“’Tis real, I tell you!” grumbled the old man, taking another swig from his chipped mug. “Athanaton. Cursed ship. Dread ship. Bringer of ruin to whoever is unlucky enough to cross its path on the open sea…”

Across from the grizzled sailor sat a man—barely so—much younger in age, his counterpart, perhaps, untouched by time and the salty caress of harsh ocean gales. The youngster’s gaze was nailed to the veteran’s lips, his being hanging from each word the old man dared utter—his breath shallow and tense as the tale unfolded further. He was not the only one, however; the entire tavern—a dingy port watering hole—had seemingly halted from its unpalatable ruckus. Cards were set down, cups lowered, and the lulling of combing waves was once more audible from outside.

“Aye, you heard me! Saw it with my own eyes many a year ago… Back then I was young, as green as spring grass, and eager to carve a name for myself across the seas.” The old man’s piercing blue gaze darted upward, forcing the youngster to instinctively look down. “I remember it as if it was yesterday! The day was bright and clear—the winds gentle and not a cloud in sight… We were two days out from the port of Laurion; our stores were empty, and the crew was ready to reap an honest living for ourselves—”

“Honest?! Don’t make me laugh, you waterlogged relic!” the barkeep’s voice came from across the cramped room. “Are we to believe piracy is an honest trade these days?”

“Privateer!” snapped the old sea wolf. “Pardoned with quill and paper and in the service of noble, powerful masters.” A toothy sneer emerged. “Dare you say to such esteemed personages that they would stoop so low as to employ mere pirates?”

The barkeep’s gullet moved with a dry swallow, his attention returning to a greasy polishing cloth by his side.

“That’s what I thought,” grumbled the veteran, his attention returning to the young man—the rest of his audience feigned indifference, poorly so. “As I was saying… Twas a sweet day. Warm and full of hope. The sun was high up in the sky, and our spirits had been uplifted alongside it—” Barely a pause, and the aged sailor’s fist slammed onto the table before him, making for a loud thud. “Then, we saw it!”

“Saw what?!” called out the youngster, the suspense cutting through the air as the other patrons held in their breaths.

“Black as the darkest of nights it was… Even under the light of day. Silent as a thought too, gliding over the waves like a specter. No shadow did it cast, for it was a shadow upon itself…”

The word rolled around the room. Athanaton. Undying.

“Heading toward us, we tried to change course and escape it,” continued the old man. “Yet we could not outrun it. Then, as it drew closer, clouds formed overhead… No sign of a storm had there been that day, lad. No clouds had marred the azure heavens for as far as the eye could see.” The sea wolf took in another burning gulp from his mug and continued. “A storm came for us, however. Great and terrible it was—a hound following its dark master’s wake. Soon, we were overwhelmed; great frothing waves tore our ship apart, and, as the cursed Athanaton passed us by—a wreck kept afloat by shadow and spite—we finally sank…”

“How—How did you survive?” meekly asked the young man.

“Three of us held onto what was left of our ship and were carried away to a barren rock of an isle.” Flecks of glistening saliva formed at the edges of the aged sailor’s mouth. “Sea madness got to the other two before the hunger could… I did what I had to do to survive. A passing merchant ship eventually found me—yet I had already paid my price for irking the dreaded Athanaton.”

The silence was heavy for a moment; the booming voice of a tall, broad-chested man was the first to pierce it. A meaty palm landed on the old sea wolf’s back. “I think you had too much to drink tonight, old man. There are no such things as ghost ships. Superstition and tall tales—the lot of it—brought about by sun sickness and a little too much wine when out on the open sea!”

The old man hissed and turned around on his stool, revealing the gnarled stump that once had been his left leg. “Tall tales don’t tear down both body and soul! Tall tales don’t wipe out entire crews in the blink of an eye!” The tall man retracted his arm and took a quick step back. As he did so, the aged sailor turned to face his much younger counterpart once more.

“Be warned, lad. When the day is warm and your spirits high, do not think—not for one second—that the sea is without danger. The cursed Athanaton, and many a horror such as it, always lurk in waters unseen—ready to claim those that sail the ocean vast unprepared!”