The battered remnants of Riko’s fleet drifted like ghosts through the sudden mist. The fog swallowed sound and distance alike, turning the New Kraken armada into scattered, pitiful blinks. Lanterns flickered through the gloom, their dim glow barely piercing the veil: Eight ships were where twelve should have been.

  The King’s breaker’s hull groaned from the past storm’s abuse, its sides riding a surface of splintered timbers, floating bulks, and rotten corpses.

  “Any idea which one is it?” Riko asked.

  Timo shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know if it’s ours, boss.”

  “We aren’t close to any of the Ring’s routes. It’s ours.”

  Riko stepped down the forecastle, his calloused hands tapping the passing rigged ropes. The damp air clung to his beard, beading like morning dew on thorns. Behind him, Timo swaggered.

  The boy was competent, almost the most he’d ever seen. But sometimes, he caught himself thinking about how empty it was. Strange, considering how similar they were to each other. For him, his coldness was an expenditure: A spilt glass to make a troubled walk easier. For Timo, on the contrary, it seemed like his glass had never been full.

  A scout’s voice cut through the chilly morning. “The Liberation reports they hear bells. Can’t locate. No lights seen.”

  The conversation hung, only the squeeze of the ship talking. Riko exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl into the damp air, waiting for words he didn’t know if they’d even come. “Let it be more than just one,” he muttered, more to the sea than to his crew.

  Another voice echoed. This time from above. “The Waspsting still not reporting!”

  “Mist is burning out,” Timo said. “We’ll find out soon if their fat-cap’n is still with us or floating like those.” He jerked a thumb out to sea, a grimace forming on his lips. Riko’s eyes darted over his shoulder. “What? We all know he’s not a competent one, don’t we?”

  “Competent enough to give a notice of sinking. They’ve probably gone off course. Nothing to worry about.”

  “‘Probably’ is an understatement.”

  Riko huffed through his nose. “I miss Adan.”

  A gust stirred the vapours, revealing glimpses of a darkened sea ahead. Riko’s gut knot tightened. Somewhere in that shifting blindness, his missing navy drifted, or worse. Numbers of which path they had taken would come as soon as the mist cleared.

  Lanterns flickered adrift in the grey. Following, black shadows of ships. The captain’s fingers tightened on the rail, fingers pressing on the wood. As if summoned by luck, the veil began to thin. Shafts of sunlight pierced through, turning the mist into swirling clouds, surrendering to the morning. High in the rigging, another lookout cried. “Our group, at two points, abaft the starboard beam, holding course!”

  “Two hulls half a mile off the port beam!” Another man said. “Ten more at horizon. Dead starboard!”

  Numbers fell short, yet Riko’s jaw eased as he scanned the horizon where sails danced to regroup.

  “Two points ahead!” the lookout added. “Three-mast with steam. Flying no colours.”

  Riko rushed back to the bow’s deck, hand pressing a folding spyglass. The unknown vessel was of old build but refurbished. It had a metal coating for the hull and a funnel to increase power. Also, through his monocle, he could see strange metal poles, antennas and cables sticking out where the mizzen should be.

  “It is a comms ship,” Riko said.

  Timo got closer. His swag, lost. “You mean… for Vega’s crewless ships?”

  Like a mirage given form, shapes emerged from the north-west. A forest of stemming funnels and sifting sails. Numbers: more than three times theirs. The crew’s cheers cut short as fast as a breath. Faces pale: all but Riko’s.

  “East, gentlemen!” he barked, his voice a whip. “Full sail until we reach Male.”

  The entire crew got to work methodically. All except Timo, who remained at the captain’s side. He calmly took up his monocle to observe Vega’s fleet more closely. “It seems they’re also heading to Male. I see boats without a tube or sail. What kind of propulsion do they use?”

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  “A kind of oil,” Riko said. “An invention from the colonies. Its engines are terribly fast.”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “That’s because they’re not breaking formation. We have to get there first at all costs. If they realise where we’re going, they’ll send their dreadnoughts to cut us off. If they do, we’re lost.”

  “I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but it looks like they’ve already sent one.”

  Riko snatched the spyglass from his quarter’s hand.

  , rough voices cracking with relief. Riko allowed himself a single, slow nod—the fleet had survived. The sea had taken its due, but not all. Not yet.

