Iteration requested. Asylum

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  Malin leaned against a weathered wooden post, his bare feet sinking into the warm sand as he watched the merchant ships glide into the harbour. The vessels were grand, their sails billowing like clouds against the endless blue sky. He waited, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh, as the merchants and sailors began to disembark, their voices carrying over the salty breeze.

  The newcomers were unlike anyone Malin had ever seen. They wore clothes of such fine fabric that they seemed to shimmer in the sunlight—thin, white tunics that draped loosely over their frames and billowing trousers that swayed with every step. Perfect for the relentless tropical heat, their attire was a stark contrast to Malin's own. He glanced down at himself: shirtless, his skin bronzed by the sun, and clad only in a pair of oversized shorts, hand-me-downs from the village elders. The fabric was frayed at the edges, and the waistband hung low on his narrow hips.

  "Sweet bread, good sirs!" Malin called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. He straightened his posture, trying to appear taller and more confident.

  A man nearby turned to face him. He was tall, with hair that seemed to shift from brown to a fiery copper under the glare of the sun . His long leather jacket, the colour of rich mahogany, reached down to his calves, and his boots were caked with the dust of distant lands. His gaze was stern at first, but as his eyes fell on Malin— on his bare chest and ill-fitting shorts—his expression softened.

  "How much for the bread, kid?" the man asked, his voice deep but not unkind.

  Malin hesitated, then held up three fingers, suddenly self-conscious under the man's scrutiny.

  "Calder, we need to go!" a woman's voice called from farther down the dock. Malin's eyes flicked toward her, catching the glint of emerald earrings that swayed as she moved. They were the colour of the sea at dawn, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

  "Alright, alright," Calder muttered. He dug into his pocket, pulled out three coins, and tossed them to Malin. "Don't spend them all at once, kid," he said with a faint smile before turning to join the woman. He didn't even take the bread.

  Malin stared at the coins in his palm , then at Calder's retreating figure. "Wait!" he called, but the man was already swallowed by the crowd. Malin's fingers closed around the coins, their edges cool and unfamiliar against his skin. He held one up to the light, squinting at its strange markings and the odd, metallic sheen. It was unlike any coin he'd ever seen—foreign, just like the man who had given it to him.

  For a moment, Malin stood still, the bustle of the harbour fading around him. He wondered where Calder had come from, what far-off lands had shaped him, and whether he'd ever see him again. The coins felt heavy in his hand, not just with their worth but with the promise of something more— something beyond the horizon.

  The day had been surprisingly busy, and Malin had sold every last piece of bread before the sun dipped below the horizon. By the time he reached home, the sky was deep indigo, dotted with the first glimmers of stars. The village was quiet; the only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of palm leaves in the evening breeze.

  "Mom, I'm home," Malin called as he pushed open the creaky door to their small house. The familiar scent of wood smoke and dried herbs greeted him, a comforting reminder of the life they had built together.

  "Oh, you're early today," his mother said, looking up from her seat by the fire pit in the centre of the room. An empty pot sat atop the flames, waiting to be filled. Her hands, rough from years of work, rested in her lap. "I was just about to start making dinner."

  "There were quite a few new ships at the harbour today," Malin replied, his voice tinged with excitement as he knelt by the corner of the room. He pulled out their worn coin jar, its clay surface chipped and faded, and began carefully depositing the day's earnings. The clink of copper coins filled the small space, a sound that usually brought a sense of pride. But today, Malin paused, holding up the foreign coin Calder had given him. "One of them gave me this," he said, handing it to his mother.

  His mother took the coin, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over in the firelight. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed unable to speak. "Who gave you this?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "One of the foreign sailors," Malin replied, his brow furrowing with worry. "Is it fake?"

  "No, Malin," his mother murmured, her voice filled with awe. "It's gold."

  Malin's breath caught in his throat. Gold. He had only ever heard stories of such wealth—tales told by the village elders of faraway lands where the streets were paved with riches. He had never imagined holding a piece of it in his hands, let alone owning it.

  "Oh gods," his mother gasped, clutching the coin tightly. She began to mutter prayers under her breath, her words a rapid stream of gratitude and reverence. Malin followed suit, his voice joining hers in the familiar rhythms of their faith. But even as he prayed, his mind raced with possibilities.

