The library was quiet, smelling faintly of salt and dust. That shouldn't have been possible—salt, inside a building—but in Azure Bay, everything smelled like the sea. Even silence.
Stacks of books towered around me like ruins. Titles glimmered faintly in the dim light: The Deep Gods.The Whispering Tides.Lost Kingdoms Beneath the Waves.
Each page I turned seemed to hum with something—not knowledge, exactly. More like a warning. But nothing made sense. None of it felt real.
I groaned and shut one of the books with a soft thud. "I can't think here," I muttered. "It's too… dry."
Across the table, Xylan looked up slowly. His eyes were calm, but there was something underneath—tired, like he'd been fighting something invisible for too long.
"Dry?" he repeated, one eyebrow raised.
I gestured vaguely at the dusty air, the stillness, the way even the sound of our breathing felt heavy. "Yeah. Like this place doesn't belong to the sea. Like the words forgot what they were supposed to mean."
He blinked once, then closed his sketchbook. "You're… not wrong," he said quietly.
I tilted my head, studying him. His hood shadowed most of his face, but I could still see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers curled protectively around the pencil. He looked older somehow—like he carried years no one else could see.
"Wait," I said suddenly, leaning forward. "How old are you?"
He glanced at me, cautious. "Seventeen."
I smiled. "So you're technically older than me. I'm sixteen."
He didn't react much—just a small nod, like the fact mattered less than the air we were breathing. But I caught the flicker in his eyes, the way he seemed to measure me differently now.
"Seventeen - sixteen," I said, tapping my pen against the book. "Same class, though. Guess that makes us… equals."
"Guess so," he murmured, though his tone made it sound like he didn't believe in equals.
Then, after a pause, "There's a path that goes down to the beach from behind the sports field. If you really want to think, maybe the ocean will help."
I grinned. "So you're saying my instincts are right."
"I'm saying the tide's rough this week," he replied, voice even. "If we go, we stay near the cliffs."
I mock-saluted him. "Yes, Captain."
And just like that, he looked away—but I didn't miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched.
The sky was silver by the time we reached the beach, the clouds hanging low and bruised with rain. The air was cool, restless. Every gust of wind carried salt and static, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.
The sand stretched smooth and untouched, like a page waiting to be written on. Waves rolled and hissed, breaking in neat white lines.
Then something shimmered. A flash, near the shoreline—quick and cold, like the sun glinting off glass.
I jogged toward it before Xylan could stop me. "Whoa… what is that?"
"Starling, wait—don't touch it," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the wind. There was something in it that sounded almost like fear.
I crouched down anyway.
At first, I thought it was a fish, stranded by the tide. But when I leaned closer, my breath caught. Its fins weren't real—no flesh, no scales. They were carved like glass, translucent and edged in light. Its body shimmered faintly, every line glowing blue, like it was alive and not alive all at once.
"That's not possible," Xylan murmured.
"What, finding a fish?" I teased, glancing back at him.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on it, pupils small.
"No," he said finally, his voice low. "Finding this."
The word this felt heavy. It meant more than what I saw.
The clouds darkened. Thunder rumbled somewhere deep beyond the cliffs, and the air thickened, heavy enough to taste.
The fish flicked its tail.
I gasped. "Did you see that—"
And then it dissolved. Not faded, not disappeared—vanished. Into smoke. Into nothing.
The sand where it had been glowed faintly for half a heartbeat, then went dark.
"What just—"
Thunder cracked like the sky was breaking in half. A drop of rain hit my cheek, cold and sharp. Then another. Then dozens.
Rain fell fast, soaking the sand, the cliffs, the books we'd stuffed into our bags. The waves roared higher, furious.
I turned to Xylan. "What's happening?"
He didn't look at me. He was staring out at the sea, jaw clenched, eyes wide like he was seeing something no one else could.
"It's starting again," he said.
My heart stuttered. "What is?"
He swallowed, voice barely a whisper. "The calling."
The wind screamed against the cliffs. And for a second, I swore the sea itself leaned closer—like it wanted to listen.
A wave crashed hard against the shore. Foam sprayed high, sparkling.
And in that roar— I heard it.
My name.
Hope.
Soft. Familiar. And impossibly far away.