The reef people found them on the third day.
They rose from the water like spirits—tall and blue like the Omaticaya, but different. Their bodies were streamlined, their arms longer, their tails more pronounced. They swam with an ease that spoke of lifetimes in the water, and they regarded the ragged band of refugees with expressions that shifted between curiosity and suspicion.
Their leader was a woman named Rial, her face marked with patterns that mimicked waves and coral. She spoke the old language, the one all Verathi shared, but her accent was strange, musical, full of sounds that seemed to come from underwater.
"You come from the forest," she said. It wasn't a question.
"We do." Seri stepped forward. "Our home is destroyed. Our people are scattered. We ask for sanctuary."
Rial studied her for a long moment. "The sky-people?"
"Burned it. Burned everything."
Something flickered in Rial's eyes. Grief? Anger? Recognition? "They came to us too. Three of our villages. They wanted something in the water—a creature they called 'tulkun.' When we refused to help, they killed them. Hundreds of them. Our brothers. Our sisters."
Seri's face went pale. "I'm sorry."
"As we are sorry for you." Rial looked at the survivors, counting, assessing. "You have warriors?"
"Some."
"Hunters?"
"A few."
"Children?"
"Too many."
Rial nodded slowly. "Then you will need protection. And we will need help. The sky-people are not done with us. They will come again. And when they do..." She looked out at the ocean, vast and endless. "When they do, we must be ready."
She turned back to Seri.
"You are welcome here, forest people. For as long as you need. But know this: if you stay, you fight. When the sky-people come, you stand with us. That is the price of sanctuary."
Seri looked at Kaelen. He nodded.
"We'll stay," Seri said. "And we'll fight."