  One day, he thought, his heart swelling with determination. One day, I'll become a merchant. I'll travel to those far-off lands , and I'll provide for us. No more empty pots, no more worn clothes. Just a life of abundance for me and for her.

  The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls of their humble home. For the first time in a long while , Malin felt a spark of hope —a tiny flame that burned brighter with each passing moment.

  "No! I won't allow it!" Malin's mother's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the stillness of their small home.

  Malin, now thirteen, stood his ground, his heart pounding. This was the first time he had dared to voice his dream aloud—to become a merchant, to sail the seas, to see the world beyond their village. But his mother's reaction was fiercer than he had anticipated.

  "But why? " he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and confusion.

  His mother's face twisted with emotion, her eyes wide with fear—almost terror. "Because, " she began, her voice breaking. She hesitated as if the words were too heavy to speak. Tears spilt down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light of the fire . "Because... your father."

  Malin froze. This was the first time his mother had ever spoken of his father. All he had ever been told was that the man had abandoned them when Malin was just two years old. The rest had been shrouded in silence, a mystery Malin had long stopped asking about.

  His mother's expression shifted, her sorrow giving way to a simmering rage. "He said the same thing—that he wanted to travel, to become a merchant. And he never came back! " Her voice rose, raw and trembling. She jabbed a finger at her chest. "I took care of you! I raised you! I skipped sleep every night to make sure you had food to eat! I sacrificed everything for you! " Her voice cracked, and her face fell, the anger draining away to reveal a deep, aching sadness. "And now you want to leave me too."

  Malin's heart ached at her words. He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "I won't leave you, Mom. I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I won't leave you."

  His mother's sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate fear—the fear of being left alone, of losing the one person she had poured her life into. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and Malin rushed into them, holding her tightly.

  They stood there, mother and son , clinging to each other as the fire crackled softly in the background. Malin could feel her trembling, her tears dampening his shoulder. At that moment, he felt the weight of her sacrifices, her fears, and her love. And though his dream still burned within him, he knew he could never abandon her —not after everything she had endured.

  "My son, " she began, her voice trembling as a single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "I only ask one thing of you. Once you've made your fortune , once you've prospered ... please don't forget about your mom. I'll always be here, waiting for you."

  Malin had never brought up his dream again after that first time. But she had seen it in his eyes—the way he gazed longingly at the ships that docked at their village harbour, their sails billowing like promises of adventure. She had noticed the envy in his expression as he watched the sailors and the other village boys board those ships, their laughter carrying over the waves as they set off for distant lands.

  With a heavy heart, she unlocked the small wooden basket where they kept their meagre savings. From it, she pulled a worn envelope, its edges frayed from years of being tucked away. "This is some money I've saved for you, " she said, pressing it into his hands. Her fingers lingered for a moment as if reluctant to let go.

  Malin looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. His mother managed a faint smile, though her lips trembled. "I've cried many nights, wishing you would want to stay, " she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But deep down, I always knew this day would come."

  Tears welled up in Malin's eyes, spilling over as he pulled her into a tight embrace . "Mom, " he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I..."

  "It's okay, Malin, " she interrupted gently, her hand stroking his back. She hadn't realized when it had happened, but her son had grown taller than her, his shoulders broader, his frame stronger. "You're an adult now. It's time for you to find your own path. " She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "A merchant ship at the harbour has agreed to take you on. The pay isn't much, but it's a start."

  Malin pulled back, his tear-streaked face a mix of confusion and hope. "How? " he asked.

  " One of their crew is an old friend, " his mother replied simply , her smile bittersweet.

  Malin took a step back, his face breaking into a wide , radiant grin. It was the smile of someone who could see the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

  "Just don't forget about me, " she said softly, her voice cracking. "Come visit me whenever you can. That's all I ask."

  Malin placed his hands on his hips, his confidence shining through. "Don't worry, Mom! I'll come back as often as I can. Once I succeed, I'll take us out of this place. We'll have the biggest home in the village, and we'll even open a shop to sell our sweet bread!"

  His smile was so full of hope , so full of determination, that it made her heart ache. She had never doubted he would succeed . She had always believed in him.

  But now, fifteen years later, she cried herself to sleep every night, her pillow damp with tears. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder of his absence. She had let him go, believing it was the right thing to do. But as the years stretched on with no word, no visit, no sign of him, regret gnawed at her heart. She had given him her blessing , but she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility that he might never return.

