The Ever-Wound: Shadows of Aga'Soth: Shadows of Aga'Soth

By Tyler J Smith

A new sword and sorcery fantasy series from launches with The Ever-Wound: Shadows of Aga'Soth. In the magic-filled world of Neurothos, a young devil-born nature druid named Daaristan must combat her inner demons to unlock her full potential. Meanwhile, an older elf named Ekija is called back to his home town when tragedy strikes. Having

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vinx Terranova
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218386009

Book preview

The Ever-Wound

Shadows of Aga’Soth

The Ever-Wound

Shadows of Aga’Soth

By: Tyler Smith

Copyright © 2024 by Tyler Smith

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 979-8-218-38600-9

Contents

Map: The Isles of Eyber

Map: Texterra

Prologue 1: Daaristan

Prologue 2: Ekija

Chapter 1: Maris Sunstrider

Chapter 2: Ti’ah

Chapter 3: Alvera’s Isle

Chapter 4: Kaladomo

Chapter 5: Ravenholm

Chapter 6: The Cage of Faith

Chapter 7: Ruins of Shaldara

Chapter 8: The Isles of Eyber

Chapter 9: Bulgroc

Chapter 10: The Crimson Eyber

Chapter 11: Zenaecus Whitewane

Chapter 12: The Path of Nirzog

Chapter 13: Ebonvale

Chapter 14: Xramera

Chapter 15: No Hope

Chapter 16: Zaezu

Chapter 17: Ascending Avernus

Prologue 1

Daaristan

Fire.

The blazing embers and tormenting flames whip through the wind and scorch the mid-summer air. The scattered wicker houses that line the beach groan with orange anger and black smoke. Broken screams of the red-skinned inferni pursued by larger flesh and bone abominations ring into the air. These devils stink of the three hells they crawled out of. Mass confusion and panic slows time to a standstill.

Malmora is a beautiful village on a small, lonely island named after its volcano somewhere near the continent of Viresia. The once-white sands that littered the beach and mainland are now soiled to a dull gray. Ash drifts down slowly from the darkened skyline. The village lines the coastline, consisting of a small peninsula adorned with three rows of thatched wooden huts. The houses along the neighboring bay provide a cozy and comfortable home. Palm trees and other light vegetation reach out from the deeper soil that nourishes near the volcano’s base.

The village is run by a local warlord who exploits its people, stealing their food and labor for ‘protection.’ However, the only protection needed is from him and his syndicate. The warlord, Kaimenos, occasionally comes by to keep the village in line. This means bullying anyone brave enough to stand out. He hopes that fear will hold them hostage to their mind, and it works for the most part. Any idea of a militia is usually disbanded by either fear of failure or fear of getting caught before they find enough members to fight back.

Dragons also pass by on their migration patterns. Their powerful presence looming above usually sends the city into an uproar of terror, though very few ever land. Daaristan grew to fear these usually misunderstood beasts. She’s seen only a handful up close. Their dreadful eyes pierce through any visage of bravery she puts forth.

Malmora has seen several tragedies. Whether from dragons or Kaimenos, Malmora always recovers. She stands firmly along with her people. A desperate escape from hells long ago sent them to find this refuge, but with each tragedy, the people rebuild even stronger than before. Peaceful nights of dancing and pounding drums of music and tiki torches thunder from the beach into the nearby ocean. The people of Malmora aren’t afraid to be heard. Their graceful and kind hearts will resonate out into the universe.

But none of the peace is in Malmora on this bright day.

Young Daaristan and her parents huddle together near the hovel’s rear door. They linger in anticipation of the opportune moment when the devils are distracted.

Her father is a yellow-skinned devil variant called an Inferni. Inferni usually have at least two curved horns atop the head, and sometimes a tail and hooves decorate these humanoid creatures; each sub-race varies. Her father has two straight, long horns that jut backward out from his shaggy brown hair, one tail, and no hooves – instead, he has two humanoid feet. His thin appearance and present smile radiates a kind aura to all who encounter him.

Daaristan’s mother, on the other hand, is a common red-skinned inferni with two circular curved horns spiraling out from her head, two forked tails, but also no hooves. Her mother’s long black hair is fixed into a messy bun. Daaristan’s father is a fisherman, which makes her mother the fighter of the family.

Her mother’s form is much taller and muscular than her father’s. Her skin is fierce and seasoned to a constant focus of danger. Her brow is fixed narrowly to betray her analysis of everything happening in the environment. She’s always loud and confident in her words.

Daaristan’s appearance takes after her mother, a young, beautiful red-skinned inferni with long, seaweed-green hair. She bears two small horns that barely jut about two inches from her skull. Her eyes are a dim, glowing turquoise. She also inherited the two tails, which are a bright amber color at the tips. Her specialty is from her mom’s side as well. Her grandmother was a druid. Having been born with the magical gift, she honored her grandma and became her pupil.

Her mother unsheathes her intricate silver elvish blade as she peeks through the door opening. The blade looks too clean, almost decorative, with strange engravings and runes along the hilt. Her knuckles glow white from gripping it so tightly.

The quiet streets bark back into a squall of chatter from the devils, finding a new hidden victim. Daaristan and her family recoil and close the door again until only her mother can peek out.

Momma? she quietly cries out after noticing the surrounding area grow silent after a moment, thinking her mom hadn’t noticed.

I know. One second, dear, her mother replies, opening the door a few more inches briefly to see more of the chaos outside. Okay, here’s the plan. She looks back to meet the eyes of her terrified family, I’m going to open the door. I want you guys to run to Ebdoes' butcher shop. In the back, there should be a small crawl space under the stairs. No matter what happens, you keep moving. If we separate, you keep moving and don’t look back.

