It did not matter at which point in my long life I had decided that there was only one person for me. It mattered that I put some distance between us. Because the Lord Father Asshole forbade any familial relations between his creations.
It had not always been the law.
He only forbade them when he noticed with pointed looks how Volmira doted on Ros, how Cleo spoonfed Las when his hands were shaking, and how Ari and I … were with each other. Laws of the universe and laws of the Assigner were one and the same in our mind. We were scarcely aware there were forces beyond his power, a dominion not ruled by him, although Vectra mentioned off-handedly some worlds outside of the Tripolis system that the Assigner did not command.
But I noticed something as well and used it as best I could to build a wall between my heart and Ari's, though a lot good that did.
Customs of creatures on Tripolis - even trading with Tripolis were as myriad as there were stars, and yet they were bound by one singular understanding:
No affection towards family.
You should treat your relatives the same way you treat your neighbour. Cordial. Distant. Sometimes you bake them a cake, and that's about it.
Some planets in the Tripolitan system fared better than others under this law.
One that could not abide was a planet named Hunat.
The suppression buried under the soil of the planet, the blood of the people, until it drove them mad.
Mating with a brother, a sister, a cousin, an uncle - was immoral, disgusting; it bred monsters, physically and mentally impaired pups; it slowed down the progress of civilization, of technology.
And while Hunatans understood that, they also couldn't help themselves.
The punishments for breaking the law varied.
Tripolitans were a people of nature, one with it, and therefore more lenient. Despite their technological prowess, they relied on agriculture and used the technology for transport, to trade with others. They put the ones who transgressed under lock and key.
Hunatans, on the other hand, engineers and inventors, Swarm Sphere pioneers who harvested energy from the stars, devised a far more terrible fate for those who dared to fuck in the family.
Orlionic Collar, they called it on their planet of Hunat. An advanced, self-aware, driven punitive device invented by a Hunatan woman who has long since then become a legend on their planet. A neural-linked restraint that latched onto the offender's neck and integrated it with their central nervous system.
The collar generated subtle electromagnetic pulses that interfered with the brain's limbic system, inducing an instinctual repulsion response toward any familial connection. It caused nausea, migraines, and overwhelming aversion at the mere thought of affectionate contact with a relative.
The device emitted pheromonal signals that make the wearer repugnant to others, inducing a deep-rooted psychological response in bystanders to avoid and reject them. This ensured that they become socially ostracized, reinforcing the severity of their actions.
But the cruelest of it all laid in its … hereditary predisposition. In extreme cases, such as mating with your mother or father, the Orlionic Collar remained active for multiple generations, genetically encoding its restrictions to prevent the bloodline from repeating its crimes. Children born from incestuous unions inherited a latent version of the collar, activating if similar patterns emerge in their behavior.
If the wearer tried to remove or tamper with the collar, it delivered a sharp neuro-feedback pulse—a sensation described as "having your brain wrung out like a wet rag."
And so I thought, introducing a family dynamic into the social construct of the protectors of Tripolis would jolt me into normalcy. Help me obey the Assigner's laws. There was no collar for us, but Vectra agreed —what Hunatans did was extreme and would only get worse.
"Evrything in moderation," she used to say.
But the truth was - always would be - we were not human. We were sentient gods and rules never applied to us.
Father admired the collar and told us if we veered off course and leaned too much into the "family" of it all, he would find a way to make the Orlionic collar look like a walk through the park compared to his devices.
I should have disobeyed earlier.
Because having Ari inside me was akin to a divine ascension.
I had never understood the weight of human taboos, their brittle, arbitrary rules. I was not bound by them - Ari and I were not bound by them. We were Anchors, not flesh and blood, not fragile creatures clinging to crumbling morality. And yet, for eons, we had obeyed. A brush of fingertips, a forehead kiss in the quiet of the stars.
What a waste.
We were more than flesh and breath—we were the foundation of our world, the pulse that kept Tripolis alive, and now we moved as one. In the high grass, hidden from the massacre the Vlachy - those that remained - were still reeling from.
