Chapter 3: "The Weight of Shadows"

The cabin fell silent as the beastman placed the heavy box on the table with a thud that reverberated through the room. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through the porthole, catching on the edges of the artifact he carefully unwrapped. The black cloth slid away to reveal an object Evelyn recognized instantly—a strangely shaped staff etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe under scrutiny. Its surface gleamed faintly, not with reflected light but with something internal, as though it pulsed with its own malevolent energy.

Evelyn's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She had seen this before—not in person, but in fragments of memory from her time as a player in Chrono Nexus. This was no ordinary relic; it was one of the cursed artifacts tied to the Seven Gods—or perhaps their darker counterparts, the Seven Shadows. Objects like these were rare, dangerous, and often sought after by those desperate enough to risk madness or worse for power. And now, here it was, sitting mere inches away from her.

Her widened eyes darted around the room, gauging the reactions of the others. To her surprise, they mirrored hers—unease, fascination, and a creeping sense of dread. Even Alden, usually stoic and composed, leaned back slightly, his monocle slipping down his nose as if the weight of the object pressed against him physically. The clown-masked man tilted his head, studying the staff with unnerving intensity, while Spider shifted uncomfortably, his gloved fingers twitching near the hilts of his daggers.

"What is this?" Evelyn asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Her tone carried a mix of curiosity and caution, though deep down, she already knew the answer. "This…" Evelyn began, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.

Alden adjusted his monocle, clearing his throat. "We're… not entirely sure," he admitted, choosing his words carefully. "When we docked at that island, Beastman—Garrick—found it buried beneath the ruins of what looked like an old shrine. Alongside it were other items, but none quite so… unsettling."

Garrick, the towering beastman, crossed his arms over his massive chest, his golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "It felt wrong," he rumbled, his deep voice tinged with unease. "Like stepping into a place you're not meant to be. But when I touched it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't know. It called to me."

"Called to you?" Evelyn echoed sharply, her gaze snapping to him. Her mind raced, piecing together the implications. If Garrick had been drawn to the staff, then whatever force animated it likely sought someone with strength—or perhaps recklessness—to wield it. That realization sent a chill down her spine.

Spider stepped forward, his movements cautious, almost hesitant. "Captain," he said quietly, his masked face angled toward her. "You recognize this, don't you?"

She hesitated, weighing her response. How much should she reveal? These people weren't players; they didn't share her fragmented memories of another life spent navigating the complexities of Chrono Nexus. Yet, keeping silent might put them all in greater danger. With a slow exhale, she nodded.

"Yes," she said simply. "This is a cursed artifact. One tied to the gods—or maybe the shadows." She paused, glancing at the staff again. "In my… previous experiences, objects like these are never harmless. They come with consequences. Always."

The room grew quieter still, the air thick with tension. The clown-masked man—whose name Evelyn recalled as Rook—spoke next, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. "Consequences aside, why would such a thing remain untouched for fifty years? Why would sailors avoid an island that should have been easy prey for scavengers?"

"That's exactly what worries me," Spider interjected, his sharp eyes darting between Evelyn and the staff. "An island abandoned for decades, untouched despite being within reach? Something doesn't add up. Either the Federals kept it hidden intentionally, or…" He let the sentence hang, leaving the implication unspoken.

"Or something else kept people away," Alden finished grimly. His expression darkened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Whatever happened there, it wasn't natural. Those settlements didn't just empty out overnight. And the ships…" He shook his head. "No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just… gone."

Evelyn's stomach churned at the thought. Abandoned settlements, missing sailors, and now this cursed artifact—it all pointed to something far more sinister than simple misfortune. Her mind flashed back to her days as a player, recalling lore about islands corrupted by shadow magic or tainted by the influence of fallen creatures. Places where reality itself unraveled, leaving only echoes of what once was.

"We need to decide what to do with it," she said firmly, breaking the silence. Her voice carried authority, though inside, she felt anything but certain. "Keeping it aboard the ship is risky. If it truly is cursed—and I believe it is—then every moment it stays here puts us in danger."

Garrick growled softly, his ears flattening against his skull. "And yet, abandoning it feels wrong too. Whatever it is, it's powerful. Maybe even useful."

"Useful?" Spider shot back, his tone sharp. "Power like that comes at a cost. You think the Federals chased us because of some shiny trinkets? No. They wanted this." He jabbed a finger toward the staff. "And if they're willing to send seven ships after us, imagine what else might be hunting it."

Rook tilted his head, considering Spider's words. "He's right," he said slowly. "But destroying it outright isn't an option either. Not without knowing more. We risk releasing whatever binds it—or worse, drawing attention from something far greater."

Evelyn clenched her fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Every suggestion brought new complications, each path fraught with peril. As captain, the final decision rested with her—but how could she choose when the stakes were so high?

"Let's focus on immediate priorities," Alden suggested, attempting to steer the conversation toward practicality. "First, we secure the artifact. Second, we figure out where it leads us. There's a reason it was left untouched for so long, and uncovering that reason might give us leverage—or answers."

Evelyn nodded reluctantly. For now, securing the staff seemed like the safest course of action. But safety, she knew, was relative. Turning to Garrick, she gestured toward the black cloth. "Wrap it up again. Keep it sealed tight. And Garrick—don't touch it unless absolutely necessary."

The beastman grunted in acknowledgment, carefully rewrapping the staff and placing it back in the heavy box. Despite his earlier bravado, even he seemed reluctant to linger near the object longer than needed.

As the crew dispersed, returning to their respective tasks, Evelyn lingered behind, staring at the closed lid of the box. Her thoughts churned, fragments of memory surfacing unbidden. She remembered collecting similar artifacts during her time as a player, using them to unlock abilities or progress through quests. Back then, the risks had felt distant, abstract. Now, standing face-to-face with the real thing, she understood the true weight of such decisions.

