Page 36 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The silence in the hall is total, even the currents seem to hold their breath. And at the farthest end from Sarah, Velmira, silent until now, leans forward, as her voice floats like a whispered prophecy. “Only when belief takes root will the magic rise in full.”

The truth of it reverberates like an ancient chord struck deep beneath the waves. The rest of the council does not move or speak. All eyes remain fixed on Sarah, no longer an outsider. No longer just a land-dweller.

She's the sea’s chosen now.

Rising from the throne, I inch closer to Sarah, now only a few feet apart. Something in her has shifted; not just in appearance, but in presence. The fear, the disbelief, the fragile thread of apprehensiveness I had felt in her moments ago, is gone. Or maybe not gone, but tempered.

I don't know everything about her. Not yet. But at this moment, she carries herself differently. Steadier. As though something deep inside her has stopped running away.

She hasn't hardened. If anything, she seems herself just with an added anchor. As if accepting the magic didn't change her, but cleared the noise around her long enough for her to embrace who she already is.

“When I read the scroll,” she says, her voice clearer now but not loud, “I thought it would explain why this happened to me. I wanted it to say something certain. Something that made sense.”

She glances down, the glow on her skin catching in the movement, then lifts her gaze again, even as emotion threads her voice.

“But that . . .” she points toward the scroll in Velmira’s grasp, “isn’t speaking of a prophecy. It’s about regret. I don’t know your former king, but I can say this much: he made a choice he couldn’t take back. And now he’s trying to warn us of what might come because of it.” She exhales, just once, sharp and controlled. “It said the magic would choose someone with courage and worth. I still don’t know if that person is me. But a lot has been thrown my way these past few days, and I’m still here. The sea has always called to me, and maybe that’s why it chose me.” Her fingers curl slightly at her sides, not in anger, but to ground herself. “You don’t have to trust me. The magic inside me already does. I promise to do my part by learning, adapting, and perfecting my skills to face whatever is to come. Not because I have to, but because I want to.”

A beat of silence spreads from everyone in the room, and shock is written across every face, including mine.

How have I not seen this side of her? She's strong and powerful—magic aside. Delivering the message of what she saw on the scroll was effortless.

“So what's our next move, your majesty?” Lord Zevrin’s voice cuts cleanly through the silence, steady and sure. As leader of the Neravyn Guard, he rarely speaks without purpose. “If she is who your father’s magic chose, what do we do?”

Zevrin trained alongside my father and later helped shape my own training in my youth. He was appointed as Tidewarden the same day my father was crowned king—an unspoken symbol of loyalty that has persisted even after his death. Wearing the standard-issued uniform of our kingdom’s force, he is unmistakable. His deep blue sash bears a golden shell crest, and his mantle is etched with a ceremonial trident. He holds all things in confidence. The most unshakable warrior I have ever met. That is how he carries himself, and that is how we all see him. Our forces respect him. General Nyxalene respects him. I respect him.

He is the one who maps out our strategies and who sees the battlefield before the first blow is struck. So when he turns to me and asks what comes next . . . I falter. Because I don't know. And I'm not sure why he expects me to. I place myself back down onto the throne, slowly running my hand down my face.

This is the part where being a king becomes hard. To give answers for things you do not actually know the answer to.

“We will do what we always do. Hold our forces. Nothing has surfaced at this time, until then—”

My words are interrupted, and the doors to the Trident Hall burst open, and one of the Deepwatch Captains comes barreling in, shouting, “Your majesty, the Redlock Chamber has been breached!”

sixteen

Sarah

The room erupts once again, and everyone is speaking over each other. Except Orion. He sits on the throne, staring ahead blankly, as his hands rest gently on the edges of the seat, boredom lacing his expression.

From what I've learned from Orion, the guard who burst through the door is a Deepwatch Captain.

He swiftly makes his way up the dais steps, bowing in front of Orion briefly, handing him a message trapped inside a bottle. “This was left in place of the sacred rune scrolls,” he announces, his eyebrows drawn together.

Slowly learning the names of those who surround us, I remember Orion mentioning Lord Zevrin. His build resembles the rest of the guards posted everywhere in this palace. However, there is something silent that lingers in the way he carries himself. Is that wisdom or the weight of life? His skin is a light blue with streaks of dark blue that move over his entire body. He wears the same uniform as the rest of the guards. The only thing that makes him stand out from the rest is the gold emblem on his sash. Not to mention, he is here in this meeting discussing ‘next steps.’

“How was the Redlock Chamber breached in the first place, Captain?” Zevrin makes his way up the dais, stopping only a few feet from the guard, when Orion glances toward me.

Exhaustion now marks every line of Orion’s face. His body slumps, his shoulders sag, and the weight of defeat tugs subtly at his chest as he sits.

On diving expeditions, there were days when the fish refused to surface. I would climb back onto the boat feeling hollow—tired and defeated, as though something had slipped through my grasp. My team, including Leo would remind that not every dive is successful and the best thing to do was move on to the next and hope its better. Watching Orion stirs the same ache, and those memories feel impossibly small compared to this moment.

Orion opens the bottle, unraveling it slowly. His eyes scan the message from inside and his demeanor shifts entirely, but I don’t know why.

“Tidewarden," he pauses turning to address Zevrin, crossing his arms over his chest. "It was breached during shift change. We were wrapping up when a new Coralblade Sentinel blew the alarm to inform us of the breach. After inspection, we noticed the room was wiped clean of all sacred rune scrolls, and this bottle was in their place.”

Orion’s attention, no longer distracted by his own thoughts, turns to the guard. The tiredness I saw moments ago disappears. “How could you allow this to happen?” he says, his voice shaking with restrained fury. Attractive for sure, but I won’t tell him that. He rises from his seat, height on full display.

The day I met him, I couldn’t stop staring at his chiseled, muscular chest, but even then, I noticed that in his human form, he was tall. Now? With the massive serpent tail that coils beneath him, he towers like a sea god out of a nightmare. Abnormally tall doesn’t even cover it. Orion already has a presence that makes people take notice, but now it’s something else entirely. It’s the kind of power that silences a room, that makes your pulse skip for reasons you can’t name. Part of me wants to run. The other part . . . can’t look away. The muscles along his side flex and shift, layered like gills, tension rippling beneath his skin—cold, sharp, and barely contained. I wouldn’t want to be the one standing in his way when he’s like this. Unfortunately for the Deepwatch Captain, he already is, and I think I’m about to witness what happens when you disobey the orders of a king’s command.