Eryshae

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Sam
The Cavern of Lost Ships

The tunnel stretched on in a slow, downward spiral. Sam's feet crunched on grit, each step echoing like the crack of distant gunfire. The air was damp, the scent of iron and brine getting stronger with every turn. Vael walked ahead, her silhouette shifting in the low light, each footfall confident despite the oppressive darkness pressing in from all sides. Sam's fingers brushed the tunnel wall. Cold. Smooth in places, jagged in others. He could feel veins of metal running through the stone, pulsing faintly; like the cavern itself was breathing.

The sound hit him first. A slow, rhythmic drip, then a deeper sound; like a low hum resonating through stone. A heartbeat that wasn't his. They stepped through the final arch and the world opened up. Sam froze.

The cavern was massive. Not just large; cathedral-large. The kind of vastness that swallowed his breath and made his pulse stutter. A black expanse stretched into shadow, its far walls lost in mist. Above, jagged stalactites hung like the teeth of a great beast.

And between them; ships. Not one. Not a handful. Dozens. Some rested on their sides like sleeping beasts, others sat half-submerged in pools of black water. Every one of them was out of place. Out of time. Closest to him, a Roman warship. The oaken hull was scarred, the wood darkened and split by centuries. At its prow, a corroded bronze ram jutted forward, green with age, yet still gleaming faintly in the cavern light. Barnacles clung to the metal, frozen in their death grip.

A few paces beyond it, the hulk of a World War II destroyer loomed. Its steel plating was dented inward, rust streaking down in long orange veins. The hull was split open in one place, revealing the skeletal remains of the ship's innards. Torn cables dangled, swaying as though in an unseen current. Sam's eyes caught movement; a slow drip of water falling from a high beam into a puddle below. The sound carried like a shot. He stepped further in, the crunch of grit under his bark covered feet louder than it should have been. Every sound felt magnified here, as if the cavern itself was listening.

And then he saw it. A modern nuclear submarine, its hull still sleek, still painted in the deep matte black of military secrecy. It lay tilted on its side, its conning tower partly buried in the rock. Its surface gleamed faintly, beaded with condensation. It looked… recent. Too recent.

Sam swallowed hard. Beyond that, the shadows hid countless other wrecks; shapes that hinted at ships from centuries he couldn't place. Hulls of wood, iron, steel. Some bristled with masts like skeletal fingers. Others had the angular frames of modern naval craft. All of them silent. All of them dead.

Except… they didn't feel dead. His skin prickled. A sensation crawled up his spine, telling him the cavern wasn't just a graveyard; it was a vault. And these ships weren't just abandoned… they were kept.

"Sam," Vael's voice was low, her eyes fixed on the submarine. "We shouldn't be here." Sam didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the destroyer's torn hull, the Roman ram, the sleek submarine. He could feel something; like all of them were watching him back. Somewhere, deep in the cavern's shadows, something metallic groaned.

Sam and Vael stepped cautiously across the slick decks, their footsteps muted against the wood and steel. The cavern stretched endlessly around them, a cathedral of lost ships suspended in the dim, filtered light. Sam's brow furrowed. He knew about the individual vessels; the Roman warship, the WWII destroyer, the sleek modern submarine; but the cavern itself was a complete mystery. How it had come to hold such a variety of ships, spanning centuries, he had no explanation for.

Vael's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she stepped closer to the Roman ship. "Sam… look at this," she murmured, her hand brushing the carved railing along the deck. "The detail is incredible. These ships… they each have a story."

Sam leaned in, running a finger along the worn bronze ram. "I know enough to tell you a few things," he said, voice low. "This ram here… it's built for combat. The dents and gouges are probably from real battles. And the hull's thick, reinforced with layered oak. Survivors were lucky; or skilled."

Vael's gaze shifted to the submarine, its dark matte hull gleaming faintly in the cavern's filtered light. "This one… it's sealed. Locked down tight. I can't even imagine what's inside."

"Not a chance of us opening it without damaging everything inside," Sam said. "But the Roman ship is fair game. Let's see what we can find inside." They clambered aboard, careful of loose ropes and broken planks. Sam moved first, scanning the deck while Vael followed, her fingers grazing the carvings and rusted metal. Inside, the Roman ship's interior smelled of age, damp wood, and salt, with faint traces of seaweed clinging to the hull.

Vael stepped into the captain's quarters, brushing dust from a wooden chest. "There's probably nothing left," she murmured, "but… you never know." Sam circled the cabin, eyeing racks, storage chests, and bunks. His hands ran along the oaken surfaces, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. "You never know until you check. Let's see… clothes, bedding, maybe we can patch ourselves up a bit."

Vael peeked through cupboards and lockers, eyes wide as she uncovered tunics, sashes, and the remnants of old sailors' attire. "Look; this might actually work. Enough for both of us, I think." Sam glanced over at her, and his amber gaze softened. Vael bent to pick through a pile of linen, and the light caught the curve of her back and the warmth of her skin. He took a deliberate moment to enjoy the view, appreciating the subtle strength in her posture and the playful glint in her eyes before he turned away to focus on the clothing.

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He rifled through the remnants of old uniforms and folded tunics, finding a sturdy pair of trousers that would at least hold together, even if patched. Pulling them on over his wet, torn pants, he adjusted the waistband, feeling the snug, comforting fit. Vael, in the meantime, had found a delicate shift that could pass as a swimsuit top, and a pair of short breeches to provide coverage without restricting movement.

