Chapter 240
The guard we find barely acknowledges us—just gives a curt nod and turns without a word, like we’ve been expected. Wake and I exchange a glance. His jaw tightens, and I can feel the way his hand twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to pull me back, to protect me from something he can already sense ahead.
“We need to speak to Shoal,” I tell the guard. “Tell him we’re ready to negotiate.”
Still, no words. The man just keeps walking, silent and steady, his boots echoing in the sterile corridor. I glance at Wake again, but he doesn’t return the look. His focus is forward, dark eyes narrowed. He knows something I don’t.
The route the guard takes is unfamiliar. It is not the hallways I know so well, the underground chambers and reinforced labs, or the cold, humming corridors where the shadows hide secrets. This path winds upward, subtly at first but then with unmistakable intent.
We’re going aboveground.
Wake’s mood shifts the higher we climb. The tension radiating from him becomes unmistakable. He stops mid-step and grips my arm.
“They’re taking us to the Marble,” he says. His voice is low, rough like gravel being scraped across metal.
My brow furrows. “So?”
Wake doesn’t answer. He just lets go of my arm and keeps walking. That alone sets my nerves on edge.
The elevator doors ahead slide open before we reach them, like someone’s been watching us the whole time. The guard gestures for us to step in. Wake hesitates, just a fraction of a second, then follows me in. The ride is silent, just the soft hiss of hydraulics and the electric buzz of the old system humming overhead.
And then we arrive.
The doors open with a pneumatic sigh, and the first thing I notice is how bright it is. The Marble is bathed in golden light from the massive dome overhead. The walls curve high above us, covered in mirrored panels and embedded screens, shining like a cathedral of steel and glass. This place used to be beautiful—sterile, yes, but beautiful. A massive cylindrical tank stretched through the center, filled with reef life, bright corals, and curious fish, a living museum of the island’s surrounding marine biosphere.
Used to be.
Now, it’s different.
The water glows a dull green, darker than it should be. There’s no coral. No schools of darting fish. The vibrant color has been drained from it. What fills the Marble now isn’t marine life. It’s something else entirely.
“Gods,” I breathe, stepping forward.
Elder Kin.
Dozens of them.
Looming shadows that drift through the murky water like ancient, half-forgotten ghosts. Massive forms slither in and out of view—tentacles coiling and uncoiling like they’re breathing, bulbous eyes flicking toward us before vanishing behind black scales and glistening skin. One brushes the glass as it glides past, slow and deliberate, and the sound it makes—a low, resonant moan—sends a chill straight down my spine.
Cora stands at the tank, arms crossed, staring through the glass with a rigidity that tells me she’s been here a while. Her mouth is pressed into a flat line, expression unreadable.
Beside her, Shoal is smiling like he’s just revealed the punchline of a joke no one else gets.
Lily stands at his side, her shoulders tense and arms folded, her gaze fixed on Cora like she’s waiting for an answer.
When they hear us, Shoal turns first.
“Ah,” he says, his tone smooth and pleasant. “There you are. I was beginning to worry you’d gotten cold fins.”
Wake bristles beside me, but I step forward before he can say anything.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, gesturing to the tank. “Why are they here?”
Shoal lifts his hands like a priest at the pulpit. “An exhibit. A demonstration. A reminder.”
“Of what?” Wake growls.
Shoal steps aside, making room for us at the glass. “That the Elder Kin were never meant to be forgotten. They are part of us. The first-born children of the Deep. Powerful. Magnificent. Misunderstood.”
“And dangerous,” Cora says quietly. Her eyes never leave the tank.
“They can be,” Shoal concedes. “But so can we, given the right provocation.”
I turn my gaze to Lily, who’s gone very still. “How long have they been here?”
She glances at me and then at Shoal before answering. “Since shortly after you left for Ao.”
I process that. Weeks. Maybe longer. The Marble’s been repurposed, repopulated, turned into something dark and reverent. A sanctuary for monsters.
Or weapons.
“They’re contained,” Lily says quickly, as if to defend herself. “We’ve developed countermeasures in case anything goes wrong.”
Wake finally steps forward, his voice sharp as glass. “You mean torture. Control.”
Shoal sighs like Wake’s being unreasonable. “They’re not pets, brother. They’re not meant to be shackled. But they must be understood, contained when necessary, and harnessed if possible. If we’re to survive what’s coming, we need more than armies. We need gods.”
“They’re not gods,” Cora mutters. “They’re broken fragments of something ancient and mad.”
Shoal’s gaze sharpens. “Which makes them perfect mirrors for us.”
I shiver at the words, at the truth of them. Because part of me knows he’s not wrong. These creatures… they don’t belong in glass cages, and they definitely don’t belong here.
But they’re here now.
The room is too quiet. Even the soft bubbling from the tank sounds muffled. I can feel the weight of it all pressing in—the glowing water, the writhing shadows, the purpose behind every piece of this room.
This isn’t just a show of power.
It’s a warning.
And maybe an invitation.
Shoal turns toward us again. “I take it you’ve come to talk. So let’s talk.”
Behind him, an Elder Kin presses its body against the glass, huge and shimmering like an oil slick. Its eyes, unblinking and ancient, stare straight into mine.
And I realize something as I stare back:
They’ve been building something in the dark.
And now it’s time for the rest of us to catch up.
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