Chapter 306
A day later, the ocean changes around us as we leave the deep black of the Deep behind. As we rush through the currents, the shift is subtle at first—different foliage and fauna, light that filters differently through the water, a sense of pressure that lessens the farther north we go.
A sense of peace and belonging that sooths a gnawing ache in my soul I hadn’t been consciously aware was there.
Eventually, the source becomes unmistakable.
We’re nearing Estellis. My homesea.
Even with everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve survived, I’m not ready for the sight of it.
The capital of the Eastern Twilight rises from the seafloor like a dream made real, like something pulled directly from one of my visions. Pale spires stretch upward, carved into elegant spirals and latticed towers that shimmer under the refracted sunlight pouring through the ocean’s surface far above. Entire domes of stone—no, not stone, crystal—float above the city like anchored moons, suspended by long, twisting columns of translucent material that glow faintly with embedded light.
Darklite. It has to be. Just dormant.
The city pulses like a living thing, breathing magic, ancient and wise and fragile in a way that makes my heart ache. Even Axel stops beside me, mouth slightly open, just staring.
“Well,” he mutters. “That’s… a very shiny city.”
Wake’s hand finds mine. His gaze stays forward, calm and focused, but I can feel the tension in his grip. He’s not distracted by the view—he’s watching the ocean around us.
And that’s when I see it too.
Campfires. Not literal flames, of course—Enkians don’t do that underwater—but the visual equivalent. Clusters of blue and green bioluminescent torches, held in formation by long curved stakes driven into the seafloor. Lines of tents woven from layered kelp and sea-silk. Armor glints under lantern light. Banner sigils wave with the slow drag of the current.
An army.
Already here.
Wake narrows his eyes and adjusts our course, pulling us toward a small rise in the reefline that overlooks the incoming tide of foreign troops.
“That’s not from the Eastern Twilight,” I say. “Are they Shoal’s?”
“No,” Wake says, shaking his head once. “That’s Olokun’s banner.”
I blink. “From the Cradle?”
He nods. “South Atlantic. Farther than even most currents like to travel.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, heart creeping into my throat. “Are they allied with Shoal?”
Wake exhales. “Unlikely. Olokun’s line is stable. His people are powerful, prosperous. No war. No famine. No fear for Shoal to prey on. If they’re here, it’s because they believe it’s worth their time.”
Axel folds his arms. “Which means they’re not here to oppose Shoal either. They’ll wait, weigh the sides, and back whoever has the best pitch.”
“And they’ll expect us to be desperate enough to fight for their favor,” I add.
Wake’s eyes darken. “We’re not here to beg. And we’re not here to brawl.”
He signals the lead commanders. Within seconds, the army fans out in careful formation along the opposite side of Estellis’ perimeter—far enough not to provoke, close enough to show strength. Soldiers begin erecting tents, staking banners, anchoring supply crates to the seafloor with coral tethers. It’s a sight that looks the same on land as it does at the bottom of the sea, and it never fails to make my heart ache.
Because this is what it looks like before a war.
Wake rises above them, hovering at the center of the shifting formations. His voice cuts through the water like thunder—clear, resonant, inescapable.
“Warriors of the Abyss,” he calls. “Hear me.”
The motion stops.
Every eye turns to him. Even the ones across the field.
“We did not come to Estellis to draw blood.”
He waits. Lets that sink in.
“We did not come to throw our weight around or ignite the first spark. We came to prevent the spark. To stand between what is, and what could end us all.”
He turns in a slow arc, letting his gaze sweep across the soldiers. “You are Dagon’s strength. You are the will of the trench. But today, you are diplomats first. Warriors second.”
Murmurs ripple through the army, but no one argues. Not with that kind of conviction.
“We will remain neutral,” Wake continues. “As other clans arrive, you will not provoke. You will not engage. You will watch. Listen. Learn.”
He pauses. His voice hardens.
“And if they reveal themselves to be our enemies, then—and only then—do we respond.”
Axel floats up beside him. “You heard the Heir,” he barks, arms folded. “You so much as twitch at another army without his say-so, I’ll drag you back to the trench myself.”
That gets a few smirks. A few more nods.
Wake nods once. “Good. Axel, keep them disciplined.”
Axel gives him a mock salute. “I’ll see to it, brother.”
Wake glances my way. “Ready?”
I nod and squeeze his hand.
Together, we break from the army and drift toward the crystalline gates of Estellis. Behind us, the sound of hundreds of armored soldiers holds steady like the undertow—present, powerful, and waiting.
The gates of the city rise before us, carved from abalone and bleached whale bone, etched with Old Enkian glyphs that shimmer faintly as we pass beneath them. The city itself waits beyond, radiant and beautiful, but suddenly it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore.
It feels like a trap.
And we’re swimming right into the heart of it.
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