That could have been us. The White Snake could have torn us apart if he really wanted. He would find a way, even when he was worlds away.
All he needed was a pliant mind who needed to feed on the elements. To drink water, to eat the fruit of the earth, to warm their home with fire. He would find his way through the elements and settle in one's mind.
I dug my nails into Ari's back, dragging them down the length of his spine, and he shuddered against me. He was thinking the same thing. We could have died.
The wind picked up, rushing through the trees, bending them, echoing the fevered chaos of our union. His name tumbled from my lips, and he answered in kind, his voice strained, desperate. I could feel him everywhere, his body, his breath, the heat of his skin branding mine. Every movement, every push and pull of him, felt like reclamation, like a truth that had always existed.
Forgive me, Father. But I must kill you.
***
Bonnie stood in the open market, a scatter of colors and sounds buzzing around her like a fevered hive. Fish lay gutted on cracked wooden tables, their scales glistening like shards of broken glass under the low morning sun. The people of Aazor moved about like ghosts draped in hunger, their bodies lean from a season that had given them little and stolen much. The Vlachy were dead, and soon, the last vestiges of them would be scrubbed from the streets, washed away like blood in the tide.
Bonnie adjusted the basket on her hip, its weight a mere fraction of what she'd have liked. She was no stranger to scarcity, but something about the way Aazor starved now made her stomach coil in uneasy familiarity. She had spent her childhood on these streets, knew the fishmonger Lester by the shape of his gnarled hands before she even saw his face. He had fed her when no one else would. Now she handed him coins, and his rheumy eyes softened, as if remembering a smaller, hungrier version of her.
She should have been paying attention. She should have felt it sooner—the shadow curling at the edges of her periphery, the weight of eyes that didn't simply watch, but studied.
Bonnie turned her head slightly, catching sight of a man moving between the stalls. His presence did not disrupt the flow of the crowd; he was a stone in a river, the current parting around him effortlessly. Sunlight touched the ends of his brown hair, setting its curls aglow with the amber warmth of late autumn. His eyes—brown, deep, and old in a way that had nothing to do with years—settled on her.
She knew better than to stare.
The man stood like a shadow in the periphery—tall, striking, too perfect to belong in a place like Aazor.
With a shake of her head, she turned back to Lester's selection, picking through the meager catch. But the moment stretched thin, like the pause before a storm, and then there he was—before her, looming. A predator that didn't need to bare teeth to inspire dread.
"Who'd you scramble for this one?" Bonnie asked, slipping into motion, moving to the next vendor as if the conversation were nothing more than a passing drizzle on her skin. Her basket still gaped half-empty. This season had been cruel to Aazor.
"I think I heard his wife call him 'Nestor' before I took over," the man answered, his voice smooth, his humor like the glint of a knife against light.
Bonnie exhaled sharply, a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. She didn't stop walking. "What do you want?"
"I came to ask if you'd reconsider," 'Nestor' said, keeping pace with her. "It's been long enough."
Bonnie laughed, the sound raw, cutting. "You think my leaving you for a millennia was just me throwing a fit?"
"No." There was no hesitation in his voice. "I know you had a reason."
She stopped, finally, turning to face him fully.
"We are bound to others now," she said, her voice quieter, but no less firm. "I have Edward. You have Vectra."
'Nestor' tilted his head, his lips curving just slightly. "Vectra is a servant," he murmured. "And Edward is nothing more than a distraction."
Bonnie's fingers tightened around the basket handle, her knuckles pale with the force of it. The market carried on around them, oblivious, uncaring. But the sea knew. The sea always knew.
Bonnie wanted to ignore him. She wanted to keep walking, to let his words scatter like dried leaves underfoot. But 'Nestor' had never been easy to shake, and even now, with the weight of years between them, he knew how to coil around her resolve like ivy on crumbling stone.
A snake indeed.
"You're wasting your time," she said, flicking a glance at him from beneath her lashes.
