A sound pierced through the dark. A loud knocking—like something slamming against a door. It sounded like it was coming from below the dock itself
The sound came again.
This time quieter, faint even.
Beneath the dock.
I didn't move at first.
Just listened.
The water shifted below me, slow and steady—like nothing in it had ever changed.
But something had.
I could feel it.
It came again.
This time like a wet inhale—
like something trying to remember how to breathe.
My grip tightened on the edge of the dock.
"Sten?" I said.
The word barely carried.
I wasn't sure I wanted it to.
Footsteps.
Behind me.
More than one.
I turned slightly.
Torchlight flickered between the buildings, growing brighter as it approached.
Malek came into view first.
Torvin followed a step behind him, a torch in one hand, the other already resting near the knife at his side.
Freya moved quieter than both of them.
Watching everything.
"You hear it too?" Malek asked.
I nodded once.
Torvin stepped closer to the edge, squinting into the dark water.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I don't entirely know."
"Sten was here," I added.
Malek's head turned slightly toward me.
"We know," he said.
"No," I replied.
"I mean just now."
I nodded toward the nearest boat.
"Net was still out. Half-pulled. He wouldn't leave it like that."
Torvin frowned. "You check it?"
I hesitated.
"Yeah."
The word sat heavier than it should have.
"Same as before," I said.
"That… ink."
No one said anything for a second.
Torvin shifted his weight.
Freya's eyes moved from me… to the water.
Malek didn't look away from the dock.
The sound came once more.
It was more like a scratching noise now.
Torvin swore under his breath.
"That's not the water," he said.
No one argued.
Malek stepped past me onto the dock.
The wood creaked under his weight.
I reached out before I thought about it—
catching his arm.
"Don't."
He looked back at me.
Not annoyed.
Not angry.
Just… questioning.
"You don't know what that is," I said.
The words came out sharper than I meant them to.
"Then we find out," he said. "after all, it could help us find out what was happening to those hunters earlier."
The water shifted beneath us.
Not like waves.
Not like current.
Something else.
Freya stepped closer behind us.
I could hear her breathing now.
The sound came once more.
Right below us.
A wet inhale—
followed by something that almost—
almost—
sounded like a word.
My grip tightened on Malek's arm.
"Listen," I said.
The water moved.
And whatever was beneath it—
moved with it.
Something brushed the underside of the dock.
Slow.
Dragging.
The wood creaked beneath us.
A shape passed just beneath the surface.
Not clear.
Not whole.
Just enough to know it didn't belong there.
Torvin took a step back.
"No," he muttered.
"No, I don't like that."
Malek leaned down slightly, trying to see through the dark water.
"I see it," he said.
I followed his gaze.
At first—nothing.
Then the surface shifted.
Something pale drifted into the light.
A hand.
Fingers trailing along the wood beneath the dock like they were searching for something to hold onto.
My chest tightened.
"Sten…"
I recognized him by the ring on his right hand, silver with a black band above it, given to him by his wife years ago.
The body followed.
Not rising.
Just… coming closer.
His face turned beneath the water.
Eyes open.
Not blinking.
His mouth hung loose—
the same way the deer's had.
Something dark slipped from his lips.
Thick.
Spreading through the water like ink.
It didn't drift away.
It lingered.
"He's alive," Malek said.
He moved.
I pulled him back harder this time.
"No."
"We can get him out—"
"Look at him."
"Something isn't right, what is that coming from his mouth?"
Sten's body jerked.
Not like someone waking.
Like something inside him had moved without asking.
His head tilted upward.
Too far.
His eyes locked onto us.
Not seeing.
Not recognizing.
Just… finding.
His mouth moved.
Slow.
Straining.
"…Er…"
It caught in his throat.
Then again—
"…ik…"
My stomach dropped.
He knew me.
Or something inside him did.
Then he moved.
Fast.
His hand broke the surface—
slamming onto the edge of the dock.
The wood groaned under the weight.
Torvin stumbled back, swearing.
Freya inhaled sharply behind me.
Malek lunged forward—
and I held him back.
"That's not him anymore," I said.
Sten pulled himself halfway out of the water.
Movements wrong.
Jerking.
The black ink clung to his skin now—
not just in the water.
Spreading.
His body looked swollen beneath the skin, like something inside him had grown too large for it.
His limbs moved with a heavy, unnatural strength—each motion delayed, then sudden, like it had to be forced into place.
His eyes—
weren't empty anymore.
They were filled.
Black threaded through them, pooling behind the surface like ink trapped beneath glass.
His mouth opened wider than it should have.
And the sound again—
drawn through him.
A wet inhale.
He pulled himself onto the dock with one hand, his other arm was gone.
A scream tore through the night.
Not from the docks.
From the village.
Then another.
And another.
I couldn't move.
Staring at Sten felt like needles in my lungs and weights in my feet.
I wanted to move.
Wanted to do something—anything.
But Sten moved first.
The ink coating his upper body shifted—
draining downward.
It poured into his legs, swelling beneath his skin like something filling him from the inside.
His frame tightened—
coiled.
And then—
he launched.
Sten hurled himself at Malek with a speed no man that size should have been capable of.
Faster than thought.
Malek moved anyway.
His body reacted before the rest of us could even breathe.
His fist collided with Sten's jaw—
a sharp, cracking sound cutting through the chaos.
The impact twisted Sten midair, his momentum snapping sideways—
sending him crashing back into the water.
Silence—
just for a second.
"What… what was that?" I said, barely above a whisper.
"Why did he lunge at you?"
Malek didn't answer.
He was already moving.
He grabbed a harpoon from the dock in one clean motion, stepping forward, eyes locked on the water.
"No—wait!" I said, stumbling toward him.
"We should get help—we can help him—don't kill him!"
"It's too late, Erik," Malek said, not looking at me.
"He tried to attack us."
"That's not him anymore," Freya said behind me.
Certain.
Another scream tore through the air—closer this time.
Something heavy hit the ground.
Running feet.
Panic spreading.
It wasn't contained.
It had never been contained.
A villager sprinted past me, breath ragged, eyes wide—
straight for the docks.
"Wait—!"
She leapt into one of the boats, still tied loosely to the post.
Hands shaking—but practiced—she worked the knot free.
That was a mistake.
The rope slipped loose.
The boat drifted.
She dropped an oar into the water.
Another mistake.
The surface shifted.
Subtle—
but wrong.
Sten felt it.
His body turned beneath the water—
not toward her—
toward the movement.
"NO!" I shouted.
"Get out of the boat—now!"
She didn't hear me.
Or didn't understand.
She rowed.
The water surged.
Sten moved.
Not swimming.
Driving forward.
The ink trailed behind him like something alive—
pulling him faster.
Malek threw the harpoon.
It struck Sten square in the chest.
The force should have stopped him.
It didn't.
His body barely reacted.
No cry.
No hesitation.
Just movement.
He slammed into the side of the boat—
then hauled himself up with a violent, unnatural strength.
The wood groaned beneath him as he climbed in.
The villager screamed—
high, sharp—
cut short.
I couldn't see what happened next.
Only the rocking of the boat.
And the sound—
wet.