35. Zayan
35
Zayan
T he current tosses my body back and forth. Or maybe it’s more than one current tearing me in every direction—hard to tell when all you can do is shut your eyes, hold your breath, and wait for the ocean to stop trying to grind you into pieces.
Pressure claws at my ears, and I realize the island we knew just moments ago is now somewhere beneath these waves. The land is gone.
Something briefly brushes against my leg as I spiral, and I can only hope it’s Gypsy. She was right next to me when that wave—bigger than a damn ship—crashed over us. It was only the following waves that kept us from being smashed into the sand like bugs, our organs crushed under the weight.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’ve spent half my life fighting the ocean, testing its depths, challenging its pull. Thought I’d trained myself to be part of it, like it couldn’t lay a finger on me. And yet here I am, one wrong breath away from drowning.
You think you’re invincible, like the sea’s got respect for the man who’s cheated it enough times. But the truth? It doesn’t give a damn who I am, how long I’ve held my breath, or how many times I’ve made it back to the surface. The ocean doesn’t play favorites. A man is still just a sack of lungs waiting to burst, no matter how clever he thinks he is.
Cold’s biting its way through my bones, numbing my limbs and sapping the strength I need to fight back. I can feel my lungs clawing for air, desperate, while I have to keep my mouth shut unless I want the sea to finish the job.
It’s cruel—this place, this test. First, we exhaust ourselves under the blazing sun, pushing to our absolute limits on land, only to be dragged into the depths afterward.
A goddamn nightmare, this is.
My muscles are seizing, every kick and pull getting me nowhere, lost in this thrashing hell.
But Gypsy—I can’t let her slip through my fingers. Not now. Not when I finally caught up to her.
But where is she? A brush against my leg, something slick and fast. Was that her? Or am I just feeding my own delusions down here?
Another wave slams me, spinning me under like I’m a doll caught in a whirlpool. I thrash, forcing myself up, but the ocean just keeps clawing at me, dragging me under, and for a second—just one—I wonder if maybe this is the end. So this is it, huh?
But then I see it—a shape, moving just out of reach. Gypsy .
A shot of adrenaline kicks me harder than a mule, driving me forward. Doesn’t matter that I’m spent, drained to the last drop; the second I see her, I’m lit up all over again. My arm shoots out, fingers brushing against her skin. She’s right here. Right here…
But she’s still as stone, eyes closed, hair snared in the currents like she’s part of them.
My pulse hammers as I hook an arm around her, hauling her in, dead weight and all. The current’s raging, trying to rip her away, but hell if I’ll let it. I kick harder, every muscle burning, every breath slipping further out of reach. The surface feels a lifetime away, but I push on. She’s not slipping away—not like this.
Feels like I’m clawing through hell itself before I finally break through, gulping down air that sears my lungs. I’m half-blind from salt and fury, but I know she’s limp against me, and that dark, cold dread sinks in.
“Gypsy!” I shout, my voice hoarse and raw. “Come on, love.”
She doesn’t move. Her face is pale, lips blue, and something in me buckles, threatening to crack. But I shove that down. No time for weakness, not with her life on the line.
I grit my teeth, fighting for balance against the pull of the water, tilting her head back to clear her airway. My hands tremble, damn them. I press my mouth to hers, give her two breaths.
And then—she jerks, hacking up seawater in a gasping, ragged breath. Her body convulses as her chest heaving as she chokes out the sea.
Thank every god, hell, and curse there is.
She’s shivering, barely conscious, her skin cold, but she’s alive. I keep her close, bracing us against the waves as they try to drag us back down. She blinks, sluggish, dazed, until I see the flash in her eyes. Memory kicking in.
“Damn it, the wave knocked me out,” she rasps, fighting to get the words out. Panic flares in her face, and before I know it, she’s asking, “Where’s Vini and Fabien?”
I swallow hard, trying to shove down the knot of dread clawing its way up. The truth? I have no clue where they are. Haven’t seen a sign of them since that wave hit, and I couldn’t care less with her nearly drowning.
