“It is the scent of treachery!” the elder howled. “If you dare to bring her into this sea, Thalos will drain the black waters and slaughter us all. This iswar,” he growled, bristling. “You’ve risked us all for a cunt. Your abomination cannot be allowed to survive.”
With a laugh, Nyx allowed himself to sink. Facing the elder at his level. “You lived through the war. You remember the carnage of countless Pelagorn lost when the seas ran red. Entire bloodlines wiped out.” He paused, then. Letting his grip on the trident slip, just a little. Enough to draw those ancient eyes to the weapon of his blood. And then, “I understand your fear, grandfather. But I was born after the war ended. All I have ever known was the silence. The slow, suffocating decay of what remained of the bloodlines you fought and died to protect. Our young grow weaker with every generation. Their Resonance is fading. Their scales grow dim, their venom weak and thin. And their power?” he laughed, but the sound held no mirth. “We aredying. Under the Thalassari rule, we will continue this slow drift toward extinction.”
Between his fingers, the trident spun. Lazy and deliberate—each revolution a silent promise of violence while his words simmered between them.
Hanging heavy in the current.
Ominous.
True.
And then, showing teeth, Nyx’s smile grew wide. Canines glinting to reflect the dim glow of Vorynthar’s pulse, when he said, “You speak of my bride with venom on your teeth. Call her an abomination, even while your gills sample the truth of her excellence.”
“She is apoison,” the elder snapped, but his voice warbled, absent the righteous fury that had brought him forward in the first place. “An abomination your forefathers fought and died to defend. They weremybrothers. And they are dead. Long taken by the tide, in defense of Sirens. And for what? If you allow that creature into these waters?—”
At this, Nyxarion’s grin grew savage and sharp. His grip on the trident slipped as he swept his hands down, eager to make them look. “Ah, you misunderstand, grandfather. She’s already here.”
At first, there was nothing.
The silence hung heavy as his words rippled through the current, and the generations of gathered Abyssari reacted to the claim.
And then, “Impossible,” the elder hissed, but his fins tucked flat, and he couldn’t help the way he descended into the heart of Vorynthar. Biolume dimming with alarm. “You lie.”
To this, Nyxarion said nothing at all. He let the reef answer for him.
Vorynthar shuddered.
The reef groaned.
Shifting, a cloud of bubbles burped free of the clenched fist where his treasure was hidden.
The living flame, burning in the heart of the Black Sea.
Kore.
Sleeping in that human way of hers.
Curled in a tiny, delicate ball. Pale skin luminous with the beauty of the setting sun, where she gleamed in the ravenous dark and shivered when the chill of exposure touched her. Veins glowing blue as a fresh wave of slick flooded the current.
Sunshine and lightning.
Citrus and dusk.
Pandemonium.
The young surged forward, pulling as much of that bright flavor through their gills as they could manage. Reverent as they circled the tiny thing sleeping in a cage of coral and bone.
But it was the elder who spoke, fists going lax at his side, as he whispered, “Impossible.”
Nyxarion laughed, and it was a jubilant thing. “She thrives where even Thalos would suffer.” Fins flicking, he let the trident’s colossal weight drag him down. “Do you see? She will be our rebirth. A lost art reclaimed. And she is mine.”
CHAPTER 3
She was soiled.
Desecrated.
Broken and remade by the obsession of a beast.
