The narrow escape from Commander Varik Blackthorn’s fleet left both the Iron Serpent and the Gilded Siren limping through the dark waters. Repairs were underway on both ships, but the mood among the crews was grim. The encounter had made it clear: they were no longer hunting treasure alone. They were being hunted.


    Maren stood at the ship’s helm, her hands gripping the wheel tightly as the battered ship pushed forward through the waves. The night air was sharp with salt, and the cries of seagulls announced the approach of land. Ahead, the jagged outline of a desolate island rose out of the sea, its cliffs shrouded in mist.


    Draven’s voice crackled through the speaking tube connecting the two ships. “We’ll take refuge here, Maren. The crews need rest, and we need to plan our next move.” She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Agreed. Let’s make it quick; Blackthorn won’t give us much time before he comes after us again.”


    The island was an ominous sight, even in daylight. Its craggy cliffs were riddled with caves, and the dense forest that covered its interior seemed unnaturally still. The only sounds were the distant crash of waves against the rocks and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.


    Maren led her crew ashore, her boots sinking into the coarse sand. Beside her, Brina and Ronan carried weapons, their eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of danger. “I don’t like this place,” Brina muttered, gripping the hilt of her sword. “Feels... wrong.” “Most places we visit feel wrong,” Ronan replied with a grin. “It’s part of the job.”


    Maren ignored them, her focus on the path ahead. The map fragment tucked into her coat held their next destination: a series of coordinates etched alongside cryptic runes. According to Draven, the coordinates pointed toward the Sea of Maelstrom, a treacherous stretch of water where no sane sailor ventured willingly.


    “We’ll set up camp here for the night,” Maren said, gesturing to a clearing near the base of the cliffs. “But keep watch. This island might be uninhabited, but I don’t trust it.” By evening, the crews of the Iron Serpent and the Gilded Siren had established a makeshift camp. Fires flickered in the clearing, and the smell of roasting fish wafted through the air.


    The sailors, though weary, swapped stories and jokes as they ate, their laughter a welcome reprieve from the day’s tension. In the centre of the camp, Maren and Draven pored over the map fragment, their expressions grim. The runes surrounding the coordinates glowed faintly in the firelight, their meaning elusive.


    “The Sea of Maelstroms,” Draven said, tracing a finger over the map. “It’s a death trap. Even if we survive the storms and whirlpools, there are rumours of... other things lurking there.” “Other things?” Maren asked, raising an eyebrow. Draven smirked faintly. “Sea serpents, spectral ships, creatures that drag you beneath the waves.


    The usual.” “Charming,” Maren muttered. “But if the next fragment is there, we don’t have a choice. Blackthorn will keep coming, and if he gets his hands on the vault before we do." Draven nodded. “Then we’d better prepare. The Maelstroms aren’t just dangerous; they’re unpredictable.


    We’ll need supplies, reinforced rigging, and a plan for keeping the ships intact in those waters.” As the night deepened, Maren walked the perimeter of the camp, her thoughts heavy. The Sea of Maelstroms was a gamble, one she wasn’t sure they could win. But she had no choice.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    She stopped near the edge of the forest, gazing out at the dark sea beyond. The waves glittered faintly under the moonlight, but something about the scene made her uneasy. “Maren.” She turned to see Ronan approaching, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “What is it?” she asked. “Thought you should know,” Ronan said, his voice low.


    “A few of the men are spooked. They’ve been hearing... noises.” “Noises?” Ronan nodded. “Voices. Whispers, coming from the trees. I haven’t heard anything myself, but enough of them have that it’s worth mentioning.” Maren’s hand went to the hilt of her rapier. “We’ll keep watch. If something’s out there, I want to know about it.”


    The first scream shattered the night. Maren bolted upright, her hand already on her weapon, as chaos erupted around the camp. Shadows moved in the flickering firelight, their shapes too fast and too fluid to be human. “Form up!” she shouted, rallying her crew. Brina was already on her feet, her massive sword cleaving through one of the shadows.


    It let out a guttural screech before dissolving into smoke, leaving behind only a faint, acrid smell. “What are these things?” Brina shouted. “Does it matter?” Ronan called back, his twin blades flashing as he cut down another shadow. The creatures swarmed the camp, their forms shifting between solid and insubstantial.


    They attacked with clawed hands and jagged weapons, their movements unnervingly precise. Maren fought her way to the centre of the camp, her rapier slicing through the nearest shadow. The blade glowed faintly as it struck, and the creature recoiled with a hiss. “Draven!” she shouted, spotting him near the edge of the clearing.


    “What are these things?” “Wraiths,” Draven said grimly, his silver eyes gleaming as he fought. “Spirits bound to the island. They don’t like trespassers.” “Fantastic,” Maren muttered. The battle raged on, but the wraiths showed no signs of stopping. For everyone they cut down, two more seemed to take its place.


    “We can’t hold them off forever!” Brina yelled, blood running down her arm. Maren’s gaze darted toward the Gilded Siren, anchored just offshore. The Stone of Infinity glowed faintly within its protective casing, its energy radiating outward.


    “That’s it,” she said, her voice sharp. “The stone’s energy might repel them!”


    She shouted orders to her crew, rallying them toward the beach. One by one, they retreated to the ships, fending off the wraiths as they went. As the last of the crew clambered aboard, Maren ran to the engine room, her heart pounding. The stone pulsed with light, its energy humming in the enclosed space.


    “Overload it,” she told Brina, who had followed her below deck. “You sure about this?” Brina asked, her brow furrowed. “No,” Maren admitted. “But it’s our only chance.” Brina nodded grimly and began adjusting the mechanisms around the stone. The hum grew louder, the light brighter, until the entire ship seemed to tremble with the force of it.


    Above deck, the wraiths let out unearthly screams as the stone’s energy surged outward in a blinding wave of light. When the light faded, the clearing was empty. The wraiths were gone. By dawn, the crews of both ships were exhausted but alive. The fires in the clearing had burnt out, leaving only smouldering embers and scorched earth.


    Maren stood at the bow of the Gilded Siren, staring out at the forest. “Wraiths,” she muttered. “As if we didn’t have enough problems.” Draven joined her, his expression as grim as hers. “The closer we get to the vault, the more danger we’ll face. The legends weren’t exaggerating.”


    Maren nodded, her grip tightening on the rail. “Then we’d better be ready. Because if this is what’s guarding the first clue, I can’t imagine what’s waiting for us at the vault itself.” Draven smirked faintly. “You’re still determined, aren’t you?” “More than ever,” Maren said.


    As the ships set sail once more, heading toward the Sea of Maelstroms, Maren couldn’t shake the feeling that the wraiths were only the beginning. The path to the Vault of Alerion was growing darker, and the shadows that followed them were closing in.