  "Tora, we're almost there! " Captain Malin bellowed over the roar of the wind and waves. "Put all the sails down! Jibe if you have to!"

  "Aye, Captain! " Tora, the first mate, shouted back. He turned to the crew, his voice carrying authority. "You heard the Captain! Full speed ahead! Our treasures are waiting for us!"

  The ship cut through the choppy waters with precision, its crew working in perfect harmony. It didn't take long for them to reach the mouth of the cave, hidden within the rugged cliffs of a mountain island rising defiantly from the ocean. They lowered a small raft, and Malin, Tora, and five other crew members rowed into the shadowy depths of the cave.

  As they ventured deeper , the dim light from their torches flickered against the jagged walls, casting eerie shadows. When they finally reached the heart of the cave, the sight before them left everyone speechless—except Malin. While the others gaped in awe and greed, Malin stood with a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

  "Once more, Captain, I have to ask... how? " Tora said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. "How do you always know where to find these things?"

  Malin shrugged, his grin widening. "Call it a gut feeling. It's as if I can sense the right way."

  Tora raised an eyebrow, looking at Malin incredulously. "I'll be honest, Captain. The first time I agreed to follow you, I was desperate. " He gestured toward the wreckage ahead—a massive, rotting ship, its hull splintered and overgrown with barnacles. "But now? You've brought us to the wreck of a long-lost eastern ship. I knew you had potential when you, a lowly ship cleaner, asked me to follow you. But this? This is beyond anything I could've imagined."

  "Nope, " Malin replied, his tone light and teasing.

  Tora frowned. "No?"

  "You didn't follow me because you thought I had potential, " Malin said with a chuckle. "You were desperate."

  Tora burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the cavern. "Aye, mostly that."

  The crew quickly got to work, gathering the treasures scattered throughout the cave. More men were brought ashore to help search and load the loot. The haul was staggering—piles of gold coins, ancient jewels that sparkled even in the dim light, and artefacts that spoke of a bygone era.

  "Captain! " one of the crew members shouted, his voice tinged with excitement. "Found something that might interest you!"

  Malin followed the voice, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The crew member stood over a small, ornate chest, its surface intricately carved but tarnished with age. The man had tried to open it, but the lock held firm.

  "Put it on the ground, " Malin ordered. He pulled a hammer from his belt and knelt beside the chest. With a few sharp strikes , the lock gave way , and the chest creaked open. Most of its contents had rotted to dust, but a bundle of papers tied together with a crumbling rubber band caught his eye. The ink had faded, rendering the words illegible.

  What truly captured Malin's attention, however, was a signet ring nestled among the debris. He picked it up, brushing off the dust to reveal its intricate design. The ring was made of silver, its face adorned with the carving of a bird—its wings and legs spread wide, a shield emblazoned on its chest. The shield was divided into four sections, each bearing a different emblem. Malin squinted, trying to make out the details. One looked like a tree, another a bull, but the others were too worn to decipher.

  As he held the ring, a strange sensation washed over him—a feeling he couldn't quite place. It was as if the ring carried a weight far beyond its physical form, a whisper of something ancient and significant. Malin slipped it onto his finger, the metal cool against his skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  "You have made a great discovery, Captain Malin, " the man on the throne declared, his voice resonating through the grand hall. The Sultan's words were measured, each syllable dripping with authority and grandeur. "For your service, you shall be rewarded handsomely."

  Malin knelt before the throne, his head bowed in a show of respect. The marble floor was cool beneath his knees, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint metallic tang of gold. "I thank you for your generosity, Great Sultan, " he replied, his voice steady but laced with humility.

  The Sultan continued his speech, extolling Malin's achievements and the value of the treasures he had brought to the kingdom. But Malin's attention had already drifted. His eyes flicked to the side, where one of the Sultan's daughters stood among her attendants. She was young, her features sharp and regal, but it was her expression that caught his attention—a mischievous smile playing on her lips, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Malin's lips curved into a smirk, barely noticeable to anyone but her. She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening as if sharing a secret only the two of them understood. The exchange lasted only a moment, but it was enough to send a thrill through him. Here, in the heart of the Sultan's palace, surrounded by opulence and power, Malin felt a different kind of victory—one that had nothing to do with gold or jewels.

  "How long has it been since you left? " Tseria asked, her voice soft and drowsy as she lay beside Malin, her head resting on his chest. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the chamber, casting a silvery glow over the room.

