POV: Beth
The port smelled of rum, rotten fish, sea-salt blood, and smoke. Laughter rose like broken glass, sharp and dangerous, mixed with music that sounded like someone was strangling a violin. Pirate banners hung like gutted lungs, red and black, swaying over the alleyways. This place was no palace court—it was a beast. A living one. And somehow, after everything, I walked through it as if I belonged.
Victory tasted strange. Bitter and sweet. I should have felt freedom. Relief. Instead my chest felt too tight to breathe.
The crew poured into the largest tavern like wild dogs finally let off their leash—cheering, limping, some bloody but alive. Rum spilled, someone already arm-wrestled a giant of a man with metal teeth, Karn was recounting for the fiftieth time how he killed “a Kraken tentacle the size of a mast” (he didn’t), and Kaine sat with his boots on the table like a king of disorder. Clover climbed onto a table to demand drinks, slipped, fell, and still somehow looked proud. Pirates—they never changed.
Mira was the first to find me. She came up behind with a soft “Beth,” and wrapped her arms around me so smoothly I barely had time to flinch. Her perfume was honeyed and gentle—too gentle for a pirate port.
“You’re safe,” she whispered, cheek pressed to mine as if we were sisters. Her voice trembled just enough to sound real. “I’m so glad.”
My muscles tensed. “You’re squeezing too tight.”
She laughed lightly, stepping back. The smile she gave me was bright and pure—painfully perfect. Too perfect. A performance.
Yet the whole tavern watched her like a saint. Some even clapped.
Mira, the hero. Mira, the beauty. Mira, the crew favorite.
While I—the Stormborn, the girl who tamed a Kraken—stood alone with a glass of rum I didn’t even want. Mira linked her arm with mine as if claiming ownership, pulling me toward the celebration. I followed out of exhaustion, not desire.
Kaine slammed his mug down. “Beth! Water witch, Kraken tamer—come drink with us!”
Clove shouted, “To the girl who scares the ocean into obedience!” Laughter roared. But beneath that praise, I heard the whispers:
Unnatural… cursed… magic-born… dangerous…
Compliment and fear sat on the same tongue. I felt them peel me open from inside.
Mira leaned close, voice low, soft. “Let them love you. You earned it.” For a moment, her hand brushed my wrist in something like comfort—or possession. I couldn’t tell.
I lasted seven minutes. Eight maybe. Rum stung my throat, music throbbed, bodies pressed too close. I pulled away gently from Mira’s hold and slipped outside into the night.
The port air was cold, salty, harsh on wounded lungs. My heart still raced with images of Leviathan bone, Kraken eyes, Silas confessing love, Alaric bleeding in my arms, war still flickering like embers behind us.
Peace didn’t fit me. It scratched like wool.
I leaned against a barrel, gazing at the moon-split tide. Waves glittered silver like broken promises. I didn’t hear footsteps—I felt them. A familiar presence, heavy as thunder.
Alaric.
He stopped beside me, hands behind his back, posture too relaxed to be casual. His voice was low, softer than rum-laughter inside. “You disappeared.”
“I needed air,” I said without looking at him.
“You always run when you think too loudly.”
I scoffed. “And you hide when you feel too much.”
Silence stretched. Thick. Wounded.
Alaric shifted closer. The Tavern music dimmed behind us, his shadow cutting the lantern light. He smelled like salt, smoke, steel—everything dangerous and familiar.
He spoke carefully. “About what I said before. I know it made things… complicated.”
My breath hitched. The confession.
He didn't look ashamed. Or scared. Just present. Honest.
“I meant it,” he continued. “Every word.” His voice dipped lower, intimate as a knife against skin. “But I’m not here to demand answers from you.”
I finally turned to him. Moonlight carved him in silver—hair messy from battle, a scar across his cheek catching light like a story. His eyes were intense, but steady.
“You’re not ready.” He said it not as insult—but acceptance. “And that’s fine.”
My chest burned—relief mixed with fear. “You’ll wait?”
A slow smirk curved his mouth, wolfish and unbearably confident.
“I have oceans. Storms. A whole war behind us. I think I can handle waiting for one woman.”
Heat hit my stomach. Damn him.
He reached out—not touching, fingers hovering near my jaw like a temptation. “Don’t look so tense, Stormborn. I’m patient. I’m not going anywhere.” His smirk deepened, voice dropping to velvet. “When you’re ready… you’ll come find me.”
I swallowed. Hard.
He stepped back first, giving space like it was a gift. “Now come inside before Clover starts a knife-throwing contest with a drunk whale.”
A surprised laugh escaped me—small, fragile. He noticed, eyes brightening for half a second with something like joy. Then he winked—playful, infuriating—and walked back toward tavern light.
I stayed behind a moment longer under the moon, heart a battlefield. Mira’s sweetness, Silas’s obsession, Alaric’s patience wrapped in arrogance—all spinning around me like tides.
Peace wasn’t peace. It was just silence before something breaks.
And I could feel it coming.