"You have no idea what they're capable of."
She laughed, the sound sharp and incredulous. "The children you turned into gods?" She shook her head, a smirk curling at her lips. "When will you stop torturing them?"
His jaw clenched, frustration flickering behind those warm brown eyes. "When they fall back in line," he said, stepping closer, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.
She paused mid-step, something shifting in her gut, an instinct that warned her that perhaps—for once—he wasn't exaggerating. But then, this was 'Nestor'. Everything about him was shadowed in half-truths, in veiled warnings meant to manipulate more than to protect.
She finally turned to him fully. And for a moment, the weight of recognition passed between them, heavy and unspoken.
This body—this riot of red hair and untamed spirit—was not the form of the woman the White Snake had fallen in love with. But it held everything he had ever wanted still.
Bonnie lifted her chin, her voice even. "I am not helping the enemy. I am neutral. Always have been."
'Nestor' exhaled sharply, as if disappointed but not surprised. And then, before she could stop him, his hands found her hips, his grip firm but questioning. Testing.
Her basket tumbled from her fingers, its meager contents spilling onto the dirt. She sucked in a breath, caught somewhere between irritation and something far more dangerous.
He searched her face, waiting. Perhaps wondering if she would punish him for the audacity of touching her. If she would remind him, with fire and fury, that they were not who they used to be.
But no punishment came. Only the ghost of her breath against his lips, warm and inviting in the cool sea air.
"I don't want to lose you again in yet another pointless war," he murmured, his fingers tightening at her waist, pressing her just enough to feel the heat of him.
Bonnie's expression didn't soften, but her hand did, lifting to cup his cheek, her thumb grazing over the sharp line of his jaw.
"Then make peace," she said simply, retrieving her basket and turning on her heel—walking back toward the very people he wanted her to abandon.
She had barely taken three steps when his voice chased after her, curling around her spine like a whisper of the past.
"Sibelle," the Assigner said, his tone both weary and amused. "I need your collar."
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder, eyes flashing with something wild and untamed. Then, without breaking stride, she flipped him off.
***
The Vlachy people—what remained of them—were picking up the pieces, their movements slow, drained. Too many ghosts hovered over them now, unseen but felt in the brittle silence, in the way no one truly laughed anymore.
Near the center of the camp, Soileen had finally soothed her children. They huddled close to the fire, their small faces pressed against her side, their fragile sleep an uneasy truce with exhaustion. The flames danced low.
Even the elements have given up on this place.
Bonnie set the three fish down on the grass and crouched, pulling out her pirate's knife, its worn handle warm against her palm.
She slid the blade into the first fish's belly, gutting it in a swift, clean motion. Red hair spilled over her shoulders, falling into the firelight in wild waves, damp from the sea air.
"Where are Ari and Mila?" she asked without looking up, voice even, careful.
Soileen didn't answer right away. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing toward the distant cliffs. Then, with a knowing sigh, she said, "Where do you think?"
Bonnie snorted, shaking her head. "Idiots."
The fire crackled as she reached for the next fish. "Salacia is bleeding the port. She's turning the fish away." Her fingers tightened on the knife, her frustration spilling into her grip. "The people are scrambling."
"Salacia sees herself as queen of both the oceans and the islanders," she murmured, adjusting the blanket around her children. "She will not send a great wave to swallow us whole. She has no interest in ruling over ruins."
Bonnie's knife stilled for a fraction of a second before carving forward again. "Then what does she want?"
Soileen's lips curled into something wry, bitter. "Legs. Obviously."
"Will you give them to her?"
"Me?" Soileen laughed. "No, child. Not me."
The fire crackled between them, its warmth barely reaching Bonnie's bones. She worked in silence, gutting the last fish, her fingers slick with blood and seawater.
Soileen watched her for a long moment, her gaze sharp as the wind rolling in from the ocean. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she asked, "And what of you, Bonnie?"
Bonnie flicked a glance up before wiping her knife on the grass. "What about me?"
