The storm eased up after an hour of straight sailing, the water calming to a cyan blue that rippled white and green against the black sky. Elf watched the low, dark clouds above him — wondering if more was on the way — when a blood red sun peered out from behind one of them and he breathed a sigh of relief. He — like most sailors — stayed clear of the shadow of the volcano and the harsh atmosphere it covered the territory with, but with the lights from the ocean carving their path, there was a morbid beauty to the eternal night that covered them.

The engines had died, but the winds were with them, and whatever Jian had done to the sails, they were working. Elf had taken the helm, feeling confident with the wheel in his hands, firmly fitting into his fists as he guided his ship through the water. Seeing Ossory in front of him; the holes in the deck, the missing taffrails, the splintered masts, he felt it all in his own aches and pains. He didn’t want to be hopeful, not yet, but he couldn’t stop imagining being back out on open water - real, open ocean - and just sailing, far and fast. He imagined sleeping on the deck under the stars, swimming through the reefs and finding ancient, intricate junk he could sell for a living. He could taste his freedom. He pictured dropping Jian off at a port and with a better crew, one that would take care of him, or seeing Mihri to her fancy manor house with its tower and its telescope, Aitan with his sweetheart. He could finally fix this; he was so close.

‘We should be right on top of it!’ Mihri called out.

Elf tightened his grip on the wheel, glancing at Jian, who was already working the sails to slow them down. Elf swallowed, hard. It was now or never.

Anwen leapt from the water again, landing back on the boat and standing firm and straight at the bow. She blinked once, twice, then she raised her hands and the darkness around them erupted into light.

All around them, small balls of light appeared hovering in the air, tiny suns no bigger than a marble that sat perfectly motionless around them. Elf stared at each one as Ossory pulled gently past them, his mouth dry. All at once his body remembered being trapped underwater with Quotinir, being unable to breathe, his own soul hanging in front of his face but completely out of reach. He forced himself to take careful breaths, to remember his hands gripping the wheel, his skin pressed against the worn wood. He could feel the dryness of his lips, the salt staining his unshaven face. There were so many souls; he had never stopped to think about it. Hundreds of souls, thousands of them all trapped in some way. He had to wonder if every sailor on the archipelago had a mark on them, or if creatures beneath the waves were just as trapped. Elf only felt cold, the same kind of cold that came before Quotinir dragged him down. He knew the great beast wasn’t far from here, and he wondered if Quotinir knew that.

‘I will need your names,’ Anwen said.

Elf snapped out of his thoughts and stared at her. ‘Excuse me?’

‘To free the binds, I need to take you out of this place. I need your name.’

Jian glanced back at him, worry clouding his features, and Elf shivered at the sudden turn. Having Quotinir rattling around in his head was painful enough, but he didn’t want Anwen adding to that. Whatever her motivation was, he was sick of voices ordering him around.

‘I understand your misgivings,’ she said. ‘But I gave you my word that you would be freed upon arriving, and you have done that. I can free you all, and I swear that this freedom will be a freedom from me as well.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ Mihri said. Elf began to protest, but she shot him a hard look. ‘I have to go home and put my life together, and I don’t see another option. It took so much to get here; I’m not stopping now.’

She stepped away from the taffrails, nodding at Aitan as he squeezed her shoulder. She stepped over to where Anwen was waiting. Anwen betrayed a rare smile.

‘I’m glad that you feel you can trust me,’ she said.

Mihri shrugged. ‘No reason not to at this point.’ She then squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Elf could only watch, his nails digging into the splinters of the wheel. ‘My name is Mihri Munnamurrah.’

Anwen nodded. ‘Mihri Munnamurrah, you are ordered to be the only one to command your own path. You are free from the binds that lock you here.’

The mermaid raised her hand and caught one of the lights as it sailed past her head, and Mihri staggered. Elf lurched forward, rushing to do something before the little ball could be crushed, but Anwen simply cupped it in both of her hands and closed her eyes. He came to a stop next to Mihri, who was completely fixated on the tiny light, her expression dazed. All Elf could see was light, but he knew what she saw; he knew the feeling.

Anwen mumbled something then, soft and musical, her voice low and losing the whispery quality it usually held. Elf didn’t understand the words, but he jumped out of his skin when Anwen’s eyes shot open and she threw her arms wide. The ball of light exploded into small, flickering glitter, evaporating into nothing.

Mihri gasped and her legs caved, falling limp as Elf rushed to catch her. Breathing rapidly, she pulled at her sleeve until her wrist was exposed. The ring marked into her skin was bleeding, becoming inky water that fell away from her skin and disappeared before hitting the deck. She let out a shaky laugh, running her fingers along her forearm, rubbing at it as though she expected the mark to return. A small welt of blood smeared across her wrist, but it remained unmarked.

