Chapter Twenty-Nine
Farah
The sea did not sleep.
It shifted and breathed beneath them like something alive, vast and watchful.
Its dark surface rolled in long, heavy swells that stretched to the edges of the horizon.
Farah stood at the bow of the Parataxis, her fingers curled tightly around the damp wood of the railing as wind tore through her hair and cloak, biting through every layer she wore.
They had been sailing for days. Long enough for the rhythm of the ship to settle into her bones, long enough for the tension to coil tight in her chest without release.
The fleet had spread wide across the eastern waters—ten ships under Kire’s command, five more from Hespali trailing behind like silent shadows.
Sails cut against the sky in jagged lines, a moving army carved into the sea. And still, it had been too quiet.
Farah had learned long ago that silence was not peace, it was always a warning.
The first sign came not with sound, but with absence.
The wind shifted, subtle at first—just a stutter in its steady howl—but enough to draw Farah’s attention as her eyes narrowed toward the horizon.
The waves began to move differently, their rhythm disrupted, as if something beneath the surface had changed course.
Then came the bell. A sharp, urgent clang that split through the air.
“Ships!” someone shouted from the crow’s nest. “Starboard side!”
Farah turned sharply and they emerged like ghosts.
Black sails with two silver crossed snakes cut through the gray horizon, rising from the mist in a slow, deliberate line.
Not one or two—but more than Farah could count on her hands.
Hulls low and sleek, darker than the sea itself, their movement unnaturally smooth as they closed the distance.
A chill slid down Farah’s spine. “Hades,” she muttered.
The name felt wrong in her mouth now—heavier than before, more real. Like the moment his power thrummed throughout Odessia when he returned. Behind her, boots struck the deck in rapid succession.
Kire moved like the storm itself, eyes sharp and alive as she took in the approaching fleet with something dangerously close to excitement.
“Well,” she said, voice carrying easily over the wind, “there they are.”
Chloe appeared at Farah’s side, already armed, her expression set and focused. “Is it a scouting party?”
“No,” Kire agreed, a grin pulling at her lips. “It’s a slaughter. They had to have known we were coming.”
That was impossible. There was no way Hades could have known, and if there was a blockade between Hespali and Nexos she would have received word from other Nexian spies or, Fates, Nikolaos himself.
The air shifted again, the same scent of decay and carrion from below the mountain. Then chaos erupted.
“Battle positions!” Kire barked, her voice snapping across the deck like a whip. “Archers to the rails! Prepare to turn into the wind! We aren’t running away from that bastard’s fleet.”
The Parataxis lurched as the crew sprang into motion, ropes pulled taut, sails shifting to catch the sudden change in direction. Their own fleet responded in kind, ships angling themselves into formation as the distance between them and the oncoming enemy closed rapidly.
The pull of power beneath Farah’s skin itched, begging to be let loose. The familiar burn of it snaking its way through her veins fueled her every movement as she ran to the rail.
The first volley came without warning. Flaming arrows streaked across the sky, cutting through the wind in blazing arcs before slamming into the deck of the ship beside them.
Wood splintered, scattering in every direction.
Fire caught instantly in the barrels along the starboard side of the Parataxis, devouring rope and sail alike.
“Return fire!” Kire roared.
The sky filled with movement—arrows, bolts, and something darker—something unnatural. The enemy ships moved faster than they should have, gliding across the waves with an eerie precision that made Farah’s stomach twist.
A familiar hand gripped Farah’s arm, shaking from more than the rattle of the ship. “Something’s wrong,” Chloe said under her breath.
The first enemy ship slammed into one of the pirate vessels with a deafening crack, wood colliding with wood as grappling hooks were thrown across the gap, biting into railings and masts.
Men poured across the lines like shadows, weapons flashing in the dim light, their movements too coordinated, too precise.
“Don’t you dare,” Chloe started.
“Don’t worry, little wolf, I’ll be alright.” She bent down gripping Chloe’s cheeks in both hands and leaned in for a deep kiss. “We will have more time, that I will make sure of.”
