Nothing here stays down. The ship shifts beneath us, the angle pulling harder to one side as something below the hull drags against it. My footing slides, then corrects, the adjustment landing more cleanly than before, my weight settling where I place it without the hesitation I have come to expect from myself.
“They’re pulling us sideways,” Nyara says, her voice tightened with effort as she forces more of the frozen sea upward through the breach, though the shards fracture almost as quickly as they rise.
Something shifts a fraction before it happens. I can’t name it, only the way the pressure tightens in the wrong place.
Another impact follows, heavier than the last. Then the forward motion stops. The absence of it is immediate and wrong, the ship no longer cutting through the water but caught against something that does not move with it. The tilt deepens in response, the deck angling further as the weight shifts unevenly beneath us, and the sound that carries through the hull makes it clear that the structure is under more strain than it was built to hold.
“I can’t keep it closed,” Nyara says, and there is no space in her voice for anything but fact.
Another body forces through. I meet it, turning it aside, using the blade to redirect rather than resist, but the space it leaves is filled before I can fully recover my position. The pressure builds again through everything at once, the ship, the bodies, the air tightening toward a single point.
I feel it. The imbalance beneath us, the way it gathers just before it breaks, none of it unfamiliar. I have been stepping around it this entire time.
The motion does not come from my hands. It moves through me, the light responding to the pressure, forcing the space apart. The bodies nearest the breach jerk backward under it, not destroyed, but displaced, their forward motion interrupted long enough for the line behind them to falter.
The ship shifts again, the tilt correcting just enough to hold. Then my body reminds me of itself. The nausea rises without warning, sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and I turn just in time, one hand braced against the wall as I retch, the effort pulling through my ribs and leaving me unsteady longer than I can afford.
Nyara glances at me, unimpressed but not surprised. “Hold it together.”
“I am,” I manage, though my voice comes thinner than I intend, the heat still lingering beneath my skin in a way that has nothing to do with the cold pressing in around us.
Another impact hits the hull and the structure groans in response.
“We need to move,” she says. “They’re going to break through the lower hull completely.”
If they open the ship below us, it won’t matter how many we slow here.
We turn at the same time.
The corridor is already collapsing into movement, bodies pushing in both directions as the angle makes balanceunreliable. I move through it with her, forcing space open where I press into it, the light answering when I reach for it, creating openings that disappear almost immediately behind us.
The stairs stretch longer than they should and the air changes as we climb. When we reach the deck, the wind cuts through everything. The ship leans hard enough that the horizon tilts with it, water breaking across the boards as more of them pull themselves over the rail, their movement continuous, relentless, their bodies dragging forward with a certainty that does not slow.
Threns move among them, their magic tearing through the space in bursts that force bodies back, scatter them, disrupt them, but the openings never hold. Each break closes almost as soon as it forms.
Talen stands near the rail, light gathering in his hands, but it fractures before it can fully take shape, slipping through his control as the next wave presses in. It isn’t enough.
And then I see him. Teorin moves across the deck with a focus that cuts through everything else, his path direct, unbroken, his attention fixed beyond the chaos. On me.
The strain in him is visible then, stripped of its usual control, the calculation gone, replaced by something far more immediate. Then he sees me, and something in him releases. It happens quickly, contained almost as soon as it appears, but it is there long enough to be unmistakable before it disappears beneath everything else he is.
He moves toward me faster now, cutting through the space between us without hesitation, but another body pulls itself overthe rail before he can reach me, collapsing into the path between us as the deck shifts beneath its weight.
I don’t wait for it to close the distance. The pressure is still there, threaded through everything, the same gathering force I felt below, only sharper now, closer to the surface, easier to reach.
I draw it in again, deeper this time, and let it move through me before it can break.
CHAPTER 13
Go
Alarnan lightcraft kills the undead. Everyone knows that. I’m still weak. Still nauseous. Still not steady on my own feet. It doesn’t matter. I reach for it anyway. By the time we’re forced back above, the deck is already collapsing into chaos. Teorin moves toward me faster now, cutting through the space between us with a focus that ignores everything else on the deck, but another body drags itself over the rail before he can reach me, collapsing directly into the path between us as the ship shifts beneath its weight.
I don’t hesitate. The pressure is already there, drawn tight through everything, ready to break. I reach for it again and push further this time, letting it move through me before it can fracture, allowing it to gather instead of scatter.
The light follows that instinct, not thrown outward but driven forward, pressing into the space ahead of me and forcing it open just enough to matter. The bodies between us are dragged out of alignment, their forward motion broken as they are pulled sideways into one another, and the disruption ripples backwardthrough the line behind them, creating a narrow path that won’t hold, but holds long enough.
I move into it without thinking, clearing the space before it closes again, because I want him to reach me. The realization comes at the same moment, unwelcome and immediate, and I don’t slow for it.