Momma, but why are they here? Who’s doing this?

Looks like Kaimenos hired some extra muscle. These are actual devils of Avernus. They are dangerous, Daar, so please don’t fight.

Her mother and father meet eyes. He gives her a curious look as if she’s withholding information, but her glance quickly cuts through his probing face, returning his expression to dread.

Okay, ready? Go! she says as she swings open the door. She gives Daaristan a gentle push and stays inside to follow behind them.

Her father runs outside, his bare feet kicking up sand as he moves swiftly across the ground. He leaps over the lifeless body of a familiar inferni. Daaristan follows close behind and leaps over the same body. There’s a moment of hesitation before she jumps as she recognizes her friend’s corpse, but her mother’s nudging presence from behind ushers her along.

The streets are nearly unrecognizable.

Blood, bodies, and debris litter the streets. There’s a sour smell of hell and decaying flesh that was hidden while within the hovel that makes Daaristan throw up in her mouth. She wants to pull over and let the lumps of unknown refuse fall from her mouth, but she doesn’t, given the urgency. She swallows hard. As the sting of acid burns her throat for a moment, it gives her something else to put her mind on.

Daaristan looks back and sees the familiar form of Kaimenos next to a dozen or so cages filled with dirt and tear-covered inferni. Strange red, black, and white variant devils of spines, bones, and wings usher them inside. Some of the smaller devils poke the prisoners and cackle at their torment.

Luckily, the family isn’t spotted.

The three of them make it safely and quickly under the steps. Huddled in fear, their curious, wandering eyes scan for sounds and life. After a moment, the devils’ cries move closer as the violent village runs out of abled bodies. It seems those who resist get cut down, and those who surrender become a slave. Neither seems like an option.

Her mother looks into Daaristan’s eyes for a moment.

I need you to listen. Okay, Daar? There are not enough people getting the devils’ attention now. I doubt we’ll make it any farther without being caught. We can’t fight nor outrun them, she pauses as a tear rolls down her cheek. She bites her tongue, trying to be strong. The words still come out shaky. You’re my little red ruby, you know that? I love you so much.

She cups Daaristan’s face with her hands and hugs her close. Daaristan’s shaking form squeezes against the solid form of her mother. For a moment, courage radiates off her and into Daaristan. She’s resilient and unwavering. There’s a strength within her that Daaristan didn’t know she had.

Daaristan aspires to be like her one day, even if that day is not today.

Her mother presses her forehead to her husband’s head, and a few more tears roll down. A few tears dampen Daaristan’s hair as they all hug quietly under the stairs.

Please, Mom, don’t go, she begs, refusing to let go, but her mother nods to her husband, who pries her grip free.

Andromeda, you must stay strong. We will find each other once this is over, he says firmly, determination in his voice, as if willing it to be true.

"I love you. Aef lauwn dae," she leans over and kisses his forehead.

"I’ll find you," he mimics in Totm.

Without another word, Andromeda peers out briefly, then rushes into the vacant streets. Her silent tears drop into the stained sand as she moves. She doesn’t look back once, though it takes every fiber of her being not to. It takes everything she has to resist the tug of love. If she turns around and tries to remember their faces one last time, it feels like she’s already admitting defeat. She will see them again. There’s no need to try to remember them more.

The once blazing torrents of flame subside into constant plumes of gray smoke. The crackle of embers and murmurs of distant devils talking can be heard as Daaristan’s heart pounds and pulses into her ears.

Her dad holds Daaristan a moment longer until Andromeda is out of sight. He takes her hands and squeezes them gently. You must be brave, Daar. You’re the bravest little girl I know. You’re going to have to be even braver for a few more minutes. Can you do that for me?

Daaristan nods and wipes her face.

They wait a moment before they hear Andromeda make a commotion far off in the distance, screaming and knocking over barrels and crates. She shouts Infernal curses at the devils, beckoning them to her.

There are other Infernal cries and hollers of playful banter among the devils as they rush toward their next amusement.

The ring of clashing metal sounds into the air.

Her father wastes no time, hurtling through the space under the stairs and heading in the opposite direction his wife went. However, they didn’t wait long enough. One large white, spiny, boned-devil is heading toward the uproar and runs face to face with them. Her father lets go of her hand, separating the two. She falls to the left, but he stays right, dipping into the alley of huts through the sandstone market. Knowing the man could be used for far more value than the small girl, the creature assesses the merchandise and dives after him.

Run, Daaristan! Run and never stop, he shouts.

This time, there’s no room for hesitation. She tightens her jaw and lifts herself from the ground. Courage surges through her veins. The sand sticks to the sweat along her arms and exposed legs. She has a clear shot away from the fire and flames, away from her home and into the world’s dangers beyond.

Green leaves cut her cheeks like razors as she runs through the jungle. Her vision blurs into a mass of greens, browns, and blacks as the shades and shadows of the trees meld into the night.

Prologue 2

Ekija

A colony of gulls roaring with squawks and cries fills the air. Their disorderly shadows block the soaking sun over Ekija’s closed lids. His warm cinnamon skin reflects the golden light of the sun overhead. His long black hair flows to his shoulders and over the edge of the hammock he naps in. He scratches his thin beard. He knows his father will make him shave it again once he gets back to shore. Clad in nothing but swim shorts, Ekija is in great shape, and he knows it. He enjoys being shirtless as often as he can. He takes pride in the hard work it took him to get here.

