The sand still clung to her feet like shackles. Serenya stood at the edge of the tide, her toes sinking into the grit, her chest tightening with each breath of air she did not wish to take. The ocean stretched before her, vast and endless, yet silent—deaf to her call.
Once, a thought had been enough to stir waves into crescendos. Once, her song could have bent storms into lullabies. Now? Nothing. The sea only lapped at her ankles like a beast that had forgotten its master.
Behind her, Kael dragged driftwood into a pile. Sparks spat skyward as he struck flint, and soon fire caught, flickering orange against his tired face. He didn't speak, didn't look at her directly, though his wariness clung to him as tightly as the salt crusted into his skin.
Serenya watched him a long while, eyes narrowing. A mortal, surviving where she floundered. He did not kneel, did not offer tribute, did not even flinch beneath her gaze. It was almost insulting.
"You stare as if waiting for me to break," she said at last, her voice smooth as tidewater over stone.
Kael didn't pause in his work. "You already look broken."
The words struck sharper than she expected. Her lips curved, not into a smile but into a blade. "Careful, sailor. You tempt storms you cannot weather."
Still, he did not bow. His only answer was to set another branch into the flame. For a moment, she considered striking him—not with power she no longer commanded, but with her hands, her nails, her teeth. But the thought of lowering herself burned worse than the sea's betrayal.
So she turned her face away, chin high, as if the slight were beneath her notice.
The fire grew stronger. Its warmth licked her skin, too dry, too alien. She hated how it chased the cold from her bones. She hated more that she needed it.
Kael finally sat, leaning against the driftwood. He studied her in silence, though his eyes darted often to the sea—as if expecting it to rise up and reclaim her. Perhaps he hoped it would.
Serenya let the quiet stretch until it strangled the air between them. Then, with the kind of softness that was sharper than any scream, she whispered: "You should fear me."
Kael's jaw worked, but he said nothing. Only his silence answered her, a defiance more infuriating than words.
The fire crackled. The waves whispered. And Serenya felt, for the first time since stepping on land, the gnawing edge of something she despised more than weakness.
Doubt.
Her hands curled into fists. She would not let him see it.
When at last Kael's eyes drooped, heavy with exhaustion, Serenya stood taller. She let the firelight catch in her hair like moonlit silver, let her shadow stretch across the sand until it swallowed him whole.
"Sleep, sailor," she said, not looking back. "The night is mine to keep."
She walked into the tide until it kissed her ankles. The water was cool, familiar, but still mute. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to stir, to answer, to be hers again.
Nothing.
Her smile faltered—only for herself, only for a heartbeat. Then the mask returned, perfect and unbroken.
If the land would not bow to her song, she would make it learn her voice.
Behind her, Kael stirred in half-dream, muttering nonsense to the embers. A mortal's dream. A mortal's weakness.
The sea shifted, and for a moment she thought it would rise to her again. But the tide only whispered low and dangerous, not in comfort but in warning.
The island was listening. And it did not welcome her.
Turning her gaze, shimmers of red fluttered past bunched oaks and greens, like blood trapped in the wind. The forest seemed to breathe with it—whispers brushing the bark, shadows bending as if to follow.
Serenya stepped forward, each footfall sinking into the sand until it hardened into soil. The air thickened, sap-sweet and strange, pressing against her chest. She reached the treeline, breath sharp, silver eyes fixed on the flicker.
The trees answered first. A low growl, guttural and wet, rumbled from the underbrush. Before she could brace, the beast lunged—massive, fur bristling, eyes reflecting ember-red. Its weight slammed the ground, sending leaves and dirt spiraling. Serenya staggered back, startled, her voice catching in her throat.
A crack split the air. Kael surged from behind, a branch blazing in his hand, firelight snapping across his face. He drove it toward the creature, the flame snarling louder than the growl itself. The beast flinched, snapping its jaws, but it did not advance.
More shapes slithered in the shadows—pairs of eyes, low and circling. The island had teeth, and it was hungry.
Kael shoved a second branch into the fire and thrust it toward her. "Take it," he barked, sweat streaking his face. "Be useful."
The words stung sharper than the heat, but instinct won out. Serenya grasped the branch, fire biting against her skin. She flinched, teeth bared at the alien sensation, but held it firm.
Around them, the forest stirred. The beasts prowled closer, testing, growling. Kael swung the flame wide, sparks scattering into the dark. "Back!" he roared, advancing with mortal ferocity. "Back, damn you!"
The shadows hesitated, circling, snarling, unwilling to commit. The fire crackled, the sea whispered faintly behind her, and Serenya stood caught between both worlds—neither strong enough to command the waves, nor wild enough to master the land.
But she did not drop the fire.
The beasts faded, retreating into the black tangle of trees, leaving only their growls echoing in the hush. The flames hissed in the night air, painting the sand and leaves with flickering gold.
Serenya's knuckles whitened on the burning branch, pride wounded deeper than fear.
Kael only glanced at her, his jaw tight, his voice flat.
"Now you see why fire matters."
She said nothing. Her silence was not surrender, but a vow.
The island had tested her once. It would not be the last.
Behind them, the waves shifted. Quiet at first—then restless, tugging harder toward shore, as though the sea itself leaned closer. Serenya did not notice, too fixed on her anger, too raw with shame.
But the tide crept in all the same, answering a call she had not meant to give.