Eugene stepped forward, cautious but composed. The dock creaked under his weight.

  "Eugene Calhoun," he said. "Don’t suppose you give rides to strangers?"

  Nell tilted her head slightly, as if weighing the name. Her gray eye flicked to the lantern at his side. "Stranger’s not a disqualifier. But I tend to favor those who know where they’re going. You know where that is, Eugene Calhoun?"

  He hesitated. "Not exactly."

  "Didn’t think so." She leaned against the oar. "Still, I’ve taken on worse cargo. You got stories in you, I can smell it."

  The lantern flickered. Cozimia’s voice purred low, suspicious. "You always row up to dockless seas and sing ghost songs at boys with lanterns, Captain?"

  Nell’s gaze finally met the flickering light. "Only when the sea’s uneasy. And only when something stirs in the fog."

  Hazel Fortuna whispered, "That rhyme she sang was a binding. Not a welcome."

  Eugene felt the tension tighten. He glanced down at his belt. "You three okay with this?"

  Enalia’s voice was barely audible. "She has drifted too long between tides. Something clings to her."

  Nell seemed to hear it all. She smirked. "I don’t collect passengers. I offer passage. If you’re chasing comfort, you’re already too far out."

  Eugene nodded slowly. "Not chasing comfort. Just a way forward."

  "Then you’re speaking the right language." She motioned with her chin toward the dinghy. "I’ll get you to the ship. The Whisperwake. That’s her name. She’s slow, sure, and stubborn as a salt-bull. But she floats."

  Eugene looked again to the Jennies. Cozimia sighed. Hazel muttered a curse. Enalia fell silent.

  "Alright," Eugene said. "Let’s go."

  He stepped into the dinghy. Nell followed, untied the rope, and began to row. The dock faded behind them.

  The sea swallowed the silence.

  From the mist ahead, a ship’s silhouette waited—vast, barnacled, and still.

  Eugene squinted toward it. As they neared, his brow furrowed.

  "Wait a second," he murmured. "That ship... it looks just like Krungus’ airship. Only... waterlogged."

  Nell raised an eyebrow. "Krungus? That your uncle or a breed of fish I ain’t heard of?"

  "You don’t know who Krungus is?" Eugene asked.

  "Should I?"

  He shook his head, mostly to himself. "Guess not. Never mind. Just... looks familiar, that’s all."

  Cozimia’s voice slipped into his mind, telepathic and hushed. "That woman don’t know Krungus? Sugar, how’s that possible? Ain’t his name carved into half the ruins in this place? Ain’t no way she’s that old and that dumb."

  Eugene kept his expression neutral. "Maybe she’s not from here," he thought back.

  "Or maybe she’s lying through her briny teeth," Cozimia replied.

  The fog clung tighter as they approached. The Whisperwake loomed larger, barnacles clinging like memory, sails hanging slack.

  Nell broke the silence. "Only other human I ever seen out here was the Captain. And that was... longer ago than I know how to count."

  Eugene turned to her, alert. "The Captain? Can you describe him?"

  She nodded slowly, gaze drifting toward the fog. "Short fella. Wild white beard, though he didn’t act all old-like. Wore a massive coat—red and white, stitched with gold thread. Tricorn, like mine, only fancier. He carried a staff shaped like a broken compass sometimes and talked like the sea was a person he owed money to. Called himself the Terror of the Tides."

  Cozimia murmured in Eugene’s mind, "That’s him, sugar. That’s Krungus, playing pirate."

  Nell smiled faintly, lost in memory. "We had grand adventures, me and the Captain. Hunted ghost ships, fought sea beasts that tried to sing us into the deep. Once we boarded a vessel made of mirrors and it tried to eat our reflections."

  Eugene asked, "What happened to him?"

  She shook her head. "One morning I woke up and he was gone. No splash, no goodbye, no trace. Like he’d been unmade. Could’ve been yesterday. Could’ve been a hundred tides past. Time don’t tally right out here."

  Eugene stared into the mist, his thoughts churning with questions.

  Why would Krungus build something like this?

  He ran through the usual possibilities: a training ground? A prison? A hidden vault of some kind? None of it quite fit. There were no guards, no gates, no seals or sigils keeping things in or out. It was too open, too... whimsical.

  Then it struck him.

  This wasn’t a weapon or a secret. It was a playground.

  A whole ocean floor, built just to indulge the fantasy of being a pirate captain on some endless, cursed sea. This place hadn’t been designed for function. It had been built for fun.