The motionless ocean slowly drifts his ship inland. His arm tosses over the side of the hammock as he shifts his weight and body so that the shadows don’t flicker the sun’s light across his eyes. He drifts into slumber, dreaming of beautiful exotic women, the exaggerated dreams of a youthful virgin man, and the strange beauties of unseen realms.

Then, all the squalling piques his curiosity.

Ekija looks up from his nap to see a small sea stack and bits of wreckage jutting out nearby. The gulls are looking for lunch. He climbs out of the hammock and walks over to the bow for a better look.

Ekija loves excitement, anything that keeps him from doing the same things repeatedly, which is why he loves sailing. There's always something to see or find, whether sea monsters, new land, shipwrecks, or hidden treasure. He remembers fondly his mother and father gifting him his first sailboat and his father teaching him everything he knows. At first, it was daunting to be given such limitless space, the open expanse of blue before him.

He heads back over to the wheel to adjust his course, navigating near the stack but not so close as to cause damage from any nearby hidden rocks. He notices a small, deep-red rock on the surface that’s getting the attention of the seagulls. They appear to be pecking and taunting it before flying back up.

Without thinking, Ekija leaps over the side of the ship. The cold water constricts his warm skin, closing the pores and cleaning the warm sweat off his body. He opens his eyes, peering at the animal life below the water’s surface. He smiles, then remembers the slight urgency. He surfaces nearby and looks for a safe place to climb the sharp rocks. He finds a small, weathered nook dry enough to climb without worrying about slipping and cutting himself. Once up top, he scans for the red object.

After some time, he finds it. Sure enough, they were eating something.

It’s a large goliath man with broken bones jutting out of one leg and a few ribs through his stomach. The blood oozes out, painting the nearby rocks a deep maroon red. The half-giant’s gray skin is stained in crimson blood.

A few fearless seagulls land and try to pull a bite off the large man before Ekija can shoo them away. His eyes gloss over the corpse, flowing over its entire surface to gain insight into what might have happened. The man is bald and muscled, with war tattoos across his whole body. He’s shirtless like Ekija, except for a few straps for his pauldron of bones and skulls and a few leather straps of bracers. This had to be an adventurer; though weaponless, based on his furs, skulls, and excellent figure, Ekija could guess some tribal barbarian.

However, to his surprise, the body was rising a few inches, then back down slowly.

Breathing. He’s still alive.

Ekija panics and begins to plan how he is going to get this man aboard his ship. His boat is small enough to be manned alone, so no one would help him get the body on board, but he always enjoys a challenge.

He leaps back into the water and back onto his ship. He grabs some rope and spins the wheel to aim the stern closer to the rocks. Once within range, he drops the anchor. He feels the crash of the anchor to the sea floor. He leaps back into the water and retraces his path up to the rock. Ekija wraps the rope around the goliath’s waist and another loop around his neck. He then wraps the loose cord around his forearms, lifts the goliath off the rock a few inches, and hurries him into the water.

Ekija heaves after realizing he forgot to breathe while lifting the massive figure. He unwraps the rope from his forearms. He looks at the indentations to ensure no damage was done to his arm. He swims back to the side of his boat, pulling the rope to tug the helpless man behind him. He climbs the side of the ship and reaches the top. He leans over the rails, double-checks the rope’s position around the goliath, and gives a gentle tug to test the strength of his knots—neither loop budges.

Ekija steps back and bends the rope over the balcony and then again around the mast. He pulls the rope slowly, keeping an eye on its condition. Hand over hand, the small golden elf hauls the man nearly double his size up to the deck. He pulls him over the railing and onto the floor. He hastily cranks the anchor back up, setting course to the towering mountain. Like clockwork, he scurries to the ship’s duties and uncovers the mainsail to let the gentle winds guide him home.

Arborshale.

The name is a not-so-funny play on harbor and shale. This coastal city is built halfway into the side of a volcano. The city is divided into two parts: the upper city limits of wealth and power that cling to the mountain called the Gibbous and the much smaller, lower city docks of moderate families and slums called the Crescent. Decorative red pillars and green shingled buildings line the districts and pile the urban houses high in their tightly packed space that follows the winding road up the mountain. Red lanterns are strung across the spaces between the buildings. There are wooden arch gates across busy pathways to decorate and signify the changes between districts.

Much of the city hugs the mountain closely, allowing both to flourish. The green treetops, and even some rooftops of the houses, shelter some bamboo tree gardens. The city doesn’t waste space, except maybe in the upper districts where the wealthy can afford it. The elaborate, busy city becomes lonely as the town climbs the mountain. Following the brick roads, the bustling streets give way to sand gardens of peace and tranquility as one would flow up the mountain. In the middle of the main slate-bricked road lies a gold-painted beacon that trails from the main gate around the docks all the way up the mountain to The Crimson Keep.

The Crescent buzzes with music and laughter almost any time of day. The market makes it a busy place for day and night trading. The constant stream of harbor bells ringing into the air from the dock master marking each docking ship to alert the dockhand to begin preparations to unload seems like an evil torment for those who reside close to the docks, but most residents don’t complain. Most people try to capitalize on the new ships by offering their wares to the tired and foreign seamen.

The Gibbous welcomes a more peaceful lifestyle. Private schools loom for those who can afford them. There are some private businesses that cater to a specific clientele and rely solely on word-of-mouth to spread business that even Ekija doesn’t know what they’re for. A few shops, pottery, and jewelry shops are toward the equator wall that divides the Crescent and Gibbous. Guards are more frequently found patrolling the streets to keep unwanted visitors out. Only rich folk and monks on their way to train at the monastery, known as the House of Xath, are allowed to wander too far. The Gibbous has a more secure bank, and the Great Basin is a massive red bowl of a building that houses the council.

