The Wreck of the Aetheris

The ocean had always been a place of mystery, an expanse where even the bravest mariners dared not venture too far. Yet, to Captain Elias Corwin, it was home. For years, he had commanded the *Aetheris*, a proud three-masted schooner that was as familiar to him as the very skin he wore. With its taut sails, sturdy timber, and resolute keel, the ship had weathered storms and traversed countless miles of open sea. But nothing, nothing in his long career, could prepare him for the trial that awaited.

It was late in the season, when the winds were beginning to turn colder and the nights grew longer. The *Aetheris* had just passed through the Straits of Gibraltar, bound for the merchant port of Alexandria, when the first signs of trouble appeared.

It started with a whisper—a faint, almost imperceptible hum carried on the wind. The crew dismissed it at first, attributing the noise to the creaking timbers of the ship or the natural sounds of the deep. But Captain Corwin, whose instincts were as sharp as the edge of a well-honed cutlass, knew better. It was a sound of the ocean, yes, but it was unlike any he had heard before. It had a resonance, a peculiar undertone that stirred something ancient and primal in the depths of his soul.

By dusk, the hum had grown louder, almost a low, persistent drone, as if the very sea were singing a lament. It was unsettling, to say the least, and Corwin had given orders to tighten the sails and prepare the ship for a change in weather, though no clouds had yet appeared on the horizon.

As the stars began to twinkle faintly above, the sea transformed. The water turned from its usual deep blue to a strange, translucent green, as though the very ocean had taken on a life of its own. It was a colour that Captain Corwin had seen only in the most desolate and forgotten parts of the world, the waters that bordered uncharted lands, the places where the sun's reach had not yet touched.

"Captain," called First Mate Davies, his face pale and drawn. "Something’s wrong. The winds... they’re turning. And the waves—"

Before he could finish, the first wave crashed over the deck, not with the usual thunderous roar of a storm's approach, but with an unnatural silence, as if the water itself were holding its breath. It was followed by another, and then a third. The sea was rising, not with fury, but with deliberation, as though it were being pulled, controlled, by some unseen force.

"Full sail! Ready the crew!" Corwin barked, his voice sharp with the authority of a man who had sailed these waters for decades. The crew scrambled to obey, though a palpable fear had settled over them, an unease that they could not shake.

But it was too late. The ocean had decided to claim them.

As the waves grew taller and the wind began to howl, the hum intensified, and from the depths of the sea, something emerged. At first, it was barely visible—a glimmer of something immense, rising slowly from the abyss. The crew stared in awe and horror as the shape took form: a vast, serpentine creature, its body composed of what appeared to be countless fragments of shipwrecks and debris, woven together into something monstrous.

The creature was alive, that much was certain. Its eyes—two great orbs of luminous green—gazed at the ship with an intelligence that sent a chill down Corwin’s spine. The hum, now deafening, emanated from the creature itself, a mournful song that seemed to call out to the depths of the ocean, summoning something far older than man.

"Steady, men!" Captain Corwin shouted, though he knew not what to do. There were no weapons for such a foe, no cannon to fire, no harpoons to throw. All they could do was watch and hope the sea would spare them.

But the ocean was no longer their ally.

The creature surged forward, its massive coils rippling through the water with terrifying speed. With a great lurch, the *Aetheris* was lifted from the water, the timbers groaning under the weight of the unnatural wave. The sails snapped violently as the ship was dragged, almost effortlessly, toward the creature’s open maw.

In the chaos that followed, Captain Corwin could hear the frantic shouts of his crew, the splintering of wood, the crash of metal, and the creak of the masts straining against the pull of the beast. But through it all, the hum continued, unbroken, as though the sea itself was singing them to their doom.

And then, in the midst of the madness, something changed.

The hum began to fade.

The ship was still in motion, but the force that had gripped it seemed to weaken. The creature’s eyes, once glowing with an eerie light, dulled, and its vast body began to sink back into the abyss. The ocean, as quickly as it had risen, began to calm, the waves slowly subsiding into their normal, restless rhythm.

Corwin stood at the bow, his hands gripping the wheel as though it were the only thing tethering him to reality. The crew, though shaken and battered, had managed to regain some semblance of order. The *Aetheris* was damaged, but it still floated—barely.

For hours, they drifted in eerie silence, the sky now tinged with the first light of dawn. It was only then, as the sun rose over the horizon, that Captain Corwin allowed himself a breath. They had survived, but at what cost?

There would be no answers for them on this journey, no explanation for the monstrous being they had encountered, nor for the strange hum that had led them into its grasp. But as Corwin stared out into the vast, endless ocean, he knew one thing for certain: the sea was not just a place of beauty and mystery. It was a place of ancient forces, forces that no man could understand, forces that existed long before the first ship had ever sailed upon its waters.

And in the deep, dark places of the world, those forces still watched, waiting.

Captain Corwin adjusted his coat, wiped the salt from his brow, and turned back to the crew.

"Set course for Alexandria," he said, his voice steady once more. "We sail at dawn."

And though no one spoke it aloud, they all knew the truth.

The ocean had not forgiven them.

---

The *Aetheris* sailed on, but the hum of the deep would linger in their minds forever.