jagged rock dug into his skin.
For a long moment, he just stared at the stars—distant and untouchable. Night still reigned over the sky, though the moon had shifted slightly from where it had been before. He had been out for at least an hour and a half.
He was still alive.
Why?
His vision swam as he tried to push himself up, only to be met with a sharp, searing pain in his face. He winced, instinctively bringing a hand to his cheek. His fingers brushed over the deep bruising left by Rhyz's fists. It throbbed in protest.
"Finally awake?" Cidrin's voice came from nearby. "I was starting to think you were gonna sleep through the whole damn night." Erin turned his head, muscles stiff and sluggish. Cidrin sat near the fire, his gauntlets resting beside him, his expression unreadable. The rest of the crew was scattered around—their exhaustion carved into every movement.
Ariya crouched beside Fenrick, who was swaddled in makeshift bandages, his face pale under the fire's light. Darial stood at the edge of the shore, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon. Narza sat close to him, staring out at the dark waters.
"What... happened?" Erin croaked.
Cidrin exhaled, rubbing a hand through his wet hair. "You and Narza nearly drowned. I barely managed to grab you both. Some fisherman found us and dragged us back to shore. But he didn't stick around."
Erin sat up fully, taking in his surroundings. They were on a narrow stretch of beach, where the sand met jagged rock formations. The air smelled of salt and damp earth. In the distance, past the uneven coastline, he could make out the silhouette of a town, its lanterns flickering faintly against the night.
No one spoke for a long moment.
It wasn't just exhaustion that kept them silent. It was the weight of their loss.
Rhyz and his Frostbane partner, the Glacial Reaper, hadn't just beaten them—they had utterly humiliated them. Erin could still feel the crushing force of the Gravira spell pressing down on him, making his bones creak, his breath thin. He had never felt that powerless before.
Silence hung between them before Cidrin finally muttered, "You were right."
Erin turned his head. "What?"
Cidrin clenched his jaw. "If we hadn't followed you… Narza would've been dead." He rubbed the back of his neck before shaking his head. "Thought you were just some kid out of his depth, chasing something you'd never catch. But you saw something we didn't. You were right, and I was too stubborn to admit it."
Erin stared at him, unsure what to say.
Ariya leaned back on her hands, looking up at the stars. "He's right. You saved her, Erin."
Fenrick, still lying on the sand, gave a weak chuckle. "Gotta admit, Scrap, I thought following that compass was stupid. But I was wrong. I guess you're not completely useless after all"
Erin wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't used to hearing this kind of acknowledgment, especially from Cidrin. It sent a strange warmth through him, a quiet reassurance that, despite everything, he had done something right.
Narza had been silent throughout the exchange, her dark eyes fixed on the horizon. But when Erin glanced at her, he caught something unexpected—a flicker of disbelief, quickly masked. She hadn't known. She hadn't realized that the reason they all suddenly showed up was because he had refused to leave her behind.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. Then, she looked away.
He broke the silence. "Where are we?"
Darial squinted toward the town. "Not sure yet. But we need to get moving."
Erin forced himself to his feet. His body protested, but the soreness was good. It kept him anchored. They couldn't stay here.
The group trudged toward the town in silence. Erin's boots dragged through the sand before giving way to uneven cobblestone streets. Most of the buildings leaned crooked on their foundations, their wood half-rotted and their windows hollow. The air carried the faint tang of rust and brine. The town itself was eerily quiet. A few lanterns flickered in doorways, casting long shadows across the abandoned streets. The few people who were outside—dock workers, night wanderers—took one look at them and immediately turned away.
They were a mess. Soaking wet, beaten, bruised, and barely standing. No one wanted to be associated with whatever trouble they had just crawled out of. Narza stepped in front of Darial, blocking his path.
"The Crest of Grimfire," she said. "What is it?"
Darial met her gaze but didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed. "You knew what it meant the second you saw it. You knew who they were."
Still, silence.
Narza stepped closer, her voice sharp. "Talk!"
Darial exhaled, rubbing his temple. His usual easy demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more serious. He glanced at the others—at their exhaustion, their bruises, the weight of everything they had just been through.
He sighed. "Vaelgrim."
The name meant nothing to Erin. But the way Darial said it—low, heavy, certain—made it sound like a curse.
Ariya frowned. "Who?"
Darial's jaw tightened. "The Crest of Grimfire is their mark. If you see it, it means one thing—you're already dead."
Cidrin let out a short, skeptical breath. "That's dramatic."
Darial shot him a look. "Is it? Think back to what just happened. Did they feel like the type to leave survivors?"