Her gaze drifted to the map still spread across the table. Their planned route eastward toward the neutral zone remained unchanged—for now. But with this new development, she couldn't shake the feeling that their journey was about to take a darker turn.

---

The wiry sailor—whose name, as Evelyn vaguely recalled from fragmented memories, was Cassian—had always been the kind of man who preferred action over contemplation. Quick-witted and quicker on his feet, he thrived in moments of chaos, relying on instinct rather than introspection. But even Cassian had limits, and the events unfolding in the cabin pushed him well beyond his comfort zone.

When Evelyn declared that the staff was cursed and potentially tied to forces beyond comprehension, Cassian's initial reaction was skepticism mixed with unease. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood, scratching the back of his neck—a nervous habit he couldn't suppress when things got too strange for his liking. His sun-bleached hair stuck out at odd angles, giving him a perpetually disheveled appearance, but now it seemed less carefree and more like the result of restless anxiety.

"Cursed?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You mean like… haunted? Ghosts and curses and all that nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense," Evelyn snapped, her tone sharper than intended. She softened slightly, seeing the flicker of fear behind his forced bravado. "It's dangerous. More dangerous than anything we've faced before."

Cassian swallowed hard, glancing at the wrapped staff on the table as if expecting it to leap up and attack them. "Right. Dangerous. Got it." He paused, rubbing his hands together nervously. "So… what exactly does 'cursed' entail here? Like, bad dreams? Or are we talking full-on tentacle monsters crawling out of shadows?"

Evelyn hesitated, unsure how much detail to share without sending him—or anyone else—into a panic. "Let's just say it attracts attention. Attention we don't want. And if we're not careful, it could bring something far worse than marines or pirates onto this ship."

That answer clearly didn't sit well with Cassian. His already pale complexion turned ashen, and he took an involuntary step backward, putting distance between himself and the ominous artifact. "Something worse? What's worse than getting blown out of the water by federal cannons?"

Evelyn didn't respond immediately, letting the question hang in the air like smoke after a cannon blast. Instead, she focused on the task at hand, directing the crew to secure the staff in its reinforced chest. As they worked, Cassian hovered nearby, visibly torn between curiosity and self-preservation. When Alden suggested using salt and iron to line the container, Cassian chimed in with a shaky laugh.

"Salt and iron? Really? Isn't that just old wives' tales stuff? Protecting against spirits or whatever?"

"It works," Evelyn said curtly, her gaze locking onto his. "Trust me on this."

Cassian raised his hands defensively, backing off. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. Just saying, it feels a little… superstitious, is all."

Despite his attempts to downplay his discomfort, it was clear that Cassian was rattled. Once the staff was safely sealed away, he lingered near the door, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. When Spider volunteered to guard the chest, Cassian let out a relieved sigh, muttering under his breath about "letting the creepy guy handle the creepy thing."

As the meeting broke up and the others dispersed, Cassian approached Evelyn hesitantly, his usual cocky grin replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Hey, uh… Captain?" he began, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You really think this thing's gonna cause trouble? Like, serious trouble?"

Evelyn met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Yes. I do."

He nodded slowly, chewing on his lower lip. "And you're sure tossing it overboard wouldn't solve the problem?"

"No," she replied firmly. "Tossing it overboard would only delay the inevitable. Something like this doesn't disappear—it finds someone else. Someone less prepared."

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. "Damn. Guess I'll stop suggesting dumb ideas then."

"It's not dumb to ask questions," Evelyn said, her tone softening slightly. "But trust me, Cassian. We can't afford to be reckless with this. Not if we want to survive."

He gave her a weak smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Surviving's kinda my specialty, Captain. Always has been. But… I gotta admit, this whole cursed relic thing's got me spooked."

"You're not alone," Evelyn admitted quietly. "Just keep your wits about you, and we'll get through this."

With that, Cassian nodded, offering a half-hearted salute before heading out of the cabin. As he stepped into the corridor, he muttered something under his breath—something along the lines of "ghost stories coming to life"—before disappearing toward the main deck.

---

Hours later, Evelyn stood alone on the main deck, gazing out at the endless expanse of ocean stretching before her. The storm from yesterday had passed, leaving behind clear skies and calm waters. Yet, the tranquility offered little comfort. Beneath the surface, unseen currents swirled, carrying dangers both known and unknown.

Behind her, footsteps approached. Turning, she saw Spider emerge from the shadows, his lithe frame moving with practiced stealth. Without a word, he joined her at the railing, his masked face turned toward the horizon.

"You're worried," he stated plainly, his tone devoid of judgment.

She sighed, running a hand through her tangled blonde hair. "Wouldn't you be? That staff—it's trouble. Big trouble. And we're carrying it straight into who-knows-what."

Spider nodded slowly. "True. But remember this: trouble isn't always bad. Sometimes, it opens doors we didn't even know existed."

His words caught her off guard. For all his quiet demeanor, Spider possessed a keen insight—one that often cut deeper than expected. Still, his optimism did little to ease her unease.

"And sometimes," she countered, "it gets us killed."

He chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "Fair point. But look at it this way: we've survived worse. Whatever's coming, we'll handle it. Together."

For a moment, Evelyn allowed herself to believe him. The crew, flawed and fractured though they were, had proven themselves capable time and again. Perhaps, just perhaps, they stood a chance against whatever lay ahead.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck, Evelyn couldn't shake the nagging doubt gnawing at the edges of her mind. The staff was more than a relic—it was a beacon, calling to forces beyond comprehension. And somewhere out there, in the vastness of the sea, something was listening.

---

*(End of Chapter)*