Ol’ Man Croaker's Arc

Chapter 12 of 12

Croaker walked through the village at dusk, watching the lamps flicker to life along the western dock. Word had spread about the gem, about Stryker's betrayal, about the containment his grandfather had built. The fishermen wouldn't look at him directly, but they listened when he passed. He knew what they were thinking: that he'd been a fool to trust an outsider, that he should have kept his mouth shut like the elders wanted. But Croaker didn't feel foolish. He felt lighter than he had in years. The creature came three nights later, drawn by the gem's absence. It tore through the eastern marsh at dawn, scales black as oil, eyes burning green. Stryker was there with her blade raised, ready to kill it for whatever prize the cult had promised next. But Croaker stepped between them. He didn't speak. He just walked backward, slow and steady, leading the beast toward the metal enclosure his grandfather had built. The creature followed him, jaws snapping at the air. Behind him, the village gathered beneath an archway of bleached bone and vine at the marsh edge. No one moved to help. They just watched an old toad do what none of them had dared. The beast lunged. Croaker sidestepped and slammed the containment door shut. The lock held. The creature thrashed inside, but the metal didn't give. Croaker turned to face the crowd. He didn't need their belief anymore. He'd spent his whole life trying to make people listen to the old stories. Now he understood what his grandfather had known all along: some things weren't meant to be proven. They were meant to be kept. He walked past Stryker without looking at her, past the fishermen and the elders, and headed back to his houseboat. He had fishing to do. And if anyone wanted to hear about what just happened, well, he'd be at the dock come morning.