The Horizon Talon sailed through the aftermath like a prizefighter bleeding into the eleventh round. Her hull groaned beneath the strain, the rigging stretched tight with summoned wind, and fresh gouges still smoked where iron had met oak. But she was still afloat and deadly. Most of the damage appeared to be minor. The new armor and reinforcements had already paid off.

  Kade stood on the aftcastle, boots planted beside the helm housing. Her coat hung half-open, streaked with blood and rot and more seawater than she cared to inventory. The fog hadn’t lifted. The fog just sat thicker now, smothering the world in damp silence as if the sea hadn’t quite finished watching.

  Bishop leaned on the rail beside her, one hand resting near the helm housing, the other holding a folded scrap of cloth he kept forgetting to press to the cut above his brow. He hadn’t spoken since the wreck went under. Kade recognized it as Bishop's method of working through post-combat adrenaline.

  Below, sailors moved with the rhythm of fighters who had seen the edge and come back swinging. Gunners cleared spent powder from the deck. Marines made their way to triage beneath the mid-sail. Every motion carried the echoes of adrenaline and discipline. The Talon had been hit hard, but she was still in the fight, and so was her crew. Pound for pound, Kade would put them up against anyone in their weight class. Maybe even above their weight.

  Through it all, Mercer stalked down the centerline of the deck, hair plastered to her skull and crossbow slung low. She looked like someone had hauled her out of a cistern and given her five seconds to decide whether to laugh or kill. Her boots squelched with every step, dripping puddles as she made for the belowdecks hatch.

  Kade raised her voice, just enough to cut through the hiss of wind through rigging. "Have a pleasant swim, Corporal?"

  Mercer didn’t slow. Just turned her head half an inch and shouted back without looking. "Didn’t plan on it, ma'am. I wasn't expecting that bastard to throw a sizeable chunk of his ship at me. Downright unsportsmanlike."

  "Consider filing a grievance," Kade said. "Next time, pick a target who doesn’t weaponize architecture."

  A hoarse chuckle trailed Mercer down the stairs to the ship's bowels.

  Briggs appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later. The big sergeant took the aftcastle stairs as if they were an afterthought, axe still slung across his back and a fresh smear of ichor down his cheek. He paused only long enough to glance down the fog-stained sea in the direction the ghost ship had gone under. Then he turned toward Kade.

  "Not bad for a morning jog," he said. "Got my steps in, bled a little. Solid cardio."

  Myers clambered up behind him, favoring one leg and rotating his shoulder like it had been wrenched out of place and then shoved back in by someone in a hurry. His shirt was torn at the collar, revealing the edge of his long knife sheathed behind his ribs.

  "Didn’t know the Navy paid you to punch corpses," he said. "Would’ve enlisted years ago."

  "Only the pretty ones," Kade replied.

  Robin came up the stairs shortly after Briggs and Myers had arrived, her revolver holstered and rapier already wiped clean. Colt followed just behind her, warhammer slung low and boots landing with a weight that made the deck creak. He said nothing. Just scanned the crew like he was waiting for someone to start round two.

  Levi Lennox arrived last. Looking as fresh as he had been when he first boarded except now he was wearing a ridiculous brown coat that looked like it belonged in a law office, not on a warship. His boots didn’t even squeak. He stepped up to the aftcastle with his hands folded neatly behind his back, the posture of a man observing a disaster he had no intention of intervening in.

  "Well, look who finally made it," Briggs said, voice loud enough to carry. "Good thing those drowned didn’t come for our paperwork, huh? Really appreciate the hand in dealing with the situation."

  Levi met the jab without blinking. "I was precisely where I needed to be, Sergeant. My purpose here is not to engage in the defense of this ship."

  Myers snorted. "You were in the head, weren’t you?"

  "The Restoration Council dispatched me to oversee the dungeon operation. My role is to ensure that our interests are represented appropriately. Ship to ship combat, however…" Levi said, as he gestured toward the sinking fog astern. "…was not within the mission parameters."

  "That’s the problem with your whole damn Council," Colt said. His voice wasn’t loud, but the anger simmering behind it was real. "When the Cataclysm hit, they stood back and watched the world burn. Now they want a seat at the table like they earned it."

