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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

IRENE

B y dawn on the fourth day, the wind had shifted. The Serkos ships were drawing closer now, cutting through the waves. Irene no longer had to squint; the black sails were no longer distant on the horizon but a vivid reality, their blood-stained flags snapping in the wind like grim omens.

And one of the last things Irene learned that morning was this: for all the hatred she carried for Commander Roderick, he was indeed a man of his word.

At first light, he stood tall on the deck of the StormBreaker, his silhouette framed by the rising sun. He wasn’t alone, his soldiers surrounded him, swords drawn. Beside him was Dax. They were ready to capture Irene and her crew.

Below deck, the StormBreaker creaked as one by one, Irene and her crew emerged, their steps heavy on the stairs of the hold. Irene walked at the front. In her hand, she clutched their hope for survival.

“White flag!” a soldier shouted, his voice ringing across the deck like a bell. He pointed at the cloth Irene was holding aloft, a tattered piece of surrender that fluttered like a bird. A heartbeat passed.

The soldiers closed in, their boots thudding on the deck as they surrounded Irene and her crew, weapons gleaming, eyes sharp. “Hands in the air!”

One by one, they raised their hands. Irene let the white flag slip from her fingers. It fell to the ground.

Commander Roderick strode forward, his every step dripping with arrogance. Dax followed, his gaze locked on Irene with an intensity that burned. “We surrender,” Irene said.

Roderick’s lips twisted into a sneer as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, savouring the moment of his triumph. “That’s right,” he mocked. “Surrender...”

Dax’s eyes locked onto Irene. "So... you’re giving up."

Irene held his gaze. "You should be happy. For once, I’m doing what you want." Dax nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. The commander, however, was certain of his victory. He turned to his soldiers with a sharp gesture. "Form them into a line. Chain them, and lock them in irons," he said.

Satisfied, he turned on his heel, his boots striking against the deck as he headed toward the Cordelia. Dax followed, but there was hesitation in his steps, his shoulders taut. He glanced back, once, then again. Dax and the commander crossed the creaking wooden board that stretched between the two ships, their sharp orders slicing through the air. Soldiers swarmed across the deck chaining the crew one by one.

When a soldier reached Irene, he stopped in front of her, the chains clinking in his hands. “Hands,” he spat, the word laced with disdain, shoving the iron shackles toward her face.

Irene didn’t move. Her gaze locked on his, unflinching, unsettling. Instead of obeying, she took a step back.

The soldier narrowed his eyes, frustration flaring. He followed her, stepping closer, the chains poised in his grip. “I said, hands!” Irene stepped back again, her boots scraping against the wood, moving toward the edge of the ship, toward the railing.

“Chain her already, damn it!” the commander roared from the Cordelia’s deck, his frustration cutting through the tense silence. “And someone get the prince out of the hold, he's still chained down there! Let’s end this madness already!”

The soldier turned back toward Irene, and this time, she raised her hands, offering them with an innocent smile.

His eyes widened as the glint of her knife caught the light. Fear spread across his face like a shadow, and he began to turn away, mouth opening to shout, but Irene moved faster. Irene plunged the knife into him—once, twice, three times—each strike twisting through his guts with sickening precision. She felt the resistance of flesh and bone, the warmth of his blood spilling over her fingers. His body convulsed against hers, a shuddering sigh of agony slipping from his lips. No one had noticed. His heavy body collapsed against her, the dead weight forcing her to stagger. Irene shoved him overboard in one swift frantic motion, his blood spilled like an offering to the abyss. A low rumble stirred from the dark waters below, but no one noticed.

Irene didn’t hesitate. She slid the chains over her wrists, the cold metal biting into her skin as she pretended to lock them. Her heart thundered. Her crew’s eyes snapped to her, wide with unspoken panic. Irene met their stares. Her gaze burned with a silent, dangerous command that said, trust me .

