Thorne stands across from him, hands loose at his sides, but power coiled tight around his body—air magick shimmering like heat.
They are arguing.
The wooden dock creaks under their weight as my father stands there, shoulders hunched in defiance, soaked to the bone. In his outstretched hand, the Thalrien crest catches the flickering light. “Take it,” he says, holding the crest out between them like it’s poison. “I want no part of this. I’m not a Thalrien. Not anymore.”
Thorne doesn’t move. His jaw tightens, his face impassive as he regards him. “You can pretend, Selric,” he says, “but that blood is still in you, and in her. You think you can hide her from the world? From what she is?”
“She’s not a weapon!” my father growls.
“She’s not a child anymore.”
My father’s hand trembles, just once, then he scoffs and shoves the crest back into his coat. “Then you’re a fool,” he mutters. “I should’ve never trusted you.” He looks out toward the lake.
Thorne takes a single step forward, something clinking in his hands. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
The air shifts.
It happens in less than a second. A strange sort of chain nowwrapped around my father’s wrist. He looks down, surprised. Eyes wide with shock and the pain of betrayal.
I can feel it even here under the water—like the memory itself is holding its breath.
The rain drums a mournful cadence on the dock as my father’s voice drops to a whisper. “Why?” is all he says.
Thorne’s reply cuts like ice, slicing through the windswept rain. “Because the world needs her,” he says coldly. “And because you were too weak to even try.”
Thorne raises his hand—and the wind collapses inward, oxygen ripped from the air with surgical precision. My father staggers, choking. No water. No blood. Just silence and drowning in open air.
Then he falls. Face still fixed in disbelief, hands reaching toward his throat for air that isn’t there.
The water in the lake convulses once—violent and distressed—before becoming totally, utterly still.
Thorne stands over the body for a long moment.
Then, almost gently, he removes the chain from my father’s wrist and reaches into his coat, pocketing the crest.
He walks to the edge of the dock and uses his air magick to pull the body into the boat, unmooring it and sending it silently out into the water.
When it is far enough, he tips the boat with a flick of his hand.
And the lake swallows everything.
* * *
The vision shatterslike broken glass, and I gasp—breathless, shivering—as I struggle toward the surface. The glowing pool around me dims as its light retreats. The Thalrien crest is still clutched in my hand. Its surface is warm, even underwater, humming with the echoes of a final unspeakable act.
But then?—
A ripple. Subtle. Strange. The water beneath me stirs like breath.
My legs won’t move. The liquid tugs—not with force, but with familiarity. Like an invitation I don’t remember accepting. Like coming home—except not a home I know.
The water holds me, slick and silken, curling around every inch of skin like recognition.
And then it begins to take me.
My fingers blur—all except one, the one with my ring, now burning hot in the cold water. My skin turns glassy, blue-lit, dissolving at the edges. Panic claws at my lungs as they start to burn for air. The crest slips from my grasp, sinking just beyond reach, drifting downward like a falling star.
I try to cry out—but it’s too late. I have no voice. No breath. My body unravels. I am water. I am memory. I am magick unbound.
