I didn’t look away from Meris.
Calder stepped closer—unhurried. Mocking gentle. “This,” he said softly, gesturing to the bands at my wrists, “is what happens when one forgets her place.”
He circled me, voice smooth as a lullaby. “You always believed you were different,” he went on. “Special. Untouched by the limits that govern the rest of us.”
My jaw clenched.
“You questioned tradition,” Calder continued. “Defied the Choir. Went beyond the currents you were told not to cross.”
He stopped in front of me, eyes bright with something ugly and pleased. “You thought yourself better than us.”
“That’s not—”
He looked to Meris for a moment. “Arrogance,” he murmured, “has always been the most dangerous sin.”
The words burrowed deep.
“You shattered the Veil,” Calder said, voice carrying now, “because you believed yourself strong enough to survive the consequences.”
He leaned in—just enough for me alone to hear. “If you had stayed,” he whispered, “if you had obeyed… Thalassia would still be hidden. Our people would still be safe.”
Something inside me cracked.
“This, whatever comes next,” Calder finished, straightening, “is your fault.”
They dragged me down. Away from Meris’s silence. Past the gleaming gardens and carved halls of Thalassia. Past statues of the Sea Court, their faces blurred by shadow. Down into the place I should have known they would take me. The chamber beneath the old meeting hall. Where the Celestial Choir had always been held.
The moment I crossed the threshold; memories crashed over me like a breaking tide—the marble floor’s chill. the hollow echo of songs. The sting in my throat as I sang at the altar, believing it sacred. The wrongness in the hum beneath my skin.
Now I know why.
In the center of the chamber sat a cage of coral and rune-forged glass. The barrier slammed shut with a hiss. Wards flared across the seams, locking me in with light I knew would not yield.
“This cage cannot hold me,” I spat, pressing my palms to the glass. My mark burned hot, silver spilling in jagged cracks down my arms.
Calder’s chuckle drifted back, soft and pleased. "It will hold. We’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time."
The crescent blazing on my brow reflected in his eyes. He went quiet. “For you to start questioning who you are,” he murmured, “and lose control.”
Then they turned away—robes trailing like smoke—leaving me alone with the hum of the wards and the slow suffocation of silence.
I pressed my forehead to the cold coral wall. The cell was too quiet. Only my breath echoed back, harsh and uneven, mixing with the constant thrum carved into the floor. “No,” I whispered, forcing myself upright. “You won’t cage me. Not again.”
I screamed and slammed my fists against the glass, summoning every shred of rage left in me. Starlight burst from my mark in violent arcs—ribbons of silver and violet lashing at the barrier. The cage shook. But it did not break. My light splintered. Fizzled. Fell uselessly into the wards like rain into stone. Again.
Harder.
Again, again—until my knuckles split, until my tail whipped the water into storms, until my throat went raw from the force of it. The glass only pulsed back—calm, patient, unbroken.
At last, I slid down the wall, trembling, chest hollowed and raw. The scent of charred salt clung to me like smoke.
That was when I realized—
the hollow weight in at my side. The absence.
The shards.
My heart lurched. My last pieces of the Crescent. My hope.