On the Cordelia, the Commander and Dax, deep in conversation, turned back toward the Stormbreaker. Their eyes snapped to the deck. Irene held her breath, praying they wouldn’t notice the absence of the soldier she had just killed and cast into the depths. Dax’s gaze locked with hers, his brow furrowing as suspicion flickered across his face. An Eldorian soldier barked an order, shoving the crew forward toward the wooden plank connecting the ships. The Commander’s triumphant laughter echoed across the waters.

The soldiers marched in unison, their eyes cold and watchful as they herded the prisoners forward. Irene felt a rough shove from one of them, forcing her to stumble. She straightened, lifting her chin as the sun’s harsh rays blinded her. Squinting, her gaze found Dax’s once more. A shiver coursed down her spine.

Behind her, Hezra cursed at a soldier. Javier bickered with another. Through it all, the Commander’s laughter rang out over the deck, cutting through the chaos like a blade. But Irene heard none of it. In that moment, there was only the charged silence between her and Dax. Doubt flickered across his face, subtle but unmistakable. Something was wrong. He felt it. He just didn’t know what—yet. Dax strode quickly across the deck, his eyes scanning the faces of Irene's crew. He found nothing. A soldier shoved her forward. Irene staggered, then deliberately let herself fall, collapsing hard to her knees. Her head struck the deck. Dax rushed to the railing, his voice cutting through the chaos. For a moment, it almost sounded like concern. "Irene!" Discreetly, without straightening or lifting her head, Irene struck the deck twice with her fist. With her hair falling over her face, Irene slowly raised her head. Fire flickered in her eyes, glinting with malice. Dax stepped back, shaking his head as if he understood. No one else did, but he knew—she was up to something. And it was already too late. The soldier loomed over her, barking curses, kicking her side, and forcing her upright. Irene staggered to her feet, but not before catching Dax’s gaze. His lips moved slowly, silently, as if counting. Her pulse quickened. His gaze hardened.

A sharp gasp escaped Dax’s lips. “One of them is missing…” His voice cracked, as he looked at Irene. Then, louder, more urgent, he repeated, pointing a trembling finger at her. “There’s one missing!” But Roderick wasn’t listening. The commander was too busy basking in the glow of his supposed victory. Dax’s patience snapped. With a growl, he lunged at the commander, seizing him by the collar and shaking him violently. “One of them is missing, do you hear me!” he snarled, his voice tight with fury and panic.

Roderick blinked, confused. “What?”

“There are five of them!” Dax shouted, his voice cracking again. “There were six! One of them is hiding in the hold—search it!” His panic was raw. The commander’s smug grin faltered as Dax’s words sank in, but before he could act, Dax’s attention snapped back to Irene. As Dax and the commander turned to face Irene, her lips curled into a manic smile. Without taking her eyes from theirs, she slammed the deck one final time and screamed, "Fire!"

The cannon shot cracked through the air like a god’s fury, its echo rolling over the sea and tearing into the depths. The water shuddered in response, as though something ancient had been struck awake. A tremor rippled beneath the waves, and then everything shifted.

The StormBreaker lurched violently, the groan of its timbers swallowed by the roar of waves that rose like monstrous fists. The ocean churned with feral energy, slamming into the hulls of both ships with relentless force. Irene staggered to her feet, only to be thrown down again as the deck pitched beneath her.

“Hold on!” Javier’s voice cut through the chaos, but Irene barely heard him. Irene froze, her eyes fixed on the foam coiling around the StormBreaker like a tightening noose. Irene heard Dax shouting from the Cordelia's deck, his voice tearing through the chaos with panic and fury. “Prepare the cannons! Get ready to fire!” His words cut through the roar of the storm.

Above, the sky churned, the storm clouds thickening until it seemed no light could escape. The air held its breath, heavy and charged. A jagged bolt of lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the sea in a flash of ghostly white, a glimpse of chaos frozen in time. Rain lashed against the two ships, turning the decks into a slippery battlefield. Irene’s clothes clung to her as she slid across the slick planks. Her knees struck the wood with a crack, but she barely felt it.