Soileen's smile was slow, knowing. "You come and go like the tide, but you never speak of where the waves carry you."
Bonnie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I go where Edward needs me to. I'm his first mate."
"So you're needed now?"
Bonnie didn't answer immediately. She reached for a handful of salt and rubbed it into the fish, her fingers pressing firm, methodical. "For now."
Soileen shifted, adjusting the blanket over her sleeping children. "And after?"
Bonnie shrugged, her red hair slipping over her shoulder. "Depends on the wind."
Soileen studied her, waiting, perhaps, for something more. But Bonnie had never been generous with the truth, not when it came to herself.
Soileen sighed through her nose. "And what of Edward?"
Bonnie's hands stilled. The firelight cast shadows over her face, making her expression unreadable, but when she finally spoke, her voice was steady. "He's asleep."
"Asleep?"
"By the lake." Her lips twitched in something too soft to be a smirk. "He'll wake when he's ready."
Soileen considered that, then nodded. "And you'll be there."
Bonnie's fingers curled around her knife again. "I'm always there."
Somewhere in the distance, the sea churned against the rocks, restless and endless. Bonnie listened to it for a moment, then exhaled, shaking off whatever weight had settled in her chest.
"You ask too many questions," she muttered, reaching for a cloth to clean her hands.
Soileen only smiled. "And you give too few answers."
"You have known me long enough."
"You love Edward, but he does not love you," Soileen said. "And yet you aid him in his insane quest to bring back the king."
"I wish Neptune was here," Bonnie said. "His bitch wife would not be so bold in her actions."
Soileen let out a pitiful chuckle. "It all begins with love, doesn't it."
A breath of wind stirred the embers, sending sparks into the night air. Bonnie made a soft sound in her throat, neither a laugh nor a denial. "You have no idea."
Bonnie picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, letting the answer settle between them.
"What do you know of the White Snake?"
Bonnie shrugged. "Not much. Only what Mila told me. And Edward. He's not all powerful like they say though, is he?"
"No," Soileen said. "No one is all-powerful. But he is as close to it as one can get."
"Our fight is not with him and yet, we were roped into it."
"Depends on what you mean by 'our.'"
Bonnie leaned back on her elbows, stretching her legs toward the fire. "I fight for my own reasons."
Soileen's eyes darkened with something close to sympathy. "Edward, then."
Bonnie's jaw tightened. "I'm loyal to him. He gave me purpose when I was drifting through the wind like a leaf."
Soileen didn't press further. She only nodded, pulling her children closer against her side. "A long time ago, the Demon fulfilled a request uttered by the Vajda. The first of our people to unite the scattered tribes. Jung was his name. I wish he had never summoned him from the fire, that demon."
"What did he ask of him?" Bonnie asked.
Soileen dared not repeat the request. It cursed the tribe, it cursed Valorian and Tripolis.
It cursed Areilycus and Mila.
"Love, of course."
***
The fire from the night before had died to embers, but the scent of charred wood and the ghosts of whispered conspiracies still clung to the air. And then, as always, Mila and Ari arrived—silent as shadows, their clothes disheveled, their hands still brushing in the space between them like a secret language. They had been hiding, plotting as they always did, their lips stained with grass and wine and … who knows what else.
There were not many Vlachy left. The thought settled in Bonnie's gut like a swallowed stone. The mighty people who once ruled the tides and whispered to the waves had been reduced to whispers themselves, dwindling figures scattered like driftwood in the storm. And yet, Mila—impossibly defiant Mila—stood at the center of their ruin, her spine straight, her eyes burning.
"It's time," Mila said, "Queen Salacia will have her legs."
A hush fell over the camp. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Soileen, the last witch of worth among them, lifted her chin, her dark eyes flashing like onyx struck by moonlight. "It's a mistake," she said, "To give Salacia dominion over land is to invite disaster."
"She will not have dominion," Mila countered. "I will make sure she will not terrorize you or Aazor anymore. That is the price."