  Levi’s jaw tensed. "I am not here to claim anything. I am here to preserve our civilization’s last shot at meaningful recovery. The artifact matters more than any single one of us."

  Robin turned to face the discussion. Her expression hadn’t changed, but there was an edge in her stare now that could peel paint. "Then maybe next time, you can go toe-to-toe with a drowned captain while the rest of us watch."

  Kade caught Bishop out of the corner of her eye. His grip on the helm housing had tightened, knuckles white. He didn’t speak, but then, he didn’t need to. Disappointment rolled off him like steam off a kettle.

  "No one’s above the line here," Kade said, voice steady. "If you're on this ship, you're part of the fight. Mission parameters don’t mean a damn thing when the deck’s covered in blood and corpses."

  She let the silence stretch just long enough to make the point. Levi didn’t flinch. That was the most irritating part. He didn’t gloat, didn’t bristle. Just stood there, as if logic would insulate him from consequences.

  He’s going to get someone killed in that dungeon, she thought.

  Bishop finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "We should stay focused on what's ahead"

  "He’s right. This fog isn’t clearing, and we’ve got a lighthouse to reach before something else decides we look like a snack." Kade said.

  She looked over the team again, weighing them the way you did after a fight that scraped too close. No one here had died, but she could feel the cracks spreading. Not in armor, but in trust, and they’d need every ounce of it where they were headed.

  "Back to stations," she said. "Patch what you can, clean what you have to. We’re not done yet."

  Briggs and Myers exchanged a glance, then Briggs turned toward the stairs without a word. Myers stayed behind, arms crossed, eyes still on Levi. Colt followed Briggs, each step landing as if it had something to prove.

  Robin lingered near the aft rail, far enough to disengage but not out of earshot. She watched the fog roll in off the sea, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her rapier, saying nothing.

  Levi was the last to move, hovering just long enough to suggest he expected a rebuttal. When none came, he adjusted his coat and walked off without a word.

  Kade didn’t look at him again. The lighthouse loomed somewhere ahead, and the ocean had never been a forgiving judge.

  She turned back toward the helm, raised her voice once more, and cut through the fog as if it were just another battlefield.

  "Set course. We move."

  Now that the argument had run its course and Levi had finally cleared the deck, Kade turned her focus back to more important matters.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Cole," Myers called down over the rail, "bring it up."

  A moment later, the quartermaster appeared at the foot of the stairs, the sheathed cutlass in hand. He climbed without hurry, water trailing from the weapon as if it still remembered the sea. At the top, he passed it to Kade without comment, his expression flat.

  "From the captain," he said.

  Kade raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

  Cole didn’t smile. "The dead one."

  She took the weapon and unsheathed it in a smooth motion. The blade came free slowly, as if reluctant to leave whatever drowned realm it had belonged to. Black steel, longer than typical for a cutlass, warped at the edges like it had been hammered from anchors and teeth. Water dripped from the edge in fat beads that sizzled against the deck with each impact, hissing like they’d bitten through something deeper than wood. Kade studied the weapon in silence, and for a moment, her thoughts drifted back to the fight. If one of those swings had landed clean, she wouldn’t be standing here.

  The cutlass felt heavier than it should. Not in her hand, but in the way it hung in the air. Wrong, somehow. Like the weapon was resisting her holding it.

  A soft pulse vibrated through the hilt. The kind you felt in your molars.

  Saltbite

  Quality: Uncommon

  Enchantments: Acidic, Dark-Aligned

  Description: Forged from wreckmetal and deep-sea salvage, this long, warped cutlass carries the lingering corrosion of the drowned. Its edge constantly weeps brine that burns through flesh, armor, and wood alike.

  Restriction: Only usable by characters with a Dark-aligned class.

  "Picked it off Maulore before we cleared the deck," Myers said, stepping forward. "Didn’t have time to mess with it during the fight. Figured you’d want first crack."

  Kade turned it once in her grip, watching the water roll down its edge as if it were still underwater.

