Chapter 290
The next morning comes sooner than I want it to.
The soft thrum of the ship wakes me first, followed by the metallic scent of warmed-up engines and the faint clatter of boots on the deck. For a moment, I stay still, breathing in the sharp, salty air, letting myself pretend we have another day—another hour—where we’re all together.
But that’s not how this works.
The world doesn’t wait for people like us.
When I finally roll out of bed, Wake’s already dressed, boots laced, weapons checked, standing by the door like he’s been ready for hours. He offers me a small, patient smile as I fumble into my clothes.
“Still time to back out,” he says lightly.
I snort. “Yeah, right. Like you’re getting rid of me now.”
The truth is, part of me wants to stay. Not because I’m afraid of what’s waiting for us, but because for the first time in forever, we built something real. A crew. A family. And walking away—even if it’s temporary—feels like carving off a piece of myself.
But I shove the feeling down. I chose this path. I’ll see it through.
When we step onto the main deck, Cora’s already waiting. She leans against the central console, arms crossed, jaw set. Tai and Tyler are behind her, pretending not to look as emotional as they actually are. Delphi stands off to the side, Peter’s arm wrapped protectively around her.
It’s a goodbye without words.
I hug Tai first, squeezing him tight enough that he lets out a dramatic wheeze.
“Try not to sink the ship without me,” I murmur.
“No promises,” he says, squeezing back.
Tyler gives me a rare, genuine smile as he pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Don’t die. The big guy might come looking for revenge.”
I laugh wetly and swat his shoulder.
Cora steps up last.
We don’t speak right away. We just pull each other in, forehead to forehead.
“You call me,” Cora says, voice rough. “First sign of trouble.”
“I will.”
“You promise.”
“I swear it.”
She pulls back, brushing a strand of hair from my face like she used to when I was a kid and just the idea of her was the most incredible thing I could imagine.
“Be well, love,” she whispers. “And come back.”
“You too.”
Wake clasps arms with Silo, Arista, and Miore, giving them a warrior’s send off. Then he exchanges a nod with Peter, a smile for Delphi, and finally a quiet word with Cora. Then he’s at my side again, the calm at the center of my storm.
We don’t drag it out. We can’t.
The ocean’s waiting.
The warship’s docking systems disengage with a hiss, and we dive.
Literally, trading our skin for scales in the blink of an eye.
We plunge from the bay doors straight into the open water, no ship, no lifeline, just Wake and me and the endless blue.
For a split second, panic bubbles in my chest. It’s instinct. The ocean’s a vast, merciless thing. It doesn’t care how strong you are or how much you love it.
But then Wake’s hand finds mine.
“Breathe,” he says through the connection that hums between us. “Feel it.”
I close my eyes and let the water hold me.
Wake shows me how to move—how to ride the currents instead of fighting them. It’s like slipping into a hidden river. The water wants to carry you if you stop treating it like an enemy.
We sweep forward, faster than any ship, faster than anything human-made. It’s exhilarating and terrifying, the world reduced to streaks of color and pressure and movement.
Wake glances back at me, grinning. “Keep up, mate.”
I bare my teeth at him and push harder, catching the current’s pull the way he taught me. He laughs—a sharp, wild sound that echoes through the deep—and takes off like a shot.
I chase him through canyons of coral and over endless plains of sand. We dart between thermal vents and past schools of fish that scatter in silver flashes. The whole ocean feels alive around us, a living thing breathing slow and deep.
Time warps out here. Minutes stretch into hours, hours collapse into heartbeats. I lose track of everything except Wake’s form gliding just ahead of me and the surge of power in my limbs.
When we finally slow, I’m gasping for breath, muscles trembling with exertion.
Wake drifts back toward me, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“You’re not bad for a land-dweller,” he teases.
I punch his shoulder, grinning through my panting. “You’re lucky I didn’t let myself drown just to spite you.”
“Please.” He smirks. “I would just storm into the Ether and drag you back. Then you’d be in real trouble.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. I’m too busy picturing exactly what that trouble would entail.
I float beside him, feeling the current tug at my hair, and for a moment, everything’s perfect.
Then Wake nods forward, his face shifting, serious again.
“Look.”
I turn.
And my heart stutters in my chest.
At first, it just looks like a shadow—a trick of light and water. But as we get closer, the shape sharpens. Huge dark steppes rise as if carved from the ocean floor, spreading ever downward into a wide canyon. The buildings etched into the canyon walls are massive and alien, built into the trench walls themselves, connected by delicate-looking bridges and translucent walkways.
Lights pulse faintly from deep within the structures—soft blues and greens and golds—like the city is breathing.
The Abyssinian Deep. The trench city.
Wake’s home.
My pulse hammers against my ribs as we approach. The sheer scale of it is staggering. It's not just a city. It's a kingdom, hidden away from the world above. Built by beings who bent the laws of physics and magic into submission.
I drift closer to Wake, needing the reassurance of his nearness.
He watches me, his expression unreadable.
“Welcome to Atlas,” he says softly.
Then he reaches for my hand, weaving our fingers together.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
“With you?” he says. “Always.”
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