Darkness. Darkness. A flash of white. Darkness. Darkness.

Someone has lit the beacon.

Darkness. White. Darkness.

The ship groans as another wave batters its side, icy salt water spilling over the wildly tilting deck, and the wind rips at the tattered sails and ragged black flag which still flies at full mast. Nothing can be heard above the roar of thunder, nor the tempest’s banshee howl as it claws at the ship. Like the tentacled arms of the legendary kraken, the ocean endeavors to drag the vessel to its doom.

Darkness. White. Darkness.

By miracle or sheer stubborn will of its captain, the ship remains afloat. The helm is held tight by two white-knuckled hands and despite the raging storm, endless in its fury, the battered ship remains on course. The black is momentarily lit once again by the lighthouse beam and in that fleeting moment the distant island appears, tiny on the horizon but closer with each passing second. The storm has not reached those far cliffs yet, but even now the waves crashing against the island’s shores grow larger; the current becomes a deadly rip tide. As the ship sails toward the island, the thunderhead with its lightning and hurricane winds follows.

Darkness. White. Darkness.

The woman at the helm stares out into the chaos, her eyes as cold and dangerous as the turbulent waters below. No amount of wind or rain can move her; clothed in the same darkness as the tempest itself, she only laughs at the gusts and welcomes the downpour. The lighthouse beam cuts through the night and for a lightning strike second the island is visible again. The woman smiles in greeting to the lit beacon and it is not a kind smile.

“Welcome back, Inno. I’ve been waiting.”

Darkness. Darkness. A flash of white. Darkness. Darkness.


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  1. Pingback: #1202 | Only Fragments

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