Before the blood-star harpoon could strike the limestone arch, the sky above the caldera turned white.
The ambient temperature plunged eighty degrees in the space of a single breath.
Across the quiet waters of the inner lagoon, five hundred allied sailors held their breath.
Elder Sterling stood on the quarterdeck of the flagship with his hand pressed against the mahogany rail.
Beside him, Captain Drake gripped the hilt of his cutlass so tightly that his knuckles cracked.
Every seasoned sailor in the southern archipelago knew the name of High Executioner Vane-Korr.
For thirty years, Vane-Korr had served as the Sanctuary’s primary butcher, drowning rebellious island clans and feeding defeated patriarchs to his sea beasts.
Seeing the four Blood-Hound dreadnoughts bearing down on the caldera entrance had turned the blood of veteran deckhands to ice.