Cidrin fell silent.
Darial continued, voice grim. "Vaelgrim isn't some mercenary band or pirate crew. They don't seek fame, and they don't leave witnesses. They're executioners."
A heavy pause settled over the group.
Fenrick scoffed. "Come on, that's just a story. No one's that untouchable."
Darial gave him a flat look. "Tell that to the Sixth Tideguard Fleet."
Ariya frowned. "The fleet that sank in a storm?"
Darial shook his head. "It didn't sink. Three warships — two hundred souls — melted down to the bone in the middle of the fucking sea. Their hulls were burned straight through—but not like a fire spreading. Like someone picked where to melt, down to the inch. Some ships looked like the heat had been inside of them, fusing armor and weapons to the decks. When they pulled the bodies from the wreckage, their clothes were untouched, but inside—" He shook his head. "They were charred. Like something burned them from within."
Erin swallowed.
He remembered the fight—the overwhelming force, the way Rhyz had crushed him with Gravira as if he were nothing. He had thought it was just strength. Just power.
But it wasn't.
They hadn't just lost a battle. They had survived something they weren't meant to survive, out of luck.
"And the survivors?" Ariya asked.
Darial's jaw tightened. "Didn't last. The ones who washed ashore were raving about the sea boiling beneath them. They screamed for days. Then they went silent."
Cidrin let out a low curse. "So they're assassins?"
Darial exhaled sharply. "Worse. They're like a group of terrorists—and when they take a job, they don't stop until it's done."
Cidrin studied him carefully. "And what job brought them to Chastrow?"
Darial hesitated. Something flickering behind his eyes. Not anger.
Fear.
That pause was enough.
Erin's stomach twisted. "Darial."
A long silence. Then—
"They were there to kill Darial."
The words landed like a hammer.
Ariya's breath caught. "What?"
Darial sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think that Ironshadow put a price on my head. A high price. And somehow Vaelgrim took the job."
A chill ran through Erin's spine.
"They don't fail," he said quietly.
Darial nodded. "No. They don't."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Cidrin ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion breaking into something sharp. "We're fucked."
Fenrick stopped in the middle of the street, glancing at the nearest signpost. "Atleast we know where we are." He turned back to the group. "Driftmark."
A tired sigh passed through the crew. At least they had a name for this place now.
Cidrin frowned. "Alright, great. But how the hell are we supposed to find the safehouse? Thalor's the only one who knows where it is."
A silence fell over them.
He was right. No one knew where to go from here.
Erin closed his eyes, pushing past the lingering pain in his skull. He thought back to the past two weeks. Every conversation with Thalor. Every offhand comment. Every detail.
Then, something surfaced.
It had been a passing remark, almost nothing at the time.
"Lyric's got a place in Driftmark," Thalor had said once. "Run-down, hidden. Not the kind of place you'd look twice at. But if you know what to look for... you'll find it."
Erin's eyes snapped open. "Maybe we're looking for a mark."
The others turned to him.
"Thalor mentioned something about 'knowing what to look for', I'm guessing there's a mark somewhere on the building."
Narza gave him a sharp look. "Are you sure?"
Erin shook his head. "No, but it's worth a shot right?"
They moved toward the outskirts of town, where the buildings were more scattered, more worn. The silence pressed in heavier here, the only sounds being their footsteps against the cobblestone. Then, Darial stopped abruptly.
"There," he muttered.
He pointed toward a small, abandoned structure nestled between two larger buildings. It looked like nothing—just another forgotten ruin. But carved into the worn wood beside the entrance was a subtle, almost imperceptible symbol. A small mark, weathered by time, yet still present.
"This is it," Darial confirmed.
Cidrin narrowed his eyes. "Or it's a trap."
"There's only one way to find out," Erin said.
They pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The interior was just as decrepit as the outside—dusty, empty, barely furnished. The floorboards creaked under their weight, and a musty scent clung to the air.
"This... doesn't look like a safehouse," Narza muttered.
Cidrin scowled. "Did we just break into some abandoned dump?"
Darial stepped further in, scanning the dimly lit room. "No," he murmured. "This is it. But something's off."
Erin was about to respond when a cold pressure touched the back of his skull.
He froze.
A voice, low and edged with warning, spoke behind him.
"You've got five seconds to tell me who sent you," the stranger said, the click of a pistol hammer cocking against Erin's head.
"Four."
his heart hammered against his ribs.
"Three."
The cold metal pressed harder.
"Two."
His mouth went dry.
"One."