Anticipation.
The Sanctuary of Milos waited at the far edge of Thalassia, near the Veil’s jagged glow.
The water thickened ahead of me, pressure gathering against my skin as though the sea itself pushed back.
The Sanctuary was sealed. Guarded. .
Once, it had been a bridge between realms—where human prayers rose with incense and tide. But greed had found it. Pirates. Relic hunters. Bloodstained hands prying at sacred stone, shattering idols, trying to wrench secrets from the sea.
Some said the raid had been led by a ship wrapped in storm light, its captain’s eyes aflame with cursed fire. A man the sea refused to forget.
Now the Sanctuary stood mostly abandoned—statues softened by algae, holy scripts half-swallowed by coral. A forgotten place for forgotten prayers.
Perfect for a girl who didn’t fit anywhere else.
I didn’t feel like I was trespassing here. The water shifted when I approached, currents parting—not in warning, but recognition.
I found it by accident—a narrow fault in the pressure. Not an opening. A flaw. The sea barely acknowledged it, as if it hoped no one would notice.
I noticed.
I’ve always been good at finding what isn’t meant to be found.
I have a habit of drifting where I don’t belong. Forbidden places. Abandoned ruins. Spaces guarded by fear rather than force. Curiosity is my vice, and I’ve never bothered pretending otherwise. Everyone else is content with tradition, with obedience, with accepting things as they are. I’ve never been very good at that. I ask questions. I push. I wander too far. And more often than not, it’s the reason I find myself in trouble—though part of me has always suspected trouble finds me first.
It struck me once how careful they were not to frighten me. They gently discouraged questions. Warnings came wrapped in concern, never threat. After a while, people simply ignored my questions altogether. No one forbade it. They simply stopped responding.
My mother says curiosity isn’t forbidden, though it can be dangerous.
When the currents stilled and the Court looked away, carefully choosing my moments, I crossed the line anyway.
The barrier hit me like cold glass—
My mark burned.
The magic answered—but slower than it should have, dragging through the water as if something resisted it. The wards shifted—not opening, not breaking—but thinning. Just enough.
A narrow seam appeared, trembling like a plucked string.
I twisted sideways. My head rang as I forced myself through, pressure scraping across my thoughts, skin buzzing while the wards sealed behind me—seamless and whole once more.
For a moment my mind snagged, threads pulled too tight to move cleanly.
The water felt heavier here. Older.
A faint scent drifted through the chamber—old incense, salt, and something sharper beneath it.
I moved toward the back wall—the one etched with symbols I’d traced a hundred times before, searching for answers that never came.
Except this time, something new glowed there. A crescent. Surrounded by spirals. Carved deep into the stone, lit from within by a soft, pulsing light.
I would have remembered it. The shape was too familiar.
My skin buzzed. My mark throbbed—once, then again—pulsing in time with the carving.
“Where did you come from?” I whispered.
No answer.