  "It’s got bite," she said. "But it's got a restriction on it."

  Devin nodded. "Second time now," he said. "First was that blade Myers yanked off the drowned siren in Newport. This makes two dark-aligned weapons we’ve pulled from high-value kills. That’s a pattern."

  "Not a good one," Bishop said.

  "No," Devin replied. "We’re not seeing strong neutral drops. Most of what’s worth anything is dark-stamped. Corrosive, cursed, or both."

  Kade slid the cutlass back into the sheath and handed it to Cole. "Log it. Lock it. No one touches it until we figure out what to do with it."

  Robin’s voice carried from the railing. "You’re farming the wrong spots."

  All eyes turned toward her. She didn’t move, didn’t turn around. Just kept watching the water, like the wreck might still claw its way back up from below.

  "High-value drops don’t come from shipwrecks or patrol routes," she said. "They come from dungeons. World quests. Contracts that have a cost."

  Devin frowned. "So you’re saying we’re wasting our time?"

  "I’m saying your table’s been cleared by scraps," Robin replied. "You want real upgrades, you go underground. You don’t wait for something to crawl out of the sea and hand it to you."

  Myers looked from her to Kade. "That sounded awful practiced."

  Robin finally turned. "Because I’ve done it. More than once."

  The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, just weighted. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Robin wasn’t just another Conclave operative with a fast draw. She had actual dungeon experience. And not for the first time, Kade wasn’t entirely sure she’d come from the Conclave at all. Sure, Robin was their representative, but she didn't act like she was actually a member of the Conclave.

  "So that’s the play now?" Bishop asked. "Dungeons, or wait to get picked off by whatever comes next?"

  "Not what I said," Robin replied. "But life’s a video game now. You either keep powering up, or you hit a wall."

  Kade didn’t love the phrasing, but she couldn’t argue with the core of it. They were strong. Skilled. But every fight cost more than the last, and the Simulation didn’t care about valor or seniority. It rewarded progress, and like it or not, they needed all three if they were going to keep pushing forward.

  The thought had crossed her mind before, but now she couldn’t ignore it. If this dungeon delve went well, she’d work with Lawson to draft a formal recommendation for the command staff. It would outline a new operational doctrine that included Simulation-based resource gain, equipment recovery, and progression.

  But that was a problem for future Kade. Right now, the mission was active, and they still had an artifact to recover while the Captain tried to hammer out a working alliance between three civilian factions who barely trusted each other enough to share a map, let alone a safe zone.

  She kept her eyes on the horizon a few seconds longer, then pulled up her character sheet.

  The shift came as always. Not a flicker of light or swirl of digital haze, just a clean interface that burned into the center of her vision. Kade ignored the frame dressing. She didn’t care how it looked. She cared about what it meant.

  +2 Dirty Fighting | You call it combat. The Simulation calls it unsportsmanlike. Either way, it worked.

  + 1 Pistol Combat | Marksmanship noted. Weapon loyalty, however, is under review. Try not throwing it next time.

  + 2 Sword Combat | You landed the hits, even if your form would make an academy instructor weep. Keep swinging, Lieutenant.

  +9 Ship Combat | Proficiency gained and historical experience recognized. Previous use of naval tactics, firing solutions, and maneuver coordination now tracked.

  She scanned the changes, noting the new proficiency logged for ship-based combat. There was no denying it anymore. The Simulation didn’t reward only effort. It rewarded risk. Real, final, blood-on-the-deck risk. And the higher she climbed, the more the system seemed to lean in. Like it wanted her to commit. Like it was keeping score.

  She clenched her jaw and flipped over to her character details.

