The deck was still damp from the waves that had splashed over the side during the battle. The Wretch was gone. Not slain in the traditional sense, not even destroyed—just removed, as if it had never existed at all. No blood. No corpse. No remains.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Orn remained near the helm, his fingers resting lightly against the hilt of his weapon. His mind was sharp, working through the last few moments of the fight. The Wretch hadn’t retaliated. Not when they cut it apart. Not when it realized it was losing.

That alone made no sense.

Beasts fought to survive, to kill, or to feed. Even the more intelligent Depth Dwellers—Whispered, Wretched, or otherwise—struggled when cornered. They never just let themselves die.

So why had this one done exactly that?

Had it been testing them? If so, why hold back?

If its purpose was to learn, then it should have escalated, forced them to show more of their strengths, more of their strategies. But instead, it had simply watched. That meant two things.

Either it didn’t need them weakened.

Or—

What was coming next did not need them weakened.

A much worse possibility.

Because if it didn’t need them exhausted, then why send the Wretch at all?

Alya hadn’t moved much from her position. Her hands were still resting on the railing, her back straight, her breathing measured. She was waiting. That alone was enough to tell Orn that she had come to the same conclusion.

Ikar stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, but Orn could see the tension in his fingers. His ability had severed the Wretch’s claim over the battlefield, but severing was not erasing. If something else had extended its domain beneath them, it would take time to notice.

Tark, ever quiet, was gripping his weapon loosely at his side. He was ready.

None of them had relaxed.

Not a good sign.

One of the younger hunters finally broke the silence. "Do we move?"

Orn considered it.

Leaving was an option, but not a safe one. If they fled now, they risked sailing blindly into something far worse. The Dead Sea was full of things that did not chase prey in the way land-beasts did. Some of them waited. Some of them let you think you had escaped, only to become the space around you before you realized what had happened.

Staying wasn’t much better.

If something was watching, waiting for a response, then doing nothing might be exactly what it wanted.

But what was it waiting for?

Orn exhaled through his nose, his voice even. "Ikar. You sense anything else?"

Ikar closed his eyes for a moment, his focus shifting. His ability to sever reality made him uniquely aware of where influence had been left behind. If something had extended beyond the Wretch’s reach, he would know.

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The seconds stretched, long and heavy.

Then Ikar opened his eyes. "Nothing. Whatever’s down there isn’t touching us."

That was strange.

If it wasn’t trying to claim the ship, then what was it doing?

Tark finally spoke. "Then why hasn’t it moved?"

No one answered.

The younger hunters on deck shifted uneasily. They were really close to panicking, that’s for sure. These men had seen the horrors of the Dead Sea before. They knew better than to assume silence meant safety.

Alya inhaled, her fingers tightening against the wood. "There’s something beneath us."

"Of course there is, we know," Orn said. "Question is, why hasn’t it acted?"

It was unnatural.

If it was a greater Depth Dweller, a Ruinous, perhaps, then it should have already made its presence known. The ones strong enough to hunt Hunters did not hesitate.

If it was a lesser creature, then it should have fled the moment the Wretch died. Nevemind the fact how would a lesser creature control a Wretch?

This was neither, and that left only one real possibility.

Orn’s jaw tensed slightly. "I believe it may not be here for us."

Tark’s eyes flickered toward him. "Then why is it still watching?"

Orn didn’t answer immediately. Because that was the real question, wasn’t it?

If it wasn’t hunting them, then what was it waiting for?

The Dead Sea was never silent. Even now, there were things beneath the surface, moving in ways that normal eyes could not perceive. The water had always been filled with life—beasts that did not obey the laws of land-dwellers.

And Orn had seen something like this before.

—

The stench of blood and salt filled the air. The deck was slick with seawater, thickened by the remnants of creatures that had been ripped apart during the battle. The ship rocked violently as waves crashed against its hull, the aftermath of a struggle that had lasted far longer than it should have.

Bodies—both of men and monsters—littered the wood. Some were still breathing, moaning in pain. Others would never move again.

And in the center of it all, the Wretch lay in chains.

Its body was a shifting mass of twisted, overlapping forms, never quite settling into a single shape. It had no eyes, no mouth, no features that could be identified, yet it breathed. A low, unnatural sound that grated against the senses, as though it was inhaling something other than air.

The chains wrapped around it were reinforced with Awakened abilities, each link infused with power to suppress its movements. But even now, the Wretch twitched, testing its bindings.

"Chief Olav! We did it!"

Chief Olav tilted his head and looked at the young Awakend next to him.

"Yes, Orn," he said. "But not without a heavy price."

Orn looked down.

The battle had not been clean. The Wretch had torn through their ranks before they had managed to subdue it. The Chief and the Vice-Chief had led the charge, their combined presence barely enough to contain the creature, while the rest of the crew had been forced to act as support.

The plan had been simple in theory: wear it down, weaken it just enough to be captured, then bring it back to the settlement alive. But in practice, the Wretch had not made it easy. It had learned. It had adapted. The more they fought it, the more its movements had changed, adjusting to their strategies.

And worse, it had not fought to kill.

That had been the most terrifying part.

It had wounded, crippled, maimed—but it had never gone for lethal blows. As if the act of battle itself had been more important to it than the outcome.

They had won, but at what cost?

Orn exhaled, his young face hardened by exhaustion. "Yes..."

The Chief studied him for a moment before turning his gaze to the rest of the crew. "Check the wounded. We leave as soon as possible. No one rests until we’re on safe waters."

The hunters obeyed immediately.

There was no celebration. No relief. Only work.

The Dead Sea was not a place where victories were celebrated. It was a place where survival was borrowed time.

Orn turned back toward the captured Wretch, watching the way it shifted. Even in its restrained state, it was thinking.

That was what unsettled him the most.

It had been taken. Defeated. Caged.

But it was not afraid.

It was waiting.

For what?

The hunt had been a disaster, but it had taught them something vital.

Not every predator of the Dead Sea was interested in land-dwellers.

Some of them were only interested in each other.

—

The memory faded, but the lesson remained.

Orn gritted his teeth, his mind working quickly. The Wretch they had just fought had not acted like a predator hunting its prey. It had behaved like prey avoiding something larger.

And that meant one thing. The true danger was still beneath them.

Alya exhaled sharply. "The pressure’s shifting."

Orn nodded. "Yes, I feel it."

The ship was not moving, but the sea around it was adjusting. The water’s weight, its density, the way it pressed against the hull—something below them was warping the very nature of its presence.

Ikar’s voice was calm but sharp. "We need to decide now. If we wait too long, we might not be able to react."

Orn glanced at the horizon. Still empty. Still normal.

But the sea was not normal anymore.

He inhaled deeply, his instincts screaming at him to act before it was too late.

"Alright, move!" he said.

Alya didn’t hesitate. She released her hold on the ship, allowing it to drift naturally again. The hunters on deck quickly responded, adjusting the sails, preparing to turn.

Orn didn’t know if it would work. But staying was no longer an option.

Then—

The ship lurched.

The hunt wasn’t over just yet.