‘Mihri Munnamurrah,’ Anwen said. ‘You will leap into the water and swim back to Shiyze. Now.’

Elf grabbed Mihri protectively as the words pressed the air into a heavy silence. He tensed, ready to restrain the woman with every rope on the ship if he had to. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, her voice choked by another laugh. ‘No.’

Anwen nodded.

‘I’m actually… free?’

Anwen nodded again. ‘Shall I continue?’

Don’t you dare.

Elf flinched as Quotinir’s voice echoed through his head, but he wouldn’t stop. He wasn’t going to let that shark stop him now. He turned to the others. ‘Go.’

Aitan turned to Jian. ‘You go.’

Jian paled, opening his mouth to protest, but Aitan grabbed him by the collar and shoved him forward. Jian tripped over his boots, scrambling over to Anwen with one final glance at Elf. Elf nodded.

Do not give her your name.

Elf shook the voice from his head as Jian stepped up. The man then paused, his face going blank.

‘It’s alright,’ Anwen said. She betrayed a smile, and her whole face softened.

Jian was still for a moment longer, then leaned forward and whispered something into her ear. Anwen frowned, and when he pulled away, she shook her head.

‘It’s not the name you were born with,’ she said. ‘It’s the name of you. The name you understand to be you, inside and out.’

Jian was still for a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. ‘Yao Jia…’ Jian paused, then lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. ‘Yao-ze Jian.’

Anwen nodded. ‘Jian, son of the Yao family, you are free; from the binds that hold you, from fish and seal, and from my own tongue. You are the one to command your life.’

As she caught the next light that hovered next to her head, the water around the ship rocked it, rumbling through the deck. Elf swallowed, waiting for that familiar cold chill to drop over him, for Quotinir to come in and tear him away. As long as he didn’t step in yet; as long as the others were freed.

He was going to die.

Once again, Anwen cupped the light, and Jian fell into a daze, staring at the light as everything else washed away. He would go next, and it would be fine. He wasn’t going to die.

Elfyn O Se, you will give your name to no-one but me.

Elf staggered back at the force of the words, bile hitting the back of his throat. He hit the taffrails, the broken wires bending dangerously with his weight. Both Anwen and Jian were locked in their trance, but the other two noticed. Mihri’s brows knotted together, and Aitan caught his shoulder, as though to stop him from falling.

‘Go next,’ Aitan said.

‘No,’ Elf said.

Aitan’s brows knotted together. ‘You promised you wouldn’t go off on your own.’

‘I can’t.’ Elf’s voice escaped in a whisper.

You have failed me.

Elf’s breathing turned rapid, struggling to pull air down as though he was in that monster’s house once again. He had been so close, so close to this being over. He couldn’t fail. He wasn’t ready to die. He was about to die.

Jian hit the deck hard, sprawling across the surface, and Mihri rushed to help him up. Elf tried to mask his panic, but as soon as Jian saw him, the man’s face paled.

‘Go,’ Aitan ordered. ‘Now.’

‘I can’t.’

‘What if one of us gave his name?’ Mihri asked. ‘Or if he told one of us and you happened to hear it?’

Anwen shook her head. ‘It has to come from him.’

Elfyn opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His voice failed, stuck against something in his throat and refusing to make a single sound. He strained, a headache searing against his temples, but nothing came. He pressed his lips together to form even the first words; my name is… but he couldn’t even manage that. Fear gripped him tight, and he knew the others could see it. It enveloped him so entirely he could do nothing to hide it, couldn’t think of anything else. There had to be another way.

There was no other way. This had been his last chance.

‘There is another way, but it’ll take a lot out of me,’ Anwen said. ‘I’ll need to cast the spell on you directly, and it’s going to take time.’

Elf glanced at his crew standing around him, only here because of his failure, held against their will by his actions. Except two of them were free. He had succeeded in that, and he had to see it all the way through.

He didn’t want to die.

‘Go,’ he ordered Aitan.

Aitan only stared at him blankly. Elf growled, grabbing the taller man by the collar and shoving him towards Anwen. ‘Go! Damn you!’

‘What are you doing?’ Jian cried.

‘You’re going to die!’ Mihri snapped.

‘I came here to save all of you,’ Elf said. ‘If I’m about to die, don’t let me die with you on my conscience.’

‘And who’s going to save you?’ Jian asked. ‘You should have gone before me! You should have—‘

‘No.’ Elf stumbled forward and grabbed Jian by the collar, pulling the other man close. ‘This is my choice. It’s. My. Choice. The order makes no difference. Don’t you dare blame yourself.’