As Ekija’s ship returns to the harbor, the dock workers recognize his vessel and wave to him. He frantically waves back, signaling distress. The workers immediately run to get help. A few workers stay behind to watch with curious eyes and whisper their theories.

Ekija docks and is met with a crowd of gathering interest and a few guards. He greets the guards, Well met. Here, I found a survivor. His ship must have— Ekija stops talking when he notices the guards don’t step aboard his ship to follow him. What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to help?

We have orders to bring you back to the Keep.

Ekija wants to protest, but he realizes among the guards are Royal Guards. They wear darker red armor that offers more protection and a violet under-armor cloth instead of white or whatever dirt-colored rags the regular guards usually wear.

The royal guards surround Ekija, Please come with us. The others will handle it.

He walks forward, but his head turns to the injured goliath, Make sure you’re careful with him, please. He turns back to his escort, Am I in some kind of trouble?

No, but the Queen wants you there to meet your new baby brother, one of the royal guards, with blond hair peeking out the bottom of his helmet, says. His emerald eyes pierce through the red slits of the crimson helmet.

Is she—right now? Excitement and nervousness shiver through him, Well, Katashi, why didn’t you say that sooner? He breaks into a sprint up the Golden Road.

Cause you— Katashi stops before letting out a big sigh. Because you refuse to listen. He smiles and then grabs his belt before breaking into a jog, Yozane, my prince. Wait up.

Ekija winds his way up the cityside roads. The perfectly barren blue sky opens above him. The lazy sun glistens its sparkling rays across the wet leaves as some townsfolk water their plants that line the front of their homes of the Gibbous. The moment almost feels dreamlike: perfect weather, perfect mood, and the brick road crunching under his boots up the mountain.

Ekija loved running, and he had a knack for it as a wood elf. He was quick and agile, just like the monks had taught him to be before he dropped out. His father had been pushing his agenda on him too much lately, and he needed some space. He felt like a fool for letting his anger for his father get in the way of his respect for his mother.

As he reaches the outer courtyard of the Crimson Keep, a few guards notice the running figure and stand guard before seeing the familiar shape of Ekija and changing from threatened to a respectful, relaxed salute. Their beloved prince is home just in time to meet his new brother.

A short way behind him, Katashi catches up and rests his hands on his knees, bending over to catch his breath before waving a hand at Ekija in dismissal.

Ekija laughs and pretends to be out of breath before jogging through the tall palace doors.

Master Ekija, welcome back, says a female figure with long black hair tied into an elegant bun, wearing a long silken red kimono with golden trimming and a sash known as an obi. Her mono-lid hazel eyes have a glossy look to them as if she had been crying.

She bows and waits for his reply before lifting her head back up.

Oh, Kimiko, hello.

She lifts her gaze back to his, exposing her watery eyes and trembling lips.

What’s wrong? Where is Makii? Where is my mother?

He looks around to notice the regular guards aren’t stationed at their posts. The open den is empty except for the two of them. There are two winding staircases that arch around them as they stand in the middle. The door to the hall behind her that’s usually open is closed.

Kimiko? he raises his voice enough to startle her.

Tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

Ekija, that’s enough, another female voice calls out into the foyer.

The sliding door behind Kimiko opens fully, and a much older and taller elf enters the hall.

Would you like to meet your new baby brother?

She holds the baby in her arms as she steps out from the shadows and into the light of the den. She marches right beside Ekija’s unmoved form.

Ekija, meet Eiju.

Eiju lets out a short cry, but once his eyes meet Ekija’s, the cries soften into a coo. Eiju’s eyes look into the safety of the familiar kin, and a wave of peace washes over him.

Ekija lifts a finger for Eiju to grab hold of and continues his barrage of questions.

What happened? I don’t see what the fuss is, he smiles. Maliya, is everything okay? I don’t understand the emotions of everyone right now.

Maliya doesn’t respond, though the skin on her face is pulled tight and stern.

The gaping silence makes him uneasy, How’s my mother?

He can hear his father speaking weakly just beyond the hall. His attention tries to focus on that, but the steady purrs of his baby brother wash his worries away.

That tranquility is broken when Ekija hears a chair being thrown across the room and his father’s shouting as he slams open the door and steps into the hallway.

Where were you? he demands immediately.

I was sailing near Amina Reef, Ekija answers in confusion.

His father doesn’t care for the answer.

A female figure wrapped in a white shawl exits the room and quietly shuts the door behind her. She stands in the gloomy-lit hall carrying a small candle and lingers by the door. The flames dance a light across the white walls and flicker a shimmer that enlightens the damp face of his father.

Anger and tears.

Azkai… Ekija begins.

He pulls his finger from Eiju’s grasp and tries to go after his father.

No. Enough. He whips his head around and storms down the hall away from the foyer and into the dark palace. His royal guards follow suit while the rest remain.

Father! What happened to my mother?

Ekija panics and runs down the hall to the door.

As he steps near the doorway, the tall, pale lady covers the candle flame. The candle’s flame pulls in his direction, causing her to remove her hand. She turns to Ekija with remorse.

Ekija, I’m so sorry, she says gently.

Ekija opens the door carefully, afraid of what he’ll find within. He peers into the dark, obscured room. There are only two lit candle trays on each side of the bed that barely brighten the space. He sees four other royal guards inside the room, one in each corner standing veiled in shadow, unmoving, barely noticeable. His grandmother holds the hand of his unmoving mother. There looks to be a doctor and nurse still in the room. Then, his confused gaze returns to the woman in the hall, whom he remembers now as the palace healer.