  "Left? " Malin murmured, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her arm.

  "Don't act stupid, Malin, " Tseria said with a playful smirk, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "Left home."

  Malin let out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling beneath her. "Hmm, " he mused, staring up at the canopy above. "Three or four years now, I think."

  "Wow, " Tseria replied, her tone tinged with admiration. She propped herself up on one elbow, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Captain Malin, a man who took only four years to build an armada of twenty ships. The navigator guilds must be swooning over you."

  Malin grinned, his confidence shining through. "Guilds just aren't for me. Too many rules, too many egos. " He shifted suddenly, rolling on top of her and pinning her gently to the bed. "Besides, " he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, "I have everyone I want swooning over me right here."

  Tseria giggled her laughter like music in the quiet room. She reached up, running her fingers down his chest, her touch light and teasing. "I do want to see where you grew up, Malin, " she said, her tone turning thoughtful.

  Malin raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Oh? " he said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Does that mean...?"

  "Yes, " Tseria replied, her eyes locking with his. "My father has agreed to our match. " Her fingers stilled on his chest, and she smiled softly. "All we need to do now is for me to visit your home, and our engagement can officially proceed."

  Malin's heart swelled with joy, and he let out a laugh —a deep, unrestrained sound that filled the room. This was everything he had wanted, everything he had worked for. "I'd love that, " he said, his voice warm with affection. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I'll take you there myself. You'll see where it all began."

  Tseria smiled up at him, her expression a mix of excitement and tenderness. "I can't wait, " she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair as she pulled him closer.

  For a moment, they lay there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside forgotten. Malin's mind drifted to the village he had left behind, to the small house by the harbour and the woman who had raised him. He wondered what she would think of Tseria, of the life he had built, of the man he had become. And for the first time in years, he felt a pang of longing—not for the treasures he had sought, but for the home he had left behind.

  Malin stood on the deck of his flagship, the Bhayangkara, its name chosen on a whim but feeling inexplicably right. The ship was anchored in the middle of the vast ocean, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the calm waters. His betrothed, Tseria, slept soundly in the cabin below, unaware of the storm brewing in Malin's mind. He leaned against the railing, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves, when suddenly, his instincts screamed.

  "Tora! " Malin barked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

  His first mate appeared moments later, his hair dishevelled and his eyes heavy with sleep. "Aye, Malin? " Tora asked, rubbing his face. But the moment he saw the tension in Malin's expression, he straightened, his drowsiness vanishing. "What is it?"

  "Change course thirty degrees west, " Malin ordered, his voice sharp and urgent. When Tora hesitated, Malin's tone turned fierce. "Now! It could be a monster for all I know!"

  Tora saluted and sprang into action, rousing the crew with shouts and commands. The ship came alive with the sounds of hurried footsteps and the creaking of ropes as the sails were adjusted. The water remained eerily calm, giving no hint of danger, but Malin's instincts rarely led him astray.

  By mid-morning, the lookout's voice rang out from the crow's nest. "Captain! " he yelled, pointing toward the horizon. "Land ahead!"

  Malin squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun. In the distance, a small island came into view, its shoreline dotted with huts and a modest pier. A sense of unease settled in his chest, but he pushed it aside. "Ready a raft! " he commanded.

  As Malin and a handful of his crew rowed to the pier, they were met by a group of villagers, their arms laden with goods to sell.

  "They're used to visitors, " Tora remarked, his tone cautious.

  Malin nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. His heart pounded as he searched for something—or someone—he couldn't quite name. Ignoring the villagers' offers, he broke into a run , his feet carrying him through the narrow streets as if guided by an unseen force.

  He stopped abruptly in front of a small shop, its entrance adorned with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled of metal and smoke, and the faint clinking of tools echoed from within.

  "Hello? " a woman's voice called out, warm but tinged with curiosity.

  Malin turned to see an older woman behind the counter, her hands busy arranging a display of kitchen wares. She smiled at him, though her expression flickered with confusion for a brief moment before her smile returned.

  "Do you need any assistance? " she asked politely.

  Feeling awkward, Malin grabbed the nearest item—a firestarter—and handed it to her. "How much for this? " he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him .

  The woman examined the firestarter, her brow furrowing . "I might need to ask my husband for that, " she said, her tone apologetic. " I don't think I've seen it before. Please give me a moment."

