“Zara—”
“I mean it.” I stop walking, turning to face him. “You’ve given up everything for me. Your position. Your people’s trust. Possibly your freedom. The least I can do is fight for you the way you fought for me.”
Something vulnerable crosses his face. “You don’t have to?—”
“I do.” I cup his cheek, feeling the bond pulse with my determination. “Because you matter. Because this matters. Because I’m done proving I can handle everything alone. We’re in this together, remember?”
He leans down and kisses me—soft, brief, full of things we don’t have words for yet. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with emotion.
“Together,” he agrees.
We resume walking, and I start planning. Diplomatic strategies. Arguments I can make. Ways to frame what happened that might give the High Elder reason to show mercy.
I’m so focused on internal preparation that I almost miss when the tunnel opens up ahead. Miss the way the darkness gives way to blue-green light. Miss the exact moment when everything changes.
Then Torin pulls me forward, and I see it.
The Sunken Citadel.
I gasp.
Magnificent doesn’t beginto cover it.
We’ve emerged on a ledge overlooking a subterranean lake so vast I can barely see the far shore. The water glows with bioluminescence—not the scattered patches I’ve grown used to in the tunnels, but concentrated light that turns the entire lake into liquid sapphire. And rising from the center, like a dream carved from stone and coral and impossible architecture?—
The Citadel.
It’s half above water, half below, the division visible as a dark line cutting through the structure. The upper levels are made of some pale stone that catches the bioluminescent light and seems to glow from within. Towers and bridges connect multiple sections, creating a complex network of buildings that look both ancient and alive. Carvings cover every surface—patterns that might be decorative or might be language, I can’t tell from this distance.
But it’s the underwater portion that steals my breath completely. Through the crystal-clear water, I can see the Citadel continuing down into the depths—massive structures, grandhalls, what look like entire neighborhoods carved into the lake floor. And everywhere, light. Bioluminescent gardens. Glowing pathways. Windows that shine from within.
It’s a city. A real city. Hidden beneath the earth, thriving in the dark, more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.
“Gods,” I breathe. “Torin, it’s?—”
“Home.” His voice is soft. Proud. “Welcome to the Sunken Citadel.”
He guides me down a carved stairway that winds along the cliff face. As we descend, I start seeing people—Deep Runners going about their daily lives. Children playing near the water’s edge, their scales flashing as they practice shifting. Artisans working on carvings in open-air workshops. Elders gathered in conversation, their hands moving in gestures I don’t understand but that seem important.
They’re not monsters. Not villains. Just people. Living their lives. Raising families. Creating art and meaning in a world that’s forgotten they exist.
Guilt hits me hard. How many times have I heard surface-dwellers dismiss the Deep Runners as primitive? As isolationists too stubborn to join civilization? How many reports have I read that treated them like obstacles to progress rather than a civilization with their own value?
We’ve failed them. The Integration Alliance, the surface world, all of us. We’ve been so focused on bringing everyone into our vision of unity that we never stopped to ask what we might be asking them to give up.
A small child—maybe five years old, scales still downy at the edges—spots Torin and runs toward him. “Sentinel Torin! You’re back!”
Torin scoops the child up, smiling in a way I’ve never seen before. Gentle. Almost paternal. “Hello, Marina. Have you been practicing your shifts?”
“Yes! Watch!” The child concentrates, and scales ripple across her arms in a wave of iridescent blue-green. Imperfect—patches of skin still showing through—but impressive for someone so young.
“Well done.” Torin sets her down gently. “Keep practicing. You’ll be a full Sentinel before you know it.”
The child beams, then notices me. Her eyes go wide. “Is that a Sky-dweller?”
“This is Zara,” Torin says carefully. “She’s—she’s with me.”
Marina tilts her head, studying me with the brutal honesty of children. “She’s pretty. Why are her feathers gray? I thought Sky-dwellers had gold wings.”