Tears well up in his eyes, What? I don’t get it, Aykem.

He tries to enter the room, and the guards immediately drop their spears to create a barrier.

What are you doing? I’m the prince. Let me in at once, he shouts, and fearful tears stream down his face.

But the guards remain unmoved.

Ekija can see their sorrowful eyes reflecting the candle’s flames behind him. He ignores them and stares at the blood-soaked blankets draped over his mother’s bed. A small white cloth covers her eyes.

His hands begin to tremble.

Makii…! His tears trickle down his face as he caves into the vulnerability. Mom! He immediately turns to his father’s silhouette down the hall. Azkai, what have you done? What did—

Before gathering his thoughts, Aykem drops the candle to the floor and cradles Ekija into her towering form. He tries to fight it, but her motherly touch washes sense into him. He loosely tugs on her robes, squirming a little bit more, before he wraps his arms around her tightly and begins to sob. They drop to the floor as Ekija’s legs give in.

She carefully holds him there while his life changes forever. The two lie like a spillage of pale robes in the dark hall, unbothered to fix any broken posture.

I’m sorry I couldn’t heal her. I was too late, and her spirit had found peace on the other side. I can only bring back a willing spirit. It’s no one’s fault, Ekija.

She left me, Aykem. How could she leave me? His weak words shiver past his shaking lips.

Aykem squeezes him tightly and lets his mind fade into the black numb.

Chapter 1

Maris Sunstrider

Year 845 of the 3rd Era

Daaristan’s legs give in. She can still hear her father’s words echoing against the warm obsidian stones that mark the base of Malmora. She stops to catch her breath momentarily, bent over with her hands on her knees. Her eyes catch a glimpse of her throbbing feet. They are bare and bleeding, cut against the sharp rocks and rough sand.

I can’t stop, she thinks to herself.

She pushes through the burning pain as she gets up again. She brushes aside the heavy green foliage and trips face-first into the ever-shifting sands that swirl around her form.

Shit. Please don’t be quicksand.

It’s quicksand.

She struggles to pull her legs free but begins to sink faster and faster. She tries to think quickly and looks around for something to pull herself free. There’s a vine on a nearby rock.

She reaches for it, but the green snake whips its head toward her, hisses, and tries to bite her hand.

What? No, please don’t go!

The pale sand quickly devours her, climbing up her body—waist, bust, neck—consuming her like hungry soil.

This is it, the end, she thinks.

She fights and resists, but the more she struggles, the harder the earth squeezes around her. The angry ground binds her like cement as it goes. She tries to call for help, but no sound comes out. She closes her mouth and expects the worst as she’s pulled into the cold, rigid sand.

The ground, the plants, and the tall trees all seem to be buzzing and laughing at her. The last thing she sees is a set of blue eyes and a dark humanoid silhouette watching her from the top of the volcano she recognizes as Malmora.

Panting frantically, Daaristan clings to the blankets from within her bedroll. The cool air rushes into her chest as she chokes on nothing. Laughter from her dream and the rapid thunderous beating of her heart fade into the calm sounds of the ocean waves breaking against a ship’s hull.

Could you keep it down! an indifferent voice calls out from the dimly lit cabin crew quarters.

Catching her breath, she looks around to collect her bearings. The ship rocks calmly back and forth as the waves gently toss it from side to side. The low light of the sleeping quarters sinks into her eyes.

"Another nightmare? Ooooh, aren’t those fun?" a familiar creepy male voice probes her mind.

"I bet she had a dream she had to cut off both her arms!" another voice chuckles.

Would you shut up? Daaristan whispers, looking around to make sure no one is awake still.

After a moment of silence, she closes her eyes and tries to fall back to sleep. The two voices return and bicker back and forth, but she drowns them out. She’s gotten good at it. Even the muted voices manage to stir up her mind to the point that sleep no longer comes.

She wraps a blanket around her like a cowl and drops from her swinging hammock, tightly secured between two support beams below the deck. She carefully steps around the boots and belongings of the other crewmates as she weaves her way through the cots of the sleeping quarters.

The salty sea above deck washes away the smell of musty feet, sweat, and wax. Windy torrents twirl her hair on invisible fingers as she faces away to avoid its icy embrace. She tightly grabs the blanket and brings it in closer. The moonlit black sea stares back at her as she approaches the deck’s rail. The gentle sway of the ocean almost lulls her back to sleep before the voices creep back in.

"So peaceful, don’t you think?" an old hag voice pipes in.

"You ought to jump!" another gurgled voice adds.

"Drown yourself," says another.

"A thousand waves in one…" a fourth says.

The voices blur together into a static of noise, and she’s unable to tell which voice says what or pick up anything discernible.

Daaristan remembers nearly eight years ago when she started hearing strange voices in her head. She thought she was going crazy. She sought out remedy after remedy to cure the voices. With no luck, she recently met with a shaman from a local swamp village of Grayhaze. She was told there’s no known cure in Viresia; however, there should be a powerful shaman somewhere in the wastes of Xyloshen, on Texterra. She set off to Mulsec’auqa in Texterra, a coastal city in the neutral zone.

The journey has taken over a month. They’re set to arrive about a week after resupplying at the Theron Archipelago tomorrow. Daaristan can’t wait to reach land and leave the smelly strangers behind.

Ms. Seitari? a calm male voice calls out from the dark, this one with direction.

