Chapter 319
We try to look as inconspicuous as possible as we follow the messenger deeper into Olokun’s camp.
He says his name is Maru, and despite the ambush earlier, he moves ahead with the ease of someone who knows he's safe under his Heir's protection. Wake and I exchange glances every few paces, communicating in silence. I know exactly what he's thinking: trap. But I also know he's not going to back down. And neither am I.
The camp is orderly, tucked between two jagged ridges of black basalt. Lanterns shaped like pale shells line the borders, pulsing with slow, deliberate light. The banners of Olokun sway above coral-reef gates, their threads rippling like ink in the water. Her sigil—a great horned serpent coiled around a pearl—glows in gold embroidery against sea-green fabric.
We're escorted through the center of camp, past rows of soldiers that don’t so much as flinch as we pass. They don’t salute. Don’t smile. Just… watch. Their eyes track our every move like they're memorizing it.
"This place gives me the creeps," I whisper to Wake.
"You're not wrong," he mutters back.
Finally, Maru halts outside an enormous open structure that looks like it was carved from a whale’s skeleton. The ribs arch high, supporting a canopy woven with dark kelp and scalecloth. At the center, sitting on what I can only describe as a throne made of living coral, is Nuala.
She’s not what I expected.
You hear “Heir of Olokun,” and your mind paints a picture—cold, calculating, unreadable. Nuala is that… but also something more. Regal without being distant. Coiled energy beneath calm waters. Her scales are a deep, stormy teal, flecked with silver and obsidian. Her long hair floats around her like a halo of spilt blood.
She doesn't rise when we approach. Just lifts her chin slightly and says, “So. The Heirs of Dagon and Electra finally arrive.”
Wake stops a respectful distance from the throne, but doesn’t bow. “Nuala.”
I give a short nod. “We appreciate the invitation.”
“I doubt that,” she says with a sly smile. “But I’ll take honesty over flattery any day.”
She gestures to a pair of carved stone seats across from her. No guards flank her, no advisors linger behind. It’s just her—and us. That alone tells me more about her than any introduction could.
We sit.
“You know why we’re here,” Wake says.
Nuala nods. “You’re trying to stop your brother from cracking open the planet like an egg.”
Her bluntness actually makes me laugh. “That’s… not entirely inaccurate.”
“And you want my support.” She folds her hands, nails long and sharp. “Against Shoal. Against Leviathan. Against anyone who doesn’t fall in line.”
I glance at Wake, then back at her. “We’re not trying to start a war.”
“No?” Her eyes narrow. “Because that’s what it smells like. You’ve rallied an army. You’ve called a Conclave. Your presence in Estellis alone could ignite conflict among Clans already suspicious of each other.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” I say. “Shoal is preparing to finish what Leviathan started. He’s manipulating people—Enkians and humans alike. Using technology to turn the Elder Kin into weapons. We came to warn the Clans. To give them a chance to stand together before it’s too late.”
Nuala is silent for a moment.
Then she leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Why should I trust you?”
A fair question.
“Because we’re not asking you to do anything… yet,” I say. “Just to listen. To be open. Shoal might not have come for you or yours yet, but he will. The moment he thinks he needs you—or your territory—you’ll either bend the knee or get destroyed. And he will try.”
Nuala tilts her head. “And what happens if I throw in with you, and you lose?”
Wake finally speaks. “Then the world ends.”
That lands heavier than I expect. Nuala doesn’t flinch, but her gaze sharpens.
“I’ve seen it,” I say softly. “The meteor shower. The eclipse. Leviathan rising from the depths. I’ve walked through cities swallowed whole. I’ve seen the oceans boil. We’re not exaggerating the threat.”
Nuala considers me. Really looks at me for the first time.
“The Voice of Electra,” she says, almost reverently. “The rumors said you could speak to the Ether. That your dreams hold truth.”
“They’re not just dreams,” I say. “They’re warnings.”
“And your plan,” she says. “Is to gather the Heirs. Unite the Clans. Face Shoal before he completes his ritual.”
Wake nods. “We don’t know if it will work. But it’s the best shot we have.”
Nuala sits back again, thoughtful. “You understand what you’re asking me, don’t you? If I back you, and this fails, my people will pay the price. The Cradle is strong, yes—but we are not warmongers. We have stability, trade, peace. Shoal threatens that, yes. But so does dragging my Clan into a war it might not survive.”
I don’t flinch.
“I know what we’re asking,” I say. “But doing nothing will cost more.”
Another beat of silence. Then she smiles faintly.
“I like you, Electra’s Heir. You remind me of myself. Reckless. Stubborn. Righteous. Dangerous.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“I’m not committing to your cause,” she says. “But I am committing to survival. And I do not intend to let Leviathan swallow my kingdom. I’ll attend the Conclave. I’ll listen. And if your case is strong enough, I’ll consider it.”
“That’s all we’re asking,” Wake says.
Nuala stands, and the tension in the room shifts.
“One piece of advice,” she says. “Some of the Clans—especially the weaker ones—will never admit that they’ve chosen poorly. Too afraid that it will make them look weak. Don’t waste your breath trying to coerce them to see reason, chances are that they’ve already seen the light. These people are fickle and stubborn, choking on pride; make sure that you don’t fall into the same trap. If and when they come to you… let them.”
Wake stands beside me. “We will keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Her eyes darken slightly. “Because if you fail… you’ll be the reason the world burns.”
“No pressure,” I mutter.
She chuckles.
We take our leave soon after, escorted by Maru, who’s suddenly much less cryptic now that we’re not pinning him to a cliff wall. The camp doesn’t seem any less unsettling, but at least I don’t feel like we’re being watched through the lens of a sniper rifle anymore.
Once we’re out of earshot, Wake murmurs, “What do you think?”
“I think she’s smarter than most of the Conclave combined,” I say. “And I think she’ll side with us if we give her a reason.”
Wake hums in agreement. “Then we’d better give her one.”
We swim toward the shimmer of the palace lights in the distance, moving faster than before.
We have one tentative ally.
We’ll need more.
And fast.
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