The waves swirled faster now, violent and precise, carving a vortex into the sea that gaped like the mouth of a god, ready to devour them whole. The ships tilted sharply, their bows dipping dangerously low as the rain pounded in torrents, blurring the line between sea and sky.

Then it came, a sound from the abyss. A guttural scream tore from the depths, raw and furious, making the wood beneath Irene’s knees vibrate with its power. The sound clawed into her skull, freezing her in place for a moment. Her heart pounded. Her gaze fixed on the writhing foam as if she could feel it. The Scarlet Serpent was rising. The cannon shot cracked through the air like a god’s fury, its echo rolling over the sea and tearing into the depths. The water shuddered in response, as though something ancient had been struck awake. A tremor rippled beneath the waves, and then everything shifted.

The StormBreaker lurched violently, the groan of its timbers swallowed by the roar of waves that rose like monstrous fists. The ocean churned with feral energy, slamming into the hulls of both ships with relentless force. Irene staggered to her feet, only to be thrown down again as the deck pitched beneath her.

“Hold on!” Javier’s voice cut through the chaos, but Irene barely heard him. Irene froze, her eyes fixed on the foam coiling around the StormBreaker like a tightening noose. Irene heard Dax shouting from the Cordelia's deck, his voice tearing through the chaos with panic and fury. “Prepare the cannons! Get ready to fire!” His words cut through the roar of the storm.

Above, the sky churned, the storm clouds thickening until it seemed no light could escape. The air held its breath, heavy and charged. A jagged bolt of lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the sea in a flash of ghostly white, a glimpse of chaos frozen in time. Rain lashed against the two ships, turning the decks into a slippery battlefield. Irene’s clothes clung to her as she slid across the slick planks. Her knees struck the wood with a crack, but she barely felt it.

The waves swirled faster now, violent and precise, carving a vortex into the sea that gaped like the mouth of a god, ready to devour them whole. The ships tilted sharply, their bows dipping dangerously low as the rain pounded in torrents, blurring the line between sea and sky.

Then it came. A guttural scream tore from the depths, raw and furious, making the wood beneath Irene’s knees vibrate with its power. The sound clawed into her skull, freezing her in place for a moment. Her heart pounded. Her gaze fixed on the writhing foam as if she could feel it. The Scarlet Serpent was rising.

“Cut the anchor!” Irene bellowed, her voice raw over the chaos. “We need to move—now!” Blade hesitated, then slashed the thick rope with his cutlass. The chain snapped free with a deafening clang, vanishing into the swirling sea. Irene spun toward the helm, her words sharp and cutting. “Loose the mainsail! Catch the wind and turn her to starboard!” Javier’s hands flew to the wheel, gripping it tightly. “Aye, Captain!” he shouted back, spinning the helm with all his strength. He gritted his teeth and threw himself against the wheel, the ship groaning as it began to shift. The mainsail unfurled, the wind snapping it to life as the StormBreaker surged forward, battling the waves. The StormBreaker lurched violently, its hull groaning. Soldiers staggered, slipping on the slick deck. Some fell over the railing with screams that vanished into the roar of the waves. A second cannon shot tore through the air. Lan had fired again from the hold. The cannonball screamed through the storm and struck the Cordelia’s mainmast dead center. It exploded in a shower of splinters, the massive beam collapsing with a deafening crash. Ropes snapped and lashed through the air like whips as the Cordelia groaned, her deck sagging under the weight of the fallen mast. Irene caught sight of Dax, struggling with the helm, his efforts futile against the chaos. Then, it came.

A guttural scream tore through the storm. It rumbled from below, vast and monstrous, shaking the very bones of the StormBreaker. The air seemed to hold its breath as every soul froze in place. Irene’s chest tightened. She turned slowly toward the bow, her breath catching in her throat.

The sea began to break.