Realizing she’s not alone, she whips around to see the tall, baby-blue-skinned sea elf, Captain Dae’Yirus. He has curly black hair and pointed ears, wears a decently tailored suit, and has a freshly shaved face. His gentle eyes wash over her.

Is everything all right?

His brow coils in concern. No doubt he’s heard the things the crew say about her; she’s been known to whisper to herself. He had been advised not to let her aboard, but coin is coin. All he has to do now is keep an eye out for her. He doubts she will be trouble.

Yes, I’m fine. Just another nightmare, she breaks his uncomfortable gaze and returns hers to the ocean.

He joins her side. He shivers a little and tries to see if she’ll offer a chance to snuggle under the blanket in the moonlight.

Daaristan ignores his brash attempts completely.

Maybe you’re having nightmares ’cause a pretty girl like you is sleeping with the crew. You might sleep better in a nice firm bed with someone by your side, he wastes no time playing coy.

Oh? And that someone would be you, I suppose? She turns to him, grinning but mockingly so, mostly in disbelief.

The men she has encountered all her life have been ever so bold to win her charms; it’s never worked. She only plays the hands to work in her favor. She wouldn’t mind sleeping in a nice bed for the rest of the journey. She debates his offer as her mind reels through her imagination of what she might have to endure to get what she wants.

Maybe the sea is finally getting to her, for the fact that she even considers it. Shivers run up her spine at the thought of his hands on her body.

Would that be such a bad thing? He grins and leans closer.

She leans in too, then smirks and spins the blanket against his face.

Maybe tomorrow night, sweetie, she chuckles as she heads down to the sleeping quarters.

He gently bites his lip and watches her go.

A sour taste fills her mouth.

She is beginning to feel trapped within the wooden walls of the ship, and her attempt at fresh air is intruded upon by male flesh. She huffs to herself, crawls into her hammock, and settles in. For a moment, there’s silence, but then, one by one, the voices creep and pry. She closes her eyes to mute them.

Her rest resumes.

Another strange dream fills her to the brim with confusion.

She’s lying on the beach in Malmora. It’s nighttime, and the pale moonlight of Saeseer simmers down into the unusual black sand of the beach. She’s looking up into the twinkling stars. One by one, they blink into darkness and open back up as glimmering eyes. The black of the night seems to wax and wane, pulling in and out of focus. There’s a deep, growing hunger from within the void. She sees no mouth but knows it is drooling. Whatever lies beyond the brink of light is on the precipice of becoming a feral animal. A looming threat on the cusp of being known, but it holds itself back and watches in fascination.

—

Daaristan jolts awake to an uproar of laughter that thunders through the crew quarters. She groans and tosses to the side to peep out and gauge what time it is. Some crew members are having lunch; they have a small game of cards and some rations at a makeshift table.

Great, she missed breakfast—which she doesn’t mind entirely. The more meals she can sleep through, the better. It means less waste and less time for the remainder of the day, which means one fewer day until land.

A few of the crewmates look her way. She’s the only one still in bed.

Daaristan can’t help but wonder whether the laughter was meant to wake her. That or if the sight of a nearly topless, red-skinned devil arouses these vermin, so-called men. She adjusts the cloth wrap around her bust and then finds her blouse in the tangled hammock before jumping down. She swears she almost hears disappointed growls as she pulls it over her head.

Show’s over, boys, she smiles to herself before heading up.

You gonna sleep all day, or do you mind swabbing the deck? the familiar elf’s voice calls from the top deck.

What happened to the Theron Archipelago? she calls out over the sounds of the rest of the working crew.

You missed it. Tends to happen while you sleep all day and dream of a better life. Dae’Yirus lets out an ugly laugh.

Laughing at your own joke? What a moron, she doesn’t even hide her cringe.

"He lies on the water," a whispered voice creeps.

"Who? Daaristan asks quietly, Could you be any more vague?"

"The Shadowed One. Fetch him quickly before he is taken!" the old hag voice cries.

Daaristan looks off the starboard bow. She hears Dae’Yirus calling after her about not grabbing a mop, but the sound dies out. She casts her scope far and wide across the endless blue horizon until she sees a swarm of fog swallow her and the ship.

Where did this come from? she hears Dae’Yirus shouting as if she’s underwater and he’s on the surface.

His words hit this invisible barrier and ripple away, distorting the sound. She can’t focus on anything but the suddenly appearing fog and any contents that might be hidden within.

Then she sees it; there’s something in the water.

Captain! she calls out.

A few of the crew members stop to see what the commotion is. She rushes to the railing and sees the wreckage of a ship: crates, debris, mangled bodies. Wood soaked in blood, rope, sails, leather bags, and other personal belongings drift in the motionless water.

Pike, grab the wheel, steer clear of the debris in case they hit something. Wilras, Peynon, Beck, with me, Dae’Yirus rings orders into the air.

Daaristan, still scanning the debris for movement, finally opens her ears and whips to Dae’Yirus and hears the list of names, I’m coming too.

Without arguing, Dae’Yirus nods firmly.

The selected crew hop into the side skiff and lower themselves down. The strange mist seems to wrap around the deepest corners of their vision as they carefully row into the wreckage. An eerie softness dampens the rest of the sound of the crew above, leaving them in a surreal, dreamlike state.

A few moments of silent tension pass until a voice pierces the fog. There! an undistinguished voice calls out from the boat.

Daaristan whips around and sees a crew member pointing, and all eyes dart in that direction.

Two bodies are clinging to one piece of driftwood.

More sea elves. One white-haired, navy-blue skin, male, and the other blue-haired, pink skin, female. The female is trying to wake the male.

