Gas, ini aku bikin versi pThe ship cut through waves battered by the storm. The salty wind cut across the skin like a dull blade, and the sails creaked as if they might tear free from their frame at any moment. At the helm, Arthur stood without a coat, his posture rigid, as though the storm itself was beneath his concern.
"I heard," he said without turning, "the port town in the west still holds an old prophecy. One that remembers how to kill something that should have already died."
A crumpled map drifted through the air before landing against Sean's chest. The paper was soaked, its edges torn, and an X mark carved into it, pale blue ink faintly glowing whenever seawater touched its surface.
Sean glanced down at it. His chest tightened as his eyes caught the faded names.
North Sea.
Kraken Ocean.
"Hey," Sean called, tossing the map back. "You're not planning to get us all killed, are you?"
Arthur caught it without looking.
"No."
Sean clicked his tongue. "The North Sea isn't a place to play around. Shipwrecks, shallow waters gone mad, metal corpses everywhere. And after that—Kraken ocean?"
Arthur folded the map slowly, precisely.
"If Opia could be killed somewhere safe, it would have died long ago."
He stepped forward. The wind stretched his shadow across the deck.
"Safe places never hold the answers, Captain Sean."
"And you?" Sean challenged. "Not afraid?"
Arthur's gaze remained fixed ahead, on the sea, black and pulsing like the chest of something alive.
"I'm not a sailor who fears danger."
The ship pressed forward.
The days that followed were not a journey, but a trial.
In the North Sea, the ocean showed its teeth. Wrecks surfaced and vanished within the fog, rusted metal scraping against the hull with long, dragging shrieks. The crew worked without rest—patching leaks, cutting through debris, forcing fear down with routine.
Sean stood on deck, watching Arthur, who never once left the helm. No sleep. No hesitation.
Since when did I stop asking if this was worth it?
Or… since when did I start believing that if Arthur walks into darkness, I have to follow?
✦ ✦ ✦
Two days passed, and the sea changed.
No wind.
No waves.
The water ahead lay completely still.
Arthur finally spoke.
"We've entered its territory."
Some of the crew swallowed hard. Others tightened their grip on their weapons.
Sean exhaled, speaking more to himself than anyone else.
"This ship…"
Arthur cut him off without turning.
"No one has ever come out of here intact."
His voice dropped, nearly swallowed by the silent sea.
"We'll be the first. Or the last."
The ship continued forward, slipping into waters that felt like a mouth opening.
And somewhere along the way, Sean stopped looking for a path back.
✦ ✦ ✦
"All preparations!" Sean shouted.
"We enter the Kraken Sea Area in two days! Prepare iron nets, cannons, spears—anything that can keep this ship afloat!"
Arthur's voice followed—low, firm, absolute.
"Listen carefully. No one moves alone."
The next two days passed in a tension that never truly slept.
✦ ✦ ✦
Day One — a suspicious calm.
The crew reinforced the hull with iron and aged wood. Hammers rang without rhythm. Arthur never took his eyes off the water, waiting for the first sign.
Night fell. The lanterns flickered unnaturally. In shallow pools of seawater along the deck, symbols formed—unfamiliar, shifting. No one dared touch them.
Day Two — the sea stopped breathing.
The horizon shifted. The water darkened, unmoving.
It was waiting.
Sean gripped Arthur's shoulder, pointing toward the water swirling too perfectly to be called a current.
"The Kraken isn't just a story," he said quietly. "This is a grave that forgot how to bury."
One of the crew hurled a spear. It shot toward the sea—then snapped midair, crushed by something massive and pale. Black ink burst outward. Screams tore through the deck. Ropes were seized.
Arthur drew his dagger. Sean unsheathed his sword.
Tentacles rose—large enough to coil around the ship itself. Each strike threatened to split the vessel in two. Steel clashed against sea-flesh. Severed limbs fell, but the creature did not retreat.
Amid the chaos, Sean heard a voice.
Soft. Familiar.
"Sean…"
The world seemed to close in around him. He turned, searching—until his gaze locked onto a single point.
A woman stood between shadow and mist.
A face that had never truly left.
"Mother…?" His breath trembled. "No… this isn't possible…"
"I'm here," the figure whispered, arms opening. "Come here, my child."
The sword in Sean's hand loosened.
"SEAN!"
Arthur lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. His dagger struck, passing through the figure like smoke.
"Listen to me," Arthur hissed close to his ear. "That's not your mother."
A tentacle slammed down between them—forcing them apart.
Sean didn't move.
The figure's smile stretched wider than it should.
"Come… your mother is waiting."
His foot stepped forward—not by will, but by memory. Something deep within him responded, something broken and unfinished. The world narrowed to that voice alone.
"Mother…"
A massive wave crashed.
A tentacle struck him with brutal force.
Sean's body was thrown into the sea.
And just like that, the Kraken withdrew, as if its task had already been completed.
Sean was dragged into the depths, sinking slowly.
Above, Arthur shouted his name, but the sound was swallowed by water.
Below, the whisper drew closer.
Cold wrapped around him. Pressure closed in from every side.
Strangely… it felt like being held again.
"Sleep, my child," the voice murmured.
The ship's light faded.
The sea sealed everything.
And in the darkness below—
Opia smiled.