The cloak helped.
Sort of.
At least they weren't staring at my glowing shoulder anymore.
Now they were staring at… my legs.
Apparently in this realm, walking on two limbs was the equivalent of showing up with a flaming sword and shouting, "Behold, I am trouble."
Kaelen groaned under his breath.
"Perfect. A walking land-signal. No wonder everyone's staring."
"I'm sorry?" I snapped. "Did you want me to fold myself into a pretzel instead?"
"No," he muttered. "I want you to stop looking like prophecy bait."
Then he flicked his tail hard.
"We need to find an inn before someone decides you're a bad omen."
I swallowed. "Do… humans not come here?"
Kaelen stared at me like I'd asked whether fish wore shoes.
"Elara. No human survives in Uverra. Ever. You're already breaking several laws of nature just by breathing."
My stomach flipped.
"Cool. Cool cool cool. Definitely not panicking now."
Kaelen huffed and nudged me along.
"Come on. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with fewer… mer-eyes."
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
The first innkeeper took one look at my legs and said:
"No vacancies."
Didn't even pretend to check her ledger.
Second place?
The merman didn't say a word. Just pointed at the exit like I was leaking poison.
Kaelen rolled his eyes so hard the water rippled.
"This realm loves drama."
"It's not like I asked to be here," I muttered.
"Doesn't matter. You're different. And different scares fish."
We went deeper into the city, where the glowing coral turned muted and the towers grew older. Not run-down—just quieter. Like the part of town that doesn't show up on postcards.
Kaelen stopped at a conch-shaped building with soft lights inside.
The Low Tide Rest.
"That sounds like a polite threat," I whispered.
"Could be worse."
"That's what people say before the shark arrives."
He shoved the door open anyway.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Inside was dim and warm, lit by floating jelly-lamps.
The innkeeper was older, tail scarred, eyes sharp in the way people get after surviving both politics and idiots.
His gaze landed on Kaelen.
Then… on my legs.
"…Human?" he asked, voice dropping an entire octave.
Kaelen floated in front of me like a sarcastic bodyguard.
"Visitor. Quiet. Confused. Doesn't eat fins."
I elbowed him. "You're not helping."
The innkeeper exhaled through his gills.
"We don't usually host land-walkers."
"She won't drown on your rugs," Kaelen said.
"That's not how drowning works."
The innkeeper muttered something and reached behind the counter. When he returned, he was holding a creature.
A very flat, very unimpressed-looking creature.
Pale blue. Leaf-shaped. Tiny fins fluttering like it regretted existing.
"What… is that?" I whispered.
Kaelen leaned close.
"Pagefin. Ledger fish. They're used for records. Try not to scream."
"I wasn't going to scream."
"You were absolutely going to scream."
The Pagefin yawned—actually yawned—then flopped across the counter while the innkeeper handed me something that looked like a dried tentacle.
"This is your writing wand," he grunted. "Octopus ink. Permanent unless the Pagefin molts."
"It molts?" I asked, horrified.
Kaelen nodded.
"Once every few months. Sheds its whole outer layer like a scroll peeling off. Lasts longer if you feed it compliments."
The Pagefin flicked its fin at me, offended.
"Name and duration," the innkeeper said.
I scribbled Elara carefully. The ink shimmered, then sank into the creature's skin—no smudge, no blur.
Kaelen answered, "Three nights." He flicked a brine coin over.
The innkeeper pinched a tiny scale at the Pagefin's lower fin.
Click.
The Pagefin squeaked—dramatically—curled into a scroll, and slipped back into its bowl like a tired bureaucrat clocking out.
"That… was weirdly adorable."
"That's government documentation in Uverra," Kaelen said. "Cute, but will emotionally destroy you."
Then came the question I wasn't ready for.
"Tidepass?"
A beat.
Kaelen cleared his throat.
"She lost hers. I vouch."
The innkeeper stared.
"Saelkyn don't vouch for strangers."
Kaelen bared his teeth.
"I do today."
Silence.
Then the innkeeper slid a token forward.
"Room eight. No disturbances."
Relief crashed through me like a wave.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Our room was round, soft, warm, glowing—like a shell palace built for someone who loved comfort but feared dust.
I flopped onto the kelp-silk bed.
Kaelen collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
After a minute, I asked,
"…Okay, seriously. What's a Tidepass?"
"A pearl bound to your aura," he said. "Shows who you are everywhere you go. Everyone in Uverra has one. Except, you know… humans."
"So I'm illegal."
"Pretty much."
"Must be nice having creature privileges."
He smirked.
"Benefits of being adorable and terrifying."
"This place is insane," I muttered into the pillow.
"Welcome to Uverra," Kaelen said.
"Where everything glows, politics suck, and you're already causing prophecy-level panic."
"That last part better be a joke."
"…Sure," he lied.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Outside the window, something hovered.
Small. Black. Fist-sized.
The Scrythborn.
Invisible to the eye.
Sensing breath, movement, aura.
It tapped the window once, silently.
Mandibles clicked.
Transmitting.
Far from the inn, deep in a dark chamber,
a vision shell flickered to life.
Someone leaned forward, watching the girl with legs who should not exist.
Watching the human girl,
unaware of what she truly was.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