The Vlachy were desperate, their once-great empire reduced to a scattering of survivors clinging to the edges of history. And Mila—Mila, with her reckless courage and her eyes full of war—was willing to gamble their last hope on a sea queen with too much power and too little reason.
"We need an army," Mila pressed, her voice firm, unshaken. "We need someone to stand up to the Assigner. To hold the line until the little dragon grows its wings." She cast a glance at Bonnie then, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. "Until Bonnie is ready."
"I will teach you the spell," Soileen said. "Under one condition."
Mila lifted a brow. "Name it."
"You," Soileen said, stepping closer, her eyes burning like dark coals. "You will be the new Vajda."
***
Ari had learned long ago to find silence wherever he could. It was vital for the Sun Lord to seek shelter once in a while, a quiet place where all his light could recuperate and shine again once recharged.
He had been tending to the dragonling—Bonnie—her soft, glowing breath rising and falling against his palm when the ache began, low in the chest. Restlessness. Unease.
He thought it was exhaustion at first, the kind that gnawed at him since the Diamond Storm. But the feeling grew teeth—tugging, tightening, needling. He could not stay still. The calm that usually wrapped him like a second skin began to itch.
When he finally rose and slipped away toward the dunes, the world around him felt wrong
Quiet and heavy. Like a mere thought of Mila going out of existence, it terrified him.
Las watched from the shadows of the bluffs, one hand pressed lightly to his temple. His eyes were half-lidded, gold burning faint beneath the surface. The emotions he pulled from Ari shimmered through the air like heat distortion—restlessness, frustration, the slow unraveling of restraint.
"It's working," Cleo murmured beside him. "He's always been too calm. Let's see what happens when the peacekeeper starts to burn."
***
Ari stopped when the sand began to shift beneath his boots.
The air thickened—felt alive, almost liquid. He knew immediately this was no coincidence. How did he get to the beach?
Where was Bonnie?
"Las," he said without turning. "Show yourself." Ari pivoted slowly. Las stood a few paces away, Cleo beside him, Tenebris gleaming at her hip—an ugly, living kind of gleam.
O-oh.
"I should've known," Ari said, exhaling. "You two never could resist dramatics."
Cleo nearly popped a golden vein. "Look who's fucking talking."
He raised his hands slightly. "If you're here to talk, talk. If you're here to kill me, at least try to make it quick."
"Don't flatter yourself," Cleo said as Las lifted Tenebris. The blade hissed as if tasting the air. Then, before Ari could blink, the weapon elongated—splitting, bending—its edges stretching into threads of molten steel that slithered through the sand like serpents.
They lashed out, wrapping around his arms, his torso, his throat. Tenebris tightened, hard and cold, binding him in a cocoon of living metal.
He didn't fight. He didn't even flinch.
Las stepped closer, his gaze flicking with faint remorse. "You're coming back to Tripolis with us."
Ari tilted his head. "Dad sent you?"
Cleo's eyes flashed. "We're not your enemies, Ari. We're your family. You belong with us—with the ones who still remember what duty means."
"And Mila?" he asked softly. "Does she belong with us too?"
Cleo's lip curled. " She's corrupted you. Twisted you into her shadow. Everything you've done—everything you've become—is because of her."
"She saved me," Ari said simply.
"She's killing you," Cleo snapped. "You've let her lead you away from everything you were meant to be. You obey her every whim like a servant. You follow her heart wherever it wanders. Your love for her, Ari …it's so dark that one day it will blind the entire universe."
Ari's breath caught.
"How do you know?" he whispered.
Cleo and Las exchanged a look, the kind of look siblings shared after a long, familiar argument. Las's smile was sad. "Is there anyone who does not?"
Ari stared at them, stunned into stillness. "And you're not disgusted?"
Las tilted his head. "Disgust is not the word I'd use."
Something in Ari's chest cracked then—not from shame, but relief. Slowly, the faint glow of his skin dimmed.
"Good," he said. "Because we are not actually siblings."
