Chapter 13
Nerina
The Forgotten Trench
We reached the ledge just before the trench swallowed the last of the light.
A narrow outcrop carved from stone, slick with mist and moss, it jutted from the cliffside like a broken tooth.
The Black Marrow anchored in silence—no oars creaked, no ropes groaned.
Since the Leviathan’s retreat, not a soul dared speak.
Even the sea seemed to still. The usual chorus of waves and rigging had fallen away, replaced by a thick, unnatural quiet that pressed against the ears like weight.
The ledge wasn’t the destination—just the only place the Marrow could anchor.
Alaric’s hand shot out, fingers biting around my wrist.
“I don't think so,” he said, low and final. “You’ll stay aboard.”
I yanked free, heat flashing through me. “You’ll have to chain me to the helm to keep me here.”
His eyes narrowed, storm-gray and dangerous. “Don’t test me.”
I stepped in close, fire meeting thunder. “And don’t mistake me for one of your crew who’ll bow and scrape because you snarl.”
His lips pulled into a grim line, but I saw the war in his gaze—fear and fury knotted tight. “Saints,” His voice roughened. “You’ll be the death of me.”
The silence between us hummed until at last he cursed under his breath and turned toward the rail.
“Fine.” His voice was rough. “You can come. But you’ll listen to me—every word. You do exactly as I say.”
I gave a shallow bow, lips curling in a smile that wasn’t sweet in the least. “Aye, Captain. As you command.” The words dripped more mockery than promise.
The crew moved with reverent precision, still shaken, still bloodied.
They lit lanterns to push back the suffocating dark.
Their flickering glow barely penetrated the mist clinging to the ship, casting long, wavering shadows across jagged rock.
The light felt fragile—too easily swallowed by the trench’s looming presence—but it was better than complete darkness.
The ledge stretched like a narrow spine along the cliffside, barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. Jagged rock walls loomed high on one side while the other dropped away into blackness, the sea below invisible beneath a curtain of mist. Each step felt like crossing into another world—older, darker, less forgiving.
Moisture clung to every surface, slick and treacherous, and the wind carried no scent, no sound. Only a suffocating stillness.
The idea of venturing deeper on foot made my stomach knot. I would be slower than the rest. A liability. An easy target should something decide whether to strike again. Worse, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the ground itself resented my presence—like the trench knew I didn’t belong here.
I wasn’t used to my newfound legs—my sense of orientation still tuned to tides and currents, not this rigid earth beneath my feet.
Each step was a negotiation with gravity, a betrayal of the sea’s embrace.
My limbs ached in places I hadn’t known existed.
Where I once flowed, I now stumbled. It felt like learning a new dance in the middle of a war zone—clumsy, exposed, one misstep from disaster.
On land, I was clumsy. Heavy. Each step felt borrowed, as though the ground might reject me at any moment. Even on the ship, with its creaking boards and rolling deck, I’d had to learn how to move again. The ocean cradled me. The ship tested me. The land—
The land endured me.
My calves trembled with every step, and the borrowed boots made the stone feel tilted, like the world itself wanted me back in the water.
Alaric had insisted I wear them— “You’re not running around barefoot,” he’d snapped—but they were more hindrance than help. My balance wobbled, my muscles strained, every shift of weight sending a strange jolt up my spine.
I wasn’t just awkward. I was unnatural.
A creature caught halfway between worlds.
With packs secured, the crew began the trek.
Torches flickered as we picked our way deeper, the only sounds the shuffle of boots on damp stone and the occasional creak of shifting rock.
The tension was thick—unspoken, but palpable.
Shoulders stayed rigid, hands rested too close to weapons, and every sudden sound had heads snapping toward the shadows.
No one spoke of the unease settling in their chests, but it clung to all of us just the same, sinking into the marrow of our bones.
The Black Marrow waited in the distance, its silhouette flickering through the mist like a mirage barely tethered to this world.
Lanterns swayed from its rigging, their glow like low-hanging stars against the trench’s gloom.
Somewhere above, a faint creak echoed—a sound I recognized.
The smell of brine and old wood grounded me, a lifeline to something familiar.
And for a moment, it felt like the ship was calling us back, its lanterns dim beacons cutting through the unnatural mist, promising a fragile sense of safety—if we could reach it in time.