"You look… remarkable," Sam said, stepping closer once he had dressed, his voice low with admiration. "Better than anything I expected from a treasure chest." Vael blushed slightly, tugging the top into place, and gave him a small, shy smile. "You look… presentable. Good enough to lead a boarding party."

They spent the next half hour scavenging the Roman ship for additional items, patching tears in their makeshift clothing with bits of rope and fabric, and carefully folding away wet remnants that could no longer serve them. Sam gathered belts, sashes, and even a thick woolen coat that might come in handy in cooler chambers. Vael discovered a long scarf and a few gloves tucked away in a storage trunk, and they laughed quietly at the absurdity of dressing from centuries-old castoffs.

"You think anyone's going to recognize us in these?" Vael teased, adjusting her makeshift top. "Only if they know how to time-travel," Sam quipped, his grin widening as he adjusted his captain's hat. "We'll be the most stylish survivors in history." Once they were satisfied with their new attire, they stepped back onto the deck, scanning the other ships. The submarine remained sealed, silent and imposing, but the Roman vessel had provided everything they needed: modest protection, warmth, and enough dignity to continue exploring without distraction.

Vael turned to Sam, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her eyes reflecting the soft light of the cavern. "Thank you," she said softly. "Not just for the clothes… for keeping your head about you." Sam reached out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "We look out for each other," he said. "Always." Vael leaned into him for a brief moment, the warmth of her body pressing lightly against his arm. Sam's fingers lingered on her shoulder, tracing a gentle line down her arm as his gaze met hers. The cavern's shadows played over their faces, painting the contours of cheekbones and jawlines in shifting, fluid light. Even amid the ancient ships and echoing drip of distant water, the space between them felt charged, electric.

"I… I can't stop looking at all of this," Vael murmured, her voice hushed, reverent. "But somehow… I can't stop noticing you either." Sam's lips curved in a small, knowing smile. He stepped a bit closer, the air between them tightening with every heartbeat. "I could say the same," he replied, his voice low, intimate. "There's something… about being here with you. Something… different." Vael tilted her head, brushing her fingers against his chest over the thick fabric of his patched tunic. "It's safe to feel something here, isn't it?" she whispered, almost to herself. The words carried a vulnerability that made Sam's chest tighten.

"It is," he said firmly, his amber eyes capturing hers. He let his hand slide from her arm to rest lightly at her waist. The touch was deliberate, grounding, a tether in the midst of centuries-old wreckage.

Vael's breath hitched slightly as she leaned into him. "You make it feel… real," she admitted. Her fingers ghosted along his forearm, feeling the warmth beneath the wet cloth, tracing lines that made him aware of the rapid drum of his pulse. Sam's other hand moved up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You make it feel real too," he murmured, voice low, intimate, carrying weight beyond words. He could feel the soft heat of her skin beneath his touch, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the tension in her muscles relaxing against his steady presence.

For a moment, time slowed. The cavern's dripping echoes, the faint brine of the water, the cold metal and wood of the Roman ship; it all faded into a quiet hum around them. All that remained was the brush of skin, the warmth of breath, the closeness of bodies pressed together in the semi-dark. Vael's lips curved into a shy, tentative smile, and she leaned forward, closing the distance. Sam's heart thumped as he met her halfway, and their foreheads touched lightly, a simple gesture loaded with intention. The moment was charged with unspoken promises; trust, curiosity, and the slow, simmering pull that had been building between them since the Sea Whisper had first cut through the waves together.

Her hands slid around his neck, fingertips grazing the nape, sending shivers down his spine. Sam's palms rested at her hips, drawing her closer, feeling the slight tension in her form ease into his steady hold. Their eyes met in the dim light, holding a silent conversation of desire and shared understanding.

"I've wanted this," Vael breathed, voice husky, "ever since we boarded our boat." Sam's lips brushed against hers, a soft, exploratory touch that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. She responded immediately, pressing closer, a delicate warmth melting into his presence. He could feel the pulse of her body, the quickened breaths, the slow tightening of her hands in his tunic.

The world of lost ships and shadowed cavern walls melted into insignificance. The sound of dripping water became the rhythm of their own heartbeats, echoing in tandem. Sam let his hands roam gently over her back, tracing the fabric and warmth beneath, feeling the subtle curve of her form. Vael leaned into every touch, her lips parting slightly, her eyes half-closed in a mixture of trust and longing.

Their breaths mingled, shared and shallow at first, then deeper as they stood locked in a cocoon of proximity. The sense of centuries pressing down through the ships around them was counterbalanced by the immediacy of their own skin, the tangible heat between them.

Vael's hands traced down his chest, fingertips brushing over the new fabric of his patched tunic, feeling the ridges of muscles beneath. Sam's amber heart pulsed visibly beneath his skin, responding to the closeness, the connection, the quiet intensity of the cavern's hush.

They lingered like that, bodies close, breaths mingling, the cavern stretching infinitely around them. The Roman ship had become their temporary sanctuary; not just of history, but of shared warmth, trust, and desire. Each touch, each glance, each subtle movement was a thread weaving them closer, a quiet intimacy that didn't need words to be understood.

For a long while, they stayed entwined, savoring the sensation of being together amid the lost ships, before the distant sound of water dripping reminded them of the cavern beyond. The world, with all its threats and mysteries, waited; but for now, Sam and Vael existed in a small pocket of time that belonged only to them, tender, charged, and unbroken.