  Malin nodded, his throat tight as she disappeared through a door behind the counter. He heard her calling for her husband, the sound of footsteps growing louder with each passing second. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation almost unbearable.

  "Let me take a look, " a man's voice said as he entered the shop.

  Malin's breath caught in his throat. The man who stepped into the room was older, his face lined with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. He was a mirror of what Malin might become in another twenty years. The man's eyes widened as they locked onto Malin's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

  "Fath— " Malin began, his voice trembling.

  "Don't! " the man snapped, his expression twisting with panic.

  But Malin couldn't stop himself. The word spilt out, heavy with years of longing and unanswered questions. "Father."

  The man's face crumpled, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just settled on them. His wife, standing behind him, paled, her hands clutching the edge of the counter for support.

  "What have you done? " the man muttered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, regret, and something else—something Malin couldn't quite place.

  "Why did you abandon us? " Malin asked, his voice low but laced with pain. He sat across from his father at a rickety wooden table, the air between them heavy with unspoken words and years of separation.

  His father grimaced, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "I didn't know, " he said, his voice trembling.

  "Know what? " Malin demanded, his tone rising. "Explain clearly! Mom deserves to know the truth."

  At the mention of Malin's mother, the man's face paled. "Mande, " he whispered her name as if it were a prayer or a curse. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with shame. "I didn't know what I was getting into."

  "Why? " Malin pressed, his voice cracking. "Why did you never come back? I could accept it if you no longer loved her. But why did you never come to see me? Your own son?"

  The older man sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the wooden ceiling of the empty room. "You shouldn't have come here, " he said, his voice heavy with regret.

  "Afraid for me to meet your new family? " Malin asked mockingly, his bitterness spilling over. "Afraid for me to meet my half-siblings and let them find out about the family you abandoned?"

  "No, damn it! No!" his father snapped, his voice rising for the first time. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. "I loved you and your mother. I still do." He held up a hand to stop Malin from interrupting. "But I was lied to. Misled." With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a silver necklace with a black, obsidian-like stone at its centre.

  Malin shivered as his eyes fell on the pendant. It seemed to pulse with a dark energy, sending a chill down his spine.

  "You can feel it too, can't you? " his father said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always knew you had that ability."

  "What is that? " Malin asked, his voice filled with disgust.

  His father smiled sadly, his fingers brushing against the black stone. "I made a deal with the devil."

  Malin's stomach churned, his mind racing to make sense of the words.

  "I asked for a better life for my family—for you and your mother and the generations after, " his father explained, his gaze softening as he looked at Malin. His son was dressed in the finest clothing, a far cry from the boy he had left behind. And the ships bearing his banner were a testament to the life he had built. "I wanted to give you everything I never had."

  Malin stayed silent, his fists clenched on the table.

  The older man touched the black stone again, his expression pained. "You can feel it too, can't you? The pull. The darkness."

  "Yes, " Malin admitted softly. "How?"

  His father looked at him with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Because you're my son. I knew you'd inherited some of my abilities the moment you were born."

  "That makes sense, " Malin replied, his mind connecting the dots. His uncanny instincts , his ability to navigate the seas with almost supernatural precision —it all fell into place.

  But his father's smile faltered, replaced by a deep frown. "You shouldn't have come here, Malin. You should've never come searching for me."

  "I didn't have a choice, " Malin said, his voice firm. "Something dragged me here. Something I couldn't ignore."

  "I see, " his father sighed, his gaze dropping to the necklace. " What the devil didn't tell me was that I would have to leave you forever. If I didn't, I would kill you and your mother."

  Malin tensed, his heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

  His father opened his palms, showing them empty. "I can feel the urge every moment. The darkness whispers to me, demanding I hunt you down. But I've held it off—for now."

  Malin's eyes darted around the room. It was barren, save for the flimsy table and chairs. His father was unarmed, while Malin had a dagger strapped to his hip. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

  "You planned this? " Malin asked, his voice breaking. A tear slipped down his cheek.

  "I knew my time would come the moment you called me 'father, '" his father explained, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "You see, son, " he said, addressing Malin as his child for the first time Malin could remember, "the devil only told me the full terms after the deal was made. It was generational."

  Malin's eyes widened in horror.

  "You must not marry or have children, " his father continued, his voice grave. "For you will kill them."

  Tseria, Malin thought immediately, his heart clenching. "But your new wife? " he asked, his voice barely audible.

