Chapter 4

*The Year is 00 ACC*

The sea consumes their home. It was the end of the world. They knew it with a terrifying certainty. They should have drowned in its waters. They should have been shattered by the cracks in the land. They should have been incinerated with that light. That light! That incinerates their all. That cracks their continent. That drowns their world. They should have died with the millions. No, the billions that were consumed. By the wills that demand the world and are denied. But they live. They lived because of the golden spiral—the Helix.

Ask them what the Helix was. They couldn’t answer. They barely knew themselves. Their name was gone. Their memories were gone. Their world was gone. But they lived because of the golden spiral. And they had to know why, what, and who —the Helix was.

But it rejects them, a rejection that consumes their very soul. But they had to understand. They needed to understand, just as one needs to breathe, eat, and drink. It wasn’t an option not to; whatever bargain they struck with it demanded no less. It saved their life, but they needed to understand it completely. To complete whatever purpose it was made for. Nonetheless, it rejects them. It was not meant for them. It was created for a more vital being, one that was destroyed with their world.

For it is the end of the world. Thus, they float in the sea that devoured their world—slowly eating away from their soul, trying and failing to comprehend the Helix, surviving with its mandate, and waiting for the Helix to ingest their being and die with them.

But that was not what fate had planned for them. Death is not given to them, but instead, the AWOOGA! of the horn is—they are pulled from the sea with nets meant to catch fish. The man yanking them up isn’t gentle, nor is he gentle when they are thrown upon the deck. They sleep deep.

When they awake, their eyes flicker open, adjusting to the harsh sunlight. They are faced with a woman with a burned visage scarring her left side. Her right hand is replaced with a steel hook, and her left-hand holds an ivory horn.

“Who are ye, lass.” She says.

“Don’t know.” Their voice is rasp.

“Then what do ye want to be called, Eh,”

“It isn’t right. To name oneself.”

“True dat. Then I will name ya. Today, ye will be called Horn, Eh?” She looked down at Horn with a grin.

The deck sways beneath them, the creak of wood and snap of sails filling the air. Salt stings their nostrils. They try to sit up, muscles screaming in protest.

“Yours?” They rasp

“Captain Sihiri,” She response

Captain Sihiri looms over them, her scarred face twisted in a grimace. "Easy there, Horn. Ye've been through the wringer."

Horn's throat burns as they croak out, "Where...?"

"Aboard the Siren's Wail," Sihiri says, gesturing around the ship with her hook. "Fished ye out of that cursed sea three days past. Thought ye might not wake."

Horn's fingers twitch, seeking something—the Helix. Panic surges through them. "Where is it?"

Sihiri's good eye narrows. "Where's what, lass?"

"The Helix," Horn rasps. "Golden spiral. I need it."

The captain shakes her head. "No spiral here."

Horn struggles to their feet, swaying. "No. No, it has to be here. I can't—" They stumble, vision blurring.

Strong hands catch them. A gruff voice rumbles, "Steady on."

Horn blinks up at a towering man with skin like weathered leather. His beard is shot through with gray, eyes kind beneath bushy brows.

"This here's Garm," Sihiri says. "Me first, mate. He'll get ye sorted."

Garm nods. "Come on then. Let's get some food in ya."

As he guides Horn below deck, they cast one last desperate glance at the sea. The Helix is gone, but its pull remains—an ache in their very soul.

***

*The Year is 102 ACC*

Eighth Horn jolts awake, their heart pounding. The dream clings to them like cobwebs, memories of First Horn's desperation echoing in them. The crate they’re wedged into creaks ominously as the ship rolls. Darkness presses in, broken only by thin slivers of light seeping through the wooden slats.

They take a deep breath, tasting salt and musty canvas. The air is thick with the scent of tar and damp wood. Somewhere nearby, water drips steadily. Eighth's muscles ache from being cramped in the small space, but they dare not move yet.

Voices filter down from above, muffled but growing clearer. Heavy footsteps thump across the deck. Eighth holds their breath, straining to listen.

"Captain Drayton!" A woman's voice, sharp with urgency. "There's been a sighting off the port bow."

A man responds with a stern and slurred tone. "What kind of sighting, Lang? Spit it out."

"It's... it's one of ‘them,’ sir. The Kirke ship."

Silence falls, broken only by the creak of wood and snap of sails. Then comes the unmistakable sound of a bottle being uncorked—liquid gurgles.

