Page 50 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

Orion knocks three times on my door—the only warning I'll receive before his presence disappears down the corridor, leaving me to face the morning alone before meeting up with him in the archives hallway.

I beg to stay in bed most mornings, just to see if my body will melt into the soft white sheets and trap me in this endless nightmare that is training. Though I’m thankful for my underwater skills. Being physically active back home at least means I can do what Nyxalene has been having me do without collapsing completely. Most of her training involves several hours spent on exercises with minimal breaks.

I shift into my sea form—no clothes to bother with anymore, which is a beautiful perk—and head to the royal archives.

Orion’s been keeping my days full, my mind sharp, and my body constantly in motion.

I finished A Historical Record of the Siren Decline in a day. Every page made me feel like I was holding something sacred. I had questions—hundreds, but when I brought them to Orion, all he said was to ask Nyxalene herself. As if it were that simple. She barely tolerates my presence. I can’t imagine she’d welcome a deep dive into the darkest parts of her past.

I currently float alone inside the narrow passage outside the royal archives and wait for Orion’s arrival. The current flows more gently here; the space is barely wide enough for Orion’s massive build to swim through. The walls are rough and uneven; they are embedded with tiny shards of marilume that cast a soft, flickering glow across the space. It’s just enough illumination to reach the barrier ahead.

Movement stirs the water, and a brighter glow cuts through the dark. Orion’s silhouette appears at the far end, the bioluminescent lines across his shoulders and down his arm lighting the narrow space as he approaches.

He doesn’t say a word as he reaches for my wrist and pulls me through the bloodline barrier harshly.

Great, he’s in a mood.

The archives feel colder, and I can’t tell if the coldness I feel is from the water around us or from him. His eyes are darker than usual, and his jaw is set. He releases my wrist and disappears toward the back of the room without so much as a greeting.

I drift toward the chaise beside the large study desk. The cushions are soft but structured. Orion informed me they’re spun from some enchanted sea-silk that doesn’t float away when you sit.

As I settle in, my body aches, but not like before. This soreness is earned. It’s the kind that lingers after hours of practice. When Nyxalene placed a dagger in my hand and told me the movements I’ve drilled for weeks were now ready to be tested in full, I couldn't help but feel the accomplishment soar through me.

She told me that after I master the battle sequences with a weapon in hand, I’ll be pitted against a finling heading to Current Two—one level above me.

I’ve never met another finling. And Drekaris, the village where they train, is a place I only know through Orion’s lessons. It feels like somewhere I’ll never see in person. Nyxalene and Orion keep me separate, tucked away like some secret weapon.

Orion’s been missing from training sessions, too. He’s still here for kingdom lessons, but even then, his thoughts seem elsewhere. I haven’t asked why. Maybe I should have.

I don’t even remember when the lesson about the Neravyn Guard began. Probably sometime after my panic spiraled into wondering whether Current Two would involve brute strength, advanced technique, or something worse—like strategy. Whatever it was, I’d hoped Orion might give me an edge. Some insight. A warning.

He didn’t. He skipped those chapters and started lecturing about the Neravyn's loyalty instead. Which was about as useful as telling me the ocean is wet.

Every guard I’ve seen could be part of the same bloodline. They all have the same features. The same expression. I don’t even know what they fully look like beneath the armor.

The water tugs against my limbs as Orion returns, another book in hand, his body held taut. He takes his seat and sets the book on the desk, fingers interlacing over the cover to keep it from drifting, his gaze fixed on his hands.

“If you have questions about the Neravyn guard,” he says, not looking up, “ask them now. We will not linger on this much longer.”

Right. Straight to business.

I try to sort through the dozens of thoughts racing through my head.

“Why are all of the guards Neravyn?” I ask. “There are other races here, aren’t there?”

He leans forward, fingers tightening as the book tugs upward, then lifts it and leans back—only to tip forward again moments later, forearms returning to the desk, his eyes now locked onto mine.

“Neravyn are calm,” he says. “They follow orders. They don't ask senseless questions. And they have survived training no one else in the kingdom could endure for centuries.”

I let that settle between us. The answer isn't the one I wanted, but the quiet insult tucked between his words doesn't go unnoticed. I suppose I should consider myself lucky he's only implying I'm a nuisance and not saying it outright. I choose to ignore it, for now.

For a moment, he watches me in silence. His eyes soften, but only enough to slip back into Orion, the teacher. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled.

“You've been distracted lately.” My shoulders tense at his words. “I notice things. Especially when you stop listening halfway through a lesson.”

I look away. “It’s not that I don’t care, or that I'm bored,” I say. “It’s just . . .”

Be honest with him Sarah.