“The blockade is just the beginning.” Caspian’s voice drops to something almost reverent. “Soon, the rivers will rise. The Great Stone Dam will fall, and the waters will reclaim what was always ours. The surface world will learn what it means to drown.”
A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the damp air. “You’re talking about destroying the dam? Elder, that would flood every settlement in the valley. Thousands would die.”
“Thousands of surface-dwellers.” He says it like it’s a distinction that matters. “They’ve been killing us slowly for generations. It’s time we returned the favor.”
“I joined the Sentinels to protect our people, not to wage war on?—”
“Thisisprotecting our people.” Caspian steps closer, and I can see the madness lurking behind the conviction. “Our population declines every generation. Our young are born weaker. The old sicknesses return because we’ve lost the healers who knew how to treat them. We are dying, Torin, and the surface world doesn’t even notice. They’ve poisoned us, weakened us, and now they pretend we don’t exist.”
He grips my shoulder, his webbed fingers surprisingly strong. “We can’t survive isolation much longer. But we can’t survive integration either—not on their terms. The only path forward is to make them fear us. To take back what’s ours by force.”
“There has to be another way. Negotiation?—”
“Negotiation is surrender with extra steps.” His lip curls. “We don’t negotiate with thieves. We drown them.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I want to argue—every instinct screams that this is wrong, that war will destroy us faster than isolation ever could—but a scout bursts through the waterfall before I can form a response.
“Elder! Sentinel!”The scout gasps for breath, water streaming from her gills. “Sky-dweller approaching! From the north—golden wings, circling the delta.”
Golden wings. My mind immediately conjures an image—some great bird of prey, talons extended, ready to strike. But the scout’s next words give me pause.
“It’s alone. No weapons visible. Flying in... I don’t know. Strange patterns. Wide circles, low and slow.”
Something tugs at my memory. Old protocols, studied but never witnessed. “Diplomatic signals,” I say slowly. “The aerial clans use specific flight patterns to indicate peaceful intent. Wide circles, exposed throat, open talons?—”
“I don’t care what signals it thinks it’s sending.” Caspian’s eyes have gone hard. “No Sky-dweller enters our territory unchallenged. Scout, alert the cannon crews.”
“Elder, wait.” I step forward, placing myself between Caspian and the scout. “If it’s truly an envoy—if they’re trying to make peaceful contact?—”
“Peaceful contact.” He spits the words like poison. “You think they send diplomats to us? After generations of silence? They’re scouting our defenses, Sentinel. Looking for weaknesses. And you want towelcomethem?”
“I want to gather information before we commit an act of war.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “One lone flyer, no weapons, using diplomatic signals—that’s not an invasion force. That’s an envoy. If we shoot them down without provocation, we lose any chance of?—”
“Any chance of what? Joining their precious Alliance?” Caspian laughs, bitter and sharp. “Becoming pets for the Sky-dwellers to parade before their councils? No. We will never bow to them.” He pushes past me toward the scout. “Activate the hydro-cannons. Shoot the intruder down.”
“Elder—”
“That’s an order, Sentinel.” His voice goes cold. “Unless you’d prefer to join the intruder in the water?”
The threat hangs between us. For a moment—just a moment—I consider defying him. But the scout is already diving back through the waterfall, and Caspian’s loyalists outnumber the moderates three to one. If I challenge him now, openly, I’ll be branded a traitor. And then I’ll be no use to anyone.
I dive after the scout, praying I’m wrong. Praying it really is an enemy, and not some foolish diplomat trying to bridge a gap that’s about to become an ocean of blood.
I surfaceat the edge of the blockade perimeter just in time to see the Sky-dweller descending.
She’s beautiful.
The thought cuts through my tactical assessment like lightning through water, startling and unwelcome. But I can’t deny what my eyes are telling me. Her wings catch the afternoon sun like hammered gold, tawny and amber and impossibly bright against the gray-green marsh. She’s flying slowly, deliberately, her pattern exactly what I described—diplomatic signals, clear as day to anyone who knows how to read them.
Throat exposed. Talons open. Making herself vulnerable.
Trusting us.
“Cannon crews ready,” someone calls. I hear the deep hum of water pressure building in the hydro-cannons—our mostpowerful defensive weapons, capable of launching pressurized columns of water with enough force to shatter stone.
Or break bones.
“Wait!” I surge forward, but it’s too late.