"The Shadowed One," Daaristan’s head rings again.

She readies her vibrant magic between her fingers and steels her mind. Her mind is split between offensive and defensive spells.

As the skiff approaches the two survivors, Daaristan and the others realize the woman isn’t speaking Totm. She’s shaking him and begging for him to respond. His limp body flows loosely in her arms and hands.

They don’t let it slow them down. They grab the male and set him down in their boat. Daaristan reaches a hand for the woman to take. Her concern isn’t for herself but for her friend. Her eyes follow him diligently, and her head bobs to the side to maintain visual. With a few deep breaths, she reaches her hand out to take Daaristan’s. There’s a faint glow in the water beneath her pink skin as she is lifted up.

The others try to resuscitate him. One crew member has to hold the pink elf back because she keeps trying to touch him or see if he’s waking, like a parent being told to wait for the doctors to undergo surgery with their child. She trusts they’re trying to help but would still rather be by his side.

"Run, Daaristan. Run and never stop!" Daaristan’s father’s voice echoes faintly, followed by a thousand tiny pinpricks of voices that begin to creep like a rising tide cascading over her.

We need to leave…now! Whatever did this has not left, Daaristan looks to Dae’Yirus.

Her worried gaze transfers right into him.

Then let’s not waste time. Beck, you heard her. Peynon, keep trying.

Once the boat moves deliberately toward the ship, the voices silence themselves. They are never really a problem. It’s just sometimes when she’s distracted, they slip in through the cracks of her mind. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard any of them outside her head. From what she can tell, they’re all dead spirits of different ages, races, and ethnicities. She recognizes only about two of the hundreds of voices as recurring.

One is the old hag—Wynalda, she named her—and the other a hissing ophidian male she named Sephoru. She’s never actually seen an ophidian. Each time he speaks, she wonders whether he has a snake head with a human body or an entire snake body.

Lyari! Get ready. Send the ropes down and tell Ayluin to start moving out of these waters. Any direction, please. Just out of the fog. Dae’Yirus calls up as they park the skiff parallel to the ship.

The men eagerly hoist them up.

Do you speak Totm? Dae’Yirus asks the pink sea elf. She looks blankly into his eyes, then back to the blue sea elf on the deck floor as they climb over the rails.

She speaks frantically, but not a word is understood by anyone; still, it’s easy to tell she said something about saving her friend.

Dae’Yirus, aren’t you a sea elf? You don’t understand her? Daaristan pips in.

She’s not speaking aquarii… he says sternly, almost afraid of admitting that truth to the others.

Ayluin steps forward after seeing Peynon do a not-so-great chest compression. Ayluin is a slender female half-elf, while Peynon is a much larger goliath male. Sometimes, things need a gentler touch.

She places her hands on his chest but stops before her first compression.

The pink elf stammers something and stomps her feet. At that moment, Ayluin realizes there’s only one crucial detail everyone missed: he’s already breathing. Sea elves can’t drown. He’s just unconscious.

The pink elf must have stabilized his wounds as much as she could but didn’t have enough magic to bring him out of the darkness all the way.

Ayluin unfolds her fingers and changes the intent of her skills.

You’re lucky you didn’t break the ribs of an already breathing young man, she scolds the towering goliath.

Ayluin’s palms emit a warm, golden light as her healing magic is laid over him like a thin blanket before sinking into him. He awakens immediately, though softly and slowly, taking a few deep breaths as he takes in his surroundings. The pink sea elf jumps with joy and tears in her eyes.

What happened? the man scrapes the words past his dry lips and aching throat.

We were hoping you could tell us. Your ship is done for, Ayluin says. She stays crouched low to remain at eye level with him.

Most of the others get back to work once the man is revived. Dae’Yirus lets out a sigh of relief but heads back to the top deck to ensure the ship stays on course.

The man sits in silence, and his memories stir like black ink into the white hazy fog.

Could you tell us your name? Daaristan asks once she realizes the loss of his friends weighs heavily on him.

Maris. I’m Maris, that’s Yami. And I don’t really remember much. Something was in the water or inside the ship. I don’t remember anything; just screaming. Everything was a blur, but the mist moved with it.

As the words left his mouth, Daaristan peered over just in time to catch the general sense that the mist was indeed moving. Right now, it’s swallowing the ship.

Captain! she calls out.

The eerie, sound-dampening silence lingers in the air briefly before a sudden sourceless shriek echoes into the gray haze, followed by a splash of water off the side of the ship. The sounds of swords and weapons leaving their sheaths ring into the white stillness. The sound of scraping metal chimes into the air as the crew moves to high alert, and they unsheathe their weapons.

The next tentacle is spotted before it can grab another victim.

I got it! a young crew member cries out before four much larger tendrils rise from the still water.

The writhing tendrils coil and slither with eerie grace, their slimy touch leaving a cold shiver in the air. Each movement is calculated as if the monstrous entity has honed its predatory instincts over centuries. The crew members watch in horror as the appendages snake closer, their undulating forms a macabre dance of imminent danger.

Daaristan's heart pounds as she witnesses the tendrils' wicked intent. She instinctively senses the imminent threat and dives to evade one of the lunging tendrils, narrowly escaping its grasp. A surge of adrenaline courses through her veins, mingling with fear and excitement. In that fleeting moment, she realizes the genuine peril surrounding her, but she’s ready to see if she still has what it takes to conquer evil.

Unbeknownst to her, the tentacle's true target lies just inches away. The realization dawns on her with chilling clarity, her grin fading as a sense of dread washes over her. The monster's sinister presence looms, and she becomes acutely aware that her life hangs by a fragile thread in the face of its relentless hunger.

