Chapter 20: Echoes of the Deep

The Stormchaser cut through the calm waters, its sails full with a breeze that carried the tang of salt and a promise of open horizons. The sea had transformed from a ravenous beast into a serene, glassy expanse, its surface mirroring the sky's soft hues. Eryndor stood at the ship's prow, the wind teasing strands of his dark hair as he stared into the endless blue.

The Voidblade rested at his side, its once vibrant veins of blue now a lattice of gray, as if the blade itself had been drained of life. Though the curse was lifted, Eryndor still felt its echoes in his bones—a hollow ache, a whisper of the darkness they had narrowly escaped. His hand tightened around the ship's railing, knuckles pale against the weathered wood.

Behind him, the crew moved with a sense of ease they had not known in months. A few hummed shanties as they coiled ropes and scrubbed the deck. Others sat against the bulwark, sharing rations and stories, laughter rising to the sky like smoke. It was as if the ship itself had exhaled a long-held breath.

Elys approached quietly, her boots soft on the damp planks. She wore a half-smile, a rare softness breaking through her usual sharp edges. "The sea looks different today."

"It feels different," Eryndor replied, his voice low. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the sky met the water in a pale, seamless line. "Like it finally let us go."

Elys joined him at the railing, her green eyes thoughtful. "Alec Thorne made sure of that. He did what none of his bloodline before him could."

Eryndor's jaw tensed. "He did what he had to. We all did." His words were sharper than he intended, but Elys didn't flinch. Instead, she let the silence settle, her presence a steady anchor.

"He found peace," she said finally. "And so should we."

The ship's deck hummed with quiet activity. Orin sat cross-legged near the main mast, his runestones hovering in a slow orbit around him. The pale light they cast mingled with the warm sun, a mix of magic and mundane. Lyra knelt beside him, her hands aglow with a soft blue as she examined the Voidblade.

"Whatever magic bound it is gone," she murmured, tracing a finger along the dulled edge. The blade lay across her knees, an unremarkable strip of steel now. "It's just a blade."

Orin's runestones pulsed in agreement. "No whispers. No pull." His voice held both relief and a shadow of loss. "It feels... empty."

Eryndor and Elys joined them, the captain's shadow falling long over the blade. He drew it from its sheath, the metal cool in his grip. The weight of it had changed—not in mass but in meaning. It was a relic, a remnant of what they had survived.

He knelt and drove the Voidblade into the deck. The wood splintered around it, but there was no surge of power, no hum of arcane energy. It was as dead as the stones of the fortress they had left behind.

"It stays here," Eryndor declared. "A reminder."

Lyra's eyes glimmered with understanding. "The sea may have released us, but the blade is still a tether. We should seal it, ensure it never awakens again."

Orin nodded, his runestones rising higher, their light sharpening into a focused glow. "I can cast a binding spell. Something to keep it silent."

The crew gathered, their faces a mosaic of hope and caution. Many had felt the blade's influence, the whispers that tugged at their dreams, the way the sea had become a living thing under its curse. They watched as Orin's magic wove around the blade, strands of light knitting into the metal. Symbols bloomed along its surface—runes of silence, stillness, and eternal rest.

When he finished, the blade was encased in a thin layer of crystal, its edge dulled, its voice lost. It became part of the ship, a scar on the deck that would remain as long as the Stormchaser sailed.

Eryndor rose, his voice carrying over the deck. "We've weathered the storm. The curse is broken, but our journey is far from over." His eyes met each member of his crew, the weight of leadership balanced by the trust he saw reflected back. "We sail east, to new waters and new fortunes. Are you with me?"

A cheer rose, not the frenzied cry of desperation but a song of renewal. Hands found ropes, feet moved to their posts, and the ship turned east, its course set for the unknown. The sails billowed, white against the sky, and the Stormchaser surged forward, cutting through the gentle swells.

As the ship left the cursed waters behind, a shadow moved beneath the waves. Eryndor's instincts prickled, his hand moving to where the Voidblade had been. But as the sun broke through the clouds, the shadow dissipated—nothing more than a trick of light.

Yet, he could not shake the feeling that something lingered. The sea had released them, but it remained ever watchful, its depths holding secrets and echoes of the past. Eryndor turned away from the horizon, focusing instead on the faces of his crew, the warmth of the sun, and the steady pull of the wind in their sails.

For now, the tide was with them. And for the first time in a long while, the future felt like their own to shape.