"Bloody hells," Drayton mutters. "Sound the alarm. All hands on deck."

A bell begins to clang, frantic and shrill. Chaos erupts above as boots thunder across the planks. Shouts rang out, and orders barked in quick succession.

Eighth's heart races. They need to get out to see what's happening. Salaun could be on that ship. With trembling hands, they push against the crate's lid. It doesn't budge.

Panic rises in their throats. They push harder, muscles straining. The wood groans but holds fast. Eighth takes a shuddering breath, forcing themselves to calm. They place their palms flat against the lid, close their eyes, and reach.

The Helix pulses within them, a spiral of golden light unfurling in their mind's eye. Power thrums through their veins, hot and electric. They push again, not with their hands but with their will.

The crate explodes outward in a shower of splinters. Eighth tumbles onto the floor, gasping. The hold spins around them, shadows dancing in the dim light. They stagger to Their feet, bracing themselves against a stack of barrels.

Above, the commotion intensifies. A new sound cuts through the din - the distinctive whine of magi-tech engines powering up. The ship lurches, nearly sending Eighth sprawling again.

They stumble toward the stairs, determination etched on their face. Whatever's happening up there? They need to see it; they need to find Salaun. The Helix pulses in time.

***

Elizabeth lowers her hands, the barrier fading. She turns to Harith, her face unreadable in the starlight. "We need to keep moving."

Harith struggles to his feet, muscles screaming in protest. "Give me a minute, would ya? Some of us can't portal around."

"We don't have a minute," Elizabeth snaps. She gestures at the unconscious Salaun. "Pick him up. We need to reach the coast before dawn."

Harith doesn't move. "No."

Elizabeth stares at him.

“Stop with your death stares.”

“We need to get moving again. The search party is still looking…”

BAM! BANG! BAM!

"Shit," Harith hisses. "That's gotta be the search party."

Elizabeth's eyes narrow. "They're closer than I thought. We need to move. Now."

Harith doesn't budge. "I told you, no. I ain't movin' until we figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out," Elizabeth snaps. "We have our orders. Now pick up Salaun and—"

"Orders?" Harith interrupts. "I didn't sign up for any orders. And I sure as hell didn't agree to kidnap some kid and drag him across monster-infested waters."

Elizabeth's hands crackle with barely contained magic. "This isn't a debate, Harith. We're going."

Harith stands his ground, fists clenched. "Make me."

The sound of gunfire erupts from the nearby treelined. Flashes of light illuminate the darkness.

"Shit!" Harith dives for cover, dragging Salaun with him.

Elizabeth's hands weave complex patterns. A shimmering dome springs to life around them just as bullets ping off its surface.

"Enforcers," she hisses. "We're trapped!"

"Not yet," Harith says grimly. His fingers trace glowing sigils in the air, and the dome shimmers, becoming translucent.

"What are you—"

He closes his eyes in concentration.

The air around them ripples. Suddenly, they're no longer crouched by the cave entrance. Instead, three perfect duplicates of themselves stand in the open, completely exposed.

"Illusions?" Elizabeth breathes, impressed briefly.

Harith nods.

They scramble into the underbrush, Harith once again carrying Salaun. Behind them, shouts of triumph turn to confusion as bullets pass harmlessly through the illusory targets.

They push through dense foliage, branches whipping at their faces. Harith's lungs burn, his legs threatening to give out under Salaun's dead weight.

CRACK! A tree beside them explodes in a shower of splinters.

"They're onto us!" Harith gasps.

Elizabeth spins, her hands weaving another spell. Thick vines erupt from the ground, forming a tangled wall behind them.

"That won't hold them long," she pants. "We need to—"

Her words cut off as Harith stumbles, nearly dropping Salaun. Elizabeth grabs the unconscious boy's other arm, slinging it over her shoulder.

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"I've got him," Harith wheezes. "You need your hands free to—"

"Shut up and run," Elizabeth growls.

They stagger forward, half-carrying, half-dragging Salaun between them. The sounds of pursuit grow closer. Shouts and curses echo through the trees as the enforcers hack through Elizabeth's magical barrier.

BOOM! An explosion rocks the ground. Elizabeth stumbles, nearly losing her grip on Salaun.

"Dammit," she snarls. "They brought a demolitions expert."

The sound of explosions rips through the night air. Flashes of light illuminate the sky to the east.

They burst from the treeline onto a rocky beach. The ocean stretches before them, dark and foreboding. Waves crash against the shore, the rhythmic pounding almost drowning out the sounds of pursuit.