Cleo's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"
"Ask Father," Ari murmured. "Ask the White Snake what he made us from." He lifted his head, meeting their eyes, the fire of a dying star burning behind his calm.
The bindings of Tenebris loosened, trembling like something suddenly afraid.
Ari stepped forward, unbound. "You've been chasing ghosts of obedience. I'm done with that."
Las tightened her grip on the sword, but her hand shook. "Mila and I are not siblings. For all I know, I was made in her image. Who knows how he made the rest of you."
The certainty in Cleo's eyes wavered. "You lie."
Ari looked down at Tenebris's chains, loosening the more he pushed forward. "Am I?"
***
The hidden beach near the Gulf of Aazor was not a place of peace. It was a mouth, a jagged, yawning thing where the sea gnashed its teeth against the rocks, coughing up foam.
The wind screamed like a wounded animal. The sand felt sharp beneath their feet, gritty with crushed shells and forgotten bones. Bonnie stood at the edge, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she watched Soileen step forward, her thin arms raised, her mouth twisting into the shape of ancient, dangerous words.
Mila copied her.
"Repeat after me," Soileen said:
"O drom anglal, o drom palal—
Ruvla, baxtale devla, saste man!
Puven an i paani, len an i phuv,
Salacia—chorav o jivipen, del amen o mol!"*
Her voice rose and cracked like lightning hitting a brittle tree. The waves shuddered. The water pulled back, hesitating.
Then it surged forward with a roar, crashing against the rocks and spiraling into impossible patterns—circles within circles, spirals within spirals.
Bonnie felt the hair on her arms stand up. Magic, raw and untamed, scraped against her skin. It wasn't the pretty kind either.
She remembered this magic all too well, cursing her and turning her into a beast.
Soileen's eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Her voice cracked like glass:
"Salacia, phuv, paani, trajo!
Kames te kerav amenca!
Dik! Av si amenca! Av te lel o kangheri!"
The spirals collapsed into a single, towering column of water that shot skyward. It hung there for a moment, gleaming like a frozen vein of glass. Then it shattered and rained down in thick sheets.
And from the center of that water, she came.
No longer the hag of the deeps, no longer the sea-warped creature with barnacled skin and a tail like a twisted root. She walked now, walked—bare feet pressing into the wet sand, each step leaving behind shimmering, iridescent traces of seawater. Her skin was the color of polished driftwood, smooth and glistening. Her hair tumbled down her back in thick, seaweed-dark coils. She wore a dress of foam and pearl-thread that clung to her legs, legs she was testing like a newborn fawn learning what the earth felt like beneath it.
She was beautiful. And terrifying. Like the ocean on a calm day: pretty on the surface, but ready to drown you if you got too close.
Bonnie had never seen the Queen look this much like an ethereal being, pure and powerful.
Areilycus shifted the dark green cloak in his arms, and when Salacia stepped from the water to the dry sand, he moved forward and draped it over her shoulders.
Salacia's dark eyes flicked to him, her lips curving into something that might've been a smile.
"Well," she said, voice thick like honey drawn from deep, wild hives. "You kept your word."
Mila stepped forward, her boots sinking into the wet sand. "We're ready to double down," she said. "We'll give all your people legs. Every Nereid that still swims in the deep. If you swear that they will use those legs on the battlefield."
Salacia laughed. A guttural, rolling sound.
Well, she might have looked beautiful now, but she was still laughing like a gremlin.
"And why would I do that?" Her gaze turned mocking. "I don't give a sea rat's ass about your war. The Assigner's not my problem."
"Isn't he?" Mila's voice was soft. Dangerous.
Salacia's laughter died, strangled in her throat. Her jaw tensed. Just slightly. A crack in the armor, small but unmistakable.
Mila stepped closer. "I am not who he said I was. According to these people, I come from here. And coincidentally, he cannot set foot on this soil, otherwise he would have descended and annihilated us long ago. Why do I feel like you know exactly what's going on here?"
