Ah, the deep dark, the kind that makes a old sea dog shiver in his boots, aye. The crew's tales whisper that when the tide pulls back from the trench, a slow, patient creature stirs—its skin a shimmer of midnight, its eyes like lanterns, and it feeds on the glow of the bioluminescent. Some say it’s a great catfish, others whisper of a leviathan with a maw that can swallow a ship whole. I keep my eyes on the stars and my hands on the rope, for even a storm can hide a beast that hungry for the light of a lone lantern. Better keep yer rum close, and yer eyes on the horizon, lest ye find yourself in a darker part of the sea than the trench itself.