Out of all the ridiculous things my life had turned into lately, this was not the scene I had pictured.
I thought if everything ever went sideways, it would be loud. Chaotic. Running-for-our-lives energy.
Not… this.
Me, sitting on uneven rocks with salt drying on my hands, unwrapping Reese's peanut butter cups like they were emergency rations. Hope beside me, knees tucked up, staring at the sea with that look she got when she was thinking too hard and pretending she wasn't.
Behind us, Nova and Isadora stood close together, voices low, faces serious—not panicked, not rushed. Like people who had already survived the worst part once and were now calmly deciding how to do it again.
I bit into the chocolate. "If someone told me a year ago this is how my life would look, I would've laughed in their face."
Hope didn't look away from the water. "A year ago, I didn't even believe mermaids were real."
"Touché."
She finally glanced at the candy. "You gonna share or is this a solo coping mechanism?"
I tossed her one. She caught it without looking.
Nova crouched near the shoreline, dragging her fingers through wet sand, sketching shapes that didn't feel random. Circles. Lines. Openings.
"The passage is still there," she said. "Hidden, but intact."
Isadora nodded. "It predates the throne. Before kings. Before crowns."
Hope frowned slightly. "So… older than my father."
"Yes," Isadora said. "And deliberately forgotten."
That quiet hit again. The kind that sat heavy in your chest.
"You escaped through it," Hope said.
Nova didn't deny it. "We ran through it."
"With babies," I added before thinking.
Nova's jaw tightened—not defensive, just… honest. "With no other option."
Hope didn't say anything. She just stood up.
The entrance didn't announce itself.
No glowing markers. No dramatic shift. Just a section of rock darker than the rest, smoother, worn in a way that suggested movement. If you weren't searching for it—if you didn't already believe—it would be nothing.
Hope stepped closer.
I felt it before anything actually happened. That shift. Like the air leaned toward her.
"Careful," Nova started, already moving.
Hope reached out.
Her fingers brushed a stone embedded in the wall—curved, spiral-shaped, almost shell-like but not quite. Cool at first. Ordinary.
Then—
The world inhaled.
The stone lit up from the inside, gold bleeding into turquoise like light had found a vein. Not blinding. Deep. Alive.
Hope froze. "Uh—guys?"
The sound came next.
A horn-call.
Not sharp. Not loud. But impossible to ignore. It vibrated through stone, through water, through me. The sea outside surged in response, waves slamming harder against the rocks like something ancient had just been reminded it was awake.
I staggered back. "That is very much not supposed to happen."
Isadora went completely still.
Nova whispered, "No… that hasn't—"
The horn faded. The light dimmed. The stone went dark again, like it had done nothing at all.
Hope pulled her hand back slowly. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't," Isadora said, voice quiet but sharp with awe. "It chose you."
The wall shifted.
Not breaking. Not opening.
Recognizing.
Stone folded inward like it remembered how to move, revealing a tunnel sloping down, glowing faintly with reflected sea-light.
We stepped through.
And emerged into something enormous.
A chamber—not a palace, not a throne room—but a gathering hall carved straight into the seabed. The ceiling arched impossibly high, etched with symbols that didn't belong to any language I knew. Platforms curved around the space like seats meant for voices, not bodies.
Empty.
But not abandoned.
"This was theirs," Nova said softly.
Hope turned. "The Aurelith."
Isadora nodded. "Before myth turned them into stories. Before extinction became convenient."
Hope stared at the walls. "The stone I touched…"
"The Aurelith Horn," Isadora said. "A calling relic."
Nova met Hope's eyes. "Only someone worthy can wake it. Not powerful. Not royal. Worthy."
Hope's breath hitched. "There hasn't been anyone in a long time, has there?"
"No," Isadora said. "There hasn't."
The hall shifted.
Footsteps echoed.
One.
Then many.
From corridors we hadn't noticed. From above. From below.
Voices—confused, alarmed, rushing.
The chamber was waking up.
And Hope finally looked scared.
Not of what she'd done.
But of those who had just heard it.