Page 5 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

“One more thing must be said,” she pipes, her voice thinner now, like it is straining through a current. “Evil flows beneath the waves. Blurred and shifting but . . . present. Always present. Like a shadow clinging to the tide.”

She turns then, slowly, and makes her way toward the door with the quiet certainty of someone who swims more by instinct than by sight. The layered folds of her sea robes trail behind her, deep indigo and seaweed-green. Faint glyphs shimmer near the hem, unreadable to all but her order. They whisper as they move, as though the fabric itself remembers spells long forgotten.

And just like that, she takes her leave without another word. The chamber cools, leaving a hollow stillness in her wake.

Nyx shifts beside me. I hear the subtle rustle of her armor, the way her breath catches like she’s about to speak. “Orion—”

“Give me a moment,” I snap, the edge in my voice sharper than intended. The chamber throws my voice back at me, too loud in the sudden quiet.

She falls silent, but refuses to move. Of course she does. She has never been one to leave my side just because things grow heavy.

I lower myself back into the seat at the head of the table, the ancient stone smooth beneath me. Pressing my hands into the carved arms of the throne, my father’s throne, staring at the space Velmira had just occupied, still seeing that scroll in her hands, still hearing Sarah Fischer echo in my mind like a tide that won’t settle.

A mortal woman. A blurred evil. And a prophecy that refuses to show me what I need most.

The silence stretches and thickens with every passing moment. I don’t look at Nyx, but I know she’s still there, watching me the way she always has—with eyes that see more than they let on.

Nyx finally creeps closer, her voice soft and affirming. “You do not have to carry this alone, you know.”

I stay silent. For now. My thoughts are tangled, stretched in too many directions at once, toward a girl I have never met, a future I cannot see, and a threat I cannot name.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, “and I do not blame you. You have become the one expected to make sense of the storm. To fix what breaks. But even your father knew that strength is not about bearing it all yourself.”

I let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from my shoulders as her words settle deep. She’s right. She’s always been, even when I am too stubborn to admit it.

I glance down at her hand on the throne, steady, unshackling, and for a brief second, I remember the way we used to cling to each other in the wake of nightmares after my fathers death. In the hollow ache of grief.

“I know,” I say at last, my voice barely above a whisper. I allow my tail to unfurl, the weight in my chest sharpening into purpose. “But I cannot sit here waiting for answers. Not anymore.”

Nyx drifts beside me, her expression already narrowing into focus.

“I need to find her,” I continue. “This . . . Sarah Fischer. If she is tied to all of this; if even a thread of my father’s magic runs through her, I have to reach her before anyone else does, and demand her to relinquish it back to the kingdom, where it belongs.”

I don’t manage to swim halfway to the council doors before Nyx’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“No,” she whispers, but it lands like a dropped blade between us.

I turn to her, frowning. “No?”

She does not back down. “Orion, I know what Velmira said. I heard every word, but you cannot trust a land-dweller with this.”

There’s something in her voice, not just caution, but fear. And beneath it, memory.

“She may have your father’s magic, yes. But she is not one of us. You cannot bring her here, to our world. You do not know who she is. You do not know what she is capable of.” Her jaw tightens. “You were not there when they tore my clan apart. When they hunted us beneath the sea like sport, destroyed our home, and polluted our waters as if we were nothing.” Her voice softens, but only barely. “You are the king now. You cannot afford to gamble with our future. There has to be another way.”

I meet her eyes, the same eyes that occasionally shine bright with fire and laughter, now shadowed with the weight of what the surface stole from her. I glide closer to her, lowering my voice, not in anger, but in understanding.

“Nyx, I know what they did. I have not forgotten. I never will.” Her gaze flickers, but she holds it. Always unflinching. “I do not trust land-dwellers either,” I admit. “I do not like that this is happening. That a stranger, someone who has never swam the depths of our waters, has stolen something so powerful, something his. But whether we want it or not, if she holds even a sliver of his magic, then she will be brought here to answer for her crimes.”

She looks away, jaw tight.

“I can feel it,” I murmur. “Not just in the prophecy, but in me. There’s a pull. Like a current I’m not supposed to fight. Like his magic is calling to me.” I pause, grabbing the back of my neck. “And I have never felt anything like it before.”

Nyx’s eyes meet mine again, searching for answers in my words.

“I need to know what this all means,” I admit. “For the kingdom. For my father. And maybe for something else I cannot name yet.”

She stares at me for a long moment, the silence between us thick with memory and unspoken fears. Then, finally, she exhales deeply. “You always were stubborn,” she mutters, though there is no real anger in it.