I woke before the morning bell, the kind of waking that came not from sound but from the restless pulse of my pearl. My chest ached faintly from the previous night's streams, the veins along my ribs still glowing with a dim trace of blue even while I was calm. The glow was not bright, only there, like the current no longer fully slept inside me. I stretched slowly, working the stiffness out of my fins and arms, and swam toward the outer reef edge where the city's lights softened into open lanes.
Lis was already there, perched against a coral brace with a satchel of bloom cuttings. When she saw me, her crest tilted in amusement."You don't stop, do you?" she said, fastening a stalk into the satchel.
"Not when the tide keeps pulling," I replied, adjusting the strap across my shoulder.
She let out a soft click with her teeth. "You'll burn yourself hollow if you keep pushing like that."
"Better hollow than still," I said, and she allowed the thought to drift without pushing back. The look she gave me carried both concern and a trace of pride.
The salvage yard was alive with movement when I reached it. Hammer chimes and the hum of glyph welders rolled through the water in steady rhythm. At its center floated the first frame of the Tide-Star, anchored by shell pylons. Invader plating, dark, scarred, and stubborn, had been shaped into a curved skeleton. Where vent pearls were embedded, turquoise light pulsed faintly, casting long shadows that made the unfinished frame glow like the ribcage of some ancient creature.
Elder Fin's voice cut sharply through the noise. "Your heat flux is uneven! The alloy's resisting you. Wrap the seam first."
Echo-Hand, calm and direct, swam closer. "Use the mirrored cloth before sealing. It binds under stress better than your welds alone."
One of the engineers grumbled but did as told. The seam smoothed over with a clean shimmer, the light bending slightly where the Exile cloth held the edge. Even the air of pride around Talos, who oversaw the work, was quiet. Cooperation was taking root whether anyone admitted it aloud or not.
Two other candidates waited at the test ring. Serith, lean with the steady yellow veins of Class 1 strength, wove a tight current loop between his fingers, letting it coil and roll without spilling. When he noticed me, he gave a polite nod, the loop never faltering.
Venn was the opposite, broad, grinning, and glowing with bright Blue power. He slammed a wall of water against the ring's barrier, laughing when the glyph anchors trembled."Finally, someone else to watch," he said, spinning toward me with a grin. "You're Kaelen, right? Heard you've been training with the guardian. Going to show us something impressive?"
"Just trying not to drown first," I answered with a small smirk. His grin widened even more.
Captain Raalessar appeared so quietly it was as if he'd risen from the water itself. One moment the ring belonged to us; the next he stood at its edge, arms crossed, veins glowing bright jade in the soft morning light.
"Continue," he said, voice even but carrying authority.
Serith shaped his spiral into a thread so fine it looked like glass. Venn grunted as he held his wall steady, pushing harder when the captain's gaze fell on him. When it came to me, I gathered water slowly, folding it into a tight vortex that shimmered in my hand. My veins burned, but the current held.
Raalessar raised a hand. With the smallest flick, he sent a ripple through my vortex. It buckled, almost tearing. I bit down on panic, steadied my breathing, and guided the disturbance along the edges instead of fighting it. The spiral tightened, unsteady but whole.
The captain gave a slow nod. "Better than I expected. Not enough yet, but better."
He turned away without another word, vanishing back into the city currents as quickly as he had come, leaving a mix of tension and excitement in his wake.
By midday, the reef felt different. Not heavy with mourning as before, not tense from fear. Alive. Artisans strung shell lanterns across arches, their glow rippling through the currents. Nursery keepers guided hatchlings through safe practice streams, their small bodies darting between kelp strands. Laughter carried through the water, soft but persistent. Renewal rituals were beginning, and for the first time in many cycles, the reef felt like it was breathing again.
I passed under the arches and let the sounds of life soak into me. Hope, fragile but real, drifted through every current.
Night drew me back to the lagoon. Mist hung low, beads clinging to the surface. The guardian waited, crouched on his pillar, eyes reflecting deep gold. He didn't greet me with words. He only lifted a hand, and three streams tore upward from the lagoon floor. Two I knew well—the cold and warm columns. The third twisted between them, erratic, surging with no rhythm at all.
Hold them all, his voice pressed into my chest.
The first two I caught quickly, arms moving with practiced patterns. The third struck like a wild eel, crashing through my balance. My pearl flared hot, veins screaming. I tried to force it down, and the current burst apart in spray.
Again, the guardian said, voice heavy but patient.
I closed my eyes, breathing slow. Instead of forcing, I listened. The third current bucked but wanted to braid, not spin. I guided it into the space between the other two, weaving it where it wanted to move. Slowly, painfully, the streams twisted into a loose braid, barely holding. The burn through my chest sharpened, but I kept them stable until the guardian nodded.
Balance is not found by equal strength, he said, but by listening to what the current wants to be.
The streams collapsed. I dropped to my knees, arms shaking, veins blazing bright blue. The guardian said nothing else, only let the lagoon settle.
The tide rises faster now, he warned, voice like a drumbeat. Be ready.
I leaned against the coral shelf, letting the mist curl over me. In my mind, the image of the Tide-Star's glowing frame stayed sharp. Tomorrow the trials would begin, and I would be ready to meet them.