“Have mercy on them.” Caspian motioned to his family. “They’re innocent. Thalassa will take them to sea. They’ll never return.”
Thalassa nodded, tears streaming. The baby whimpered; the boys clung to her seaweed-wrapped frame.
The man’s shoulders sagged. His axe lowered. Then the axe fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Thank Poseidon.
Caspian closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He’d done enough to save his children. That was all that mattered. He turned to Thalassa, chin trembling. “Take the children and go. Keep them safe, and know that I love you.” He forced steady breath into his voice. His sons were watching.
Thalassa’s face crumpled, but she held the childrentighter. The baby cried and she stepped back—instinct overtaking devotion.
Caspian straightened, offering his sons the soft smile he saved only for them. Tears streamed down their faces. Thalassa backed towards the opening.
A clatter echoed at the far end of the boathouse. The man jerked, eyes flicking to his axe.
Caspian roared—a battle cry fierce enough to rouse Selkie ancestors from the deep—and launched himself forward.
The man drew a knife from behind his back. Caspian threw himself onto the blade. Cold metal tore into his abdomen, heat roaring through him. They crashed to the floor together.
Thalassa’s scream shattered the air.
“We all have a right to live,” Caspian wheezed, warm blood cascading onto the floor. “Let them live.”
He pinned the man, staring into his face. Beneath the grief and fury… something else flickered. A thread of the Otherworld humming faintly in the man’s soul. No wonder he was able to butcher almost the entire shoal.
The man gently pushed Caspian off. Caspian rolled onto his back, lifeblood seeping out of him.
“Go.” The man pointed the knife at the opening. Not a threat—a warning.
Thalassa looked at Caspian. His vision blurred, but he smiled and nodded. A soft warmth eased through him the moment they cleared the opening. His body stilled. He would not see his boys grow, but they would grow. That was enough.
The man loomed over him. Caspian’s own blood dripped from the knife, bright against the concrete floor.Latharna has as many monsters on land as it does in the sea. The attacker would realise that one day.
Caspian drew a long, steady breath as fire burned through his abdomen. His limbs trembled, the edges of his body loosening as the form he held began to slip. Scales shimmered beneath his skin. His fingers curled, webbing flickering between them. The tide tugged at his bones, calling him home.
The transformation crept through him like a final mercy—the sea claiming him on unforgiving land. His legs weakened, dissolving into the ghost of a tail he no longer had the strength to form fully. Salt rose in his throat. The taste of home.
There would be no more death on Latharna tonight—except for his.
Chapter 16
Malachi
Freshly cut grass and honeysuckle drifted across Riverside in the cool evening breeze. Malachi stretched out in the hammock, its gentle sway lulling him towards sleep. Footsteps crunched on the gravel, tugging him back towards consciousness.
“Did you bring tea?” He cleared his throat, voice thick with sleep. “Ina’s hidden biscuits in the bottom cupboard.”
He didn’t bother opening his eyes; he didn’t need to. Dad always made tea when he felt guilty—a peace offering instead of an apology. As if boiling a kettle could ease the tension after he disappeared on an errand that could’ve waited. Anything to avoid talking things out.
The air shifted. The hairs on Malachi’s arms rose. Then the smell hit him.
A sour tidal reek crawled straight into his throat, like something dredged from the riverbed where light never reached. He knew that smell—it lived in his nightmares. His eyes flew open.
A figure stepped out from the shadowed corner of the garden. Seaweed clung to its body in damp streamers,dripping onto the lawn. Skin slick. Eyes too bright—blue like cold fire. Its lips peeled back, revealing a wide grin with sharp teeth.
No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. His nightmare had climbed out of the river and walked across the garden.
Malachi dragged in air to scream, but a wet hand slammed over his mouth—clammy and slick. He was yanked upright and hurled against the trunk of the oak. Bark scraped into his back, knocking the wind out of him.