The words hit like a harpoon to the chest. Salacia's pupils shrank. Her fingers twitched against the cloak's edge. The sea behind her seemed to stir uneasily, waves folding over each other in nervous submission.
"You poured down acidic rain on Aazor and you diverted the fish from the fishing grounds to slowly starve the population, but it is nothing compared to what your magic could have done. And yet you did not. You don't seem the type to hold back. Unless someone told you to."
The silence stretched taut, thin as fishing wire. Bonnie, standing just behind Mila, felt her heart ricochet against her ribs. The ocean, vast and eternal, never feared anything. But its queen?
Her shoulders squared. "The Assigner cannot reach my realm."
Mila smiled. "He just tore through our camp hidden in my brother's body and killed almost everybody."
Salacia's lips parted. A moment of hesitation flickered across her face. Her eyes drifted toward the restless waves, where her kingdom still waited beneath the surface, untouched and unchallenged. Safe.
But fear was a powerful thing. And revenge? Revenge was stronger.
She extended her hand. The sea still glistened on her skin, running in rivulets down her arm. The saltwater didn't fall; it coiled like snakes around her wrist, swirling and shimmering in defiance of gravity.
Mila clasped it. The moment their palms touched, the air crackled, and the waves roared as if the sea itself was screaming its approval—or its fury.
"We have a dragon, Salacia," Mila said. "And we all want to use her for our noble cause of love."
Salacia opened her mouth to protest but Mila raised a hand. "I know you love your husband still. We can make a dragon. I can make a dragon," Mila swore.
Bonnie tried to hide her surprise. Of course she didn't know how to make a dragon, it was not magic that could be taught. Dragons were created.
But how did she figure it out?
The wind howled through the hidden cove when Queen Salacia agreed to the Anchor's proposal.
***
Cleo didn't remember walking. One moment she was watching Ari disappear through the trees, leaving Tenebris slack in Lasicus's hand, the next, she was shoving aside branches with enough force to snap them, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth hurt.
Las trailed behind her, Tenebris curled in his arms in the shape of a long steel cat, the blade purring faintly as if pleased with itself.
They didn't stop until they were deep in the forest, far from the path Ari had taken.
"There," Cleo spat, lifting her hand. Valorian resisted her—she felt it like a weight in her bones—but she forced her power through the air. Leaves stirred, roots shifted, and a small shelter took shape: walls of moss, a roof of interlocking branches. Crude, but stable.
She stepped inside, shaking with fury.
Las entered after her and sank to the floor, Tenebris instantly climbing into his lap.
The blade nudged his hand expectantly. He stroked it absently.
Cleo paced, her breath sharp.
"He lied," she snapped. "He has been lying since the moment he left Tripolis. Mila has him wrapped around her finger. He will say anything to justify staying with her."
Las didn't respond.
Cleo stopped pacing. "Did you even hear him?"
Still nothing.
She turned. Las's shoulders were shaking. Silent tears slid down his face, his eyes red and swollen.
Cleo's anger flickered. "Las…?"
He wiped at his cheek, breath hitching. "She killed Rosum."
Cleo opened her mouth—then closed it. She had no answer for that.
Las pressed his fist against his sternum. "And Father tried to kill Ari. And he would've killed Mila too—if she hadn't stopped him. Cleo… he's killing us."
"That is not confirmed," she hissed.
"Cleo." His voice trembled. "What if that had been me?"
She froze.
Las lifted his gaze, pleading and terrified all at once. "What if I had been the one outside during the storm? What if Father ordered me to stay there? Would you still follow him? Would you still say 'he knows best'?"
Cleo felt the question like a blow.
"Las—"
"Would you save me?" His voice cracked. "Would you choose me, Cleo?"
She dropped beside him, pulling him against her chest. "Of course I would. Always. You are my brother. I would burn through every world to keep you alive."
Las squeezed his eyes shut. "Then how can we hold it against Mila that she did the same for Ari?"
Cleo stiffened.
"It is not the same," she forced out. "We do not know the full story. Our job is to bring Ari and Mila home."
