"The same was true for Corsica, Sicily, and Cyprus. And since Iceland was inhospitable in climate, and Britain crowded in populace, Ireland appeared to be our only solace."
Archbishop Lorenzo, Date Unknown.
Valeria surged through the water, propelled herself toward the shore. Her bare feet met the cool sand, and she sprinted toward the small pile of clothes she'd left behind. The night cloaked her completely; even if someone had been watching, she wouldn't have paused for modesty. Her damp hair clung to her, but she barely cared. Not when there was a Submerged on the loose.
She dressed swiftly: black underwear and pants first, then the crisp white shirt, dark blue coat, and finally the worn black boots. A bit of sand clung to her heels in the process. Belt secured, she set off at a quick jog toward town.
Her first clue was the only extraordinary thing in an otherwise painfully ordinary town: Francis. The bartender was meek, unremarkable, barely more than background noise on most days, but he was still the closest thing this place had to a potential Submerged. Too close to ignore. Too risky to lose.
Thus Valeria cut through the quiet streets with purpose, heading straight toward his home. If anything strange had happened last night, odds were high he was at the center of it. And if he'd died in his sleep, suffocated, or torn apart by something he couldn't comprehend… well, that would be a waste. An annoying one.
"I would be infuriated if he died from overexertion while spending time with that peasant girl of his," she muttered in irritation as she quickened her pace.
Not long after, she reached his building, scaled the stairs in swift bounds, and paused near his door.
Breaking in would've been the obvious choice for most, but Valeria didn't need to. Her gifts allowed her to sense the vital signs of those inside, and this room gave nothing.
The panic of sensing nothing led her to draw a set of slender tools that allowed her to begin working on the lock. The town's antique, rusting mechanisms gave way quickly, hardly putting her skills to the test.
Inside, the room was empty. A sigh of relief escaped her lips—but it was short-lived. This wasn't the only house he'd sleep in.
The town was small, each residence memorized in painstaking detail by her careful mind. Within minutes, she arrived at the right door. Her gifts reached outward again—two pulses.
"Must be the girl and her mother," she murmured, calming herself.
Yet the question lingered. Where on earth was he?
Then she felt it: not a Shanty, not the usual haunting murmur, but a surge of energy. A signature only a Submerged could generate.
Renewed hope coursed through her. Without hesitation, Valeria followed it, closing the distance before it could vanish.
Not long after, the ripples guided her to the very edge of the island.
"Looks like I'll have to get my clothes wet after all," she muttered, exhaling sharply. With a fluid motion, she shrugged off her coat and dove into the water, letting the currents embrace her as she propelled forward.
***
One additional snake later, Francis finally stumbled into a clearing tucked deep within the forest. He paused, glanced up at the fading stars, and told himself he could chart his position from them. It was easier than admitting the obvious: he was lost.
As the sunlight intensified, the world around him sharpened into focus. And yet… nothing resembled the mouth of a cave. No hollow in the stone. No break in the earth. Nothing.
Minutes bled into hours. He circled trees. Pushed aside brush. Scanned ridges and hollows until irritation turned into frustration. Eventually, something snapped.
"Enough!" he hissed.
He raised his hand, letting the familiar heat swell. A burst of flame tore across the clearing, scorching the vines and saplings in a desperate attempt to strip the forest bare—anything to expose the entrance he was beginning to think didn't exist at all.
The moment the fire left his hand, Francis knew he'd made a mistake.
The burst of flame didn't simply scorch the nearest vines—it erupted, a roaring wave that leapt from trunk to trunk with intensity he had completely underestimated. Dry bark split open under the heat. Leaves curled and blackened instantly. A low whoosh rolled through the clearing as the flames caught a dead limb overhead, then another, then exploded outward in a spray of sparks.
Within seconds, the fire had engulfed everything.
A fifty-meter ring of forest ignited in a chain reaction—shrubs crackling into ash, branches dripping molten resin, the underbrush turning into a carpet of orange light. Smoke billowed upward in thick columns, diluting the crisp morning air. The heat hit him in a flash, forcing him to shield his face, eyes watering as he stumbled back from the inferno he'd summoned.
The fire climbed eagerly, racing up trunks, racing across canopies, racing everywhere, until everything around him became a uniform orange—fifty meters of flames, all centered on him.
Animals screeched and bolted. Birds tore upward into the sky in panic. Even the insects seemed to scream as the forest floor writhed under the heat.
Francis stood frozen, breaths shallow, stomach sinking.
He hadn't uncovered the cave.
He'd created a wildfire.
***
Valeria broke the surface with a sharp inhale. For a moment, all she heard was the steady lap of waves against the rocks—then she saw it.
A thick column of smoke curling into the morning sky.
She narrowed her eyes. Forest fires weren't rare in the summer heat, not on islands like these. But the direction… the timing… the lingering echo of power she'd felt pulsing through the sea…
When she put them together, the answer was obvious.
Found you.
***
Camila jolted awake the moment the neighbor's rooster let out its first crow. Not that she needed the help—her body had learned long ago to rise with the sun. Still, she wished she'd opened her eyes the same way she had yesterday.
One can't have everything they want, I guess.
The thought of seeing him in a day or two gave her enough strength to drag herself out of bed without grumbling. She would see him again. And when she did, she'd make up for the distance tenfold. Maybe twenty.
She cursed herself for getting carried away fantasizing about that oblivious idiot and turned to start her morning routine—only to be interrupted by a frantic knock at the door.
"Coming!" she hissed, praying her mother wouldn't wake.
She swung the door open and blinked in surprise at the sight of one of the local fishermen—a broad, thick-armed man pushing forty, with a balding head and the kind of face that always looked angry.
"Camila! Do you know which island Francis went to?" he blurted.
A sharp, cold pit opened in her stomach.
"Logreef. Why?"
The man's expression darkened immediately.
"There's a giant fire out there. You can see the smoke from here, I don't know when it started."
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Calm yourself, Camila. He promised.
"I see," she managed, keeping her voice steady with sheer will. She swallowed down the string of unhelpful, panicked words she wanted to spit back at him. He meant well. He thought he was doing her a favor. "Thank you for telling me."
"Don't worry," he said, already stepping back. "He's a strong lad. I'm sure he'll come back."
Then he shuffled off, leaving her standing in the doorway.
Camila stayed frozen long after he disappeared down the path, fists clenched at her sides. Eventually, with no other choice, she forced herself to turn away.
Francis had promised her he would return.
So she would trust him—and bury the fear burning a hole in her chest—as she went about her chores.
***
As the smoke thickened and began suffocating him, Francis finally found enough sense to move. For a man who'd just incinerated half the forest, he'd somehow managed to stand rooted in place like the dumbest inhabitant Saint Agnes had ever produced.
If memory served, smoke was far deadlier than the flames themselves. Which meant his current job was simple: get away and hope he didn't choke to death like an idiot. He did briefly consider tracking the fire's path to locate the cave entrance—after all, if it torched the trees, it might uncover something useful.
But then he remembered one crucial fact: he wasn't suicidal. Not today, at least.
So he decided to stick to the original plan and leave the heroics for someone even dumber.
Camila is going to kill me for this, he thought, coughing as he staggered away from the spreading inferno.