Jian opened his mouth to argue, his eyes shining, but Elf leant forward and pressed Jian’s forehead against his own.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t you dare.’

‘Elf…’ Mihri stepped in next to him, her eyes wide. Elf grinned despite the fear pushing heavy against his chest.

‘I was starting to wonder if you actually knew my name,’ he joked.

Instead of throwing a snarky comment back at him, she pushed Jian aside and pulled him into a tight hug. Elf returned it, reaching out with one arm to pull Jian in as well. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to believe that these were his last moments - that after this point he would cease to exist. Yet, the panic building in his chest wouldn’t let him convince himself. At any moment he would feel what would only be unimaginable pain. Then nothing. Even if he believed in an afterlife, it wasn’t an option. There would be nothing. He knew he was shaking, and he knew the others could feel it, but he also knew that it would make no difference if Anwen cast her magic on him before Aitan; the order had already been given.

Human’s weren’t made to survive the archipelago, after all.

He couldn’t even fathom what it would feel like to be nothing, to no longer exist. He couldn’t fathom what it would be like not to feel, not to think; to be part of the foam that he brushed away every day. There wouldn’t be any thought though, no feeling, no sensation or sentience. Beyond this point, there was nothing.

‘There has to be something!’ Mihri pulled away, anger knotting her features. ‘A loophole, another option. Something to bargain with!’

Elf glanced down at the pistol in his belt, at the one bullet that remained in the barrel. His hands shook, and he wasn’t sure if it was the thought, or the fear.

‘There is something.’ Aitan stepped up to him, breathing heavily. His sleeves were rolled up, and the familiar ring on his arm gone. He glanced back at Anwen, who was pale and breathing heavily, and she gave a grave nod.

‘What do we do?’ Jian demanded.

Elf didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to sound desperate, but he knew in the way the others were staring that they could see his fear.

‘We make the decision for him,’ Aitan said. ‘Sorry, cap’n. We’re working without you for once.’

Aitan then grabbed Elf by the collar of his shirt and threw him off the ship.

Elf hit the water hard, pain radiating through his back as foam and bubbles swallowed his vision, robbing him of breath as he fell down into the cold depths. A crash next to him sent another slew of bubbles around him, blocking his view of the lights above and sending him tumbling blindly towards the ocean floor.

Down and down he fell, a strange echo of his summons, but the pressure around his chest was real, his torso aching at the effort of holding his breath. His arms scrambled to claw him back towards the surface, but his shoulder only screamed in protest and he sank deeper. When he saw the familiar shape of the great, shark-mermaid appeared in the murky depths, he stilled.

Quotinir hovered in the darkness, illuminated only by the lights under his skin. He was far away, from this distance only as big as Elf himself, and Elf wondered how close they were really to the Tundra. They weren’t close enough to see the trees and valleys that had existed above the surface thousands of years ago, but he could tell Quotinir was watching him, and he was unable to come closer.

The great creature raised his arms, and a single light appeared in front of him, a light that Elf couldn’t make out so far away. Yet, his stomach twisted. He knew exactly which one it was.

Don’t, Elf willed silently. Please.

A shape fluttered through his peripherals, and Elf turned to see luminescent lines and silver circling him, Anwen’s fins and feathers streaming lines of light against the black. Elf opened his mouth to say something, but water rushed down his throat and he choked. He couldn’t pull in any air, he was unable to pull himself up, there was nothing to grab onto, or push off from. Fumbling against his rising panic, a final, stupid decision hit him. He reached for the pistol at his belt.

His vision darkened and his lungs screamed as he barely found the strength to lift the gun, but he had one shot left, and he knew what he wanted to use it for. He had to make it count. He pointed it at the great massive body, one last act of spite against this mess, and fired.

The bullet sailed into the darkness, and a burst of red erupted from Quotinir’s side.

Then came the pain.

Blinding, horrible pain erupted all over his body, spasming through his every inch of his skin, his muscles, his bones, all the way down to the marrow, and he screamed. He screamed despite having no air in his lungs, despite no sound coming out. He thrashed, struggling as fire erupted across his entire soul, tearing, slashing, ripping him to pieces. He saw a flash of orange again, then Anwen appeared in front of him, staring intently. He could see her, was aware of her, but nothing else could run through his mind except for the pain, the excruciating agony that could only mean he had reached the end.

Anwen placed both of her hands on his cheeks, her touch icy, then leaned forward and kissed him hard.

The pain ebbed as a strange warmth filled his lungs.

Then, nothing.