Chapter 199
I float through the aftermath of the Menagerie in a haze of exhaustion. The once grand arena is now in ruins, broken pillars and scorched stone scattered like remnants of the nightmare it was. Every surface bears the scars of the atrocity that unfolded here.
Deep cracks spider across the walls, and patches of arena sand are stained with dark, swirling clouds of silt. Yet the people of Ao press on, tending to the injured and clearing debris. Healers from the Pit work tirelessly, their hands moving deftly as they mend broken bones, close wounds, and ease pain with practiced efficiency. Their movements are methodical, almost mechanical, as they navigate the destruction to save those they can.
I drift through the crowd, offering help wherever I can. A young merman struggles to lift a chunk of rubble, his arms trembling with exhaustion. His face twists in frustration as the stone refuses to budge. Without a word, I grip the opposite end and help him heave it aside.
The relief in his expression is immediate, and he nods his thanks, too weary for words. There’s a quiet gratitude in his gaze that tugs at my heart. Around us, the murmurs of survivors fill the air like a low current, steady but subdued. The screams and terror that once echoed through this place have faded into muted conversations—the sound of people trying to make sense of a monumental shift in their society.
The old king is gone. We have an Heir. What does this mean for us?
Khale moves through the crowd with calm purpose, his presence like a beacon in the chaos. People cluster around him as he checks on each group, his voice low and reassuring. He kneels beside a woman whose arm is being treated by a healer, offering gentle words of encouragement. I watch as he listens attentively to a family’s concerns.
They’re hesitant, unsure how to speak with him. It’s clear this kind of candid interaction with a ruler is foreign to them. Yet as he continues to engage with sincerity, the tension in their shoulders slowly eases. The astonishment on their faces is heartwarming, as if they can’t quite believe this is real. He’s breaking through barriers that have likely existed for generations—all by simply being present.
“He’s good at this,” I say softly, unable to hide my admiration as Khale helps an elderly man to rise with a warm smile.
“He has a knack with people,” Cora replies beside me. Her gaze is filled with pride. “But this is the easy part. Khale is an easy person to love.”
Wake chuffs quietly in agreement. His arms are crossed as he observes the scene, his sharp eyes taking everything in. He’s quieter than usual, his posture both relaxed and alert. “It’s another beast entirely to ask people to die for you,” he says after a moment. “Much less against an enemy they don’t know.”
I frown, recalling the crowd’s reaction to Khale’s earlier warning about unrest. “But they were willing to go to war for Raif just this morning. For no reason,” I point out.
Wake’s expression darkens, shadows gathering in his eyes. “They were willing to appease a megalomaniac who enjoyed turning his opposition’s families to stone,” he says bitterly. His voice is low, the words laced with disgust.
The mention of that stone garden makes my stomach churn. I shudder, the image of those frozen faces flashing through my mind. Each one of them, trapped in an unending nightmare forever. “How can anyone be that cruel?” I whisper.
Cora’s smile fades, her features tightening. She sighs softly. “Raif is bad,” she admits, “but unfortunately, he’s not the worst out there. At least, from what I can remember.” Her voice carries an edge of painful understanding.
“Is the Twilight like this?” I ask hesitantly. “Is the Abyss?”
Cora exchanges a glance with Wake. “Our family has its… faults,” she says after a moment. “But our line is stable. Our people are content.”
Wake steps forward to a collapsed section of the arena. His muscles strain as he grips a massive broken pillar that blocks one of the exits. With a powerful motion, he heaves the stone aside, sending a cloud of dust spiraling through the water. His expression is unreadable. Only when the pillar crashes to the ground does he finally speak.
“My people need an Heir,” he says quietly, his voice resolute. “I intend for it to be me. After that, things will be better.”
There’s a finality to his words that makes my chest tighten. He carries so much weight on his shoulders. I can’t help but wonder how much more he’ll have to endure before things truly get better.
Khale approaches us then, his presence immediately grounding. He’s still rough from the fight, scars and exhaustion evident, but his spirit seems lighter. He sweeps Cora into his arms, holding her close. There’s a faintly dazed look in his eyes, as if he’s still processing everything that’s happened. Yet beneath that, there’s pride and relief—he’s earned this moment.
“Congratulations,” I tell him with a smile. “Did you think this would be how this trip would go?”
Khale chuckles wryly, shaking his head. “Some of it went precisely how I expected,” he admits wryly. “But I never dared to dream that Tangaroa would find me worthy after straying so far from his people.”
Cora places a gentle hand on his arm, her expression softening with affection. “You didn’t abandon your people,” she says firmly. “Whether Raif acknowledged them or not, the Euclideans are as much Tangaroa’s as the citizens of Ao.”
Wake sneers at the battered arena, his gaze hard and unrelenting. “And if Tangaroa was waiting to see how you fared against your brothers,” he says, “there was no question who deserves to be Heir. It was a privilege to watch you fight.”
Khale’s lips curve into a smirk. “A week ago, I never thought I’d say this,” he replies, “but Abyssinian, you fight on an entirely different level. The rumors do not do your people justice.” He pauses, his gaze turning thoughtful. “My army will have much to learn from yours.”
A sinking feeling gnaws at me at his words. I glance at Wake, whose stoic expression gives nothing away. Only if Wake can make it back to his homesea in time to be named Heir, I think. There is still so much left to do, and time feels like it’s slipping through our fingers. The strain of that realization settles heavily in my chest, but I push it aside. For now, this moment belongs to Khale and his victory.
The atmosphere gradually shifts. Survivors gather closer, their conversations growing more animated as the fear ebbs away. People begin helping each other without being prompted, clearing debris, comforting the injured, and retrieving personal belongings from the wreckage. Hope, fragile but resilient, begins to bloom in the water around us, like a spark waiting to ignite.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
