Chapter 1: Rime of the Ancient Mariner

They reached the coordinates at dawn. Two horizons. Two fleets. A stretch of water so still it mirrored both armadas without distortion. Signals were raised. Distance held. Whatever words were meant to be spoken at World's End would have to wait until decks aligned and pride settled.

The sea decided otherwise.

The wind thinned. The swell flattened. Ships that had answered every current for weeks began to lose way, as if the water beneath no longer welcomed them. A shadow moved under the Human flagship - broad, unhurried. Then the surface broke. Hull met force. Masts lurched. At the center of the meeting point, the sea drew inward, forming a dark spiral where the charts marked nothing but depth.

There are battles that last until sunset. This was over before the sun had properly risen.

Ships tilted, slid, and were taken into the hollow. The spiral tightened. The water closed. When the light strengthened, the sea lay smooth again, as though no fleet had ever crossed it.

Weeks passed. At first, absence was treated as delay. Then as misfortune. Eventually, it became a question no one could postpone. No wreckage drifted ashore. No survivor brought back a version of events to argue over. Whatever happened at World's End left nothing obvious behind.

She has no crew, she has no life...