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I look up sharply. My gaze moves from the suit to the delicate gills along her neck, something I have seen dozens of times without ever asking how she came by them.

“You were human?”

“I was.” Ysra’s expression softens as she turns one of the gloves over in her hands. “Becoming part of the deep takes time. My lungs didn’t simply change because I chose a mate who lived here. Until my body adapted, this suit allowed me to leave the fortress with him, walk the trenches, and visit places I could never have reached otherwise.”

The admission changes the suit completely. I had been looking at it as a piece of strange old equipment. Now I picture Ysra sealed behind that thick visor while the abyss pressed against the other side. She had not arrived here already capable of surviving this world. She needed equipment, patience, and time, and someone had shown her how to manage all three.

My fingers move over one of the faintly glowing runes. “Solveig knew what this meant to you.”

“She did.” Ysra settles back on her heels, glancing from the suit to me. “I won’t pretend to know everything going through the matriarch’s mind, but she wouldn’t have taken this out of storage casually. I suspect she wanted you to understand that being human doesn’t automatically confine you to these halls.”

That sounds much more like Solveig than any sentimental declaration would.

I look down at the armor spread across my floor. Sigurd has spent weeks behaving as though the fortress walls mark the edge of what I can survive. Outside them wait pressure, cold, and a world built for bodies nothing like mine. Yet here is proof that someone else once stood exactly where I am and found a way farther.

“If I wanted to use it, could you teach me?”

Ysra studies my face long enough to make certain the question is serious. Then she shifts closer to the suit and pulls the collar toward us.

“I can, but you need to learn it properly. The seals, pressure wards, temperature regulation, and breathing system all work together. You don’t put this on and wander outside because you feel adventurous.” A faint smile touches her mouth. “Fortunately, you strike me as someone who respects instructions.”

“I am a librarian. Complicated systems with unnecessarily specific rules are most of my professional life.”

“That will help.”

Ysra shows me the first set of fastenings along the waist and explains how the sections lock together. With her supporting the heavier pieces and turning them into position, the suit stops looking like one enormous, unwieldy object. Each component has a purpose, and each piece connects to the next in a way that begins to make sense once she explains it.

When she passes me one side of the chest section, the weight still pulls hard against my arms.

“God, this is heavy.”

“The support wards distribute most of that once the collar is active,” Ysra says, taking some of the load back before I can lose my grip. “Until then, don’t try to prove anything. Let me hold the weight.”

Ysra then lowers the chest piece and turns the collar toward me. Three runes glow along the inside edge, each slightly different from the next.

“These are the first ones you need to remember. Pressure, temperature, then breathing. The order matters because each ward confirms the previous one before the helmet seals.”

I lean closer and follow the sequence with my fingertip while she explains it again. The suit does not make the abyss harmless, and Ysra never suggests that it does. What it gives me is something much more useful than reassurance: a practical way to find out what I can actually manage.

“Pressure, temperature, breathing,” I repeat. “Show me the rest.”

Ysra shifts closer and turns the collar so I can reach the next set of runes. This time, I watch every movement of her hands and listen carefully as she begins explaining what comes next.

I repeat every sequence one by one, then look at the rest of the suit spread across the floor. I could spend another week studying it. Another week waiting for Sigurd to decide I am ready for something he has already decided I should never have.

I have had enough of waiting. “When you wore this for the first time,” I ask, “did someone help you into it?”

“My mate did. The first fitting is not something I would recommend attempting alone.”

“Good. I have no intention to try anything on my own. But I don’t think I have to.”

Ysra’s brows lift. “What do you mean?”

I straighten and gesture toward the suit between us. “You’ve been teaching me what the pieces do. I appreciate it more than I can ever say. But it’s not enough. Help me put it on.”

For a moment she says nothing. Then a slow smile spreads across her face, and she reaches for the first reinforced seal.

“All right, Valerie. Stand up.”