The ship cut through the water, its sails full, its hull groaning. The island was shrinking behind them, the soldiers on the shore fading into the distance.
Aurelion stood on the deck, his hand still bleeding, his body aching. The shards inside him pulsed, warm and steady, keeping him alive. The wound on his palm was already closing, the flesh knitting together faster than it should.
Rourke appeared beside him. "We're clear. For now."
He didn't answer. He was watching the island, his eyes fixed on the treeline. The shards inside him hummed with a low, anxious frequency, like a warning bell.
He knows I was there, he thought. He knows someone found his base.
He'll come.
The shards inside him pulsed, urgent.
"Get below," he said. "Now."
Rourke frowned. "What?"
"I said get below. Everyone. Now."
She saw his face—the urgency, the fear—and began shouting orders. The crew scrambled below deck, their boots pounding against the wooden planks.
Aurelion stayed on the deck, his eyes fixed on the island.
The first blast came from nowhere.
A beam of crimson energy, so bright it seared his vision, lanced across the water. It struck the ship amidships, tearing through the hull like paper. The explosion sent him flying across the deck, his body slamming into the railing. Wood splintered. Fire erupted. The screams of the crew echoed through the air.
He looked up, his ears ringing, his vision swimming. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead. The shards inside him blazed with light, trying to heal the wound even as he struggled to stand.
On the shore of the island, a figure stood.
Tall. Armored. A crown of obsidian horns on his brow.
The Demon King.
He raised his hand.
A second blast came—larger, more powerful. It struck the ship's stern, shattering the rudder, tearing open the hull. Water poured in, black and hungry. The ship groaned, its structure failing.
Aurelion grabbed the railing, pulling himself upright. His body screamed. His mind raced.
"Get to the lifeboats!" Rourke shouted, emerging from below. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.
"There's no time!" Aurelion shouted back.
The Demon King raised his hand again.
"No," Aurelion breathed. "No!"
The third blast struck the ship's center.
The hull split open, the deck splintering beneath his feet. The ship was dying, its structure failing, its lifeblood pouring into the sea. The mast cracked and fell, crashing into the water. The sails burned, their flames casting an orange glow across the darkening sky.
Aurelion was thrown into the water.
The cold engulfed him, the darkness swallowing him whole. He kicked upward, breaking the surface, gasping for air. The shards inside him pulsed, warm and urgent, keeping him conscious.
The ship was sinking behind him, its wreckage scattered across the water. The crew was screaming, struggling to stay afloat. Some were already gone, pulled under by the current.
He saw Rourke clinging to a piece of debris, her face pale, her eyes wide.
And on the shore, the Demon King watched.
He did not smile. He did not gloat. He simply watched, his eyes fixed on Aurelion. There was no emotion in his gaze—just cold, clinical observation. He was studying him. Measuring him.
Then he turned and walked back into the treeline.
Aurelion floated in the water, his body broken, his mind reeling. The shards inside him pulsed, warm and steady, keeping him alive. But he was losing strength. His arms were heavy. His legs were numb.
He let me live, he thought. He could have killed me. He chose not to.
Why?
He didn't have an answer.
He grabbed onto a piece of debris, pulling himself up. Around him, the crew of the Sea Serpent struggled to survive, their voices distant, muffled. Some were swimming toward him. Others were drifting away.
Rourke appeared beside him, her face pale, her voice weak.
"The ship... it's gone."
"I know."
"The crew..."
"I know."
He looked at the island. At the treeline where the Demon King had disappeared.
I'll find you, he thought. I'll find you, and I'll make you answer.
He lost track of time.
The sun rose and set and rose again. The survivors drifted together, clinging to debris, their bodies weak, their minds fading. Aurelion kept them together, kept them moving, kept them alive.
Rourke was beside him, her grip on the debris loosening.
"You should let go," she said.
"No."
"I'm slowing you down."
"You're not."
She tried to smile. "You're a terrible liar."
He looked at her. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy. She was fading.
"Hold on," he said. "We're going to make it."
She didn't answer. Her grip was slipping.
"Rourke."
Her hand slipped from the debris.
He grabbed her. His arm shot out, his fingers closing around her wrist. He held on, pulling her back, keeping her afloat.
"Don't you dare," he said. "Don't you dare let go."
She looked at him, her eyes glassy, her voice weak.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
He held on.
They drifted for another day.
The sun was high, the water calm. Aurelion's body was weak, his mind clouded. But he held on to Rourke.
And then he saw it.
A shape on the horizon. Low and dark. A ship.
He tried to shout, but his voice was gone. He tried to wave, but his arms were too heavy. The shards inside him pulsed, warm and urgent.
The ship grew larger. It was heading toward them.
Aurelion closed his eyes.
He woke to hands on his shoulders.
"He's alive. Barely."
"Get him on board. Quickly."
He felt himself being lifted, carried, laid down on a hard surface. The shards inside him pulsed, warm and steady.
He opened his eyes.
A face hovered above him—a young man, his eyes wide, his expression grim.
"You're lucky," he said. "Another hour, and you'd be dead."
He tried to speak. His voice was barely a whisper.
"The others..."
"Others?"
"My crew. There was a woman. Rourke."
The young man's expression faltered. "We only found you."
Rourke was gone.
Aurelion sat on the deck of the rescue ship, staring at the water. The sea was calm, the sky clear. The sun was setting, painting the horizon in shades of orange and red.
She had been there. He had held onto her. And then she had let go.
He didn't know when. He didn't know why. But she was gone.
He touched his chest. The shards pulsed.
I'll find them, he thought. I'll find them all.
I always do.