  "Never married officially, " his father replied. "Nor do I have children with her."

  Malin swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "And mother?"

  His father looked away, his expression pained. "You must never see her as I have."

  "And if I don't kill you? " Malin asked, his voice trembling.

  His father's gaze hardened. "You'll have to. Because now that I know where you are, the whispers are growing louder. I can already feel the pull to hunt your mother down."

  Malin's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger, his grip tightening.

  "But I can hold it off for a little longer, " his father said, his voice softening. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "Until then, I would like to talk to my son. I would like to know everything I've missed."

  "Everything alright, love? " Tseria asked softly, her hand gently covering Malin's. Her touch was warm, a comforting contrast to the cold unease that had settled in his chest.

  "Hm? " Malin looked up from the maps and charts scattered across his desk in the cabin. The dim light of the lantern flickered, casting shadows on his troubled face. "Yes, of course. What made you ask?"

  Tseria tilted her head, her dark eyes studying him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Well, " she began, her voice gentle but probing, "your hands have been trembling, even in this heat. You've seemed ... distant ever since we left that island. And now, when we're so close to seeing your mother again, you don't even look excited."

  Malin hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. He could feel the weight of the black pendant hanging beneath his shirt, its presence a constant reminder of the burden he now carried. "I'm just nervous, that's all," he said, forcing a sheepish smile. He pressed a hand to his chest, the cool metal of the pendant pressing against his skin. "It's been so long. I want everything to be perfect."

  Tseria's expression softened, but her eyes still held a hint of doubt. She knew him too well to be entirely convinced. "Nervous about seeing your mother? " she asked, her tone light but probing. "Or is there something else?"

  Malin's mind raced. He couldn't tell her the truth—not yet . Not about the pendant, not about his father, and certainly not about the curse that now loomed over them. Instead, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "How about we take a detour? " he suggested, his voice brightening with false enthusiasm. "There are some incredible places I've always wanted to show you. And I'd love to bring my mother gifts from all over—something special to make up for all the years I've been away. "

  Tseria raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. "A detour, huh? You're not just trying to delay the inevitable, are you?"

  Malin chuckled, though it felt hollow. "Maybe a little, " he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But wouldn't it be nice? Just the two of us, exploring new places, picking out the perfect gifts ... It'll be an adventure."

  Tseria studied him for a moment longer, her gaze searching. Then she sighed, her smile widening. "Alright, Captain, " she said, her tone teasing. "A detour it is. But don't think I'll let you off the hook forever. You'll have to face your mother eventually."

  Malin's smile faltered for a split second before he recovered, squeezing her hand. "I know, " he said softly. "But for now, let's enjoy the journey."

  As Tseria leaned in to kiss him, Malin's mind wandered to the pendant hidden beneath his shirt, its dark presence a constant reminder of the choice he would eventually have to make. For now, he would cling to this moment—to her warmth, her laughter, her unwavering belief in him. But deep down, he knew the truth: the closer they got to his mother, the harder it would be to keep the darkness at bay.

  Mande was in the middle of storing her sweet bread, preparing for another day at the harbour, when she heard her neighbour's voice calling from outside her home.

  "Mande! Your son is back!"

  Her hands froze, the loaf of bread slipping from her grasp. "Malin has returned? " she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

  " Yes, my son just came back from the harbour," her neighbour replied, her face alight with excitement. "Malin's returned with a fleet of twenty ships! His clothes are finer than anything we've ever seen, but they say his face is still the same."

  Mande's legs nearly gave out beneath her. For years, she had prayed and cried, begging the gods to bring her son back safely. Every night, she had lain awake, wondering if he was alive, if he was well, if he ever thought of her. And now, he was here.

  She dropped her basket, the loaves of bread spilling onto the ground, but she didn't care. Her heart raced as she turned toward the door.

  "Just go, " her neighbour said, already bending to pick up the scattered bread. "I'll clean this up. Don't worry about it—go see your son."

  "Thank you, " Mande muttered, her voice barely audible as she hurried out the door. Her steps quickened as she made her way to the harbour, her heart pounding in her chest .

  When she arrived, the sight took her breath away. The harbour was bustling with activity, and the docks were crowded with people unloading crates and barrels from a fleet of magnificent ships. And there, standing tall among the chaos, was Malin. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his face more mature, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He was dressed in fine clothes, his presence commanding as he directed the crew and handed out goods to the villagers.