  The idea unsettled him more than he expected. All that power, and this was how Krungus chose to use it?

  But even as the thought formed, Eugene couldn’t help but smile a little.

  Of course he did.

  He reached out mentally, letting the thought drift to the Jennies.

  "I think I figured it out," he said. "This place—it’s not a trap or some secret stronghold. It’s a game. A story. Krungus made this whole floor like a playground. Just... for fun."

  Cozimia responded first, her voice like the crackle of a warm fire. "Fun? Sugar, that’s a mighty expensive toy."

  Hazel Fortuna followed, dry and sharp. "So he built a haunted sea full of singing ghosts and vanishing pirates... for kicks?"

  Enalia’s tone was gentler. "Joy is not unworthy of power. But it can be dangerous when forgotten."

  Eugene nodded to himself, watching the fog swirl around the dinghy. "Yeah. And I don’t think he forgot. I think he just... stopped playing."

  After a moment, Eugene asked aloud, "So what about you, Nell? What have you been doing since the Captain disappeared?"

  Nell’s posture stiffened. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and she adjusted her grip on the oars. "What I always do. Row. Watch the tides. Keep the ship upright. Not everyone needs a grand plan, dock rat."

  Before Eugene could press further, she changed the subject. "Listen close now. Whisperwake’s got rules. You break 'em, the sea breaks you. Don’t touch the charts unless I hand them to you. Don’t open the lower hatches unless you’re lookin' to get dragged somewhere dark. And most important—don’t provoke the crewfolk."

  Eugene blinked. "Crewfolk?"

  Nell didn’t elaborate. She just stared straight ahead as the silhouette of the Whisperwake loomed closer.

  "You’ll see soon enough."

  As the dinghy slipped through the last veil of fog, the full shape of the Whisperwake emerged.

  She was beautiful—strange and aged, but beautiful. Her hull curved like a carved cathedral, gilded edges still gleaming beneath the crust of barnacles. Intricate carvings ran along the sides, weathered into abstraction. Gold-leafed filigree clung to the railings in defiance of time, and the figurehead was an open-mouthed kraken, its eyes made of smoky crystal. The sails hung slack but clean, mended a thousand times but never in the same way twice. Every inch of her showed care—but not youth. This was a ship built in another age, and kept alive out of sheer will.

  Eugene stared, entranced—until he saw the movement.

  Scuttling across the deck and climbing the rigging were the crewfolk.

  They were each about the size of a basketball, small round bodies with stubby arms and legs sprouting out at odd angles. They were covered entirely in green hair that looked a lot like moss. No heads, no necks—just one enormous eye set into the body itself, just above a wide, lipless mouth that curled into unsettling grins or slack-jawed muttering.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  They clambered like spiders, moved like dancers, and blinked in eerie unison. A few of them waved.

  Eugene recoiled slightly. Hazel whispered in his mind, "What in all the crooked fates are those?"

  Cozimia answered, "Crewfolk, apparently. I don’t like how they look at us."

  Enalia, calm as always, said only, "Ohhh, they're kinda cute, c’mon."

  Eugene swallowed hard as the dinghy bumped gently against the ship’s hull.

  "Welcome aboard," Nell said, standing.

  The crewfolk gathered at the rail, clustering together in uneven rows. Their wide eyes fixated not on Nell, but on Eugene—and more precisely, the staff tucked into the sling on his back. Their mouths gurgled and chirped, emitting a series of quick, high-pitched noises that made Eugene think of monkeys arguing over fruit.

  One of them skittered down a rope, tilted its body like a question, then scampered closer until it was almost nose-to-staff with the wooden rod.

  Cozimia shimmered brighter in the lantern, then slowly emerged, unfurling from the glass like smoke taking shape. She floated beside Eugene, arms crossed, expression skeptical.

  "Well, aren’t you all a jittery little bunch," she said aloud, more amused than afraid.

  The crewfolk chattered louder in response, many of them bouncing in place or patting the deck rhythmically with their tiny feet. Several leaned forward in awe, clearly more interested in Cozimia than in Eugene himself.

  "I think they like you," Eugene muttered.

  Cozimia’s smirk widened. "Well, can’t say I blame them. I’ve got charm in spades."

  She floated a little closer to the deck and extended a hand toward the nearest crewfolk. One of them mimicked the gesture immediately, slapping its tiny hand against hers with a delighted chirp. Another rolled over to her in a clumsy somersault and leapt up with both arms raised, clapping and hooting.

