The morning after the attack, the ocean looked deceptively calm. A glassy blue stretched to the horizon, reflecting a sky streaked with gold. But Kiro had already learned something Ara once told him in passing—the sea never shows you its true mood until it's too late.
The three of them stood on the weathered deck of a small fishing vessel the villagers had reluctantly loaned them. Nets and crates had been cleared away, leaving space for Ara's supplies: rations, water barrels, and a heavy oiled canvas tarp covering something Kiro wasn't allowed to look at.
"Stay out of the hold," she'd said flatly. "Not everything is your business."
Which, of course, only made Kiro want to look more.
Lune leaned against the rail, hair whipping in the wind, eyes scanning the horizon. "Spectra's coast is two days if the wind holds."
"And if it doesn't?" Kiro asked.
"Then Ara rows," she said with a grin.
Ara didn't even glance up from coiling rope. "You'll be rowing too, boy."
They pushed off at midday, the village shrinking into the distance until it was just a smear of smoke against green jungle. Kiro sat near the bow, staring at the waves, his mind still replaying the moment he'd yanked the hooded figure's thread. The rush, the danger… the terrifying realization that Lune was right—he'd been allowed that small victory.
If he wanted me gone, I'd be gone.
By the second night, the sea changed. The wind picked up, the waves grew choppier, and Ara's gaze kept flicking to the dark water on either side.
Kiro noticed. "You're expecting something."
"Not expecting," she said. "Listening."
"To what?"
Before she could answer, Lune straightened from the rail, her thread-sense prickling. "Something's under us."
It happened fast.
The boat lurched sideways, a deep thud reverberating through the hull. Water sprayed over the deck as another impact struck from below. Ara dropped the rope and grabbed her harpoon.
"Sea Wraith," she snapped.
Kiro's head whipped toward her. "That's… a real thing?"
"You'll find out in about three seconds," Ara said grimly.
The surface broke thirty feet off the bow.
It wasn't just big—it was wrong. Its body shimmered like oil in water, shifting between translucent and solid. Long tendrils lashed out from its sides, and its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed faintly green.
The tendrils shot toward them. Ara slashed one mid-air, the blade passing through as if through mist, yet the creature shrieked in pain.
"Not solid, not liquid," Ara barked. "You have to decide what you're hitting."
Kiro reached out with his mind. He felt it—a strange, alien presence, not like a human's thread but still there, woven from hunger and instinct.
It turned its attention on him instantly.
The force of that hunger hit him like a wave, and his knees buckled. It wanted him—not to kill, but to drag him under, to keep him.
Lune grabbed his shoulder. "Lock onto it! Pull it solid!"
Kiro gritted his teeth. The thread was slippery, shifting every time he tried to grip it. But he forced his focus tighter, anchoring it in his mind, threading his will through its writhing mass.
The tendrils solidified just enough—Ara's harpoon struck true, burying deep into the creature's side.
The wraith screamed, thrashing violently. The boat rocked so hard Kiro nearly went overboard.
"Let it go!" Ara shouted.
Kiro released his hold and staggered back as the wraith sank beneath the waves, leaving only a swirl of foam and a faint trail of green light disappearing into the depths.
Silence followed, broken only by the slap of waves against the hull.
Ara finally exhaled. "That's why we keep moving. The sea doesn't care if you're ready."
Kiro sat heavily on a crate, his pulse still racing. "That… felt different than a person. Almost like it didn't care who I was, only that I fit something it wanted."
Ara gave him a sharp look. "It's good you felt that. The next time something like that comes, you'll know before it hits."
Lune smirked faintly. "And you didn't drown. That's a plus."
That night, Kiro couldn't sleep.
Every creak of the hull, every slap of water made him think of the green glow in the deep. He knew it wasn't gone—it was just waiting for the right moment.
But worse was the other thought that wouldn't leave him.
If he could pull a Sea Wraith's mind solid… could he do that to a human? To the hooded figure?
And if he could… what would that make him?
By dawn, Spectra's cliffs rose ahead, jagged black stone rising from the sea like the teeth of some colossal beast.
Ara pointed. "Welcome to the south. Keep your head down—Spectra doesn't like strangers."
Kiro glanced at Lune. "Then how are we getting in?"
Ara's smile was thin. "By the time they realize we're here, we'll already be gone."