Mira picks up the hollow bone flask. The tension in the cabin spikes.
Mira pulls the tight leather stopper from the flask.
"Back away," Mira warns us. Her voice is a low, dangerous whisper.
Kael grabs my waist. He pulls me a full yard backward. Thalos swims higher toward the ceiling. Pip darts away, hiding behind a pile of woven nets in the corner.
Mira holds the bone flask over the open mouth of the green glass vial. She tilts the bone.
A single drop of Ghost Ray venom falls.
The milky white fluid hits the boiling golden pulp.
The chemical reaction is instant and violent.
The liquid inside the glass flashes a brilliant, blinding blue. A sharp crack of static electricity splits the water. The sound mimics a lightning strike in a surface storm.
Mira doesn’t hesitate. She lets a second drop fall.
Another violent crack. The blue light intensifies.
Tiny arcs of raw electricity dance across the curved green glass, seeking a ground. The hair on my arms stands straight up. The sharp, metallic scent of ozone floods the cabin, masking the sulfur of the Silt District.
She lets the third and final drop fall.
The mixture erupts.
The paralytic properties of the rare venom bind perfectly with the raw thermal energy of the kelp. The alchemy forces the opposing elements into a contained, agonizing cycle of destruction and rebirth. It creates a perpetual storm of pure electrical magic.
The fluid inside the glass churns. It glows with a chaotic, raging sapphire fire.
Mira drops the bone flask. She grabs a pre-cut cork from the sand. She slams the cork into the neck of the heavy glass vial.
She seals the storm.
She works frantic now. She grabs a stick of hard, black sealing wax and a rusted iron spoon. She holds the wax near the glowingblue glass. The ambient heat melts the black wax instantly. She drips the boiling sludge over the top of the cork, sealing the porous wood. She covers the entire neck of the bottle in an impenetrable layer of black resin.
She traps the immense pressure inside the reinforced glass.
Mira falls back. She slumps against the wooden wall of the cabin. Her chest heaves with ragged, painful gasps. Her gray hands shake violent in her lap.
But she smiles.
It is a triumphant grin.
"It’s stable," Mira wheezes, pointing a trembling finger at the glowing blue bottle. "The core is ready."
We stare at the vial. It sits on the sand, humming with a deep, furious power. It looks like a piece of the sun captured in green glass.
Thalos swims down from the ceiling. He approaches the core with deep interest.
The ancient prophet wraps his hands around the glass. He lifts the heavy bottle. The blue light casts stark shadows across his mossy beard and tattered fins.
"Brilliant," Thalos whispers. "Absolutely brilliant work, Mira."
Mira dips her head, accepting the high praise.
Thalos turns toward the dead engine block.
