Fatal Flaw

The sea stretched endlessly around us, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic creak of the ship and the soft murmur of waves. I found myself seated next to Susan, who lounged lazily against a barrel, her disheveled hair swaying lightly with the ship’s motion. Judging by her robes—though rumpled and stained—she was a priest. A drunken priest, to be exact.

Priests were often trained in holy magic, known for their healing abilities and divine protection. If my judgment was right, Susan might very well be a better healer than Lyara ever was. That thought brought a pang of guilt, but I quickly buried it.

“You don’t seem like the type for sea travel,” I started, trying to keep the conversation light. “What are you doing here?”

Susan snorted, taking a swig from a flask she had tucked into her belt. “In the capital city,” she slurred, “nobody wants a corrupted priest like me.”

My interest piqued, but I kept my tone casual. “How corrupted?”

She gave a crooked grin, the kind that only made me warier. “The ‘selling my soul to the demon’ type of corrupt.” She laughed, a raspy, bitter sound.

My grip on my staff tightened instinctively. I didn’t need another Malric situation—another mage who’d made a deal with darkness. I wasn’t about to attack her, not yet, but my mind raced. If she’d made a pact, then surely she was someone dangerous.

As if sensing my unease, she raised a hand lazily, the flask dangling from her fingers. “Relax, sweetheart. That was years ago. Back when I was young and stupid. Didn’t know what I was signing up for.”

“And now?” I asked cautiously.

Her grin softened into something almost melancholic. “Now? I’m a priest. A holy woman.”

I arched an eyebrow, skeptical. “How can I be sure about that?”

Susan smirked, straightening up and pulling herself together with an unexpected air of confidence. She extended her hand, and a soft glow began to emanate from her palm. The light grew until a pure, radiant beam enveloped my body entirely.

It was like stepping into sunlight after days of shadow. The warmth of it seeped into my bones, erasing the weariness from my muscles and the lingering aches of past battles. My breath hitched, and for a brief moment, I felt utterly renewed, like a brand-new person.

Only those truly chosen by the holy could conjure such magic.

Susan let the light fade, leaning back with a lopsided grin. “See? I’m not all bad. Made a stupid mistake once. Spent the rest of my life making up for it.”

I let go of my staff, relaxing my grip. She spoke true, and for now, that was enough. But I’d still keep an eye on her.

The chill of the freezing night was unbearable, sinking deep into my bones. The wind was the worst of it, howling mercilessly across the deck and cutting through even the thickest of cloaks. My fingers trembled as I hugged myself tightly, finally deciding I’d had enough. I turned toward the cabin below, desperate for even a moment of reprieve from the bitter cold.

But then the sea roared.

A thunderous crash echoed across the ship, shaking the deck beneath my feet. Torran’s booming voice cut through the chaos, barking orders to his crew. “Brace yourselves, you lot! Hold your lines!”

Elves scattered in every direction, ropes and sails whipping in the gale as the storm lashed at the ship. Waves surged high, slamming against the sides, sending sprays of icy water over the rails. Torran’s weathered face was tense, his usual cocky smirk replaced with a grim determination.

Rowan stood firm near the bow, his lance gleaming faintly in the storm’s chaotic light. His sharp eyes scanned the dark waters with the focus of a seasoned warrior. Even Susan, typically lounging or nursing a drink, was upright and alert, her expression wary as she clutched a holy charm in one hand. Eryon’s axes glinted in the dim light as he paced the deck, his sickness replaced by cautious readiness.

Then, the sea roared again, louder, deeper.

From the inky blackness of the water, something broke the surface. No, not something—many somethings.

One by one, more than eight figures emerged, leaping from the waves and landing on the deck with fluid, predatory grace. Each of them was a grotesque fusion of elf and fish, their blue skin shimmering like the ocean’s surface under the dim glow of the ship’s magical lights. Their elongated limbs were webbed, their hands gripping sharp, deadly tridents. Fins jutted from their heads and backs, sleek and sharp, and their wide, slitted eyes gleamed with malice.

A low, guttural snarl rippled through the group as they spread out, surrounding us.

“It’s them. The Sea People.” Susan managed to whisper next to me.

