I repeat it in my mind, testing its weight against my tongue.
Kael.
Chapter 4
Skin and Stone
Kael
Theseaisagreedy thing. Outside our narrow refuge, the ocean is tearing itself apart.
The water roars past the opening of the stone hollow, a violent surge of pressure and debris. We can't leave. We can't sleep. The noise alone is a physical weight, vibrating through the basalt and into my bones.
I brace myself near the entrance, putting my mass between the deadly currents and the Vael.
Vaelis sits deeper in the pocket. He has his tail pulled to his chest, his long, crimson fins wrapping around him like a cloak. He should tremble. He should weep or panic or beg me to find a way up to the light. That is what his kind does. They are built for calm water and admiration, not survival.
But Vaelis does not cry.
He watches me.
His golden eyes are luminous in the absolute dark, tracking my every breath. For hours, the only sound between us is the grinding of the reef outside.
Then, finally, he speaks.
"They say the Basalt-Kin do not feel the cold," Vaelis says, his voice carrying clearly over the low rumble of the tide.
I shift my weight. "They say a lot of things about us."
"Is it true?"
"No," I answer, keeping my sight on the dark water outside. "We feel it. We learn to stop fighting it. The trench does not reward weakness."
A long silence stretches between us. The conversation seems over, but Vaelis lets out a quiet, bitter exhale.
"The reef doesn't either," he murmurs. "It dresses the punishment up in silk."
I turn my head and study him. He's a creature woven from vibrant color and impossible, sharp lines. The muscle beneath his tanned skin is undeniably strong, yet he carries himself like a thing that has never had to fight the dark. He looks like something the sea has only ever kissed, never crushed.
"You live in the light," I say, my voice rough. "You are fed. You are guarded. Your elders keep you safe in the shallows."
"They keep us contained," Vaelis corrects. His golden eyes narrow, flashing with a sudden, fierce intelligence. "Safety is another word for a cage. If you're beautiful, they put you on a pedestal. If you get off the pedestal, you become a problem. I'm tired of being an ornament."
The words hit me with the force of a physical blow.
I look at him more closely, and now I see the rigid tension in his shoulders. I see the defiance jutting from his jaw. I have spent my entire life being judged by my exterior. My heavy scales, my pointed fins, my serrated teeth. The reef sees me and assumes I am nothing but a mindless engine of violence.
Vaelis lives the exact same curse, but in reverse. They see his beauty and assume he has no spine.
"You are not an ornament," I say quietly. "An ornament would have shattered when the wall came down. You held your ground."
Vaelis uncurls slightly, leaning toward me. The fear scenting the water earlier is completely gone. In its place is a sharp, magnetic curiosity.
"What do you do down there?" he asks. "When you are not hunting."
"I work," I say. "I clean the geothermal grates. I filter the silt. I keep the lower tiers of the city from choking on the dark."
"You build things," Vaelis says softly. "They tell us you only destroy."