Without thought, Farah lunged. The rope burned against her palms as she swung across the gap between ships, boots slamming into the enemy deck with enough force to rattle her bones. The moment she landed, she released her power.
Black flame erupted from her hands. It tore through the air in violent tendrils, slamming into the first wave of soldiers and sending them sprawling backward, their bodies consumed in smoke and fire that did not burn like normal flame.
It devoured, and Farah reveled in each life she took.
Screams split the air and still Farah didn’t stop.
For her future—for Chloe’s future—she wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left to her but an empty shell.
And even then, she would pull the sword from her hilt and go down swinging.
With every step, her onyx veins spiraled up her arms, moving toward her chest. She wove through the enemy like a storm, her magic lashing outward in sharp, controlled bursts, smoke coiling around her limbs as she struck again and again.
Steel clashed around her, the sound of blades ringing out over the roar of the sea as more fighters crossed between ships, swinging from ropes, leaping across broken railings.
The world blurred into motion and violence.
Across the water, another explosion. Farah turned just in time to see one of Kire’s ships buckle.
Its hull split clean through, fire consuming what remained as the mast snapped and fell into the sea. The ship tilted, then sank—dragged beneath the surface in a violent, churning pull that swallowed both wood and men alike.
“Shit,” she breathed, pausing for a moment.
That was a mistake. A blade came for her throat. She twisted, catching the strike on the haft of her weapon before driving her knee into the attacker’s chest and sending him overboard. Another followed. And another. They did not stop coming. Until the sea itself rose.
Farah felt it before she saw it—a shift beneath her feet, a tremor that ran through the water and into the hull of every ship in its path.
The waves surged in an unnatural way. Water reared upward in towering walls, curling in on themselves as if guided by an unseen hand.
The sea answered—not to the wind, not to the moon—but to her.
Farah whipped back toward her own ship. Kire stood at the helm of the Parataxis, arms raised, her entire body thrumming with power.
Her eyes matched the swirling abyss of the wake beneath the ship.
The sea bent to her will. It coiled around her like a living thing, rising and crashing in violent bursts that slammed into the enemy ships, tearing them apart with a force that no storm could match.
So, she was the infamous sea witch after all. Kire turned slightly, as if she had heard the thought itself, and for a brief moment, her eyes met Farah’s across the chaos. She smiled—wicked, ancient, terrifying. Then she brought the sea down.
A massive wave crashed into one of Hades’ ships, splintering it in half as men were thrown screaming into the depths.
Another followed. And another. The tide turned and Farah used it to her advantage.
She surged forward, magic burning hotter, darker, as she carved a path through what remained of the crew.
Smoke curled thick around her, obscuring her movements until she reached the center of the ship.
The captain stood there, hands outstretched, unmoving. His eyes were the same washed ebony that she saw in her father, in Kohl, when they used their power. Blood trickled from his hands, swirling like snakes around his body.
“You serve him,” Farah said, her voice low.
He smiled. “And one day, you will too.”
Farah didn’t hesitate. She threw out her power, wrapping smokey black around his limbs to hold him in place. Then she lunged until he was on his knees, blood staining the deck beneath him as Farah pulled her blade and held it to his throat.
“Don’t kill him!” Chloe’s voice cut through the noise as she landed beside her. “He could be useful,” Chloe added, breathless but firm.
Farah exhaled sharply, then lowered her blade just enough. “Know this, there will be no mercy when we are done with you,” she hissed.
Around them, the battle began to die. The remaining enemy ships pulled back, retreating into the mist from which they had come, leaving behind wreckage, bodies, and the burning remains of what had once been a fleet.
Farah stood there, chest heaving, the weight of it all pressing down on her as the adrenaline began to fade. She looked around, counting what ships remained of their fleet. All Avra’s ships still soared over the wake, though two had snapped foremasts.
Only one ship lost, but at what cost?
Behind her, Kire’s voice rang out once more, commanding what remained of her crew. “Bind him,” she ordered. “We’ll see what secrets he carries.”
Farah glanced back at the captured captain, then out across the dark water stretching endlessly before them.
War had found them.
And it would not let go.