Captain Blackthorn rubbed the sore spot on his neck where Antioch had struck him, his expression twisting with irritation. “Why’d you have to hit me so damn hard?” he muttered, glaring at the trickster god.

Antioch raised an eyebrow, his smirk as infuriatingly smug as ever. “Oh, come now, Captain. A little bruising builds character, don’t you think?”

Blackthorn scowled. “You could’ve tried leaving a bit of my dignity intact.”

Antioch chuckled, unbothered. “I’ll be gentle next time.”

Blackthorn’s jaw clenched as he leveled a dark stare at Antioch, his fingers still gingerly rubbing the bruise on his neck. “There won’t be a next time,” he said coolly. “I’m not getting any closer to that island.”

Antioch merely smiled and held up the trident, its gleaming surface catching the dim lantern light. “There is no need to fear my lovely daughters,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “With this beauty in hand, I can handle any surprises that come our way.”

 “Forgive me,” Blackthorn said, his tone laced with doubt, “if I’m a bit skeptical of that claim. You don’t strike me as a father who can control his children.”

Antioch shrugged, tapping the trident’s base against the floor with a faint metallic thud. “Trust me, Captain. The Trident of Oceanus has a way of handling even the most stubborn of children.”

 “Trust isn’t something a captain can give away freely—especially to a trickster god,” Blackthorn said, his voice tinged with unease.

Antioch gave a dismissive wave, flashing a smile that hinted at amusement. “Oh, Captain, you wound me with your doubt.” He leaned against the cabin wall, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the trident’s shaft. “But if you insist on a bit of reassurance, there’s always a safer route—sail to the west side of the island. The sirens have no fondness for that side of their domain.”

Captain Blackthorn's eyes narrowed as he let the weight of Antioch’s words settle. "Why is that?" he asked, his tone edged with both curiosity and lingering irritation.

Antioch’s confident smile wavered, replaced by a fleeting, somber expression. He paused, tapping the trident's shaft once more before replying quietly, "Because, Captain, that is where the sirens carry the echoes of their deepest grief."

For a moment, the usual mischief in Antioch’s gaze was eclipsed by something deeper—a trace of sorrow that Blackthorn hadn’t expected to see. The revelation hung in the air, heavy with unspoken memories and unaddressed wounds.

Not wanting to pry further into this rare vulnerability, Blackthorn shifted his focus. He merely grunted in acknowledgment, choosing silence over further inquiry. "Very well," he said, his voice steady as he turned his attention back to the charts spread out before him. “We’ll head west and see if your little plan holds water.” He shot a final, skeptical glance at the trident. “But I don’t want my ship any closer to that island than necessary.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Antioch replied with a smile. “I have a plan for that as well.”

At first light, the crew adjusted the sails, and the ship turned toward the western side of the Sirens' island. The sea stretched dark and endless before them, with only the faintest hint of the island’s silhouette visible on the horizon through the morning mist.

The ship sailed through the long hours of the night, its hull cutting silently through the dark water, until it reached the western side of the Sirens' island by dawn. A thick, eerie mist clung to the waves, and the dim outline of the island loomed like a shadow against the pale morning sky.

Harahel walked the deck, her eyes tracing over the wary faces of the crew. Fear gripped them; their movements were tense, their gazes fixed anywhere but the open sea. Almost every sailor had stuffed their ears with wax to block out the seductive call of the Sirens, leaving them deaf to all but the hum of their own heartbeats. Voices were hushed, as though sound itself might draw attention from the dangerous waters. Orders passed from one sailor to the next in a complex, silent dance of hand signals—an unspoken language honed by fear and necessity.

The creak of wood and the slap of the waves were the only sounds that broke the silence as Harahel moved, a grim reminder of the unnatural calm that cloaked the west side of the island. Here, no Siren’s song reached, but the knowledge did little to ease the tension that hung thickly over the deck. Even in silence, the island held a haunting power, and each sailor felt its pull, a sinister promise lurking just beyond the mist.

Harahel’s head turned at the heavy clank and splash as the anchor plunged into the water, the sound echoing ominously across the mist-covered waves. They had anchored far from the island's shore, where jagged rocks jutted from the water like the spines of a great beast lurking beneath the surface. The distance was intentional—no sailor dared venture closer, not even under the assurance of Antioch’s protection.