"There!" Elizabeth points to a small cove where several boats are moored. "We need to get to one of those skiffs."

Harith's legs feel like lead as they stumble across the sand. His breath comes in ragged gasps. "And then what? We just sail off into monster-infested waters?"

"You have a better idea?" Elizabeth snaps.

Before Harith can respond, a shout rings out behind them. "There they are!"

CRACK! A bolt of energy sizzles past Harith's ear. He ducks instinctively, nearly dropping Salaun.

Elizabeth spins, hands already weaving a counter-spell. A shimmering barrier springs to life just as another volley of magical bolts streak toward them. The impacts send ripples across the magical shield.

"Go!" she yells at Harith. "Get Salaun to the boat. I'll hold them off."

Harith hesitates for a split second, then nods grimly. He hoists Salaun higher on his shoulder and sprints for the nearest skiff.

Behind him, the air crackles with arcane energy as Elizabeth unleashes a barrage of spells. Explosions rock the beach. Sand turns to glass under the heat of magical fire.

Harith reaches the skiff and unceremoniously dumps Salaun into it. He scrambles to untie the mooring rope, fingers fumbling with the knot.

"Elizabeth!" he shouts. "We gotta go!"

She backs towards him, still firing off spells. The enforcers are pinned down behind a hastily conjured barricade of stone, but more are pouring out of the jungle.

Elizabeth leaps into the boat just as Harith shoves it into the water. They both grab oars and row furiously, putting distance between themselves and the shore.

BOOM! A massive fireball erupts on the beach, sending enforcers flying. Elizabeth slumps, exhausted from the magical exertion.

"That should slow them down," she pants.

Harith doesn't respond, focused on rowing. The waves grow choppier as they leave the cove's protection. In the distance, dark shapes move beneath the surface.

"Harith," Elizabeth says quietly. He looks up, following her gaze.

On the horizon, a massive tentacle breaks the surface, then another. A creature of nightmare rises from the depths, easily dwarfing their tiny skiff.

Harith's hands tighten on the oars. "I really hope you have a plan for that."

Elizabeth's face is grim in the pre-dawn light. "Row faster."

The skiff rocks violently as massive tentacles breach the surface, sending waves crashing over its sides. Harith and Elizabeth cling desperately to the gunwales while Salaun's unconscious form slides across the deck.

"We're not going to make it," Harith yells over the roar of churning water.

Elizabeth's eyes narrow, scanning the horizon. Suddenly, she points. "Look!"

A ship materializes out of the mist, its sails billowing impossibly in the still air. As it draws closer, Harith can make out the distinctive figurehead - a grinning skull with gemstones for eyes.

"Is that...?" he breathes.

"The Jolly Rogue," Elizabeth confirms. "Captain Kirke Bluemound's ship."

The infamous vessel surges forward, magical engines humming. On its deck, a figure in a patchwork coat raises a speaking trumpet to his lips.

"Ahoy there, unfortunate souls!" Captain Kirke's voice booms across the waves. "Seems you've stirred up old Tentacles McGee. Shall we lend a hand?"

Before they can respond, the monster's attention shifts. A massive eye, easily the size of their skiff, swivels toward the new arrival.

With a bone-shaking roar, the creature launches itself at the Jolly Rogue. Tentacles thick as tree trunks lash out, seeking to crush the ship's hull.

But Captain Kirke is ready. "Now, lads!" he shouts.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Blasts of multi-colored energy erupt, slamming into the sea monster. The creature's flesh bubbles and warps under the arcane assault. Each shot trails crackling energy as it slams into the monster's hide. The creature shrieks, recoiling as chunks of its flesh are vaporized.

Kirke himself leaps to the ship's wheel, spinning it with manic glee. The Jolly Rogue dances between flailing tentacles, cannons never falling silent.

Yet for every wound inflicted, two more monsters rise from the depths. The sea boils with nightmarish forms - scaled behemoths, serpents of impossible length, creatures that defy description. A Kraken erupts from the depths, its massive body easily dwarfing the largest warship. Serpentine horrors with glowing eyes and razor teeth launch themselves at the nearest vessels.

On the horizon, the guild's fleet. Ships of sleek design, their hulls gleaming with enchanted runes. At their head sails, an imposing vessel, its prow adorned with the snarling visage of a sea dragon.