The deeper we ventured, the more it felt like we were chasing ghosts, following a trail that had long gone cold. The air was thick and damp, carrying the scent of brine and something older—something that didn’t belong. Every instinct in me screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Small caves and crevices punctuated the rock, their mouths dark and yawning—silent watchers in the stone.
It was in one of these that I made a sound for the first time in hours. Not from magic or monsters, but from something far more personal.
Too many legs. Too many eyes.
The creature dropped from the ceiling with a sound like damp silk unfurling, landing on a stone just inches from my boot. It looked like some nightmarish sea urchin crossed with a crab—covered in pale, downy fur, its legs ending in delicate, translucent tips that clicked softly on the stone.
Enormous violet eyes gleamed like polished gemstones, blinking independently as it turned to stare at me.
Not just stare.
Assess.
I shrieked. Part of me knew how ridiculous it was, but the other part—the girl inside who had never walked on land, never seen anything with so many legs and eyes—was simply overwhelmed.
The too-big boots skidded uselessly against the rock as I scrambled back, wide-eyed and flailing, pointing at the thing in pure horror.
Alaric spun, sword half-drawn, then blinked once at the creature, rolled his eyes, and sighed in exaggerated dismay. “Saints’ teeth, Nerina—it’s just a cave crawler. Harmless.”
I gasped, chest heaving.
He sheathed his sword with a smirk. “You’ve stared down bloodthirsty sirens and a Leviathan, but that little fluffball rattles you?”
“That ‘fluffball’ has eyes on its eyes!”
Alaric snorted, already turning away with a shake of his head.
He just shook his head and kept walking. “Heavens help me. That’s just a damn spider. You’re lucky it wasn’t a trench eel—we’d be scraping you off the ceiling.”
I shuddered and hurried to catch up, feeling slightly ridiculous. Still—I wasn’t sorry. Only truly horrible creatures chose to call the trench home.
I wondered how these caves had formed, whether they were carved by slow erosion or if something had hollowed them out with purpose. The thought sent a chill down my spine. If something had made these tunnels, was it still inside?
We passed a small cave—smaller than the rest, its mouth just wide enough to slip through—and something darted back into shadow. My breath hitched. Had I imagined it? A trick of torchlight?
Still, unease prickled down my spine. These weren’t just hollow spaces carved by time, they felt like entrances.
Like doors waiting to open. Some were cramped; others yawned wide enough to swallow ships.
Deep, deliberate gouges scarred the stone—claw marks too symmetrical for erosion, too patient to be accidental.
The longer I stared, the more certain I became:
Something had made these tunnels.
And something probably still lived inside.
Alaric led us through cave after cave with grim purpose, but there was more than grit in his step—there was obsession.
An unspoken compulsion tugged at him like a current he couldn’t swim against. He examined each glyph, each broken relic, as though the answer might reveal itself if he stared long enough.
I wasn’t sure he even knew what he was chasing.
Maybe he thought he could outpace his past.
When I asked what he hoped to find, he didn’t meet my eyes. Just muttered, “Sometimes the sea buries things the gods didn’t mean to lose.”
After a pause, I pressed. “But why here? Why come back to a place you have such bad memories from?”
He hesitated, then finally said, “Because this is where it all started. The curse. This life. The questions that still keep me up at night. I thought if I came back, maybe I’d finally find the piece I missed—the truth that slipped through my fingers.”
Curse.
The word hit like a stone dropped in still water. I didn’t know what I’d expected—but not that. A chill traced my spine.
He flinched slightly, and I caught the look of someone who had said too much. He didn’t take it back.
I studied him in the dim light, uncertain. “All of this—these relics, the markings—what are they? Why are they here?”
His voice was low. “The trench was once a vault—not just for relics. You just have to look. To listen. To feel. It doesn’t just hold what’s lost. It reflects what you carry. Desire, regret…” His mouth tightened. “Sometimes, it answers.”
I stepped closer, my voice fraying. “Then tell me what the hell you’re actually saying. Who’s leading us? What’s this trail you keep talking about? No more riddles.”
His expression tightened, but he didn’t look away.
“Last time I was here,” he said slowly, “it felt like the trench was pulling me toward something. Like it knew what I needed. And just when I was close, she—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching.
Whatever memory surfaced, he wasn’t willing to share the rest.
Not yet.