Torran stepped forward, raising a hand as if to signal peace. His voice was loud and steady, cutting through the storm. “I’ve sailed these waters for years! Who among you do I speak with? Where’s your leader?”

For a moment, I thought his words might work. But then I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Torran, the self-proclaimed Tidebreaker, didn’t recognize them. And judging by the hostility radiating from the creatures, they didn’t come to talk.

One of them snarled, baring sharp, jagged teeth. Another tapped its trident against the deck, the metal ringing out like a warning bell.

Torran’s hand lowered, slowly curling into a fist. “Ah, shite,” he muttered under his breath.

The sea roared once more, louder and closer, the sound reverberating through the ship as if the very ocean were alive with fury. A massive wave surged forward, crashing over the side of the deck. But instead of washing us away, it stopped mid-motion, swirling in a suspended vortex.

At the center of the chaos stood Torran, his hand outstretched, his fingers curling as if gripping something unseen. With a flick of his wrist, the swirling water trapped three of the Sea People, encasing them in a sphere of liquid prison. They thrashed and snarled, their sharp tridents stabbing uselessly against the watery walls.

Torran’s voice cut through the storm, gruff but steady. “Back to the depths where you belong.”

He threw his hand to the side with force, and the water responded like an extension of his body. The sphere, along with its trapped captives, soared over the edge of the ship, vanishing into the dark, churning sea.

Rowan moved next, a blur of precision and efficiency. I barely registered his motion—just a swift thrust and spin of his lance—and suddenly, three of the Sea People lay crumpled on the deck, lifeless. He barely spared them a glance, his focus already shifting to the next threat.

But then I felt it—a presence too close.

I turned just in time to see one of them lunging toward me, its trident glinting in the storm’s dim light. Its jagged teeth were bared in a snarl, its slitted eyes locked onto mine. The weapon’s sharp tips hurtled toward my face, too fast for me to react. My mind screamed, but my body froze, the world slowing to a crawl.

A dull thud snapped me back to reality.

The Sea Person’s head snapped to the side, an axe buried deep into its skull. Its body crumpled to the deck in a heap, the trident clattering harmlessly at my feet.

Eryon roared, charging into the fray like a whirlwind of fury. His second axe gleamed in his hand as he swung it with deadly precision, taking down the last of the creatures. His strikes were swift and brutal, his movements fluid and relentless.

The deck fell silent, save for the storm’s howling wind and the rhythmic crash of waves.

“Try to keep up, my lady,” Torran called out, his voice cutting through the wind and rain as he motioned for his crew to haul the Sea People’s lifeless bodies overboard. The elves moved swiftly, their practiced efficiency evident in every motion as they disposed of the intruders into the dark waters below.

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I swallowed hard, clutching my staff as Torran’s words settled in. “Sorry,” I mumbled, more to myself than to anyone else.

Torran didn’t look back, already barking another order to his crew, but Rowan’s gaze lingered. He didn’t say a word, yet his expression—calm and inscrutable—seemed to weigh heavily on me. Was he judging me? Pitying me? Or simply observing? I couldn’t tell.

I tightened my grip on my staff, the image of the trident hurtling toward my face flashing through my mind again. It was too close—far too close.

This is it, I thought bitterly. My fatal flaw.

My spells are strong, my mana nearly unmatched. But when the enemy gets too close, I hesitate. I freeze. And it nearly cost me.

My eyes darted toward Eryon, still standing near the edge of the deck, wiping the blood from his axe as if the chaos moments before hadn’t fazed him at all. Then to Rowan, who was already scanning the stormy horizon for the next potential threat.

I let out a slow, controlled breath, forcing the tension in my shoulders to ease.

I need to fix this.

The storm continued to rage around us, but my focus turned inward. If I didn’t address this weakness, I wouldn’t just be putting myself at risk—I’d be endangering everyone around me.

And if Lucian or Astoroth came for me next?

I couldn’t afford to hesitate ever again.

Susan perched casually on the edge of the railing, her flask in hand and a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Felt useless?” she asked, her voice carrying over the lapping waves like a blade slicing through the fog.

I stiffened, her words striking a little too close to home.