  "Oh, y’all are precious," Cozimia cooed, twirling once in the air and letting a puff of harmless blue sparks trail behind her. The crewfolk erupted in giddy chaos—leaping, spinning, some tumbling over each other in a frenzied attempt to impress her.

  Hazel muttered, "They act like they’ve just met the sea’s favorite circus."

  Enalia chimed in softly, "They respond to joy. That’s rare."

  Eugene watched the spectacle with a mix of awe and wariness. The Whisperwake was ancient, its captain cryptic, and its crew uncanny—but somehow, right now, it felt almost... festive.

  That changed when Nell barked, "Raise anchor!" in a voice like cracking ice.

  The crewfolk snapped into motion. Two rolled across the deck, limbs spinning like wheels, and leapt onto the capstan. With eerie coordination, they began to turn it, their bodies moving with jerky efficiency as the chain clanked and groaned up from the depths.

  Nell turned away, muttering about the tide, and descended below deck.

  As soon as she was gone, one of the crewfolk—shorter than the rest, with a faint scar over his eye—scurried up to Eugene. He tugged on Eugene’s sleeve, then motioned with both arms to follow, glancing back over his stubby shoulder repeatedly.

  Eugene hesitated, then looked at the Jennies.

  "You seeing this?" he asked mentally.

  Cozimia replied, "He’s either gonna warn you or bite you. Could be fun either way."

  The crewfolk led him to a shadowy corner of the deck, half-hidden behind coiled ropes and crates slick with salt.

  Then, without preamble, the little creature opened its mouth.

  It didn’t speak. Instead, a voice echoed out—clear, crackling slightly, unmistakably familiar.

  "If you’re hearing this, it means the game’s still going. Now listen close—this part’s important..."

  It was Krungus.

  The voice continued, rich with dramatic flair and a hint of mischief:

  "If this message is playing, it means someone made it into the sea-floor. Good. That means the crewfolk haven’t all gone barnacle-brained yet. Listen. This place—it ain’t a prison, or a fortress, or some secret vault. I didn’t build it for strategy. I didn’t build it for defense. I built it... because I wanted to."

  The voice softened slightly, more wistful than Eugene had ever heard him.

  "When I was a kid, I loved pirates. Not just the treasure and sword-fighting and buried maps—all of it. The stories. The singing. The chaos. I wanted to be a pirate more than I wanted to be a wizard, if I’m honest. But you grow up. You get responsibilities. And somewhere along the line, you start thinking play is a waste of time."

  There was a pause. A few of the nearby crewfolk tilted their bodies like they were listening too.

  "So when I got the chance—when I had the space, the power—I built this. A sea with no shores. A haunted ship. Singing tides and monsters with manners. I made a world I could play in. Not for anyone else. Not to prove anything. Just... because I missed being happy."

  Another pause.

  "If you’re hearing this, it means you’re not Nell. Don’t worry, she can’t trigger it. The crewfolk know better. But if you are someone new... maybe you needed this as much as I did. So welcome aboard. Don’t take it too seriously. And if you see something in the water—wave back."

  The recording clicked off. The crewfolk stared at Eugene, blinking slowly.

  But just before it ended, Krungus’s voice returned, quieter, almost like an afterthought:

  "Oh—and one more thing. Trust Nell. She’s tougher than old rope and twice as knotted, but she means well. Always did. Maybe I made her a little too stern. Maybe she made herself that way. Either way—she’ll get you where you're going. If you let her. And don’t let her know this is a game, or who the Captain really is. I think it would break her."

  The crewfolk who had played the message gave a single, satisfied blink, then turned without ceremony and waddled back toward a coil of rope. He resumed his task as if nothing unusual had happened.

  Eugene stared after him, still stunned. "Wait—do you have any more messages from him? Anything else?"

  The crewfolk didn’t respond. None of them did. They simply went about their duties, hooting softly to one another like nothing had been said at all.

  Just then, Nell reappeared from the stairwell, holding a small wooden bowl brimming with vibrant, fresh-cut fruit.

  "Here," she said, offering it to Eugene without ceremony. "You look like you need something sweet in your mouth besides questions."

  Eugene blinked, then took the bowl. Juicy slices of mango, tart berries, and crisp apple shone in the dim light.

  "Where did you get this?" he asked. "There’s no trees out here. No land. No sun."

  Nell looked genuinely confused. "Pantry below deck. Same place it’s always been. Go look if you don’t believe me."

  Eugene exchanged a glance with Cozimia, who raised one skeptical eyebrow.

  Curious, he handed off the bowl and made his way below deck.