  Mande's eyes filled with tears as she pushed through the crowd, her gaze fixed on her son. "Malin! " she called, her voice breaking. "My son, it's been too long. I've missed you so much."

  She reached him and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. For a moment, she felt his arms encircle her, holding her tightly. But then, without warning, his grip tightened—too tight—and he pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

  Confused and hurt, she looked up at him, her heart breaking at the rage and sorrow etched on his face.

  "You shameless woman! " he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. "How dare you pretend to be my mother!"

  Mande stared at him in shock, her mind struggling to process his words. Her son —her Malin —was looking at her as if she were a stranger .

  "Is this your mother? " a richly dressed woman asked, stepping forward. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, studying Mande with curiosity .

  "No, " Malin said firmly, shaking his head. "She's just a beggar pretending to be my mother. Probably hoping to profit off me."

  Mande's heart shattered. She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of all the years she had spent raising him , of all the sacrifices she had made, but no words came out.

  Malin turned his back on her, his shoulders slumping. "My mother is no longer here, " he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "She's probably moved somewhere else. Or... " He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

  The richly dressed woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she's well, " she said gently. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I was able to see where you grew up."

  Malin smiled at her, a small, sad smile that made Mande's chest ache. She watched in silence as her son and the woman walked away, leaving her alone on the dock. Her heart felt heavier than it ever had, even heavier than the day she had accepted that Malin's father would never return.

  As the ships began to depart, Mande closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. "Dear gods, " she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "Show him the wrongness of his actions. Make him realize his mistakes. Punish him for what he's done."

  In the darkness of her mind , something stirred —a presence she hadn't expected. It seized her prayer, its grip cold and unyielding. Mande gasped, her eyes flying open as she fell back onto the ground, her body trembling with shock.

  "Malin, you need to see this! " Tora's voice was frantic as he banged on the door of the captain's cabin. When no response came, he threw the door open , only to find Malin on his knees, his head bowed, and his hands clenched into fists. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with an unspoken grief.

  "Malin, we need you up there! " Tora shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of thunder and the violent shaking of the ship.

  Malin looked up, his eyes swollen and red, his face pale. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, as if pulled from a deep trance. Then, the sound of the storm registered—the thunder, the howling wind, the relentless pounding of the waves against the hull. He stood abruptly, his expression hardening. "I'm coming, " he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

  Tora stepped aside, his own face etched with worry, but there was no time to ask questions. Malin brushed past him and strode onto the deck, the rain instantly soaking him to the bone. The storm was unlike anything he had ever seen. The sky was a churning mass of black clouds, lightning streaking across the heavens, and the waves rose like mountains, crashing against the ship with terrifying force.

  Malin's mind was suddenly flooded with warnings, his instincts screaming at him to act. "Turn back! " he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Turn back to the island!"

  Tora saluted, his face grim, and began barking orders to the crew. Communication was nearly impossible over the deafening thunder, but the urgency in Malin's voice was enough to spur them into action.

  Malin's eyes swept the deck, taking in the chaos. One of the crew members was swept overboard by a monstrous wave, his scream swallowed by the storm. Before Malin could react, he felt a hand grip his arm with surprising strength. He turned to find Tseria beside him, her face pale and her body trembling beneath a large, sodden cloak.

  "Malin, " she started, her voice barely audible over the storm, but a sudden lurch of the ship sent them both crashing to the deck.

  "Tseria, you need to go insi— " Malin began, but his words were drowned out by a guttural roar that shook the very air. It was a sound unlike anything he had ever heard—deep, primal, and filled with an otherworldly rage.

  All heads turned toward the source of the sound. Malin's heart sank as a massive shape began to rise from the depths. The creature emerged slowly, its form grotesque and terrifying. Its head was a mass of writhing tentacles, its body hulking and humanoid but covered in thick, scaly skin. Its arms ended in clawed hands, and its legs—thick and powerful—propelled it through the water with ease.

  "Elder, " Tora whispered, his voice filled with dread.

  Malin stared at the creature, his instincts screaming at him to flee. He had always trusted his intuition, but this time, it had come too late. The Elder roared again, its voice shaking the air and sending a gust of wind so powerful it capsized several of the smaller ships in the fleet.

  "Tora! " Malin shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "Back to the island! NOW!"