  Upcoming, there was a small ship of grey metal. Wood only showing over the deck’s flooring. The Herjard-made monstrosity gnawed against the wind with its churning engines. Closing quarters at a speed no vessel from Riko’s side could have ever done.

  It had no hatches on its hull. Instead, located at its top, clear of masts, there was a turret of sorts. A squared metal cube from where a long barrel protruded. It speeded straight, like a shark scenting blood, with a turret swiveling to the bow. Then, from a distance where engagement wouldn’t never be considered, fired. One shot.

  The volley tore through the air with a scream, and the Victory shuddered into pieces. Deck blew, mast cracked. Hull, torn apart. A fire erupted right after, like a hand coming from the ship’s insides to drag it down the ocean. Then, the powder magazine reduced what’s left to scattered pieces.

  It all happened in the time Riko lowered his spyglass. And as he raised up again, another shot reached the Defiant. Same result. Same fate.

  Riko never flinched. She never flinched. Yet, at that moment, for the first time, fear laced his words. Raw, unvarnished. “Faster, faster! Raise the stuns! Bear off!”

  The crews scrambled, their hands petrified by the enemy’s doing. With a grace that mocked mortal seamanship, Vega’s ship wheeled aside, before their cannons could answer, reaching a line to line but just beyond reach, taunting with speed. Laughing in the distance. Its turret turned.

  “Attention, navigator, ready on my command!” Riko’s mind raced. Heart squeezed. He had a second to speak. A second before his command would take hand. Much less than the time between shot and aim.As the turret halted to its place, he yelled. “Hard over! Now!”

  He braced on the rails as the ship tilted. Groaning, cracking. The cannon spit and the ball smashed on the ship’s beak.

  The second shot came too fast, hitting the stern fiercely. It ripped into the great Cavin like a knife, the devastation of breakage reverberating through the ship’s guts. Men scrambled, shouts lost beneath the thunder of destruction.

  Riko’s blood pumped isnide his neck. Against such enemy there was no battle to fight, just a slaughter to endure. The enemy fought with rules rewritten rules. Rules no other could follow. His fleet and his me, as brave as anyone can be, were but prey in this new, merciless game.

  “We’re done,” He mumbled. “W-we can’t. We…”

  He soon regained his composure. Only shame remained from his fleeting moment of weakness. Looking at Timo, searching for mockery on his weakness, he saw terror. A scared kid, unable to react.

  “Navigator, turn to engage. Put us to boarding reach!” Riko grabbed him up and tapped his shoulder. “Come on, kid. We are going to die now. But let’s not do it with shame.”

  Surprisingly, Riko’s command was followed with the same precision as always. Upon moments of fear, his men stood and acted bravely. Cries of war busted. men rushed to positions.

  Another volley cut clean their main. The wood cracked, and the mast fell like a cut tree. As ropes and sails sunk on the side, the ship tilted and slowed, dragged by the dead weight.

  The Kraken ship pivoted, its turret adjusting with mechanical precision. Riko clenched his jaw, hands searching for support. “Brace!”

  Then, a tearing of metal resonated through the air. A shudder ran through his arms as Vega’s ship rocked. Sheets of water cascade over its deck, rivets popping like sparks from its side. The armored steel buckled inward, and the vessel listed violently. No cannon fire had struck it. Yet still it sunk. As fast as it had sunk its enemies.

  Riko didn’t wait. Leaving behind a surface that contoured into curls where the metal ship had disappeared, he yelled. “Broad reaching!”

  Timo dragged hands over his hair. Then rubbed his face. “What happened to them? I-it makes no sense! Are we sailing dangers?”

  “Maybe the comms are too far…Maybe they can’t navigate without them.”

  “Nay, nay. Nonsense! You have seen it as well as I. That was no tech problem!”

  Riko agreed, but he had no better answer to give.

  The rest of the new kraken ships join to the frenzied sailing. Afar, the old Kraken, joined the race. No other ships came to slow Riko’s down. It didn’t matter, he thought. If one of them could do such damage, what would many manage? Still, he pressed forward. Fate was sealed, but he’d do it as he planned. In Male.

  “Whatever it was, I hope it follows us. Those ships are even bigger than this one.” Timo said.

  “Aye. This was just small sample of what awaits us. But I don’t care.” Riko looked askance. “Do you?”

  “I do. But I’ll pretend I don’t. Just like you.”