Chapter 3: The Fisherman’s Offer
---
The inn’s door creaked shut behind them with a groan, sealing out the howling wind and the damp chill of the night. The interior was a warm, dimly lit haven, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke, salt, and something faintly sweet—like dried herbs hanging from the rafters. A fire crackled in the hearth, its golden light casting long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn wooden walls. The floorboards beneath their boots were worn smooth by generations of footsteps, the grain of the wood dark and rich, polished by time and the touch of countless hands.
“Well this is better than freezing our asses off out there,” Liz said, her voice low as she peeled off her sodden patrol cap and shook out her long black hair. The damp strands clung to her neck, the cold still clinging to her skin like a second layer.
Jager exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the warm air as he unbuckled his harness, letting it slide to the floor with a heavy thud. The M16 clattered against the wood, its barrel still dripping seawater. He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. “Yeah, but I still don’t like the vibe of this place.”
“Is there something you two would like to eat ?” a frail voice rasped from the shadows. As Liz and Jager were taking by surprise, their instincts still sharp from the chaos on the ship. The old man stood in the doorway of what seemed to be the kitchen, a tray of steaming bowls in his hands. His milky-blue eyes held a quiet intensity, as if he had seen things no one should ever see. His hands, though trembling slightly, were strong and calloused—hands that had spent a lifetime pulling in nets and fighting against the sea.
“Yes something hot,” Liz said, stepping closer to the fire and rubbing her hands together. The warmth spread through her fingers, melting the last of the chill from her bones.
“I will make you some tomato soup and bring you a change of clothes if you like” the old man offered his voice low and rough, like gravel shifting underfoot. He turned his back to them, shuffling back toward the kitchen, the floorboards beneath his boots groaning slightly under his weight.
“How you holding up” Liz asked Jager as she began unbuttoning her BDU which unintentionally revealed a huge amount of Liz massive cleavage as she leant forward to warm herself by the flames.
Jager felt his face heat up , his eyes darting away before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in the way the firelight played across the far wall.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the sudden tightness in his throat. “Just need to get dry and warm.”
Liz smirked, her dark eyes glinting with amusement at his reaction.
“right” she said, her voice low and playful as she turned back to the fire.
timeskip 10 minutes later and a change of clothes for them both
now on they sat at the long wooden table, plates of steaming tomato soup in front of them. steaming mugs of tea sat beside their bowls, the scent of herbs rising from the liquid in wispy clouds. The fire popped and crackled behind them, casting flickering light and shadow across the old man's lined face as he watched them with an unreadable expression.
“Tell me, Elias,” Liz said after a long sip of tea, “what brings you to offer help to two strangers shipwrecked on your shore?”
Elias set down his own mug carefully, his milky-blue eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
He exhaled slowly, a sound like wind through dry reeds. “A Kraken remembers faces,” he said at last. “And I remember yours.”
Liz raised an eyebrow, her spoon paused halfway to her lips. The soup was rich, the spices familiar—something Liz hadn’t tasted in months. She set the spoon down and studied the old fisherman. “You know us?” she asked, her voice casual, but her gaze sharpened.
Elias shook his head slowly. “Not in the way you think. But the sea remembers. And the sea tells stories to those who listen.” He gestured toward the rain-streaked windows, where the fog still curled around the cliffs like smoke.
“You’re not the first soldiers to wash up on Krakenstad’s shore. And you won’t be the last.”
Liz leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms beneath her chest. The borrowed sweater—thick, woolen, and smelling faintly of woodsmoke—stretched tight over her curves. The firelight played across her face, casting shadows that made her dark eyes look even more intense. “So what’s the deal with this town?” she asked, her voice low. “Why’s everyone so… *on edge*?”
Elias’s fingers tightened around his mug. The old fisherman’s hands were gnarled, knuckles swollen from years of hauling nets and fighting storms.
They trembled slightly as he lifted his mug of tea, the steam curling around his weathered face. The firelight flickered across the deep lines etched into his skin, casting shadows that seemed to shift with the weight of his words.
“Krakenstad was not always like this,” Elias began, his voice low and gravelly. “Once, it was a place of life. Fishermen brought in the day’s catch, children played in the streets, and the tavern was always full of laughter.” He paused, his milky-blue eyes staring into the flames as if seeing something far beyond the hearth. “But that was when the fish left the sea, the town was in danger of dying but then a bargain was struck with Blackwood . A bargain with the Kraken.”
Liz leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her dark eyes locked onto Elias. The borrowed sweater clung to her curves, the wool warm against her skin. The firelight cast a golden glow on her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips. "A bargain?" she repeated, her voice low and steady. "What kind of bargain?”
Jager asked, his voice low as he set his spoon down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching Elias with steady eyes. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting shadows that made his cold blue eyes look darker, more intense.