  Name: Sarah Kade

  Class: Corsair

  Level: 9

  Health: 340/340

  Mana: 220/220

  Stats

  Strength: 10

  Dexterity: 7

  Intelligence: 11

  Constitution: 7

  Charisma: 8 (9)

  Abilities

  Against the Tide

  Blade Whirl

  Command Presence

  Deck Fighter

  Riposte of the Kraken

  Stormwall Stance

  Skills

  Amphibious Combat: 1

  Amphibious Movement: 1

  Dirty Fighting: 16

  Grenadier: 2

  Leadership: 19 (24)

  Light Armor: 7

  Ocean Craft: 10

  Ocean Navigation: 8

  Pistol Combat: 10

  Sailing: 8

  Ship Combat: 9

  Stealth: 1

  Sword Combat: 20

  Tactical Negotiation: 2

  A cold edge settled behind her ribs as she read. Progress felt good, sure, but every line of improvement came with a memory attached. Every jump in skill had a price. Her shoulder still ached from blocking Maulore’s last swing. Her side throbbed where a drowned had nearly gutted her during the boarding action. The Simulation didn’t log scars, but she did.

  Kade closed the interface.

  The last of the Simulation notifications faded from Kade’s vision like heat rolling off steel. She stood quietly, arms crossed, eyes scanning the fog ahead. The Talon held a steady course under summoned wind, her hull rocking gently in the dead calm that followed battle. Below, the deck crews were already rotating watch, swapping bloodied canvas for fresh sail, checking seals, lashings, barrels. No one shouted. Orders didn’t need volume here. The Talon’s crew knew the rhythm, and they kept it.

  Bishop remained at her side, eyes forward, brow furrowed. Myers stood nearby, one boot hooked lazily over a coil of line as if the weight of the last hour hadn’t hit yet. Devin Cole was next to him, arms folded tight, glancing occasionally at the deck like someone doing math no one else had asked for. Robin lingered at the aft railing, still watching the fog behind them like it might change its mind and chase them down after all.

  Then the fog thinned.

  Not fully. Just enough for the sky to shift from featureless white to a bruised, sickly gray. Enough for the shape of the coastline to emerge from the mist ahead. Rocky outcrops. Jagged spines of land slashed low across the surf. And high above them all, the lighthouse.

  Its beam sliced across the open water in a sweeping arc.

  Cold light bathed the horizon, not the warm orange of oil flame but something akin to something with a tint of pale sickly green. Cole was the first to say what they were all thinking.

  "That thing’s lit."

  Kade didn’t blink. "Sure looks like it."

  "Electricity doesn't work, and that doesn't look like the light from fuel oil," he added. "What do you think is powering it?"

  "Magic. World event shenanigans. Swamp gas. Artifact bleed. Pick a theory," she said. "Doesn’t change the fact we’re landing."

  The silence stretched again. Even Myers didn’t offer a quip. The lighthouse’s glow moved over them slowly, casting long shadows across the deck as if it were searching for victims.

  The Talon eased toward the pier on summoned wind and sailor instinct. Ropes uncoiled, calls echoed sharp and short through the fog.

  "Ten meters off!"

  "Lines ready!"

  "Starboard drag, easy now!"

  Crew hauled at the rigging while helmsmen feathered the sails. The hull bumped gently against the pier’s timbers with a sound like a question being asked too quietly. Sailors lashed her tight with skilled hands, their movement thudding across wet planks.

  "Secure bow and stern."

  "Stand by for shore party."

  Kade moved toward the middeck rail and scanned the dock. It was empty. No angry welcoming party. No sign of monsters, living or dead. Just mist, cold light, and the faint sound of waves breaking against stone.

  She turned to Bishop and gave a tight smile.

  "You’ve got the ship."

  He gave a quick salute back. "The ship is mine. Copy that. I’ll keep her ready."

  "Hold the fort. If we’re not back in forty-eight, assume the worst and don’t come after us." She said after the formalities of transferring command of the ship were taken care of.

  Bishop didn’t argue, but the look on his face told Kade that he didn't like the order.

  Kade stepped back toward the aftcastle rail, sweeping the fog with her eyes. She needed to check weapons, gear, supplies. A dozen small things that could mean the difference between clearing a dungeon or never stepping out of it.

  "Dungeon team assemble in fifteen minutes," she called.

  She looked up one last time at the lighthouse, its beam still cutting a slow arc across the sea as if it were waiting to mark their entry before heading to her cabin to prepare.

  Behind her, the light suddenly snapped off.

  If there had been any doubt before, there wasn’t now.

  Whatever waited for them on the island knew they were coming.