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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IRENE

B y the third day, the tension on the StormBreaker had coiled so tightly it was ready to snap. No one crossed the bridge to negotiate. Not Irene. Not Dax. They stayed on their own sides, nursing their grudges like poison they refused to spit out. Negotiations had become a farce.

Irene spent the night pacing the main deck, alone. The cold wood groaned under her restless steps, a sound that only fed the shadows in her head. The others had retreated to the hold, whispering strategies in hushed voices or muttering prayers. Jessalyn’s advice hung like a ghost among them: find a way to escape. Find a way to survive. They clung to it like shipwrecked sailors clutching splinters of debris.

But Irene? She was alone under the cold weight of the sky, pacing back and forth, over and over, with no one to stop her. Many would call her mad. Delusional. Maybe they were right. Maybe that’s what it took to survive this. Because Irene knew one thing with bone-deep certainty: if she didn’t find a way out before morning, there wouldn’t be a fourth day. They had bought themselves enough time, and Zahra was close to finding a course, perhaps within moments. If she succeeded by morning, Irene would make damn sure they weren’t captured by the commander.

In front of her was Commander Roderick’s ship, an iron-clad threat waiting to shackle her to his will. Behind her was the lurking threat of the Serkos, a fury that could crush them all without mercy. And somewhere on the horizon was freedom. So close she could almost taste it.

One hand on her hip, the other clawing at her temple, Irene paced the deck like a caged animal. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tilted her head back, hoping the cold night breeze to whisper the solution she so desperately needed. She inhaled deeply, her chest rising with the icy, salt-laden air, then exhaled in frustration. Nothing.

The damn, sickening voices that taunted her at the worst of times were silent. Where were they now, when she needed them?

"Useless," she hissed under her breath, smacking her head with her hand. The sharp sting did nothing to shake loose an answer.

The night grew colder. It was already late. Blade’s turn to watch would come soon, and if she didn’t find anything by then, she’d have to give up.

Sighing in frustration, Irene made her way to the railing. Her steps were slow, her boots clicking softly against the deck. She gripped the railing, her breath swirling in the cold air like mist. She inhaled deeply again, letting the cold sting her lungs, her lips twitching. Maybe the sea would take pity on her and spit out a miracle. Or maybe it would swallow her whole.

As she exhaled, the lapping waves below seemed louder now, like a heartbeat. Something banged softly against the hull, a dull thunk that seemed to vibrate through the ship.

Her eyes snapped open. Irene turned her head sharply, her senses prickling to life. Nothing. Just the endless black water rippling against the ship.

She lingered for a moment longer, her gaze scanning the horizon, but there was only emptiness. Disappointment clawed at her chest. She cursed under her breath, shaking her head, and turned to head toward the hold.

Her boots scraped against the deck as she stopped abruptly. The hairs on her neck rose; her body went rigid. Something was watching her. Her heart skipped, then quickened, but not with fear, with a thrill that pulsed through her veins. She didn’t need to see it to know. She could feel the weight of the gaze, heavy and pressing against her skin.

Slowly, her lips curled into a smirk. She’d spent enough time rotting in the salt prisons beneath Ildomir's Mountain, swallowed by darkness and despair, to know when a predator lurked in the shadows. That creeping sense of being watched. She felt it now, prickling along her spine. It was the same feeling she’d felt when her jailers had loomed in the shadows, their mouths wet with vile hunger, or when the prisoners had stared at her like vultures circling fresh prey. Or when she had felt the rotting stares of the dead, their hollow eyes clinging to her skin like a stain she could never scrub away. Alive or dead, Irene always knew when something was watching her.

She turned slowly, her movements were so fluid, it was as if she danced with the wind or drifted through water. Each step carried an unnatural grace, as if she were moving in a trance toward the stern. Her gaze sharpened, turning into something mystical. Frightening.

As she approached the edge of the stern, two glowing red circles flickered in the abyss below. They weren’t constant. They disappeared, then reappeared, as if playing with her. Irene’s pulse quickened. Her steps slowed. Her breathing shallowed. She moved closer, her movements hypnotic. The red circles glimmered again, pulsing faintly, but then vanished the moment she stopped. A dark realization settled in her mind. They weren’t circles. They weren’t reflections of distant stars. They were irises. Eyes. They blinked.

Irene’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. She climbed to the stern's upper deck, then stepped onto the high wooden rail. The cold wind whipped around her, teasing her hair as she leaned forward, poised on the brink of falling into the black abyss. But she didn’t falter. She straightened, tilted her head, and whispered into the void, her voice dangerous, and alluring. “I know you’re watching me… I can see your eyes.” She dragged the words with an unsettling sweetness.