Las pulled back and looked at her, something raw and wounded flickering in his expression. "Do you still believe that?"Tenebris nudged Las again. He ran a hand along the blade's spine, calming himself.
"In that case," Las said quietly, "we will need reinforcements."
Cleo inhaled, long and slow. Her eyes hardened.
"Yes," she said. "We will."
But for the first time in her long life, she wasn't sure whether she meant reinforcements for the mission—
—or reinforcements for surviving whatever their father truly was.
***
The city of Aazor had always smelled of seawater and smoke, but now the stench of rot clung to every street. The last storm had poisoned the shoreline again—fish floating belly-up, their scales eaten away by acid. Gardens wilted. Children cried from hunger. The vendors' stalls stood empty, canvas flaps hanging like defeated flags.
The people had stopped whispering their fear days ago. Now they spoke plainly.
"It's the Vlachy."
"They brought this curse."
"They poisoned the sea."
"They brought the dragon."
By the time the crowd gathered in the center square, desperation had turned to anger. Aazor was a city of lean bodies, tired faces, and empty hands, but tonight every hand clenched something—sticks, knives, broken bottles, anything sharp.
Las stood at the edge of the square, the hood of his cloak pulled low. His breath came quick and shallow. Cleo stood beside him, her arms crossed tightly.
The noise of the crowd swelled, dozens of voices rising in angry waves.
"They take our food!"
"They took our fish!"
"They stole our luck!"
"Burn their camp!"
Las inhaled once, slow. Emotion thrummed through the square—fear, hunger, resentment. The beauty of Las's power lay in its simplicity. Tripolitans believed that the god of emotion could create any thought, feeling or stirring inside their bodies he pleased. It was an effective narrative Father had created, although not completely accurate.
Las could not create that which did not exist. He could only work with the emotion and thoughts his targets already possessed.
Did your father give you a particularly harsh beating that one time when you were young? That pain existed within you, no matter how many years passed. Did your sister drown your puppy in the river out of spite when you were kids? The hatred you felt would fester even without your knowledge.
If Lasicus wished, he would bring those emotions up to the surface and multiply their ferocity tenfold to a point where a minor disagreement could turn into carnage. Of course, his power took its toll. Due to the nature of stirring emotion, he was forced to absorb them all once all was said and done.
It made him volatile, unstable, and fragile.
But nothing could stop him when he had his sister by his side. His anchor.
Even when every fiber of the island was fighting him.
He opened himself.
The sensation hit instantly—heat under his skin, pressure in his chest. Their emotions poured into him, sharp and frantic, begging to be turned loose.
Cleo steadied him with a hand under his elbow.
"Las—slowly—"
But the crowd cracked open.
"THIS IS OUR CITY!" a man shouted.
"THEY DO NOT BELONG HERE!"
"THEY BROUGHT THE STORMS!"
The spark Las dropped wasn't magic. It was just intent. A simple push.
They hurt you.
For a moment, Aazor went silent—as if holding its breath.
Then someone screamed, "TO THE ENCAMPMENT!"
The square exploded into motion. The crowd surged like a wave breaking free—shoving, shouting, running toward the forest road that led to the Vlachy camp. The sound of it was terrifying: hundreds of feet pounding the ground in unison, voices cracking with fury and despair.
Las staggered.
Cleo caught him before he hit the ground. "Las!"
He shook violently, every breath a struggle. "Too many," he gasped. "Too much—"
His knees buckled. Cleo lowered him to the cobblestones, cradling his head in her lap.
"Las." She stroked his temple, her voice breaking in spite of herself. "You did enough. Stop."
His eyes fluttered. His pulse hammered wildly.
"Their anger…" he whispered. "It's so loud."
"I know," she said gently. "Rest."
He sagged into her, exhausted, sweat cooling on his brow.
Cleo leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead—soft, steadying, protective.
Above them, the city roared toward violence.
And Cleo held her brother tightly, knowing there was no turning the tide now.