Page 78 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
Or could she?
She’d been trained to mend wounds of flesh and bone. But how many times had Rona tried to get her to soothe a frightened mer’s panic, to calm the aching hearts of those who felt forgotten? Back then, Sorcha had thought it beyond her skill.
But maybe…maybe this was her moment to try.
She shifted her song.
Not to the stones. Not to the sea.
To Rona.
She reached with her magic, not toward the storm but toward the storm’s maker. She poured her power into a new melody, one that carried not resistance but hope. A lullaby, soft and gentle, spun from childhood memories: the hush of the grotto, coral-light flickering on the walls. The sound of laughter echoing through sea tunnels. Her sisters spinning in circles, hair streaming like kelp in the currents. Lessons by their mother’s fin, her voice a steady anchor in the shifting tides.
She offered all of it in her song. Peace, safety, love.
Would Rona listen?
Her sister’s melody twisted, sharp and jagged, clashing against Sorcha’s like a coral reef battering a tide.
Sorcha flinched at the resistance. She recognized it — the way a Watcher’s body fought healing when the pain ran too deep. But she didn’t let go. She pushed more of herself into the song, drawing from the aching core of her magic, from every tender note of peace she could conjure.
Rona’s voice rose higher, harsher. Her tune turned discordant, weaponized.
A rushing filled the cavern.
A wave shot toward her down the tunnel like a living beast. Sorcha barely had time to suck in a breath before it crashed over her, slamming her to the stones. She tumbled backward in a surge of freezing current, limbs flailing, dress dragging like seaweed around her legs.
Gasping, sputtering, she clung to a rock, the chill biting through to her bones.
As the waters receded, a flash of movement by the door danced in her periphery.
Her head snapped up. Through the mist and crashing spray, a familiar figure slipped into the cavern, keeping low. Water swirled around his boots.
Arick.
Hope flared in her chest, sharp and sudden.
He was here. He’d come back.
Maybe now they could stop them.
Or maybe they'd only buy the world one more breath before it shattered.
AricklockedeyeswithSorcha, relief and fear crashing together in his chest. She wasn’t injured. That was all that mattered — for now.
He pressed a finger to his lips and shifted sideways, boots sloshing quietly through the ankle-deep water. The rumble of thunder and the low hum of magic masked the noise, but every splash still made him flinch. He kept low, eyes fixed on the two figures floating at the center of the large pool.
His pulse raced as he took them in. He'd known magic existed — couldn't deny it with the presence of merfolk and the bond tethering him to Sorcha — but seeing it before him now made it irrefutable. Magic may have vanished for a hundred years, but there was no question now. It had returned.
Sorcha stepped forward, rising from the flood with water trailing from her ruined dress. But instead of confronting Rona, she turned toward the other mer.
And that’s when Arick saw him clearly.
The one who’d been chained up during each of Arick’s visits to the prison cavern.
He barely recognized him. Gone was the drawn, silent captive. The mer before them now radiated purpose and cold fury. Yellow light flared from the bracer wrapped around his hand, its glow painting long shadows across his face and casting cracks into the cavern ceiling above.
Scars ringed his wrists, dark and raw, proof of what he’d endured — but they didn’t explain why he stood at Rona’s side. And Sorcha’s voice, sharp with disbelief and something like heartbreak, told Arick she didn’t understand it either.
