The Anchor's Curse

They say the sea never forgets. Every life claimed by the waves, every whisper carried by the wind—it all lingers, drifting like ghosts upon the tide. None knew this better than Elias Thorne.

Elias had been a sailor, a man of the sea, hardened by years spent battling the elements. But his name was not remembered with honor. No, his name was cursed.

For Elias had cast the anchor that doomed them all.

It was supposed to be a simple voyage—a merchant ship carrying goods across treacherous waters. But greed had driven Elias and his crew to accept a different cargo: an ancient and sealed chest with markings unlike anything they had seen before. Superstitious whispers called it a relic of the deep, a token never meant to leave the ocean floor.

Elias did not listen.

When the storm came, it struck with unnatural fury. The ship’s mast snapped like a twig; the hull groaned as if crying out in pain. Desperate to survive, the crew sought to lighten the vessel. Elias made the call to throw the cargo overboard. As the forbidden chest sank, Elias took the anchor and cast it after, believing it would bury the secret forever.

But the sea does not take kindly to betrayal.

The waves surged, and the ship was swallowed whole. Elias drowned, his final sight that of the anchor sinking beside him, its chains stretching endlessly into the abyss.

When Elias awoke, he was not in the embrace of death as he expected. No heaven, no hell—only the sea, vast and eternal, stretching before him.

And then he felt it.

The weight.

Looking down, he saw the chain, rusted and cold, wrapped tightly around him, the anchor lying at his feet. No matter how he struggled, he could not break free. He was trapped, tethered between worlds, cursed to drag his burden wherever he went.

Through shipwrecks and stormy shores, Elias roamed, his existence bound to the very thing he had cast away.

Sometimes, sailors would glimpse him—a dark shape upon the waves, dragging something behind him. Whispers spread of the Ghost of the Anchor, a spirit cursed by his own hands.

Elias tried to fight it. He tried to tear at the chain, to cast the anchor away, but every time, it returned. The weight would pull him back to the sea no matter where he wandered—through the misty harbors across abandoned docks.

He became a legend among sailors, a warning of what happens when one defies the will of the ocean. Some claimed they heard the rattling of his chains before a storm. Others swore that if you saw him dragging his anchor through the mist, you had but days before the sea claimed you, too.

But none pitied him. None knew the agony of being bound to regret, to a mistake that could never be undone.

And yet, there are nights when the ocean is calm, and Elias stands upon the shore, staring at the horizon, wondering if there is a way to break his curse.

Perhaps if he finds the chest. Perhaps if he returns what was stolen. Perhaps if the sea forgives him.

But the waves whisper otherwise.

So, Elias walks on, the anchor scraping behind him, waiting for the day the ocean finally lets him rest.