“I—I don’t know,” I manage, my voice rougher than I’d like. “Wave hit too fast. Haven’t seen them since.”
My gaze scans the water, squinting against the endless blur of waves, but only one thing stands out.
“That damned pillar…” I mutter, eyes narrowing at the sight.
It’s still there, standing proud even as the sea swallowed the island whole. And somehow, its height’s risen with the water too. It doesn’t matter that the sea level elevated us; the damn thing got elevated too.
But at least it’s visible—a beacon they can follow if they’re still out there.
“Can you swim?” I ask, cutting a glance her way. Damn it, I hate that I even have to ask. Don’t know if I’ve got enough left in me to carry us both. I’m barely hanging on to my own strength here.
“Yeah.” Thank fuck.
“Then let’s go,” I say, tightening my grip on her arm.
We start swimming, fighting through the waves that thrash around us, each one hell-bent on dragging us off course. Gypsy’s strokes are steady, weaker than I’d like, but she’s keeping pace. We don’t speak; there’s no energy to waste on words. All that matters is reaching that pillar.
But I know time’s against us. It’s only a matter of seconds before a leg seizes up or the ocean pulls one of us under.
We have to hurry.
But so we had to hurry when the sand was expanding, and then when the waves were coming closer and closer. Just how much longer will this things last?
“When this… is all over…” Gypsy breathes as she moves her arms to swim forward. “I want… at least two… pints of beer.”
I bark out a laugh, though it burns my lungs. “I’ll do you one better,” I shout over the crashing waves. “I’ll buy you the whole damned tavern. Drink till you can’t stand.”
She lets out a ragged laugh, but it turns into a cough as she fights to keep her head above water. “Deal… but you’re drinking with me,” she manages between breaths.
“Like hell I’d leave you to drink alone,” I reply, gritting my teeth through a smirk. “I’d rather drown with you than miss that.”
The thought of a dry tavern, a warm bed… gods, even a damp straw mattress sounds like heaven right now. Hard to believe I’ve become the guy who fantasizes about shacking up in some rundown inn, maybe getting into a fistfight with the locals for fun. But suddenly… I want that.
I’d kill for that.
I love the adrenaline as much as any other pirate, but this place… it’s hell raised to the level of the goddess herself. She wants us to break ourselves on her terms, to claw our way forward on nothing but grit and curses. Like she’s watching us, daring us to give up, just so she can laugh in our faces.
“Almost there,” I grind out, eyes set on the jagged base of the pillar. It’s right there, within reach. “Just a little more.”
The currents seem to intensify as we near it, as if the ocean is trying to pull us away from the one thing that could save us. No, I’m pretty sure it is.
“Come on, don’t you dare let up now,” I mutter under my breath, pushing through the burn in my muscles, the ice slicing through my veins like broken glass.
Then I spot them—Vini and Rancour, clutching onto the base of the pillar. Vini’s plastered to it, eyes squeezed shut, looking like he’s ready to pass out right there in the water.
But Rancour? He’s a statue, frozen solid, pale as death itself, with his eyes wide and breath barely moving. Right… wasn’t it Vinicola who mentioned Rancour’s ship went down in a storm when he was just a kid? His parents gone in an instant. Now he’s probably seeing ghosts right here in the depths.
“Oi! Snap out of it!” I shout, getting close enough to fling a splash of seawater in his face. His eyes jolt back to life, darting around like he’s just woken up from a nightmare before they land on me.
For a beat, he’s terrified—real terror there, clear as day. Then he steadies, stubbornness taking over, or maybe it’s just the shock wearing off.
“You came,” he says, his voice wavering. “Thought you were done for.”
“Writing us off that fast?” Gypsy’s voice cuts in as she swims up, latching onto the pillar next to Vini. She leans in and murmurs, “Glad you’re okay, Vini.”
He flashes her a weak smile, though his grip on the pillar is as white-knuckled as they come. “Same here, Miss Captain. Though, you wouldn’t happen to have a raft stashed somewhere, would you? Just a small one.”
