I swim to our chamber and collapse on the ledge beside Aylth. My muscles tremble from adrenaline. I check his wounds again, hoping the commotion might have roused him, but he's still deep in healing sleep.
“I kept them away,” I tell him, even though he can't hear. “I don't know if I can do it again, but I kept them away this time.”
The coral pulses gentle blue, like it's proud of me.
I don't feel proud. I feel terrified of what comes next.
The second attack comes at dawn the next day.
I've stayed awake all night, watching the boundary line. Reef and his companion left after a few hours, but others arrived to take their place. Four distinct shapes now, circling like sharks. Waiting for their moment.
When the morning tide starts rising, they move.
All four at once, from different directions. Coordinated. They've been planning this.
I grab both remaining spears and dive out to meet them.
The first hunter comes from above. I recognize the tactic because Aylth used it during our early encounters. High approach, diving fast, using momentum as weapon. But I'm ready. I swim sideways at the last second, and he overshoots. My spear catches him across the tentacles as he passes, more toxin entering his system.
The second comes from below. I don't see him until he's already grabbing my ankle. His grip is crushing, pulling medown toward the damaged coral maze. If he gets me into those tight passages, I'm done.
But the coral knows me now.
I press my free hand against the nearest pillar and push my thoughts at it. Help. Please. The way I've been doing in quiet moments, learning to communicate with the living structure.
The pillar flares bright blue, then brighter. The light is blinding, right in the hunter's eyes. He releases me instinctively, tentacles coming up to shield his vision. I twist free and stab down. The spear enters his shoulder, and he sinks screaming toward the reef floor.
Two down. Two to go.
But I've lost both spears now, and these last two hunters are staying together. They've learned from watching the others fail.
I need a different approach.
The weapons room had nets. Heavy things woven from organic fiber that Aylth soaked in adhesive compounds. If I can reach them, I might be able to tangle these two up long enough to escape.
I swim toward the palace's damaged section, the area where the Leviathan broke through. It's dangerous, unstable, but I know the route. I've been exploring it during my watches.
The hunters follow, thinking they have me trapped.
The net is where I left it, half-buried in coral rubble. I grab it, turn, and throw in one motion. The weighted edges spread it wide, and it catches both hunters before they can separate.
The adhesive activates on contact. The more they struggle, the more entangled they become. Their bioluminescence flashes panic as they realize they're caught.
I could kill them now. Use the damaged coral, drop it on them, end the threat.
But I don't.
“Leave,” I say, swimming close enough they can hear but not close enough they can grab me. “Tell the others what happened here. Tell them this territory is defended.”
I use one of their own discarded weapons to cut through the net's edge, giving them a way to eventually free themselves. Then I retreat to the palace, leaving them struggling in the wreckage.
By the time I surface in our chamber, I'm shaking so hard I can barely pull myself onto the ledge. There's a gash on my thigh from where one of them grabbed me, and my left shoulder throbs from overextension. But I'm alive.
I check on Aylth. Still unconscious, but the wounds look better. More scales have regrown. The gashes are now just pink lines.
“Four more,” I tell him. “I'm keeping count. Four more hunters who know I'm not easy prey.”
The coral pulses approval, and the small creatures that maintain it emerge from hiding. They glow brighter as they pass me, and I understand the message.
