Chapter 5: BLACK MARK ?
Flashback to the inn.
The lantern flickered, casting golden lines across an old, weathered map spread over a wooden table.
Elhaan's finger traced a crescent-shaped bay. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with urgency.
"You'll go to Takhbay," he said. "My ship's hidden there. If she's still seaworthy, she'll carry us farther than any port dares dream."
Mikael frowned. "And what about you?"
Elhaan straightened. The faint light revealed lines of fatigue across his face. Still, his presence held weight — like an old sword not yet dulled.
"I'll gather a crew. Men we can trust... or pay enough to pretend. I'll meet you in Takhbay in a month."
Mikael looked down at the map again. Eastward — a dark, open expanse of sea lay untouched by inked names. A moon-shaped curve stretched across it, marked only with one word.
"Moon Sea."
Elhaan nodded, placing a hand on Mikael's shoulder.
"That's where this ends," he said. "Or truly begins."
Now…
Present time.
The wind howled over the deck.
Mikael stood beneath a sky choked with clouds, the full moon breaking through in flashes of pale silver. The samurai faced him in silence — eyes hidden beneath the rim of a straw hat soaked with rain.
Mikael exhaled and nodded.
"Thanks... for saving me."
The samurai didn't answer right away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, flat, edged with cold steel.
"No need," he said. "I thought that knight was after me."
He turned without another word, walking to the edge of the ship and sitting on the railing. His dark muffler fluttered behind him, caught in the wind, his silhouette etched against the full moon.
Mikael stood in silence, watching the strange warrior dissolve once more into stillness.
Far across the sea…
A thick fog rolled endlessly across black water.
From within it, the ghost ship emerged — drifting silently through the mist, its torn sails billowing with unnatural wind. Its hull groaned, not from age, but from something far older.
At the bow, a scorched skeleton stood tall, hands locked onto the railing. It did not move. It did not breathe. It only stared — empty sockets aimed skyward, toward the moonlight.
A green flame pulsed once deep in its ribcage, faint… then steady.
The ship continued forward, swallowed again by the fog.
Back aboard the Eastern vessel…
Warm smells of spice and broth drifted from the mid-deck.
Drawn by the sound of laughter and bowls clinking, Mikael made his way down to the communal eating space, ducking under a low tarp. Lanterns hung like soft stars, casting a golden glow over dozens of sailors and merchants seated on mats, sharing food and stories.
He lingered at the edge of the circle — watching, listening.
"I'm telling you, it was the Black Mark that cursed Azan's crew," whispered one grizzled merchant, slurping soup between words.
"They went chasing forbidden treasure — things better left buried."
Another man scoffed, wiping his beard.
"And what, it killed them all?"
"Not killed — claimed. The ones who returned weren't the same. Some say they were already dead, just waiting for the sun to set."
The group fell quiet for a moment.
"You don't know how it works," the older man muttered.
"The curse keeps you alive. You can't die. Not from wounds, not from drowning, not even poison. Not until the sun goes down."
Someone leaned in, his voice hushed.
"And when it does?"
"Then it takes you. Quick. Brutal. But before that..." He lowered his voice to almost nothing.
"It makes you see things. Your sins. Your past. The worst parts of who you are. It doesn't just kill your body — it breaks your soul first."
Mikael swallowed hard and turned away. He didn't need to hear more. He had lived it.
The tingling in his hand — faint, but unmistakable — reminded him the Black Mark was still there.
A promise. A prison.
A clock ticking toward nightfall.
To be continued...