Gypsy lets out a snort, though it’s more exhaustion than amusement. “Sorry, mate, fresh out of them.”
“Oh, well,” he mutters, teeth clinking. “Thought I’d ask just in case.”
She smirks, just a hint of it, before her expression tightens. She looks over her shoulder at me.
“It’s not over yet!” she shouts. “We can still make it. Just need to dive for the sand, yeah?”
Easier said than done. But I nod. Whatever she needs, I’m her man. Sure, I feel like I might pass out myself, but one quick look around at our merry little band tells me all I need to know. I’m the only one making that dive.
Vini’s half-scared out of his mind, Fabien’s wrestling with ghosts, and Gypsy—she’s still shaking off that close call. So, yeah, that leaves me. And besides, who’s better at diving than a man who’s made the deep sea his playground?
“Anyone still got their seashell?” I ask, biting back a groan. “Lost mine when the wave hit.”
“I have mine,” Fabien says, his voice trembling as he holds up the item I’ll most likely have nightmares about. Normally, I’d make fun of the fact he’s scared. It makes him look like a human, after all. But right now? I wish he’d be a monster. Just this once, let the odds lean in our favor.
I take the seashell from his fingers and notice that it looks different from before. There are no longer little holes in it, and the outer edges are longer, making it more curved. It’s clearly shifted so I can dive and bring sand back on it.
“Good,” I mutter, stealing one last look at Gypsy. “I’ll dive. You three focus on reaching the hourglass.”
Our gazes lock. She knows as well as I do that there’s no room for heroics here, just cold logic. I’m the safe bet, and we both know it.
“Be careful,” she says, voice as sharp as it is soft. “And come back. We can’t do this without you.”
The urge to say I can’t do this without you claws its way up my throat, but I only nod, swallowing hard. “Count on it,” I say with a crooked grin. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Then, one last deep breath—and I plunge into the water. The ocean and I have gone a few rounds before, but this time, the stakes are higher. Much higher.
Down here, it’s darker than a pirate’s soul, the light from above snuffed out in seconds. I kick hard, forcing myself to descend deeper, eyes scouring the murk for any sign of that sand. The pressure builds in my ears, and the cold is nearly too much to handle, but I force myself to ignore it.
Still, I didn’t realize how deep the water runs here. Thought I’d only be fighting my way through three body lengths, maybe four. But it’s more than that. Much more.
I’m not making it without both hands, so I clamp the seashell between my teeth. It’s awkward, but it works, freeing me to claw my way downward.
The pressure’s ruthless. By the time my fingers dig into the sand, my head’s throbbing, my ears feel like they’ll split. But if it were anyone else, they’d have drowned by now.
I scoop a handful of sand, stuffing it into the shell and clutching it to my chest so it won’t slip out with the current. With a hard kick, I launch myself toward that glint up top—the teasing light of the surface.
My lungs are fire, my head’s pounding, but hell if I’ll let that stop me. How many more dives can I pull off like this? Maybe two, three if I’m feeling especially stupid. Anything beyond that, and I’m on the menu for the nearest fish.
Endurance isn’t my game, not usually—except down here, in the water. But even I can feel it now, that tight burn telling me I’m pushing the line. And yeah, maybe that’s the point. That’s what the goddess wants.
I kick hard, forcing my way up. And when I see it—the world above in a blurred glow—damn, it’s surreal. It’s always surreal. No matter how many times I’ve broken the surface from the edge of blacking out, it never fails to hit. It’s the second most beautiful sight in this world. Second, because nothing beats my girl sprawled out for me to worship.
The water around me is an endless press of darkness, all-consuming, but above, there’s that faint glimmer of light weaving in patterns, almost like starlight. Just out of reach.
Still, the swim is torturous.
Then, just when I swear my lungs might explode, I burst through the surface. I gulp down air like a damn lifeline, feeling the rush flood through me, dragging me back from the brink.
“Here!” I shout, holding up the shell packed with sand. My voice is weak, but it carries across the water to where Gypsy and the others are clinging to the pillar.
