I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Light. Steady. No force behind it, just presence. It was the kind of touch ant to say sothing before words did.
It was her—the blue-haired girl.
She stood beside , eyes sharp but not accusing. She spoke. Softly. Carefully. Words I still didn’t understand. Her tone wasn’t pleading. Not quite. It was sothing gentler than that—sothing like hope. As if she believed, sowhere deep down, that maybe I’d still co with them. That I still could.
She knew I wouldn’t understand her language. That was obvious. But she spoke anyway. Maybe out of formality. Maybe habit. Maybe just the desperate kindness of soone who refused to treat like I was already lost.
And then she pointed at the raft.
It was ready. Tied and balanced and packed with whatever ager supplies they’d salvaged—dry food, tattered cloth, the battered water jugs. It sat bobbing in the calm mont before the storm, like a lifeline that didn’t quite believe in itself. Even the ropes holding it were tense, like they knew ti was short.
I looked over my shoulder at the ritual site.
Blood eagles. Skulls. Beating Hearts. Girls who could never dream.
Then at the sea.
It was worse now. Bigger things had co—massive shapes sliding just beneath the surface, their size warping the water. The ship groaned under their weight, rocking gently as claws scraped at the hull. Not violent yet. Just pressure. Probing.
But it was only a matter of ti.
They weren’t going to wait forever.
They weren’t curious anymore.
They were hungry.
Still—I shook my head.
It wasn’t ti.
The girl didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. But she started speaking again—faster now. Her voice had an edge to it, not anger, not fear, but urgency. Like she thought if she just found the right sound, the right shape of plea, it would break through whatever barrier I’d built around myself.
I looked at her.
Really looked.
Eyes the color of storms. Skin wind-bitten and sea-worn. And that hair—blue like defiance, like fire that had drowned but still burned. Her hair blew wild in the breeze, catching the gold light of the fading sun. She looked like sothing between a soldier and a saint.
An angel.
And she was trying.
Still trying.
Not for her sake.
For mine.
Even now, after everything she’d seen—the head on the line, the laughing, the obsession—she hadn’t given up on . Not completely.
I gave her a deep look. A quiet one. No words. Just truth. The kind that fills silence like fog.
And then I turned back to the sea.
The demon’s head dangled at the end of the hook, bobbing above the snapping mouths below. He twitched. Tried to look defiant. But I could feel the weight shifting in him. The fear carving deeper. He knew what I was doing. I wasn’t torturing him anymore.
I was using him.
He was bait.
For sothing bigger.
I sighed.
Gods, she really was an angel.
Trying to save a broken, stubborn wreck of a man like .
I didn’t deserve that. Not from her. Not from anyone.
She started again—one more try. More words. Sothing close to pleading.
But this ti, the rman stepped in.
He touched her shoulder gently, shook his head once. Not cold. Not dismissive. Just final.
Let him go.
He didn’t say it, but that was the aning.
He knew. Maybe better than she did.
So people can’t be pulled back. So people don’t want to be. Not until the job is done. Not until the world has taken everything and all that’s left is duty.
She hesitated. But then she stepped away. Quietly.
They moved toward the raft together. Silent now. They began to load it—thodical, focused. Tying rope, checking knots, adjusting weight. Preparing, like this was just another step in a war that never ended.
Before they boarded, they looked back.
Both of them.
The girl gave a look I couldn’t na. Not pity. Not sadness. Sothing stronger. It carried weight. Like she was saying goodbye without saying it.
And the rman—he shone in the dying light. His scales caught the gold of the sunset, refracting it across the deck like shattered stars. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence said what the sea had always said:
"We carry what we must."
I gave them the sa look back.
Not regret. Not farewell. Just recognition.
We all knew this was a crossroads.
They would leave.
And I would stay.
And ?
I turned back to the water.
The golden light faded. The sea darkened again.
Sothing was coming. I could feel it in the air, in the bone.
I didn’t know if it would rise from the depths or fall from the sky.
But it would co.
And I would be waiting.
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