as told by Leris Tavron, Former Captain of the *Wandering Gale*

I can still hear the waves. Not the ordinary cadence of the ocean—the soothing ebb and flow I’d grown accustomed to as a sailor—but the sound of something deeper, something alive. That sound haunts my dreams. It was the prelude to death, the tide drawing back its breath before it unleashed the monsters beneath.

We had no intention of crossing Gharnakthul’s boundary. Even reckless traders know better than to test the waters near that cursed land. But storms don’t care for boundaries, and neither do the gods. The Wandering Gale was battered for days, tossed helplessly until our instruments failed and the stars hid from us. When the winds finally calmed, we found ourselves adrift in unnervingly placid waters. The crew cheered, grateful for the reprieve, but I felt the chill creeping up my spine. Something wasn’t right.

The lookout’s scream was the first sign. His voice pierced the morning air as he pointed to the horizon. A ship—no, a shadow—was gliding toward us. Its masts were broken, its hull twisted and dripping as though freshly pulled from the depths. The water around it churned unnaturally, and I swear I saw skeletal forms slithering just beneath the surface.

By the time the crew armed themselves, it was too late. The Wraithhulk struck our ship with horrifying speed, its harpoons crashing into the hull with unrelenting force. Tidewatchers swarmed our deck like silent specters, their glowing eyes drilling into my soul. They wielded rusted weapons that cut through flesh and steel as if both were nothing. The crew fought valiantly, but there was no stopping them. One by one, I watched my friends fall, their screams drowned by the cold wind and the eerie silence of the Tidewatchers.

I’ll never forget the moment I locked eyes with one of them. Its face was waterlogged and decayed, but the hollow glow of its gaze held something deeper—grief, perhaps, or a determination that could not be questioned. It didn’t hesitate. Its blade swept toward me, and I barely blocked it with my sword. The force sent me sprawling, and in that instant, I knew I was going to die.

But then came a sound—a crack of the mast as the Wraithhulk’s harpoons splintered the ship. I had no plan, no strategy. I simply ran, stumbling and bleeding, toward the edge of the deck as the Wandering Gale began to break apart. I dived into the icy water, letting the waves swallow me whole.

The cold stole my breath, but I swam as hard as I could, ignoring the agony in my limbs and the weight of despair dragging me down. I could hear them behind me—the Tidewatchers slipping into the water, pursuing me with the grace of predators. I prayed to every god I knew, even to Karmorr, though I doubted the Beneath-Watcher had any mercy to spare.

Somehow, miraculously, the current shifted. A surge carried me away from the wreckage, away from the glowing eyes that hunted me. When I dared to look back, I saw the Wandering Gale consumed by the sea, its shattered remains sinking into darkness. The Wraithhulk lingered for a moment before vanishing into the mist, taking with it the horrors I would never forget.

I washed ashore days later, delirious and half-dead. A passing fishing vessel found me and nursed me back to health, though I’ve never fully recovered. My body bears the scars of that night—deep cuts that refuse to fade, and a limp that makes every step a reminder of my failure. But the worst scars are the ones unseen.

The fear follows me everywhere. I can’t step onto a boat or even stand near the shore without hearing the creak of ghostly hulls and the silent footsteps of the Tidewatchers. People call me mad when I tell my tale, but I don’t care. I know what I saw. I know what waits beneath those waters.

I’ve tried to rebuild my life inland, far from the ocean, but even here I feel the pull of the abyss. Sometimes I wake in the night, certain that glowing eyes are watching me from the shadows. I don’t know why they let me live, but I feel their judgment in every breath I take. Perhaps one day they’ll come for me, to drag me back to the Veiled Deep and make me one of them. Until then, I can only endure.

Surviving was no mercy. It was a curse. And I pray to every god who will listen that no one else will be foolish enough to drift into those forsaken waters. Because the Tidewatchers do not forgive.