Elizabeth's face is grim. "Shit. The Taniwha," Elizabeth breathes. "Captain Kalum Drayton."

The fleet surges forward, magical engines thrumming. Energy crackles along their hulls as defensive wards spring to life.

Aboard the Taniwha, a figure strides to the bow. Even at this distance, Harith knew it was that legendary knight from old Crow stories who turned traitor.

Captain Kalum Drayton raises his arms, his voice carrying across the waves with supernatural clarity. "ENOUGH!"

The Kraken, caught in mid-attack, finds its lower tentacles trapped in rapidly forming ice. It thrashes wildly, but the cold is relentless. Other sea monsters writhe and shriek as the freezing water creeps up their bodies.

Kalum's voice booms again: "NOW!"

Bam! A beam of pure white light lances out from the deck of his massive ship. It strikes the frozen surface and explodes on impact, shattering the ice into a glittering cloud; shards rain down, slicing through tentacles and scales. The Kraken shrieks, its massive body convulsing as it sinks beneath the waves.

Kalum's voice rings out again, "Forward! Take the boy!"

The guild fleet surges ahead, magical engines roaring. Harith and Elizabeth cling to their tiny skiff as waves threaten to capsize them. Salaun remains unconscious, oblivious to the chaos.

But Captain Kirke isn't about to let Kalum have all the fun. "Not so fast, you pompous git!" he bellows. The Jolly Rogue's cannons swivel, unleashing a barrage of multi-colored energy bolts at the approaching fleet.

Kalum's ships scatter, their protective wards flaring as they absorb the assault. The Taniwha plows ahead, seemingly unfazed. Its prow slices through the water, leaving a wake of unnatural calm.

A serpentine horror erupts from the depths, its maw gaping wide enough to swallow the Jolly Rogue whole. Kirke cackles maniacally, spinning the ship's wheel. "Dance with me, beastie!"

The Jolly Rogue pirouettes impossibly, narrowly avoiding the creature's lunge. As it passes, the ship's hull bristles with harpoons. They fire in rapid succession, each trailing a crackling line of energy. The monster writhes as electricity courses through its body.

Meanwhile, Kalum stands at the Taniwha's bow, arms raised. The air around him shimmers with power. Suddenly, the sea between the ships begins to churn. A massive whirlpool forms, threatening to drag everything into its depths.

"Harith!" Elizabeth shouts over the roar. "We need to move!"

They grab the oars, muscles straining as they fight against the current. But it's no use. The skiff is caught in the whirlpool's pull, spiraling ever closer to its center.

Kirke's voice booms across the water. "Hold on, y’all scurvy landlubbers!"

A grappling hook flies from the Jolly Rogue, latching onto their skiff with a resounding clang. The line goes taut, nearly yanking Harith overboard.

As they're pulled toward Kirke's ship, a bolt of pure force slams into the water beside them. Kalum stands at the Taniwha's rail, hands weaving complex patterns.

"Surrender the boy!" he roars. "You have no idea what forces you're meddling with!"

Elizabeth's eyes narrow. She raises her hands, violet energy crackling between her fingers. "Neither do you, old man!"

Elizabeth's hands blur with arcane gestures, her voice rising in a crescendo of preternatural syllables. The air around them shimmers, reality itself seeming to warp and twist.

"Brace yourselves!" she shouts.

A blinding flash erupts, engulfing their tiny skiff. For a heart-stopping moment, Harith feels as if he's being stretched in a thousand directions at once. His stomach lurches, the world spinning wildly.

Then, with a thunderous crack, they reappear miles away. The skiff crashes down into choppy waves, nearly capsizing from the impact. Harith clings to the gunwale, gasping for breath as he fights down waves of nausea.

Elizabeth slumps, exhausted from the massive expenditure of magical energy. "That... should buy us some time..," she pants.

Harith scans their new surroundings. They've materialized in the heart of the Organons Sea, a vast expanse of dark water stretching to the horizon in every direction. Ominous shapes move beneath the surface, hinting at monstrous forms lurking in the depths.

"Great," Harith mutters. "Out of the frying pan, into the Kraken-infested waters."

“We should be safe here... for now,” She responds.

A distant roar echoes across the waves, followed by an answering bellow from another direction. Massive fins break the surface, cutting through the water with terrifying speed.

"Safe?" he hisses. "You call this safe?"

Elizabeth manages a weak smile. "Safer than Kalum and his fleet, at least. Now, it’s your turn. Make us invisible before one of those things decides we look tasty."

