Matthias' fleet had just entered the mist-shrouded depths of the Eastern Sea, where lead-gray clouds pressed low over the horizon. Even the salty sea breeze carried a metallic, rusty tang.

Standing on the main deck of the Surgebreaker, he rolled a small white stone between his fingers while scanning the fog-swallowed horizon.

The three escort ships sent to scout the route had been out of contact for half an hour, leaving the supposedly safe channel marked on their charts silent and still at the bottom of a deep well.

"Your Highness, something's off with the current," the elderly helmsman beside him said.

He suddenly gripped the compass as its bronze needle spun violently and frost formed along its edges.

"This fog… It's alive."

Before he could finish speaking, a sharp cracking sound erupted from the west.

A massive waterspout burst through the thick fog, revealing the wreckage of half a ship twisting and flipping through the rolling waves. Lanterns on the deck flickered twice