Page 76 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

Outside my little carved space, voices and movement swell. Through the thin slits of the seaweed curtain, I catch flashes of fins and tails darting past, slicing the water with practiced rhythm. No one looks confused. No one hesitates. Everyone seems to know exactly where to go.

I shove free from the blanket and push aside the seaweed curtain, slipping into the crowd of finlings as they file into a cavernous chamber lit by more marilume embedded high in the walls. Long stone tables stretch from end to end, already lined with finlings taking their seats. Food is passed down in sea glass bowls—strips of raw fish and some kind of kelp.

I hover near the entrance, unsure where I belong. My stomach twists, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday, but my chest tightens more at the thought of sitting among strangers.

“Sarah!”

Defymin waves me over from a table halfway through the chamber, his expression easy and inviting. Two other finlings sit across from him, both turning their heads at my name. Their faces are unfamiliar, though curiosity flickers in their eyes.

“Come sit with us,” Defymin urges, patting the empty stone bench at his side.

I glide toward them, feeling the weight of a few too many eyes following me, then slip onto the bench beside him. A bowl of food is pushed into my hands before I can protest.

“Sarah, I would like to introduce you to Aniah and Keil.”

The two finlings appear very similar in appearance, as most Neravyn do. However, these two look identical—same cone-shaped nose, same slim horizontal eyes, and the way their chins curve almost perfectly. The only major difference is that Aniah is clearly female and Keil is most definitely male.

“They wanted me to introduce you to them,” Defymin adds.

I nod my head in their direction, a small gesture meant to be a greeting.

"So you're the land-dweller that wrecked our friend's fin?" says Keil. His voice is deeper than I thought it would be.

A flash of Defymin's damaged fin crosses my mind, bringing back the weight of what I did and the guilt I've been trying to push away.

I ignore the question, instead stuffing my face with the food placed in front of me. Their eyes widen at how quickly I eat. Within seconds, my bowl is empty, while my comrades have barely started.

Yesterday drained me mentally and left me exhausted physically, but I didn’t consider how hungry I would be the moment food was set in front of me. I hadn’t thought about taste or savoring—only about getting it into my body. The primal serpent instincts must be taking over my human mind.

The emptiness between words grow as I set the bowl down, my stomach at last content. Heat creeps up my neck under their stares.

“My apologies,” I murmur. “I haven't eaten since midday yesterday, and magic lessons from Orion have wasted my energy to nothing.”

The two finlings exchange a glance, then look back at me as though I’ve said something improper.

“What?” I ask, brows knitting.

“You refer to the king with his sea-given name?” They say simultaneously.

I pause at that, unsure how to answer. He isn’t my king. I was forced here. But I also can’t deny how this world is reshaping me, little by little. Every day is something new. And every day, I find myself leaning toward him. Whatever this bond is between us, I can’t ignore the comfort I get from his presence.

Plus, he’s never once told me to call him anything else. In fact, the rare times I’ve said his name aloud, I’ve seen it—the brightness in his eyes, the faintest curve of a smile. As if he could listen to me say it constantly.

“She's not from here. Let her call him what she wishes,” Defymin says, his tone calm but firm enough to settle the matter.

The twins ease, accepting his words without protest.

Relief loosens the knot in my chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful for the support. It feels good to have someone step in on my behalf, especially when I already feel like an outsider at every turn.

Defymin inclines his head, an easy smile building, almost reassuring. “Of course.”

The days press on much like the ones before: breakfast, warm-ups, and endless training. Between drills with the other finlings and my attempts to wrestle new magical skills from Orion, I feel as though I’m back in Current One—repeating the same motions, the same lessons, the same fatigue.

The difference? Endurance.

Each day comes a little easier, my body hardening to the strain, my mind sharper against the weight of exhaustion. Strength is becoming second nature.

Defymin and I often break away to train on our own, expanding on what’s given during the sea-day sessions. In many ways, he’s begun to feel like an echo of Leo, someone I can lean on. And I miss Leo. More than I want to admit.