Nothing. The waters below remained still. The black, endless expanse mirrored the faint silver glow of the moon, but no ripples broke the surface. Irene’s breath hitched, her body perfectly still. Her chest screamed for air, but she ignored it, savouring the pain like a warning she was willing to embrace. She didn't move, didn't blink, her gaze locked on the abyss as if daring the creature to blink first or pull her into the abyss. And then, she saw it. A massive shadow, rippling beneath the surface, disturbing the calm waters like a silent predator. The two red irises flared again, cutting through the blackness like twin embers. Slowly, a colossal head broke through the surface, sending waves crashing against the hull of the StormBreaker, drenching the wood—and Irene along with it.

Below her, rising from the abyss, was the legendary Scarlet Serpent. Its black-and-red scales shimmered like liquid fire, a creature born of the sea’s deepest, hungriest voids. The creature’s eyes locked onto hers, glowing with a heat so primal it felt like it could strip the soul bare. Irene shivered, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through her. It was something closer to fascination.

A smirk curled across her lips. The serpent’s blazing irises blinked, and she felt a warmth emanating from that inhuman gaze, an unspoken connection pulling tight like a thread between them. She tilted her head to the side, her expression both curious and daring. The serpent mirrored her, tilting its massive head in eerie mimicry.

The smirk on Irene’s face widened into something feral, her teeth flashing. The Scarlet Serpent mirrored her, or something close to it. Its monstrous jaw arched, imitating her expression, revealing rows upon rows of hooked fangs, each one glinting like a blade ready to tear flesh from bone.

The night wind howled around her, pushing her closer to the edge of the ship. Her gaze remained locked on the creature. She blinked. It blinked. Its irises, twin red stars pulled from some forgotten constellation and drowned in the sea, glowed with an almost childlike curiosity. And yet, beneath that innocent glint lay a danger so raw, so infinite, it could swallow the world whole. “Fascinating…” Irene whispered. The serpent mimicked her movements again, tilting its massive head in perfect sync with hers. Its growl rumbled through the air, a low, guttural sound that reverberated in her bones and rocked the StormBreaker beneath her feet. It was a sound that melted seamlessly into the night. To anyone else, unaware of what she was seeing, it might have seemed like nothing more than the wind or the groan of the sea.

The serpent rose higher from the water, its head looming closer to the stern, the black-red glint of its scales catching the light of the moon. It hovered just beneath her now. If it wanted, it could surge forward in an instant and devour her. But Irene didn’t flinch. On this cold night, with the abyss yawning beneath them, there was only one true monster—and it wasn’t the Scarlet Serpent.

She stared down at the beast, her eyes gleaming, and breathed, "You’re so beautiful…"

The beast tilted its massive head further, its jaws spreading wider in that grotesque smile. Irene couldn’t help but chuckle. It was as if... the beast was hypnotized. Those glowing red eyes studied her like she was something sacred. Admiration burned in its gaze, as if the Scarlet Serpent recognized her as something familiar, something of its own. A creature of the sea... a siren.

"Are you hungry?" Irene asked, but her voice didn’t sound human. It drifted into the air like a soft, haunting melody. The serpent’s response was a low purr. Slowly, Irene drew her knife. "Oh yes... the sweet little serpent is hungry..." she sang.

The Serpent growled, the force of its breath nearly knocking Irene into the water, making her stagger. It was... begging her. Irene let go of the railing, balancing on her legs. Without hesitation, she drew her knife and sliced deep into the palm of her left hand. Scarlet blood spilled freely, pooling in her hand.

She gripped the railing again with her uncut hand and raised the other, dripping blood high above the Serpent’s gaping maw. The creature's massive jaws parted wider, and it drank her blood.

The Serpent's glowing red eyes flared brighter, burning through the darkness. Irene's palm throbbed with pain, but she didn’t move. She stared down at the beast, her lips curling into a manic smile. It had accepted her offering.

Irene pulled her hand away, crimson dripping from her fingers. The beast growled again. It wanted more.

Her voice cut through the dark, harsh and commanding, "Come back tomorrow when I call you, and I promise, you’ll have plenty of blood and flesh."

The Scarlet Serpent blinked slowly, as if it understood... and agreed.

Irene stepped down from the railing and drawled, "Now be a good little serpent… and go to sleep."

The creature let out a sound guttural purr before its massive head sank beneath the waves, disappearing into the abyss.

She turned away and walked toward the hold, a faint smile tugging at her lips as ease and adrenaline tangled in her veins. To everyone’s misfortune, Irene now knew exactly what she had to do when the first rays of dawn tore through the sky.