Ayluin, behind Daaristan, focuses on a different tendril and fails to move out of the way. With a pink suction cup underbelly, the blue-tinted tentacle wraps around her, pulling her through the air and into the cold water.

Once there’s one tendril left, the remaining crew focuses their energy on that one. It lunges forward fast but not fast enough, as Dae’Yirus plunges two daggers into the tendril, then rotates the daggers like the wheel of the ship, slicing through the meaty hide until the tip drops to the deck followed by a muffled roar from beneath the boat.

The thundering presence rocks the ship, sending any unready crew members overboard—including Dae’Yirus.

Grabbing onto the nearest railing for stability, Daaristan glances over for any trace of the tendrils. She hesitates, looking back at the remaining crew before meeting eyes with a form behind Maris. Even in this cloudy white haze, a gloomy shadow forms under Maris, blacker than any creeping darkness in the cracks and crevices of the deck’s wooden flooring. The hairs on the back of Daaristan’s neck stand up as she notices this shadow isn’t even trying to mimic Maris.

Once it feels safe enough, the shade rises from the deck like black smoke, peeling itself from the floor like a two-dimensional sticker unfolding into the shape of Maris. It seems to be looking around, keeping tabs on Maris' backside. It looks directly into Daaristan’s curious eyes and smiles. Its face is devoid of color, but slight glimmers from beads of light hint at its intent.

All the while, Maris walks to the rail and places both hands on the port side of the ship. Where Daaristan’s feet weigh in hesitation, Maris wastes no time throwing himself into the water. The shadow stays behind a moment to continue his terrifying gaze before waving and jumping in after him.

Daaristan rolls her eyes before taking a breath and leaping over as well. She closes her eyes and braces herself for the cold sting of the ocean. Washing over her, the icy water shakes awake the blood in her veins.

Peering into the dark depths below, Daaristan’s wide-open eyes adjust to see a figure attached to the bottom of the boat. It has a cone-shaped body with a singular mouth and eye fixed toward the bottom, with several long tendrils reaching up around every side of the boat. Its blueish form hidden beneath the shadow of the ship makes it look like just a large rock. Its toothy maw rips apart a crew member, still holding the other three in its grasp.

Blood mixes with the water, rushing out of the torso of the deceased man.

Daaristan’s pupils enlarge to encompass her entire eye as she releases the magic she was storing between her fingers. Her form changes as red weaves of soft arcane lightning arc over her form and stretch the flesh. A white rubbery skin beneath her own enlarges and smooths over her skin creases like clay. Her body becomes a small reef shark. She releases her breath and carefully draws another in. Her lungs adjust to the new body, as do her eyes. She takes in the monstrosity and her surroundings once more.

Maris and Dae’Yirus engage with the creature.

The helpless crew members are being pulled in closer every second.

Maris swims gracefully through the water. He effortlessly makes his way to the creature to impale it with his trident, but the creature’s tendrils are too quick for him. They wrap around his torso and right arm, holding him in place.

Meanwhile, Maris' shadow moves in behind the creature. Not knowing what effect this might have, Daaristan moves around and decides to go for some of the tendrils holding the crew. Once an arm empties one into the mouth of the beast, it reaches back up to the surface for more. There’s one tendril that doesn’t seem to move. She opens her mouth and takes a quick bite out of that tentacle. Her mouth fills with flesh and blood.

Maris' eyes roll back, and blackness consumes them. He smiles, and his form darkens in the corners until the shadow seems to corrupt him entirely. It almost seems as if there are two Shades until she looks at the previous shade to see Maris floating in the space instead. Now standing behind the figure, free of movement, Maris strikes the monster’s side with his trident. The monstrosity roars and crushes Maris' Shade. It dissolves into a black mist in the water around them, but Maris doesn’t seem affected by it.

Impressed, Dae’Yirus swims in close for an attack of his own but also meets resistance. A tentacle lashes out toward him and Daaristan, grabbing hold of Dae’Yirus and slapping Daaristan aside.

White hot pain flashes across her shark form. It seems she underestimated the creature’s strength, a mistake she will not make twice.

Two crew members are already close enough to be eaten, and Dae’Yirus is also now in range. Things are not looking good. She has an idea, but she will need Maris to distract it one more time. She hopes for a miracle she does not know she will get.

In that instant, another figure plummets into the waters.

She recognizes the male form as someone who was often found above deck but always reading a book. He was also never given any work. His clothes are very fine and articulate, though dark in color. Under his coat is a fit suit that gives him a scholarly vibe. He usually has short brown hair tossed back over his head with a well-kept beard, though it moves weightlessly in the water.

It only takes him a moment to weave his arms together, drawing into a violet magical pattern of symmetrical shapes and lines, twisting into one large arcane sigil wrapped around his right arm. Purple sparks arc from the fingertips of his outstretched hand. He aims and closes his fist, which activates the building sequence around his arm. A muffled cannon sound ripples through the water at this stranger’s sudden burst of energy.

Before Daaristan can blink, the tiniest white-violet light streaks across the sixty-foot distance and straight into the creature like a bullet. There’s no burst of blood, no rip of flesh, just a frenzied roar of dread; this creature is starting to panic.

Thinking fast, Daaristan swims up closer to the monster. Once in range of all three crewmates and the creature, she drops her form. The once-white rubber form of a large shark shifts and shrinks to the humanoid shape of Daaristan. She opens her mouth and speaks the incantation in sync with her hand motions of making a small cube. She closes her mouth to keep what little air she has in her