Fabien is right there to take the seashell from me. He swims to the gouge, extends his arm and spills the contents inside. The pillar grinds down, bit by bit—barely enough to see, just enough to remind me this is all part of the grind.
It’s gonna need more.
“Zayan.” Gypsy’s voice cuts through, quieter, sharper. “I need you to listen to me—very carefully. And you cannot panic, okay?”
Panic? The hell? Panic is the last thing on my mind. But her tone? That’s enough to have every nerve on high alert. Something’s definitely wrong.
“Please, Miss Captain…” Vinicola whimpers like he’s on the verge of melting.
“Shut it, Vini,” she snaps. “Don’t move. Don’t say a word.”
I try to take it all in, scanning every inch of this mess. Air barely filters back in as I take stock, my instincts firing up. What the hell’s going on here?
Vinicola stays pressed against the pillar, forehead practically glued to the stone, hiding like looking away will save him. Fabien, just beside him, clenches his jaw. His eyes dart left, right, quick and wary, like he’s waiting for something to hit.
Gypsy, though—her voice is calm, but it puts my nerves on edge in all the wrong ways. If anything, she’s making the little hairs on my neck stand out. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I shift, moving as little as possible.
Her eyes flick behind me, a flash of fear she barely hides. “Something’s in the water with us,” she says, steady but barely. “Something big. It’s been circling since you went down to grab that sand.”
Right. Okay. So something’s out there.
“What is it?” I ask, tension coiling tight in my gut.
“Vini said he saw a fin cutting through the water,” she says, her tone ice-cold.
“I-I did,” Vinicola mutters.
A fin? That could mean only one thing—sharks. It’s not that far off either. There’s no vegetation in the sea bed, we’re in an open sea with lost of visibility and space for sharks to hunt.
If anything, this is the perfect hunting ground for sharks. No hiding spots for the prey, no tangled seaweed or coral reefs to get in the way, just open water and vulnerable, exhausted swimmers.
As fucked up as it is, it doesn’t surprise me at all.
“How big was it, Vini?” I keep my voice light, like I’ve got this.
It’s okay.
Thing is, I’ve taken down sharks before. Hell, once I did it bare-handed. The tale I spun makes it sound like some heroic triumph—how I wrestled the beast down, sharp-toothed skin shredding under my grip, yadda yadda. Truth is, I got lucky. Really lucky. Brave, sure. Reckless, definitely. But mostly just dumb luck.
The skin of a shark’s like rubbing up against a bed of daggers, tough and sharp, like the thing’s built out of razors. Stabbing it underwater? Nearly impossible unless fate’s in your corner. That time? It was. The bastard got distracted by the taste of my own blood in the water, and when he grazed his side against the wreckage, thankfully it wasn’t wood he brushed against.
I can just hope that I’m lucky again.
“H-Huge,” Vinicola stammers. “At least f-four times the size of a man. Maybe bigger. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Fuck. Not okay. It’s not okay anymore.
Gypsy’s gaze locks onto mine. I catch that flicker of worry in her eyes—she’s putting up a front, but I see past it. “We need a plan,” she says, her voice tight, urgent. “We can’t just sit here waiting for it to strike.”
She’s right, of course. We’re sitting ducks, clinging to this pillar with no cover, no weapons, nothing but nerves to keep us company.
But that’s not even our biggest problem, is it now? I need to keep diving. The sand needs to be brought into the gouge.
“I’ll be on the move,” I say, feeling my pulse drum faster. “Sharks like movement, don’t they?” I turn to Fabien. “Hand over your sword, will you? Something tells me I’ll need it more than you.”
Fabien hesitates, hands gripping the hilt tight, his wide eyes flashing with fear. He’s supposed to be the big, hulking brute, but right now? I could destroy him in a moment.
Finally, he nods, his hand trembling as he passes the sword to me.