“What?”

"Harith," Elizabeth says urgently. "We need to disappear. Now."

He nods grimly, already tracing sigils in the air. Golden light dances at his fingertips as he weaves a complex illusion. The magic settles over their skiff like a second skin, bending light around them.

Just in time. A colossal form breaches the surface mere yards away, water cascading off scales the size of dinner plates. The sea serpent's head towers above them, easily dwarfing their tiny vessel. Its eyes, each larger than Harith's torso, scan the waves hungrily.

Harith holds his breath, not daring to move a muscle. Even the slightest ripple could give them away. The monster's nostrils flare, and for a heart-stopping moment, Harith is sure it's caught their scent.

But then another roar sounds in the distance—the serpent's head swivels, distracted by the new threat. With a bone-shaking bellow of its own, it surges forward, disappearing beneath the waves with surprising speed for its massive bulk.

Harith exhales shakily. "That was too damn close."

Elizabeth nods, her face pale. "We can't stay here long. The illusion will only hold for so much jostling."

As if to emphasize her point, the skiff rocks violently as something massive passes beneath them. Harith glimpses a shadow easily five times the length of their boat.

"So, what now?” Harith complains.

***

The Aetherian Times

Issue 1086, 15th day of the Stormy Moon, 87 ACC

Pirate Lord Kirke Bluemound: Scourge of the Council or Unsung Hero?

By Pena Nyurat, War Correspondent

As the Guild-Council War rages on, a new player has emerged on the tumultuous seas of Atherton, blurring the lines between piracy and rebellion. Captain Kirke Bluemound, the puzzling leader of the infamous Jolly Rogue, has become a prickle in the side of Council forces and a beacon of hope for Guild sympathizers.

In a series of audacious attacks over the past month, Bluemound and his crew have successfully raided no fewer than seven Council supply convoys. Sources within the Council's naval command, speaking on condition of anonymity, estimate the losses at over 500,000 gold crowns in magical artifacts, weaponry, and vital supplies.

"It's not just the material losses," our source confided. "Bluemound's actions are devastating to morale. The Council's inability to protect its own supply lines is making some question the wisdom of this war."

Eyewitness accounts paint a picture of a captain whose unconventional tactics are matched only by his mastery of forbidden magics. Survivors of the raids describe the Jolly Rogue appearing out of nowhere.

"One moment, the sea was clear," recounts Able Seaman Tomas Gale, still visibly shaken. "The next, this monstrosity of a ship was upon us, cannons blazing with spells I've never seen before. And at the helm stood Bluemound, laughing like a madman as he tore our defenses apart."

While the Council has branded Bluemound a pirate and terrorist, placing a bounty of 100,000 gold crowns on his head, his reputation among the common folk tells a different story. Reports from coastal towns suggest that much of the plunder from Bluemound's raids finds its way into the hands of those suffering under the war's privations.

In the port town of Saltwhisper, local fisherman Mira Caskell shared: "Them Council types call him a criminal, but Bluemound's the only reason my family's eating these days. He may be a pirate, but he's got more honor than the lot in their fancy towers."

The Council's frustration with Bluemound's continued evasion of justice was evident in a recent statement from High Admiral Dorn Eisenrumpf: "Make no mistake, Kirke Bluemound is an enemy of peace and stability in Atherton. His actions prolong this conflict and bring suffering to innocents. We will not rest until he and his band of marauders are brought to justice."

Despite these strong words, the Council's efforts to capture Bluemound have thus far proved fruitless. Some speculate that the pirate lord enjoys protection from high-ranking members of the Guilds. In contrast, others attribute his success to an uncanny ability to navigate the treacherous waters of the Organons Sea.

As the war drags on, the legend of Kirke Bluemound only continues to grow. In taverns and markets across Atherton, tales of his exploits are told and retold, each iteration more fantastical than the last. Some claim he can control the weather itself, while others insist he's made pacts with the monstrous denizens of the deep.

Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: as long as Kirke Bluemound sails the seas of Atherton, the Council's plans for a swift victory over the Guilds remain in jeopardy. Whether history will remember him as a villainous pirate or a heroic rebel remains to be seen.

This reporter, for one, will be watching with great interest.

Editor's Note: The Aetherian Times remains neutral in the ongoing conflict between the Council of Magic and the Guilds of Unbound Sorcery. We strive to present facts as accurately as possible in these trying times. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinions based on the information provided.