She surveyed the preparations on deck, noticing how the men moved with a grim determination, their faces set and eyes averted from the island. In the near-silence, only the muted creak of ropes and the occasional splash of waves against the hull broke the quiet.

Harahel’s gaze shifted toward the rowboats being prepared for their journey to the shore. By the captain’s reckoning, it would be a long and arduous trip, taking them until nightfall to reach the island’s edge. The fog seemed to cling even more heavily to the water here, a natural barrier that slowed their every movement, and Harahel couldn’t help but feel a prickling unease at the thought of venturing through it as the sun began to dip. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger, its familiar weight grounding her.

Harahel glanced over and caught sight of Gadriel, her posture tense, locked in a heated exchange with Captain Blackthorn. Gadriel’s expression was sharp, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gestured toward the island. Blackthorn, in contrast, looked resolute, arms crossed over his chest, his face dark with irritation as he shook his head firmly.

Harahel moved a few steps closer, straining to catch snippets of their conversation over the faint creaking of the ship."

Harahel approached the pair, her brow furrowing as she caught the tail end of their argument. "What’s going on?" she asked, her voice cutting through the tension between them.

Captain Blackthorn’s eyes flicked to her, his expression hardening. "The sea's too rough for you and Gadriel to go alone," he said firmly. "You’ll need an experienced sailor to accompany you."

Harahel raised an eyebrow. "And who do you have in mind?" she asked, sensing his reluctance.

Blackthorn’s lips thinned into a tight line as he glanced toward the deck. "Finnegan," he replied curtly, his voice betraying a hint of distaste. "He’s the best we’ve got for navigating these waters."

"You mean the most dispensable," Gadriel added.

"Captain, there must be someone else!" Harahel exclaimed as Finnegan walked by.

"I’m not thrilled about it either," Finnegan grumbled under his breath, barely glancing at them. His tone was flat, but there was a clear edge of annoyance in his voice.

He continued past them without waiting for a response, heading straight for the rowboat. His boots thudded against the deck with each step, and the tension in the air thickened as his figure receded into the distance, the sound of his movements fading with the wind.

"What Finnegan lacks in personality, he more than makes up for in seamanship," Captain Blackthorn said, his tone clipped. "This isn’t a pleasure cruise—you either go with Finnegan, or you don’t go at all."

His words hung in the air like a challenge, the weight of his authority pressing down on them. Harahel felt the sharpness in his tone and the unmistakable certainty that he would not budge on the matter.

Harahel exchanged a wary glance with Gadriel. Neither of them liked the arrangement, but they could see there was no room for negotiation. With a resigned sigh, Harahel nodded.

“Fine,” she said, her tone reluctant. “But if this goes sideways, it’s on your head, Captain.”

Gadriel’s lips pressed into a thin line as she folded her arms across her chest. “Agreed,” she added coolly, her sharp gaze flicking toward the rowboat where Finnegan was already preparing the oars. “But we’ll be watching him.”

Blackthorn shrugged, unfazed by their suspicion. “Suit yourselves,” he said gruffly. “Just don’t waste time. Nightfall isn’t going to wait for you.”

As the captain turned away, Harahel and Gadriel lingered, their mutual distrust of the situation unspoken but palpable. They made their way toward the rowboat, their steps heavy with unease, the island looming closer through the thickening fog.

Harahel and Gadriel climbed into the rowboat, the small vessel rocking slightly under their weight. The fog hung low over the water, casting an eerie stillness around them. Finnegan sat at the oars, his expression neutral but his movements efficient as he prepared to row.

Before he could start, Gadriel leaned forward, her sharp gaze locking onto him like a predator sizing up its prey. “Listen closely,” she said, her voice low and cutting. “If you try anything—anything—I will make sure it’s the last mistake you ever make.”

Finnegan paused, his hands gripping the oars as he looked up at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Noted,” he said dryly. “Now, if you’re done threatening me, I’d like to get this over with.”

Harahel frowned, the tension between them prickling at her nerves. “Let’s just get to the island,” she interjected, her voice firm. “The sooner we’re there, the sooner this will all be behind us.”