Elias exhaled slowly, a sound like wind through cracks in an old ship’s hull. His milky-blue eyes darkened, reflecting the shifting light as he leaned forward, his gnarled hands resting on the table. The wooden surface creaked under his weight.
“Blackwood made a deal with the beast. That would sink freighters sailing by are coast and plunder it’s cargo to feed the town before the people starved in return Edward would sacrific ing one person from the town once a year to the kraken to keep it appeased and the town safe” Elias said his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very walls of the inn might be listening.
Liz felt a chill run down her spine despite the warmth of the fire. She glanced at Jager, who had gone very still, his cold blue eyes sharpening with understanding.
“So that’s why they’re all so… empty,” Liz murmured, her voice low. “They’ve been feeding it people.”
Elias nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving theirs. “The first few were willing. Volunteers, even.
But then the hunger set in. Fear does that to a man—or a whole town, come to that.” He took a slow sip of tea. “Now? Now they do it because they must.”
The fire popped again, sending up a shower of sparks that died before they touched the railing. Somewhere above them the wind howled around the eaves like a ghost still searching for a name.
Liz exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening round the wool of the sweater at her collar.
“your rooms have been prepared for the night” Elias said, his voice low and gravelly as he set down his mug. “You’ll find them upstairs, last door on the left. The fire’s already lit, and there’s fresh water in the basin.”
Jager shifted in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “We’re grateful for the hospitality,” he said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “But we’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
Elias nodded slowly, his milky-blue eyes reflecting the firelight. “Of course,” he said, though his tone carried the weight of something unspoken. “Do not cross Blackwood their is an air of evil that surrounds him and his men. You will find it best to leave before dawn.”
As Elias disappeared into another room , the fire’s glow diminished, casting most of the inn into shadow.
Liz stood from the table, her boots thudding softly against the worn planks of the floor. She began to gather their gear, to head upstairs to their room
“let’s turn in before the hospitality gets worse Liz said, her voice low as she picked up her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. The weight of the weapon felt familiar, comforting—something solid in a world that had just turned upside down.
Jager nodded, pushing his chair back with a slow scrape of wood against wood. The inn creaked around them, the wind outside moaning like a wounded animal.
they reached the room at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, warm golden light spilling through the crack. The room was small but oddly cozy—a low ceiling supported by exposed beams, a narrow bed piled with thick wool blankets, a small round table beside it holding a basin of steaming water and a stack of fresh towels. The window was latched tight, though the sound of the storm outside still managed to creep through the cracks around the frame.
Liz stepped inside first, her boots making no sound on the worn rug. She set her rifle across the foot of the bed, then turned to face the room, hands on her hips, surveying their temporary refuge.
The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The scent of woodsmoke and dried lavender mingled in the air, a strange comfort after the salt and iron stench of the sea.
Jager followed her inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly as he took in the room. The weight of the day pressed down on him—first the ship, then the kraken, then the hollow-eyed villagers and their sinister magistrate. His muscles ached from the cold, and his mind buzzed with questions.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the warmth of the room seep into his bones.
“Let’s get some sleep” Liz said, her voice low as she pulled off her boots. Her bare feet touched the rough wool of the rug, the texture grounding her after the chaos of the past hours. She turned to face Jager, her dark eyes flickering with something unreadable in the firelight. “Care to join me” said Liz getting Jager attention Jager blinked, his posture stiffening slightly
“Uh ill take the floor” he said quickly, his voice rougher than intended as he gestured toward the worn rug beside the bed.
“Not happening, your joining me jager I’m not having you sleep on the floor like a dog .” Liz stated firmly without breaking eye contact. Her dark eyes gleaming with a playful challenge in the firelight.
Jager swallowed hard, the flush creeping up his neck betraying his discomfort. He opened his mouth to protest, but Liz cut him off with a raised hand.
“Save it, Jager. We’re both exhausted, and that bed’s big enough for two. Besides, you’re not exactly in fighting shape right now.” Her voice softened slightly, but the firmness remained. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Jager hesitated, his gaze flickering between the bed and his Liz’s determined expression. He sighed defeated ly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Fine," he muttered, stepping away from the door. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved toward the bed. "But I'm staying on top of the covers."
Liz smirked, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Suit yourself," she replied, already pulling back the thick wool blankets. The firelight danced across her bare arms as she settled onto the mattress, the borrowed sweater riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. She patted the space beside her.
"Get in here before you freeze again."
Jager exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the warm air between them as he gingerly climbed onto the bed beside Liz, keeping his promise of staying on top of the thick wool covers. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight, but it held firm.
Liz reached over, pulling the blankets up and around Jager's broad shoulders, tucking him in like a child despite his protests. Her fingers lingered slightly longer than necessary against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath the borrowed sweater.