The Devouring Sea

Captains who dared venture into the Arctic island zone knew what they were signing up for. Anyone who sails out there brings the risk aboard and hopes the sea remains merciful. Around Nyrian, many dangers lurk—and one of them is the Devouring Sea. It’s not a place you can mark on a map. No fixed region. It seems to wander, like a creature that never shows itself but leaves traces—if you’ve learned how to look.   The first sign is the smell. Rotten shellfish, musty seaweed—a stench suddenly carried in by the wind. At first, you think you’re mistaken, or you search the ship for the source. Spoiled food is unpleasant, but not uncommon. Yet if nothing turns up, it’s time to pay attention. Then the sea begins to change. The surface appears unnaturally calm. No ice floes drift past, no debris, nothing that usually shows itself in these latitudes. The water lies there, like a painting—as if you’ve already reached the ice-free zone, the open sea. Those with keen ears can hear it. A deep, irregular rumbling rises from the depths, barely audible but felt in the body. Some report sudden nausea, others a sensation as if something beneath them is awakening. At the surface, a faint gurgling can be heard, out of place with the rest of the surroundings—as if the sea itself were breathing.   If a ship crosses such a region, it may suddenly list to one side. It dips forward or backward, sometimes with a jolt, as if striking something that isn’t there. Then, seasoned sailors say, you’ve sailed over a maw—one that is just beginning to open. There are two accounts considered credible among seafarers. Both involve small boats that were pulled into the depths without warning. The crew stood no chance, and it all happened within moments. No whirlpool, no struggle—just a steady descent, as if something relentless had decided to claim the vessel.