Kael swims beside me, his powerful thrusts matching my pace with practiced ease. The muscles in his broad shoulders bunch and release with each stroke of his tail.
"Where are we going?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that carries through the water.
"We need reinforced glass vials to hold the engine potion," I explain, gesturing ahead with a sweep of my hand. "The scavengers in the lower markets rarely find intact pieces. But I know a place. An old human shipwreck. I found it years ago."
Kael tilts his head, dark eyes studying me with interest. "Human?"
"Yes," I say, my blood humming with anticipation at the thought of what lies ahead. "A wooden vessel that sank a century ago. It's become a graveyard of surface treasures."
We swim for another league, the current assisting our journey. The sandy ocean floor begins to rise, forming a wide, barren shelf ahead. Then I see it.
The shipwreck looms in the trench like the skeleton of a forgotten god.
It's a galleon, its rotting wooden ribs curving upward like the bleached bones. Colorful colonies of tube sponges and vibrant coral encrust the decaying hull, creating a beautiful monument to a human tragedy.
Kael surges ahead of me, his protective instincts kicking in. His dark eyes scan the rotting deck for any potential threats—scavengers who might have claimed the wreck as their territory, or predators drawn to the structure.
I swim toward the bow, my fingers trailing through the silt that has accumulated over the century. Something glints in the sediment, and I dig gently with my fingers. It's a heavy, tarnished silver ring, buried deep in the sand. I wipe the dirt away, exposing an intricate pattern of waves and stars on the band. I slip the cold metal onto my finger, the solid weight grounding me.
We swim over the broken railing and drift down onto the main deck. The water inside the wreck is still and quiet, asanctuary. Shadows play across the rotting floorboards as light filters through gaps in the hull above. I lead Kael toward the aft of the ship, navigating through a collapsed doorway into what once served as the captain's quarters.
"Look at this," I whisper, my eyes wide with wonder.
The room is a treasure trove. Tarnished silver platters lie half-buried in the silt, their patterns barely recognizable after a century beneath the waves. Rusted iron cutlasses rest against the decaying walls, their blades eaten away by time and salt. A waterlogged wooden desk sits in the center of the room, its drawers swollen and split open by the relentless pressure of the sea.
I swim straight to the desk, my excitement building as I begin to dig through the debris.
The mystery of surface relics holds a strange power over me. They’re objects made for a world of air and sun, now transformed by the deep.
I trace their bizarre geometry and weigh their heavy, impractical materials in my palms. My fingers snag on a rusted brass spyglass, its lens clouded but still intact. I pull a rotting leather boot from the muck, the absurd image of a blunt, finless human foot drawing a sharp laugh from my throat.
To think I once considered the surface an option of escape seems ridiculous now.
I toss the decaying leather into the shadows.
Finally, in the bottom drawer, I find the prize—a heavy wooden crate packed tight with straw. Nestled inside the rotting straw are six perfect, reinforced glass bottles. The glass is dark green, designed to withstand the immense pressure of the deep ocean.
They are exactly what Mira needs to contain the volatile engine potion.
"Perfect," I say, pulling a woven net sack from my belt. I carefully transfer the heavy bottles into the mesh, securing each one with practiced care.
I turn around to show Kael my discovery, my crimson fins flaring with excitement.
But Kael is not searching the room for supplies. He hovers near a shattered window frame, his eyes not on the silver platters or the rusted swords.
He is looking at me.
His dark eyes track my every movement. He watches the genuine joy on my face. He watches the way my crimson fins flare with excitement. He observes me with a level of intense, focused adoration that makes my breath catch in my throat.
He swims toward me. His body displaces the water in the small room.
He stops in front of me. He holds out his large, scarred hand. His fingers are curled in a loose fist.
"For you," Kael rumbles.
He opens his hand.
A piece of sea-glass rests in his rough palm. The ocean has tumbled the shard for decades, wearing away the sharp edges until it is perfectly smooth. It is a brilliant, flawless shade of crimson red. It matches the exact color of my scales.