Not with a crash, but with a deep, eerie silence—a tear in the ocean itself, as though the water recoiled from something far older, far darker. It opened like a gaping wound.

Above, the storm snarled. Lightning slashed through the blackened sky.

The Scarlet Serpent emerged. The crew screamed, their panic swallowing the storm, but Irene began to laugh—softly at first, then spiraling into wild, unhinged hysteria. The Scarlet Serpent had answered her call. Her new friend had kept his promise. From the depths of the abyss, a colossal figure rose. Its massive head split the waves, darkened by glistening scales that shimmered like blood and fire. Soldiers dropped their swords, their faces pale with terror. Some crumpled to their knees, trembling. Dax arched his neck to look up, his mouth slightly open, stunned into silence by the sheer horror of the creature. Commander Roderick staggered backward, his legs giving out as he collapsed onto the deck. "May the Creator have mercy on us," Zahra whispered beside Irene, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Blade, frozen with wide eyes and ropes dangling in his hands, didn’t even glance at her. His voice barely a whisper. “What have you done…”

His head, monstrous yet cruelly regal, was crowned with spiraling horns and serrated crests. His eyes—twin orbs of smoldering red—burned with a terrifying intelligence. This was no mindless beast. He saw them. He understood them. And he judged. These fragile mortals who dared invade his waters

The serpent's breath rumbled, hoarse and guttural, carrying a metallic stench of blood and rust. A scent that seemed to claw at the air itself. His neck stretched endlessly into the darkness of the waves, each shift of his massive head churning the sea into jagged, rising crests. The ridges were sharp, skeletal spines designed to cut steel and shatter ships. It was a nightmare, alive. A god of the abyss, called forth by a single woman’s madness. Irene tilted her head back, her gaze locked on the serpent's towering form. The wind whipped through her hair, sending it into a wild, dancing frenzy. Her lips parted, not in fear, but in twisted awe.

He roared again, a sound that tore through the storm like the wail of the abyss itself. His massive, coiling body slammed into the hulls of both ships, the roguing waves twisting violently. The horns crowning his skull were jagged as though shattered and reforged by the crushing depths. They glowed a searing crimson, a sinister light pulsing with his rage. His jaw wrenched open with a nightmarish crack, revealing immense, serrated fangs that dripped with an unnatural glow. On the Cordelia, soldiers clung to the masts, some muttering broken prayers, others crying in terror. While Dax gripped the helm, knuckles white as he fought to keep the ship afloat, his frantic commands lost beneath the cacophony. But Irene stood firm, anchored to the deck of the StormBreaker, her posture unnervingly calm amidst the chaos. She stood tall, her shoulders squared. An ethereal smile stretched across her lips.

The Scarlet Serpent turned his head toward her, flames flickering deep within the pits of his burning eyes. His gaze pierced through her carrying with it something far darker. Hunger. Devotion. Obsession.

He drew closer, his immense snout rising like a tidal wave beyond the StormBreaker’s tallest masts. As he approached, the storm seemed to bend to his will. Sails shredded, snapping in the wind like desperate screams, and the creaking hull groaned under the weight of his breath. Pieces of wood splintered and rained down onto the deck, but Irene didn’t move. He was watching her. When he opened his mouth, his jagged fangs gleamed in the lightning, forming a grotesque smile. A low growl rumbled in the serpent’s throat. But it wasn’t a threat. It was something softer like a purr. And still, Irene did not move, her eyes burning with fever. Slowly, she raised her hand, palm out, fingers steady. The Scarlet Serpent leaned closer, his massive snout descending to her. “You came…” she whispered. The serpent’s head tilted further, his burning gaze locked onto her, suffocating. It wasn’t just a look; it was an obsession, raw and almost worshipful. A soldier stumbled forward, his sword trembling in his unsteady grip. “T-tell the beast to go away…” he shouted, his voice breaking as fear tightened its grip on his throat. But Irene didn’t even glance at him. Desperate, he raised his sword, and charged at her with a cry. But before he could even swing, the Scarlet Serpent’s massive jaws snapped open. In one swift motion, the soldier vanished. The beast’s fangs tore through him effortlessly, his body flying apart in a spray of blood and flesh, the remains tumbling into the vortex of waves below. Irene’s smile widened. At that moment, she wasn’t a captain. She wasn’t even a woman. She was something more, something untouchable. The Scarlet Serpent gazed at her as if she were divine. As if she were his . She turned fully, her back to the serpent. Behind her, he loomed like a throne, a protector. His immense silhouette framed Irene’s figure. Her eyes burned with pride and unshakable determination as she pointed toward the Cordelia. “Attack them.”