  The pantry was tucked behind a bulkhead door lined with rusted hinges. Inside, the space was surprisingly clean and lit with dim magical sconces. Shelves lined the walls, packed with crates and glass jars, baskets and barrels.

  And all of it—all of it—was fresh. Loaves of bread that smelled oven-warm. Cheeses wrapped in waxed paper. Glass bottles of juice, and more fruit than he could name.

  Eugene stepped back, nearly bumping into a sack of potatoes. "He really stocked this place."

  Cozimia's voice, distant and dry: *"Guess the old man didn’t wanna roleplay that part of being a pirate."

  Hazel snorted. "Scurvy’s a choice, apparently."

  Enalia simply said, "He made the sea, but not the hunger."

  After some bread and fruit, Eugene climbed back above deck. The Whisperwake groaned and creaked softly underfoot, as though adjusting to his weight. The sea was calm, the fog thinner now, and the crewfolk scattered about in their strange, erratic rhythms.

  Eugene took some time to wander the deck. Nell didn’t stop him. When he passed near the captain’s quarters, she looked over from where she was coiling a rope.

  "That’s my room," she said plainly. "Nothing secret. Just a bed and a few boots. You're welcome to look if you’re that curious, but it’s just where I sleep."

  He nodded, choosing to respect the boundary.

  As he continued his walk, he noticed something he hadn’t clocked before: weapons. Not just a few—but many. Harpoon launchers bolted near the railing. A trio of cannons half-hidden behind old tarps. Crates marked with powder sigils. Even a rack of long pikes hung from a post by the mast.

  Eugene muttered under his breath, "Playground or not... Krungus never played soft."

  He stepped closer to one of the cannons and ran his fingers across the barrel. No dust. No rust. The ropes were coiled tight. The harpoons gleamed with recent oiling. Everything looked used—maintained not for show, but for need.

  These weapons weren’t just decoration. They’d seen action. Maybe still did.

  Eugene frowned. Whatever kind of game this was, it had teeth.

  It made him think.

  He turned to Nell, who was back at the helm now, scanning the fog like it owed her answers. "Hey," Eugene called out, "when the Captain was here—did he ever use magic? Or did he just fire the cannons at everything?"

  Nell didn't look at him right away. When she did, her face was unreadable. "He used both. Sometimes magic, sometimes steel. Sometimes nonsense that made no sense at all and still worked. He said a real pirate should know how to curse a storm and fire a harpoon in the same breath."

  She looked back out to sea. "He wasn’t predictable. That’s what made him fun. And dangerous."

  Eugene hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Can you do magic?"

  Nell gave a dry chuckle. "Me? No. Never could. Never seen anyone do the things the Captain could do. Not before or since. He bent the sea to him like it owed him a favor. All I can do is sail."

  Eugene leaned against the railing, thoughtful. "So... how long have you been sailing this ship?"

  Nell was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged. "No idea. Days blur into tides. Tides blur into fog. I stopped counting a long time ago."

  Eugene squinted out at the horizon. If Krungus had spent a thousand years on each floor of Syzzyzzy before moving on, then... Nell had probably been here for eight thousand years. Give or take.

  He glanced back at her, trying to picture what it would be like—to live out entire ages on a ship that barely changed, in a sea that never ended. No wonder she didn’t remember. Or maybe she remembered too much."

  After a long silence, Nell spoke again, her voice distant but alive with memory. "One time... a squid came for us. Not the regular kind. This one was the size of a hill, arms like snapping bridges, eyes like moons. Had a mind behind those suckers, too. Knew what it wanted."

  Eugene straightened slightly. "What happened?"

  "It wrapped us up good," Nell said. "Started pulling the Whisperwake down like it wanted to make her a necklace. I was screaming orders, trying to cut free, but nothing worked. Then the Captain comes storming out with a fork in one hand and a flaming cannonball in the other, laughing like a lunatic."

  She chuckled at the memory. "He threw the cannonball into the squid’s eye and stabbed its arm with the fork like it was dinner. No spells, no tricks. Just chaos. He climbed the rigging mid-fight, screaming about nautical honor and insulting the squid’s ancestors. We nearly sank. But we didn’t."

  She paused, smirking. "He said magic would've ruined it. Said if you can’t fight a sea beast with your bare hands and bad ideas, you don’t deserve the story."

  She looked down at her hands. "We drifted for three days after that, quiet. I don’t think he slept. Just kept watch. Said it might come back."

  Nell shook her head. "Never seen anyone scare the sea like he did. Storms, I never seen anyone love the sea the way he did either."