“Stick by the pillar, and don’t start flailing around,” I throw over my shoulder, words coming out steady, though my own nerves are itching to bolt. I don’t dare glance at Gypsy—catching her eye now would only make it worse, crank up that raw edge of fear to a deafening pitch.
They say sharks can smell fear in your blood. Can pick it up like a scent on the breeze. That’s why I don’t look Gypsy’s way. She’s my fear. So I do what I do best—I shove it down, keep my grip tight, and dive, sword in one hand, shell in the other.
The water closes around me, cool and dark, each heartbeat loud enough to count. My eyes stay wide open, scanning the depths for that dark shape Vinicola mentioned, the one lurking out there somewhere.
Turns out the chatterbox wasn’t lying. There it is—a hulking shadow cutting through the water, so big it could swallow me whole without even trying. I knew it would be massive, but seeing it up close? Hell, it’s a damn monster.
A pulse skips in my chest as the beast glides past, sleek and silent as death itself.
Alright, Zayan. No sudden moves.
I grip the hilt of my sword, knowing damn well it’s as useless. But if I can at least scratch this thing, maybe buy us a few extra breaths before it decides to make a meal of me.
It circles me slowly, as if it’s sizing me up, deciding when and how to strike. If I were in some other open waters, somewhere far away from the gateway, where apparently laws of nature do not really matter, I would probably just try to ignore it, do my thing and hope for the best.
Sharks don’t always try to attack. Sometimes, they circle out of curiosity, trying to figure out if you’re worth the effort. But this isn’t just any shark, and this isn’t the time to gamble.
When it comes closer, my heart leaps into my throat.
This isn’t just a shark. It indeed doesn’t belong to this world.
Its fins are elongated, almost too sharp to be natural. Its eyes are black with a pinpoint of white in the center, and there’s a mark etched into its forehead—a symbol, maybe even a rune. The Lady’s handiwork, no doubt. She sent this beast here.
I steady my breath, muscles taut. The thing’s so close now, I can feel the tremors it leaves in the water, a rumbling that practically shakes my bones. I tighten my grip on the sword, eyes on the beast’s massive head. I’ve got one shot at this—wherever the hell I’m supposed to aim.
It lunges, and I twist just in time, feeling its bulk skim past me, a force so powerful it’s like a current trying to drag me straight into its jaws.
Fuck.
But if there’s one bright spot here, it’s that I’m the one dealing with this beast, not Gypsy or the crew. As long as I just keep it up and somehow manage to bring them the sand, I won’t have any regrets, no matter what happens.
I grit my teeth, pushing down the instinct to panic as it circles back, black eyes fixed on me like I’m its last meal. My mind races, searching for any plan, any advantage, but let’s be honest: it’s just me, a sword, and whatever guts I can muster.
Alright, Zayan…time to make history or feed the fish.
I go limp, letting myself drift just a little, loosening my grip on the sword as though I’m struggling to stay afloat. I release the breath I’m holding, as though I’m struggling to stay conscious. It wouldn’t work on a normal shark. They don’t understand such things. But maybe this one…?
The shark slows its circling, perhaps sensing an opportunity.
Then it surges, mouth wide open. At the last second, I twist, using its own momentum to propel myself up and over its ugly head. With everything I’ve got, I bring the sword down.
The blade scrapes along its hide—a scratch more than anything—but it’s enough. The beast jerks back, startled, and I can’t help but grin. These things have sensors packed around their heads; a heartbeat, a flick of the fin, they sense it all. So while I didn’t give him something to cry home about, I’ve put him off balance.
Two minutes. That’s all I need to break the surface, grab a breath, and go for the sand again.
I can only hope it will be enough.
I take my chance, pushing myself upward. Cold air slams into me as I hit the surface, filling my lungs like I’m breathing for the first time. Voices call out from the pillar, distant and drowned by the roar of the waves and my own heartbeat.
I turn, searching for the pillar and spot them clinging to the stone.
“Thanks for the sword, Rancour!” I shout, swimming over, panting.
“Appreciate the sword, Rancour!” I shout, cutting through the water toward them. I toss the sword back, catching Rancour’s baffled look before diving back in.
