The island appeared like a mirage—gilded spires rising from white cliffs, sea-breeze lifting satin flags, and music—soft, distant—dancing on the wind. After the gloom of Deepmoor and the rot of Griefwater, it looked like something from a dream.
But Darion didn't trust dreams.
He stood at the Duskwind's prow, staring at the coastline of Velmare's Pearl, an isle spoken of in sailor myths. A place that celebrated death like a lover. A place where no one aged, and all sins were forgiven—for a price.
Abyr leaned against the railing beside him, arms folded. "They're expecting us."
Darion glanced at him. "Friends of yours?"
Abyr's eyes narrowed. "No such thing in this place."
Below deck, Mara dressed in silence. A long blue coat had replaced her tattered shirt, and a silver brooch—once her mother's—held her collar closed. The compass had been quiet since Deepmoor, but she didn't believe it would stay that way.
Not here.
Not where they wanted her welcomed.
Arrival at the Pearl
Dozens waited at the dock—masked figures in crimson robes, some dancing, others tossing flower petals that never quite landed. Instead, they floated in the air, suspended by some trick of wind or illusion.
At the front stood a woman.
Tall. Elegant. Masked in white porcelain with lips painted like blood.
"Welcome, Seaborn," she said, bowing low.
Mara stepped off the gangplank. "You knew I was coming?"
"Velmare knows." The woman rose. "She sees. She prepares."
Darion muttered to Abyr, "Who the hell is Velmare?"
"Once a queen. Now something else."
"Is she with the Sea Queen?"
"No." Abyr's voice lowered. "She competes."
They were ushered through marbled streets and gardens where stone statues watched with cracked eyes. The city smelled of lavender and salt. Everyone wore masks. Everyone smiled too long.
And banners flapped overhead bearing three words:
THE WIDOW FEASTS TONIGHT.
An Invitation Dripping With Poison
That evening, in the palace's grand hall, the celebration began.
Long tables stretched with roasted fish, spiced meats, golden fruit. Wine the color of rubies flowed from dragon-shaped fountains. Musicians played an endless waltz while dancers twirled in silks that shimmered like starlight.
Darion sat stiffly beside Mara at the head table, uncomfortable in his fitted coat. Abyr stood behind them like a sentinel.
Mara said nothing, her eyes on the masks.
Especially the woman in white who presided over the hall.
She lifted a goblet.
"To our honored guest," she announced. "The last child of the drowned bloodline. The Seaborn. Our Queen in waiting."
Mara flinched.
Darion stood, hand on his pistol. "Enough. We didn't come here to play along with some cult."
The masked woman laughed lightly. "Play along? Darling, you are the game."
With that, the floor beneath them shifted.
The Labyrinth Masquerade
The feast vanished.
Mara, Darion, and Abyr now stood in a hall of mirrors—countless reflections staring back at them, warped and whispering. Masked figures drifted between glass walls like spirits, their voices echoing in riddles and poetry.
"Mara?" Darion called, reaching for her.
But she was gone.
Each of them separated.
Each facing their own trial.
Mara's Vision
She wandered endless mirrors until one cracked—and through it, she stepped into a ballroom of crimson light.
Her mother stood in the center.
Maria Graveblood.
Alive. Whole.
Wearing the crown of the Sea Queen.
"Daughter," she said, arms open. "Come. End this war. Take your place."
Mara's knees trembled. "You're not real."
"You're more me than you admit."
Mara stepped back.
"You wear my blood like a shackle," Maria said, voice hardening. "But I forged empires with it. And you—what have you done? Broken pieces of a crown you need?"
"I won't become you."
Maria's eyes wept salt.
"But you already have."
Mara screamed and shattered the mirror.
Darion's Trial
Darion faced a different ghost.
A room of gold and iron.
At its heart—his crew.
From the Iron Wrath.
Men and women he'd abandoned when he deserted the Admiral's orders. When he fled with the Crown's secret.
Vexar Cain stood at their head, though blood still poured from his chest.
"You left us," Cain hissed. "You chose your own conscience."
"And I'd do it again."
"Then why do they haunt you?"
Darion lowered his weapon. "Because I cared. That's why I left. Not because I stopped… but because I couldn't keep watching good people drown for power."
He looked them all in the eye.
"And I won't let her drown either."
Abyr's Whisper
He found no illusions.
Only a dark corridor.
At its end, a child sat—barefoot, pale, eyes empty.
"Abyr," she whispered. "You promised to protect me."
He did not speak.
"You let them take me."
Still he did not answer.
"You don't get to redeem yourself by watching someone else."
Her eyes glowed with deep-sea blue.
"She will fall. And so will you."
Abyr blinked.
The child was gone.
And only salt remained.
The Crown's Call
Mara re-emerged into a chamber deep beneath the palace—ancient coral and barnacle-covered walls enclosing a single pedestal.
Upon it: the fourth fragment.
It was not inert.
It sang.
The sound wasn't music. It was a feeling—a warmth, a promise, a mother's embrace.
Darion and Abyr arrived moments later, each scarred by their trials.
"Mara," Darion said, stepping toward her. "You don't have to—"
She raised her hand. "I know."
Abyr's sword was already half-drawn.
But she didn't reach for the sigil.
She reached for the fragment.
And it let her.
Her hand closed over it.
And she didn't scream.
Instead, her eyes opened wide.
And she laughed.
Velmare's Bargain
The masked woman appeared once more, walking from shadow like a queen at court.
"You see now, child?" she purred. "You need not destroy them. The crown is yours by blood and will. Take the last piece. Become yourself."
Mara stared at her, the fragment pulsing in her palm.
"I see what you want," she said. "You think I'll be your puppet."
"You were made for this."
"No." Mara stepped forward. "I'll forge my own crown. With my own hands."
And she raised the null sigil with her other hand—
And broke the fragment.
It cracked like glass. Shattered into dust.
The woman's mask cracked with it.
"You… ungrateful… wretch!"
Darion grabbed Mara. "Time to go."
The palace shook.
Abyr drew smoke bombs from his coat.
"Run."
Flight from the Pearl
The trio sprinted through collapsing corridors as masked servants screamed and walls fell inward. The island rejected them.
They reached the Duskwind just as the docks cracked.
The wind caught their sails.
And behind them, Velmare's Pearl sank beneath the sea, dragging illusions and lies down with it.
But not before one final whisper followed them into the night:
"You can't break the sea. You are the sea."
Onward
That night, Mara didn't sleep.
Neither did the compass.
Only one fragment remained.
One step between her and the choice that would either save the world…
…or drown it.