Page 100 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The laughter and whispers swirl around me, pressing in from all sides. I curl tighter into my tail, trying to disappear, but the illusions cling, twisting my every movement, turning my hunger and my attempt at normalcy into mockery.

I just want to belong. Why does it feel like this choice, the one I thought would make me whole, is tearing me apart? Did I choose wrong? Should I have stayed on the surface, where at least the judgment was quiet . . . where they whispered behind my back instead of to my face?

"No!" I squeeze my eyes shut, digging my fingers into the stone bench beneath me, its unfamiliar coldness bites into the sensitive skin under my scales. The hallucination takes hold. "No! I just accepted being a woman of the sea. I belong here. I have to. I won't let them, won't let them decide I'm not worth it."

But even as I whisper those words to myself, the conviction rings hollow. The laughter still hums through the water. The illusion doesn’t fade. And for a moment, I can’t tell if I’m trying to convince the voices or myself.

With the voices still pressing against the cavern walls, I maneuver deeper, testing the limits of the space. The walls stretch farther than the resting place where I’ve settled, endless and shadowed. I trace my fingers along the rough stone, trying to tune out the laughter and the taunting tones of those I once thought were my friends.

Their words cut into me, sharp as knives to the spleen. At a dead end, the tunnel splits in two. I tilt my head, weighing each path, and finally veer left, following the hall until it ends.

Orion’s voice filters through the echoes, growing louder as I move further down this tunnel.

Even she realizes she doesn't belong here. No matter how much I teach her, she'll never be educated enough for our world.

His words aren’t meant for me. Still, the tunnel shifts and warps, melting into the familiar path that leads to the palace archives. Around the corner, I see Orion speaking with Velmira. Her robes ripple gracefully around him as he leans against the study desk chair. She doesn't move, only a sentence leaves her mouth, and it shakes me to my core.

Even here, the walls cannot hide you, land-dweller. Show yourself.

I step out from the shadows, the blood barrier oddly inactive.

“You speak negatively of me, Orion. Why?” My voice is steadier than I feel, though my heart pounds in my chest. I take this path, choosing confrontation over submission. “After everything you’ve taught me, you still don’t believe I can be what you want me to be? I can try harder . . . Is that what you need?”

I know begging won’t truly help, but I just said goodbye to my past life. I can’t bear the thought of being rejected by my new one.

No amount of teachings or lessons could change where you come from. You could never be one of us.

Liquid pricks at the corners of my eyes, and something inside my chest constricts, each word striking somewhere tender and already frayed. My heart pleads silently, desperate to be understood, but it feels as though it’s splitting in two.

“I didn’t ask for this life,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Mother Ocean gifted it to me. I'm meant to be here. I'm meant to be in Virellan. I’m meant to be with the sea. Permanently.”

The confession catches in my throat, and for the first time, I feel the sharp ache of truth. Tears burn hot behind my lids, searing my cheeks as if the saltwater of my own sorrow has come to punish me. My hands clench on the cavern walls, trying to anchor myself as the stress of belonging and rejection crashes through me. Each heartbeat feels impossibly loud, thrashing in the hollow space of my chest.

I let the tears fall, letting them swirl with the water around me. For a fleeting moment, I'm completely exposed. My fear, my hope, my aching desire to belong lay bare, and it feels both terrifying and oddly freeing.

Mother Ocean may have chosen you, but you will always be human trash. Nyxalene’s voice slices through the water as she rounds a corner, one that leads to nowhere. She materializes from the shadows like the illusion itself has given her form.

“I believe Mother Ocean chose me for her own purpose,” I say, the words trembling but sure. “I may not know what it is yet, but maybe she chose a human for a reason. I was chosen for my courage. My curiosity might have led me there, but it was courage that pushed me to enter that seaweed chamber where these powers lay open and bare. Anyone could've taken them, but they were given to me.” My voice steadies, gaining strength with each word. “I've survived everything that’s been thrown at me since coming here, and I will not let your words tear me down.”

Orion’s form shifts beside her. He moves closer, the sheer size of him dwarfing me, his shadow swallowing my confidence whole. My mind blanks, and before I can brace myself, my tail catches on something. I stumble backward, heart lurching.

The illusion disappears around me. Everything fades—the archives, their voices, even the pressure of the water. I see nothing.

I close my eyes, forcing my thoughts to still, to focus. When I reopen them, the cave's path is surrounding me once again.

I search the ground to see what I tripped over. At first, I couldn’t make sense of it. But as my night vision sharpens, I see it clearly. A male finling lies sprawled before me, a makeshift blade of sharpened stone jutting from his neck. His skin is gray—decaying. Tiny sea creatures feast on him as the ocean slowly reclaims what remains. No blood is present; already washed away. His memories, no longer. The echo cavern, won . . .

A dull roar fills my ears.

I have to get out of here.

These images aren’t real, I know that. But they feel real. Pain and fear sink their hooks into me, tearing deeper with every breath. Still, I can’t give in to them. I was brought here for a reason. I have a purpose. I will not return to the surface. I have to find whatever is holding me back in this place, whatever keeps whispering that I don’t belong.

Returning to my resting place, I find a long shard of stone and carve a plan into the wall behind me. The first illusions were of my past life, familiar memories meant to tempt and weaken me. But those were easy to overcome. That life could never grant me what I’ve been given since coming to Virellan.

These new illusions, though—Orion, Nyxalene, the finlings—all felt so real. Their words cut deep, twisted into hatred, preying on my doubts. Because even though I chose to stay here in Virellan, a part of me still feels like an outsider. Unwelcome. Unworthy. Not because of them, but because of where I come from.

However, as I stated toward the illusion of Nyxalene, the ocean chose a human for a reason. Maybe that reason is me. Maybe a human is exactly what they need to fight this evil we barely understand. Maybe that’s the entire point . . . to trust something—someone—different. My human perspective might be my greatest strength. I think differently, see differently, and I hunger to learn what others have long accepted as their permanent history.