Oath of the Broken Sword Chapter 26

The sea didn’t just churn;

it screamed. A high, keening wail rose from the water as those twisted forms—part man, part fish, limbs of glistening, unstable flesh—hauled themselves over the gunwales of *The Guardian’s Promise*. The air turned thick with the stench of brine and rotting magic.

“Deep-born!” Captain Anya roared, her voice cutting through the panic. “Cut the lines! Archers, aim for the casters!”

But the archers were faltering. The white-haired woman on the lead cutter stood unmoved, her hands weaving patterns in the air. With each gesture, another abomination clawed its way onto our deck. These weren’t mere monsters;

they were manifestations of the Void’s touch, their very presence causing the wood beneath our feet to splinter and blacken.

My own Source Runes flared in response, a defensive silver light shattering a probing tendril of shadow that lashed out from one creature. The energy felt familiar, sickeningly so. It was the same corrosive force the Captain in the tavern had wielded. The Twilight Sect was here, and they weren’t just trying to capture me. They were trying to unmake everything around me.

*Elia, their magic resonates with the Echo!

* Silvershine’s thought was a razor-sharp warning in my mind. She circled high above, a streak of moonlight against the darkening sky, but a shimmering dome of violet energy erupted from the cutters, sealing the air above the ships. She slammed against it with a furious roar, the barrier rippling but holding fast. *They have woven a containment field. I cannot break through!

*

“They’ve caged her,” I gasped, parrying a clawed swipe from a Deep-born with a hastily conjured blade of light. The impact jarred my bones.

“Aye, and they’ll cage us next!” Anya shouted, driving her cutlass through the creature’s chest. It dissolved into a puddle of black sludge. “We break that witch’s concentration!”

Easier said than done. The robed figures on the cutter were protected by a phalanx of their grotesque creations. Rex’s sacrifice was already being rendered meaningless. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum of fear and fury. I was a catalyst for sacrifice. His, and now possibly the entire crew’s.

I couldn’t let that happen.

A memory flashed—Rex’s blade, glowing with that faint, defiant gold as it shattered the dark rune. A guardian’s legacy. He’d said I needed to forge an alliance. This wasn’t just about reaching Wave-Surge Port;

it was about proving I was worthy of one.

I closed my eyes for a split second, ignoring the battle cries and the splintering of wood. I reached not for the precise, disciplined flow of Imperial magic, nor for the raw, untamed power of the Echo. Instead, I reached for the bond. For Silvershine.

*I need your sight,* I thought, pushing past the interference of the containment field. *Show me the pattern.*

Her consciousness flooded into mine, layering over my own senses. The world shifted. The chaotic battle faded into a shimmering tapestry of energies. The Deep-born were knots of screaming void-energy. The robed Sect members were pulsing anchors of the same power. And the white-haired woman… she was the nexus. Thin, almost invisible threads of violet light connected her to the three cutters, fueling the barrier and summoning the abominations.

“The threads!” I yelled to Anya, pointing toward the lead cutter. “She’s the anchor! We need to sever her connection to the ships!”

Anya’s eyes, sharp with decades of navigating treacherous waters, followed my gaze. She nodded grimly. “Aye! But we’d need a cannon shot straight to hell to get through that mess!”

A cannon. The idea was insane. But as another Deep-born lunged at me, its maw open in a silent sh insanity seemed like the only option left. I pushed forward, my silver magic forming a spinning disk that sliced through two of the creatures. I fought my way toward the ship’s starboard side, where a small, aged swivel gun was mounted.

“Can you load this?” I shouted at a young crew member who was desperately trying to hold a line.

His eyes wide with terror, he nodded. “Aye, but with what? Grape shot won’t scratch them!”

“Not grape shot,” I said, my hands already moving. I focused my will, drawing on the Source Runes within me. Silver light coalesced in my palms, not as a shield or a blade, but as a dense, humming sphere of pure energy. It was reckless, a terrible drain, but it was all I had. “Load this.”

The crewman stared at the pulsating ball of magic, his face pale, but he didn’t hesitate. With trembling hands, he rammed the sphere of light down the swivel gun’s barrel. It was a perversion of both magic and machinery, something Master Barlok would have roared at me for even attempting.

“Aim for the woman!” Anya commanded, taking the aiming lever herself. She squinted, judging the pitch and roll of the two ships. “Ready…!”

The lead cutter was turning, bringing its own heavier cannons to bear. We had one chance.

“Fire!”

The swivel gun bucked with a sound unlike any cannon blast—a shrieking tear in the fabric of reality. A lance of silver energy screamed across the narrowing gap of water. It didn’t travel in a straight line;

it spiraled, tearing through the violet threads connecting the woman to the other ships as it went.

The effect was instantaneous. The containment field above us flickered and died. The white-haired woman staggered, a cry of surprise and pain tearing from her lips. The Deep-born on our deck faltered, their forms becoming unstable, translucent.

Silvershine needed no invitation. With a roar that shook the very sea, she dove. A blast of frigid air, the breath of the high glaciers, swept the of the lead cutter, encrusting the robed figures and their abominations in solid ice. The woman raised her hands defensively, a shield of dark energy halting the frost just before it touched her, but the distraction was complete.

“Now! Break away!” Anya screamed.

Our crew, seizing the moment, shoved the remaining frozen horrors overboard and scrambled to catch the wind. *The Guardian’s Promise*, sturdy and true, groaned but obeyed, pulling away from the frozen cutter and its two confused companions.

I slumped against the railing, exhaustion washing over me. The magical sphere had taken more than I’d wanted to give. I looked up as Silvershine landed gracefully on the deck, her scales dim in the twilight. She folded her wings, her great head nudging my shoulder gently.

*That was… unorthodox,* her thought came, laced with a thread of amusement amidst the fatigue.

“It worked,” I breathed, my whole body trembling.

*It did. You are learning to weave your own patterns, Elia. Not just those you were born with.*

As the enemy ships shrank on the horizon, a new kind of fear settled in my gut. This wasn’t a random patrol. This was a calculated ambush by the Twilight Sect. They knew I was coming. Which meant the Marshal’s reach, or the Sect’s infiltration, was far greater than I’d feared. Wave-Surge Port would be a nest of vipers. Forging an alliance with the elusive Silver Federation or the fractious Free Traders now seemed like a dream spun from moonlight.

Rex’s ring felt heavy on my finger. His sacrifice had to mean something. As the first lights of a distant coastline glittered in the night—the legendary, lawless port of Wave-Surge—I knew the real trial was just beginning. I wasn’t just a catalyst for sacrifice anymore. I had to become the architect of survival.