The days passed quickly, but ever since the Leviathan had risen from the deep, Rowan's nights had become restless. Sleep no longer came gently. It dragged him down, tossed him, left him gasping awake. And always the same dream returned, vivid as breath. Always the same dark water. Always the same drifting lights. And always, at the center of it, Callen—alive, and not alive at all.
Tonight, the fleet lay quiet. Lanterns swayed on their ropes, soft orange halos rippling across black water. Men snored in ragged chorus. A baby whimpered somewhere in the cluster of rafts, hushed quickly by a tired mother. The smell of salt and tar lingered thick in the air.
Rowan sat alone at the stern, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the ocean's surface. Beneath, a vast shadow circled steadily—his Leviathan, never straying far, like a second heartbeat hidden below the waves. Its presence was both a comfort and a weight pressing against his chest.
Beside him, in a shallow clay bowl filled with fresh water, Midg flicked in restless circles. The little minnow's silver scales caught the lantern light, flashing in quick darts. Every so often he paused to nose against Rowan's fingertip when it dipped into the bowl, then darted away again.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Rowan murmured. His voice sounded tired even to himself. "Something's coming."
Midg darted once in response, rippling the surface. Rowan managed a thin smile.
But when he finally lay down, exhaustion crushed him. His eyes closed. And as always, the dream pulled him under.
---
The first breath was always the hardest. His chest tightened, waiting for the drowning rush—but it never came. He breathed water as though it were air.
The sea here was black, endless. No up, no down. Only weight and silence. Threads of pale light drifted around him, moving like ribbons in a current too slow to feel. Some brushed against his arms, warm and soft as silk. Others burned icy trails down his skin that lingered even after they passed.
His voice carried strangely when he whispered: "Where…?" It didn't bubble. It rang out, resonant, like a bell tolling in a cavern.
Then came the heartbeat.
Not his own. Deeper. Vast. Each pulse shook the threads of light. The water seemed to breathe with it. Rowan knew the rhythm instinctively—Leviathan. Watching him even here.
And then, movement.
A figure swam through the drifting lights.
Rowan's heart stumbled. Impossible. But he knew that form—broad shoulders, the set of a jaw, hair floating like black smoke. He had seen it a thousand times in memory.
"Callen," Rowan whispered.
The figure turned.
For one impossible, heart-breaking instant, it was his brother. Whole. Alive. His eyes wide in recognition, mouth parting to speak. Rowan nearly sobbed.
But then silver burned in his gaze.
Light spidered from Callen's eyes down his neck and arms like molten veins, pulsing faintly with every movement. His skin looked stretched, half-transparent, as though something beneath strained to get out. His smile flickered, twitching at the edges. His strokes through the water were too fast, too sharp—like he was being dragged rather than swimming.
"Row…" Callen's voice reached him, ragged, distorted. "Don't… follow…"
Rowan surged forward, the current clinging to him like tar. "You're alive! Callen, you're alive!" His throat closed. He had believed his brother lost, swallowed by sea and silence. Yet here he was, within reach. "I can save you—"
Callen's head jerked. His jaw stretched too far. And another voice spoke through him, layered over his own.
"He is mine now."
The sound throbbed through the water. It wasn't Callen's voice. It wasn't human. It came from everywhere—the threads, the current, even Rowan's bones.
"No!" Rowan's voice cracked. "You can't have him! He's my brother. He can be saved!"
Callen convulsed, twitching as if two wills tore at him inside. For a heartbeat his eyes dimmed, silver fading. His hand lifted toward Rowan, trembling. "Row…"
Hope flared—then the threads of light snapped tight around Callen like ropes. They wrapped his arms, his chest, his throat, dragging him backward into the abyss. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his fingers strained for Rowan.
"Callen!" Rowan bellowed, kicking furiously, but the water dragged him the other way. "Hold on! I won't let you go!"
His brother's glow vanished into the dark.
And then Rowan felt it.
A presence stirred beyond the lights. Vast. Ancient. Patient. It pressed against his ribs, his skull, every bone vibrating with the weight of it. The water grew colder. The threads shivered violently, several snapping to pieces.
A voice rolled through him, grinding like stone beneath a tide.
"Once touched, the tide cannot be turned."
Rowan's fists clenched. "Then I'll turn it myself! I'll drag him back—I swear it!"
The voice pressed closer, suffocating.
"He is already mine."
Rowan shook, fury burning. "No—he's still Callen! Still my brother! You won't take him!"
The light shattered. The sea collapsed inward, crushing. Darkness devoured him.
---
He woke with a gasp, nearly pitching off the raft.
Lanterns swayed, throwing frantic shadows across the deck. His chest heaved as if he'd been drowning for real, sweat slick on his skin.
Beside him, Midg thrashed violently in his bowl, sending water splashing over the rim. His silver body flickered too fast to track. Rowan steadied the bowl with shaking hands, whispering: "It's all right. Easy."
The minnow slowed gradually, circling tighter and tighter until his movements calmed. Rowan dipped his fingertip into the bowl, and Midg brushed against it, clinging close like a child to a parent.
Rowan exhaled hard, pressing a palm to his face.
The fleet around him slept on—sailors sprawled on deck, children bundled against the chill, Luna curled on a blanket a few feet away, her chest rising and falling steady. For a moment, Rowan thought about waking her. Telling her everything. But the words locked in his throat.
He turned his gaze to the water. Beneath the rafts, the Leviathan circled, restless. Its massive shadow slid beneath the surface lantern-light, keeping close, as if it too had sensed something.
Rowan's stomach churned.
It was only a dream, he told himself. Only grief gnawing at his mind.
And yet… the silver glow of Callen's eyes refused to fade.
The question was—
Was this a sign?
A call for help?
Or only guilt, gnawing at him in the dark?