She moved deeper into the camp, staying close to the shadows of buildings, lantern held low to avoid drawing attention.The Wardens themselves were barely recognizable as the proud, fierce warriors who had once struck terror into coastal communities.Dressed in ragged beige clothing—clearly not their own, but some form of prisoner uniform—they shuffled between meager fires with shoulders hunched against the cold, eyes downcast, movements drained of purpose.
Few spoke to one another.Fewer still seemed to notice Thalia's presence as she slipped between their compounds.But as she ventured further into the camp, faces began to turn toward her—hollow-eyed, wary, untrusting.Some showed flickers of recognition, brief flashes quickly suppressed as though hope itself had become too dangerous to indulge.
In the central compound, where the largest fire burned, Thalia finally found who she sought.Cassia's lieutenant sat alone on a rough-hewn bench, staring into the flames with an intensity that suggested he saw something there besides dancing light.His once-powerful frame had thinned, cheekbones pressing sharp against skin weathered by sea and sky.The intricate tattoos that had once marked him as a leader among stormcallers seemed faded, though whether from physical deprivation or the dampening of his connection to his magic, Thalia couldn't tell.
She approached directly, knowing that stealth would only breed more distrust.The man's head snapped up at her footsteps, recognition dawning in his eyes followed immediately by a desperate intensity that caught Thalia off guard.
"Thrum'kith," he said, the word barely above a whisper as he rose to his feet."Is she safe?"
The question struck Thalia like a physical blow—this man’s first thought was not for himself or his fellow prisoners, but for the magnificent living fortress that had carried them from the black waters to what they had hoped would be sanctuary.
"She's alive," Thalia answered, her voice equally low."I went down to the fjord three days ago.She's physically unharmed."She hesitated, then added, "She seems to miss her people."
She omitted the rest—how the majestic creature had been bound to Frostforge's docks with ropes thicker than her arm, how the once-vibrant patterns along Thrum'kith's sides had dulled, how the intelligent eyes that had watched Thalia during their journey now seemed clouded with what could only be described as grief.Some truths were too painful to speak aloud.
Relief softened the man's weathered features."Then there is that, at least."A shadow crossed his face, and he shook his head slowly."Though it hardly matters now.We will never return to her."
The defeat in his voice appalled Thalia.This was a warrior who had faced the Deep Ones, who had navigated a living fortress through waters that consumed entire islands.To see him so broken kindled an anger in her chest that burned against the plateau's penetrating cold.
"That's not true," she insisted, stepping closer."What's your name?"
He seemed surprised by the question, as though his identity had become irrelevant in captivity."Naj," he answered after a moment's hesitation."Najir Cloudstrider."
"Naj," Thalia repeated, the name a commitment, a promise."I swore to you I wouldn't abandon you.You will be free from this place."
He gave a bitter laugh, empty of humor."Bold words from someone who appears to be sneaking into our prison rather than walking through its gates with keys and authority."
Thalia couldn't argue with his assessment."The Council is...resistant to change," she admitted."But that doesn't mean I've given up."
"Your guards haven't waited for the Council's permission to express their feelings toward us."Naj gestured around the camp."We receive half-rations—if that.Many have fallen ill from cold and hunger.And then there are the beatings."
"Beatings?"Thalia's stomach turned.
Naj nodded grimly."They come at night, usually.Four or five guards, faces covered.They choose someone—anyone—and make examples.For what, they never say.Perhaps for existing.For being Wardens."
Other prisoners had drawn nearer as they spoke, forming a loose circle around the fire.Their faces reflected the same hollow resignation as Naj's, bodies bearing evidence of the mistreatment he described—bruises in various stages of healing, a woman with her arm bound in a crude sling, an elderly man whose limp spoke of recently broken ribs.
"This is wrong," Thalia said, her voice tight with barely contained fury."These are not the actions of soldiers I trained alongside.This is not what Frostforge stands for."
"Is it not?"asked a woman at the edge of the circle, her voice ragged with disuse."Your academy has trained generations to hate us, to see us as monsters rather than people.Why would you expect them to treat us differently now?"
The truth of her words stung, but Thalia couldn't afford to dwell on shame or regret."I came here for information," she said, focusing on Naj again."The Deep Tide has reached our shores, just as you warned.Coastal towns are disappearing.Northern outposts have been abandoned.Yet the Council still refuses to acknowledge the true threat, believing it to be some new form of Warden sorcery."
More prisoners had gathered now, drawn by the unusual presence of a mainlander who spoke to them as equals rather than enemies.Naj studied her face, suspicion warring with desperate hope.
"What would you have us tell you?"he asked finally."That the darkness consuming your shores is the same that swallowed our islands?That we tried to escape it, only to be met with blades and ice?That our ancestors’ warnings were shouted down by mainlanders’ war cries?These are truths your leaders have chosen not to hear."
"Tell me anyway," Thalia insisted."Tell me everything you know about the Deep Ones.Their patterns, their weaknesses—anything that might help us fight them."
Naj exchanged glances with the other stormcallers, some silent communication passing between them.Then he nodded, decision made.
"We have always known of the Deep Ones," he began, his voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a tale passed down through generations."For centuries, they were confined to a trench we call The Maw Below, hundreds of miles west of the archipelago.They made no move to leave their domain, and we made no attempt to enter it.Any ship that sailed into the black waters never returned."
He drew a line in the snow with his foot."A sharp division existed—light sea on one side, darkness on the other.We respected this boundary and lived in uneasy peace, never knowing what lay beyond the Maw."
Naj paused, his eyes distant with memory."Two generations ago, the trench began to stir.Strange tides pulled eastward, against the natural currents.Deep sea creatures began to migrate toward the shallower waters of the archipelago, fleeing something in the depths."
"Our scout ships encountered black waters farther and farther east," added an older woman, her face a map of fine lines etched by wind and worry."The Deep Ones were moving, approaching our islands."
