The Grand Library still stands, but water pours from its windows. Centuries of knowledge ruined. I see scholars stumbling out, clutching whatever texts they managed to save. Bodies float in the flooded lower streets. Some are trapped in debris and others drift slowly toward the harbor, carried by the retreating water.
I can’t look at them. If I look too closely, I’ll recognize faces. People I knew. People I failed to save.
You are not a god, little queen,the Un’s voice whispers in my mind.You cannot save everyone.
The words settle something in my chest. They are right. I’m just a mortal. But I have to try.
The lighthouse still stands. It’s the tallest structure near the water, built from ancient stone that has weathered countless storms.
I start running toward the building. Svenn follows silently, his presence the only steady thing in this nightmare.
The lighthouse stairs are slick with seawater and cracked from the first surge’s impact. I climb anyway. Through the broken windows, I catch glimpses of the horizon. It has disappeared.
In its place is a wall of water blocking out half the sky. The sea that gives us life, that connects Völundr to the world, that feeds our people is gathering itself to strike again. I reach the top and burst onto the observation platform. Half the railing is gone, torn away by the surge.
Heavens above.
This one is bigger than the first wave. So much bigger. This is Tayum’s Wrath in its full terrible glory, the wave that erased Kashran’s coastal cities centuries ago.
I can see trees and ships tumbling within it, along with entire buildings. Pieces of my kingdom already consumed.
My knees buckle.
This will destroy everything. The cliff fortresses might not even be high enough. Those who are still in the lower city will die. Everyone who couldn’t make it far inland will perish too.
Thousands of my people are about to be swept away by something I have no power to stop.
I drop to the lighthouse platform and pull out the chalk I always carry. My hands shake as I draw. The patterns come from memory. This is forbidden knowledge from my father’s books, magic that shouldn’t be used lightly.
“What are you doing?” Svenn asks, his voice tight.
“I need help.” I finish the last line. “It’s the only way.”
The summoning circle takes shape. I have no right to ask this of her, but I’m out of options. There’s one being who might be able to help.
Nimue, the last of the water wraiths.
“Lady of the Lake,” I whisper, placing my hands on the circle’s edge. “Guardian of the Deep Places, friend of my heart. I call you in our hour of need.”
Power flows out of me. I’m already weakened from the battle. The summoning drains what little I have left.
Silver light flares from the circle. The air above it shimmers and reality parts. She rises from the light like mist.
Nimue is beautiful. She is too perfect to be real and not meant for mortal eyes. Her hair flows like water and those eyes hold depths I’ve only seen in the darkest parts of the sea. The dress she wears is made of foam and starlight. It moves constantly despite the still air.
She’s older than kingdoms and shy as a deer.
“Rhianelle?” Her voice ripples like water. Concern fills it immediately. “You’re bleeding.”
“We’re all bleeding,” I manage, pulling myself upright on shaking legs. “Nimue, please help me. Look.”
She turns toward the approaching wave. For a moment I see her true nature. The ocean recognizes her and acknowledges her as kin.
But doubt clouds her face as she stares at the mountain of water bearing down on us. “That wave... Rhianelle, I don’t know if I can—“
“You can.” I grab her cold hand. “You’re the Lady of the Lake.”
She stares at me for a moment then nods, unconvinced. Nimue raises her arms toward the sea.
