The steady rhythm of waves and the cries of seagulls filled the air. Tristan stood at the railing, the salty wind tugging at his hair as the horizon shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
A week had passed since their departure. The fleet was now deep within Zerounix waters.
After the peace treaty was set in motion, Cyrus immediately arranged a private audience with King Valdr to reveal Akmé's plan. Valdr, wary but convinced, granted permission for Solairé's forces to escort his convoy.
Voices and hurried footsteps erupted from the salon below, drawing everyone's attention. Tristan spun around. A dozen knights were dragged out, bound, and forced to their knees before him.
"Why are you arresting us?! We're loyal knights of Solairé!" one barked before he was struck silent.
Gilbert approached, bowing. "Your Highness, we intercepted these men as they attempted a covert attack on the Zerounix ships."
"You did well," Tristan replied, his icy gaze sweeping over the bound men.
Had Lucien not warned Cyrus about the possibility of Akmé's infiltration, their attempt to pit Zerounix and Solairé against each other would have succeeded.
Tristan's jaw tightened. He knew Akmé had infiltrated the Empire in the previous timeline—bringing its downfall with terrifying speed—but he never expected it to begin this early. And now, seeing how deeply they already wormed their way into the Emperor's ranks… this was no simple matter.
Just how far did the cult's influence truly reach?
"Are they the ones Lucien warned us about?" Cyrus' voice cut through his thoughts.
The Emperor emerged from the captain's cabin, flanked by escort knights. Tristan and the others bowed immediately.
"Yes, Sire," Tristan answered.
Cyrus' crimson eyes moved over the kneeling traitors, his expression unreadable as he came to stand beside him. The deck fell utterly silent under the weight of his gaze.
He let out a quiet breath. "Take them below. Interrogate them thoroughly."
"Yes, Sire!"
The prisoners were dragged away, their protests fading as the guards hauled them toward the brig.
Cyrus turned to him. "Is that all?"
Tristan shook his head. "Not confirmed… but it doesn't feel like the end of it. Lumière needs a full investigation."
If there was even a chance to root out Akmé's spies, they had to take it.
"Very well," Cyrus said. "I'll have the capital investigated from the ground up."
"Understood."
Footsteps thudded across the wooden deck. A knight approached and bowed before the Emperor, presenting a sealed letter.
"Your Majesty, a message from King Valdr."
Cyrus took the letter, snapping the wax seal. After reading it, he passed the parchment to Tristan. "King Valdr has captured spies aboard his ships as well."
Tristan scanned the contents. So the cult had planted agents within both the Empire's and the Zerounix forces, intending for each side to attack the other the moment chaos ensued.
The parchment crumbled in his fingers. Not only the Empire… but Zerounix as well?
Wait—
Tristan went rigid, a cold jolt racing down his spine.
Akmé's spike activity in the Zerounix forest had never been a lead. It was a decoy—meant to lure his mercenaries away so they could steal the Orb from the Zerounix Castle unhindered!
How could I be so blind?!
Tristan's head snapped toward Gilbert—
—but the galleon lurched violently to the side, hurling everyone across the deck. Cyrus seized Tristan and threw a barrier before they were flung into the railing. Crates and barrels crashed against the shield, splintering apart before tumbling into the churning sea.
"Your Majesty—!"
The call was cut short. The ship heaved the opposite way, wood groaning as the deck pitched sharply. Men slid across the planks, grabbing at ropes and railings to keep from being thrown overboard.
A deafening, bone-rattling shriek erupted from beneath the waves.
The sea convulsed.
Mages scrambled, weaving stabilization spells, but the water churned too violently. Out in the distance, ships capsized—men and supplies spilling into the storming waters.
"Watch out!"
A thunderous crack split the air. The mainmast snapped.
It toppled in a massive shadow. Crew members screamed, scattering as the colossal beam smashed onto the quarterdeck with a splintering crash. Shards of wood exploded across the deck, raining down on the barrier.
"The hull's compromised! We're taking water!"
Cyrus dismissed the shield. "Tristan! Assess the damage! Get a team to shore up the hull!"
"Yes, Sire!"
Tristan and Gilbert sprinted, shouting for nearby knights.
The ship lurched violently as the sea convulsed beneath them. Everyone clutched railings and rigging, boots skidding on the slick planks.
Then the ocean detonated upward.
A column of water geysered into the sky as enormous shadows rose from the depths. Tentacles—thick as ancient oaks—breached the surface, crashing down in sweeping arcs.
"A KRAKEN!"
The monster glided forward, churning the sea. One tentacle smashed into a Zerounix vessel with a sickening boom, crushing the hull like an eggshell. Wood exploded; men screamed as the ship tore apart and was swallowed by the sea.
Another tentacle coiled around a galleon, hoisting it screaming from the water before hurling it aside with a catastrophic crack.
A roar rose from the depths—a guttural, primordial bellow that shook the air itself.
Tristan's jaw locked, fingers whitening around the railing. If the hull gives, we drown. If it doesn't… that thing devours us.
"Move!" he hissed, and they bolted toward the quarterdeck.
Chaos awaited them.
The beam plunged through the deck, ripping a massive hole straight through into the lower levels. Mages, knights, and sailors struggled to stem the rising water. Tangled rigging snared the wounded, and the collapsing command platform had crushed half the steering assembly.
"We can't save her!" Gilbert shouted over the roar of the sea. "We need to evacuate!"
"Damn it—!" Tristan dragged a hand through his hair, gripping hard. There has to be a way. Come on. Think—think!
A violent surge of mana slammed into the air.
The entire fleet fell still as crushing pressure washed over them. A razor-cold swept across the decks. In an instant, the raging ocean froze—waves suspended mid-crash, foam crystallizing into glassy ice.
The galleon, moments from sinking, steadied atop the frozen sea.
Every head snapped toward the source.
On the bowsprit of a distant galleon stood a lone figure, white hair whipping like a banner in the frigid wind.
It was Lucien.