Calypso's Revenge Ch. 02 - Teaser (Patreon)

Voices singing old sailor shanties with the kind of joy that only comes after surviving something that should have ended them all. He didn’t recognize most of the voices, as they belonged to Calypso’s crew. Women who were cursed to undeath for fifteen long years before that supernatural storm finally relented. They were not just relaxing; they were remembering how to live.

He heard one woman sprint through the shallows at full speed, water slapping hard behind her, and another shout in mock protest before being hauled into the tide. A third voice teased them both; a fourth was laughing so hard she sounded drunk on sunlight alone. Alric smiled without needing sight, because after what they’d endured, leisure was not indulgence… it was medicine.

Heavy footfalls approached through dry sand, steady and unhurried. The sound was unmistakably familiar: the captain. Calypso walked with a weightless kind of authority, every stride smooth, confident, and unmistakably predatory even without boots or coat. Her presence carried a subtle shift in the air, like the way the tide acknowledged a returning moon. Then came her scent: rich seawater layered with crushed mint and something warm and feminine beneath it, something light, sun-touched and unmistakably her.

“You rise at last,” Calypso said with a grin in her voice, her mood bright and relaxed, as if the island itself had poured balm into her bones.

“I do,” Alric replied, smiling back. “And I am pleased to hear the crew enjoying themselves without screaming, ghastly howling winds, or lightning trying to kill us.”

Calypso chuckled. “We’ve earned this.”

Alric turned his head slightly, listening past her to the waves, laughter, and the creak of sun-dried wood. He also heard the bright slap of a body sliding belly-down across slick sand, followed by another round of unrestrained howling.

“Sounds like they have forgotten modesty,” he observed, amused.

“Forgotten?” Calypso teased. “I would argue they never possessed much of it.”

She stepped closer, shifting her weight into the sand near him. The warmth of her body radiated easily; even her shadow cast a temperature that felt different than the air. Then Alric’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial tone.

“Forgive the observation,” he said, “but judging from the breeze, the scents, and the joyful ease in movement… it seems the entire crew is naked.”

Calypso blinked. “…you can tell that?”

“I may be blind,” Alric replied wryly, “but I am not deaf, nor untouched by the sound of water on uncovered skin.”

Calypso’s amusement deepened, but there was genuine curiosity beneath it.

“So… are you really blind?”

Alric lifted one hand to the strap of his blindfold, loosening the knot and letting the cloth fall away. His eyelids were closed, which they always were, and when he opened them, there was no sight. Only pale, damaged irises and a puckered old wound, ragged and diagonal, tracing from brow to cheekbone.

Calypso inhaled sharply. She recognized the scar immediately, because she had given it to him five years ago, when she first mistook him for a thief trying to take the Forsaken. Seeing it again, healed but permanent, hit her with a soft, guilty pang.

“Point made,” she murmured. “I remember that moment.”

“So do I,” Alric said, not unkindly, tying the blindfold back into place. “I learned not to trespass on ghost ships without permission.”

He heard Calypso rub a hand across her face, likely grimacing.

“How did you know we were nude?”

Alric chuckled again, the sound smooth and easy, with a knowing smile on his lips.