Her voice cut through the chaos like a thunderclap, commanding, undeniable.

The serpent let out a piercing scream. The vortex of waves spiraled tighter and faster, a furious, twisting storm answering the beast’s call. The Scarlet Serpent plunged into the sea with a thunderous crash, sending a towering wave over the Cordelia. The force was so violent, several soldiers were ripped from the deck and hurled into the churning waters below. When the beast reemerged, his colossal body coiled around the enemy ship. Irene turned sharply to Javier, the glint of triumph in her eyes as fierce as the storm itself. “Now, hard to port! Catch the wind, or we’re done for!” Javier’s hands trembled on the wheel, but his jaw tightened with resolve. “Aye, Captain!” he shouted, pulling the helm with every ounce of strength he had as the StormBreaker tilted into its escape. The air was filled with screams—agonized, blood-curdling cries that sliced through the storm as Cordelia’s crew were ripped from their ship, devoured by the serpent’s maw. Irene’s eyes flicked to the chaos. Amid the chaos, Dax gripped the helm like a lifeline, veins bulging in his arms as he wrenched it against the vortex’s merciless pull, the ship groaning under the strain of his desperation.

Irene tore her eyes away, unwilling to let the weight of his stare linger. She turned to race toward Javier at the helm, but a hand grabbed her shoulder, stopping her cold.

Zahra stood in front of her, eyes glassy with unshed tears. She clutched Irene by the shoulders, shaking her hard, her voice cracking as she shouted over the storm.

“How dare you!” Zahra screamed, her voice breaking as fury twisted her features. “You just sentenced them to death! You… you promised! Either we win together or we lose together! But you—” Her voice faltered as the realization hit her like a storm wave. “You set them up. You set them up to die!”

Behind them, the StormBreaker surged ahead, carving through the waves like a blade, while the Cordelia floundered, its hull groaning under the assault of the raging ocean. The sea churned and swirled around the trapped ship, tightening the whirlpools that dragged it deeper into chaos.

Irene stepped toward Zahra, her voice like a lash. “I lied.” Her words cut the air, sharp and cold. “Welcome to the real world! It was them or us! And I chose us.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the storm. Zahra staggered back, her breath hitching as she stared at Irene, her eyes wide with a cocktail of shock and betrayal. She didn’t speak—couldn’t speak. Irene had never promised anything but survival.

Irene’s lips pressed into a grim line. She turned on her heel, heading for the bow. Her voice rang out above the chaos, whipping through the storm like the crack of a whip: “Bring the sails around! Catch that wind, or we’ll go under!”

The StormBreaker sliced through the angry waves, each heave of the ship’s frame fighting against the relentless pull of the sea. Behind them, the Cordelia thrashed helplessly, the whirlpools tearing at its decks as screams echoed faintly across the water. Javier, quick as a fox, seized the moment and caught a powerful gust in the sails. The ship groaned, straightening slightly as it gained speed, fleeing the wreckage behind.

Irene’s boots slammed against the soaked deck as she strode to the helm, her eyes scanning the dark horizon. Her orders flew as fast as the winds, and the StormBreaker charged ahead, trying to outrun the wrath of the storm and the sins of its captain.

