Chapter 386

The ship had been built on a forgotten promise. Humanity's last effort to survive the drowning world, to keep life moving on a stagnant course with no destination.

It had been designed to sail for generations, never landing, never stopping, only circling the drowning globe until—well, until the water receded. But no one had any real idea of how long that would take.

The Eternal Flight Plan. An ironic name. The ocean roared beneath them, endless and dark. There was no promise anymore; just the low creak of metal, the groan of a ship struggling to stay afloat, as everything above and below cracked under the weight of its burden.

The sea was always rising, and it seemed like the boat—this vast, hollow thing, stretching out endlessly—was forever sinking deeper into the waves.

Not many people were left. A thousand, maybe a thousand and five hundred souls. All aboard the ship, crammed into every corner, trying to make themselves fit. They slept in the open air, wrapped in tattered blankets, on the cold metal floors.

There were no more comforts, no more luxuries. Only the constant reminder of water, of endless waves, pressing against the sides of the ship, reminding them all that this was their home now. And it would be forever.

Lena sat near the edge, her fingers gripping the rusty rail as she stared out into the expanse. She was part of the crew, though there was little to actually do now that most of the engines had given up months ago. The ship didn't really need much from them anymore. It was just floating. And they were just waiting.

She remembered, back when they had first left, she had thought of it as an adventure. The journey, the hope of a new future. But as the days stretched on, that feeling faded. The ship became a prison, the horizon a prison wall.

"I think we're all losing it," someone said behind her, and she turned her head. It was Oliver, a man whose face had begun to crack from age and stress. His eyes were sunken, as though the weight of the ship itself had worn him down.

"Losing what?" she asked, her voice dry and distant.

"Hope," he replied, staring out into the dark expanse with her. "The plan was always about waiting. But what happens when we stop waiting? What if the water doesn't ever stop? What happens to us then?"

Lena didn't know how to answer. What could she say? That it was too late for any of them? That the ship was as doomed as their world? That no one would save them, not even the gods they used to pray to? She had been wondering those things too.

"We've got to keep moving," she muttered instead, her words fading into the sound of the water. The sound that never stopped. Not even at night. It wasn't just the ship groaning anymore. It was the ocean itself, breathing, alive with a constant hunger.

Oliver nodded slowly, but his face remained grim.

They were both part of a tiny crew left on the ship—small groups of people assigned to different sectors, maintaining systems that barely worked anymore. Lena had been tasked with monitoring the ship's systems, but it had been weeks since anything meaningful had been reported.

The alarms had stopped going off a long time ago. The screens remained blank. There was nothing to do but wait, or to wander the vast, empty corridors, hoping to find something to do. And in those silent moments, the ship felt more like a tomb than a vessel.

Lena moved away from the railing and walked toward the ship's main chamber, past a series of rooms where families huddled in tight clusters, their faces hollow, their eyes fixed on nothing. A child cried somewhere in the distance, but it felt as though it came from a world that no longer existed.

Everything around her was rust and decay, a slowly rotting shell floating aimlessly in a world that had long given up.

When Lena reached the engine room, the door creaked as she pushed it open. She didn't expect much. The place smelled of oil and corrosion, and the flickering lights barely illuminated anything.

There was an empty feeling here, the kind that made her skin crawl. The giant machines that once powered the ship now sat like bloated carcasses, slowly rusting away as the ship drifted onward.

The only sound here was the soft rumble of the ship's sluggish motion, as if the engines were still trying, in some pitiful way, to turn the wheels.

Her boots scraped against the floor, each step echoing in the hollow room. She reached the control panel. The lights blinked on and off, and the screens were smeared with grease, showing nothing. A few switches were still intact, though it had been a long time since they had done anything useful.

Lena's fingers moved over the buttons, half out of habit, half out of desperation. Maybe there was something. Maybe there was some way to fix it. Her mind didn't want to admit it, but deep down she knew. This ship, this entire flight plan, was doomed. They had all been doomed from the start.

The thought hit her with a sickening finality, and she pulled her hand back. The metal panel in front of her shook, vibrating beneath her palm. But not from the engine. Something was wrong. The vibration had a rhythm to it, unnatural, like a pulse. She looked around the room, but there was nothing.

It was the sound of water. Deep below the hull, water was moving. It had been quiet for a while, but now, it seemed like the ship was being rocked by waves from below. But the ship was too big for that. This was something else. Something in the depths.

Lena's heart raced, her breathing shallow. She turned and ran down the hallway toward the control deck. It was there she found Oliver again, standing near the helm, staring at the wide open ocean beyond.

"Lena," he said, his voice flat. "We need to talk."

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes darting nervously around. The air felt heavier now. The vibration was stronger.

"I've been thinking," he said slowly, his voice dragging. "The ship. The way it moves. The way it shakes. It's not the water anymore, Lena. It's something else. Something inside."

Lena froze, feeling the blood drain from her face. She hadn't wanted to believe it. She hadn't wanted to think that anything could be alive down there, beneath them. But now, as she felt the vibrations ripple through the walls, she knew. Something was in the water.

The ship groaned again, a long, low sound that reverberated through the metal. The ship was moving, but it was slower now. They weren't just drifting anymore. Something was pushing against them, something big, something alive.

Oliver's hand reached out, and he pulled her toward the nearest emergency hatch. The sound of water surged in their ears as they reached the deck. And then she saw it.

It was a shadow, darker than the ocean itself. It loomed beneath the surface, moving like a massive serpent. Its body twisted and shifted, wrapped around the ship, pulling at its hull.

The ship shuddered violently, the sound of snapping metal echoing through the empty space. They had no time. It was too late. They were already too far gone.

"Lena," Oliver said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water. "It's here. It's always been here."

The ship rocked harder, and before Lena could say anything, she was thrown to the ground, the world tilting dangerously. The last thing she saw was the shadow moving beneath them, the dark water opening wide like a mouth.

And then the ship cracked apart.

The last scream she heard wasn't her own. It wasn't anyone's. It was the sound of the sea swallowing everything whole.