She didn’t wait for an answer. “I know what you feel,” she continued, taking another lazy sip. “We’re backliners. Once they get close, we’re doomed.”

She held the flask out to me in a silent offer, but I shook my head. “I don’t need another distraction.”

She chuckled, swirling the flask. “Suit yourself. But judging from the way you moved out there, you’re used to having someone in front of you, aren’t you?”

I hesitated, then nodded ever so slightly.

Years of fighting alongside Roderick flashed in my mind. His unshakable presence in battle, his massive frame blocking blow after blow, his strength a wall between me and anything that got too close. It had worked for years—he would shield me while I cast from the safety of the rear.

But now?

I didn’t have that wall anymore.

“Do you have a way to protect yourself in case they get too close again?” Susan asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

My grip on my staff tightened, my mind flicking through my arsenal of spells.

Repulse. A blast of air that could push enemies away—effective, but fleeting.

Wall of Flame. A ring of fire to encircle me, enough to ward off most attackers. But it required careful positioning, and timing it wrong could leave me exposed.

And then, there was Ice Spears.

I remembered conjuring them back in Frostmere. Seven long, razor-sharp spears of ice, floating silently around me, sharp as daggers and ready to strike. They weren’t just a threat—they were a defense, an extension of my will.

But they weren’t perfect. The spears required precision, constant awareness, and focus. They worked best against creatures, not coordinated attackers, and if my mana wavered, they would shatter like brittle glass. Still, they were something.

Susan didn’t leave. Instead, she stayed perched on the railing, swirling her flask and eyeing me with a gaze that was far too sharp for someone supposedly drunk.

“I know you’ve got a lot of options rattling around in that head of yours right now,” she said, the faintest slur in her words making them sound more casual than they were. “You’re a seasoned mage, after all.”

I tensed but let the comment slide.

“But,” she continued, her tone shifting slightly, “you should’ve known better.”

She stopped there, staring at me expectantly as if waiting for me to finish her thought. The silence between us stretched uncomfortably, and I could only furrow my brow. Known better about what?

When it became clear I wasn’t going to bite, she let out an exaggerated sigh, hopped off the railing, and sauntered toward me. Her movements were languid but deliberate, like someone far more sober than they pretended to be.

“Hit me with your staff,” she said suddenly, stopping in front of me.

I blinked. “What?”

“Go on. Hit me.” She gestured to her side, almost impatiently.

“I’m not going to—”

“Just do it.” Her voice was firm, her drunken lilt gone.

I hesitated, glancing at her with growing skepticism. But her unwavering gaze and the slight nod of her head convinced me. With some reluctance, I raised my staff and swung it lightly toward her side, enough to make a point but not to harm.

The staff stopped short, a dull thunk echoing as it met resistance.

It didn’t strike her directly. Instead, it hit an invisible golden barrier that shimmered faintly on impact, like sunlight glinting off glass.

“What—” I started, but she cut me off.

“This spell,” she said, tapping her side where the barrier still lingered, “has been active since I got drunk at the bar.”

My mind churned as her words sank in. “That long?”

She nodded, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

It didn’t make sense. Keeping a protective shield spell active for that long would be a drain on anyone’s mana pool. Even mages with reserves as vast as mine would feel the strain. Yet here she was—definitely drunk, possibly hungover, and still completely shielded.

“How—” I began, but my voice trailed off as I studied her more closely. The golden shimmer of the barrier flickered for just a moment before vanishing entirely. She exhaled softly, as if relieved to finally let it drop.

“Impressed?” she asked, her tone light but with a clear undercurrent of pride.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. It was impressive—more than impressive, honestly. But I still couldn’t shake the unease in my chest. Whoever Susan really was, she wasn’t just some drunken priest.

Susan leaned against the mast, her fingers idly tapping her flask as she regarded me with a faint, knowing smile. “You’re wondering how, aren’t you?”

I didn’t respond immediately, but I didn’t need to. My curiosity must have been written all over my face.

“Keeping a protective shield spell active like this doesn’t drain your mana,” she said, her voice taking on a sly edge. “If…” She let the word hang in the air, savoring the pause like a performer waiting for applause.

I raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent, letting her continue.

Her grin widened, satisfied with the tension she’d built. “If you can control your mana flow. Every single second of it.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Every second?”

She nodded. “Every. Single. One. You can’t just throw the spell out there and forget about it. It’s not like swinging a sword and hoping for the best. You have to keep it balanced, keep it stable. One mistake, and you’ll burn through your reserves faster than a fish getting swept up by the tide.”

I mulled that over, gripping my staff a little tighter. Controlling mana flow wasn’t a foreign concept—I’d done it countless times in combat to ensure my spells were as efficient as possible. But to maintain that kind of precise control constantly, even outside of battle? It sounded exhausting.

Susan didn’t miss the doubt flickering in my expression. “Took me a few tries to get it right,” she admitted, swirling the flask absentmindedly. “The longest I’ve kept my shield up was a week. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. Requires constant effort, every waking moment. But now…” She shrugged. “When I know I’m walking into a dangerous place, I activate it ahead of time. Right before everything goes downhill.”

I could feel the wheels turning in my mind. Her words unlocked something—a realization I hadn’t quite pieced together before. She was right. Casting a spell in the heat of battle required timing, focus, and a precious few seconds that could mean life or death. An ambusher wouldn’t wait politely for me to finish summoning my ice spears.

Susan’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I’m sure you’ve got your own tricks,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “But if you’re not ready before the fight starts, you’re already a step behind.”

She leaned in slightly, her grin tempered into something closer to a smirk. “Don’t let your guard down, mage. They say it for a reason.”

I exhaled sharply, a laugh almost escaping my lips despite myself. Even after all these years of slaying monsters, studying spells, and honing my craft, here I was—still learning. Still being taught something new by a drunken priest with a crooked grin and an unsteady gait.

I steadied my breathing, focusing on the invisible shield spell I had just activated. It shimmered faintly in my mind’s eye, humming softly as it enveloped my body. So far, so good. I could feel the mana flowing steadily, not too much, not too little. Just enough to maintain the barrier without draining myself unnecessarily.

“Not bad,” Susan said, nodding approvingly as she took another swig from her flask. “Keep that up, and you’ll at least make it through a bar brawl unscathed.” She gave me a half-smirk and sauntered off, her steps slightly uneven but her demeanor unbothered.

I turned my attention to Torran, who was approaching with his usual confident stride. “Scanned the seas up ahead,” he said, his deep voice breaking through the quiet tension of the ship. “Should be fine—no worries for now.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about those Sea People. Usually, I can sense them and ward them off before they even get close, but tonight? Seems like they’re all out of sorts. Something’s wrong out there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

He shrugged, his weathered face creasing into a small frown. “You live on the sea long enough, you start to feel it in your bones. Call it instinct, call it intuition, whatever you like. But when something’s off, you just… know.”

His hand dropped to his side, and his expression shifted into something more mischievous. “In fact, I’d bet 500 gold on it.” He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the cold air. “What do you say? If I’m right, you pay me. If I’m wrong, I’ll hand over 500 to you.”

I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “No, thank you.”

Torran let out an exaggerated sigh, clapping his hands together again. “Ah, you’re no fun!” He spun around, scanning the deck for another victim. His eyes locked onto Eryon, who was still pacing uneasily at the edge of the ship. “Fine, I’ll ask him. He looks like he could use a distraction.”

As Torran wandered off, I turned back to the horizon—or at least, what I assumed was the horizon. The pitch-black sea stretched out endlessly before us, the magical lights on the ship only illuminating a small radius.

Something’s up ahead, isn’t it? If Torran’s instincts are right, then—

Thunk!

I felt a sudden thud right on my back, as if someone had thrown something at me. Anger flared in my chest as I turned, ready to confront whoever had decided to test their luck.

Susan stood there, a crooked smile on her face, a mug dangling from her hand.

“You let your guard down,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

I narrowed my eyes, half tempted to retaliate. But instead, I exhaled sharply, I do let my shield goes down. Annoying as she was, she had a point.

Susan raised her flask in a mock toast before turning and wandering off into the shadows of the deck.

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To be continued