Dawn broke slow and heavy, as if the sky itself was holding its breath.
The lagoon glimmered with a strange, pale light, brighter than the sunrise, and runes carved deep into the water's surface flickered like constellations. A low drumbeat echoed from the palace walls, slow and steady, reverberating in Lira's chest like a second heartbeat that wasn't hers.
The entire Pearl Court had gathered along the tiered balconies above, a silent audience in robes the color of the tide. Their faces were masks of polished calm, but she felt their stares like needles. Every whisper, every rustle of silk, was for her.
Lira stood barefoot on the edge of the platform, pearl tiles cool and damp beneath her feet. Seri's soft body curled around her wrist, its glow dim, pulsing in a rhythm she recognized as comfort. Her fingers traced the little creature's slick skin, grateful for its steady presence.
Nerith knelt at her side, adjusting the sash around her waist. Her touch was firm but gentle, her voice low enough that only Lira could hear. "Remember this," she murmured. "The sea doesn't care about courage or fear. It only cares about truth. Breathe. Let it see you."
Lira swallowed hard. "What if it doesn't like what it sees?"
A faint smile ghosted over Nerith's lips. "Then it will decide what to do with you."
Not comforting. But somehow, Nerith's calm made her own fear easier to carry.
From the balcony above, Kai's voice cut through the drumbeat. "Let it be known," he called, "that Tidefall begins with the first tide and ends with the second. She walks it alone. If she emerges, she is bound to the ocean's will. If not…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The crowd already knew the rest.
The drums quickened.
Two guards stepped forward to open the gate at the edge of the platform. Beyond it was a pool that didn't look like water—it was too still, too dark, like polished obsidian. Symbols spiraled along its edges, glowing faintly as the drums pounded faster.
"Go," Nerith whispered, resting a hand on Lira's shoulder.
Lira's mouth was dry. She gave Nana one last glance; her grandmother's face was tight, unreadable, her hands clenched around the railing as if she could anchor Lira with sheer will.
Seri pressed against Lira's palm, and she took a breath that stung with salt. One step forward. Then another.
The moment her toes touched the surface, the water rippled, but not like water should. It stretched upward, cool tendrils curling over her feet like fingers.
Lira froze.
"Breathe," Nerith said again, her voice steady.
The water rose to her ankles, her knees, her waist. It didn't pull or drag—it simply claimed her, soft and sure. And then, without warning, the ground vanished beneath her.
She plunged under.
The world was soundless.
Cold pressure wrapped around her like a second skin, squeezing her ribs. Lira kicked, panicked, but the water wasn't like the lagoon; it was thicker, alive somehow. It felt like swimming through glass that shifted when she moved.
"Seri," she mouthed, bubbles escaping her lips.
The octopus's glow bloomed, lighting a path in the darkness. The world sharpened around her: twisting coral pillars, glowing kelp, and shimmering runes etched into the rock like scars.
And then came the whispers.
Small thing… weak thing… wrong thing…
They weren't words exactly, more like thoughts pressed into her skull. She clenched her fists and swam forward, following Seri's glow.
The whispers grew louder.
Leave her… take her… she's not ready… not hers…
Lira's vision flickered, and suddenly she wasn't in the labyrinth. She was standing on her island dock, moonlight sharp on the boards. She heard Nana's laugh. She smelled the fish drying in the nets. She saw fire. The houses were burning, the tide dragging the stilts away, and Nana was screaming her name.
"No," Lira gasped, though her mouth filled with water. "This isn't real."
Seri's glow flared, a sharp pulse of blue that cut through the vision like lightning. The image shattered. Lira gasped and blinked—she was back in the labyrinth, clutching Seri tight.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice muffled by the water.
A current wrapped around her waist, dragging her sideways into a narrow tunnel. Lira slammed into the rock, pain flaring in her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and grabbed a ledge, trying not to lose Seri.
The current was strong, pulling, testing her strength. She could feel it pressing against her arms and chest, a force that seemed to know her limits.
"I'm not letting go," she whispered through gritted teeth. Her fingers burned, but she held tight. Seri moved closer, curling its arms around her wrist, and suddenly she could feel its pulse in her mind. A calm, steady rhythm, like a second heartbeat.
The current eased.
Lira gasped, her lungs aching. Only… she wasn't gasping. She wasn't breathing. And yet she wasn't drowning either.
Seri's glow shifted, deepening to violet. The realization washed over her: Seri was breathing for her.
The tunnel opened into a cavern lit by an enormous coral formation in the shape of a heart. It pulsed with soft light, filling the space with a glow that felt alive.
Lira swam closer, awed. The whispers quieted, replaced by a low hum that vibrated through her bones.
A shape moved in the dark water beyond the coral. Massive. Ancient.
Two eyes opened, larger than her entire body, glowing with a pale, steady light. The creature didn't rush her or roar. It simply looked at her, and in that gaze was a weight older than the Courts, older than her island, older than everything.
"The sea remembers," the voice said—not out loud, but inside her skull, filling every part of her mind.
Lira's mark burned—not painfully, but bright, like it was answering. Seri's glow flared in time with it, and for a moment, she felt the heartbeat of the entire ocean.
When she surfaced, the lagoon erupted in shouts. Courtiers leaned over railings, whispering in awe. Some bowed their heads; others made warding signs over their hearts.
Lira lay on the platform, gasping, Seri pressed to her chest. Water streamed from her hair, glowing faintly where it touched the tiles. Her mark shone through her damp shawl like a beacon.
Kai stepped forward, face calm but unreadable. He crouched beside her, studying her like a puzzle piece that didn't fit. "Interesting," he murmured.
He rose, turning to the crowd. "The ocean has spoken," he announced. "She belongs to the sea now." His gaze flicked back to Lira, sharp and assessing. "And that makes her mine."
Nerith's expression hardened, but she said nothing.
Seri's glow pulsed against Lira's skin, warm and steady. And though she was soaked, trembling, and surrounded by strangers, Lira didn't feel small.
Not anymore.