Finnegan gave a mock salute, his smirk widening. “Aye, aye, Captain.” With that, he began to row, the boat cutting through the water as they pushed toward the shrouded island, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull the only noise in the thick, ominous silence.

The rowboat rocked precariously as the sea grew rougher, the waves slapping against its sides with increasing force. Harahel gripped the edge of the boat tightly, her knuckles whitening as her unease deepened with every jolt. The salty spray stung her face, and the cold seeped into her bones, a biting reminder of how far they were from safety.

Finnegan remained silent, his expression unreadable as he maneuvered the oars with practiced ease. The only sounds he made were the occasional grunt of exertion or a low, indecipherable mutter under his breath. His focus was unwavering, though whether it was on the task or something else, Harahel couldn’t tell.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the journey feeling like an eternity rather than hours. The sun sank below the horizon, leaving them shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moon barely piercing through the thick fog. The rhythmic creak of the oars and the ceaseless crash of waves filled the void, creating an oppressive atmosphere.

Nightfall settled around them like a heavy cloak, the island looming closer but still veiled in mist. Harahel shivered—not just from the cold but from the gnawing sense of foreboding clawing at her chest. She cast a glance at Gadriel, who sat with arms crossed, her posture defiant though her sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

Finnegan remained silent, his usual indifference somehow more irksome in the thickening darkness. Harahel took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as they pressed on, the island drawing closer with every passing moment.

As the rowboat drew closer to the shadowy outline of the island, the air grew heavy, charged with an unnatural stillness that made the hairs on Harahel’s neck stand on end. The sea, which had been rough but manageable, suddenly shifted. A deep rumble resonated beneath the waves, a sound that seemed to emanate from the island itself, sending a shiver down Harahel's spine.

Before anyone could react, a massive wave surged out of the darkness ahead, rising like a wall of liquid fury. It towered over the tiny rowboat, its crest gleaming faintly in the dim moonlight as though mocking their intrusion. The water roared, its sound deafening, and Harahel’s breath caught in her throat.

Gadriel grabbed the edge of the boat, her knuckles turning white. "What in the nine hells is that?" she shouted, her voice cutting through the roar of the wave.

Finnegan, ever stoic, let out a low growl of frustration as he fought to angle the boat into the wave’s path, his muscles straining against the oars. “Hold on!” he barked, his voice uncharacteristically sharp.

The wave surged toward them with unnatural speed, its force more deliberate than the chaotic movements of the open sea. Harahel clung tightly to the side of the boat, her heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t just nature—this was something more, something designed to repel anyone foolish enough to approach.

As the wave loomed closer, Harahel’s mind raced. She couldn’t tell if it was the island itself rejecting them or if some ancient magic was at work. Either way, they were moments away from being swallowed whole. She braced herself, her grip tightening as the boat pitched violently upward, the wave crashing over them with a bone-shaking roar.

The massive wave struck with an unrelenting force, flipping the rowboat like it was nothing more than a twig on the water’s surface. Harahel was thrown into the churning sea, the cold biting into her skin as she plunged beneath the surface. The world became a chaotic swirl of bubbles and shadows, the roar of the waves muted into an eerie silence underwater.

She kicked desperately, fighting to orient herself as the tide dragged her deeper into the suffocating darkness. Her lungs burned, the pressure of the depths pressing in around her. Panic surged as she flailed, her movements slowed by the weight of her soaked clothing.

"Gadriel!" she tried to scream, but only a muffled sound escaped her lips, swallowed instantly by the water. Her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the others, but all she could see was the black, endless void of the ocean. Finnegan’s gruff presence and Gadriel’s sharp defiance were nowhere to be found. The sea had swallowed them whole.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out every other sound as the current pulled her farther from the surface. Fear clawed at her chest as she struggled against the relentless pull of the tide, her strength waning. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a faint light in the distance—an ethereal glow flickering far below—but she couldn’t tell if it was real or a trick of her oxygen-starved mind.

As the last of her air slipped from her lips in a trail of shimmering bubbles, Harahel closed her eyes, her thoughts a desperate mixture of regret and a fading determination to survive. The sea was a merciless adversary, and it had claimed her.