As I go under, I hear him yell, “We think we need one more!”
One more dive. Alright. Got it.
Again, I don’t let myself glance Gypsy’s way. I could feel her eyes boring into me when I surfaced. I could also hear the gasp of relief she made. It made my heart warm in the iciness of it all. But my fight is not over yet, and I don’t want to find myself drowning in those brown depths of hers.
There’ll be time for that afterward.
I grit my teeth on the seashell, setting myself for the dive. This time, the descent feels longer, heavier, like the water’s closing in faster. There’s definitely more of it this time—keeps pouring in down here, though it doesn’t seem like it at the surface.
Pressure builds, twisting and grinding down. Haven’t even reached the seabed, and already my ears are threatening to split open.
Come on, Zayan. One more. Just one more dive.
Truth is, I’ve never really figured out my limits. Can’t say I ever cared to. I know I can hold my breath for a solid nine minutes—longer than most. But how deep can I go? That’s more of a play-it-by-ear situation.
Roche used to bark warnings at me, lecturing on safety as if he hadn’t been the one who shoved me in the water the first chance he got. “Don’t push too far, boy.” he’d say. “You never know your breaking point until you’re alone at the bottom.”
Even now, sinking into the dark, I don’t know if I’ll make it back. Not sure how much further I need to go, either. But I’ve always been good at testing limits. So I streamline, tilt my head down, tongue pressed just behind my teeth, waiting for that pop in my ears—the only sign I’m not about to get crushed.
Then there it is: the seabed, stretching out like an endless, shadowy monster waiting to swallow me whole. I plunge my hands into the sand, hoping this’ll be the last damn time for a while, and grab as much as I can. My fingers go numb, but I cram it into the shell, pockets, into my very fists. Anything. As long as I take the most I can.
And just as I kick off, a sharp pain spikes through my nose, followed by a burst of warmth.
Ah, hell.
Diving down here is one thing. Fighting a shark? Another. But sinking this deep with a bloodied nose and one of those oversized nightmares lurking somewhere nearby? Brilliant, Zayan. Absolutely brilliant.
You’re a fucking dead man, Cagney.
I shove the tang of blood out of my mind, adrenaline spiking as I hammer my legs upward, hoping to hell the hit I threw distracted the beast enough that it doesn’t catch on to the scent too fast. My eardrums are screaming, the darkness closing in like jaws. The whole time, I feel just one second away from losing consciousness.
And it doesn’t help that the way up feels like eternity stretched thin. My lungs are on fire, my throat ready to collapse.
It’s only when I spot that faint glimmer of light above me that a flicker of sense claws its way back. With what’s left in me, I drive upward. The last stretch is nothing but desperation and raw agony. Then, somehow, I’m back at the surface. Somehow .
The thing is… everything’s a dizzy haze, black spots all over. I don’t know if I’m gasping or if my body’s forgotten how, and the world spins so hard I’m not sure I even made it up.
It’s only when someone starts pulling me, do I know I’m really here. The sand is taken out of my hand, my head is being held in warm hands, and soon I feel something cold and hard against my back.
“Is he alright?” A voice, soft, shaky—a man’s.
“Just throw the damn sand in!” Another, rougher, cutting through the fog in my head.
I don’t know what happens next. Everything is a blur. I sense lips on mine—familiar, like coming home. Then I’m down, flat on my back, feeling the sand against me and those hands, firm on my shoulders, shaking me back to the surface of awareness.
Hands grip my shoulders, shaking me gently. I know I should reciprocate somehow; I should say something perhaps, but the darkness keeps pulling me under.
“You made it, Zayan.” That voice… no mistaking it. My Gypsy. A faint grin tugs at my lips before I even register it. Her. My woman. “You made it.”
Those words? They spark something, dragging a trace of light into the black. Enough to form one clear thought:
I made it. This time, I saved her. I didn’t lose her again.
Pure relief. Happiness. A balm to my pain. A victory.
I let it all sink in.
And with that, the darkness takes me again.