Pirates of the Caribbean: Scarlet Tides

Chapter 3, Part 4: Ghosts of the Deep

The lifeboat rocked gently on the churning waters, its rhythmic motion a sharp contrast to the mounting tension that hung thick in the air. The fog pressed in from all sides, suffocating and impenetrable, casting an eerie silence over the sea. Only the faint splashing of the oars and the ragged breathing of the crew broke the oppressive stillness.

Liora sat upright now, her body still aching from her desperate fight with the serpent, but her mind was sharp, focused on survival. The flare had burned out, leaving them once again adrift in the endless, blood-tinted fog. The serpent had retreated, for now, but the sense of danger hadn't lifted. If anything, it had deepened.

Finn rowed beside her, his face pale but set with determination. The remaining crew moved mechanically, their eyes distant, as if their minds had drifted far from the present. They had seen too much, lost too much. Fear hung over them like a dark cloud.

"There's no end to it," Grover muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the thick fog ahead. "This cursed sea... it's never going to let us go."

Liora clenched her fists, refusing to give in to the despair that threatened to settle in. The Scarlet Tides were relentless, but they weren't unbeatable. She had faced the sea witch, fought off the serpent—she wasn't about to be undone by the fog itself. Still, something about the silence gnawed at her.

It wasn't just the stillness of the water. It was the feeling of something watching.

Liora glanced around, straining her ears for any sound beyond the creak of the oars. But the fog was dense, swallowing up any noise beyond the lifeboat. Even the sound of the sea seemed distant, as though they were no longer truly on the water but drifting through some otherworldly space.

And then, faintly, she heard it.

Voices. Low, almost a whisper, carried on the fog like a distant echo. At first, it was indistinguishable, a murmur just below the surface of the silence. But as the minutes passed, the voices grew louder, clearer, until Liora could make out the words.

"Turn back..."
"You can't escape..."
"The sea always takes its own..."

She stiffened, her pulse quickening. The voices weren't coming from the crew, and they weren't the siren's call either. They were something else—something closer, something more dangerous.

Finn caught her expression and frowned. "You hear it, too, don't you?"

Liora nodded, her jaw clenched. "Voices."

The rest of the crew had heard it as well. Grover's eyes darted around nervously, his grip tightening on the oar. "What the hell is that? I'm not imagining it, am I?"

"No," Liora said softly, scanning the fog. "You're not."

The fog thickened, swirling around them in slow, deliberate patterns, and with it, the voices grew louder. There was an unnatural quality to them—hollow, distorted, like the sound of a distant conversation that shouldn't exist. And then, just at the edge of her vision, Liora saw movement.

Shadows.

They moved silently through the mist, their forms barely discernible, like fleeting ghosts slipping between the folds of reality. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, her mind playing games with her. But the shadows persisted, moving closer, circling the boat.

Liora's heart raced. "Finn," she whispered, her voice tense, "we're not alone."

Finn followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he saw the shapes moving through the fog. "Gods..." he muttered under his breath. "What are they?"