For three nights, the heavens had not slept.
The stars hid behind a veil of storm clouds, and thunder rolled endlessly across the hills. Rain came and went in violent bursts, drenching the kingdom one hour and abandoning it to choking dust the next. The people of Ephyra whispered that Aureon's eye had turned toward them again.
From her chamber window, Mireia watched the horizon burn with lightning — not over the sea, but over the land itself. The fields shimmered with water one day and cracked with drought the next. Cattle died in the pastures. The air carried the scent of sickness and salt.
The curse of her bloodline was awake.
The priests called it the Sky's Reckoning — Aureon's punishment for the sin of King Acastus. No prayer could undo it. No offering could ease it. The heavens wanted blood.
And still, despite herself, Mireia's gaze always drifted toward the sea. The only thing untouched by the storms. The only thing that did not burn or rot or break. Its calm infuriated her.
She hated the gods — every one of them.She hated Aureon for damning them, hated the priests for serving him, and hated the Sea God, Thereon, for his silence.
Yet whenever the thunder grew too close, she felt something stir beneath her ribs — an ache like memory, a pull toward the water's edge.
She did not understand it, and she despised it all the more.
The Night of Omen
On the fourth night, the sky split open.
Lightning crawled down the mountains like veins of fire. The wind tore banners from the palace towers. In the throne hall, nobles and priests huddled beneath the pillars, faces white with fear.
"The curse worsens," the High Priest said. His voice cracked under the sound of the storm. "Aureon's wrath deepens. The old pact must be fulfilled — or Ephyra will not see another harvest."
King Lysander stood before the fire, his shoulders bowed. His crown lay beside him, a dull reflection of the flames."Eighteen years," he whispered. "Eighteen years of prayers unanswered. I thought the heavens would forget."
"They forget nothing," the priest replied. "They only wait for the appointed blood."
The Queen sobbed quietly into her hands. "Not our daughter," she said. "Not her."
Unseen, Mireia stood in the doorway, the stormlight flashing white across her face. Her gray gown clung to her like mist, her hair tangled and dark. She looked like a shadow of the sea she resented.
"If I go," she said, stepping into the hall, "will it end?"
The priest turned, startled. "Child—"
"Answer me," she demanded.
"It will calm," he said at last. "For a time. Until Aureon's hunger returns."
Her father's jaw tightened. Her mother broke into another sob.
Mireia's gaze drifted toward the window, where the rain streaked down like tears. "Then let it take me. But I go as myself, not as a sacrifice."
The priest bowed, more in fear than reverence. "So be it. The heavens call their debt, and the daughter of Ephyra shall answer."
The Walk to the Edge
By dawn, the rain had ceased, but the air was heavy — the calm before judgment.
The people lined the streets as Mireia walked among them. No one spoke. They knelt, not in devotion, but terror. The cobblestones still glistened from the storm, reflecting her like a ghost.
The clouds above churned with bruised light. Thunder rumbled low and distant, as if watching.
When she reached the cliffs, the sea below glimmered with unnatural stillness — a mirror beneath the wrath of heaven. The waves seemed to hold their breath.
The High Priest lifted his staff. "Kneel, Mireia of Ephyra. Give your life so the skies may rest."
But she did not kneel.
Her voice cut through the wind — steady, fierce, defiant."I will not beg for mercy from tyrants who play with the fates of men. Aureon may take my life, but he will not own me."
Lightning split the heavens open.
A sound like the earth itself breaking filled the air. A pillar of white fire struck the cliffs, blinding all who watched. The priests fell to their knees, crying out in terror.
And Mireia — her eyes wide, her face calm — stepped forward into the light.
The wind howled. The sky swallowed her whole.
Aftermath
When the storm cleared, the heavens were silent.
The people said Aureon had been appeased — that the skies had claimed their due. But far below, in the quiet deep where sunlight could not reach, the sea rippled once, faintly.
Something ancient stirred.
Not the wrath of heaven, but the memory of something older, deeper — watching. Waiting.
And for the first time, Thereon stirred from his slumber beneath the waves.