The dock's pearl tiles were cool beneath Lira's bare feet, humming faintly as if tasting her presence. Guards lined the path ahead, their scaled armor glimmering with captured moonlight. Each step forward felt like walking deeper into a story she didn't know the ending of.
"Kneel," one barked, his voice clipped and formal.
Nerith didn't kneel. She simply lifted her chin, every inch of her posture sharp authority. "Tell your prince that the ocean sent me," she said, her voice smooth as glass.
The guard hesitated, shifting slightly before signaling his men to lower their halberds. "Come."
Lira's stomach tightened as she followed Nerith. Even in the soft glow of the lagoon, the Pearl Courts felt less like a palace and more like a cage—beautiful, yes, but designed to hold you still.
They passed under a towering gate of polished shell and pearl, its surface glistening like frost. As Lira stepped through, a prickle ran over her skin, and Seri stirred in her arms. The little octopus's glow pulsed once, twice, in warning.
The air changed. The world beyond was colder, quieter, the sound of the sea replaced by a hum so low it felt like pressure behind her eyes.
A woman stood by the arch, cloaked in white, her face shadowed by a veil of silver threads. Without speaking, she raised a thin wand of coral tipped with a glowing pearl.
"Step forward," she said softly.
Nerith gave a slight nod. "This is Lira," she said. "Mark her."
Lira hesitated. Nana squeezed her shoulder gently. "It's all right, bird. Just stand still."
The woman touched the pearl to Lira's chest. A shiver went through her body, and light—soft, moon-pale light—bloomed over her skin, tracing every vein like tiny rivers. The mark beneath her ribs glowed brightest, bright enough that the veiled woman flinched and stepped back.
And then Seri's glow joined it.
The octopus's body shimmered in deep, rich blues, rippling patterns across its skin in response to the pearl's magic. The gate itself gave a low, thrumming note, as though the palace was breathing—and disapproving.
The woman dropped her wand with a sharp gasp. "A Companion," she whispered, voice trembling. "I… I thought they were extinct."
The guards stiffened. Several took a step back, clutching their halberds tighter. Lira clutched Seri, whose soft body pressed protectively against her hand, and wished she could disappear into the water.
"Announce us," Nerith said coolly, unbothered by the tension. "We've wasted enough time."
They entered the hall of the Pearl Courts.
The great chamber was carved from coral and bone, lit by lanterns of living jellyfish that floated lazily in suspended glass. The floor tiles shimmered with pearlescent light, and a thin current rippled gently across the surface of the water that pooled around the central dais.
On that dais sat the prince.
Kai's crown was simple but striking: golden coral branches that curved like sunrays. His robe, embroidered with blazing sunbursts, made him look like a figure cut from light and shadow. His gaze, though, was cold.
Nerith stopped halfway across the chamber, her back straight, her eyes fixed on him. "Prince Kai," she said.
"Nerith." His voice was smooth but laced with something sharper. "You return without permission. Again."
"I come with the ocean's business."
Kai's gaze shifted to Lira. It was like being speared. "And this is… the business?"
"This is the Tidesworn Child," Nerith said.
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. A few courtiers leaned forward, whispering. Kai's expression didn't change, but his grip on the arm of his coral throne tightened, knuckles pale.
"And the creature in her arms?"
Nerith's eyes flicked briefly to Seri. "A Soul Companion."
The hall erupted. Voices rose in disbelief. One older noble dropped his pearl-studded staff with a clatter.
"They don't exist!"
"Impossible!"
"The last Companion died a century ago!"
Kai's voice cut through the noise, cold and sharp. "Enough."
Silence fell.
He rose from the throne, stepping forward until he stood at the edge of the dais, studying Lira as though she were a dangerous relic. "You brought a prophecy into my hall, Nerith," he said softly. "Without warning. Without sanction."
"The tides don't ask permission," Nerith said evenly.
Kai tilted his head, almost smiling. "And yet you do."
Lira felt her pulse hammering. The way they spoke to each other was like a game she didn't understand—a game where every wrong word was a weapon.
Kai's eyes flicked to Seri again. "Has anyone told you, child," he said, voice quiet but cutting, "that carrying a Companion is a curse as much as a gift?"
"She's not a curse," Lira said before she could stop herself. Seri's glow brightened, soft but defiant, and a ripple passed through the water beneath her feet, subtle but unmistakable.
Kai's expression sharpened. He stepped closer, crouching so his gaze met hers. "Interesting," he murmured.
Nerith shifted slightly, and Kai straightened, smiling faintly. "Very well. She stays."
Relief washed through Lira—until he added:
"But she will prove herself. Tidefall comes tomorrow. If she fails, she leaves with the tide."