The salt spray stung against Elara’s face, a familiar bite that grounded her in the chaos of the storm. The Sea Serpent’s Kiss bucked and groaned beneath her bare feet, a living thing wrestling with the tempest’s fury. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the churning waves that clawed at the hull, each one a ravenous beast eager to drag them down.

She gripped the helm, knuckles white against the worn wood, and fought to keep the ship on course. The wind shrieked in her ears, a banshee’s wail that threatened to drown out even her own thoughts. Fear, cold and sharp, gnawed at the edges of her resolve, but she forced it back, shoving it down with the memory of her father's weathered hand on this very wheel, teaching her to read the language of the sea.

Elara squinted, trying to pierce the veil of rain and spray. According to the charts, Salvation Bay lay just beyond this squall, a sheltered cove where they could ride out the storm. But charts were just maps of hope, fragile things easily torn by the teeth of reality.

A sudden, sickening lurch sent her sprawling. The wheel spun wildly, nearly wrenching free of its moorings. Through the driving rain, she saw it – a jagged, black shape rising from the depths, a monstrous tooth tearing at the sky. It wasn't on any chart.