Then she froze.

Her breath hitched. There, slicing through the waves with a predator’s grace, was a ship. Red sails, bloodied by the lightning’s glow. The Serkos.

Irene’s stomach sank. “They’ve found us,” she murmured. She knew what she had to do.

Javier’s hands hovered over the helm, trembling, frozen with fear. “I—I can’t…” he stammered, his voice barely audible over the roaring thunder.

Irene didn’t hesitate. She shoved him aside, hard. “Then get out of my way.”

Her boots slammed against the slick, rain-soaked deck as she seized the helm with both hands. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she threw her weight into the wheel, wrenching it with all her strength. The StormBreaker lurched violently, the entire ship groaning as it fought against the sea's wrath.

“Hold!” Irene roared, her voice slicing through the storm like a whip. She looked up at the sails, swelling with wind, and braced herself for what was to come.

The turn was savage. The hull screamed, the masts bowed under the strain, and the waves slammed mercilessly against the StormBreaker’s side. The ship tilted dangerously, the deck groaning like a beast in pain, but Irene stood her ground.

Her hands clenched the helm, muscles searing as she forced it to submit to her will. Inch by inch, the ship clawed its way out of the vortex’s death grip, carving a defiant path toward open water. For a moment, the world went still. A fragile, aching silence. The two ships drifted side by side, so close yet destined for opposite fates.

The StormBreaker surged forward, tearing through the waves, racing toward freedom. The Cordelia, left behind, was sinking into chaos. The Serkos were approaching, and the Scarlet Serpent was tearing soldiers from her deck in a storm of blood and screams. And then, between the chaos, they saw each other.

Irene and Dax. Face to face. Two captains. Two enemies.

Her hands gripped the helm of the StormBreaker, while his clenched the Cordelia’s wheel like a lifeline. His figure exuded strength, even as death circled him. His expression burned with betrayal. Irene had shattered the last string of trust that was left between them.

And she felt it.

The sickness rose in her chest. Irene’s stomach churned with something she hadn’t anticipated. She had often cursed the world for denying her the power to control her own fate.

But this time was different. This time, the power was hers.

The ship’s wheel felt heavy under her hands. She had left Dax to die. She had chosen to leave him. And for a fleeting moment, it didn’t feel like victory, it felt like poison.

Irene tore her gaze away, her knuckles whitening on the helm. The StormBreaker surged ahead, slicing through the raging sea, leaving behind the screams, the serpent, and Dax.

“He would have done the same to me. He would have done the same to me. He would have done the same to me.”

The words slipped from her lips like a chant, louder each time, desperate and hollow. Rain lashed her face in icy sheets, the cold cutting into her skin like tiny daggers. Above, thunder cracked, splitting the storm-blackened sky, and for a brief moment, the world flashed blue-green. The sea surged below, its waves gleaming like shards of emerald under the lightning's glare.

"He already did. He left you for dead in the middle of the sea. Don’t forget," hissed the voices in her mind, slithering through her thoughts to steady her trembling hands on the helm.

Her voice wavered as she whispered back, "He already did…"

Her chest tightened, and with a cry, she shoved the thought away, forcing the StormBreaker farther. The sails groaned as the wind filled them, yanking the ship from the edge of danger.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t help it, she stole one last glance behind her.

In the distance, two shiny, black, glistening claws of the Scarlet Serpent emerged from the churning waves, their red scales gleaming. They writhed in the air like monstrous snakes before slicing down with a sharp crack. Soldiers were snatched from the deck, as they were dragged into the watery depths. Irene looked away, the acrid taste of betrayal and hollow victory scorching her throat. It was too late to turn back. Life was a wheel, spinning endlessly—one betrayal feeding the next. Dax had betrayed her. Now she was the betrayer. History always repeats itself. If only they had known that the tides of fate do not forgive, that love woven with betrayal is a dangerous game to play. For the sea remembers every debt, and regret always sails faster than revenge.