  Tora didn't respond—he didn't need to. He was already in motion, shouting orders to the crew as they fought to regain control of the ship.

  Malin felt Tseria's hand tighten in his, her grip trembling. He hadn't even realized he was holding it until now. "Malin, I'm scared, " she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.

  "We'll be fine, " he replied, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at his chest. He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her , but his own heart was racing.

  With his free hand, Malin reached out toward the water, the silver ring on his finger glowing with a faint golden light. He focused all his will, commanding the sea to carry them away from the creature. The water responded, swirling around the ship and propelling it forward.

  But the Elder was not so easily outmatched. It roared again, and the wind surged with renewed fury, tearing at the sails and ripping the ship apart piece by piece. Malin's control over the water was no match for the sheer power of the storm .

  The ship was tossed like a toy, the deck tilting violently as waves crashed over the sides. Malin clung to the railing with one hand, his other still gripping Tseria's. He could feel the ship breaking apart beneath them, the wood groaning and splintering under the strain.

  Then, with a final, deafening crash, the ship was lifted high into the air by a monstrous wave . For a moment, they were weightless, suspended in the chaos of the storm . And then they fell, the ship slamming into the water upside down.

  Malin woke with a choked gasp, his body convulsing as he vomited saltwater and blood onto the sand. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sky above was a tempest of fury, lightning streaking across the black clouds, rain lashing down in sheets. He was on a beach, the sand coarse and cold beneath him. In the distance, towering over the wreckage of his fleet , was the Elder . Its massive, grotesque form loomed like a nightmare-made flesh, its tentacles writhing and its claws glinting in the storm's sporadic flashes of light .

  Malin tried to wipe his mouth, but his left hand was tugged back. He turned, his heart lurching as he saw Tseria lying unconscious beside him. Her wrist was tied to his with her hair tie, a desperate act of survival that had kept them together through the storm. Her skin was pale, her lips blue, and her body unnaturally still.

  "Tseria, " he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. He bent over her, shaking her gently, then more urgently. "Tseria, wake up! " But she didn't stir. Her chest didn't rise. Her hand was cold in his.

  Malin knelt there, his body trembling, tears mixing with the rain on his face. He had failed her. He had failed everyone. The weight of his guilt and grief pressed down on him, crushing him beneath its unbearable burden.

  Another roar shattered the air, pulling him from his despair. Malin looked up, his eyes widening as he saw the Elder turn its gaze toward him. The creature's massive head tilted, its glowing eyes locking onto his. Slowly, deliberately, it raised a clawed hand and pointed directly at him.

  Malin's instincts screamed at him to run, to flee, to do anything to escape the horror bearing down on him. But he didn't move. He couldn't. His body felt heavy, his spirit broken. He had nothing left.

  Instead, he lowered himself to the ground, his forehead pressing into the wet sand. He wasn't bowing to the Elder—he would never bow to that monstrosity. The thought filled him with rage, but he pushed it aside. No, he was bowing to the sky, to the heavens, to the only force he had left to plead to.

  "Mother, " he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. "Forgive me."

  The sky flashed a brilliant blue, the light so intense it seemed to pierce through the storm. Malin didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, his body trembling as his instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, to do something. But he stayed still, resigned to his fate.

  Then the pain came.

  A searing, white-hot agony ripped through him as lightning struck his body. He screamed, his voice raw and guttural, but he couldn't move. His limbs were locked in place, his muscles rigid. He looked down, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and saw the horrifying truth: his flesh was turning to stone. The transformation began at his feet, the grey, lifeless texture creeping upward, consuming his legs, his torso, and his arms.

  Panic surged through him, but he was powerless to stop it. He turned his head, his vision blurring as the stone reached his neck. The last thing he saw was Tseria's hand, still tied to his, lying motionless on the sand.

  "Protect, " he grunted, his voice strained and weak.

  "Protect, " he tried to yell, but the words were barely a whisper.

  "Protect, " he willed, his mind screaming even as his body failed him.

  "Please, " he begged, his breath shortening, his vision darkening. "Protect her ."

  As the stone reached his face, his final thought was of Tseria. And then, in the last flicker of his consciousness, he saw it—a golden light, warm and radiant, enveloping her still form. It was faint, but it was there . A spark of hope in the darkness.

  And then Malin was gone, his body fully petrified, his final plea echoing silently in the storm.