Chapter 292
Atlas doesn’t rise from the trench so much as it looms, carved into the sheer cliffs like the bones of something ancient. Towering spires cut from volcanic stone twist upward and downward, defying gravity, glowing softly with light from algae-filled lanterns embedded into the walls.
Deep blues and greens dance in the currents, casting soft glimmers across the dark architecture, like constellations flickering in slow motion.
I hadn’t known what to expect from Wake’s home, but it sure wasn’t this.
It’s beautiful. In that brutal, unapologetic way some things are. Nothing about it is gentle. Every building, every terrace, every winding bridge between cliffs looks like it was carved by hand with the edge of a blade. Nothing wasted. Nothing soft.
And yet… laughter echoes through the streets.
The battalion leads us forward through the city’s wide main thoroughfare, Axel at the front with a grin on his face like he’s never had more fun in his life. Wake walks beside me, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable—but I can feel his heart pounding through the bond. And I can feel every eye on us.
The streets fill quickly as the word spreads.
The prince has returned.
Children dart ahead of the parade, squealing with delight. Older Enkians bang metal instruments together in a rhythm that doesn’t sound like music until suddenly it does. Lanterns are pulled from homes and strung along the streets. Food vendors push carts full of something that smells spicy and vaguely sulfuric. Within minutes, the entire city feels like it’s vibrating.
Someone hands me a crown of kelp flowers. I blink at it, then laugh when Axel winks at me and says, “Put it on, princess. It's an insult to refuse.”
So I do.
Atlas erupts in song.
“Does this happen every time you come home?” I ask Wake.
He huffs. “No. The last time I came home, I believe it was dragging Axel’s half-dead carcass, because he refused to follow my lead on a hunting trip.”
“Ah. So… progress.”
Axel turns his head just enough to hear us. “What can I say? We’re a city of warmakers, yes, but we’re also masters of celebration. If we’re quick to fight, we’re quicker to laugh. You can’t live in the dark without learning how to find your way to the light.”
He says it casually, like it’s obvious. Like that philosophy isn't profound.
I glance at him, trying to pin him down.
He’s got Wake’s quiet intensity, that unspoken readiness for battle. But he’s also got Shoal’s silver tongue, the charm and humor that dances on the edge of sincerity—but never falls off. Except with Axel, it feels real. Like everything he says is a challenge and an invitation at the same time.
And I realize—I like him.
Which, considering my track record with Wake’s family, is saying a lot.
We wind deeper into the city, the buildings growing taller, the glow from the algae lights intensifying like the city’s heart is drawing us in. A wide bridge spans a chasm that must drop miles below, and beyond it—rising from the very spine of the trench—is the palace.
It’s carved from onyx.
Not polished, pretty onyx. Raw onyx, veined with minerals and darklight, still bearing the jagged edges of the blade that cut it. It’s massive. Foreboding. Alive. The glow here isn’t from lanterns. It’s from the walls themselves, which seem to shimmer with ancient, slow-moving veins of power.
At the gates, Axel halts the procession. Two guards step forward and bow low.
“Go prepare the Commander and the Queen for an audience,” Axel orders, voice suddenly sharp.
The guards swim off immediately, no questions asked.
Wake exhales beside me. “They can wait an hour or two, Axel.”
Axel turns and grins. “Aw, what’s the matter, brother? Your time near the surface make you soft?”
I snort. Wake glares.
“My mate hasn’t slept in two days, I’m still bleeding from five different places, and I’ve just fought my own brother to prove I’m not a threat.”
“You’re forgetting nearly being crushed by sea monsters and ambushed by mutant soldiers,” I add helpfully.
Axel shrugs. “Yes, well. Welcome home. And no, you know we don’t delay in Atlas. You show up, you come as you are. No masks. No duplicity. We don’t have time to guess at people’s intentions down here.”
“It is far too easy to hide in the dark,” Wake murmurs.
Axel nods once. “Glad to see you do remember where you come from.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts.
A deep horn sounds from somewhere behind the palace. The water around us vibrates with it, a bone-deep note that silences the festival in an instant. Even the street performers freeze.
Around us, the battalion straightens.
As one, they raise their fists to their chests and bow.
Even Wake follows suit, his expression hardening, jaw tight.
I begin to move, half-lowering myself, but Wake grabs my hand—gently, but firmly—and stops me.
“You’re here not only as my mate,” he says quietly, eyes locked on mine. “You are a dignitary. A royal in your own right. You bow for no one.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
It’s not pride I feel. It’s something heavier. Heavier than armor.
I don’t feel royal. Not without Cora. Not with all the blood still on my hands. Not with the nightmares still curled in the back of my mind.
I look at the great onyx doors ahead of us, lit by veins of living crystal. I don’t feel ready.
But there’s no time to dwell.
Because the doors open.
And the water stills.
Two figures emerge from the shadows of the throne hall.
The Queen of Atlas. And the Commander.
Wake’s parents.
And I realize far too late that I am not ready for this.
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