Only the steady hum of energy radiating from the stone, the pressure of standing too close to a storm.
I reached out.
The instant my fingers brushed the grooves, the world shattered.
Light slammed into me—violet-white, blinding. The water thickened, my lungs seized. A roar filled my ears—not sound, but pressure, a thousand tides crashing inward at once.
Images tore through me.
A blackened sea bruised by a storm. Waves heaving. Wind howling.
A ship cutting through the chaotic waves—sails torn, hull drenched in rain and spray.
At its bow stood a man.
Braced against the storm. Coat snapping around him like a shadow. Dark hair lashed across his face. A scar cut along his jaw, stark against his pale skin.
He lifted his head. Our eyes met.
They weren’t just eyes—they were a collision. Storm-gray shot through with flame, like embers buried in ash. Haunted. Hungry. The connection rooted itself, inescapable. My heart lurched. The impossible distance between us thinned. The sea blurred at the edges, and for a heartbeat, I felt rain sting my skin. Cold air burned lungs not meant to breathe it.
Heat flared beneath my mark, searing. My body felt wrong—too small for the force trying to pour through it. At the edge of the vision, stars burned in unfamiliar patterns. Wrong skies. Wrong constellations.
A sensation of falling yanked at my gut—not down, but through. I tore my hand away.
The vision snapped.
The Sanctuary rushed back into focus—stone, water, fading glow. The crescent dimmed like an exhale finally released.
I gripped a statue to steady myself. My lungs burned. My heart thundered. My mark still throbbed, hot and insistent.
But his eyes stayed with me.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The question vanished into the water.
The Sanctuary felt awake now. The carved stones hummed faintly. The crescent glowed softly, its presence settled into the chamber like a second heartbeat.
Like it had been waiting.
My thoughts got tangled. Was it a memory? Prophecy? A hallucination born of pain and exhaustion?
Part of me wanted to dismiss it.
But beneath the fear, something unfurled in recognition. Whoever he was, the sea wanted me to see him.
And I was suddenly, acutely certain of two things.
He was dangerous.
And my life had just changed.
The Tidekeepers would never tell me the truth. They would wrap it in doctrine and caution; polish lies until they sounded almost kind. Meris would tuck it away like an inconvenient storm—manageable, if ignored. Maleia would worry. And I loved her too much to lay this weight at her feet.
I had learned long ago which voices in Thalassia demanded obedience—and which simply offered truth.
There was only one being left who might understand.
