Luther Abel had spent his life chasing the horizon.

The sea was the only home he'd ever known, a restless expanse that mirrored the wonderlust in his heart.

He had sailed through storms that tore the sky and half, drifted under stars so clear they looked like diamonds

scattered on black velvet, and felt the salt air carve itself into his skin like a second soul.

But on this voyage, something felt different.

The Marigold, his beloved schooner, creaked beneath his feet as he stood at the bow, staring into the mist that clung to the water like ghostly fingers.

The wind had died, leaving the sail slack and an eerie silence settled over the deck.

Even the gulls had disappeared.

Then he saw it. A ship, massive and black,

materializing from the fog like a spectre. Its sails were torn, its hulls scarred with the wounds of battles long past. The name on its side was faded, but he knew it well.

The Cassandra, a vessel lost at sea more than a century ago. Luther's breath caught in his

throat. Every sailor knew the legend. The Cassandra was a cursed ship, doomed to drift forever,

crewed by the souls of those who had perished aboard. But that was just a story, wasn't it?

A lantern flickered to life on the ghost ship's deck, then another. Shadows moved between them, figures in tattered coats and

empty eyes. One stepped forward, a captain, his face pale as moonlight, his expression unreadable.

You sail too far, Luther Abel,' the spectre called.

"'His voice barely more than a whisper carried on the dead wind.

"'This is no place for the living.'

Luther swallowed hard.

He had faced storms and sea monsters, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"'He had always believed the ocean held no secrets for him. Now, he wasn't so sure. The ship began to fade, slipping back into the mist

like a dream dissolving at dawn. The wind picked up, filling the maragod sails, and the world snapped back into motion.

...