X
The salt-laced wind whipped Elara’s fiery red hair across her face, a stark contrast to the muted grey of the London docks. Below, the murky waters of the Thames lapped against the weathered wood of the pier, a mournful, rhythmic sound that echoed the hollowness in her chest. It had been a month since the solicitor’s letter had arrived, a month since she had held the small, heavy box in her hands and felt the strange, cold weight of the obsidian compass within. Her grandfather, a man she had only known through faded photographs and her father’s bitter stories, was gone. And in his place, he had left a legacy of questions and a single, impossible clue.
“It’s a fool’s errand, Elara,” her father had said, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and concern. “The man chased shadows his entire life. Don’t you follow him down the same path.”
But the compass… the compass was real. It wasn’t made of wood or brass like the countless instruments that filled her small cartography shop. This was a single, polished piece of obsidian, smooth and cool to the touch. And the needle, a sliver of what looked like petrified lightning, didn’t point north. It spun erratically for a moment before settling on a direction that, according to every map she owned, was nothing but open ocean. Yet, her grandfather’s last letter, written in a shaky but determined hand, had been clear: “It doesn’t point to where you are, my dear Elara. It points to where you need to be.”
A gruff voice pulled her from her thoughts. “You the one lookin’ for passage to the Azores?”
Elara turned to see a man who seemed to be carved from the very timbers of the ships he sailed. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and a thick beard the color of sand. His eyes, the startling blue of a clear summer sky, held a mixture of amusement and skepticism as they took in her practical trousers and leather satchel.
“I am,” she said, her voice more confident than she felt. “I was told to find Captain Kael.”
“You’ve found him,” the man rumbled, his gaze lingering on the satchel. “And this ‘beast’ of yours?”
A low growl emanated from a large, covered cage near Elara’s feet. A scaled snout, reminiscent of a crocodile but with the intelligent eyes of a dolphin, poked through a small opening. Nami, her grandfather’s… companion. The solicitor had been at a loss for words when describing the creature, and the sailors at the dock had given them a wide berth.
“She’s perfectly harmless,” Elara assured him, though Nami’s occasional habit of spitting a jet of water at unsuspecting passersby suggested otherwise.
Kael grunted, seemingly unconvinced. “The Azores is a long way. And the sea… it’s not been kind lately. Storms brewing where they shouldn’t be. Strange currents. Not the best time for a pleasure cruise.”
“It’s not a pleasure cruise,” Elara said, her hand instinctively going to the compass tucked inside her coat. “It’s a… a research expedition.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Research? In the middle of the Atlantic?”
“Something like that,” she said evasively.
Kael studied her for a long moment, his gaze sharp and discerning. She had the feeling he could see right through her carefully constructed story. But then, to her surprise, he shrugged. “The gold you offered was persuasive. And I’ve sailed in worse. Get your things aboard. We leave with the tide.”
As Elara directed the dockhands to load her supplies onto “The Sea Serpent,” a ship that looked both sturdy and surprisingly swift, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. A shiver, not entirely from the cold, ran down her spine. Across the bustling dock, she caught a glimpse of a man in a long, dark coat, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat. He seemed to be looking directly at her. When their eyes met, or she imagined they did, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. A sense of unease settled in her stomach. It seemed her grandfather’s secrets had attracted more than just her own curiosity. The obsidian compass was more than just a family heirloom; it was a key. And she wasn’t the only one who wanted to unlock the door it promised to open. The adventure had begun, and with it, a danger she was only just beginning to comprehend.
The first few days at sea were deceptively calm. Kael, a man of few words, proved to be an exceptionally skilled sailor. He moved about his ship with a quiet confidence, his hands sure on the wheel, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. His crew, a small, tight-knit group of weathered sailors, were respectful, if a little wary of their unusual passenger and her even more unusual companion. Nami, freed from her cage, had quickly adapted to life on the open sea, her sleek, serpentine body gliding through the waves alongside the ship, her playful clicks and whistles a constant, reassuring presence.
Elara spent most of her time in her small cabin, poring over her grandfather’s journals. They were filled with cryptic notes, strange celestial charts, and detailed drawings of impossible creatures. But it was the recurring mention of “Aeridor” that held her captive. The Sunken City. A place her grandfather believed was not just a myth, but a real, tangible location, a repository of ancient knowledge and power. He wrote of a civilization that had mastered the very essence of the ocean, of a people who lived in harmony with the sea, their city a marvel of impossible architecture and wondrous technology. And he believed the obsidian compass was the key to finding it.
One evening, as the sun bled across the horizon in hues of orange and purple, Elara brought the compass out onto the deck. The needle, as always, pointed steadfastly towards the open ocean. Kael, who had been watching her from the helm, finally broke his silence.
“That’s a strange-looking piece of kit,” he said, his voice a low rumble above the creak of the ship. “Never seen a compass like it.”
“It was my grandfather’s,” Elara said, her gaze fixed on the unwavering needle. “He was a cartographer, like me. But he was interested in… forgotten places.”
Kael’s expression was unreadable. “There’s a reason some places are forgotten, lass. The sea keeps its secrets for a reason.”
“But what if those secrets are worth discovering?” Elara countered, her voice filled with a passion that surprised even herself. “What if they could change the world?”
Before Kael could respond, a shout came from the crow’s nest. “Ship ahoy! Off the starboard bow!”
Elara and Kael rushed to the railing. In the fading light, they could see another vessel, a sleek, black ship that cut through the water with an unnatural speed. It flew no flag, and its design was unlike any Elara had ever seen. A sense of dread, cold and sharp, pierced through her.
“Who are they?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Trouble,” he said, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the cutlass at his side. “That’s the ‘Nightshade.’ And its captain is a man you’d do well to avoid.”
As the ‘Nightshade’ drew closer, a figure emerged on its deck. He was tall and imposing, with a cruel, handsome face and eyes that seemed to glitter with a cold, predatory light. Even from a distance, Elara could feel the sheer force of his presence.
“Captain Valerius,” Kael spat, his voice laced with a venom that startled Elara.
Valerius raised a spyglass to his eye, his gaze sweeping over ‘The Sea Serpent’ before landing on Elara. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face. He lowered the spyglass and shouted across the water, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance.
“Kael, you old sea dog! I see you’ve taken on a new passenger. A pretty one at that. I trust you’ll be so good as to hand her over. Along with the trinket she carries. It is of no use to a landlocked map-maker.”
Elara’s blood ran cold. He knew about the compass. But how?
“The lady is under my protection, Valerius,” Kael shouted back, his voice a defiant roar. “And her ‘trinket,’ as you call it, is none of your concern. Now be on your way before you find out just how sharp my serpent’s teeth are.”
Valerius laughed, a cold, humorless sound that sent a shiver down Elara’s spine. “Brave words, Kael. But you’re outmatched. And I always get what I want.”
With a flick of his wrist, Valerius gave a signal, and a volley of grappling hooks shot out from the ‘Nightshade,’ their iron claws sinking into the railings of ‘The Sea Serpent.’ The battle for the obsidian compass, and for the fate of Aeridor, had begun.
