Blue alarm beacons flashed through the nursery dome, turning calm water into confused ribbons of light. I kicked hard toward the entrance tunnel, pulse key clipped tight against my chest plate. The current ahead twisted, pulling outward, not in. Hatchlings squealed inside their circular pods, tiny bodies spinning as the flow tried to drag them toward the vent grates.
"Anchor nets, now," I called. My voice echoed off the glass arches, sharp and clear.
Lis swung in first, eyes already scanning the overhead rail. She popped an anchor cartridge, fired upward, and the nanofiber net unfurled in a clean sheet that caught the worst of the suction. Saar followed, mirrored cloth snapping in place to redirect smaller eddies away from the pods.
Ashekan and the shellguards swam low, wedging vent plates back into place with quick hammer strokes. Each clang vibrated along my scales. The temperature here was dropping fast, colder water rushing in from the breach we had sealed only hours ago.
Veshra flicked her scanner crystal. "Flow rate still climbing," she warned, voice tight. "We need to kill the outflow inside thirty breaths or pod membranes tear."
I closed my eyes, felt the tug of water on my gills, then pushed a spiral outward. Not wide, just steady. The swirl slid along the floor, pressed against the runaway current like a second skin, and bled its strength into the net Lis had fixed.
"Hold that line," Lis shouted, tightening her grip on the anchor's tether.
My pearl flared yellow in warning. Not pain, just strain. The water obeyed. Flow numbers on Veshra's slate dipped, then settled into green.
Ashekan hammered one last plate, sealing the vent. The rush of water cut off. Hatchling pods floated free of the pull, rocking gently.
Caretakers hurried in, smoothing cables and checking pod seals. One brushed a trembling fin across my shoulder. "Thank you, Watcher Kaelen. You saved the pods again."
"Not alone," I said, voice rough. My spiral folded away, pearl sliding back toward calm.
With the crisis over, the dome lights shifted to soft green. Hatchlings chirped, more out of confusion than fear. The current stilled around us, leaving only drifting bubbles of coolant.
Lis floated close, visor pushed up. "That makes two breaches in two days," she said quietly. "Someone is cutting our reef open."
Saar nodded. "Decay leaves a taste, iron and old sand. Invaders work their machines deeper than we guessed."
I answered with a slow breath. "We reinforce what we can. Council needs a full map of weak points. For now, the hatchlings are safe."
Veshra approached, slate tucked under one arm. "I logged the pressure graph. It never spiked above threshold. Good work." Her smile was small but real.
Outside, the reef felt like it was holding itself still, afraid to breathe too hard. Workers repaired coolant lines, artisans planted fresh coral shards where cracks had spread. On every dome wall, mourning banners of dark kelp hung low for those lost earlier in the cycle.
A memorial service gathered at the tide hall. I watched from a distance. Elders read names while families pressed palms to memory stones. No speeches of revenge, only promises to rebuild.
When the lanterns dimmed, I slipped away toward the quiet lanes that led to the island. My body ached, but the demi-god's voice still whispered in my head, reminding me that rest could be found in practice, not in sleep.
Before I reached the long-current ferry, a runner intercepted me. "Council wishes you to remain in city bounds," she said, handing over a slate. "Two cycles of mandatory rest, then reassessment."
I almost argued, but the bruise along my stretched pearl veins answered for me. "Understood," I replied.
I turned instead toward the central camp repair site, where engineers rigged new chill lines. Captain Raalessar's name had surfaced already, a Class Two Green awakened from the capital reef who would command the space craft project. Word spread faster than any current.
A shellguard pointed me to temporary barracks tucked under the bloom trough. "Room's yours, Watcher. Council's orders." I thanked him and stepped inside. The chamber was small but quiet, dark water swirling like a sleeping tide.
I did not lie down. Instead, I placed my seedstone on the single coral shelf. The tangleweed sprout swayed, one leaf still brown from the earlier surge. I whispered an apology, then closed my eyes, letting the calm current run across my gills.
A vibration pricked at my pearl, faint at first, then sharper. I felt it before I heard anything: a distant roll, not from inside the reef but from the open water beyond.
I floated to the doorway and looked out across the ridge horizon. Lanterns at the perimeter towers barely reached that far, yet I saw them, dark forms, heavy and purposeful, silhouettes against the faint glow of shallows. They moved in formation, shadows of armored suits gliding toward the reef edge.
Lis's voice echoed in my head, fear and resolve mixed. "Someone is cutting our reef open."
She was wrong on one point. They were no longer cutting. They were coming.
I tightened the brace on my wrist, felt the pearl flare green, then yellow. Behind me, the reef banners still fluttered, mourning the last attack we barely survived. Ahead, new shapes closed in.
I kicked into the current, sound of distant alarms starting to rise behind me. The reef was not done bleeding. And neither was I done fighting.