Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

The Hub’s counter read fourteen hours. And Lily, still lashed to the top of the mast where she had ridden out the entire storm, spoke into the Geneline with something new in her voice.

”I hear it,” she said. ”Far off the starboard bow. A note that isn’t water.”

The note was land. Fraisea confirmed it within the hour, currents bending in the deep exactly where Lily pointed, and Rudra brought the Chainbreaker around and put everything the black mast could carry into the wind.

Hope moved down the ship like warmth. It lasted until the tenth hour, when they passed the other kingdom.

The ship appeared off the port side at the edge of sight, another native-built vessel under another sky-colored sail, and for a moment the deck of the Chainbreaker lifted at the simple sight of other survivors. Then the distance told the rest of it. The far ship was not sailing. It was tilting, its hull opened somewhere below the waterline, and around it the violet ocean was bright with a sinking field of silver.

Blade-fish, in numbers that made the school from the second hour look like a scouting party, and among them something far larger moving in slow circles.

Marcus had the spyglass up and then, slowly, lowered it. ”They’re already in the water,” he said quietly. ”Some of them. I can see...” He stopped, and did not finish, and did not need to.

”Can we reach them?” Natalia asked, already knowing.

”They are eight miles off our course into the largest swarm we’ve seen, and this event gives us fourteen hours to save four hundred of our own.” Rudra’s voice was iron, and under the iron, anyone who knew him could hear what the iron was for. ”No. We cannot.”

Nobody argued. That was the worst part, Almond thought, standing at the rail and watching the far sail settle toward the water. Nobody argued, because the arithmetic was clean, and the family had learned arithmetic in the hardest schools there were. The ocean keeps what it catches. The wreck on their island had told them so from its first hour.

”Light dips,” Big D ordered gruffly, and the family lowered every lantern on the ship for a slow count of ten, which was a sailor’s respect old enough that nobody remembered where it came from, and then the Chainbreaker sailed on, and the far sail slid under the horizon behind them, and the sea there went dark.

The ocean saved its true face for the final stretch, the way it had probably always planned to.

At the eighteenth hour, with the island’s note ringing clear enough that even Fraisea’s currents sang of it, the deep beneath the Chainbreaker changed. Lily heard it first, of course. A note rising under the ship’s own, vast and slow, coming up from a depth she could not find the bottom of.

”Below us,” she said. ”Big. Bigger than the storm. It’s been following the whole time. It let the small things test us.” Her voice went flat and precise, which was Lily at her most alarmed. ”It’s done waiting.”

It came up under the moonless dark with no light at all, and the first anyone saw of the Thurmugin leviathan was the ocean itself bulging, a hill of violet water two hundred paces across rising off the starboard side and then shedding itself off a head that had no business existing.

It was serpentine and blind and armored in overlapping shells the same glassy blue as the crabs, as if the island’s tide pools had been growing its children all along. When it opened its mouth, the sound that came out was the ocean’s own hunger given a throat.

”All formations!” Marcus roared, but the leviathan did not attack the formations. It had watched the blade-fish die against the wall. It went for the one thing that could not fight back.

The ship.

The great body hit the water and dove, and Fraisea screamed the warning with her hands full of its pressure-wake. ”It’s going under us! It’s going to breach under the keel!”

There was no sail-order in existence that dodged an attack from straight below, and everyone on that deck knew it, and in the two seconds that followed, the twenty days of consolidation and four Legendary caves paid for themselves all at once.

”Admiral Rudra!” Almond shouted.

”Already,” Rudra said, and let go of the wheel, and put both hands flat against the deck of his ship, and spent the Unmoved Current.

Every force carries a current at its heart, and the leviathan rising beneath them was nothing but force, three hundred thousand tons of it accelerating through its home water. Rudra read that current the way he had read the Tide at the bottom of his drowned world, and he halted it.

The sea under the Chainbreaker went hard. The leviathan hit stopped water like a bird hitting glass, its own speed turned against its blind skull, and the breach that should have broken the ship in half became a stunned mountain of shell and muscle wallowing to the surface fifty paces off the beam.

”Now,” Rudra said, going grey with the cost of it, ”hurt it.”

They hurt it. Nyssara and Galvaren came off Almond’s soul like twin dawns, frost-fire and ruinous lightning falling on the wallowing giant, and Gopu rose against the dark with his layered dragonfire lighting the underside of the clouds. Natalia’s lines poured everything they had into the soft joints between shells that Almond’s reading called out one by one, faster than the leviathan could guard them.

And Lily, standing on the bowsprit with her whip singing its silence, reached into the monster’s enormous furious note, the hunger-sound at the core of it that drove every ton of that body, and began, methodically, to erase it.

The leviathan thrashed, and dove, and came back twice more, and each time the family’s wall was already turned to meet it, and each time it left more of its shell floating on the violet water. On the third retreat it went deep, and its note sank with it, down and down, wounded and unwilling, until even Lily lost it in the roots of the ocean.

”It’s not dead,” she reported.

”It’s discouraged,” Ainen said, leaning on the rail with his fires already lit, eyeing the floating shell fragments with proprietary interest. ”Out here, I’ll take discouraged.”

The island rose over the horizon at the twenty-second hour.

It came up green and solid and impossibly ordinary, hills and a pale shore and a mountain wearing cloud, and the sight of simple land pulled a sound out of four hundred throats that was not quite a cheer and not quite a sob, and did not need to be either.

The Chainbreaker ran her bow up onto foreign sand with ninety-one minutes left on the clock, and the family came down her ramps onto ground that did not sink, and the Hub wrote its judgment across a clearing sky.

[Second Objective Complete: New island reached.]

[Casualties: 0]

[Kingdoms remaining in event: 205 of 312]

The deck and the beach went quiet again as the numbers landed. Sixty-nine more kingdoms, gone in a single day and night on the open water. The far sail on the dark horizon had been one line of that ledger, and every Regalon reading the notice knew it.

Big D came down the ramp last, as always, and stood on the new island’s sand, and looked back at the battered, storm-iced, blade-studded, utterly unbroken ship that had carried his whole family across the ocean’s true face.

”One day building her,” he rasped. ”One day proving her. Whatever this event throws next, it throws it at a kingdom with a ship.” He turned to the green hills rising ahead, and his old eyes narrowed. ”Now let’s find out what’s wrong with this island.”

Because something always was. The family spread up the pale beach in formation under a clearing sky, the Chainbreaker standing guard behind them, and the Thurmugin Ocean, patient as ever, began to think about what to show them next.